A tear falls down Aria’s cheek, the earlier revelations already forgotten. “What can we do?”
“When my little one wasn’t getting enough from me alone, I had to supplement with formula,” I say. I don’t know where the words come from, because that certainly couldn’t have been my voice. No. I turn away, but they’re already taking my contribution and running with it.
Avrell perks up. “You remember when Hadrian was but a few micro-revolutions, when we had to give him so much rogcow milk, we thought he’d drink the whole herd dry? We could perhaps do the same for young Sokko. With the combination of mort and alien genes, it could be that the mortyoung will need more nutrients. It’s worth the risk to travel,” Avrell says.
As the others speak, I let Draven lead me away from the sound of their voices until the doors slide shut behind us.
“It’s all right, my Molly. I’ve got you. Let me take you back to our quarters. I’ll have Galen fetch some of those goldenroot candies you aliens like so much. You can rest, and I’ll bring you to eat once Breccan has finished speaking with Avrell.”
“I don’t want to talk about that anymore. At least not now. I know there are things you need to know—it just hurts.” I stop him before we enter his quarters, meeting his eyes. “Please?”
Draven brushes the hair away from my face. “I understand pain, my Molly. And I’ll do whatever I can to take yours away.”
8
Draven
Two solars.
All it took was two solars to go from peace to rekking madness. Every single mort and the two females here are on edge.
It’s the mortling, Sokko.
I’ve never heard anything screech so loudly and for so long.
Never rekking ending.
Avrell has been working tirelessly to extract more milk from Aria’s breasts in an effort to duplicate its properties while Galen scans our region for rogcow herds. The geostorm is out of the way now, but The Graveyard is barren and empty of life, which is typical after these climatic events. All Galen needs to do is give me word on where a herd is, and I’ll hunt down those rekking rogcows.
“You’re pacing,” Molly says from our bed.
I pull away from my inner turmoil to regard her. This solar she is irresistible. I’m finding it more and more difficult to keep my hands from her. All I want is to take hold of her fleshy rump and squeeze it. At night, when she slumbers, her face burrows against my chest, and I take my fill of her bottom in my hands. She never pushes me away. It’s as though the touch comforts her, too.
“We need to find a herd,” I say absently, stalking over to the bed to sit beside her.
She’s perched on her knees, and when I relax beside her, she wraps her slender arms around me. Hugging. She calls these squeezes of energy hugs. I asked Avrell if the aliens have special abilities because my mate seems to send bursts of life thrumming through my veins during these episodes. He told me it’s a four-letter word I don’t know yet. I suspect he was having amusement at my expense and have been agitated ever since.
I nuzzle my face against the side of her neck that smells sweet and mouth-watering. Her scent is one I’ve grown quite addicted to. She has claws, too, but they are different. Rounded and thinner. The same color as her flesh. And her claws are not useless as I once thought. They contain their own abilities.
To calm.
The moment she rakes her claws through the patchy hair on my nog, it has a relaxing effect on my body. I would ask Avrell, but I do not choose to be laughed at again. One of my arms wraps around her middle, and I try to mimic her hugs. I don’t have the same powers as her, but I try to show through my actions that I wish I did. She seems to appreciate my attempts because she rewards me with her lovely signing as she calls it and her calm clawing.
“Do you think they’ll ever find the herds?” she murmurs, her hot breath tickling the top of my nog.
My lips whisper over her flesh. “Not any time soon. The geostorms have sent them into hiding. Places where the scanners aren’t picking up.”
She shivers. “Do you think Sokko will die?”
I wince at that thought. Though the mortling is unappealing to look at, I don’t want it to die. Breccan and Aria—everyone besides Molly and myself—look at the miniature beast as though it is wrought from the sun itself. Bright and beautiful. It would break this faction if we lost our first true hope for a future on our planet. The Eternals are no place for a mortling. Breccan might retreat to his dark, inner thoughts for good this time. This is something I cannot allow. He brought me from my darkness, and I refuse to let him go there. The darkness is a place no mort should ever go.