Page 12 of The Alien Minotaur's Bride

I choked on the grain.

He moved before I'd finished coughing, crossing to me in one stride, his hand coming up to hover near my back. Not touching. Just there, ready if I needed it.

"I'm fine," I managed, waving him off. "Wrong pipe. I'm fine."

He crouched beside me, close enough that his warmth radiated against my arm. That scent rolled over me again, rich and complex, and my shoulders dropped without my meaning them to. My body leaning towards him like he was the last warm thing in the universe.

"I should have warned you," he said. "I will not–" He searched for words. "I will not hide what I feel. It is not our way. Among my people, a mate is–" He went quiet, hunting for it. "Everything. You are everything. Looking at you is–"

"Okay," I said. "Okay. I get it. You can stop."

But he didn't stop. He just looked at me with those dark eyes, and I realised with a sinking feeling that he meant it. Every word. He wasn't staring because he was assessing me or sizing me up or planning something. He was staring because he genuinely couldn't help it. Because looking at me made him happy.

I went back to eating. It was easier than working out how to respond to that.

My breasts were fuller by evening.

I noticed it when I tried to fasten my coveralls after using the small hygiene alcove Keth had shown me – a corner of the ship with running water and something that functioned as a toilet, all sized for him, which meant I had to climb onto things and balance precariously and generally feel like a toddler learning to use the facilities. The coveralls had fit fine that morning, if a bit snug. Now the zipper wouldn't close over my chest.

I stood in front of the small reflective panel that served as a mirror and stared at myself.

My breasts were visibly larger. Not just fuller but heavier, sitting lower than they had before, the skin stretched tight. When I pressed a hand to one, it ached with a deep, strange pressure that wasn't quite pain.

"You're filling," I said to my reflection. "You're actually filling. With–"

I couldn't finish the sentence.

The hatch opened.

"Mara." Keth's voice, from the doorway. "We will arrive soon. You should–"

He stopped.

I was standing there with my coveralls unzipped to the waist, my hands cupped under my breasts, staring at my own reflection with what I'm sure was a deeply undignified expression. His eyes dropped to my chest, and his tail went absolutely still.

"They're bigger," I said, because someone had to say something. "Since this morning. They're bigger and they – hurt isn't the right word. They ache. They feel full."

His breath caught. When he spoke, his voice was lower than usual.

"May I see?"

I should have said no. Should have zipped up my coveralls and told him to mind his own business and handled this the way I handled everything else in my life, which was alone and without help.

Instead, I dropped my hands.

He closed the space between us in two strides and crouched in front of me, putting his eyes level with my chest. His tail had started moving again, a slow sweep that I was learning meant intense focus. His hands came up, hovering just in front of me.

"May I touch?"

"Yes," I said, and I didn't know why I said it, except that the ache was getting worse and some part of me thought maybe he could help.

His hands were huge. Warm. One of them could have cupped both my breasts together with room to spare. But he didn't do that. He touched me gently, his fingers brushing the underside of one breast, then the other, weighing them.

"Full," he said. "Beginning to fill. Your body is preparing to produce."

"Produce." The word came out flat. "You mean–"

"Milk." His eyes lifted to mine. "For feeding. But also, among my people, an omega's production is sacred. It is not only for offspring. It is–" He stopped, searching for words. "A gift. A bond. I would–"