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  My wonderful little man. If I didn't have him here, I'd be lost.

  I make the tea even as Analay shakes out his furs and then goes to shake out mine, just because it makes him feel more adult to help me with that. I can't help but grin at how serious he takes getting ready for bed. It's as charming tonight as it was the first night. Zolaya told him he needed to be the male in charge of our family while he was gone, and Analay takes that task very seriously. I watch my little one as he finishes prepping our beds and then changes into his pajamas while I sip my tea. He brushes his messy hair back from his horns with his comb, scrubs his teeth with a twig and rinses his mouth, and then climbs into bed.

  "Can I tell you a story tonight, Mama?" he asks, looking up at me.

  I put my tea down, pleased that we’re keeping our routine. Normally Analay is the one that likes to tell me stories. He's got a fantastic imagination, though he's not the chatterbox that Erevair is or the question-firer that Josie's Joden is. My Analay's just…happy. It's ironic because he was the crankiest, angriest baby, but sometime after he started getting teeth, he just turned into the sunniest personality and he's an utter joy. Every day is wonderful with him around, and I can't help but think I lucked out with my child. He's the handsomest boy in the village (I know that's the proud mama in me talking) but he's also the cheeriest. "I’d love that, baby. What story are you going to tell me?”

  He nods, looking so very serious. "I’ll tell you about how you and Papa met." He pats the blankets, inviting me over.

  Ah. I smile at him even as I move over to his bed and ease my bulky body down against him. My son curls up against me, resting his little head and pokey horns against my chin. I don't even mind that they're stabbing me in the cheek. I like holding him too much. "I know how that one goes already," I tease. It's his favorite story and one he's heard a million times before. It’s sweet that he wants to tell it to me though.

  He only knows the G-rated version, anyhow.

  "I like that story," he tells me. "It makes it feel like Papa's here even when he's not."

  Oh. A huge lump forms in my throat and I feel like crying all over again. I squeeze my son close, determined not to let my panic rise again. "I miss him, too," I whisper, and do my best not to sniffle. It just worries him when Mama cries, so I try not to do it in front of him. But I know I can't think about Zolaya tonight. Not when I'm missing him so badly. "How about a different story? Something new?"

  He thinks for a minute, taking the task very seriously. Bedtime is sacred in our house, because it's Mama-and-son bonding time. We snuggle and tell stories and I listen to everything he can possibly think to tell me. It might be my favorite part of the day, and I love listening to his happy rambling. "I was with you for most of the day, so I don't know if there's anything exciting. I can tell you about the dream I had during nap time today?"

  "Did you dream?" I ask, sniffing his hair. He always smells like my baby, even though he's getting older.

  "Yes. I dreamed about Anna." He pats my big belly. "She's going to be like this someday with my kit."

  I giggle. "You dreamed about making Anna pregnant?" Out of Nora's blonde little twins, Anna's the less pretty, less vivacious one. Of course, I'd never say that to Nora. But I'm surprised that Analay's crushing on her. "Is it because your names are so close?"

  "No, Mama. It's because I'm going to resonate to her. But not for a long, long time yet. When we get older." He yawns. "I'm going to be a hunter and after Elsa resonates, Anna's going to resonate to me. There are going to be lots of kits in the tribe then. We'll run out of huts for all the families. Someone's going to have to sleep in the storage huts, just like when you and Papa met."

  I feel a weird little prickle move over my skin. "Oh? You dreamed all that?"

  "Yes." No explaining, no argument, just simple acknowledgment.

  "That sounds like quite a dream. So who does Elsa resonate to?" I stroke his hair absently.

  "I didn't see it. My dream was mostly about me." He shrugs. "I can see if I can find out next time I dream. Sometimes I remember a lot more."

  "You do? Like what?" This is the first time he's mentioned it to me. No, wait. He's mentioned dreams to me before, but I thought they were just silliness. This is the first time he's talked about resonating.

  "Sometimes I dream about what Papa's going to bring home from a hunt before he comes home. And sometimes I dream about my sisters."

  The prickle moves down my arms and I shiver. "Sisters?"

  "Three of them. This one," he tells me, patting my belly. "And then two more, but they're not for a while yet."

  I swallow hard, thinking. Is this like Rokan's “knowing” sense? Is he dreaming this because it's going to happen in the future? What he says sounds reasonable…and yet I'm still surprised. I'm not like Josie, who seems determined to shotgun out as many babies as possible with her mate, Haeden. I thought after having such a hard time with Analay's pregnancy and nursing that maybe I'd just have the one baby. That maybe my cootie wasn't prepared to give me more. Getting pregnant a second time was a surprise, but a welcome one. The thought of more kits than that, spaced apart? I…like it.

  Daughters. Three of them. My goodness. "What were their names?" I can't help but ask. I need to ask Zolaya if he's related to Rokan through a cousin or uncle. Or maybe this is just childish nonsense. But it has a strange ring of truth to it that makes me listen intently.

  He just laughs sleepily and pats my stomach again. "Mama, you're the one that names them, not me."

  Fair enough. I rub his back, hugging him against my chest. "So you're going to resonate to Anna, huh?"

  "Yes, but not until she grows teats. It's going to be a while yet." He pats my chest sleepily. "She'll be nice to sleep against, like you."

  My mouth twitches. "I see. Anyone else going to resonate?"

  "Erevair and Kai," he mumbles, and it's clear he's getting tired. "But everyone knows that."

  Those two do seem to make a cute pair…but they're also only children. "Mmm. And Joden?" I ask, thinking of Josie's brash, chatty little boy. He's Analay's good friend, though he sometimes makes me want to tear my hair out with all his questions.

  "Talie," Analay murmurs, drifting off. "Or Vekka. Can't ’member."

  Huh. I stroke his hair. "Go to sleep, baby. You can tell me about it tomorrow."

  "Won't remember it tomorrow," he tells me, and then looks up at me, all sleepiness erased by worry. "You'll remember for me, won't you?"

  "You bet," I tell him, curious and a little creeped out all at once. I need to tell Marlene about this. And Maylak. And Rokan, since he's back. I wonder how his “knowing” started. "Get some sleep, love." I kiss his forehead. "Love you, Analay."

  "Love you, Mama." He closes his eyes again and cuddles up against me, and then he's quiet.

  I hold him while he sleeps, thinking about all he's told me. Surely it's nothing but a child talking about a vivid dream he had. Has to be. Then again…me with three daughters? I could see it, eventually. I think of little Anna, his “mate” of the future. I don't know what to think. I wish Zolaya was here so I could tell him about this and he could chuckle over it with me. Even though it's nothing but a dream, I still squeeze Analay a little harder as he sleeps.

  He's still too little for me to think about losing him to someone else, even if it's Anna with two yellow pigtails and a tubby little tummy. I'm not ready to give up my baby yet. I hold Analay close for what feels like hours, and as I do, the calm that Maylak gave me feels like it's wearing off, and I'm left alone with my thoughts.

  I think of Zolaya, and if he's out there worrying over me. If he's remembering to eat enough, because he gets distracted by wanting to do everything and forgets to take care of himself. If someone's repairing his boots for him…and if she is, if I need to scratch her eyes out. I know he'd never look at another woman.

  But that doesn't mean she can't look at him. And my Zolaya's handsome. He's got beautiful long black hair that he wears in a careless braid, and sweeping horns and strong, sharp features. When he smiles, he takes my breath away.

  What am I going to do if he doesn't come back soon?

  What if I have this baby while he's gone?

  God, what if he doesn't come back for another six months? What if Veronica and Ashtar decide they're not coming back to visit for a while? The little worries start piling up until my chest feels tight and my fingers start to tingle.

  Then silly worries pile on top of the others.

  What if Analay's right and he's going to resonate to Anna and it happens faster than anyone thinks and then I don't have anyone? What if I'm alone forever? What if Zolaya meets another woman and realizes that his resonance mate is too much trouble because she cries all the time and she suffers from anxiety and needs constant reassurance?

  What if while he's gone he realizes he doesn't love me like I love him?

  Stupid, stupid tears start to leak again, and before I can sob all over my sleeping son, I detangle myself from him and ease out of bed. I re-tuck the blankets around him and try not to smile as he shoves his thumb into his mouth. I know he's too old to sleep like that, but I don't have the heart to pull it free from his mouth. He's still my baby for a while yet.

  I, however, am a mess. I move to the tea over the fire—still warm—and chug it down as quickly as possible. It has a calming element, and tonight I can use as much as I can get in my system. I bank the fire, one hand on my belly, and then crawl into my own furs and stare up at the ceiling, trying not to cry.

  Zolaya. My Zolaya. I miss him so much it feels like a physical ache. I know if he was here, he'd walk me through calming down, like he always does. He'd hold my hands and make me talk through my fears. Reassure me that everything's all right and hold me until the worst has passed. It always helps when he's around. Maybe it's the gentle hum of his khui against mine that relaxes my brain, but with him gone, it's like all my anxiety has come raging back.

  I glance over at Analay while he sleeps. Tell me about how you and Papa met.

  I can't talk about Zolaya on bad anxiety days, because it hurts too much. But maybe thinking about him will help. So I close my eyes and picture his face, trying to remember the first time I saw him…

  2

  ARIANA

  EIGHT-ISH YEARS AGO

  "Can you feel it?"

  I turn to look at the woman sitting next to me in the snow. Her eyes—now a glowing blue—are wide and she has a hand pressed to her chest.

  "I'm pretty sure I can feel mine moving around," she says, and she swallows hard. "It's so gross."

  The thought is terrifying. I put a hand to my chest, but I don't feel anything. That might be worse. What if mine is malfunctioning? My body aches at the thought and I have to bite down on my lower lip to keep from sobbing aloud. I've done enough sobbing in the last day or so, to the point that the other “captives” are starting to give me ugly looks.

  I can't help it. I just can't seem to stop crying.

  I think I'm justified. I think finding yourself on an icy planet, alone except for other kidnapped human women and big blue alien guys, means that I'm justified in crying for hours on end. It's awful here. It's bitterly cold. I'm from Jersey, so I'm no stranger to snow like some of the Southern girls here, but back in Trenton it doesn't get cold like this. This is bone-deep cold that makes me wonder if I'll ever get warm again. It doesn't help that these guys are wandering around in leggings or loincloths. To them, it's not cold in the slightest. That only makes me cry harder.

  It's been a rough twenty-four hours. I last remembered falling asleep over my textbooks and woke up to a bunch of strangers telling me that I'd been kidnapped by aliens and now I'm stranded on a wintry planet. To make matters worse, I have to get a parasite or I'll die, and the parasite itself will pick me a mate.

  I don't care about the parasite or the mate thing nearly as much as the “never go home” thing. There's clearly no pharmacy here. The native aliens seem to be wearing leather and fur and that means there's no technology. If there's no technology…that means there's no way I can get my anti-anxiety medications to help me cope.

  And oh god, do I need a dose of Xanax right now. Even just holding the pill bottle and knowing I had them at hand would help. Knowing that they're forever gone and I'm on my own to cope with my brain? It's enough to make my panic even worse.

  You're okay, Ariana, I tell myself. Remember what Dr. Maple says. Go through the steps. I clutch the fur around my shoulders that someone kindly offered me and try to think of my panic list. Dr. Maple gave me a card with ten steps on it when I started seeing him, and I've carried it with me everywhere ever since. When my panic's the worst, sometimes just reading through those steps while I'm waiting for my meds to kick in helps.

  Except I don't have my purse. I don't even have shoes. I've got nothing and I woke up naked. All I've got are the clothes that someone else gave me. The weird boots on my feet are too floppy, and I don't have any panties.

  Oh god, what am I going to do when I get my period?

  I let out a little whimper and close my eyes. Steps. Steps. I need my steps. The girl next to me moans again, and the cold wind whips at my hair. My lungs hurt, a sure sign that I'm taking short, panicky breaths. That means I'm on the verge of a panic attack. Okay. I need to talk myself down. Steps, I remind myself. Step one is…

  I don't remember. My panic flares all over again and I can feel a cold chill run under my skin, another sign that I'm about to lose my shit and go into full-blown panic mode.

  I can't focus on that. If I can't remember step number one, I can move on. I know one of the steps is to Acknowledge Your Freakout. Yeah, I've got that one covered. I definitely am acknowledging it. After that, I'm supposed to focus on Breathing Deep. Don't Let Fear Conquer Me. Let the Feelings Happen and Move On. I seem to remember more of the steps than I thought, and I focus on repeating them in my head. Okay. I can do this. I can let the feelings happen. I can. Don't let fear conquer me.

  A hysterical little laugh bubbles out of my throat at that. Don't let fear conquer me? Somehow I don't think Dr. Maple was thinking of my situation when he made that list. Of course I'm frightened. I'm going to die out here.

  Another sob catches in my throat and I feel the shaky terror moving over me. My thoughts are racing and I can't concentrate. I'm definitely in the grips of a panic attack and I don't know how to calm myself. My mantra doesn't seem to apply at the moment.

  Next to me, the brown-haired woman moans again, and when I open my eyes, she rubs her chest, right over her heart. Oh god. If she's feeling hers move maybe mine's not moving because it's dead? That means I'm going to die, too.

  I know I'm catastrophizing, but I can't help myself. I can't stop thinking the worst. My brain just keeps firing terrible scenarios at me, and I can't stop crying. My body aches and I realize I'm taking tiny, gulping little breaths instead of the deep, calming ones I'm supposed to.

  Focus on breathing, I chide myself. If nothing else, you can do that.

  I drop onto my back in the snow and bend my knees in a pose that my therapist calls “corpse pose.” Of course, just the word “corpse” adds an edge to my panic, but I force it back and concentrate on breathing deep and meditating. In and out. In and out. Ignore the world around me and just focus on breathing. Ignore the low murmurs of chatter around me. The women who seem upset and crying. The low thrum of the blue aliens talking quietly amongst themselves. The whistle of the wind around us.

  Just.

  Focus.

  On.

  Breathing.

  There's a low, throaty giggle that brings me out of my trance, because it's such a content sound and it seems out of place here. Who's freaking happy about this situation? I open my eyes and sit up, frowning. I glance over our little encampment. We're near a small copse of pink, spidery trees that provide no shade from the tepid suns and no relief from the wind that tears at my furs. The other women are clustered together, though I see a few of the big blue men have started to approach. One in a loincloth and nothing else offers a brown-haired woman another fur, while another scowls at all of us. A small woman with a broken leg hisses as someone splints her wound. A black woman hugs her knees and listens to another woman talk, her expression hollow. Everyone's got glowing blue eyes now. Off in the distance, I see the leader with the curly hair—Georgie? I think her name was—holding hands with one big blue alien and giving him a teasing smile that tells me she's not exactly miserable here.

  Must be nice.

  And over at my side, the girl who keeps pressing a hand to her chest? The one that feels her cootie moving? She's giggling again and biting her lip as she smiles at one of the aliens. Her hand is still pressed to her breast, but she doesn't look miserable that she can feel the thing anymore. As I stare, the warrior in leggings and boots (and nothing else) drops to his knees in front of her, tail twitching. His eyes are wide with wonder and he puts a hand over his own heart.

  "I'm Nora," the girl beside me says, breathless and sexy. She can't take her eyes off the guy in front of her.

  He looks equally enraptured. "I am Dagesh."

  The way he pronounces it is strange, but it doesn't matter. Nora moans as if it's the sexiest thing she's ever heard of and reaches out to touch his chest, over his hand. "Are you…I thought mine was moving."

  "It resonates," he tells her in thickly accented English. "You resonate for me. You are my mate."

  "Oh," Nora breathes, and she doesn't sound upset at this at all. I bite back a hysterical sob. I thought we'd have more time before our cooties picked out mates. It's happening right now? I don't even have my own clothes yet. It hasn't even been a day and we're already being paired off. The gaze of the other men as they stare at us suddenly seems less curious and more ominous. Are they watching us because they too want to see who they pair up with?

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