Page 6 of Fathom

I should tell her that I would take her to the police station, so that they could help her, but I was on probation from the first time my family had me arrested. If I went there with a prey species in her state - they would arrest me first and ask questions later. If I got arrested again, my family would have even more leverage.

Then again, what were my difficulties when compared to the daily struggle of an herbivore?

I shouldn’t be so selfish. She needed help.

“I could walk you to the police station?” I asked her.

She frowned at me, pressing her lips together before saying something I didn’t understand in her light, lilting voice. I studied her mouth as she spoke, seeing her flat teeth that matched the assessment my nose had made when she first ran into me, smelling of strange chemicals and prey. I hadn’t ever seen any creature that looked quite like her, but she was strangely similar to me, with only two eyes and two arms and no fur except for the hair on her head. Her hair didn't move on its own, though it was clumped with some kind of chemical gel that coated her body in uneven streaks, and her ears were small and round, just like the rest of her body.

Even so, she looked more like me than anyone else on this planet.

I couldn't take her to the police if she couldn't speak the language. She would disappear. The police weren't there to protect legal aliens, let alone illegal ones. But what could I do with her? She'd already triggered my prey drive, so she wasn't safe with me, that was for sure. I didn't know any herbivores well enough to show up on their doorstep with an illegal alien who didn't know the language and ask them to take care of her.

Plus, she was mine.

The word echoed through my mind, and I tried to ignore it, push it aside. I couldn't think that way. It wasn't safe for her.

She removed the knife from my neck and studied it for a moment, finding the catch on it and folding it up before tucking it into the pocket of my jacket. A deep sense of satisfaction came from the sight of her draped in my clothing, and I didn't understand that at all. Prey drive had nothing to do with clothing. What she was wearing didn't matter, and yet, seeing her in my jacket tickled something deep inside me.

The small woman made a strange hissing sound and mimicked rubbing the hair on the top of her head, as if she were washing the chemicals out of it.

“You want a wash?” I asked her.

My apartment wasn’t far. We could take a longer route, stay out of sight. Once there, I could at least find her something to wear, an old T-shirt long enough to pass for a dress, maybe one with my scent on it, and then use my laptop to figure out what language she was speaking. Mind made up, I stood up. She had to come with me. All I needed to do was convince her to come.

She took a sudden step back and winced.

She was hurt. I knew I couldn't focus on that even as every part of me wanted to pluck her off the ground and search her for injuries.

I couldn't view her as wounded.

“I’m going to head to my place,” I told her. “You can get washed, and I can lend you some more clothes if you want, or I can take you to the police station, but I don't recommend that.”

I waited, but the words she said in response still didn’t mean anything.

I walked a couple of steps down the alleyway and glanced back.

She was following me, but she was also limping.

I was back over to her in a flash, worry rushing through me, my previous thoughts vanishing, worry that my own predatory feelings would trigger at the sight of injury. That didn't matter; she was wounded, and I needed to take care of her.

“Are you okay?” I asked, crouching down so I could look her in the eyes.

She said something and lifted up her heel, pointing at it.

There were cuts all over her foot.

As I looked at them, wondering why she had bare feet and was naked in the first place, she suddenly pressed herself against me.

I froze as her softness stole my thoughts.

She wrapped her arms around my neck, pressing down on my shoulders as she leaned against me, her forearms brushing against my hair, sending shivers of pleasure through me. She reached out and took one of my arms, wrapping it around her as she sat down in the crook of it.

“You want me to carry you?” I asked, miming putting my other arm under her legs.

She made an up and down motion with her head, but I didn't know what that meant. She wasn't screaming or pulling away, so I lifted her up in my arms anyway. Her fingers brushed against the strands of my hair, and they responded, wrapping around her hands, feeling the heat of her palms, the taste of dirt and grime, and underneath, the sweet sense of her skin.

I clutched her in my arms, feeling more confused than ever.