That's when I hear it, the faint clang of metal on metal resonating from the top shelf. Too short to identify the source of the mysterious sound, I decide to climb up. I slip only once, but the rock skins the palm of my hand, and I bite my lip to push down the pain.
After much effort, I finally reach the top shelf and discover the origin of the noises—shining, deadly, and entirely out of place is a blaster gun.
I’m shocked that something as high tech as this even exists in this primitive setting. I’ve never shot one, but I’ve seen blasters used before. It shouldn’t be harder to figure out than a human gun, should it?
I put the weapon in my hands, and turn it to either side, frantically looking for the safety. When I think I find it, I hold the barrel away from me, clicking the button forward with my eyes closed. It’s like I’m afraid that I’ll accidentally hit a self-destruct button instead.
But it doesn’t blow up, and I can feel it shake as the power surges through the pistol. I clench it in my hands as I jump off the shelf, aiming it toward the opening.
The water still churns and gurgles, and I swear I hear a muffled scream—I can’t tell if it’s Kitaico or not.
The water changes colors. An inky blackness spins up and spreads until the darkness engulfs the entire opening.
Sweat drips from my wet brow, my heart in my throat, as I’m forced to wait for someone or something to come through that hole.
Finally, with a wet thump, a red and scarred foretentacle slides up through the water.
Kitaico didn’t win.
I push down the grief welling in my chest and let the rage that’s left take hold. With a strange precision, I point the blaster. My hand will be ready to pull the trigger as soon as I see the bastard’s eyes.
Keep breathing, in and out.Don’t fuck this up, Lena, you might only get one shot.
It feels like hours, but must only be seconds, as a head surfaces.
It’s only after I’ve half depressed the trigger do I realize that it’s Kitaico’s face looking back at me. Just before the plasma blast leaves the gun, I rip it to the side, hoping with every part of my being that I’ll miss.
Everything is slowing down again. Each beat of my heart takes minutes.
The realization that I’m shooting at him spreads over his face. Kitaico’s eyes go wide, and he dives to the side. His tentacles flail through the air as he moves, like a lion’s mane in motion. I snap my eyes closed again, letting the blaster drop to the ground with a clank.
I hear the sizzle of flesh when the plasma beam connects with his skin. There’s the scent of barbeque and an alien sounding expletive that leaves Kitaico’s lips.
I’ve fucking shot my alien lover.
16
keep her or die trying
When I uncover my hands from my head, the exiled male’s detached foretentacle is still wriggling in my grip.
Blinking slowly, I turn to Leeenuh. Her eyes are shut tightly even though she’s crying. Fat wet tears slide down her cheeks.
“Arr ewe ded? Did eye urt chew, Kitaico?” she sobs.
I pat my chest with my free hand and find no hole left by the blaster gun.
With a sharp inhale, the scent of burning flesh reaches my nose, causing a wave of nausea to wash over me. Only while combing my hand through my tentacles do I find the injury.
Leeenuh has blown one tip of my lesser head tentacles clean off. The blaster’s cauterizing function prevented any bleeding from the wound.
I’m okay.
Hopping through the cave’s entrance, a wave of relief washes over me. Leeenuh is alright, that’s all the matters. I quickly rush over to my distraught mate, needing to comfort her. Witnessing her in such distress is like getting punched in the gut.
“Leeenuh,” I say, stroking her cheek, “I am fine.”
She peeks open one of her eyes and looks at me.
Panic washes over her features as the other shoots open and she runs a hand over my face, pulling it back and holding it up for me to see the blackness that covers it.
“It is only blood,” I mutter.
She inhales sharply, eyes going even wider.
“Not mine,” I correct, holding the exile’s tentacle. You can still make out my fang marks from when I bit it off his body.
She doesn’t calm down much but rushes to grab one of our woven rags from the store shelves. Leeenuh wipes the offending fluid from my face and arms.
“Eye’m so so soarry,” she keeps saying repeatedly. “Eye shouldn’t ave dun dat thur. Eye forgot auhbout da exiles.”
I grasp her wrist, stopping her motions. Her arm trembles uncontrollably in my grip.
Taking the soiled cloth from her, I step under the cool spray of the shower, washing away the rest of the blood.
“This isn’t your fault,” I say, feeling so stupid for leaving the safety of the nest. With a grimace, I fling the exile’s tentacle down the relief hole, hoping it will decompose along with the rest of our waste.
