The Quarry Master - Amanda Milo Page 0,50

tail starts to wag.

Without glancing down, I shift and stomp on it.

Even pinned to the stone though, it still tries to twist back and forth happily.

Isla’s giving me a large smile, one that stretches her pliable alien face, and she makes a show of taking her first sip of her rancid beverage. “Mmmm, that’s the good stuff,” she claims, gaze dropping to the contents. Her brow furs jump closer together, and her eyes dart up to mine. “How did you know I take cream and sugar?”

“I have smelled them in your beverages.”

She appears genuinely surprised. “Wow. You have a good sniffer.”

I blink down at her. “If that’s your way of saying I am observant, then thank you, I think.”

She smiles at me again, and it makes my hearts… do strange things. Pump faster. Heat strangely. I’m not certain I should like it, no matter how oddly good it feels.

She takes another sip of her beverage, and pleasure slaps me like I’ve been broadsided by a teasing female’s tail. “It was a compliment, in case you weren’t sure,” she adds, grey eyes gazing up at me with a softer expression than even a moment ago. You’d never suspect that her beloved drink tastes like something a yanak drops out of its hind end, her mood towards me is so instantly improved. The rank liquid might actually be magic.

I commit this knowledge to memory, and clear my throat. I glance away—and that’s when I see that all of the humans are watching us.

Peeling back my lips, I expose my fangs, readying a ball of fire in my throat… only to swallow it, feeling it burn a path all the way down to my stomach. Because it’s my fault the humans are standing around us dumbly. All the humans are still waiting to water themselves, I realize.

INFERNOFIRE! I want to snarl at them for the delay this is causing to the very beginning of the workday—but just then, Isla brings the rim of her mug back to her lips and downs another grateful swallow of her life-necessary, beloved coffee. When she lowers the mug, she’s beaming at me.

I turn back to the herd, a less-dark glower on my face. “Come here. Collect your nutrients.” To my bemusement, a few of them twitch like they might step forward—but they still can’t quite bring themselves to hydrate while I’m in their midst.

I jump when a hand closes on half of mine. I look down and find Isla, her mug gripped by her short arm, pinching it against her chest, which has freed her hand to tug my own. “If you aren’t here to glare at everybody, they’ll trample each other for their coffee, believe me. Get out of here, friend.”

This advice seems to be true and that is why I allow myself to follow it, striding through the throng of humans, distantly enjoying how they edge back and leap away from me.

All while I do this, Isla walks beside me. Isla still holds my hand.

An odd, buttery, salty scent hits my nostrils, and I stiffen. A swivel of my head and I confirm my suspicion: Gracie and Dohrein are sharing a snack the humans call popcorn, and the pair are munching on it, eyes wide with interest and trained on me and Isla.

The glee is clear to see on their faces when their gaze trains on our hands.

My dorsal spines clack together.

Isla’s head comes up. Then she peers around me and finds her human leader. Rather than being irritated or upset at being observed, she seems entirely unperturbed. At least until she glances up and sees whatever expression is chiseled across my face. She frowns. “Problem?”

Not rudely, but not apologetically either, I tug free of where her fingers grip mine.

I turn, and I walk away.

There’s a long, weighted moment of pure silence. Then Isla shouts loud enough for the canyon to ring. “I DON’T HAVE COOTIES, YOU JERK!”

Slowly, I retrace my steps, returning to where I’d been standing with her. My ears snap flat, and smoke plumes from my nostrils. “Repeat that.”

Just behind Isla, humans are rushing to get their coffees. With my irritation plainly engaged, they’re desperate to finish filling their cups and mugs and containers lest I begin a killing spree. Creator forbid that I turn their coffee-ing station into a slaughtering grounds before they can sip their polluted water. Soft curses and rushed whispers fill my ears, but Isla doesn’t waver in giving me her challenging stare. I slap the ground with

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