Page 99 of Destined For Her Alien Daddy

I know she means to help.

The words strike like another blade.

“Inheritance can be poison,” I say.

Sira accepts the blow without returning it. “Yes. It can also be medicine.”

Anita moves into my line of sight. “Ghar.”

I should not look at her.

I do.

Her face is open in a way that makes my chest tighten. Not unguarded completely; Anita Prentiss may carry sarcasm into her own funeral. But the concern in her eyes is real, and the uncertainty beneath it has nothing to do with research. She lifts one hand, then lets it fall before touching me.

That small restraint nearly undoes me.

“Talk to me,” she says.

“I am.”

“No, you’re issuing philosophical damage reports.”

Brakk murmurs, “That one was pretty accurate.”

Anita does not look away from me. “You kissed me like the galaxy was ending, and ever since then you’ve been acting like proximity is contagious. I’m not asking you to explain the universe. I’m asking you not to vanish into your own head while walking five feet in front of me.”

The corridor seems to narrow around her words.

I glance toward the passage ahead, searching for threats because threats are easier. There is only darkness, silver light, and the slow pulse of the lower systems.

“I should not have touched you in that chamber,” I say.

Anita goes still. “Wow. Okay.”

“That is not what I mean.”

“It sounded pretty damn clear.”

I turn toward her fully. “You were frightened. I was frightened. The bond was loud, and I had just lost control in front of all of you. I do not know how much of what happened belonged to us and how much belonged to ancient mechanisms in our blood.”

Her anger flares quickly, but underneath it I see the hurt. “You think I don’t wonder that?”

“I know you do.”

“Then don’t talk like I was swept away by your irresistible alien biology and need you to be the responsible adult.”

“That is not what I am saying.”

Sira watches the upper passage, but her attention remains painfully present.

I speak more carefully. “I fear the bond may be only another system. A mechanism. Something built into us by hands that had no sacred intention at all. If the First Architects altered constants and life emerged from their play, if the Precursors inherited more than they created, then jalshagar may be no more profound than a signal finding its matched receiver.”

Anita’s anger shifts, losing some of its fire. “And if it is?”

The question is too quiet.

I have no armor for it.