Page 21 of Bred By Sor'en

The next few solars pass like that. I cry here and there, panic some. I tried to run once but didn’t make it too far. There's nowhere to go anyway. When Sor’en isn’t around, I get closer to the fields, but I don’t go in. Melion lingers in his odd way, sharing his warmth but doesn’t come close. I remind Sor’en I can’t stay, and he looks upset and then does something kind, like make me food. He bought me clothes, although I can’t be sure when he left to get them. He spends all his time lording above me, crammed in the tent, telling me about the flowers or tending the flowers he told me about. The clothes are stunning, prettier than anything I’ve ever had. He even said I can keep them.

They mold to my body like a second skin and keep me warm when it cools at night. None of their houses use heating or cooling, which I found odd, but it makes sense considering their clothes handle that for them. It's some kind of advancednanotech I could definitely never afford under any other circumstance. All in all, the past few solars have not beenterrible, some might even venture to call it fine. But as is always the case when things are fine where I'm involved, now something is wrong. Sor’en’s vibrant white hair is not as silky as it was days ago, and his eyes are drawn and tired. I’m covered in the nice, warm oil he’s constantly wiping on me, but it isn’t as tingly as it was.

I frown, sitting outside of my tent on a rare occasion as Sor’en snarls at someone through the door. I don’t miss the shocked look on the large male's face. His hair is a deep, almost purplish gray and so long it reaches his hips. Aliens growl, snarl, and hiss all the time at each other, but perhaps not here, judging by his reaction. The male takes a step back and nods, his eyes glued to me until Sor’en blocks his view, murmuring something in his language. It’s pretty, tilting, breathy kind of speech. They feel old, ancient even. I suppose that tracks with such a creepy species. Not to be offensive, of course, but I always try to call a spade a spade. Whatever the hell a spade is.

When he steps back in, his large, graceful form hunched, I tell myself I don’t care. That if he’s sick, distracted, or whatever, he’s easier to escape from. I tell myself he deserves it for taking me.

My heart lets out a nasty pang at the thought. Damn, give a broke, homeless, sad girl a few tasty meals and some nice clothes, and now she feels responsible for you. “What’s wrong with you?” I ask, my tone a bit too stiff for the question.

“Nothing Draya’la. I must tend the fields. Would you like to join—"

“No.”

He sighs, no cunning, sultry words. No interesting facts about his job to entice me. His job, which I now understand, makes him something akin to a royal priest to his people. It’s cool, except for the whole death part. Before he’s fully turned towardthe door, he gestures at Melion, having him stand guard again. That’s new, well,mostlynew. It started yesterday when I woke up in the middle of the night to find the huge death-touch alien mumbling to himself like a crazy person. When he saw I’d woken, he ordered Melion to “watch me” and left.

Melion and I stared at each other until he turned away to face the wall.

I think he’s mad at me.

I don’t care about that either.

“Hang on!” I call out, getting to my feet and racing out the door after him. Thankfully, he hasn’t been doing his weird spatial movement thing lately. Which also makes me suspicious. When I reach him, my hand snagging his wrist, he flinches, a soft groan escaping him as he secretes more of his oil. I don’t want it anymore, though. It’s not very tingly, so I let go, wiping my hands on my structured black dress. “Who keeps coming to the house?”

“Head inside, little gift,” he orders listlessly. His giant frame looking more and more exhausted by the domtic.

I gasp as he stumbles. “Sor’en!”

He snarls, his head snapping toward me, his opaque eyes wild. “Go, human!”

I don’t even flinch.

Not even as he gathers himself to his full height, towering over me. My hands prop on my hips, one finger slamming out and into his chest. “You sick or something?”

“Do you care?”

I wince inwardly, okay, fair. Also, youdidkidnap me. “I guess I do, a little.”

He stills at that, the anger leaving him, but with it the last bit of his strength. He sways, making my heart leap in my chest because if this big asshole falls on me, I’m toast. I reach out anyway, knowing it's better to move. The sound he makes canonly be described as a hissing kind of pain. Something hard and full, a lump the size of my fist, forms in my throat as he jerks away from me. “I am just tired.”

Has he felt like this every time I jerked away from him?

His eyes go toward his fields, a patch near the house just a little way down the path looks… wilted. I lean in and inhale him, pressing closer.

Why?

No clue.

But his floral scent urges me on, the spicy warmth of that oil, even though it hasn’t been like that in the last few solars. Before I think better of it, I’m slipping my arms around his oddly long, tapered waist and…clingingto him. Rubbing my face on his stomach, which is the only part of him I can reach. The same thing I've woken up doing for nights now. Rubbing against him like an animal in heat.

He whimpers, that strange buzzing starting up against my upper belly. But the sound he made, masculine and needy, makes the line from my navel to my core light.

I gasp. “Sor’en, you can’t protect me if you’re sick. What’s going on?”

“Noth—"

“He’s depleting himself, and since he fails to see reason, I have had to make the walk out here.”

The next few moments happen in an instant. The unfamiliar voice fills the field, my head going light as I’m ripped from my hold on Sor’en as he slams me behind him. My heart kicks up a new kind of thundering as I watch him…devolve.