1
Karen
—
Tell them.
Karen bit into the sweet dumpling on her plate. If she stuffed her face until her cheeks strained from the effort to contain the food, she wouldn’t be able to speak. The traitorous voice in her head would shut up and leave her alone.
Tell them.
No. Not the right time.
But when would there ever be the perfect time to tell your family you were going to be a huge disappointment yet again? Not to mention she was leaving the day after next. She was not the sort to hide the truth.
Yet she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t tell her family she was considering dropping out of medical school to pursue her dream in massage therapy.
Presently, she was having dinner with her sisters, Jillian and Megan. Jillian, her eldest sister, had recently given birth to a beautiful baby girl named Tamiah. Now she and Megan, who had a handsome toddler named Kelan, were swapping stories about the adorable things their children did.
Their eyes were bright with excitement, their features content. Although Karen envied her sisters, she was happy for them too. Megan and Jillian had endured some unpleasant periods in their lives. Life had reshuffled the deck and dealt them both a lucky hand.
They had adorable children and great careers. They were both in healthy, loving and extraordinary relationships. After all, her sisters weren’t married to normal, human men. Her sisters’ husbands were aliens.
Hot, bronze, violet-eyed, muscular beings from a planet named Omaron.
“The Zuirs have not won a game in seventy standard years,” said Mikaal, Megan’s husband and the king of Omaron. Despite his cool, reserved exterior, his deep love for Megan was obvious whenever he looked at her. “What makes you think they stand a chance this season?”
“I know they will win this season,” said Jonnar, Jillian’s husband. He was an army general until he’d recently switched gears to be an engineer. Jonnar had a more jovial, easygoing attitude, but held a similar devotion for Jillian like his best friend, Mikaal, did for Megan.
“Stubborn loyalty will not make a terrible team succeed,” said Mikaal, chuckling.
“It’s fun to root for the underdog,” said Karen. She’d have to talk about sports since she couldn’t relate with the baby stuff. For years she’d felt like a gap existed between her and her sisters. There was a veritable ocean between them now that her sisters shared this major commonality. “There’s greater satisfaction in their victory after enduring all that disappointment when they sucked.”
Jonnar laughed. “Exactly.”
The dinner came to an end when Jillian and Jonnar decided to leave. They claimed they were tired, but Karen knew better by the barely concealed sexual tension in their body language. Megan and Mikaal couldn’t hide their desire for each other, either.
Was there something in the wine? Put off by the thought of being a fifth wheel, Karen polished off her glass and headed for her room.
She lay in bed for a while, unable to fall asleep. Her mind whirred as the ever present worry weighed on her chest. Her leave-of-absence from school was coming to an end soon and she had to make a decision.
Drop out and pursue a dream, yet be a failure, again, in the eyes of her family.
Continue and be miserable, possibly a failure in the eyes of her teachers and peers.
Frustrated, she decided she’d tire herself out with a late night stroll. Perhaps she’d visit the palace medic. He was a Lutvian being named Zezvar. He had spotted skin and short, alabaster-coloured tusks. Karen thought he looked exactly like the aliens she’d seen in movies.
She liked to visit his lab as he was excellent company. Quirky, funny, and brilliant, the devotion he had for his medical work was akin to romantic love. It further reinforced to Karen that she’d made a mistake forging a career as a doctor.
Medicine was a field one had to genuinely love and enjoy to flourish, to persevere in the times of adversity and burnout. It wasn’t a career for the weak or the indecisive. It wasn’t something to do just because one wanted to make their family proud.
She wished she’d known these truths before she’d jumped feet first into it, but that was just like her, wasn’t it? Leap first, ask questions later, wallow in regret afterwards.
Karen increased her pace, hoping to outwalk her thoughts. When a problem didn't have an immediate solution, there was nothing more relieving than sweeping it under the rug and pretending that hard, conspicuous lump didn’t exist.
Two four-armed, blue-skinned Ahmenians stood guard at the main doors to the pathway to the infirmary. Their black eyes regarded her dispassionately, the stark light in this area adding a menacing gleam to the tips of the spears occupying their foremost hands. They wore black vests that were home to an array of knives. Their hulking frames were almost as tall as the door they guarded.
“Hello,” she greeted with a wavering smile. They gave her a short nod, never uttering a word as usual. It was a work-in-progress getting used to their fearsome presence, even if Megan had assured her of the Ahmenians’ unbending loyalty to everyone they protected within the palace.
The doors slid open as she neared it. The Ahmenian guards did not challenge her as she went past them. She followed the familiar turns to Zezvar’s office. As she approached his doors, they slid open on their own. A man exited, pausing briefly to regard her.
Karen forgot to breathe as the man’s vibrant violet eyes pinned her where she stood. She felt incapable of moving, like if the man’s stare had that much power. She didn’t doubt it. She knew Jonnar and Mikaal had telekinetic abilities. But her inability to move or make sound was more than just telekinesis. It was this strange sense that this was some sort of momentous occasion in her life and fate was forcing her to stop and be aware of the unfolding.
“You’re not Zezvar,” she said, immediately feeling stupid. What she’d wanted to say was, “Who are you and why are you in Zezvar’s office so late at night?” The doors were still open and she had a clear view of the room. The Lutvian medic was nowhere to be seen.
“Clearly,” he said. His caustic tone broke the spell he had over her and it occurred to Karen she’d met the man before. Yeah. He was that rude asshole she’d encountered along her way to visit Jillian after she gave birth to Tamiah. He’d seemed unwell and incapable of standing without support. When she tried to assist him, he’d snapped at her to leave him alone.
He had dark hair pulled into a low, messy bun. She’d never found guys with longish hair attractive, but this man was the exception. Tall and with a strong build, he was unquestionably handsome even if his skin had an unhealthy pallor and shadows lingered beneath his eyes. His violet eyes were his most striking feature and they pegged him as a Dava male. Yet a dark anger lurked in their depths that discomforted her.
She frowned. “Is Zezvar here?”
“No.” He strode down the path to the back exit. She pursued him.
“So what were you doing in his office?” she asked his broad back.
He paused, turning to glare at her. “I don’t see how that’s any of your concern, human.”
“My sister and my brother-in-law owns this place so, technically, it is my concern if some stranger is skulking around.” Karen folded her arms beneath her breasts, returning his glare. “You could be up to no good.”
“And if I were,” his visible annoyance gave way to a chilly, dangerous tone as he advanced on her in an intimidating manner. “What could you do about it?”
Karen licked her lips. Fear ran an icy finger up her spine. Damn, she’d done it again. Leapt first, consequences be damned. How could she have been so stupid to confront this stranger? Who knew what he was capable of?
Karen edged away from him, dropping her hands to her sides. He loomed over her, at a clear advantage in height and strength even though he appeared unwell.
“I’m not afraid of you,” Karen said, though the tremble in her voice said otherwise.
He leaned forward, bringing with him a tantalizing scent that left her in a confused state of awakening arousal.
“You should be.”
Her lips parted on a soft exhale of dread and the man’s gaze fell to her mouth. The hard anger in his eyes dimmed but did not abate, and he stared at her lips with interest. Was he thinking about kissing her? Instead of being sensible and screaming at the top of her lungs for the guards who were nearby, she held her breath, foolishly awaiting his next move.
A trill sounded. The man backed away from her and glanced at the black strip wrapped around his wrist. It pulsed red. He uttered something beneath his breath that sounded like a curse. Then he removed the strip from his wrist and spoke in rapid, clipped Omar language as he stalked away from her.