is coated in rock dust. Depending on what section of rock you work and what color layers it’s comprised of, you could be coated in a solid dusting of one color, or all of them for an almost orange, burnt sienna effect. Even Rakhii, who come in a rainbow of colors, their scales opalescent and shiny, turn a dull rock dust-color when they’re in this place.
I eye Bash, not-so-idly wondering what his natural color is. Right now, he’s sort of mulberry.
He eyes me too, but like he’s trying to read my emotions, not my color under all the sweat and rock-grime. “I apologize.”
There are hobs ringing us, alien men who have worked for him for a while from Gracie’s explaining of things. Hearing their boss utter these two little words to me? These guys look like they’re just about ready to topple over.
Hobs are almost human-looking, so close to us they can pass for human and did when they visited Earth. I wasn’t on this planet or with any of these people when that visit happened, but I’m told they basically only had to hide their wings, and that was it. They have freaking claws and fangs but I guess they led everyone on Earth to believe they were members of a movie cast, and Earthens bought the story.
Then again, why wouldn’t we? Who expects aliens to look like super tall bewinged vampire supermodels? Shoot, did they even have to try hiding? If they’d whipped out signs that said they were there to enslave Earth, everyone would have just been like ‘Sign me up, hot stuff!’
And not only are they supernaturally pretty, of all the aliens I’ve met, hobs are really nice guys. All of them. Every last one of them is so polite, and they have a superbly sweet appreciation for women. They’re adorably protective of anything with XX chromosomes. The moment Bash made the one-armed reference, they closed in like he’d finally pushed it too far. There was a sizzle in the air like there was about to be a massive hob-revolt and the mean quarry master was going down.
But with Bash’s apology, every last one of the hobs has reeled back in clear shock, like the man (yeah, yeah: alien) has never ever uttered an I’m sorry.
I shrug big to show there’s no hard feelings. “Hey, if this means I’m no slower than anyone else, I’ll take it.”
“To the contrary,” Bash intones low and unconsciously sexy, eyes still too trained on me, searching me. “You aren’t slower. And you impressed me when you kept working today.” His gaze finally releases mine, his attention moving to my empty sleeve. “I meant no offense to you personally.”
I beam a bright it’s-all-good smile. “Apology totally accepted. So as far as your speech was going, you’re saying we’re all slow-asses? No discrimination based on gender, creed, or limbs—just our dratted little human-ness?”
Bash doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
I clap my leg. “All righty! Then I guess we better get back to work.”
Bash’s ridged brows go up again. So do his quills as he very sincerely enunciates, “I might like you, human.”
D’awww. All the sparkly warm fuzzies.
CHAPTER 3
BASH
After suffering the simmering outrage from the hobs, my fellow Rakhii, and the humans, I wait a prudent amount of time, letting them settle before I make my way to the area that the hard-working human is clearing.
Now that I’m giving her more than the most cursory of looks, I can clearly see she has a full limb, and a not-full limb. She’s wearing a long loose-sleeved white upper blouse, or rather, it began its life as white. The dust in a quarry is a pervasive, silently choking entity. It’s accumulated as a significant coating on what was (likely) formerly pristine fabric in the short time she’s been here, giving her a sheen of reddish-violet yellow, just like everything in this craggy, earth-carved place. The bottom half of her is fitted with dark rugged-materialed pants that show dusty smears primarily on the half of her body where she has five fingers. Her smock is a sturdy sort like every other female’s, and its original color looks like it started out as a dark blue. Brown leather smock-straps rest over her shoulders and disappear under a great amount of hair, which is tied in a bundle at the back of her head. Her hair doesn’t have the polished look of a Gryfala’s. In fact, nothing much about her looks polished at all. If one looked at humans a certain