WILLA

He’s gone. They’ve taken him from me.

Betrayal and shock slam through me, followed by anger. How dare they treat him like this? How dare they?

He’s a fucking person!

I race from the tent, the only weapon I could find—a headless spear—in my hands. I stare, dazed, at the people gathering on the beach. Two aliens sit by the fire and one jumps to his feet as I stumble forward. Both seem to change colors, blending into darkness as I stare at them. Others move forward, called by my cry. I search familiar faces, looking for one in particular. “Where is he? Where did you take him?”

“Willa?” I hear Lauren’s curious voice a moment before I realize she’s peering out of her tent at me, curious and sleepy. “What’s going on?”

“Gren!” I bellow at her, charging forward at the fire. I’m ready to fight everyone on this beach to get my man back. “They took him away while I slept!”

“What?” Lauren sounds confused.

“WILLA!” my mate calls, somewhere off on the beach.

“I’m coming,” I shout back at him, stumbling forward through the pebbled sand and shoving past people that reach out to help me. I’m frantic, ignoring the blue—and otherwise—aliens that seem to be coming out of the woodwork to confront me. If they try to stop me from going to my mate, so help me, I’ll—

Gren appears a moment later, racing toward me in a spray of sand. A few steps behind him is Pashov, and both of them look concerned.

With a sob, I fling myself into Gren’s arms. “I won’t let them take you from me,” I tell him fiercely through my tears. “You’re mine.”

His hands move all over me, frantic. “Where are you hurt?”

What? “I’m not hurt.”

He lets out a long breath, his gaze locked on mine. I hear my cootie thrum with pleasure, but it’s a sated, sleepy sort of sound now. “Did something frighten you? Was something in the tent?”

“Side-walkers,” Pashov suggests, panting from his short run. He puts a hand on his side and shakes his head. “Found one in my tent the other day, hiding in my boot.”

What on earth are they talking about? “No, I just…” I blink, looking up at my mate. He looks worried, but for me. I touch his wrists, but there are no ropes there. Nearby, others are looking at us in a mixture of confusion and concern.

Gren touches my cheek. “Did you see something?”

“I…” I swallow hard, and it starts to occur to me that no one has stolen my mate. “No one dragged you out of the tent?”

Gren shakes his head. “No. I woke and went to find you something to eat.”

“Drag him from the tent?” someone snorts. “It would take all of Strong Arm to move that one.”

And for some silly reason, Gren grins as if this comment pleases him.

“I am so confused,” I whisper. I dig my fingers into the fur on his lower arms. “No one tried to tie you up? Or keep you away?”

“No, Willa,” he says gently, and puts his arm around my shoulders, pulling me close. “I am all right. I have attacked no one and they have not attacked me in return.” He rubs his mouth against my hair, then inhales my scent, as if reassuring himself that I’m fine. Then, he says, “Pashov was showing me the camp.”

“I thought it would be good for him to meet the others,” Pashov says, straightening. “Forgive me if you were frightened.”

I stare at Pashov even as I cling to Gren. There’s no fear in his eyes when he looks at my mate, no uncertainty. In fact, everyone’s staring at us and the only uncertainty in their eyes is directed at me for being crazy and scaring the dickens out of everyone.

“I…guess I overreacted,” I admit grudgingly.

“Come sit by the fire,” a stranger calls out. “There is more than enough food for Gren to have another serving, and for you to eat as well.”

Another serving, implying Gren has already sat with these people and ate. I look up at Gren, and there is no fear or anger in his eyes, only concern for me. He pulls me close, touching my chin so he can study my face.

“Are you well, Willa?”

“I’m all right,” I whisper. “Just worried about you.”

“And here I am with my heart still pounding out of fear of my mate’s terrified screams.”

“Sorry.”

“Do not be sorry. You were afraid for me.” He rubs his knuckle along my jaw. “Always, you seek to defend me. I would be lying if I did not admit I found it pleasing.”

I can feel my cheeks getting hot. “I just don’t believe people’s words, you know? I believe their actions.”

“I am the same.” He leans in and nuzzles my mouth in one of our awkward—but perfect—kisses. “We will see what their actions show us, then. Now, come, sit and eat.”

If actions are proof, then I’m worrying over nothing. We’re fed by the four-armed islanders who look thrilled to have Gren and me for company. They act as if we’ve joined their tiny “clan” just by showing up, and I don’t correct them, simply because they’re so friendly to Gren—and he seems to like them.

My honey is also no longer the weirdest alien on the island. Four arms and color changing is definitely weirder. Gren’s just got fur, and some of the other aliens have that, too. It’s definitely a messy mix of a tribe and very different from when we landed a little over a month ago. As we sit by the fire, others come by to say hello and to give me hugs. All of the girls look healthy, Angie looks as if she’s ready to pop, and everyone seems to be doing well enough. No one looks miserable or unhappy like they did in the early days. Even Tia, who seemed devastated to wake up on an alien planet, is flirting lightly with some lanky blue guy in a loincloth who recently showed up.

It all seems nice enough.

So why can’t I relax? Why do I frown at every person that talks to Gren, waiting to see the mask slip? Why do I assume they’re all out to get us? Gren doesn’t seem to be holding a grudge.

But I can’t relax.

I can’t trust that they mean well. Every time I close my eyes, I see Gren tied up in ropes.

Lauren and her mate K’thar come out of their tent to sit with us, and then the men are all laughing and talking while Lauren sits on K’thar’s thigh and tries to weave a belt while K’thar’s birdlike pet chews on her hair. She rolls her eyes at some of the conversations and gives me a grin as if to say “boys,” and I have to admit some of the hunting stories sound outrageous. I go very quiet when Gren speaks up, his voice hesitant, as if he’s not allowed to share his own experiences. But J’shel indicates he should continue speaking, and then Gren tells this absolutely awful story of a time he had to hunt down these man-eating beasts on a newly terraformed planet, and I don’t know whether to be horrified at what my man has gone through, or to be pleased that he’s made so welcome. As it is, I want to go and pinch J’shel’s cheek for being such a sweetheart. It’s clear that these newcomers don’t look at Gren as “scary” or “different.”

And my heart aches at how pleased Gren looks when he’s done sharing his gruesome tale of ripping apart the beasts with their own claws. Because he’s contributing. He’s got friends. He’s being welcomed.

So why can’t I relax?

The conversations continue on and I lean against Gren’s arm. He seems to be having a wonderful time, his eyes lit up as the men tell hunting story after hunting story, and so I do my best to listen in even though I’m falling asleep. At some point, I jerk awake only to have Gren pull me into his arms and continue speaking in that soft, growling language of his. I curl up against him and I’m only vaguely aware when we return to the tent for the night.

I wake up the next morning, immediately on alert, listening as people move about the encampment. I wait to hear voices in hushed tones, or to pick our names up in conversations, but there’s only low laughter and the cry of the ever-fussy baby. Even so, it would probably be wise for us to be prepared to leave again…just in case.

My cootie starts to purr softly a split second before a warm arm goes around my waist and I’m dragged against Gren’s big body. He buries his face in my hair, rubbing his nose against my ear. “You are awake already?”

I love how sleepy he sounds, how content. “Yeah. Did I wake you up?”

“It does not matter. I am pleased to be up.” He brushes his mouth against my hair again. “It is nice to lie here and hold you in my arms.”

I know what he means. For so many days, the cootie has ruled our lives, affecting our sleeping, our eating, our enjoyment of each other’s company. It was all sex, all the time. I never thought I’d get sick of orgasms, but I’m glad to have them stop for a while, strangely enough. “Agreed. I guess that means Veronica’s healing worked and we’re officially pregnant.” I touch my stomach.

A moment later, his fingers brush mine as they rest on my belly. “I hope our child looks like you and not me.”

“I do not care one bit what our baby looks like,” I tell him, and mean it. “Appearances shouldn’t matter.”

He sits up and gazes down at me, curious. “You are angry. Why?”

Am I? I am bristling a bit, I guess. “I just don’t want anyone here making you feel like you don’t belong.”

“No one has done such a thing.”

“They did when we first arrived,” I counter hotly.

“Because I attacked them. They were right to do so. They have not tried to again.” Gren studies me, surprised. “You wish to leave?”

“I…I don’t know.” I burrow closer to him, not liking the look on his face. “I just don’t trust them not to change their minds.”

“Why would they change their minds?”

“Because that’s what people do,” I tell him, holding him close. “They change who they are when things get difficult.”

Gren strokes a hand down my belly. “You smile at them and you are friendly, but it seems as if you do not trust them at all. I should be the one with no trust, and yet you are frightened for me. Why is this?”

My mouth feels dry. “I just…you ever heard the expression, fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me?”

“No.”

“Well, it’s something I’ve been thinking about.” I touch his fingers, playing with his claws. “You think you know people, and then they just completely destroy your trust, and you never know who to believe again.”

He presses his mouth to my brow. “And who broke your trust?”

“My mother.” It still aches to think of it, even though I’ve lived with the pain for a long time now. “I had a younger brother, Isaiah. He got sick with something really bad. Mama was supposed to take him to the hospital, but she went to a friend’s house instead. I think she went to get high or something. Disappeared for hours. At any rate, by the time they got Isaiah to the hospital, it was too late. He died. I was only about ten or so when it happened, but after that, my daddy left. Said he couldn’t look Mama in the face anymore, and I guess that included me, because he left me with her. Mama started doing all kinds of drugs openly, and she changed as a person. She wasn’t sweet, she wasn’t fun, she wasn’t kind. She was mean and cruel and forgetful, and the only thing that mattered were the drugs. She invited her brother to come live with us, and Uncle Dick…” I swallow, thinking of the cruel man with even crueler hobbies. “He was just terrible. Those were the people I grew up knowing. Every time I tried to trust Mama, that she wasn’t as bad as I thought, she proved me wrong. Just because you love someone doesn’t mean that they’re a good person. And just because they’re nice to you right now doesn’t mean they won’t disappoint you later.”

“I see.” Gren strokes my hair. “And you worry these people speak lies to you?”

“I don’t know,” I admit. “I think they mean well, but Mama always meant well, too. She just wasn’t a strong person. She didn’t set out to be deliberately cruel, though. It just sort of ended up that way.”

“Does that mean you wish to leave?”

I look up at him, at his face that’s so very handsome and dear to me for all of its bizarreness. “What do you want?”

“That has never changed,” he tells me gently. “I will be happy as long as I am with you.”

I smile at him, but even as I do, I think of the enjoyment shining in his eyes when we sat around the fire last night. Of how much he liked being included in simple conversation. I swallow hard, because my senses are screaming for us to leave before anyone can betray us. But…I want Gren to have friends. And even though I’m ashamed to admit it, living in the encampment is easier, where chores are split up and I’m not responsible for everything. Just thinking about heading out into the snowy mountains with a backpack to live in a tent again makes me tired.

“We’ll stay here for a few days,” I say. “And then we’ll decide.”

“You will decide,” he tells me. “Because I will follow you anywhere.”