Total pages in book: 175
Estimated words: 166095 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 830(@200wpm)___ 664(@250wpm)___ 554(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 166095 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 830(@200wpm)___ 664(@250wpm)___ 554(@300wpm)
And I want to go back to the ship. Immediately.
If Bethiah notices my fear, she doesn’t say anything. She struts through the narrow halls with an arrogant swagger that tells everyone she’s hot stuff, and the lead attached to my collar is loose in her hand. I trot behind her, avoiding the sassy swish of her tail as best I can and trying to bite back my whimpers of terror.
She said she wasn’t going to sell me. I have to believe her. I have to have someone to rely on in this universe, and I’ve picked her.
I hope I haven’t picked wrong.
Bethiah gave me a cloak to wear while we’re on board the station and while I initially didn’t want it—and it’s too stuffy for it to be comfortable—I’m glad I can hide under its folds and slink behind her, trying desperately to remain unnoticed. I say nothing as Bethiah cheerfully greets the port workers and slips them some of the square, metallic alien money. They nod at her and eyeball me a little too long, and I move a little closer to her.
“Where to first?” I ask when we turn down a long hall. It’s crowded, people loitering along the edges and watching us with far too much interest. I notice Bethiah’s hand goes to her holster and her swagger gets a little more obvious as we duck into the mixture of cat-aliens, blue aliens, and some that look like lizards and frogs. It’s such a strange blend of beings, and it makes me nervous all the same. My memories from this place are scattered with intense fear and confusion, but I recall what it was like to huddle next to the cold, damp metal wall, chained to others. I remember what it felt like, dying a little inside, each time someone groped me and looked at my teeth like I was livestock.
I hated it, and I hate being back here. Shivering despite the mugginess, I tug my cloak closer. Out of the shadows, I catch a glimpse of a red eye, and I avert my gaze. The last thing I want is more attention.
“Mmm, I smell fried leaves,” Bethiah says cheerfully as we turn down another winding hall. “You want a snack, human?”
“No.”
“You’re no fun. What if I feed it to you?”
I can’t tell if that’s flirting or just more of her chaos. “Still no.”
Up ahead I see an atrium, where the halls open up into a busy central area, and my skin practically crawls with the need to head in that direction. There are green things there, plants, and more shops, but all I care about is that it’s open and less oppressive than the cramped halls.
We pause by a stall, and sure enough, it’s full of fried foods. Bethiah breathes deep, inhaling the scents, but they make me want to vomit. I can’t eat anything. I’m too anxious. I edge closer to her, and to my surprise. she loops an arm around my shoulders and pulls me in against her breast. She flashes sharp white teeth at me. “I said you’re going to eat, and you should eat, fluffit. It’ll be delicious.”
“I’m really not hungry, Bethiah.”
“You can eat a nibble,” she says, her arm squeezing around my shoulder. She’s holding me so tightly I’m practically shoved against her tit, but at least I’m protected from passersby, who are just swerving around us like we’re an obstacle in the way and not a spectacle. “We want two of the fried leaves,” she says, holding up her fingers. “One sweet and one savory.”
The vendor—an alien with orangish skin and creepy eyes—nods and picks up two iridescent, shiny containers. He immediately begins to stuff both with the revolting-looking fried leaves, which are covered in what must be a crispy reddish dough. One is then covered with a sprinkle of something that looks like coffee grounds, and then they’re shoved across the cart towards us.
Bethiah hands him a couple of the metal “coins” and gives the coffee-sprinkled basket to me. She picks up the other and eyes him. “Any fruit today?”
Good lord, fruit too? I’m going to be sick. My nose wrinkles.
The vendor shakes his head. “No fruit. Not a single shipment.”
“Hmm,” is all Bethiah says, and she looks thoughtful. “No other fruit vendors have moved in?”
“Not a one. Pass that on to your friends.”
“Oh, I will,” Bethiah says, practically purring. She sounds pleased, and I wonder what the heck they’re actually referring to. She looks around, then spots an unoccupied bench by a nearby leafy plant. “Let’s sit over there, fluffit. I want to eat my snack before we get down to business.”
She releases me and I follow her over to the bench. When I sit down, her tail curls around my waist and she tugs me a little closer. With a hearty bite, she crunches down on one of the leaves and makes a delighted sound of pleasure, one of the ones she swears she doesn’t make in her sleep. “Been forever since I had decent fried leaves.”