TOUCH me you bond-forcing pest! But my first fool thought is: This is mine now. But that’s ridiculous. It’s only that Rakhii tend to hoard things they find interesting or special and clearly I need to take up a hobby if my system is trying to collect human body parts all of a sudden. If I’m developing an impulse to dismember humans I’ll be put down for sure. Still, I don’t let this one’s body part go. I trap her by the wrist, noting her pulse immediately. It’s racing.
I note too, with no little amount of dread, that this is the first human I have willingly made physical contact with. I can’t help but think this development doesn’t portend harmless things.
“YOU’RE LATE,” Gracie hollers, voice carrying, echoing around the canyon.
My ears fold back with a slap.
I don’t release Isla’s fingers when I twist my head to see who the human’s leader is so loudly addressing.
To my horror, Gracie seems to be shouting at a fresh passel of humans. She’s ushering them into the quarry.
“There’s MORE?” I force through gritted teeth. My eyes snap back to Isla because she’s attempting to tug her fingers from me. For the briefest click, I debate whether I am obligated to release her or not. It’s such a strange notion that I drop our connection immediately.
Isla’s lips tug upward almost as if she can read my inner surprise and confusion. “Look at you, all this talk about you being aloof and monster-like, but you’re practically my great big welcome wagon.”
“I don’t know what that means,” I tell her, trying to ignore her by turning around to glare at all the new, petrified faces. I address them, raising my voice not only to be heard but to cow them: “There is one rule you must heed here. I am the quarry master, and you will obey me or you will be punished.”
Isla steps up beside me, her smile gone, her face drawn serious. “Listen to the man,” she calls to them, waving her short arm. “Don’t make him mad. Trust me—you do NOT want him to rip off your arm.”
Everybody gasps.
Everybody turns to stare at me in horror. The new humans because they don’t know this isn’t true; everybody else because they know I’m about to bite off this human’s saucily waving limb.
Turning swiftly on the brazen alien, I give her an incredulous scowl. “Have you no sense of fear?”
Her smile is soft, but her shrug is insouciant. “What are you going to do, take my other arm?”
The latest wave of humans all quail.
But I just stare down at her, stupefied. To think I’d worried about this alien. About her feelings, of all things. I reach out and tug a chunk of her mane.
Noise explodes around us—humans are reacting in fear, hobs are outraged, Rakhii are disapproving and uncomfortable—probably anxious that I’m single-handedly (and I mean that with no jest intended) going to edge this planet into obliterating Rakhii. I’ve done nothing to lend the whole of our kind anything beyond a negative reputation. (We Rakhii have a tendency to go mad, then require killing in order to prevent us from rampaging through entire cities, murdering hobs who get in our path. Only hobs, never females though, so there’s that. However, this latest act of mine probably seems proof enough that I’ve met my sanity’s limit.)
Unlike every other being present though, Isla doesn’t react with shock or horror or even fear. She only turns enough to confirm that her mane truly is being pinched between my fingers. Proving she might not be healthy in her head’s basket, she sends a smile up to me and whispers quietly enough that I have to lean down to hear her utter, “Careful, Bubashuu.”
My tail coils and knots behind me. I can’t see it happen, but I certainly feel it. It’s coiling and knotting because she’s murmured my name.
Her whispering voice is dangerously sweet. Dangerous to me.
Isla’s eyes sparkle up at me. Bewitchingly. “You’re going to give everyone the impression that you like me.”
I snort, derisive. “By tugging your mane? That’s ridiculous...” For Gryfala. In my experience, a princess would not appreciate having her mane tugged as a signal that a male was attracted to her. If Isla were a Rakhii though? That would be another matter. Tugging a quill does happen to be a play yard flirtation. A common early affection display. Hells, I’ve seen my sire still tugging at my dam’s quills, still teasing her even though they’ve