Submission Games © 2018 Francesca Baez

www.francescabaez.com

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. Except for use in review, the reproduction or use of this work in any part is forbidden without the express written permission of the author.

The Author of this Book has been granted permission by Anna Zaires and Dima Zales to use the copyrighted characters and the world of The Krinar Chronicles created by Anna Zaires and Dima Zales in this Book; all copyright protection to the characters and the worlds of Anna Zaires and Dima Zales are retained by Anna Zaires and Dima Zales.

It’s been one year since my best friend ran away with an alien.

One year since Ari officially moved to the Costa Rican alien compound. Eight months since I broke up with my loser ex. Five months since Ari left Earth completely, blasting off to a happily-ever-after on the other side of the galaxy. And three months since I quit my dream job in New York City and moved back in with my parents.

Is this what they call a downward spiral? Either way, I’m fairly certain that a twenty-eight-year-old woman working a minimum wage job and living in her time capsule of a childhood bedroom is definitely rock bottom.

I sigh loudly, eliciting an annoyed sidelong glare from a patron browsing at the end of the stacks. I smile politely and get back to silently shelving.

I used to work for a high profile magazine, one with elite readers all across the country. I used to get paid to eat expensive meals at luxury Manhattan restaurants. Now, I’m part-time help at this tiny public library in small town West Virginia, and I can’t even seem to do that right. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

Why, exactly, did I do this to myself? It’s a question I ask a dozen times a day as I trace and retrace the same routine through the library. Sure, I miss my best friend like crazy. I wish she would call more often, but I can’t blame her. I’ve never seen anyone as in love as she is with Verit, her hunky alien cheren. I’ve certainly never been that in love myself, not even a little. If I were, I would probably forget all about my old life too. Still, would it kill her to reply to a text once in a while?

But no, that’s not why I up and quit everything I’d worked my ass off for. And it sure as hell wasn’t because of Robbie, either, although that’s a couple years of my life I’ll never get back. I’m not sure exactly why I’m back here, honestly. Everything in New York City just kept slowly falling apart, and suddenly, I looked up and realized my dream life had become a lonely, depressing nightmare. I needed a fresh start, and while most people go to New York for that, I had to leave it. Maybe LA or Vegas would have been a more exciting choice than Buffalo Creek, West Virginia, but sometimes you just have to go home and cry on your mom’s shoulder for a little while.

“Tell me again about Beso,” my coworker Sabine asks, twisting in her spinny chair as we sit uselessly through another dead shift at the check-out desk.

“Beso was amazing,” I say, feeling a smile grow on my face just at the thought of my old life. “Of course, before K-Day, I hear they had the most delectable steaks, real melt-in-your-mouth shit. But the grilled portobello was still pretty great. And the tiramisu, oh my god…”

This is our favorite game, when we have no patrons to attend to, which is pretty often. Sabine loves hearing about all the amazing places I’ve eaten, all the exotic meals I’ve had. The petite girl, with her edgy pixie cut and nose piercing, is pretty much me a decade ago. Fresh out of high school, never having left West Virginia, thirsty for any kind of escape. I don’t know how she’ll fare out in the real world, if I’m honest. After all, the real world is twice as scary as it was when I was her age. There are dangerous aliens, and all their crazy technology, overbearing laws, and weird vampire kink. After spending time with Verit and seeing how much he cared for Ari, I’ve softened ever-so-slightly toward the invaders. But that’s just one creature among many, and if anything, being back home has undone any good work his friendship did. In big metropolitan areas, or cities near K compounds, humans have become somewhat accustomed to the aliens that now live among them. But no K has ever set foot out here in the boonies, and as such, all anyone cares about is the wild rumors online and the terrifying footage on the news. It certainly doesn’t help that shortly after K-Day, in their big attempts to force us into saving our own planet, the Ks ordered the shutdown of the local coal mine, Buffalo Creek’s biggest employer. I can’t really blame the townsfolk for holding a grudge against the creatures that effectively pulverized our local economy.

“And what about Kamikaze?” Sabine interrupts my train of thought, leaning forward in her seat.

“Best sushi I’ve ever had,” I say, grinning at the young woman that has somehow become my closest friend here. “Well, second best, of course.”

Sabine lets out a guttural moan at the mere thought, eliciting a confused glare from our supervisor. We both smile apologetically at her, and turn back to the desk, each lost in our own reverie.

My conversation with Sabine inspires me to stop by the local Kroger on the way home. I grab the least off-putting plastic tray of sushi—today it’s crunchy imitation crab—and pay with loose change. Outside, I sit in my parked car and break open the cheap chopsticks, mentally bracing myself for the lecture Mom will give me tonight about ruining her homemade dinners in favor of grocery store swill. I pop the first bite into my mouth and close my eyes, throwing all my energy into imagining that this is at all comparable to even the worst New York sushi. It’s a hard game, but I’m getting good at it.

When I open my eyes again, something across the parking lot catches my eye. Someone, rather. The humid summer day and the A/C I’m blasting are fighting for dominance, fogging up the windows and blurring my view of the still figure that seems to be looking right at me. I set my food aside and wipe at the glass with the side of my fist, but when my view finally clears, the figure is gone.

Weird.

A buzz from my purse distracts me from this new mystery, and I dig my phone out. The caller ID shows Robbie’s name, and an old photo of us lights up the screen. I really need to change that. Scratch that, I should really just block his number. He kept his distance after the breakup, but ever since I moved back south, he’s been blowing up my phone more than I’m cool with. Still, I can shamefully admit that I find a small comfort in knowing I at least have some kind of fall-back plan, even if it’s just weird-beard, can’t-do-his-own-laundry, too-much-tongue Robbie.

I groan loudly and return to my sushi, though now I’ve lost all interest in the treat, if you could even call it that. Despite my lost appetite, I force myself to eat it all, gulping it down pleasurelessly. I hate wasting food. It’s a habit my mother drilled into me and my sister as children, and has stuck through adulthood, at least for me.

Tossing the empty tray and sticky chopsticks back into the plastic grocery bag, a weird feeling at the back of my neck makes me freeze. It’s nothing tangible, not really. Just an odd tickling sensation, something disquieting that makes the pale hairs on my arms stand on end.

For some reason, it feels like I’m being watched. I unsubtly twist and turn in my seat, trying to pin down the voyeur. There’s a woman dragging two unruly children into Kroger, an older gentleman rolling his groceries down the sidewalk, and a young couple tossing bags into their trunk, but none of them are even facing my direction.

It’s probably just the cheap sushi wreaking havoc on my body already, I tell myself, and shake off the weird feeling. There’s no reason to be paranoid, none at all. Still, there’s a small tremor in my fingers as I crank the car into reverse, and start the drive back home.

You’d think I was about twenty years younger than I actually am, the way my mother lays into me for “ruining” my dinner. It’s not my fault that my aging parents eat at the absurd hour of 5pm, but I let her have at me, the way I usually do these days. I figure it’s the least I can do. After all, she’s giving me free room and board. Besides, with time, her rambling tirades have really lost the terrifying effect they once had on me.

“Sorry, Mom,” I mumble, taking another big bite of venison, ignoring the protests of my already-full stomach. “Won’t happen again.”

I chew the juicy meat as my parents turn back to some meaningless gossip about neighbors I don’t remember. The biggest perk of being back home is the easy access to meat. I have to hand it to the good people of Buffalo Creek, they’ve played their hand well. They keep their endless gripes about the K invaders purely talk, drawing no attention to themselves, as they continue to quietly hunt for game in the woods, and produce other animal goods from local small farms. No, I can’t enjoy the same luxury meals as I could back in Manhattan, but I find small solace in being able to enjoy technically-illegal meats and cheeses.

“Did you hear about Gloria, the Evans girl?” Dad is saying, when I tune back into their droning conversation.

“From Oak Street?” I ask, suddenly interested. “Her mom knits those funny little sweaters every winter? I think she was a year or two below me in school.”

“Yup, that’s the one,” Dad drawls, nodding enthusiastically, happy to have my captured my usually unattainable attention. “She was going to med school out in Huntington, fixing to be one of those fancy cancer surgeons. Do you remember that, Amelia?”

My mother nods pleasantly, scooping a punishingly enormous blob of mashed potatoes onto my plate, ignoring my pleading expression.

“Turner was telling me this morning, he heard at the diner the other day that she went off to Mexico for a summer vacation with her friends,” Dad goes on, and my over-stuffed stomach starts to twist, already sensing where this conversation is heading. “It’s been weeks since she was supposed to come home and her parents haven’t heard a thing from her. Word has it, they think she might’ve gotten stolen away by one of those Krinars.”

Mom tsks, shaking her head faux-sadly. I tune back out, focusing on the torturous amount of food on my plate. I know how the rest of this rant goes. I’ve never heard such a blind blend of pitying the poor, innocent woman who surely must have been stolen against her will, while simultaneously shaming and blaming the slut who must have been all too eager to spread her legs for the monster. I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

It’s a tired stereotype, that rural people are all ignorant and prejudiced, but I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t some truth to it. Even I asked Ari when I first met her if she was a K, just because her coloring was darker than mine. I’ve learned and grown a lot since then, if I do say so myself.

An image of the nights before Ari and Verit left New York flashes in my mind, of us joking and laughing together, over one of Verit’s deliciously exotic homemade meals. Unbidden, another image overtakes that memory, this one of the night before I left New York. Flashing club lights, hazy music, skin on skin. I shake the image away quickly, cheeks already flushing at the memory. There’s no need to think of that night right now, especially not in front of my parents. No need to think of that night ever again, actually. It was a one-time mistake, a reckless decision induced by one shot too many and the overwhelming adrenaline of standing at the precipice of my own life, about to tumble over into the unknown.

A mistake, I remind myself fervently, desperately trying to ignore the shameful dampness in my panties that accompanies the memory of that night, even after all these months.

After dinner, I volunteer to take Baby out for her nightly walk. The name barely fit the big bloodhound when she actually was a baby, and now that she’s tottering around at almost twelve years old, it’s nearly comical, but that’s what happens when you let your teenage daughters name the new hunting dog. Baby’s been out of the business for a couple years now, preferring to curl up and watch Mom knit on weekends rather than running around in the woods with Dad. Truth be told, it’s probably about time Dad followed suit. I see the way he winces when he stands, and groans when he carries in heavy groceries. But my father is nothing if not stubborn.

“Hey guys, it’s me,” I yell, letting myself into my sister’s house a couple blocks away. Baby is panting and glaring at me for forcing her out of bed, but perks up when my tiny nephew, Gavin, all but apparates into the den and launches himself at her.

“Baby!” he cries out, putting the giant dog in a chokehold. Baby wags her tail patiently, slobbering nearly as much as the toddler is.

“You have got to stop bringing that stinking dog into my house,” my sister says when she enters the room, hands on hips.

“And you have got to start locking your stinking door,” I say with equal attitude in my voice.

Jo says nothing, twisting her lips to the side to avoid smiling at me.

My twin sister looks nothing like me, what with my long blonde hair and petite figure, and her short brown bob and tall, modelesque silhouette. Well, usually modelesque. These days, she could only model for maternity catalogs, and she might even be too big for that now. I like to tease her that she’s having twins, maybe even triplets. She really fucking hates that joke, but that’s what makes it fun.

Honestly, Jo is glowing. I didn’t really get the expression until I saw my sister pregnant for the first time, and this time around is no different. I totally get why her hubby Brett waits on her hand and foot when she’s knocked up. Even when she complains of her swollen ankles and bizarre cravings, she emanates pure light and life. Secretly, I’m flooded with a bittersweet mix of genuine joy and quiet jealousy every time I see her these days. When I had my fancy Manhattan life, it was easy to feel fully satisfied with waiting patiently for my turn at happily-ever-after. But now that I have nothing, the stark absences in my own life are so much harder to stomach.

For a moment we both watch the old dog and young boy play clumsily, until Jo groans and shifts on her feet, gesturing me back into the kitchen.

“Mom and Dad getting on your nerves again?” she asks, taking a pint of homemade ice cream out of the freezer as I grab two spoons from a drawer.

“Aren’t they always,” I deadpan, joining her at the worn wooden table.

“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, you can always come stay here with us,” Jo says, punctuating the statement with a giant mouthful of butter pecan.

“Mom and Dad would guilt me to death,” I say, the same reply I always use. Truthfully, I know Jo and Brett can’t afford to prop me up while I get my life back together, not with the new little one (or two, or three) on the way. Still, I know my sister’s offer is genuine, and I love her all the more for it.

We hear footsteps on the front porch, and the door pushes open. I give Jo a look that says, see, that could be an ax murderer busting into your house, and she tosses back a look that says, you lived in New York for too long.

“Daddy!” Gavin shouts loudly, confirming that the intruder is indeed not an ax murderer. One of these days, though.

After a few minutes of tussling with his son, Brett enters the kitchen, dropping his bag in the hallway.

“Joelle, Noelle,” Brett says, kissing my sister’s forehead first, making her smile, and pecking my forehead next, making me roll my eyes.

My brother-in-law is the only person who calls Jo by her full name, at least not since we got to the first grade and realized having rhyming names past infancy was getting us nowhere fast. I still don’t know what our parents were thinking. So Jo was Jo and I was Noelle, until we went off to our separate colleges, and Jo met Brett. He thought it was sweet to call her by her full name, and it kind of is, at least as long as I’m not around.

Jo and Brett chit chat about their days, and I smile and nod along, chiming in when it seems expected. I stay until they start getting ready for dinner—it seems unnecessary to rope myself into a third meal in as many hours.

As Baby and I walk home in the setting summer sun, I’m once again struck by that bizarre tingling at the base of my scalp. I can’t explain why this seems like what being watched must feel like, as I’ve never been stalked or anything before, but I can’t shake the sensation of eyes on me, no matter how many times I check to make sure we’re not being followed. It doesn’t help that Baby seems unnerved too, whining and pulling at her leash, anxious to get home.

Maybe there’s just a big storm coming, I tell myself, shrugging off my paranoia.

And in a way, I’m right.

Two days later, I’m standing in line at Buffalo Creek’s only coffee shop, wishing not for the first time for the modern convenience of the drive-through Starbucks that every other town in America boasts. I’m supposed to be at the library early today, instead of my usual afternoon shift, and I’m already running a little late. I probably should’ve resisted the siren call of a latte, or at least just made a cup of Folgers at home, but I desperately need the pick me up. I haven’t been sleeping well lately, still plagued by that odd, inexplicable feeling that something is coming, something bad, something worse than the relentless sheets of rain that haven’t stopped since yesterday afternoon.

The barista, a girl named Kelly whose big brother I dated for a week in the tenth grade, slides the paper cup across the counter at me, grinning too widely for this time of day.

“Thanks,” I mutter, dropping some loose change into her tip jar and taking my latte. I hesitate at the door, inwardly groaning at the gray sleet outside, then pull up my big girl pants and prepare to make a mad dash to my car. I’m parked just halfway down the block, so I can probably make it without getting too soaked. Should I have grabbed an umbrella before leaving home? Yes. Should I have stopped for coffee, knowing it would cost me precious time and two trips through this rain? No. Are these my biggest problems right now? That remains to be seen.

The bell above the coffee shop door jangles cheerily as I shove out, holding my battered purse over my head and clutching my treasured latte close to my chest. I keep my eyes on the sidewalk, not wanting to risk tripping on a crack in the pavement or stomping directly into a puddle. That turns out to be my third mistake of the morning. Just a few seconds after leaving the coffee shop, I slam full tilt into another reckless body, sending my coffee exploding across my already damp blouse and my feet slipping out beneath me. I land on my ass on the muddy pavement, purse flying one way and now empty coffee cup flying another.

“Shit,” I can’t help but gasp, then look up at the pedestrian who landed me here, who seems to have been thoroughly unaffected by our collision.

Shit, shit, shit. I can physically feel the blood draining from my face when my eyes connect with the stranger. Not-quite-stranger. I don’t know his name, and this is the first truly sober look I’m getting at his face, but I know this man well, way too well.

Flashing lights. Thrumming beats. His hands. My body. His body. My hands. His…

I shake my head viciously, feeling all that blood rapidly returning to my cheeks.

“Are you alright, Noelle?” the creature asks, reaching a hand down as if to help.

I refuse it, scrambling up of my own accord, wiping my now muddy palms on my ruined jeans.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, voice coming out in a low, accusatory hiss. “How did you find me? How do you know my name?”

We kept it anonymous, our one night together, my last few hours in Manhattan. I demanded it that way. Like a game. Just two strangers, meeting in a club, having one night of wild fun before parting ways forever. Was it the best night of my life to date? Probably. Did I come to regret it? Possibly. Was he supposed to follow me home, all the way back to West Virginia? Obviously not.

“Your clothes are ruined,” the man states as if I haven’t noticed, ignoring my line of questioning entirely. He picks up my also-ruined purse from where it’s fallen, and hands it back to me.

“I know that,” I snap, grabbing the purse back angrily. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

I nervously glance around us. It’s early enough that not many folks are out and about, but the K still looks dangerously conspicuous just standing there under the flickering street lights on Broad.

There are five million ways his presence here fucks my life up, and they’re all spinning through my head at warp speed. I have to get him out of public sight. I have to get him out of town, permanently. I have to get him out of my life forever, for real this time. Preferably, these moves will all only require one quick, to-the-point conversation.

I hear the coffee shop bell jingle behind me, and I’m afraid to turn and see who might be seeing me, Noelle Keene, chatting up a K on Broad Street. It doesn’t matter, not really. Everyone talks, and this juicy gossip will spread like wildfire.

“Get in my car,” I say, not quite letting myself acknowledge that I’m trying to order a K around, lest I chicken out. I close the rest of the distance to my car in the longest strides I can manage, so drenched and furious that I barely even notice the continuing downpour.

The K doesn’t follow me, of course. Now that would be really wild, and way too convenient.

“We can’t talk out here,” I hiss, pointing antsily at my little beat-up Honda. “Please?”

“We can talk in my car,” the K says, and as if on cue, a sleek black towncar with tinted windows turns the corner and eases down Broad toward us.

Fuckity fuck fuck. If people hadn’t already taken notice of me and the K, they’ll definitely notice the glaringly opulent car we’re about to climb into. But I can’t afford to waste a single second longer, so I sigh loudly and clamber up into the towncar.

“That’s better now, isn’t it?” the K asks, as I wrap myself up in the giant, fluffy towel he handed me. I don’t have the time or patience to ask why he was already prepared to deal with a dripping wet captive. I’m going to be at least an hour late to work, assuming this conversation goes fast and doesn’t end with my kidnapping-slash-murder. If I don’t stop mouthing off so much, it’ll probably be the latter.

I take a deep breath and force myself to chill out a little.

“What are you doing here?” I ask again, this time with a fraction less hostility. “I thought we had an arrangement.”

“We did,” the creature purrs, smooth as velvet. “But that was before I knew how fun you and your sweet little pussy were going to be.”

I immediately turn crimson, glancing up at the driver, but he either doesn’t hear or doesn’t care about the pornographic conversation taking place in his backseat.

“Noelle,” the K says, somehow stretching out my name into winding silk ribbon that seems to squeeze the breath out of my lungs. “I know you had fun that night, too.”

I don’t want to reply to that, to give him the satisfaction of confirming what he already knows. Instead, I pull the towel tighter around myself and glare back up at the looming figure.

“At least tell me your name,” I demand, as fiercely as I dare. “Since you somehow know mine.”

“Guess,” he teases, again in that annoying melodic tone.

“I don’t like playing games,” I snap. Damn, this whole not mouthing off thing is not going so great. “Just tell me.”

“Very well,” he says, lips curving down. Clearly, I’m not turning out to be as fun as he’d hoped. Fingers crossed this disappointment simply ends in him leaving me alone. “You can call me Navur.”

“Navur,” I repeat, tasting the name on my tongue for the first time. It rolls through my lips easily, like imported wine. “Okay, Navur, what are you doing here?”

“I think it’s fairly obvious,” the K says, dark eyes locked on me still. “I had you once, and then I wanted more. Imagine my surprise when I couldn’t find you in even the darkest corners of New York City. But it seems I’ve finally found you regardless, and here I am, ready to finish what we started.”

“We started nothing,” I say, keeping my tone as even as possible. “So there’s nothing to finish.”

“I beg to differ,” Navur insists, prodding at the limits of my temper.

“I don’t date Ks,” I say with finality, crossing my arms to punctuate the statement.

“No one dates Ks,” he clarifies with a chuckle. “I’m not offering roses and walks on the beach, Noelle.”

His fingers land on my knee and start trailing up my thigh. I glance back up at the driver but his eyes remain glued to the road. Even through my jeans, Navur’s touch burns a hot line along my skin. It’s pretty clear what he’s offering.

“I don’t want that, either,” I lie, shifting my leg away from his reach. I immediately feel cold in the absence of his touch, but this has been a lose-lose situation from the start. “Take me back to my car, please. I’m terribly late for work.”

The K contemplates my request for a moment, then nods at the chauffeur, and our aimless drive shifts back toward Broad Street.

“Alright,” Navur says, turning those hungry eyes back to me. “But I won’t be leaving town, Noelle. Not without what I came for.”

“Fine,” I snap, loosening the towel and leaving it on the seat I’m vacating. “Welcome to West Virginia, Navur. Better make yourself at home.”

I slam the door behind me, and slam the door to my own car for good measure, although the black towncar is already disappearing around the corner. At least the rain’s let up, I realize helplessly, as I start the drive back home and the reality of my situation starts to sink in.

Word that there’s a K in town spreads even faster than I thought it would. The most popular—and plausible—rumors are that he’s here to crack down on all the law-bending folks around these parts have been getting away with for nearly a decade, or that he’s here for a girl. The latter is far sexier, and as such, really takes off. Thankfully, no one recognized me as the girl he was seen talking to on Broad this morning. How I got so lucky, I’ll never know. What I do know is that there’s no way that luck will last, and I have to be prepared for the other shoe to drop.

“Who do you think it is?” Sabine asks as we swivel through another dead shift at the check-out desk. “The girl he’s here for?”

“I don’t know,” I lie automatically. I already try to stay out of town gossip, and this case is certainly no different.

“Do you think it’s someone like your friend?” Sabine whispers at me conspiratorially.

My young coworker is the only person I’ve told about Ari and Verit, a slip I’m sure I’ll come to regret. I sold my family the half-truth that Ari had gotten married and moved away, not wanting to deal with hearing them disparage my best friend’s life decisions.

“A smart, perfectly normal girl in love?” I ask back, too caught up in wanting to prove a point and turn the teenager’s loaded question back on her to consider what I’m saying. The girl in this situation is decidedly not in love, but of course, specifics are the least of my problems right now. “Maybe.”

Sabine pouts at my refusal to play along and slyly sneaks her phone out of her jeans pocket, glancing back over her shoulder to make sure our supervisor is distracted as she starts texting up a storm.

I turn away too, but I have no one to text these days. Certainly no one who can help me out of this particular dilemma. Navur said he’d stay in town until he got what he wanted—me—and I believe him. The Krinar are nothing if not stubborn. So now, I have to figure out how to persuade him to give up on me and leave, fast enough that no one in town catches on that I’m the girl from the rumors. I’d never live that down, even if I never so much as looked at a K for the rest of my living days. This won’t be an easy task, but surely it can’t be impossible. Men lose interest in women all the time. It’s no fun to dig up all my personal flaws, but I know I’ve got a couple big red flags in my arsenal that have proven capable of driving suitors away.

He doesn’t seem to care about my personality, though, not that he even knows me well enough for that. No, he mentioned one thing specifically about me that he came here for. My cheeks heat again at the memory of our previous conversation, the way he so casually mentioned his desire for my “sweet little pussy.”

How the fuck do I make him lose interest in that?

I have an STD.

Herpes, gonorrhea, chlamydia. Ooh, maybe something really scary like syphilis. Is that still scary these days?

But no, that lie won’t work either. I mentally scratch “STD” off my list of ideas to get Navur to lose interest in me. I’m fairly certain that even if he did believe me, the Ks can’t contract our human illnesses.

I squirm over to the other side of my old twin bed. Tossing and turning isn’t as much fun without the freedom to do it properly. The combination of my new K catastrophe and the torturous heat has kept me up hours past my bedtime. Would it really kill Dad to crank up the A/C just a notch or two?

Maybe I’ll grow out a crazy bush. Like, 70s style porn star. Or was that the 80s? 60s? I’ll be honest, downstairs upkeep hasn’t exactly been my top priority since I’ve been single and stuck in my parents’ house, but the idea of letting the situation get too out of hand gives me phantom itch. Maybe I can order a merkin online. But what if Ks are so advanced they don’t even care about that kind of thing? Cross “bush” off the list too, I guess.

I feel like I’m living on borrowed time, just waiting until the next time Navur ambushes me. Will it be same time, same place when I get tomorrow’s morning coffee? Will it be at work? I’m sure it’ll be when I least expect it. What if I get home and he’s having dinner with my parents? That’s a visual so comical I nearly snort out loud.

There’s no use fretting over something I can’t help, I know that much. And clearly, all this worrying isn’t getting me anywhere closer to a real solution.

Kicking my bare legs out from under the suffocating covers, I allow myself to consider another option, just for a moment. What if I didn’t try to scare Navur off, to wriggle my way out of this scenario I’m stuck in? What if I gave in, let the gorgeous K carry me off and do what he pleases with me? It wouldn’t be the worst thing, that’s for sure. At least, not in the moment. Afterward come the judging looks, the long lectures, the whispers following me everywhere I go. If I stayed in Buffalo Creek, I’d forever be that girl. If I wanted to avoid the label, I couldn’t ever come home again.

Right, that’s what if.

Besides, he’s not my type anyway. At least, that’s what I keep trying to tell myself even as the memories of our one night together lure my fingers down under the covers and to the meeting of my thighs, where I finally find a brief but blissful reprieve from all my troubles.

Since I don’t have an early shift the next day, I sleep in… until 6:13am, when my parents’ morning rustling and bickering wakes me. I groan, pull my pillow over my head, and squeeze my eyes shut as tightly as I can, but it’s too late. Giving in, I climb out of bed and pull on baggy sweatpants under my sleep shirt.

“There she is, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed,” Mom singsongs far too cheerily as I stomp my way downstairs. “Coffee?”

“Mhmm,” I affirm, letting my weary body collapse into the seat across from Dad at the kitchen table. “You guys don’t even work anymore, what are you doing up so early?”

“Early bird gets the worm,” Mom chirps, apparently a real bank of idioms this morning. “Oh, and I have book club today.”

“Yeah, at 3pm,” I snark, metaphorically biting at the hand that is sliding a tall mug of black coffee my way. “What’s your excuse, Daddy?”

“I have to drive your mother to book club,” Dad states, as if this is the most logical answer. I groan and roll my eyes, wishing not for the first time that my sister was here to suffer alongside me.

As I sip my tragically weak coffee, my parents pick up the conversation I must have interrupted earlier. Today, the hot topic is the new fence that the Wilkinsons put up around their property. It’s real ugly, apparently, and I can’t imagine what a fence has to do to qualify as ugly enough to be town gossip.

“Do you think he’s hanging around these parts?” Mom asks, once that juicy topic has been thoroughly milked.

“Who?” I ask, still too groggy to realize my mistake until two seconds after the question has left my mouth.

“The Krinar,” my parents reply in unison, my dad’s deep drawl harmonizing with my mother’s bright twang.

I don’t acknowledge their response, suddenly finding my coffee shockingly fascinating.

“I feel bad for that poor girl,” Mom goes on, not noticing my sudden discomfort. “You know she doesn’t stand a chance. I wonder who it is?”

“Probably the Roe gal,” Dad guesses, with an alarming lack of hesitation. “I always told you she was going to be trouble, ever since that thing at the carnival last fall.”

“Mhmm,” my mother hums, nodding sagely. “Well, for our sakes, I can only hope she leaves with him fast, so we don’t have to worry about that creature lurking around town much longer.”

“Mom!” I chide, eyebrows shooting high. “That’s a terrible thing to say.”

“You’re right,” Mom says after a second, looking sufficiently shamed. “I mean, think of her parents. I don’t know what I would do if it was one of my girls.”

Shit. I really fucked that one up real good. Mom looks crestfallen at the mere hypothetical of the K’s girl being me. Knowing that was actually the truth might kill her.

Ari had it easy in this respect, I imagine. After all, she didn’t grow up in the boondocks, with all this internalized xenophobia. And she’s never been exceptionally close to her family, so bringing Verit home to her parents wasn’t a big to-do. For the second time in as many days, I imagine Navur sitting here at the kitchen table with me and my parents. It’s not as funny this time, though.

But me and Navur aren’t Ari and Verit, I remind myself. We’re not anything at all, actually. He’s just a pesky blip on my radar I have to take care of, and I’m just a girl trying her best. Surely the universe owes me a break at this point.

Navur isn’t fucking around. He’s everywhere I go: in line at the coffee shop, browsing new releases at the library, lurking down the aisles at Kroger. It’s ridiculous.

At least no one seems to have noticed yet that his sightings line up perfectly with my schedule. Blessedly, he’s drawn the line at following me home. Well, I think so, anyway. I still get that lingering tickle of being watched, when I’m taking Baby out or standing too close to my bedroom windows. But surely that’s just in my head.

It only takes a couple days for talk to start getting dangerous. The pleasantly scandalized chatter turns sour, with brazen folks in hushed voices wondering how they can drive the alien intruder out of town. Even my father brings the topic up once, before Mom quickly snaps some sense into him.

The reality of the situation becomes abundantly clear. Navur won’t leave until he gets what he came for: me. And he isn’t laying low while he waits. The longer Navur sticks around, the more volatile the situation will become. Worry twists my stomach, not for the K that can literally rip humans in half if provoked, but for the idiots who will inevitably be doing the provoking, sooner rather than later at this rate. It doesn’t take long for me to realize what I have to do, but it does take several sleepless nights to talk myself into it.

It’s selfless, I tell myself. Heroic, even. I keep the mental pep talk up that night, as I lead Baby down an unfamiliar path. I feel bad about bringing Baby, but I needed an excuse to be out and about tonight. Mom and Dad certainly wouldn’t have bought lies that involved me having any kind of social life here in Buffalo Creek.

I’m halfway there when my phone starts buzzing in my back pocket, making me jump. It’s just Robbie. I roll my eyes and shut my phone off. It’s not like being able to call for help would do me any good, should Navur turn out to be one of the bad guys.

Baby is panting by the time we get to the high school. Poor old gal. I settle down on a bench in the quad that is simultaneously sufficiently shielded from the street to be clandestine, yet still illuminated enough by the streetlights to feel a little safe. I chose the location because it’s so unlikely anyone will be passing by the high school on a summer night, but you never know.

The old hound collapses on the thick grass by my feet, the impact blowing her breath out in a low whoosh. I give her one of the treats I shoved in my purse as a last minute thought, and she gobbles it up greedily, seeming to forgive me.

Then I wait.

There’s no guarantee Navur will even show up. This whole makeshift plan is banking on the fact that he seems to be following me, and hopefully, won’t be able to resist approaching me when he catches me alone.

I can’t believe I’m suddenly hoping that a K is stalking me, and that he’ll find me out all alone, at night, with no one but my old, snoozing dog to protect me…

What the fuck am I doing?

Before the foolishness of the whole thing has a chance to catch up with me, Navur arrives. He hesitates under the closest streetlight, cocking his head at me. No, not hesitates. Pauses, with purpose, allowing me to drink him in. The shadows play across his straight nose and sharp cheekbones, stirring something inside me, before the moment turns into something else. It’s almost subtle, the way his jaw clenches, but I don’t believe it’s anything less than a calculated tic. He’s not just showing off a pretty face. He’s giving me a moment to see how menacing he is, those broad shoulders silhouetted under the fluorescent light, legs planted wide and solid. A nervous droplet of sweat tickles down my spine, even in the chill of darkness.

“Noelle,” he says pleasantly, closing the distance between us in a few quick strides. “You’re here for me, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” I say primly, glad we won’t be playing games. “We need to talk.”

When Navur stops a few feet away, Baby lumbers to her feet and glares at the stranger, a low growl boiling at the back of her throat.

“Who’s this?” Navur asks calmly, eying the big hound.

“Baby,” I answer, feeling, not for the first time, like an idiot as the totally unthreatening name falls from my mouth.

“Hush, Baby,” the K murmurs at my dog, and instantly, Baby backs away, tail between her legs and head hung low. Navur turns back to me, as if nothing has happened, and the rock in my stomach grows heavier as Baby cowers behind me. This isn’t someone I should be messing with, not someone I should even be talking to. This is a predator, a monster I need to rid my life of as quickly as possible.

“I need you to leave Buffalo Creek,” I say, cutting to the chase. “The sooner the better.”

“You know the deal, little one,” Navur purrs, feeling unbearably close even as he remains several feet away from me. “I’m not leaving here without you.”

I take a deep breath, wiping sweaty palms on my jeans. There’s still time to chicken out. No one will know but me. But I’ve already come this far, and Momma didn’t raise no quitter.

“So you can have me” I say, wincing at the quiver in my voice even as it carries brave words. “You can have me, one more time, and then you have to leave.”

“You’re dreaming if you think one time will satisfy me,” Navur replies evenly. If he’s at all pleased that I’m caving so easily, he doesn’t show it.

“One week,” I counter. I wasn’t expecting my initial offer to cut it, but I still started low, leaving myself some wiggle room to negotiate.

“No,” the K says, without hesitation. “You underestimate my desire, Noelle.”

He says the word desire like he’s striking a match, and the spark lights deep in my core. His might not be the only desire I’m underestimating, if I’m honest. But this isn’t a game, not a fun summer fling I can throw myself into without thought. I got myself into something I wasn’t ready to handle, that last night in New York, and now I have to deal with the consequences. I’m playing with fire, and I know I’m going to get burned. All I can do now is try to contain the damage as much as possible.

“Final offer,” I begin, folding my hands in my lap to keep them from shaking. “One month. Thirty days. I’m all yours for one month. But I have some rules.”

“Rules?” This finally seems to pique his interest, and he shifts closer to me, making my heart pound a little faster.

“Yes,” I say. “Like, I can still say no to anything I don’t like, or want.”

“Of course,” Navur says, brushing off the request. “Goes without saying. What else?”

“This has to stay secret. You have to lay low, stop flaunting yourself around town. And definitely stay away from me in public, no one can know we’ve ever even met.”

“Is that all?” he asks, without reacting to the second request.

“One more,” I say, bracing myself. This will be the biggest leap of faith, because he’s already broken this agreement once before. “When it’s done, it’s done. For real this time. You can’t show up and start stalking me again in a couple months because you’re bored. I mean it.”

I know my pleas are laughable, that there’s nothing I can do if the K decides to break my rules. But I force myself to hold his gaze, pouring everything bubbling within me into my big eyes, and hope that he’s not a complete monster.

“You’re very demanding,” Navur notes, and my cheeks flush when I detect the fire in his eyes that accompanies the statement. “But very well, Noelle. We have a deal.”

He holds his hand out, and for a moment, my blood runs hot and cold at the same time. This will be the first time we’ve touched since that first night. It certainly won’t be the last. I force myself to meet his big hand, biting my tongue when it wraps strongly around my petite fingers, grasp warm and possessive.

“Thirty days start at dawn tomorrow,” Navur says, and turns away.

As soon as he melts into the darkness, I fall to the floor, gasping in big breaths that won’t come fast enough. Baby comes out from hiding, nuzzling me with concern.

I sit there for a good ten minutes, coming to terms with the terrifying mess I just got myself into.

What have I done?

My only comfort going into my thirty days of belonging to a K is the knowledge that nothing else has to change.

For the first time, I’m almost looking forward to work as I walk into the library that morning.

My first mistake.

“Noelle!” Sabine looks surprised to see me, as I hang my purse in the back room next to hers. “Did you come to say goodbye? That’s so sweet.”

“What?” I ask dumbly, brows scrunching in confusion.

The look Sabine returns is equally perplexed. “Shauna said you quit.”

“Quit?” I repeat, heart beginning to beat a little faster.

“Yeah,” Sabine says. “She said someone called first thing this morning, said you had a new job and couldn’t keep working here.”

I say nothing, hand still frozen on the purse strap hanging on the hook. Sabine just frowns at my reaction, or lack thereof, and I force myself to respond.

“Oh, yeah,” I say finally, shaking my head as if to clear my confusion. “Of course. Just came by to say goodbye to everyone.”

I do so, going through the motions as quickly as possible, stomach rolling with the knowledge that this is somehow Navur’s doing.

Sure enough, as soon as I step back out into the employee parking lot, I spot a familiar sleek black towncar parked directly next to my own sad little sedan.

I don’t wait for an invitation, shoving my way into the car quickly. Even though the back parking lot is secluded, I don’t want to risk being spotted.

“What the fuck?” I snap, as I take the seat beside Navur. “What did you do?”

“You said you were all mine for these thirty days,” Navur says, smiling at my red-faced fury. “I’m making sure you keep your word.”

I sputter for a moment, struggling to choose just a few of the thousand responses flying through my head.

“You can’t just do that,” I say at last, settling for the most obvious. “I need that job.”

“You have a job,” Navur says simply, holding out a thin ID card. “A better job.”

My hand takes the card automatically, holding it close to check out my tiny headshot, my name, and the familiar logo for Montrose Press.

“What is this?” I ask, the plastic card beginning to shake in my hand.

“Your new job,” Navur answers, lips twisting at my response. “You’ll be a traveling food critic, for the Montrose Traveler, I believe. Could be for Belle or National Daily. I’ll be honest, I wasn’t paying close attention. You’ll figure it out soon enough.”

“Why did you do this?” I manage to breathe out, my mind still cycling through memories of my teenage years, when I dreamed of working for Montrose, before realizing what an outlandish dream that was and settling for something more realistic.

“It’s selfish, really,” Navur says. “You said you were mine for a month, and that we couldn’t be seen here, so this is the solution. I’ll simply accompany you around as you travel for your job.”

“Oh,” I say, deflating somewhat. “So this is just for the month.”

“No, the job is yours to keep, if you want it,” the K assures me, and when I meet his eyes, I see a darker promise, too. The job is mine to keep for as long as I want, just as I’m his to keep for as long as he wants. I look back down at my hands quickly, shaking the thought away. No, we made a deal. I have to believe he’ll hold up his end of the bargain.

“So what now?” I ask, slipping the card into my purse. I probably should thank Navur for this huge favor, but I don’t feel particularly indebted to him at this point. Besides, the knowledge that I didn’t earn my dream job with my merits, but rather with my sexual charm, carries a bit of a sting.

“Go home,” Navur says. If he expects any more of a response from me, he doesn’t show it. “Pack a bag and tell your family you’ll be gone for a couple days. We’re going back to Manhattan.”

Explaining a palatable version of the story to Mom and Dad takes way too long. I convince them that I hadn’t told them I’d applied for the job because I didn’t want to get my hopes up before I secured the position. Any other questions about the details of my new job get the honest truth: I don’t know yet. I can only hope this impromptu trip will provide some answers, although I’m sure it will mostly provide alone time with Navur, where I’ll be expected to hold up my end of our deal. My stomach twists anxiously at the thought, but my nerves are easily rivaled by the expectant heat gathering between my legs.

My phone buzzes with a text from an unknown number: My driver will pick you up in 15.

Navur. I’m not sure how he got my number, but I’m long past asking questions. I finish zipping up my weekending duffel, overstuffed with a confused array of outfits for any and all occasions, and head downstairs.

The towncar arrives promptly, as promised. Luckily, my parents keep the goodbyes quick and mature, and refrain from waving me off from the porch like I’m heading off to camp or something.

After the driver takes my bag from me, I slide awkwardly into the backseat. I’m not used to entering this car of my own volition, without being ushered in by the big K or my own rage against him. Well, that’s not entirely true, but at least this time I’m being led by a carrot instead of driven by a switch. Navur isn’t in the car today. I sit quiet and alone during the short drive, scrolling through nothing on my phone so as to not look like a loser to the driver, who more than likely couldn’t care less about me.

When the car begins to slow, I finally glance out the window. We’re not at the airport, where I assumed we were heading. And we’re not nearing the highway, which would be the second most logical guess. Instead, we seem to be coming to a stop at the edge of an empty field, where Navur stands amidst the nothingness.

Shit. This is the part where I get murdered, hacked to pieces, and buried in an unmarked grave in the middle of nowhere. The only way this could get creepier is if it were the dead of night, but somehow, the brazenness of carrying off a crime of passion in broad daylight is nearly as chilling. I try to reign in my runaway imagination as the driver parks, reminding myself that everything is fine, I’m just being paranoid, but Navur’s stoic silhouette, arms crossed and jaw set, does nothing to assuage the terror.

I paste on my best attempt at a brave face and step out into the empty field. The driver hands me my duffel, and I pull it onto my shoulder, playing nervously with the worn strap.

“What are we doing here?” I ask, as a panicked giggle slips past my lips. “This wasn’t all some elaborate ploy to ax murder me or something, was it?”

Navur frowns as if I’m acting crazy, which to be fair, I absolutely am. “I don’t even know what that means,” he responds after a moment of perplexed hesitation, putting an arm casually but possessively around my tight shoulders. “We’re going to Manhattan, I told you.”

Navur turns me away from the road, and I hear the towncar take off behind us. As the sound of the engine fades into the distance, something begins to glimmer in front of us. I blink rapidly, thinking I must be seeing things. But no, in just a moment, a small beige pod appears on the grass before us.

“What the fuck,” I breathe lightly, my very mundane panic suddenly transforming into something completely unfamiliar. All I can do is repeat, “What the fuck?”

“Have you never seen our technology in use before?” Navur asks curiously. It’s true that it’s more likely than ever now for humans to find themselves up close and personal with K technology, especially in big cities like New York, but I’ve instinctively always stayed away, the warnings of my upbringing too strong to deny. Sure, I’ve heard Ari rave about all the amazing shit she’s witnessed at Lenkarda and then on her intergalactic adventure, but I’d never seen K technology up close and personal myself until now.

My shocked silence must have been answer enough for Navur, because he’s moved on, approaching the nondescript object. I follow suit, but unwillingly freeze again when a door of sorts appears on the side of the pod as if by magic. Of course, I know it’s not actual magic, merely very complex technology. And logically, I know I shouldn’t be afraid of it simply because I don’t understand it. But in reality, every cell of my being screams at me to turn and run as fast as I can, even as I force one leg in front of the other, until the beige wall seals shut behind me and I’m trapped aboard the ship.

Navur tosses my bag to the side and leads me to a floating plank at the center of the small room. Now that we’re inside, the space doesn’t feel as cramped as it looked from the outside, but it’s still hard to believe this tiny little thing is supposed to transport two adults hundreds of miles. I gasp as the float holds my weight, which also seems impossible, but I force my mind to settle down. I’m being a baby about all this. For a moment, I hope I’m not embarrassing myself in front of the handsome K, before reminding myself that I don’t care what he thinks. In fact, I should be hoping that my behavior pushes him away, not trying to impress him.

The trip to Manhattan takes all of two seconds, it seems like. Despite the intense speed, the inside of the ship feels completely still, which is how I don’t fully realize we’ve arrived until Navur leads me outside. We appear to be parked on the roof of some very tall building, tall enough to make me feel a little weak in the knees when I realize there’s nothing up here to stop a strong breeze from carrying me away. The pod dematerializes behind us just as suddenly as it appeared in the first place, and then the K is ushering me to an elevator.

“Where are we going?” I manage to ask, my brain pretty much fried from confusion at this point. “Am I meeting with Montrose?”

“Later,” Navur says, as the elevator begins to drop. “Let’s get settled first.”

It’s a short ride—we must be on the penthouse floor. When we emerge into what looks like a fancy hotel hallway, Navur swipes his palm, and the unmarked door sweeps open with an automated ease that would have been impressive, had we not just arrived here on an alien spaceship.

Navur’s statement doesn’t fully lodge itself into place until I enter the large hotel suite. Let’s get settled. That means this is the room we’ll be staying in, the room we’ll be sharing, the room…

Slow hands. Fast tongues. Skin on skin.

I will myself not to blush, but my cheeks heat anyway. I busy myself setting my bag down so as to hide my scarlet face, certain it will be a dead giveaway to my thoughts.

The memory of our one night together has been tossed around my mind so much, it’s become like seaglass: hazy, thin, a mere shadow of what once was. I’ve reexamined every movement, every thrust, every moan so many times, it’s impossible to separate truth from fantasy anymore. One way or another, I’m certain Navur is about to imprint new memories on me.

“Are you alright?” Navur asks, and I turn to see him framed by the floor-to-ceiling windows that line the east wall of the bedroom. His hands are tucked loosely in his jeans pockets, but his thick brows are pulled tight as he looks at me.

“Mhmm,” I manage, forcing myself to smile up at him and cross the room, as if every step isn’t weighed down by a hideous cocktail of emotions. “Just trying to catch up. It’s been a crazy day already.”

“I’m sure,” the K says, satisfied by my answer. I come to a stop a safe distance from him, and take a look out the window myself. Fuck, we’re high up. I know the glass must be thick enough to protect me, but I still sway a bit at the view. Unexpectedly, I feel Navur’s arm wind around my shoulders, his grip strong, as possessive as it is protective.

“Why did you do this?” I ask quietly, keeping my eyes tight on the toes of my shoes. “Get me the Montrose job? Fly me back to Manhattan?”

“I already told you,” the K answers, tone quizzical. “You insisted we couldn’t be seen in your hometown, so we came here. You promised you were all mine for a month, so I simply ensured that.”

“But, you could’ve just made me quit my job back home,” I insist, perhaps pushing my luck a bit too much, but I can’t help it. I need to understand where I stand with the mysterious, demanding creature. “You didn’t have to get me a new job, and certainly not one this amazing.”

“Noelle,” Navur says, a hard edge in his voice. He turns me toward him, and tilts my chin up, forcing me to meet his eyes. From this close, he towers above me. “I read everything you’ve ever written. Your talents are wasted in Buffalo Creek. Hell, they were wasted at your old job here. As selfish as my motivations may be, I’m not just a taker. I also quite enjoy giving. Surely you remember that, little one.”

If my cheeks were warm before, they’re ablaze now. I drop my gaze again, and after a moment, he lets my chin go.

“This doesn’t have to be a punishment, Noelle,” Navur says, his voice softer this time, but still steely. “This isn’t a bullet you’re taking for your family, your community, or whatever cause you’ve convinced yourself you’re fighting for. This can be good for you, in every single way you can imagine, and then some. It’s up to you, little one. Are you going to make this hard for yourself, or are you going to make this the best month of your life?”

I keep my eyes on the plush carpet, fighting to keep my breathing even. If only it was that easy. If only I could just flip a switch in my brain and turn this nightmare into a daydream. If only, if only, if only.

“You said I had a meeting with Montrose later,” I say at last, breaking the tense silence. “When is that?”

“In a couple hours,” Navur says, and I can still feel the heat of his gaze on me, even when I can’t bear to look at him.

“Then I’m going to prepare for that,” I say, grabbing my duffel and heading toward the bathroom, not daring to look back.

I’m lucky I already have the job, because I’m totally bombing this meeting. As the polite assistant editor tries to walk me through my new responsibilities, it’s all I can do to nod mutely and then ask him to repeat himself. We repeat this process an embarrassing amount of times, and I can see the confusion and disappointment in his eyes at my performance. I wonder if he already knew that this job was bought for me, or if he’s just now figuring out that strings must’ve been pulled for this back-country idiot to wind up at his desk.

Finally, it’s time for me to leave. We shake hands, and I paste a smile on my face, desperately hoping that I won’t continue to let this poor guy down. But if the first day of my indentured servitude to Navur is any indication, I’ll be utterly useless for the next month.

I can’t help it that he ties my already muddled mind up in knots. The worries weaving through my head are so numerous, I don’t even know which thread to tug at first. What if he hurts me? What if my family finds out? What if he steals me away after all, and I never even get a chance to say goodbye? How long until I become just another cautionary tale?

There’s one forbidden thought, one that I’m happy to let remain buried under the others, because it’s somehow the worst of all.

This thought isn’t a question, but a certainty.

He will destroy me, and I’ll like it, and when our thirty days are over, I’ll be left wanting more.

A familiar black towncar awaits me outside of the towering Montrose building. It’s not the same car, of course, and not the same driver, but the feeling of tight apprehension as I slide in beside Navur in the backseat is the same.

“How did it go?” the K asks, as if he cares.

“Fine,” I lie, keeping my gaze out the window. My eyes are dry, but I feel the need to blink back tears, the weight of the day pressing heavy upon me. I don’t know how much more I can take, and yet, there’s still a whole night to contend with.

“Are you ready for dinner?” Navur asks.

I don’t reply, wielding my silence like a petulant teen’s weapon. It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t have to say that he knows what my first assignment is, and I don’t have to watch the street signs outside to know we’re already heading to Belle Rive, the upscale French bistro I’m supposed to have twenty inches written on by tomorrow. It’s an easy assignment, but after my colossal failure at my meeting today, it’s more than I deserve.

Arguably, I shouldn’t even be mad at the K. I’m the one who agreed to this deal, a transaction that some might call prostitution, and perhaps rightly so. I’m the idiot who landed herself in this situation. I never should have gone to the x-club that night, never should have given in to temptation. I should have known that it could never end well, that one night with a K could never be that simple. At the same time, I know I can’t blame myself for the actions of a creature who essentially stalked me, hunted me down like prey, and backed me into a corner so tight I had no option but to give in to his dark wishes. Still, I know there’s nothing I can do to punish the K for his misdeeds, so I settle on punishing myself for mine, mentally battering myself the whole way to Belle Rive.

We are quickly escorted to a table upon our arrival. I’m not surprised that Navur was already prepared for this job, even before I was. I wonder if part of the terms of whatever arrangement he made with Montrose on my behalf is that he be informed of all my assignments. But why complicate it that much? I bet he just has them “assign” me whatever he requests. Not even the most powerful media execs can rival a K, after all.

I slip out of my blazer as we sit, feeling out of place amongst the fashionable diners surrounding us. No one bats much of an eye at the K amongst them. These days, high society and extraterrestrial mix pretty well, leaving me to feel like the alien in this crowd.

This isn’t an unfamiliar feeling. Even with my most expensive designer clothes and best manners, I’ve always felt like people in places like this can instinctively tell I’m more fit for a McDonald’s. After years of working the high-end restaurant circuit, I’d almost beaten that complex, of at least gotten pretty good at faking it. Now, however, after just a few months back in West Virginia, I feel like I’ve got “redneck” written all over me again.

“Relax,” Navur says, as the server pours our wine, something red and overpriced. The K lays his hand gently on my arm, as if to comfort me, but the touch only makes me tense further. Is he so conceited as to believe that a generous gift, a nice dinner, and the promise of a good lay is enough to win me over? Hardly. We’re barely acquaintances, much less friends. I pull my arm away discreetly, folding my hands in my lap.

I sip my vichysoisse while Navur attempts small talk, marveling at how tasteless the soup becomes on my tongue. Is it just my nerves, or has their well-renowned cooking gone seriously downhill? But no, judging from the faces of the other diners around me, this should taste delicious. Fuck. Just my luck, to land my dream job (the slutty way), and be instantly terrible at it.

“Good, hmm?” I chirp suddenly, finally looking up at the K. “What do you think?”

Navur perks back up at my attention, and takes another spoonful of his soup. “Yes, very. Perfectly creamy, but not too heavy.”

I nod as if agreeing as he goes on, focusing on jotting down quick notes. If I can’t do my job right, I can damn well fake it.

This gets trickier once our entrees come out, as we ordered different meals, but I insist Navur try a bite of my risotto, claiming it’s too good for him to miss. By the time our crème brûlée arrives, I’ve convinced Navur I’ve had a major attitude rehaul, and I’ve almost convinced myself that I can make this work, even as the caramelized sugar melts to sand in my mouth.

“Your deadline isn’t until tomorrow afternoon,” Navur observes, when I remain hunched over my laptop as the clock speeds past midnight.

I haven’t told him that, but again, there’s no need to dwell on how he knows the things he knows. Just like there’s no need for me to glance up at the tall K, standing in the bedroom doorway in nothing but a plush robe.

“I like to write while everything is still fresh,” I lie, tapping my fingers over the keyboard almost maniacally. I’m glad I’m sitting with my screen turned away from him, because all I’m looking at after hours of “work” is a blank document. “You don’t have to wait up.”

“I’m not the one who needs sleep,” Navur reminds me, practically floating across the room on those graceful K feet. He closes my laptop for me, carefully but forcefully.

“Please don’t do this.” The words tumble out of my mouth before I can measure them, and I find myself looking up at the K with big, pleading eyes. “Please.”

Navur’s brows furrow, his eyes flooding with what is becoming a familiar expression. A touch confused, maybe perplexed, maybe hurt. He doesn’t understand why I’m still pulling away, why I haven’t automatically bent to his will. His other human conquests must jump into bed and spread their legs easily.

After a beat of tense silence, prey desperately staring down predator, he sweeps in for the kill. The K scoops me up against his broad shoulders, and I instinctively wrap my arms around his thick neck to steady myself as he carries me into the bedroom. In another world, this would be a sweet scene, with me squealing and wriggling, and him chuckling gently at my playful protests. But in this world, we’re both dead silent, my only movement the crashing of my heart in my chest.

He tosses me down on the bed, gently, but with enough force to leave no doubt of who’s in charge. I fight the urge to scramble away from him, and instead, sit frozen as he begins unbuttoning my blouse. Still, the only sound between us is my heavy breathing, as my silk shirt comes off, and then my heels and skirt, until I’m left chilly in my panties and bra, and my enemy towers above me, his loose robe showing off a deep V of nothing but hard muscle.

I feel on the edge of myself, my body shaking with gasping breaths, as Navur expertly undoes the clasp of my bra, and slides the lace straps down my arms. My arms ache to cross over my chest, shielding my bare breasts from view, but I can’t even manage that. My heart pounds as the K digs around in a dresser drawer, but all he pulls out is a piece of familiar soft pink fabric. My sleep shirt. He tosses it at me unceremoniously, and I scramble to pull the garment on over my head before he can change his mind.

Still silent, terrifyingly silent, Navur unties his robe and tosses it over the armchair. He’s not completely naked underneath, but he might as well be. His fitted burgundy boxer-briefs cling to the curves of his body, the silky fabric leaving very little to the imagination. Before I can beat myself up for being unable to look away, he turns his back to me, and I get an eyeful of his tight, round ass before he switches the bedroom lights off.

If my panic had temporarily abated, it returns without hesitation, as I’m left nearly blind in the dark room. I gasp softly as Navur pulls me toward him on the bed, but all he does is lift the soft sheets over us. In the cocoon of Egyptian cotton, I hold my breath, waiting for his hands to crawl over me. Instead, he simply holds me tight against himself, his grip remaining frozen chastely around my waist even as I feel his cock hardening against my ass, straining at the thin layers of fabric between us. My face reddens, and I wonder if he can feel the hungry heat emanating off me, despite the trembling of my body.

“I won’t rush you,” Navur whispers hoarsely into my ear, just when I think we’re done speaking for the night. “But I won’t let you waste my time. You owe me thirty days and thirty nights, little one, and I know you know that this isn’t going to count.”

I sleep restlessly that night, tossing and turning, trapped in Navur’s warm arms until dawn. He’s right, and I know it. I can’t put this off forever. I knew what I was getting myself into, and I knew what I was doing it for. Now that it’s real, why am I having such a hard time pulling it off?

Navur is gone when I wake up the next morning. For a moment, I enjoy the blissful emptiness of the giant bed, squeezing my eyes shut and pulling the sheets tight around me. For a second, I let myself pretend.

“Good morning, little one.”

A deep voice crashes my daydream. I open my eyes cautiously, peeking over the thick duvet like a child afraid of the dark, as Navur gently sets a coffee mug down on the nightstand beside me.

“Thanks,” I mumble, more out of habit than genuine gratitude, busying myself with the mug. The coffee is too hot, scalding my tongue, but I keep sipping regardless.

“You haven’t written anything,” Navur says next, cutting to the point. I look up at him over the rim of the starch-white hotel mug, surprised. Did he hack my laptop password? It doesn’t matter. However he figured out this little secret, it just further confirms that I no longer possess even the illusion of privacy. “Why?”

“Um,” I hesitate, trying to land on a lie that will preserve my dignity. Ultimately, I decide that with nothing left to lose, I might as well tell the K the full truth. “Yeah, no. I don’t know what to write. I’m sure the food at Belle Rive is lovely, but I couldn’t taste a damn thing. I was so nervous, it was all like sand in my mouth.”

Navur lowers himself onto the foot of the bed, and I instinctively curl my legs up into myself, pulling as far away from him as possible in this cramped space. My eyes jitter between his face and the half-empty coffee still clutched in my hands, feeling my cheeks heat from the sudden outpouring of honesty.

“Why were you nervous?” Navur asks, brows furrowed inward as if with genuine concern. “You’ve reviewed much more prestigious restaurants.”

I laugh humorlessly, a hard, violent sound.

It takes a second for what should be obvious to hit Navur. “Ah, you mean me. You were nervous because of me.”

I say nothing, biting back a sarcastic response, and staring into my dark reflection in the now-lukewarm drink in my lap.

“Why?” Navur asks the silence, sliding closer to me on the bed and lifting my chin to meet my gaze. “We’ve been intimate before, so you know the experience will be pleasurable, and clearly I found your body and performance satisfactory. And there’s no romantic element to this arrangement, so you should feel no pressure to woo or impress me. Why would you be nervous around me?”

“I don’t usually do this,” I say after a deep breath, forcing myself to hold eye contact. “I don’t do one night stands. I don’t do casual flings, friends with benefits, booty calls. Hell, I don’t even sleep with guys before the third date. So, yes, I’m a bit out of my depth in this ridiculous little sex transaction, and it’s pretty damn nerve-wracking.”

Navur considers this, cocking his head to the left, then shakes it.

“That’s fair enough, Noelle. But would you feel the same if I were a human man?”

“Of course!” I say too quickly, then sigh quietly and admit the truth. “No, I probably wouldn’t.”

We sit in that for a moment, Navur observing me expressionlessly, me shifting uncomfortably under his scrutiny. Finally, Navur reaches over, plucking the forgotten coffee mug from my hands and setting it aside, and slowly pulling the covers out of my hands.

“I may not be a human man,” the K says in that deadly purr as he pulls my legs toward him, forcing me onto my back on the bed, and his warm hands begin sliding my sleep shirt up to my belly. “But by the time I’m done with you, you’ll never be able to settle for one of those weaklings again.”

I should be prepared, but both my mind and body jolt with electricity when Navur’s soft tongue brushes against my clit. I gasp quietly, legs curling up and hands grabbing blindly at the sheets crumpled around us.

We’ve done this before, yes, but somehow the time and circumstance stretching between our first time and now make this moment feel completely new. The flat edge of his tongue slides down my slit, then back up again, agonizingly slowly, the soft exhale of his breath making my back arch. Despite my best attempts, I’ve fantasized about this moment over and over again in the past months, but the reality is so much better than anything I could have imagined.

Even as the never-ending doubts and worries swarm through my head, with every lick, every kiss, every gentle bite, Navur forces my thoughts to clear, until all I’m aware of is the feeling of him on my skin, and then, the fire spreading from my head to my toes, until I combust with a loud cry.

Before I have time to recover from the first orgasm, Navur’s tongue is moving fast at my apex again. My mind is fuzzy with pleasure, and I’m barely conscious as he rapidly takes me over the edge once more. I’m only slightly aware of the feeling of his thick hair knotted in my greedy fists, of his firm hands holding my hips down as I buck wildly into his talented ministrations. When he finally pulls away, I’m boneless, my legs collapsing uselessly to the side as the big K sits up, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand, the obscene action almost primal. Without a word, Navur stands and exits the lush bedroom, leaving me sprawled motionless on the bed.

I’ve never come like this before. Not so fast, so deliriously, so repeatedly. As my thoughts slowly clear and reality comes back into focus, I can’t fight the toxic cocktail of emotions that floods me. I’m ecstatic, overcome with utter satisfaction. That was amazing, and I know I should be grateful to the man who got me here, that I shouldn’t let myself get bogged down with the details I can’t change, the facts that will only distress me. At the same time, a dark cloud bears down heavily upon me, sharp thoughts jabbing at me from all sides. I shouldn’t have let him do that. I shouldn’t have given in. I shouldn’t have let myself feel such extreme pleasure at the hands of a creature I know to be a monster.

Before I can sort out my complex feelings one way or another, Navur returns. I manage to sit back up in the bed, legs still embarrassingly jiggly and cheeks flushing as I pull my panties back up.

“Now,” Navur says sternly, not acknowledging my post-orgasmic state, and tossing my laptop onto the empty spot on the mattress beside me. “You have a deadline in two hours.”

With Navur’s help, I have my first assignment typed up and submitted in less than ninety minutes. He turns out to be quite skilled at the subtle art of food criticism, describing last night’s meal back to me in not only enough detail that I almost feel as if I can retroactively taste the delicacies, but also providing some clever turns of phrase that make it into my final draft. As we work together, sitting side by side on the enormous bed, both half naked and fully in the zone, I almost forget how we ended up here. Almost.

I get nervous again as I shut my laptop and set it aside, suddenly acutely aware of how closely we’re sitting, naked thighs touching, and of the dull, post-orgasmic throb still buzzing between my legs. Before I can get too deeply in my head again, Navur springs out of bed, grabbing the fluffy robe he was wearing last night and tossing me a matching one.

“You must be starved,” he says, loosely knotting his belt. “Lunch?”

I nod eagerly, slipping into the cream robe and hopping out of bed, stepping over yesterday’s outfit where it lays scattered across the floor and beelining toward my duffel.

“Room service?” Navur asks, plucking the discreet menu off the nightstand. The delicate sheet of paper looks almost comical in his big hands.

“Actually, if you don’t mind, since we’re in the City, there’s somewhere I’m dying to go,” I ask timidly.

Half an hour later, we’re sitting on the familiar curb of Max’s Bodega, eating spicy mushroom rolls. God, I missed this. My old apartment was just up the block from here, and I practically lived off Max’s cheap sushi. Sure, I’ve had meals that cost more than my grocery bill for the month, but price tags don’t really matter when it comes to food. Some of the best meals I’ve ever had were just like this: made with love, paid for in spare change, and eaten on a street corner.

“Not exactly what I expected from the great Noelle Keene,” Navur says dryly, wiping a bit of wasabi off his lip. He looks remarkably out of place in this environment, legs too long to pull up comfortably, shirt too white and crisp against the graffitied neighborhood.

“Good though, isn’t it?” I ask, grinning widely at the K. He looks surprised to see my expression, and I realize I’ve probably never smiled with him before. Self-conscious, I focus back on the tilting plastic tray of my lunch.

“Very,” he says, through a mouthful of rice. “I’d like to see what Max can do with some high quality produce. Maybe even some Krinar ingredients.”

“I don’t think Max technically makes this, it might be his Baba.”

“Baba?” Navur repeats, the word sounding a little silly on his ever-serious tongue. “Do you know this Max very well, then?”

I shrug, savoring my last bite. “I mean, I came here almost every day for half a decade, that’s all.”

It’s not until Navur subtly shifts back into a relaxed position that I realize he had tensed when I mentioned Max. Was he jealous for a second? I know Ks are notoriously possessive, but I thought that the upside of our little no-strings-attached setup would be not dealing with such behavior.

“Do you know a lot about cooking?” I ask, trying perhaps not too subtly to redirect the conversation. Verit was an excellent cook, I loved to sneak by Ari’s apartment and steal leftovers from his drool-worthy creations. Hearing Navur contemplate new sushi recipes makes me wonder if that’s a universal K trait.

“Not really,” he replies, shooting down that theory. “I would much prefer to eat a delicious meal than create it, especially with your human cuisine. Back in Krina, I’m a botany expert, so as a lover of both, I often find myself wondering how the two could be combined. For example, there’s an edible fungus that grows in the northern hemisphere of Krina, it has a very sharp flavor. Not a hot, burning spiciness, but more a loud, harmonic spiciness, like ginger. I think Max’s Baba could do wonders with that.”

“Huh,” is all I can say, taken somewhat aback by the sudden depth I’m discovering in my pseudo-captor. “That’s cool. Why don’t you ever give it a shot? Do it yourself, or bring some Krinar ingredients back here for someone to cook with?”

“Not worth the trouble,” Navur says with a laconic shrug, then fixes me meaningfully with his eyes. “Always something better to do.”

I blush at the underlying implications, suddenly fascinated by a scuff mark on the toe of my left sneaker. “Um, so you’re a botany expert on Krina? Is that what you do here, too?”

“That’s what I intended to do, but I quickly grew bored of your planet’s primitive flora. I was actually supposed to return to Krina, the day after we met. I suppose I got distracted.”

“Huh,” I say again. So we were both strangers in limbo, that first night together, looking for a bit of fun before leaving New York City for good. Now, here we are, back in the City, together.

“As much as I enjoyed Baba’s sushi, I would very much like to not be sitting on the street any longer,” Navur says, rising to his feet in one swift movement, then reaching his hand down to help me up. “Ready for dessert?”

His black towncar appears as if by K technology before us, and we climb in. As I sit in the backseat beside the K who temporarily rules my life, without a clue as to what “dessert” might be, I reflect upon the small tidbits I just learned about him. He’s intrigued by the concept of alien/human fusion cuisine, but not enough to actually do anything about it. He’s a botany expert, but got bored of studying that on Earth. He’s starting to sound like a flighty man, my K. I can only hope that this means he will speedily lose interest in me, too.

Dessert turns out to be churros in Central Park. It’s the perfect companion to our street corner sushi lunch, although the image of Navur, in his stern button-down with the sleeves rolled up, sharp, tailored slacks, and perfectly coiffed hair leading me confidently to a dinky little churro cart doesn’t totally compute.

As we walk along the water, eating our sugary snacks, it occurs to me how little we seem to be noticed. Sure, a few mothers tug their children to the other side of the path when they see us coming, and we get a couple disapproving glances from some older ladies—and maybe some jealous looks from the younger ones? Regardless, our outing doesn’t draw nearly as much negative attention as I would have imagined. Certainly not the kind of visceral response we’d incite in Buffalo Creek. As I lick sugar off my fingertips, I can feel myself ever so slowly letting my guard down, millimeter by millimeter.

However, by the time our dinner date at Rose & Daughters comes along, my stomach is in knots once again. Not even their infamous, melt-in-your-mouth charoset, which I’ve found great pleasure in in the past, can tempt my wilting appetite. The dread creeps over me in parallel to the dusk falling over the city. I can’t explain my fear of what I know tonight will bring, not really. Just thinking about this morning’s escapades dampens my panties. No, I have no real reason to feel anything other than overpowering anticipation for a second romp in bed with the hunky creature sitting across from me. Still, I can’t shake the feeling that if I let myself submit to his dark desires even once, I’ll find myself free-falling down a rabbit hole I’ll never return from.

“Ready, little one?” Navur asks, already rising from his seat.

I nod unnecessarily, letting him pull my chair back for me, and standing on unsteady legs. The drive back to the hotel flies back faster than ever, and before I know it, we’re back in our penthouse suite, the tension thick and palpable between us. I set my purse down on the small dining table and slip my heels off, killing time, trying my best to postpone the inevitable, the moment I’m both dying for and dreading.

Navur has no such apprehensions, slipping up behind me, winding one arm around my belly as the other brushes my hair to the side. His breath warms my ear before his words do, sending a cold chill rushing up my spine.

“Are you going to deny me what I’m owed again tonight, Noelle?”

His thick fingers slip just under the waistband of my skirt, not quite touching skin, but close enough to make heat explode across my body. His other hand is still working my hair, but the gentle brushes are no longer. Instead, he’s fisting my long locks, and is pulling my head roughly to the side, exposing the side of my throat. I can’t help but let out a soft moan as he presses his lips to the tender skin there, first with a small nip, then a soothing kiss. The complex juxtaposition of one hand delicately traveling south, the other violently tugging at my hair, of his his teeth and lips making marks on my burning skin… I couldn’t deny him even if I wanted to.

The wait is almost unbearable, as Navur’s fingers dance their way down my hip bone, teasing at the edge of my cotton panties. Suddenly, I find myself wishing I’d packed something sexier, something lacy and flashy, instead of stubbornly convincing myself that such an act would be asking for trouble. By the time Navur dips between my legs, I’m soaked with anticipation, gasping with relief as his thumb flicks over my clit, two thick fingers sliding into my tight channel. Even that is too much. My knees threaten to give, and I reach out and grab the table for support, accidentally pressing my ass against Navur’s hips in the process. The K growls at this, and I can feel him, rock hard and enormous, through his pressed slacks. Oh my god. If his fingers are this big, how the hell am I supposed to take his cock?

I don’t get a chance to worry much about it. In a matter of seconds, he has my skirt pushed up to my waist, and my panties pooled around my feet. My naked ass feels flushed and naked under his hungry gaze, and cold and exposed in the brightly lit room, and I find myself wishing we’d taken the time to hit the lights before getting down to business. Then, I hear the deafening sound of a zipper, and feel the broad tip of him brushing against my entrance.

“Wait!” I cry, the word slipping past my lips before I have time to even think it.

Navur freezes, and I can feel the pain in his restraint, feel his cock begging to enter me.

“What is it, little one?” he asks. I can’t see his face from this position, but I can hear the grit in his teeth nonetheless.

“I don’t…” I trail off, feeling embarrassed to voice my hesitations too plainly, but hell, I’m already ass-up on the dining table. “I don’t like it like this. Like… from behind.”

Saying the phrase out loud sounds ridiculous, but it’s true. It’s degrading, impersonal, the position of anonymous liaisons between drunks in bar bathrooms. And the hair pulling? Call me boring or vanilla, but I’m just not into that scene. After a few failed experiments, I’ve always put my foot down on the issue, but in this case, I’m afraid I might be wasting my breath.

“You know I’m not like any other man you’ve been with, right?” Navur asks, and this time, I can feel a certain brand of cockiness in his voice, even as he presses closer against me. When he pulls my hair tighter, I quickly assent. “No one’s ever done you right before, Noelle, so you don’t know any better. But I won’t do anything to you that you won’t like. Do you trust me?”

The tip of his cock is just inside me now, teasing and stinging at the same time. I squirm against him, moaning quietly at the painful yet pleasurable sensation, but that only pulls him deeper. “Do you trust me, Noelle?”

I shouldn’t. I have no reason to. I can feel the strength in him as he holds me close, I know he could snap me in half if he wanted to. Still, some very small, very foolish part of me, implicitly trusts this deadly creature to protect me rather than destroy me.

“I trust you,” I say, in a voice barely above a whisper, and just like that, Navur plunges into me with one swift thrust. I cry out loudly, vision fuzzing at the edges at the sudden intrusion. The K gives me just a moment to adjust to his girth, then thrusts in again, establishing a steady rhythm. From this angle, his thick cock hits a spot deep within me I didn’t even know existed. The feeling of such fullness is almost unbearable, and I groan as his hips slam against my ass ferociously.

“You really are a dirty girl, aren’t you?” Navur purrs as I unwillingly buck back against him, inviting him deeper. He grabs my hair tighter, pulling me impossibly close. “Behind that pretty face and that prim attitude, you’re hiding a filthy, nasty little slut.”

His words are hideous, and his aggressions are brutal, yet somehow, I find my legs threatening to give out beneath me as the prelude of an orgasm begins to overtake me. How is this happening? I’ve never come like this before, with no stimulation besides penetration, and certainly not with a monster manhandling me and calling me a slut. I fight it, gritting my teeth and clenching my inner channel, but that only adds fuel to the fire. I come violently, choking out a cry, cursing my tormentor in both anger and ecstasy.

I’m still gasping when his fast fingers find my sensitive nub. My hands grab blindly at the table as he works my body, my hips writhing wildly against his. Our moans dance together as he pounds into me, and I can feel myself already climbing fast toward another climax.

Unexpectedly, Navur freezes, our bodies still pressed tight together, his hand between my legs. He pinches my clit tightly between his fingers, and I yelp. No one’s ever done that before. The sensation is an unfamiliar mix of pain and pleasure, something I think I’ll become well acquainted with over the next thirty days. Still, while the sharp touch keeps me aroused, it holds me on the brink, merely teasing at orgasm.

“What are you, Noelle?” Navur growls into my ear, and I can barely hear him, much less answer him, blood storming through my body as all my nerve-endings scream for release. I try to writhe against him, forcing the sensations I’m dying for, but he holds me punishingly still, pinching harder. I cry out loudly, but the K merely repeats his question. “What are you, little one?”

With my hair fisted in his hand, my entire body under his ruthless possession, my climax in his demanding control, I suddenly know the answer. I know that exactly what I promised him, is what he will claim.

“I’m yours, Navur. All yours.”

And with that, he releases my clit, and pumps into me one more time, and that’s all it takes. I’m screaming through my orgasm as Navur holds me steady, and I feel his hot seed jetting into my spasming body.

I’m all his.

The next day, we make the milliseconds-long trip back to Buffalo Creek, after a morning quickie and a room service brunch. I can barely make eye contact with Navur, after the filthy things we did last night. I can’t imagine facing my family later.

Navur seems to sense my need for a little space to process everything, so he has his driver take me straight home. When I arrive, my parents are champing at the bit for stories of my jet-setting weekend, which I gladly provide, weaving tall tales of seeing old friends and definitely not getting my brains fucked out by a dangerous alien. When they’re sufficiently satiated, I truthfully admit my exhaustion, and head upstairs.

I crash hard, knocking out for an uncharacteristic three-hour nap. I wake up groggily around sunset, feeling somehow even more tired, and a little lonely. Only two nights, and I’m already attached to the idea of sleeping wrapped tight in my K’s arms. I hadn’t realized how much I hated being single until now.

No. I crawl out of the sagging twin bed and flip on my little pink bedside lamp. In the dusty mirror over my dresser, I pause and give myself a stern look, after quickly wiping away the smeared mascara under my eyes. Stop being such a girl, and letting your heart get soft for a man you know is bad for you. Think with your brain, not your heart or your pussy.

The latter is a motto Ari taught me, but she’d be mad at me for using “girl” as an insult against myself. Suddenly overcome with longing for my best friend, I open my underwear drawer and fish out the secret special device she left me with way back when. Finding one of two contacts, I press the call button and wait for a hologram of her cheery, usually freshly-fucked-out face to fill the air above the thin, metallic tablet. Nothing. I wonder what time it is on Krina. Intergalactic time zones still aren’t the kind of thing you can google. I hide the K tablet again, and head back downstairs.

Mom is puttering around the kitchen, fitting the dinner plates into the dishwasher. I bet Dad is in their room already, watching the evening news from the comfort of their bed. Even with aliens on Earth and technology that can take you from West Virginia to New York City in a breath, they’re stubbornly stuck in the grotesquely outdated gender roles of old.

“Honey, you missed dinner,” Mom says when she sees me standing in the kitchen door. “I didn’t want to wake you, you seemed so tired, but I can warm up leftovers if you’d like.”

“Thanks, but I’m not super hungry,” I say, not untruthfully. “I’m going to take Baby for a walk, I can get myself a snack when we get back.”

“If you say so,” my mother says, stifling a yawn. “Well, I’m beat. Lock up before you go to bed, will you?”

“Of course, Mommy,” I say, giving her an uncharacteristic peck on the cheek. My insides are in turmoil, and I desperately want to crawl into my mother’s arms like a little girl, but that won’t do. Instead, I grab the worn leather leash and whistle at Baby.

The midsummer night air is thick and heavy, even in the dark. It feels like every second I’m without distraction, and even some with, I’m overcome by the immediate onslaught of my self-indulgent inner conflict. I’m sick of it. I fish the tangled knot of my old-fashioned earbuds out of my jeans pocket and blast some cheery pop. Baby and I walk the darkened streets of Buffalo Creek in our own little bubble, the dog with her tail wagging high, me bobbing along to the electronic music. I don’t feel the need to glance over my shoulder, to stay along the lighted sidewalks for safety. I know Navur has eyes on me, even when I can’t feel it. What used to terrify me now brings me an odd sense of comfort. My stalker has already become my protector in my mind. What the hell is wrong with me?

No. I shake my head violently, as if to physically shake the haunting thoughts out of my head. Baby looks up at me, perplexed.

“It’s okay, girl,” I murmur to her, unable to hear my own voice over the music blasting in my ears. The assurance seems to soothe her.

If only I could soothe myself as easily.

The next day, we fly out to Vegas. I get about as much warning as I did the first time around: a vague text, and about an hour to pack. My parents are both out—book club, perhaps—so I leave a quick note and a promise to call later.

Again, the trip takes a matter of seconds. I cling to Navur’s thick arm as he leads me from the windy rooftop of our hotel down to our suite. The sleek interior is paired with enormous windows, revealing the city below us. I’ve never been to Vegas before, but the famous flashy skyline feels familiar. I can’t wait to see it lit up at night.

“I usually just cover the City,” I admit, stepping back from the gorgeous view before the height starts to spook me. “I’m excited to try some new places.”

“Excellent,” Navur says, draping his jacket over a chair and rolling up his sleeves, watching me watch him. “We’ll probably make a few more visits to Manhattan before our time is over, but we can still fit in plenty of travel. Any requests?”

“I’ll go anywhere,” I say honestly. I’m fairly low maintenance. As a result of having barely left West Virginia for the first eighteen years of my life, and then barely leaving New York for the next decade, I’m easy to please when it comes to travel destinations. “As long as the food is good.”

“I can work with that,” Navur says with a soft smile, closing the distance between us and scooping me up against him.

“Oh,” I say, but before I can follow up that unnecessary statement, he leans down and presses his lips against mine.

The kiss is tender, his warm lips playing with mine for a moment, a tease of tongue, and then he pulls away. I stand there mutely as he walks away, lost in the unexpectedness of the moment. It was almost… sweet? Romantic? Definitely not what I signed up for when I agreed to be his sex toy for a month.

“Have you ever been gambling before?” Navur asks, poking his head out of the bedroom door.

“No,” I say, picking up the confused pieces of myself and heading towards him. “Never.”

“Good,” he says, moving aside so I can join him in the bedroom. “It’s a game for the reckless. Unless…”

“Unless?” I repeat when he trails off, pulling out a small duffel from our pile of luggage.

“Unless you play with only spare change,” he says with a self-satisfied grin, upturning the duffel. Stacks of bills pour onto the bed, and I automatically reach for one. Crisp hundreds, held together in tight bands. There must be a couple dozen of these, certainly more money than I’ve ever seen in my life, not at once, and maybe not even in all my twenty-eight years put together.

“Holy fuck,” I breathe, throwing the stack in my hands back onto the pile on my bed, as if that much wealth would burn me.

“It’s all yours,” Navur says, clearly relishing the utter shock on my face. “To play with today. What happens in Vegas, right?”

“Navur, that’s crazy,” I say, taking a step back from the bed for safe measure. “I don’t need this. You don’t have to—”

“I don’t do anything I don’t want to do,” the big K insists, pressing his palm against my cheek for a moment, then pulling away. “Come on now. If you get ready fast, we’ll have time to blow this all before dinner.”

“I… I don’t even have anything to wear,” I protest uselessly, struggling to wrap my mind around what he’s proposing, although even a year or two wouldn’t be enough time for this insanity to sink in.

“Not to worry,” Navur says, clearly ten steps ahead of me at any given moment. “I had something prepared for you, it should be in the closet.”

My feet carry me to the closet of their own accord, my hands pushing the doors open warily. Inside are a dozen Vegas-approved dresses, ranging from a tight-and-tiny scarlet silk number, to a blindingly sequined, prom-like mermaid dress. I don’t have to check the labels to know that they’ll each fit me flawlessly, or that the name on every tag will make me gasp.

I’ve always been quietly obsessed with fashion. I even dreamed of being a runway model at one point, before my height maxed out at 5’2” and I learned how impractical this dream was. Other than the annual spiral into the September Issue, or the occasional self-indulgent stroll through Saks, I thought I’d mostly outgrown that old flame. Now, however, running my fingers over a crushed velvet sleeve I know instinctively to be Givenchy, it all comes flooding back at once, moving through me like a religious awakening.

“Holy fuck, huh?” Navur says for me, and I can hear the grin in his voice even with my back turned to him. He’s having fun, playing with me like this, tossing treats at his little pet. But right now, I don’t even care what his intentions are with such extravagant, unnecessary gifts. Can I be bought so easily? Hell yeah.

An hour later, I’ve selected a Dolce & Gabbana a-line dress, with a zebra-print pattern in shiny gold and silver jacquard. It’s not as flashy as some of the other options, but still definitely enough to make me feel like I’m getting the full Vegas experience. Checking my makeup in the mirror one more time, I slip on the accompanying stilettos and turn to my K with a giddy smile.

“Let’s go!”

The outing that ensues is unforgettable, although the endless supply of champagne certainly puts up a good fight against my memory. We play blackjack, craps, roulette, and anything that requires little to no skill on my part. With a handful of the highest chips in one hand, and the tuxedoed K on my arm, people bend to me in ways I’ve never experienced before. More money, more problems my ass. Crowds part, doors open, and booze flows freely. The drunker I get, the easier the charade becomes. This is normal, I tell myself. This is fine. I didn’t just lose the equivalent of a year’s rent with one poor roll of the dice, only to immediately double down on the next turn. I didn’t just say “hit me” on a fifteen only because the blind rush of a risk makes my skin tingle. This isn’t an outlandish way to kill an afternoon.

I’ve probably lost half of Navur’s money by the time he leads me out of the casino and into the waiting limo. I can’t tell anymore. I’m tipsy on my feet, skyscraping stilettos teetering dangerously.

Dinner is a blur. Somehow, my wine glass is never not full, and I’m stuffing my face with a five star meal just as sloppily as a college student gorging themselves on cold pizza after a frat party. Am I expected to write about this tomorrow? Fuck.

On the drive home, Navur opens the sunroof, and I thrust myself out it like a diver gasping for air. The night breeze is cool and arid, a far cry from the humidity back East. I close my eyes and let my hair whip around me, feeling like the queen of the world even as the fresh air sobers me up. This is it, I realize, a wave of bittersweet melancholy washing over me. This is as good as it gets, and I’ll have to spend the rest of my life knowing that the best days of my life were bestowed upon me by a creature essentially blackmailing me for my body, a creature I will never see again after our thirty days are up. A creature who ties my heart up in knots, a man I impossibly loathe and desperately want all at once.

I feel the limo slow to a stop, and open my eyes. We’re back at the hotel. My heart begins to beat faster, as it always does at the impending apprehension of what a night with my tormentor will bring. This time, however, my adrenaline isn’t brought on my panic or fear. This time, all I feel is a rush of excitement.

I let Navur lead me to the elevator, not waiting until we arrive at our suite. He’s on me as soon as the thick metal doors slide shut, his mouth on mine and hands pawing all over my body until a pleasant ding announces our destination. I’m breathless, still hesitant to take as much as is being taken, but my greedy desire easily overpowers my shyness.

We tumble into the bedroom, and I feel a tiny breath of relief as we fall onto the soft bed, lights still off. This is my comfort zone. This I can handle.

I should have known better than to think that I could ever be in my comfort zone with a K. In a moment, he has me flipped over onto my stomach, and pulled back onto my knees. I begin to crawl up onto all fours, but then he has both my wrists in one hand, and is wrapping something soft and silky around them.

Oh no. My pulse is spiking through the roof, and I instinctively try to pull away from my aggressor, but I’m now tightly bound to the bedpost, silk burning on my wrists when I fight too hard. Shit. This isn’t what I wanted, what I’ve ever wanted. I twist to try and face Navur, but he firmly holds me down, with my ass perkily jutting into the air. Again, I’m overcome with a sensation that I know should be fear, that I desperately wish was panic, instead of the illogical truth: I’m absurdly excited to see what happens next, inconceivably turned on by this dangerous pseudo-stranger.

It hasn’t even been a week, and he’s already ruined me.

My breath goes ragged as Navur runs a finger down my slit. I can hear him inhaling sharply when he feels how wet I already am, my folds soaked at the mere thought of him. He’s deliriously gentle, stroking me slowly, teasingly, as if we have all the time in the world. As if he can’t feel me pushing against him, greedy, shamelessly begging with my body for more, for everything I know he has to offer.

And then, just when I can feel my climax building… he hits me.

He spanks my ass, not gently, not playfully, but hard. Hard enough to make me cry out loudly, not in pleasure, but in pain. Before I can pull away, give him a piece of my mind, his deft fingers return to my delicate center, his soft lips placing gentle, apologetic kisses on the spot he just struck. I relax into his touch, not having realized how I had tensed up at his spanking. Oh, yes, I can feel it coming over me, I can almost taste the orgasm about to—

Smack. Navur hits me again, harder this time. I gasp, more confused than anything. Again, he works my clit with one hand, rubbing my stinging ass softly with the other. Then he hits me again, and this time the sound that bursts from me isn’t a pained cry, or even a surprised gasp. It’s a wanton moan. I try to swallow it back, perplexed by my own reaction, fighting the feeling that is spreading through my body. Yes, it still hurts. My tender flesh burns where he’s struck me. But at the same time, the violent sensation stirs something wicked and unexpected at the deepest core of me, a dark pleasure stronger than anything I’ve felt before. I don’t want to feel this way, not when a man is hitting me, but the primal part of me arches back greedily into the next spanking.

“You like this, huh?” Navur growls into my ear, and I can hear the smirk on his voice. “I knew there was a dirty little slut in there, just waiting to be freed.”

“I’m not—” I protest, my words melting into a gasp when he strikes again, fingers still fast on my clit. “I don’t… I don’t…”

I want to say that I don’t want this, that I don’t like this, but I can’t lie, can’t even try to pretend that this isn’t tearing me apart in the best way. Instead, the truth floats out on a ragged moan, breathy and hungry with desire.

“I don’t want you to stop.”

The K eagerly complies, massaging my tender clit gently, as his big palm slaps against my burning ass over and over. Smack. Every nerve ending in my body is on fire, erotic energy flashing through my body at hyperspeed. Smack. The orgasm that seems to have been building for hours finally erupts, an explosion of sensation so strong that I swear my vision goes white for a second. My mouth falls open in a soundless scream, my body writhing through its release, wrists jerking at their restraints.

I’m panting into the pillow when I feel his hands on me again, gentle this time, holding my ass in place as he guides his thick cock to my entrance. Even after the strongest orgasm of my life, my pussy still swallows him greedily, and I can hear him groan in satisfaction as he spears me. He pulls back slowly, teasing my sensitive inner channel, then thrusts in again punishingly. My bound hands claw at the mattress, my body impossibly turned on already, greedy for more, more, more.

I want—

I cut myself off, refusing to let myself voice such a desire even in my own head. But Navur somehow senses my thoughts, returning his hands to my ass, massaging the sore spot.

“What do you want, little one?” he asks in a vicious purr. “Tell me.”

I can’t. I won’t. I remain stoically silent, aside from the uncontrollable moans that he incites as he continues to pound into me.

Unexpectedly, he stops, freezing with just the tip of his cock at my entrance, palm just barely touching my ass.

“You have to ask for it, Noelle,” Navur says, voice quiet but stern. “What do you want?”

“I—” I can’t believe he’s trying to make me beg for it. I won’t say it. I don’t need it. My mind is set, but my body is unconvinced, pressing back desperately against his hard body as my pussy clenches around nothing. Still, he holds me stubbornly in place, refusing to let me just take what I want. “I…”

“Hit or stay?” Navur asks, and I can tell from his voice that he knows he’s already won. I can’t fight the greedy desire growing within me, can’t deny the twisted weakness he’s sowing in me.

“Hit me,” I whisper, and he complies, spearing me deeply as he slaps my ass. I moan loudly, and I don’t know which action is turning me on more.

Navur pulls out, freezing again tantalizingly out of reach. “Hit or stay?”

I squeeze my eyes closed, shutting down the part of my brain that still wants to fight this, that still thinks I have any chance against the K’s dark wiles.

“Hit me,” I say, this time louder, though my voice still wavers.

Again, Navur does as I ask. Again, he sparks something unfamiliar and forbidden within me. Again, he refuses to continue until he’s successfully tortured a demand out of me.

“Hit or stay?”

“Hit me,” I repeat, voice cracking with desire. I’m begging for it, begging for his abuse, begging for what I know is both the poison and the antidote all at once.

Navur pounds into me ruthlessly, and I arch back into every punishing strike greedily, until we’re both climaxing as one, bodies violently twisted together.

We collapse onto the bed, my body completely drained in every capacity. Navur unties me and curves his big body around me, scooping my limp limbs against his solid frame. He trails soft kisses along my neck, massaging my bruised ass gently.

This is my K: rough and demanding in one moment, tender and kind in the next. He’s a bad idea, a dangerous risk, everything I should know better than. But I can’t help it. His pull is too strong, the draw between us magnetic in all its toxicity.

I can never have him, not for real.

But I also know that after he’s gone, I can never again have anyone else.

He’s twisted me inside out, and turned me into a wicked, broken woman I don’t even recognize.

Shockingly, I don’t wake up the next morning with the worst hangover of my life—not that I wouldn’t deserve it.

I wipe a hand over my bleary eyes and try to sit up, immediately yelping at a dull pain on my buttocks and collapsing back down. All at once, the end of the night rushes back to me.

Hit me. Hit me. Hit me.

Fuck. I can’t believe I let him do that. I can’t believe I asked for it. My hand instinctively reaches for my phone, but I stop myself. I can’t call Ari with my regular smart phone, even if there was a chance she might pick up.

At a loss for friends to confide in, I grit my teeth and roll my sore body out of bed, and make a beeline for the bathroom. Flipping the light switch, I turn my back to the mirror and peek over my shoulder. Fuck. There’s a distinct, blazing-red hand print on my left ass cheek. I twist to the other side, and see a matching set, although the second is a bit pinker. I can’t resist touching my fingertips to the marks, tracing the constellations woven by tiny burst blood vessels. This is definitely going to bruise.

I take a quick shower, relishing in the way the warm steam soothes my sore muscles. Wrapped up in a fluffy hotel robe, I hunt down Navur.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” he greets in that rolling bass of his. I squint out at the bright daylight streaming in through the windows. Did I really sleep that late?

The K is seated in the little breakfast nook, with a cup of tea and a half-eaten croissant in front of him. I go to join him, then wince slightly at the sting when I begin to bend my body into a sitting position, and straighten quickly.

“Um,” I begin, blushing already, tugging at the knot in my belt nervously. “Can I ask you a favor?”

“Ask away,” Navur says, setting aside the thin K tablet he was looking at and glancing up at me expectantly, making my blush deepen.

“Do you have one of those K shiner things?” I ask, blurting out my request. “I have some, um… areas that could use some healing.”

“Are you hurt, little one?” Navur asks, rising and closing the distance between us.

“Just a bit, it’s no—” I stop short when I meet his eyes, and instead of concern, see a self-satisfied smirk. Maybe even a hint of arousal in those sharp eyes. Is he proud of what he did to me? Does it turn him on to know that he’s marked me in this way?

I back away from the K, the embarrassed heat in my cheeks becoming something more spiteful.

“I know you can heal me,” I snap, taking another step back as he tries to move closer, dodging the hand that is reaching for me. “So will you please just do it?”

I back up again, and hit the wall ass-first, making me gasp. In an instant, Navur is in front of me, caging me against the the wall, his broad body towering over me.

“I could, but I want you to remember me every time you sit today. I want you wet every time you move and feel the pain of my possession. I want you to wear what I did to you everywhere you go.” I shiver as his fingers trail over my shoulder, curve down my sides, and cry out when he grabs my bruised ass, hard. “I want you to know who owns you, Noelle.”

I force myself to hold his gaze, even as I blink back involuntary tears, even as my panties flood with desire at his rough domination. How is it that I can fear this dangerous man so strongly, yet still desire him enough to risk anything for a single touch?

I don’t understand his twisted games. All I know is that so far, he’s winning.

After a non-stop week of jet-setting and heavy petting, I finally have a couple days to chill out and catch my breath in Buffalo Creek. Not that I don’t appreciate all the gourmet meals and five-star penthouses, but it’s nice to have a moment to be the old Noelle again, to remember who I am under all this K drama, and what exactly I’m doing it for.

Of course, it only takes a couple hours before Mom and Dad’s incessant rants about the K in town chase me out of the house. Apparently, while Navur has held up his agreement to keep from being seen with me around town, he hasn’t exactly been keeping a low profile. He’s been spotted at the coffee shop several times, at most of the nicer hotels in town (all two of them), and at the antique store down by the elementary school. That last one I suspect to be a figment of some excitable townie’s imagination. After all, I can’t picture Navur with a dainty vintage lamp in his bulky arms.

Fleeing that sticky conversation, I instead catch up with Jo—who has somehow doubled in roundness already—over a Gavin-style breakfast of chocolate chip pancakes and dinosaur-shaped cauliflower nuggets. Lying to her is trickier than lying to my parents. Usually, my twin is the one I would confide to about the stuff I couldn’t tell them, and keeping a secret from her is uncharted territory. It doesn’t feel right, and I’m almost relieved when she has to run off to prenatal yoga.

I wander the town for a little bit, unsure of what to do with myself on my first day off from my new job. Of course, whether my real new job is writing for Montrose or whoring myself out to Navur, even I don’t know. My feet carry me back to the library on autopilot. I hesitate at the doors for a moment, feeling like I’m chasing a shadow of myself, but shove my apprehensions aside and step in. The too-cold A/C and papery smell is like a hug from an old friend. Even if I spent only a few months working here, I frequented the public library often as a child, biking here with Jo on hot summer days when our parents were both working, me poring over glossy magazines while she reread Harry Potter for the millionth time. Again, I’m hit with the odd feeling that seems to be accompanying me everywhere today, tainting everything that was once so easily mine. I feel like an actor playing a part, the role of the Noelle I used to be, before all this shit happened. Before Navur happened.

“Noelle!” Sabine hops up from her seat at the front desk, possibly producing the loudest sound ever heard in this building. Luckily, there’s no one but me around to hear her reedy voice echo down the stacks.

“Hey, Sabine,” I reply at a more appropriate volume, crossing the lobby and reaching out for an awkward half-hug over the check-out desk. “I didn’t know you’d be here. You don’t usually work Tuesdays.”

“I’ve had to pick up some extra shifts, after, you know,” the young woman shrugs at my abandonment, then quickly adds, “It’s fine though. I think I might be able to save up enough this summer to road trip to California after all.”

“That’s awesome,” I say genuinely, grinning at the girl. “You would have so much fun out West.”

“I know,” Sabine says, throwing her head back to stare at the ceiling for a moment, but I know she’s actually visualizing her real life, outside of Buffalo Creek, outside of West Virginia. I used to do the same thing all the time, before moving to New York.

“Are you working all day?” I ask on a whim. On a subconscious level, I must still be craving female companionship. I can’t reach Ari, and I can’t talk to Jo. But Sabine? She isn’t close enough to be ruthlessly honest about her judgment of my questionable decisions, but she’s close enough to hear them out. “I’m just in town for a day or two, but I’d love to catch up.”

Sabine beams. “Oh my god, of course! My lunch break starts in like thirty minutes. Want to hit up the deli, like old times?”

“Perfect.”

I meander around the library for a while, killing time while I wait for Sabine’s break to begin. Out of habit, I tidy up some messy shelves, then head to my old favorite spot, the magazine rack. I trail my fingers over glossy covers. There’s a familiar celebrity smiling brightly on every cover this month, with big taglines screaming about her recently exposed affair with a K.

Ashley’s Hot Alien Bad Boy! Is She Endangering Her Fans?

This Summer’s Hot Accessory: A K on Your Arm… And in Your Bed!

10 Ways to Make This Summer Sex-traterrestrial!

All of those magazines are shiny and untouched. Just my luck. K flings are suddenly in, and I’m having mine in one of the last places in the country that doesn’t give a shit. In New York or LA, I’d be the coolest bitch in town. Instead, the most worn issue on the rack is a trashy tabloid, with a Photoshopped image of a K clawing his way out of the cover, eyes glowing devilishly red.

Krinar Savage Attacks Connecticut Family. Survivors Tell All!

I snatch the magazine off the rack and surreptitiously stuff it into the nearest garbage bin. I don’t know why they stock this rag, anyway.

“Ready?”

Sabine pops up behind me, making me jump slightly. She grins broadly at me and adjusts her purse strap, not seeming to have noticed my destruction of property.

“Ready!”

We grab our old usual lunch of veggie subs at the deli down the street, and settle down on the library steps. Sabine slides the pickle out of her box and sets it in mine, and I hand over my potato chips. We chat companionably for a while, sipping on lemonade and dripping mustard on stained cutoffs. I give Sabine the edited version of my fancy new job, and she fills me in on all the latest library gossip. A cloud has just slipped in front of the midday sun, providing a welcome moment of reprise, when Sabine clears her throat meaningfully.

“Noelle, can I ask you something?”

“Shoot,” I say easily, expecting a softball question about apartment hunting for the first time, or making friends in a new city.

“Is it you?”

It’s a vague enough question, but it makes my heart stop, the half-masticated bite of bread and veggies turning to stone in my mouth. Is it me?

I force myself to swallow and try to affect a nonchalant attitude I’m certainly not feeling. “What do you mean?”

“The girl everyone is talking about, with the K,” Sabine clarifies, watching me closely. “I don’t mean to pry, but I realized that he’s always in town when you’re in town, and no one seems to see him around when you’ve been away. And you’re from New York, and you have that friend, who, you know, so…”

She trails off, brow furrowed, trying to gauge my reaction. I’m doing my best to keep my face completely expressionless, as if my heart isn’t threatening to pound out of my chest.

This is my chance, my chance to tell her. To come clean to someone, to get all this shit off my chest. To finally say out loud all the things that have been storming through my head. I wanted to tell her, I remind myself. But as I meet her wide, bright eyes, I know I can’t do it. She’s so young, with small town drama of her own to deal with, and a future wide open ahead of her. My life, my future is fucked up and dark and impossible. I can’t drag her into my shit. She doesn’t deserve my mess. It’s too much for her small shoulders.

“Of course not,” I say with a scoff, hoping I sound more convincing than I feel. “God, that would be crazy. Just a weird coincidence, that’s all.”

She looks at me for a beat longer, then nods in acceptance and takes another sip of lemonade.

“Yeah, duh. That was dumb of me to even ask, just forget it.”

I wave off her apology, wondering how long my nose will have grown by the end of the day.

I quickly become accustomed to my new lifestyle. I mean, not like it’s that hard to get used to being pampered all day, then roughed up all night. Okay, I’m still having trouble with the latter. But the screaming orgasms are a hard argument to beat.

When I finally get ahold of my so called ride-or-die, I’m about halfway through paying off my debt. Is it a debt if you never really asked for it?

“Holy fuck, look who finally decided to pick up,” I say into the thin K tablet, unable to keep the enormous grin off my face.

“Noelle!” Ari practically screams, the projected image of her face shimmering with delight. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, it’s been crazy out here. Lenkarda was a cakewalk compared to Krina. Oh, and I met Verit’s parents the other day, so that happened. But we can talk about my domestic bliss later, you’re the one who’s been texting me 911 for weeks.”

I glance at my securely locked bedroom door, as if my parents might be camping out, eavesdropping on my phone calls like I’m an unruly teenager.

“Remember that K I idiotically hooked up with a few months ago?” I ask, voice lowered. Ari’s eyes go big, and she nods emphatically, but bites back any immediate response. “Well…”

I try to succinctly summarize the insanity of the past few weeks of my life, which proves impossible. Ari interrupts every two sentences with questions, tiny scandalized screams at the dirty parts, and dramatic eye rolls at any protest on my part.

“It’s about damn time you got some kinky dick,” Ari says, grinning from ear to ear. “And from a K, no less. Who woulda thunk, little miss holier-than-thou Noelle, finally losing that stick up her ass in a big way.” My friend snickers at her joke, then gasps as she realizes what she just said, slapping her hands to her cheeks almost comically. “Wait, Noelle, have you guys—”

“No!” I practically yell, then glance at the door again. My face has already gone unbearably hot. “Geez, Ari, I may be a tad sluttier these days, but I’m not that far gone.”

Ari arches a brow, smirking coyly. “Hey, don’t knock it til you try it. The other day, V and I—”

“Stop!” I cut my friend off for the second time, nearly tossing the tablet across the room. “I need a glass of wine or ten before that story. But do give me the PG-13 version of what you guys have been up to. What are his parents like? Are they super old? Does his mom hate you?”

She gushes about her new life on Krina, and I take it in with a smile. I wish I could be genuinely, 100% happy, the way a good friend is supposed to be, but I’m struck with the same bittersweet pang I get when I see Jo and Brett, but this one cuts a little deeper, because it’s so unexpected. I don’t think either of us could have ever imagined that it would turn out like this, with self-proclaimed party girl Ari being the first to settle down, essentially married to her cheren, while I, the serial monogamist with a secret wedding vision board and a perpetually postponed five year plan, am still as single as it gets. Well, does being trapped in a sex pact with an alien make me more or less single? Where’s that Cosmo quiz when you need it?

“Hey Ari?” I ask, struck by a sudden idea. “Can I get you to do me a favor?”

“Of course, what’s up?”

As I lay out my last-minute plan, Ari’s eyes narrow nearly imperceptibly, and her grin droops at the corners.

“Noelle…” She says when I’m done, sighing my name out as if I’m a small child who just doesn’t understand.

“What?” I ask, instinctively annoyed. “Just say it.”

“Are you sure you’re not getting too caught up?” my best friend asks, in a gentle voice that I resent more than if she’d just be mean about it. “I mean, you’ve never been in a casual relationship like this before, maybe you don’t really—”

“I know what I’m doing,” I snap. “Besides, that’s a lot, coming from the girl who literally made an eternal commitment to her slam piece.”

Ari purses her lips, but doesn’t argue. We sit quietly for a moment, and I take a deep breath, soothing my irritable nerves. I don’t know when I’ll get a chance to talk to Ari again, so I can’t fuck this up. Besides, she has a point. She’s certainly more familiar with these troubled waters than I am. But she doesn’t know everything, she’s probably just projecting her own situation onto me. Just because her Krinar games ended in a happily-ever-after doesn’t mean that mine will. Not that I even want them to.

“I’m sorry,” I say softly. “You’re right, I’m a little out of my depth here. But I swear, that’s not what this is about. I just want to do something nice, make my remaining time a little more enjoyable. Once our thirty days are up, that’s it, I’m done. You know better than anyone that this isn’t me. This is just a little blip, something I got stuck with. After this, it’s back to boring guys you totally hate, I promise.”

“If you say so,” Ari says hesitantly. “Just be careful, Noelle.”

“Of course,” I say, pasting on a confident smile. “Now, can you help me or not?”

Ari matches my smile. “I’ll ask Verit, see what we can do.”

I thank her, then she has to go. I set the thin tablet aside and collapse back into my bed, the memory of my best friend’s harsh warning slowly creeping over me, shadowing the joy at finally seeing her face again. What if she’s right? What if I’m letting myself fall a little too deep into the abyss I know contains nothing but trouble?

I sigh loudly and sit back up. I meant everything I told her. This is fine. I’m fine. Everything will be fine.

Right?

Ari and Verit pull through. The next time we’re in Manhattan, I coyly make an excuse to sneak off and “run some errands.” It takes a bit of prodding to get Nav to let me go out and about without him, but finally he concedes, as long as I take his car and driver.

Our first stop is at a townhouse on the Upper East Side. From the outside, the brick building looks exactly the same as the row of homes that stretches down the block. But when the door opens and the tall K lets me in, the interior is decked out exclusively in beige and chrome K floats and tech. My mouth falls open a little, but I try to keep my composure. Navur doesn’t seem to have a permanent address on this planet, we always stay at fancy, but distinctly human, hotels. The juxtaposition of such an alien home hidden in plain view is a little mind boggling.

“Here,” the beautiful K woman says, reemerging into the living area with a small metallic box, which she hands to me. “You’re lucky I still had some on hand, I was saving these for a rainy day.”

“Oh, I hate to inconvenience you,” I say quickly, trying to hand the box back. “You don’t have to—”

“No, no,” she insists, sharp red lips curving into a conspiratorial grin. “Verit said you were doing a favor for your cheren. I think it’s cute.”

“Oh, he’s not…” I begin, cheeks pinking, then decide that it’s probably unnecessary to delve into the nitty gritty with this kind stranger. “Thank you, I really appreciate it.”

Next, I have the driver (Maybe I ought to learn his name by now, considering all the time we’re spending together lately, but he seems rather disinterested in my company) take me across the city, all the way back to Max’s. I probably should’ve called ahead to make sure his Baba was free and willing to help out, but it’s too late now. I’m all in. Max is hesitant at first to let me rope his Baba into my nonsense—the hulky driver hovering over my shoulder probably doesn’t help—but when said driver slides a couple hundred dollar bills across the counter, Max caves.

Upstairs, after the necessary amount of small talk over tea, I lay out my intentions to Baba. I take the small box out of my purse, and cautiously open it. I’d been afraid to peek in before, but the small brown mushrooms inside don’t look any more threatening than the shiitake mushrooms you’d find at Kroger. Other than the shiny, nearly glowing golden veins that criss cross over the dried, gnarled caps, that is.

“Are these drugs?” Baba hisses, her soft accent sharpening on the last word.

“No!” I say quickly, although to be honest, I’m not exactly sure myself. “They’re just regular mushrooms, like what you usually use, but from Krina. The planet the Ks are from.”

“Hmm,” the old woman lifts the box gingerly to her face, and sniffs. Seemingly satisfied, she stands. “Very well. Only because you are Max’s friend.”

I grin widely, more thrilled than I would have expected to be. I follow Baba to her small kitchen, and watch as she boils water, and begins to soak the mushrooms.

“I can help, if you want,” I offer, shifting awkwardly on my feet in the doorway.

“You will only get in the way,” Baba says bluntly, heaving a giant bag of rice from a cupboard.

So I wait in the musty living room, fooling around on my phone and indulging in big whiffs of the pleasant smells billowing out of the kitchen. Finally, about an hour later, Baba reemerges and hands me a thin plastic tray. I take it, marveling at how deceptively mundane the rolls look in their cheap plastic box. If a stranger took this from the fridge downstairs, they’d probably never realize that the small brown chunks wrapped in rice are not of this planet.

“Thank you so much,” I say to Baba, smiling. I grab at my purse awkwardly. “Um, I can pay you—”

“No problem,” the old woman says, waving her hands at me. “Favor for Max’s friend.”

“Thank you,” I say again, thinking of the wad of cash Max took for this so-called favor. “I really appreciate it.”

I find Navur back at the hotel, studying something on his tablet, as he usually seems to be doing when I’m not around. He rises up to meet me when I enter the suite, giving me a quick peck on the lips and eying the sushi tray in my hand.

“All that for Max’s sushi?” he asks, as I lead him back to the small dining nook. “Why all the smoke and mirrors? I would have gone with you.”

“Just try it,” I say, bouncing a little giddily as I peel the top off the tray and slide the pair of cheap chopsticks across the table.

Nav raises his eyebrows at me, but obeys, breaking the chopsticks apart and delicately taking a roll, popping the whole thing in his mouth easily. It takes a second, but suddenly his eyes widen, and his chewing slows.

“You did it,” he says, finally swallowing and eagerly reaching for a second. “How?”

“I have my ways,” I tease, fluttering my eyelashes coyly. “Can I try one?”

“Of course,” Navur says, and I open my mouth, letting him pop a roll onto my tongue. He was right. The flavor of the Krinar mushroom is sharp but sweet, almost like ginger, but with a distinct umami edge not quite like anything I’ve ever had before.

“This is amazing,” I say through a full mouth, savoring the bite for as long as possible.

“Yes, it is,” the K says, holding my eyes until I blush and lower my gaze.

That night, Navur refrains from his usual roughness, instead lapping gently at my folds until my eyes roll back and my legs turn to jelly. He fucks me slowly, drawing the pleasure out endlessly, the orgasms washing over me like steady rain. Even when he’s giving me what he thinks I want, it’s new, and unfamiliar, and unforgettable. Fast or slow, rough or gentle, my K is true to his word. He can do me like no one ever has before, and no one ever will again. My fingernails curl into his back, and I bite into his shoulder, muffling a loud cry as we come together, bodies melting into one.

After we clean off, Nav pulls me into his embrace, and I readily curl deeper into his arms. I never sleep better than when I’m safe in his bed. Tonight, everything feels different. Today wasn’t a fight, wasn’t a power struggle, wasn’t a transaction. Today, something soft and warm was cemented between us, something that I know I should be fighting, instead of provoking. Ari was right, I realize, allowing myself to accept what I’ve known all along. I can’t handle this. I’m not equipped for a casual fling, I don’t have what it takes to be a K’s plaything. I want too much, and too desperately. Still, knowing full well that I can’t have this, I can’t help but do my best to dig my hole deeper.

“Why haven’t you ever bitten me?” I ask, in a near whisper. I feel Navur inhale sharply, feel his body tense beside me. “Don’t you want to taste my blood?”

“You don’t understand, do you, little one?” Navur replies at last, in a voice nearly as quiet as mine, but still deep enough to rumble through my body. “I’m already addicted to your body. One taste of your sweet blood, and I’ll never be able to let you go. The thought is unbearable enough as it is. Don’t tempt me, Noelle.”

He locks me tighter in his arms, pulling my naked body flush against his. I breathe shallowly, nerves fully awakened even as my tired brain teeters on the edge of sleep, and try to remind myself of all the reasons why letting him keep me would be such a bad idea.

I can’t stop jinxing myself. It’s like I’m begging for shit to keep hitting the fan.

The next day begins pleasantly enough, with a fun romp in bed—which winds up with us on the floor, then continues into the shower. We go out for a late brunch, then spend the afternoon at MoMA, perusing a new exhibition of abstract glass sculptures that are supposed to represent the advances in human culture since K-Day. To be frank, I really don’t get it, but Nav seems to find it all very fascinating.

After, we go for dinner at Beso, an old favorite of mine that I’m thrilled to be assigned to again. The first course goes swimmingly enough, with the two of us sharing a bruschetta platter and flirting over expensive wine, and then it all crashes apart rather splendidly.

“Noelle?” a familiar voice asks behind me, accompanied by an all-too-comfortable hand on my shoulder. It takes me a second to place the voice, which I know I should recognize, but it’s so unexpected in this particular moment and setting, it’s not until I turn to face the intruder that the cold chill of recognition runs through me.

“Robbie,” I say, not quite as a greeting, not quite as a warning. I smile politely at my ex-boyfriend and his date, a pretty woman with a sleek ebony bob and perfectly bronzed skin. She smiles back, looking just as uncomfortable as I feel.

“So you’re a xeno slut now,” Robbie says, cutting to the brutal chase. I can smell the bourbon on his breath now, the only explanation for anyone to be so brazenly antagonistic to a K in such a setting. Navur straightens in his chair, and Robbie’s poor date tugs at his elbow, eyes widening. When Robbie doesn’t budge, she flees the restaurant, and I can’t blame her. I wish I could follow suit.

“Navur, this is my ex, Robbie,” I say, as if everything is fine, trying to glare both men into submission.

“I know who this is,” Navur says coldly, looking like he might spring across the table at any moment. I can feel the tension in the air, feel the uneasy eyes on our table. Yes, people are used to dining among Ks at places like this, but at the first sign of trouble, the glamour of it all quickly wears off.

“Is this why you won’t pick up my calls anymore?” Robbie slurs, eyes narrowed at me, almost as if he can’t see the trigger-happy K he’s madly gesturing at. “Too busy spreading your legs for this monster, addicted to the blood high? I thought you were better than this, Noe.”

“I am,” I hiss, setting a desperate hand on Navur’s tensed arm. “This is just business, Robbie. Not that you have any right to ask. And I don’t answer your calls because we’re broken up, and I don’t want to talk to you anymore. Now stop being a drunk idiot and leave us alone.”

“You always acted like you were so much better than me, but now you’re just a modern day crack whore,” Robbie says, eying me blearily. My face burns red, adrenaline pumping through me so fast I can barely breathe. “Guess I should feel lucky I dodged this bullet, huh?”

“Walk away while you still can,” Navur growls. He’s on his feet now, knuckles white as they grip the table for control. I can’t breathe. “You’re lucky I don’t feel like causing more of a scene tonight, you pathetic drunkard.”

Robbie contemplates the big K for a moment, as if he’s bizarrely just now realizing that his opponent could snap him in half without breaking a sweat. “Whatever. She’s not worth it. Just remember, every time you kiss her, you’re kissing my—”

Crack.

Before I can even register the movement, Navur’s leapt over the table, and Robbie is prone on the floor. Everyone is screaming. Am I screaming? Yes, a shrill shriek is pouring through my lips, and I’m tripping over my own feet as I stumble back out of my chair, away from the two men. Is Robbie dead? I can see a bit of blood dripping from his mouth, and his left arm is twisted at an unnatural angle. But no, he’s still breathing, a gasping moan of pain leaking out of him, his booze-blurred eyes darting wildly.

Our fellow patrons are standing, backing away toward the exits, but Navur raises a hand, instantly making everyone freeze.

“No need to flee, we’ll leave you to your delicious meals,” Navur booms out to the room. “I do apologize for the fireworks, but I think we can all agree I was provoked. Someone should call for medical assistance, not that this asshole deserves it. Oh, just one more thing before we go.”

Navur steps closer to Robbie, and presses the toe of his shoe into the fallen man’s twisted arm. Robbie wails thinly, and I instinctively flinch and try to back further away.

“Apologize,” Navur demands, reaching over and grabbing my arm, pulling me roughly to him. “Apologize to Miss Keene for the hideous things you said to her.”

Robbie just moans, and Navur shifts more weight onto the foot that is on the wounded arm. At the same time, he tightens his grip on me, as if he’s punishing me at the same time that he’s demanding retribution for the insults hurled against me.

“I’m sorry,” Robbie says at last, through tears. “I’m sorry, Noe.”

“Don’t call her that,” Navur says, but lifts his foot. “In fact, don’t ever try to speak to her again.”

Navur apologizes politely to the dining room one more time, then pulls me out of the restaurant.

We don’t go home. When Navur’s towncar pulls up, he waves the driver off, dragging me down the street instead. I can feel people watching us, worried eyes on the scene, but they all just rush past us as fast as possible. Classic New York, I think spitefully, glaring at anyone who dares to meet my eyes as they fail to help me.

At the end of the block, Navur turns the corner and pulls me into the dark alley behind the restaurant. Out of sight from the street, Navur shoves me against the brick wall. I flinch as I hit it, my arm already feeling bruised from the K’s death grip. This is it, I realize, feeling oddly peaceful, if only because I know stronger emotions won’t do me any good. This is how I die, murdered by my K lover, the violent man I was stupid enough to think I was starting to fall for, for no better reason than my drunk ex calling me a whore. What the fuck? I don’t deserve this.

“Why did you say that?”

“What?” I ask, still bracing myself for some kind of death blow. I roll back through the few things I said during the disastrous conversation. “I didn’t say anything wrong.”

“Why did you tell him that you were better than this?” Navur growls, lifting me easily up the wall, forcing me to wrap my legs around his waist for balance. “Why were you so quick to insist you’re too good to spread your legs for a K?”

“What?” I stammer, still totally dazed from the violence in the restaurant, terrified from the K’s rough handling, and now utterly confused by the big hands tearing at the buttons of my blouse. “What are you doing? Navur—”

“Why did you say that?” he insists, his hand closing around my throat, preventing me from twisting away from him.

The move only makes me panic more, my body’s fight-or-flight response kicking in of its own accord, my hands clawing at my tormentor.

“Robbie knows my parents,” I try to explain, eyes wide and wild. “I didn’t want him to get the wrong idea and try to tell them about us.”

The grip around my throat tightens, and I gasp for breath.

“The wrong idea?” Navur repeats, his voice dangerously low and raspy. “You mean, that we’re together?”

“Yes!” I exclaim, heart beating so fast I’m sure it will burst. I’m going to die tonight after all. “Because we’re not, not really, you know that. Our time is almost up, and then we’re over, forever. You promised, Navur!”

His grip on my throat loosens, and his hands return to my clothing, pushing my skirt up to my waist, and ripping my panties aside. My blood is still pumping fast, breath all tied up in knots now, a tangle of life-threatening terror and the nearly Pavlovian reaction to Navur’s touch on my thighs.

“Our time isn’t up yet,” Navur hisses in my ear, and his fingers thrust into my pussy, with no prelude. I gasp, back arching against the brick wall, hands grabbing at his shoulders. “What is this, Noelle?”

I don’t know what to say, don’t know what to feel. It’s insane that the hands that just broke a man into pieces are now inside me, curling against my G-spot in a way I can’t fight. I moan, despite the violence, despite the rough possessiveness. Maybe because of it.

“What is this?” Navur grabs my pussy tighter, and suddenly I know what he’s asking.

“Yours,” I gasp, biting back a confused moan. “All yours.”

His other hand reaches for my throat again, cutting off my breath easily, making black spots dance in front of my eyes even as my inner walls clench around his fingers.

“And what are you, Noelle?”

“I’m all yours, Navur,” I exhale, and then, inexplicably, I come all over his fingers. I come with his hand closed tightly around my throat, and the dark bruises of his grip stinging my body, and the siren of the arriving ambulance drowning out my screams.

The Fourth of July is always a huge event in Buffalo Creek. When Jo and I were kids, it was the best day of the summer, with tri-colored popsicles, rides in the fire truck, and then running up and down the street with sparklers at night. Every few years, our parents would drive us out to Huntington, and we’d compete to sit on Daddy’s shoulders to watch the parades, always ending with a big firework display in the park. After K-Day, and the mine shut-down, people got even crazier about it, to a desperate degree. The farther we get from a genuine feeling of freedom and independence, the more loudly crowds will pretend to feel it.

Nevertheless, I try to fake patriotism as best I can, splitting popsicles with little Gavin and taking selfies with Jo in matching star-shaped shades. When my family is distracted, my smile slips, and I anxiously search the crowds on Broad Street for Navur. Is there anyone less free than me on this Independence Day?

After a venison burger, two veggie hot dogs, and four Bud Lights, I’m feeling a bit cheerier. The block party on Broad Street comes to an official close by mid afternoon, with folks splitting up and heading home for their own celebration. As kids, this is when Jo and I would rampage with fireworks until one of us had to run home crying, and as teens, we’d hit up whatever local party had managed to snag a keg. Today, however, we wind up at the old playground between my sister’s house and ours. Brett and Daddy toss around a football, Mom, Jo, and I sit on a park bench sipping rosé (or pink lemonade, in Jo’s case), and Gavin climbs up the big toy. It’s a snapshot from a time long gone, when the concept of aliens on Earth was fascinatingly fictitious.

I take a long sip of my rosé and smile as Gavin giggles the whole way down the twisty slide, immediately jumping up and running back up the stairs, stumbling a little in his haste. When I reach the bottom of this solo cup, I’ll be ready to join him in the revelry, tossing my inhibitions to the wind and taking a damn moment to pretend my life isn’t a tightening noose.

“Gavin, slow down baby,” Jo calls out, as the little boy takes the stairs too fast again. He obeys, stopping at the top to turn and wave at us cheerily.

The next moment happens so fast, Jo is screaming before I even register movement. The floor of the big toy, which has been old and rusty since my twin and I were kids, collapses, sending Gavin falling to the ground with a sickening thud.

I rise to my feet and freeze, caught in a nightmare for the second time this week. Jo is still screaming, kneeling beside her child, whose little leg is gushing blood way too fast. The broken metal must have cut him as he fell, I realize slowly, paralyzed as Brett runs up and bends beside them, one arm reaching out to comfort his wife, the other going straight for his wounded son. Jo finally stops shrieking, but now Gavin is wailing, a broken sound too loud for his tiny body. Dad is on the phone, while Mom wraps her arms around my sister, and I’m still just standing here like a fucking idiot.

When I’m sure the moment couldn’t possibly get any worse than this, a new figure enters the scene. My mouth goes dry as Navur runs up to my family with unnatural speed, bending down next to the fallen child in one fluid motion. No. No, no, no, no. My brain splits itself in half, with the logical side ecstatic that Navur is here to save Gavin, and the realistic, perhaps selfish side, horrified at what I know is about to happen. My two worlds, the two slices of my life that were never supposed to meet, are now colliding in the worst way.

“Get the fuck away from my grandson, you monster,” my father shouts, the first to react to the newcomer. Moved by idiocy, paternal instinct, or perhaps a mix of both, he lunges at Navur, who easily shrugs him off. Mom cries out as Dad tumbles into the grass, and Brett tenses anxiously, but Navur holds up his hand, again instantly silencing the tiny crowd.

“The child’s femoral artery is cut,” Navur says, simply but sternly. He fishes a thin silver tube out of his pocket, and holds it up demonstratively. “I can heal him instantly, if you let me. Otherwise, Gavin will bleed out before the ambulance arrives. The choice is yours.”

“Heal him!” Jo shrieks before Navur even finishes his statement, voice wobbly with the same weight of panic and relief that is currently bottled up within me. “Please, please just heal him.”

“Joelle,” Dad begins, rising back to his feet with a dark look.

“Daddy, it’s my baby,” my sister sobs, clutching her swollen belly. “Please let him heal my baby.”

Dad stands down, hands in fists by his sides, as Navur slowly guides the thin tube (a jansha, I think), over the gash in Gavin’s leg. We all watch in paralyzed awe as a dim light pours over the wound, and the flesh stitches itself back together before our very eyes. The damage is fixed just as fast as it was inflicted, and Navur rises back to his feet, looking unbearably tall beside my suddenly very old father.

“He lost a lot of blood,” Navur says, pocketing the jansha. “He’ll need a lot of rest and fluids over the next few days, and you’ll want to take him to his pediatrician for a second opinion, but he will live.”

“Thank you,” Jo breathes, gathering the still weepy Gavin into her arms. Brett puts his arms around them both, his face relieved, but his stance protective. “Thank you so much.”

“What are you doing here?” Dad asks the K, not a bit of gratitude in his harsh voice. “How did you know his name? Are you watching us? Why were you—”

Navur simply turns to look at me, where I’m still frozen on the periphery of the group. My family follows suit, until they’re all staring at me, realization slowly dawning over their faces. It’s everything that I was afraid of and more. The shock, the hurt, the shame, the disappointment…

I turn to the side and hurl my whole lunch into the grass.

We don’t sleep that night.

Mom cries, Daddy yells, and I resist the urge to flee into the rising sun. At first, I’d been glad when Navur let me leave with my family, instead of whisking me away once and for all, but now I would much rather be locked in his safe embrace than stuck in this powder keg.

“You’re endangering your whole family,” Dad says gruffly, possibly for the fourth time in an hour. Baby whines at the violence in his tone, cowering nervously in the doorway. “Did you think about that for even a moment? What about your mother? Your pregnant sister? Little Gavin? What if that creature had attacked your nephew?”

I don’t point out that “that creature” actually saved my nephew’s life. I tried that the first time, with less than great results.

“Is it something we did wrong?” Mom sobs, blowing her nose loudly into a tissue. That box will be empty any second now. “We let you go to school in New York. We should have tried harder to get you to go to Marshall with Jo. She married Brett, she’s fine!”

I want to protest that I’m also fine, but at this point, even I don’t know if that’s true or not. I rub my temples, wondering if it would be rude for me to get up and make some coffee. They probably wouldn’t even notice that the target of their unraveling is missing. It’s not like they’ve acknowledged my physical presence much at all during this conversation.

My phone buzzes quietly in the back pocket of my jeans. Probably Jo. It’s not like her to be up this late these days, but it certainly hasn’t been a normal day. I hope all the excitement didn’t upset the baby too much. If I ever manage to escape this hell, I have a lot of explaining to do with her. She’s going to be really hurt that I hadn’t told her about this, not to mention super judgy about the whole thing.

“Is it an addiction problem?” Dad is asking, leaning over the table and grabbing my hands very seriously. “I heard on the news that’s how they hook young women, with the addictive properties of their bite. It’s not your fault, sweetheart. We can get you help. There’s a facility, down in Miami—”

“I’m not addicted,” I snap, perhaps too harshly considering his concerned intentions. “And I am fine. Better than fine. In fact, I’m…”

This is the tricky part, the part that gets stuck in my throat. I can’t tell my parents the truth, obviously. Essentially whoring myself out in an attempt to keep the town safe is probably not that much better than bite addiction. No, if I want even a chance of not being my parents’ cause of death, I have to convince them this is a love story. And maybe, on the day we had Krinar mushroom sushi, I could have even convinced myself. But that was a fairy tale fluke, and after the night we ran into Robbie, I’ve been firmly slammed back into reality. This is not a love story, this is the cautionary tale they’re so terrified of. I can’t let them know that their worst fears have come true.

“I’m in love,” I manage, my voice cracking a little on the last syllable. I clear my throat and try again. “I’m in love with him. Navur. I know it’s not what you wanted, but I can’t help how I feel. I tried to fight it, I swear. But, he’s just so kind and generous to me, and you saw how he helped Gavin yesterday. I know it’s not typical around here, but it’s really not as dangerous as you think it is. I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you earlier, but I knew you would freak out. But I promise, I’m being safe, and I’m… I’m happy with him.”

I find myself blinking back tears by the end of my little outburst. Fuck, I almost believe my lies myself. I can only hope it does the trick for my parents.

“You’re in love?” my mother repeats, nearly spitting out the last word. “With a K? Honey, maybe it feels that way to you, but you’re young, you don’t even know what love is yet.”

“Mom, I’m nearing thirty,” I reply dryly, exhausted in every sense. “I’m not a child anymore.”

“Why was he in the park? Was he watching you?” Dad jumps in, the earlier gentleness gone. “Is that what they call love? Stalking innocent young women?”

“He just… He just likes to make sure I’m safe.”

An unfamiliar warmth plucks at my heart. Maybe that is love, to a man like Nav. The possessiveness, the control, the overprotectiveness. The things that scare me, that terrify my parents, might not be so bad, sweet even, when viewed through rose colored glasses. Maybe Navur really does want to know I’m safe, to do what he thinks is best for me, to provide every little thing I want or need.

Or maybe he simply wants to own me, to ensure my body is available for his pleasure at any given moment, to leverage my natural fear of such a predator into an easy lay for himself.

My eyes burn, with emotion, exhaustion, or both. I can’t do this any longer. Any of this. I’m losing my fucking mind, one day at a time.

“I really need to sleep now,” I say, pushing my chair back slowly. “If we really have to, we can keep talking tomorrow. Or later. Whatever.”

I barely make it onto my bed before my eyes slam shut, and restless sleep overtakes me.

When I wake up, my phone says it’s nearly 2pm. It’s also nearly dying—I haven’t charged it since the night before last. I plug it in, rub my eyes, and make myself call my sister.

She picks up halfway into the first ring.

“Holy fuck,” she hisses into the phone, her whisper so emotive it’s almost louder than if she were just speaking at a normal volume. “Holy fuck, holy fuck, holy fuck!”

“I know,” I say, keeping my voice low too. It’s like being a teenager again, whispering secrets over the phone and tiptoeing around because my parents are mad at me over some boy they don’t like. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier, but, you know.”

“How long?” Jo asks, ignoring my apology. “I thought you had just broken up with that guy, Robbie. I know you had your issues with him, but at least he was human.”

I take a deep breath, and launch into the same half-lie I tried to sell our parents earlier. She prods a bit further, wanting to know what Mom and Dad said, how I met Navur, and what the sex is like. I tell her the truth about the first, a modified version of the second, and squeal at her to shut up about the latter. Thankfully, Gavin needs her for something, so the conversation ends before it can get too rough.

Gathering up all my courage, I pull on a fresh t-shirt and head downstairs. Mom and Dad are in the kitchen, murmuring quietly over fresh coffee. When they see me approaching, they shut up, and Mom pours me a mug. I accept it with a soft smile, hoping this is a gesture of goodwill, and not a bribe meant to soften the blow of them telling me I’m about to be carted off to a convent.

“If what you say is true,” Mom says, tone bizarrely uptight and professional for our little kitchen. “Then we want to meet this… man for ourselves. Invite him over for dinner tonight, I’ll whip something up.”

I nearly drop my coffee mug. In my sleep-deprived haze last night (slash this morning), it never occurred to me that if I told my parents that Navur is my boyfriend, they’d want to meet him. Shit. Maybe I should’ve just let them believe that I’m trapped in this affair against my will, just another dumb blonde whisked off her feet by washboard abs and a vampire fetish. Navur will be gone soon enough anyway. I went too big with my lie, and now I’m stuck in it.

“Um, that’s really short notice, I don’t know if—”

“Noelle,” Dad says simply, in that no-nonsense voice that still makes me stand up straighter.

“Okay,” I cave weakly. “I’ll call him.”

Of course, Navur is ecstatic at the invitation. I don’t think he cares that this is my worst nightmare, or that my family will be out for blood. He just wants to insert himself into every little nook and cranny of my life.

My stomach in knots, I offer to help Mom with dinner, but she shoos me off. That’s how I wind up spending the afternoon on the couch, curled up with Baby, staring blankly at reruns on TV and wondering how I ended up here, and how much worse my life can possibly get at this point.

“Aren’t you going to change?” Mom asks, when she finds me still slouching in sweats twenty minutes before Nav is supposed to arrive.

“Oh,” I say blandly, looking down at my rumpled outfit. I’m so miserable, I don’t really give a shit about what I’ll be wearing at this haranguing, but I obey, and change into clean jeans and a nice-ish top.

Navur arrives promptly, as expected. He’s holding a giant bouquet of petunias, which I reach for instinctively as he gives me a chaste peck on the cheek.

“Tsk, tsk,” the K chastises, pulling the flowers back out of my reach. “These are for your mother.”

I swallow hard. Leave it to Nav to be the perfect beau, even when he’s not my beau, even when we’re walking into a trap. I wouldn’t be half surprised if Daddy pulled out his shotgun and put a round in the K before we even enter the dining room. Luckily, my mother appears in the foyer behind me before I have a chance to spiral too deep.

“Mrs. Keene,” Navur booms, grinning widely. “I’m Navur, so lovely to meet you under happier circumstances.”

He hands Mom the bouquet, and Mom accepts, her cheeks pinking slightly. Does she find Navur attractive? I mean, of course she does, she’s not blind, but gross.

“Navur,” Mom repeats cautiously, in a friendlier tone than I would have expected. Maybe it’s not a bad thing that she finds my K to be a total smokeshow. “Call me Amelia.”

“Mr. Keene is fine by me,” Dad says gruffly, turning the corner and curling a possessive arm around my mother’s shoulders.

“Mr. Keene,” Navur nods respectfully, reaching out for a handshake. There’s a too-long pause when I’m sure Dad will refuse the gesture, whipping out the shotgun instead, but finally, my father reaches out his hand. I exhale a breath I didn’t even know I was holding as the two men awkwardly shake hands.

“Let me get these in water,” Mom chirps, deep in polite company mode even now. “Noelle, take Navur to the dining room, I’ll have dinner out in a second.”

I obey, motioning for Navur to sit in the chair that used to be Jo’s, while I take my usual seat, and Dad takes his at the head of the table. As promised, Mom putters out with dinner just moments later, some kind of vegetable stew. Vegan cooking is not Mom’s forte, since she’s hardly ever had to, even post K-Day, but this particular concoction smells pretty good. I reach for the ladle, but Daddy clears his throat.

“Let’s say grace,” he says, folding his hands in front of him. I frown. We never say grace before our meals. Hell, we don’t even go to church, other than Christmas and Easter. I glance at Navur, who is respectfully bowing his head. Is this some kind of test? Is my father purposefully trying to alienate my K, push at buttons until something snaps?

The answer, of course, is yes. For the first twenty minutes of our dinner, Dad grills Navur relentlessly, despite Mom’s polite efforts to redirect the conversation, and my not-so-polite efforts. Navur takes it like a champ, and I wonder for a moment how many concerned human parents he’s had to woo over the years. Probably not many, I assure myself, trying to tamp down an unfamiliar fire that rises in me at the thought of Navur in another girl’s bed. After all, he said this was his first trip to Earth, and he hasn’t been here long. Not that I should care either way.

“Mr. Keene,” Nav says at last, after it becomes clear the interrogation will not be ending anytime soon. “I know this is unfamiliar territory, and that you’ve probably heard nothing but horror stories about my people. I understand your apprehension. But I promise you that I can treat your daughter better than anyone else on this planet. I would never do anything to hurt Noelle, sir.”

I wonder if this is the first time in history that a K has used the word sir. Nav must have really done his research on how to charm a country girl’s father. He takes my hand in his delicately, and offers me a gentle smile. I can’t help but smile back, blushing a bit as I glance at my parents. My mother is grinning back at us, clearly won over by Navur’s act (and face). Daddy’s expression is still stoic, but he looks slightly less like he’s about to grab a pitchfork.

Dinner continues in a slightly friendlier fashion, with Navur explaining his work as a botanist on Krina, and asking polite questions about Dad’s time in the mines, and begging Mom for embarrassing stories from my childhood. I watch it all happen like I’m merely a spectator of my own life. It’s the same way I felt in my nightmares of this moment, but what’s unfolding isn’t a disaster, not really. In fact, I can’t help but keep replaying Nav’s little speech. It’s not unlike the moment I used to fantasize about, when a handsome young man would finally ask my Daddy for my hand in marriage. Except in those fantasies, the man was human and not a bajillion-year-old alien, and when he promised to never hurt me, he meant it for real, with no asterisk that clarified “unless it will make her come, of course.”

I blush at the warmth both in my heart and between my legs, focusing on Mom’s dessert, a fruit salad. This is all a huge waste of time, I remind myself. This isn’t a proposal, it’s an act. In a matter of days, I’ll be rid of my tormentor forever, and that’s something I should be happy about.

So why does the thought of losing Navur hurt so badly?

I stay with my parents that night. I can tell Navur wants to take me back to his hotel, but it’s clear that the peace made with my parents is fragile at best. I wonder why Navur cares. He can do whatever he wants with me, with any of us, after all. Still, I’m grateful when he merely gives me a chaste kiss goodnight after dinner, promising to call me the next day.

I crawl out of bed the next morning wearily, after a long night of tossing and turning. Even though the much dreaded parent-alien dinner went about as well as it could have, I’m still plagued by worries. What if my parents remain unconvinced and out for blood, and rile up a mob to take down Navur? What if Navur changes his mind about wanting to play nice with my minefield of a family, and knocks them out of the way? Not to mention, what about me? What happens in a week, when Navur is gone, and I’m left picking up the pieces of my lie? Picking up the pieces of myself? As much as I hate to admit it, it’s clearer now than ever that it will be no easy chore learning how to live without my antagonizer. He’s molded me into his little monster, and I can’t even sleep without him. I crave his touch, crave his gentle kisses, crave his violent games. How do I go back to human boys who still can’t figure out where the G-spot is?

I pull a worn hoodie on over my sleep shirt and head downstairs. A cup of coffee will bring me back to my senses. I’m pouring some Folgers into the machine when I hear a knock on the front door.

“Good morning, little one,” Navur says when I open the door, startling me with his presence. He gives me a quick kiss, this one a little more teasing, more promising than the one last night. “You know, I do love seeing you in the morning, but I prefer when all I have to do is roll over in bed.”

I blush. “What are you doing here?”

He holds up a paper sack and a carrier with four paper cups, and I instantly recognize the logo from the coffee shop on Broad. “I figured if we couldn’t have breakfast in bed, next best thing.”

“Breakfast out of bed with my parents?” I ask dryly, and Navur shrugs. “Come on in, I guess.”

He sets his offering down on the kitchen counter, and I take my latte and pluck a muffin out of the bag. After a few minutes, Mom shuffles in, wrapped up tightly in her robe, and turns crimson when she finds the K waiting. At least now I know where I got my chronic blushing problem from.

“Oh,” she says, freezing in place, the confusion on her face nearly comical. “What… Um…”

“Navur brought us breakfast,” I help out, gesturing to the remaining coffee cups and pastries. “There’s a blueberry bagel in there, your favorite.”

“Oh, how nice,” Mom manages, taking a coffee and fiddling with it nervously. “Thank you, Navur.”

“Navur,” I correct her when she hits the accent wrong.

“Navur,” Mom repeats, still managing to fumble the word in her mouth.

As if the scene wasn’t awkward enough, Dad struts in like an image straight out of my worst nightmares. He’s dressed in his hunting clothes, and has his shotgun slung over his shoulder. Fuck. Today is Saturday, hunting day. Dad usually leaves before dawn, but he must be running late today.

“Amelia, where’s my…” Dad trails off when he sees us all standing uncomfortably around the kitchen. “Oh. Noelle, what is he doing here?”

“He just got here,” I clarify quickly, lest Daddy think I’ve been sneaking boys in at night. “He brought us coffee and pastries. Do you want a donut before you go? He brought old fashioned, your favorite.”

As Dad reluctantly takes his donut, I frown at Navur, struck by a sudden thought. How the hell did he know both my parents’ favorite morning treats?

“Good morning, Mr. Keene,” Nav says, ignoring my look. He nods at the gun pointedly. “Got plans for today?”

We all freeze at the question, and I see the dilemma play out on Dad’s face in real time. Will he try to lie to the K? Will he foolishly tell the truth, under the pretense of bravado? The answer, of course, is the latter, driven by stupid testosterone exacerbated by the false sense of security lended by the weapon.

“The boys and I go hunting every weekend,” Dad says gruffly, readjusting the shotgun and grabbing the final coffee. “I’m running late, so I’ll jet now. Thanks for the coffee.”

If Brett had been the one to bring coffee, Dad would have added a son to the end of that sentence, I think. It’s a minor point to get hung up on, though, especially as Navur straightens from his casual lean against the counter, into a subtly domineering pose that stops Dad dead in his tracks, even in his own home.

“Hunting,” the K repeats, a rumble in his voice. The last time I heard this tone, Robbie wound up in a hospital bed. I straighten too, clutching my coffee cup anxiously.

“Just like my Daddy, and his Daddy before him,” my father says, and I don’t miss the way his grip tightens on the shotgun strap. “It’s a real man’s sport.”

“A one-sided hunt is not sport,” Navur says, taking a step closer to my father. The muffin twists in my stomach, and I clench the paper cup in my hands so tightly it begins to dent under my fingers. “There’s no need to hunt for food anymore. We’ve taught you all how to live without meat. So, what you do is spill innocent blood for the fun of it, isn’t it?”

“Navur,” I say pleadingly, at the same time that my mom utters a warning: “Denton.”

Neither man listens. Instead, Dad pulls the shotgun off his shoulder and pumps it, the tell-tale clack making me jump and Mom slap her hands over her mouth.

“You come into my house, and try to tell me what to do?” Dad says, with impressive bravado, keeping the gun pointed up into the air. “Don’t make me point this at you, boy.”

Navur closes the distance between the two men with easy strides, and Dad instinctively lowers his shotgun at the predator.

“Daddy,” I breathe, not because I’m worried about him hurting my K, but because I’m terrified of Navur killing my father right in front of me.

Navur grabs the barrel of the shotgun, and before I have time to scream, he bends the metal back easily, as if he were playing with putty instead of deadly steel.

“No more killing,” Navur says in a lethally low voice, when the shotgun barrel is folded into an impossible V. “Not on my watch.”

I can’t breathe. The tension in the room is combustible, and if looks could kill, my father might succeed in being the first human to fell a K.

“Get this animal out of my house, Noelle,” Dad says at last, lowering the now useless weapon. “You’re never to see him again.”

“But…” I trail off, the ending of that thought a mystery even to me. But, he saved Gavin’s life? But, you can’t just tell a K what to do? But, I can’t just let him go, not even after this?

“I’ll go,” Navur says after a moment, backing away. “But I meant what I said. No more killing in Buffalo Creek.”

I watch my K leave, paralyzed. Impossibly, my biggest fear isn’t that the stress will permanently damage my mother’s frail nerves, or that my father’s ego will never recover.

No, what I’m crushed by is the utter rejection I feel as Navur walks away. Why isn’t he fighting for me? Why isn’t he taking me away with him? I know he’s capable. There’s no reason for him to accept my father’s ultimatum. Is this really it? Is he walking out of my life forever? Why? Is he bored of me? Has he taken all that he wanted from me, used me up, and now he’s tossing me out with yesterday’s trash?

Overwhelmed by far too much emotional trauma for 9am, I slide to the floor, and burst into tears.

It doesn’t take long for my worse fears to come true.

After the disaster Saturday morning, I lock myself in my bedroom like a petulant child, ignoring Dad’s threats and Mom’s pleas. I try to call Navur a dozen times, and leave a trail of unanswered texts, before finally giving up. It’s true. He’s done with me. I’m not worth the trouble after all, not worth the small town drama and emotional baggage. Bizarrely, I find myself wishing he’d bitten me after all. At least then, maybe he’d be as addicted to me as I now am to him. Maybe that would be enough to make him stay.

I cry myself to sleep in the middle of the afternoon, drained by an emotional morning, drained by an exhausting month. It wasn’t supposed to end like this. After the time I pledged to the K out of obligation, I was supposed to walk away relieved, ready and eager to move on with my normal life. His departure wasn’t supposed to tear me apart, tear my family apart.

A buzzing from my phone wakes me up. I grab at it in the dark desperately, certain it will be my K. No such luck. An embarrassing photo of my twin in the sixth grade grins back at me from the caller ID instead. After a moment of hesitation, I pick up.

“Jo?”

“Noelle, what the fuck is happening?” my sister whispers harshly into my phone. “Where are you?”

I sit up and check the time. 3:38am. “What are you talking about? I’m at home. What are you doing up? Is something wrong?”

“Yes, something is really fucking wrong,” Jo says, voice still low. A feeling of dread begins to creep into me. I’ve never heard Jo like this. “Daddy is here talking to Brett. I snuck into the bathroom to call you. I don’t know exactly what happened, but Dad is ticked as hell.”

“Dad’s over there? Now?” Adrenaline is rushing through my body now, and I’ve never felt this awake before sun-up. “Um, there was a thing with Navur and Dad yesterday. It was pretty rough.”

“Whatever it was, it wasn’t rough, it was the end,” Jo whispers. “Dad’s here to recruit Brett. He’s riling up a mob, Noelle. He wants to go after the K.”

My heart, which was pounding out of control a second ago, freezes. “Wh… What?”

“A mob, like it’s the dark ages,” my sister says. “Brett’s trying to talk him out of it, since your K saved Gavin, not to mention this can only end in disaster, but Dad’s pretty set. He’s already got half the town on his side, and I’m sure the other half will be with him by dawn.”

She’s not wrong. This town has been on a hair trigger since the mines shut down. They won’t pass up an opportunity at what they perceive as revenge, no matter how ill-advised it may be.

“Don’t freak out,” I tell Jo, mustering up the ability to sound like I’m in control, when I’m definitely freaking out myself. “It’s bad for the baby. Go back to bed, and whatever you do, don’t go out today. I’ll run over there now, try to catch Dad before this gets even worse.”

“Okay,” my sister says cautiously, after a moment of hesitation. “But you be careful too, Noelle. And call me if you need anything. I’m pregnant, not made of glass.”

At eight months, same thing, but I’m not going to tell Jo that. “Of course. I’ll take care of it. Just try to keep calm, promise me.”

“As long as you promise me not to be a hero,” Jo says. “I know you like Navur, but even if he’s a K, he’s still just a guy. He’s not worth endangering yourself for.”

Even if that was true, it’s not Navur I’m worried about in this situation.

“I promise,” I lie, crossing my two forefingers in my lap like a kid at camp, wondering if my sister is doing the same herself. “I have to go now.”

I jump out of bed, and pull on my best breaking-up-a-mob jeans and sweatshirt. I jerk my hair back into a tight ponytail, slip on the old combat boots I haven’t worn since high school, and run to the bedroom door.

Ouch. Nothing happens when I twist the knob, so I slam into the heavy wood full speed. God, I’m an idiot. I locked the door last night, and in my panicked rush, I totally forgot to unlock it just now. I twist the lock and try again. The knob turns, but my door remains stubbornly stuck. What the fuck? I shove my shoulder against the wood as hard as I can. We’ve never had a problem with sticky doors before, but it’s an old house. When the door still doesn’t budge, my pulse begins to speed. No, this isn’t some random fluke, an old house finally acting its age. Something is up.

“Mom?” I shout, pounding on the door. “Mom, what’s going on? Let me out!”

Nothing. Jo didn’t say that Mom was at her house. I wonder where she is. Dad wouldn’t put her in danger by taking her with him on this fool’s errand, but I guess he knew she would crack under pressure and let me out if she stayed here. I try calling her, then my father, then Navur, but they all send me straight to voicemail. I scream in frustration and fling my phone against the bedroom wall, watching it bounce back onto the stained carpet uselessly. Useless, that’s what I am right now, too. I scream again and slide down the infernal bedroom door, burying my face in my hands.

This is exactly what I was trying to avoid. This is why I agreed to play Navur’s dumb game in the first place. I can’t believe that despite my best efforts, everything I was afraid of is still happening anyway. I feel like crying, but I don’t. I cried myself out yesterday. Now, I’ve got nothing left in my body. No tears, no will, no nothing. Adding insult to injury, I’m fucking starving. All I ate yesterday was half a muffin.

As I watch the sun rise through the bedroom window (which has been painted shut since before I was born), I wonder if I’ll ever see my father again. Alive, anyway. The memory of the video that went viral during the Great Panic, of a monstrous K literally ripping humans apart, plays on repeat in my head. I want to believe that Navur wouldn’t hurt anyone, especially not my father. He swore there would be no more killing in Buffalo Creek, after all. But he’s a predator, and if he’s threatened, there’s no telling what might happen.

I try to imagine my K as a monster, as a cruel creature capable of such violence. It should be easy. After all, I’ve seen him knock out Robbie, bend steel with his bare hands, felt his ruthless lashings on my own flesh. But still, all these instances don’t feel like mindless violence, for cruelty’s sake. He was moved by protectiveness, passion, pleasure. When I try to image Nav crushing the life out of an enemy, all I can picture is him wrapping me possessively in his arms. When I try to picture him baring his teeth at an opponent, all I feel is the shadow of his tender lips on my flesh.

Something stirs within me, and it’s not just the dark desire that drowns me at the mere thought of him. No, this is something softer, and even more forbidden. I can’t let Navur hurt my family, hurt my people. But I also can’t let my people turn the man I might love into a monster.

I jump up and run to my phone. Thankfully, it’s fine, other than a thin crack along the glass screen. I scroll through my contacts with trembling fingers and tap the call button.

“Noelle, what’s going on?” Sabine picks up after half a ring. “I was about to call you. My dad and brothers just left, the whole town’s freaking out. They say they’re going after the K.”

“I know,” I say, squeezing my eyes shut. “Listen, Sabine, I have to tell you something.”

“It’s okay, I know. Everyone knows,” Sabine says quickly. “It was you, you’re the girl with the K. Your dad is telling people that the K… that he raped you, brainwashed you. Is that true?”

“God, no, of course not,” I say, smacking my forehead in frustration. “No, no, nothing like that. That’s crazy. Navur—the K—he… He’s just my boyfriend.” I don’t think that’s true anymore, if it ever was, but I don’t have time to delve any deeper into our complex relationship. “Listen, Sabine, this is all a crazy misunderstanding blown totally out of proportion. I have to try and stop it before people get hurt. I need your help.”

“Okay,” the young girl says, after a moment of hesitation. “Okay, I believe you. What do you need?”

I tell Sabine my address and where to find the hidden key to our house. Then I pace around my small room anxiously for the next half hour, until I hear the faint jingling of the front door opening, and light footsteps running up the stairs.

“Sabine?” I ask cautiously, pressing my fingertips hopefully on my bedroom door. “Is that you?”

“Yeah,” the girl assures me, her voice muffled but close by. “Sorry it took so long, my mom didn’t want me to go out so I had to get sneaky.”

“No worries,” I say, breathing a sigh of relief merely at the presence of an ally. “Can you get me out?”

“Uh huh. There’s just a chair shoved up under the knob, real old school.” I hear some scraping against the door. “It’s wedged up their real good, give me a sec.”

More scraping and some grunting, then the knob turns and Sabine opens the door.

“Oh my god, you’re an angel,” I gush, throwing my arms around the thin girl. “Thanks so much.”

“Of course,” she says, hugging me back. “You owe me a hell of an explanation, though.”

“I know, I’m so sorry,” I say, pulling back, and heading toward the stairs. “It’s complicated.”

“I bet,” Sabine says, grabbing a giant pair of bolt cutters that I hadn’t noticed leaning against the wall and joining me.

I frown at the image of the pretty girl dressed in cutoffs and cowboy boots, slinging the bolt cutters over her shoulder. “Really?” I ask, gesturing at the giant tool.

“I wanted to be prepared for anything,” she protests defensively, and I laugh.

“You’re badass,” I tell her, reaching the kitchen and grabbing a protein bar from the pantry. “Now, tell me what’s going on out there.”

According to Sabine, Dad’s ridiculous mob hasn’t found Navur yet, but that hasn’t dissuaded their blind rage in the least. I instruct the girl to camp out at my house, insisting that it’s only in case I need something when she protests that she’s not a baby who needs to be left at home. I’ve always been the one to hang back, never the friend to lead the pack, let alone charge ahead solo. It’s kind of funny, I suppose, that being Navur’s submissive has teased out my dominative side. Not that it matters anymore.

Making Sabine promise one last time to stay put, I crank my car into gear and whip the aging sedan out of the driveway with as much horsepower as the old gal can muster. As soon as I’m out of view from the house, my brave face falls and my stomach twists. I’m not sure where I’m going. I’ll just drive around until I find the bloodthirsty mob, I guess, and hope that it’s not too late.

I’m just passing the old high school when my phone starts buzzing. I grab it quickly, seeing Sabine’s caller ID and kicking myself when I simultaneously notice how low my battery is. The least I could’ve done while I was locked in my bedroom, moping on the floor, is plug my damn phone in.

“Yeah?” I ask quickly, desperately hoping that there’s not more bad news so soon.

“My friend Tonya is live-streaming,” Sabine says breathlessly, her manic tone making my own pulse quicken. “They found him. They’re all on Broad Street, outside the coffee shop.”

“Thanks, Sab,” I say, swerving left at a red light. “Can you tell what’s happening? Is anyone—”

The white noise on the other end cuts to silence. I check, and sure enough, my newly cracked screen is dead and black. Fuck. With a frustrated scream, I throw the useless machine back into the passenger seat.

I can hear them before I see them, even with the windows up. Just a muffled hum, like a restless concert crowd waiting for the band to come on stage. I don’t think you can hear the violence in the air, but you can definitely feel it, a subtle crackling that burns across my skin. Or maybe I’m just going crazy.

Two streets down from Broad, I have to pull over and park. People have abandoned their vehicles haphazardly in the street, like a scene straight out of one of those old timey post-apocalyptic movies, back when it was still fun to pretend. I stumble out of my car, barely remembering to shut the engine off, not bothering to lock the doors. The crowd is still just yelling angrily, which I guess is good. Better than utter silence, or screaming, I tell myself.

I sprint down the barren roads, cursing every single time I turned down Ari’s generous offers to whip me into shape. As I turn the corner onto Broad, I can see the crowd gathered in front of the coffee shop. In real life, it’s not as huge and threatening as I had imagined. Navur, however, meets my expectations, deadly still before his accusers. As if sensing my presence, he looks my way, holding my gaze intensely for a moment, then turning back to the crowd.

“Wait,” I shout, jogging down the last bit of sidewalk separating me from the disaster zone. Kind of a stupid request, I realize as everyone turns to stare at me. They were clearly already hesitating. Despite the insane amount of backwoods weapons being wielded (I’m a little shocked no one brought out an actual pitchfork), it seems like so far everyone has been wise enough not to actually do anything with them.

“Noelle,” Dad snaps from the front of the crowd as I wriggle my way in. “What are you doing here?”

“Stopping this bullshit before you get yourself killed,” I hiss at him, before firmly planting myself between the people I’ve known my whole life, and the K I may never see again after today.

“Noelle,” Navur murmurs behind me, but I ignore whatever weight his low voice carries. I’m not doing this for him, I tell myself. Not that he needs anyone to do anything for him. I’m doing this so everyone can safely go on their merry way, and I can get back to my ridiculously boring life in peace. I’m putting myself in life-threatening danger for me.

“This is all totally unnecessary,” I shout, feeling suddenly nervous as I stare out at the crowd. I hate the way they’re all looking at me, like I’m a victim, and like I’m a nuisance in their way. “This man didn’t hurt me. He’s not here to hurt anyone. Let’s all just—”

“No offense, hun,” Mr. Grant, my old elementary school bus driver, interrupts. “But this isn’t about you. This is about them, and everything they’ve taken from us. This is about them thinking they can tell us how to live, tell us what to do and what not to do. This is about taking back what is ours, starting with Buffalo Creek.”

My heart sinks as the crowd roars in approval at his little speech. Shit. Instead of magically fixing this mess, I managed to make it even worse.

“Please,” I begin again, not sure if there’s anything I could possibly say to turn this around. From the back of the crowd, I hear someone snicker the word xeno in my direction, and I feel my cheeks heat in shame. Is that really what’s going on here? Did I let Navur brainwash me with his magical cock, and now I’m suddenly taking a big public stand for the global enemy, irreparably ruining my reputation in my own hometown? And for what? For a man who doesn’t even want me anymore?

“Noelle,” Navur repeats again, this time with a gentle hand on my shoulder. I turn to look at him, eyes big, and he nods at me nearly imperceptibly. I let him pull me aside gently, and take a protective stance in front of me.

Half the crowd instinctively cocks their weapons, but Navur just raises his hand calmly. It’s a reserved gesture, but carries enough authority that people fall back a step or two automatically.

“I know that sometimes my people’s efforts to ensure a better future for your planet can cause some less desirable consequences in your present,” Navur begins slowly, in a voice that carries effortlessly down the street. “And while I can’t say I’m particularly moved by petty complaints at being unable to satisfy your cravings as you once could, or damage your environment without thought, I do sympathize with the trials of Buffalo Creek. For generations, your economy was built on a foundation of self-destruction. You didn’t choose it, just as you didn’t choose for that foundation to be ripped out from under you by our arrival. It’s not your fault that this area’s natural resources and your labor were being exploited, and that now you’ve been left with nowhere to turn. I understand why such a life-altering decision, taken completely out of your control, has left you with a bone to pick with my people. But your foolish attempts to inflict violence and retribution on me will help nothing. However, I have something that will help you all, and if we can all agree to play nice, I’m more than willing to share.”

The crowd, myself included, collectively hold their breath as Navur reaches into his jacket pocket, and pulls out a glass sphere about the size of a softball. I lean forward to get a closer look. The orb seems to be filled with water, and floating in it is an oblong, mossy shape, a shade of green so vibrant it almost seems to glow.

“During my time on Earth, I happened upon a new plant species while diving just off the Galapagos. This previously undiscovered plant species naturally produces twice as much energy as can be derived from coal—I’ll spare you the biology lecture. I originally intended to take this with me back to Krina, but now I believe it will serve a better purpose here. This is not the plant’s natural climate, but with the correct hydroponic system, you will be able to propagate this species easily, and in the end, your economy will be far better off than it was when your mines were still functioning. It’s all yours, along with my help, if you’ll accept it.”

I stare at the K, mouth agape. Nobody says anything, all still trying to process the crazy information we’ve just been handed. Is it true? Is Navur really doing this for us, for me, for Buffalo Creek?

He turns to look at me, and I see something unexpected in his gaze. A warmth, no, a fire. I see in his eyes that when he walked away from me yesterday, he wasn’t leaving me behind. He was biding his time, waiting to play this trump card. I know what this is, what he’s offering. It’s not a gift, it’s a trade. He saves my town, saves my family, and in return, he wants much more than a month. He wants my forever. The thought would have horrified me a few weeks ago, but now, all I feel is a sense of relief. It’s over now, for good. All the fears, the drama, the animosity, it’s all done. I’m out of excuses now. We all are.

So in front of my father, and the whole damn town, I jump into my K’s arms and kiss him deeply.

With Nav’s K tech, it takes about two months to get the hydroponics farm up and running, and another three to get the new workers trained and prepped to take over the facility on their own. In that time, Jo gives birth to a healthy baby girl, Cara, and our old hound Baby goes on to doggie heaven. Life, death, and the world keeps spinning.

Buffalo Creek hasn’t fully bounced back yet, of course, but spirits are higher than they’ve been in years. Sabine decides to stay out here for at least a little while longer, working at the farm. It probably helps that she finally worked up the guts to tell her friend Tonya about her years-long crush, and it turned out Tonya felt the same way.

After an eternity of awkward dinners, awkward breakfasts, and everything in between, there’s finally a semi-solid peace between Navur and my father. Things will never be smooth and easy there, but at least they’ve established a mutual respect. Though he insists on remaining firmly retired, Daddy was first on the scene every day, helping to build the new greenhouses and serving as a model citizen for our new liaison with the Ks. After all, if good ol’ boy Denton Keene can make peace with the alien bedding his daughter, anyone can. Mom’s been much easier to win over, swooning over gifts of bouquets and vegan pastries. That, and I think the new baby has made her extra ooey gooey.

I’m not writing food columns for Montrose anymore, but that’s because I’ve been promoted. With an incomparable inside scoop, I’ve been covering the story that has captivated America, about the small town in West Virginia suddenly farming the most efficient form of biofuel ever discovered, thanks to a most unexpected K ally. Soon, though, I’ll be writing an even more exclusive story.

Navur wraps his arm around me, and I cuddle into my cheren. We’re standing at our new favorite spot, a hill just overlooking Buffalo Creek, where the greenhouses below us glitter like diamonds in the sun. Ours was a whirlwind romance, to say the least, but what we have is undeniable. I can no longer live without him, just as I know that he will never be able to let me go. Who knew that what I was looking for all along would be exactly what I swore I never wanted?

Nav leans in for a kiss, and I meet him eagerly. Adrenaline rushes through my veins, sparked both by his kiss and the anxious anticipation of what’s to come.

Tomorrow, we leave for Krina.

Thank you for reading Submission Games! If you enjoyed Noelle and Navur’s story, I hope you consider leaving a review on Amazon. As a new author, every review really helps me out! You can also check out some of the other great stories in the Krinar World, including Domination Games, my companion novella to Submission Games, and Girls on the Run, my series of short Krinar vignettes.

To drop me a line, follow me on social media, or find out when my next story is coming out, you can visit my website at www.francescabaez.com.

Flip the page for a sneak peek from Domination Games!

I hate this damn cold.

After living in Manhattan for so long, I should be used to it, but it still gets to me. Especially after a long, exhausting day at work, the harsh chill only adds insult to injury.

Kinda wanna die, I text my best friend Noelle as I dodge an icy patch on the sidewalk. Is it summer yet?

Let’s call in sick and go to Miami tomorrow, Noelle texts back immediately, along with a sunglasses emoji.

I’m grinning as I push the door to the liquor store open with my shoulder, the bell announcing my arrival cheerily.

“What’s up, Ari,” the cashier says from behind the counter, with a friendly nod.

“Hey Dante,” I smile back. On any other day I’d stop to chat, but today I need a drink, and I need it now.

I head for the wine aisle first, unbuttoning my coat as I walk. The shelves are still decorated with drooping tinsel and faded advertisements for holiday sales—Dante really needs to clean this place up. When I pause at the red, the man at the other end of the aisle catches my eye. He’s tall, with dark coloring and sharp features, but it’s the way he turns to me that I immediately recognize as otherworldly—a predatory, animalistic movement that is just slightly too smooth to be human. Is he a Krinar? They’ve been living among us since I was a teenager, and I’m not as intimidated by their presence as the older generations are. Still, it’s unusual to be this close to one, especially in such a mundanely human setting, and I can’t tell if the goosebumps on my skin are from fear or exhilaration. Our gaze meets for a moment, his incandescent eyes holding mine for a beat too long. Then the blonde he’s with says something, and he turns back to her.

Shaking off the rich feeling of his gaze on my skin, I decide I want something stronger than merlot tonight, and head toward the whiskey. A few minutes later, the man turns the corner, pausing by the bourbon. He doesn’t look at me, but I can feel the electricity filling the few feet between us, and I wonder if he can too. Distracted, I reach for a bottle of Jack, but the glass immediately slips out of my nervous grasp. Before I can even register the disastrous trajectory of the bottle toward the floor, the man has closed the distance between us. He catches the bottle just in time, frozen mid-crouch on the floor beside me. We stay like that for a moment, me looking down at him, him looking up at me. Up close, I can see that his eyes are a vibrant shade of amber, nearly yellow. There’s no doubt about it now, this man is a Krinar. As he rises to his full height, I feel a rush of adrenaline. I’m tall, but he still towers over me.

“I believe this is yours,” he says, handing the Jack back to me. His voice is low and raspy, vibrating through me as I accept the bottle.

“Thanks,” I say, almost mumbling. Our fingers don’t brush during the exchange, and it’s not until his hands gracefully fall back at his sides that I realize I wanted them to. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“I only saved your whiskey,” he says with a grin that I hope is flirtatious, cocking his head to the side.

“And booze is my life,” I respond, hugging the bottle nervously. I laugh to make sure he knows I’m joking and not actually an alcoholic, and he laughs along. My god, I can feel that laughter all through my body, deep and rich and melodious. I know I’m supposed to be afraid, any reasonable human should be afraid, but all I feel is a thrill of excitement, buzzing through me, down to my very core.

“Verit?” The blonde appears at the end of the aisle, holding a bottle of cab.

The K—Verit—gives me one last nod before turning and walking back to her. I watch him leave unabashedly, drinking in the flawless way his body moves. Once they’re gone, I pay for my whiskey and walk home, certain that I’ll never see my Krinar ever again.

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