Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 85553 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85553 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Maybe it’s his face. He’s handsome enough, I suppose. His bone structure is prominent, his features regular. His jaw is square, his nose prominent and scaled heavily like his brow, his eyes deeply set. As if to offset all this hardness and the harsh angularity of his face, his hair is downy, almost baby-soft in its fineness. It hangs close to his jaw like some sort of fairy tale prince, all rippling, shining tousled waves. That’s not the problem, though. It’s his gaze. His eyes are blue like everyone else, but his pupils—a slightly darker shade of blue than the rest of his eye—are vertical. They’re a slit of darkness amongst the sea of blue and give off a menacing vibe. I don’t like it.
I don’t like him, either.
All of this adds up to a “no thank you” from me.
“Well?” he says, and he smiles again, as if he expects me to suddenly shower him with compliments.
“Well what?”
“You like what you see, yes?”
“No.”
His expression falls. “Bah. You do. You are just uneasy because I am the only ssethri splice upon this planet full of mesakkah.”
“Mesakkah?”
“The blue ones. Did you not hear Flor say that there are many of them here?” He shakes his head. “They are terrible gladiators. Some armor, but not much in the brains department. I can easily take them.” He pauses and then adds, “At least, the splice I come from can easily take them.”
Skarr looks momentarily troubled and I feel a flash of kinship, that we’re both struggling with this cloning thing. That we both don’t know who we are. “They seem nice.”
“Nice does not win battles.”
“No one said there are battles here.”
The look he gives me is condescending and pitying. “Of course they say that. Mark me now, though, there is always a fight to be won.”
I roll my eyes.
Skarr rubs his chest again, and his song grows stronger. He smiles at me, the expression crawling over his face slowly, as if it’s taking him a little time to realize that looking at me makes him happy.
“What?” I ask defensively.
“I am looking at you, just as you looked at me.” He continues to rub his chest in a way that makes me feel awkward, especially with heat pulsing between my thighs. “Is that not allowed?”
Giving a little shrug, I remain still so he can look all he wants, because he allowed me to gawk at him, right? As long as it’s just looking, it can’t hurt. A small part of me is curious what he thinks, too.
Skarr circles around me, rubbing his chest as if rewarding his khui. “Mmm.”
“What’s that mean? That ‘mmm’?”
“Just that I approve.” He reappears in front of me, the smirk on his face again. “Your appearance is a little quiet, but I imagine it is because you are stealthy and clever, yes? So I approve. My khui would only pick the best to mate with me. You do not mate a zelft to a thrombox, after all.”
I blink at him, utterly repulsed. If he asked to check my teeth next, I wouldn’t be surprised. I’m not a person to him. I’m some sort of sexual accessory to make him look good to others. He doesn’t care about me, just appeasing his own ego.
It’s rather gross.
I turn and start walking away again.
“Wait, where are you going?” Skarr chases after me, his heavy leather cloak flapping. “Female, I said wait!”
“I just told you my name!”
I wait for him to say it. To be a normal person and apologize. Vivi, I’m sorry. It’s short. Simple. Easy.
Instead, he jogs next to me. “Remind me of it again?”
Ugh. This is the worst. The worst of the worst. I keep storming away, speeding my steps up. I don’t know where I’m going. Just…away.
He grabs me. Snags me by the arm and tries to stop me.
And I lose it. I halt abruptly, plant both hands on his chest, and shove. I might even let out a feral little scream of rage.
Skarr tumbles onto his back in the snow. Instead of looking furious, though, his eyes light up with enthusiasm, as if the thought of me fighting him excites him. “That is more like it, my mate.”
“Ugh! You are revolting!” I fling my hands into the air in disgust and stomp away again. “And I am not your mate!”
“And here you said there were no battles to be won,” he calls out after me.
Chapter
Eight
VIVI
Since I don’t have anywhere else to go, I stomp my way back to camp.
I’m tempted to leave, though. To just keep on heading out and see how far I make it. I know the answer to that already, though: not far. I don’t know enough about this planet (or even myself) to make that a viable option. So I head back to the encampment where the other clones are waiting by the fire. What other choice do I have?