Copyright © 2026 by Zoe Nash, Zoe Nash Books.

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No part of this book (Roping Her Alien Ranchers, The UFOmegaverse) may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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ABOUT THE BOOK

One heartsick cowgirl.

Three aliens who think horses are Earth’s primary life form.

All Tammy Tucker has left is a broken-down, nearly bankrupt stud farm. She’s got one chance to make it work—and it all rides on a stallion named Mystery and a million-dollar broodmare named Sassafras. The only problem? Mystery and Sassafras hate each other.

Tammy needs a solution, and fast.

But maybe not in the form of a trio of colorful aliens crash-landing their ship into her supply barn.

Before she can scream, one of the tentacled oddities sprays Tammy with an inky, stinky substance and she passes out. When she wakes up, her unwanted guests are in the pasture trying to talk to her elderly Appaloosa.

Despite her best efforts, the aliens refuse to believe that human beings, not horses, rule the planet. They do, however, find Tammy’s anatomy... enticing.

Cyro. Kalith. Vantor.

They traveled 124 light years to collect Earth ocean samples, and they have no idea why they landed in some place called Kansas. Their mission training only prepared them for a stealth operation—land near the undersea trench, fill the ship tanks, and leave. It definitely didn’t prepare them for dealing with land life forms... or how intoxicating an Omega-classified biped could smell.

Tammy’s scent makes all three forget duty and discretion.

Because the only thing they want now?

Is a sample of her.

With the help of a universal translator, a ton of sitcom reruns, a little cephalopod shapeshifting, and an endless string of hilarious misunderstandings, Tammy might just save her ranch and gain three—pretty weird—ranch hands.

ABOUT THE SERIES

For these lonely human Omegas, destiny is about to crash land in their backyards. The UFOmegaverse doesn't take itself too seriously. These quirky, laugh-out-loud rom-coms are stuffed with heart, banter, and a dose or two of banging.

✦hilarious meet-cutes

✦language barriers

✦shapeshifting

✦weird... eggplants

✦found family (and home)

✦medium burns

✦open door spice (endgame)

✦guaranteed HEAs

✦standalone books

The UFOmegaverse exists for one very important reason: Because growing up, I freaking loved the movie Earth Girls are Easy. Mac, Wiploc, & Zeebo will always have a special place in my heart.

And I still wish I was as hot as Valerie.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

I’m just a girl, standing in front of a reader, asking them to…not take things too seriously. It’s all about the tentacles. Eight of them. Along with one fascinating “eggplant.” And then times that by three alien bodies. The galactic possibilities are endless.

Love, Zoe

1

TAMMY DARLENE TUCKER

Aren’t sunflowers supposed to make the world seem… sunny?

“Shit,” I muttered, “maybe Derek’s right. Maybe I am only good at look’n pretty.”

As if I could forget the state of the property, dawn highlighted every flaw of Sunflower Hills Ranch. I’d poured my sweat, blood, and freaking life savings into this damn place, yet each new day made it a mission to point out fresh problems. Like right now, the sun seemed to be rising directly over the supply barn—which I was pretty sure was tilting further to the right, like Kansas’s own leaning tower of Pisa, minus the cultural value and aesthetic charm—even though the building’s location was due North.

I stood on the creaking porch studying the endless peeling paint and sagging fence sections. This place hadn't seemed quite so desperate when I'd signed the papers all those months ago. Back then, I'd been riding high on a diet of spite and heartbreak. Sunflower's price tag was bloated, but I’d covered it with the money I'd squirreled away from selling my condo in the city. Derek hadn’t known about that; he’d assumed I was penniless when I’d bolted. How could I leave him? No money. No skills. No hope. I’d be back in a matter of days, tail between my legs, ready to be his arm candy again.

Joke was on me. If my son of a bitch Alpha ex rolled up to my house right now, he’d find I was dangerously close to proving him right.

What did I have to show for myself?

An empty bank and a hefty seven-year farm operating loan.

The house roof leaked every storm, so the upstairs was littered with old buckets to catch the rain. My fridge sounded like the compressor was on its last leg. The well pump had just broken down for the millionth time, costing a mint. The supply barn was perilously tilting. I’d stepped into the machinery building, full of random crap and two rusty tractors, about four times. It was just more than I could mentally handle. So many flaws, too many to list. If I tried, I might die of desperation on the spot.

How had I ever thought I could make this a thriving horse ranch?

Exactly three horses on the property, one of them an ancient Appaloosa that came with Sunflower Hills, and the other two the expensive as hell Selle Français broodmare and the Quarter Horse stud. The latter two hated one another, and if I didn’t figure that shit out, how was I supposed to presale a foal and save this sinking enterprise?

I clutched my favorite chipped coffee mug between both hands, the liquid inside long gone cold. I had several hilarious mugs I loved, but this one was special. My ex hated it, said it was childish. Maybe it was, but I’d keep using my beaver mug that said, ‘I don’t give a dam’ until I either died or the ceramic crumbled.

I could hear Derek’s voice in my head right now. Why couldn’t I shake his influence yet? Why couldn’t I get him out of my body?

Taking a hand off my mug, I rubbed the old mark on my neck. Nearly faded. What do they say about our bodies? Every seven years, we’re new people. Every cell’s been replaced. I knew that wasn’t exactly true, and that different cells have different life spans—days or even a lifetime. The skin, though, only takes a matter of months to fully be replaced. Which means, even right now, I’m walking around in a body with skin Derek never touched.

“Told you so, TamTam. You’re too pretty to be work’n anyways. Sell this place. Come back where you belong,” I pitched my voice low, a ridiculous impression of him. “Let me take care of you, darl’n. Ain’t I good to you? Don’t I make you happy?”

I shivered. Even pretending Derek was here talking to me made tears prick my stupid eyes. His words, the ones he’d actually said to me and the ones I made up as a form of self-torture, were like a swarm of bees. Always there, buzzing around in my brain, waiting to sting.

A breeze kicked up, carrying the scent of sunflowers. I inhaled deeply, trying to find comfort in the one thing about this place that still matched its name. The previous owners had laboriously grown a variety that smelled like chocolate when they bloomed. Early summer now, and the property’s perfume could rival Wonka’s factory. The fields were positively bursting with them, and the horses couldn’t be happier. Especially my old man Artie, an Appaloosa who ate them with vigor though he still preferred an apple.

Sunflower Hills was once the crown jewel of Junction City's horse-breeding community. It was a reputation I'd staked everything on resurrecting. Though, the snickers and looks I got when I went into town were hard to ignore. Me buying the place had been hot town gossip for a couple months. I’d gotten popular—in the wrong way—fast. Apparently, nobody other than me thought this place was worth saving.

I adjusted my worn cowboy hat, pushing back a strand of red hair that had escaped its confines. When I lowered my hand to wrap around the mug again, I found myself studying the state of my fingers. I missed having manicured nails. I missed heading to the salon for a blow-out or summery highlights. I rubbed my thumb and pointer together, frowning at how calloused and rough my skin had become. The hands of a stranger, hardness replacing pampered softness. Maybe if I could scrape together enough cash, I’d go get something simple. Not full acrylics or tips. Just a coat of pink maybe. I’d enjoy it for the fleeting moment it looked good, before my cuticles once again cracked and my nail beds crusted with dirt.

A lot of times, I’d wake up in the morning, walk into the bathroom—with its cracked tiles and fractured mirror and yellowing porcelain—and get a shock from the large, dusty mirror in my bedroom. I wasn’t the beauty queen anymore. My freckles had deepened to rich brown; my skin was less fair and far ruddier. Yes, I still had highlights, but they weren’t expertly placed now, instead ribboning through my hair wherever the sun decided they should be.

"Just what you wanted, Tucker," I muttered to myself, draining the last bitter dregs of my cold coffee. "Proof positive you're not just decorative. Not that it matters. You’ve accomplished fuck all with this place.”

Setting the empty mug down on the splintered porch railing, I steeled myself to face another day. The wooden steps groaned under my weight as I descended to the yard and began striding toward the barn.

The early morning sun was warm against the hat as I left the shade of the porch. I tipped it back and my face upward, letting the rays kiss across my skin. There were still beautiful moments here, ones that made me feel like maybe things would turn out okay.

After tilting the cowboy hat back in place, I pushed my glasses up my nose. Derek hated when I wore the oversized specs. He insisted I wear contacts all the time. I loathed sticking my finger in my eyes, and every morning I faced a battle in the bathroom trying to insert the damn things. I loved waking up and shoving on glasses. I blinked quickly and focused ahead.

I’d spent my first month here stuck in depression. Once I’d pulled myself out of misery enough to function, I’d made a list of everything that needed fixing... which was such an exhausting list that I’d spent the week after making it stuck in a fog of executive dysfunction.

But then I’d yanked up my big girl panties, and I’d gotten down to business, because there was zero way I would let Derek be right.

Striding slowly, boots crunching against gravel, I stretched, letting out a loud yawn. My arms were thicker, body slowly getting used to real labor, and I was pretty sure I was now the proud owner of actual thunder thighs. I used to be self-conscious about my legs because of Derek’s comments. Looking back, I think he was trying to make me insecure. And I’d fallen for it, thinking I was lucky to have him at my side, lucky to have someone accept me despite my many flaws.

Even if Sunflower Hills went belly-up, trading that Grade-A Asshole for a property on the brink of being condemned was still the right decision. This place was something I might be able to make livable. Derek I couldn’t have lived with another second.

When I was nearly to the barn, my boots squelched through mud that smelled like it belonged in a portable toilet and murky water splashed onto the legs of my jeans. It had rained a little yesterday, but not nearly enough to create a giant puddle, so the dampness caught me by surprise. God, if something was wrong with the septic field, that would be the last nail in the coffin. Was it right around here? I tried to think back to what the realtor had said when she’d shown me the place. I should have gotten a damn inspection, but the place had seemed like such a steal, and was listed as-is, so getting one seemed like a moot point.

I stared down at the pants, worn thin at the knees from abuse, and frowned. Derek would have a conniption if he saw me dressed this way. Heck, the stained clothes would have horrified the old me too. Amazing how quickly "absolutely disgusting" becomes "just another Tuesday" when your life gets turned upside down.

“I’ll figure it out later,” I muttered, praying that whatever the wetness was would magically resolve itself and there’d be nothing to figure out. Don’t problems sometimes mysteriously solve themselves? Sure, that kind of thing totally happens. It was easy to lie to myself these days; sometimes it was the only way I held onto brittle hope. I started walking again, hoping the smelly water on my pants would dry quickly.

As I moved, I could almost hear my ex’s voice, that condescending honey-drawl that had once seemed charming. "Tammy darlin', why don't you go freshen up? Leave the dirty work to the men. Just stand there and give us something pleasant to look at."

A familiar flash of anger burned through my chest. How many times had I heard some version of that? How many times had I swallowed my retort, smiled, and retreated to the air-conditioned house to reapply lipstick while he made decisions about our future? How the hell had I stayed with him so long? Always submitting, always forcing a smile.

Until the day I didn't.

I remembered the exact moment I started feeling like we were over. Truly over, like I couldn’t keep pretending anymore even if I wanted to. We'd been at the tri-county auction, and I'd spotted a magnificent Arabian with potential. When I'd pointed her out, Derek had laughed, patted my hand like I was a child, and said, "Sweetheart, you don't know the first thing about bloodlines. That nag wouldn't be worth the feed."

Eventually, that same mare won the Heartland Heritage Classic. Derek and his buddies congratulated each other for winning big betting on the horse. As they slammed together their beers, sloshing amber liquid all over the living room, the last tether holding me to Derek snapped. The final straw was watching them dump piss water all over the furniture, I guessed. While the men enjoyed their victory lap, I packed my bags. Hell, they didn’t even notice when I walked them out to the garage and loaded up the ridiculously expensive car that he’d bought me the last time he’d cheated. It was in my name, and I’d be damned if I left it. The vehicle was the least I deserved for dealing with his endless macho bullshit for so long.

I was gone the next morning, the princess cut engagement ring I hated left on Derek's pillow with a note: "This nag is breaking free."

I’d always wanted a pear-shaped, golden ring.

And not a diamond.

Emerald, my mother’s birthstone.

Derek had bought the princess cut diamond set into the platinum band because that’s what he preferred.

He’d been passed out on the sofa, long legs stretched out with one arm thrown across his eyes, as I’d moved through the living room that final time. One of his idiot friends had woken long enough to blink and point lazily at me as I opened the garage door.

“Bring us back breakfast and coffee, sweet cheeks,” he’d murmured.

“Get it yourself,” I’d said quietly, not brave enough to raise my voice.

“Ha,” he’d chortled, “good one.” Then the asshole had fallen asleep, his snores rocketing off the high ceiling.

Before I’d closed the door behind me, I had this oh-so-brief moment of anxiety. Was this really the right thing to do? As I’d thought it, my gaze had dropped to the garage floor, to a paint stain. Yellow paint. Derek had been so pissed when I’d decided to paint a bright, joyful accent wall. He’d tossed the open paint can out into the garage, causing it to spill. The happy color suddenly lost all brightness. It made a wound across the once pristine floor.

He’d had painters out by the morning, covering up my “mistake”, but he’d left the garage floor as is, to remind me not to do similar shit again.

In the present, I inhaled deeply. Rich, damp soil and milk chocolate and the clean, almost citrus-laced scent of greenery. Of course, beneath all that was hay and horse and… maybe a pinch of high functioning depression.

The weeks right after leaving him were still a blur. Somewhere along the way, I’d traded the car in for a beat-up truck and a twenty-thousand-dollar check, combined my assets, and bought Sunflower.

I pushed into the barn, my frown deepening.

“Fix one thing, and another thing breaks,” I muttered, slamming one boot after another into the old time-worn flooring to dislodge crusting mud.

Wind gusted, whistling through the gaps in the barn's outer walls. The place was most definitely leaning further. The makeshift supports I’d angled into the left walls were bowing. The ones against the right walls were threatening to dislodge from the floor, the nails no longer fully embedded.

I tucked my hands into my pockets, finding them empty. Surprise, surprise. No wad of Benjamins to solve all my problems. Last night, I'd spread my bills across the kitchen table like a losing hand of poker—mortgage payment, feed supplier, vet bills, property taxes. I wasn’t in the red yet, there weren’t a bunch of final payment notices screaming at me, but I was getting damn close to destitute. I turned around, decisively walking out of the weary barn.

All my hopes now rested on breeding Mystery to Sassafras. A foal with their combined bloodlines could fetch enough to keep this place going properly, maybe even put Sunflower Hills back on the map. If only the damn horses would cooperate. Thanks to a trick of fate, or maybe just my bullshit luck, the two acted like mortal enemies.

A wave of melancholy washed over me as I trudged toward the stables. Dammit, I needed a break. I couldn’t keep piecing this place together with pennies and prayers.

Nearly tripping over a rock half-buried in the uneven ground, I cursed and kept moving. That was the only choice I had really. Keep moving. Keep struggling. Stubbornly try until the end.

An unhappy whinny drew my attention to the paddock connected to the stables. Glancing toward the sound, I found Sassafras nearly pressed against the fence line. Mystery was apparently too close for her comfort. I moved her way, walking over hoofprints hardened by yesterday's sun. I’d taken Artie out for a slow ride. He was such an easy-going horse. Unlike the other two. Sassafras stomped her front hooves, really warning Mystery off this time. They’d end up fighting if I didn’t intervene.

“Come on, guys. I thought we were past this.” I pitched my voice loud enough to travel the distance to Mystery, like either horse could understand my words.

At the fence, I hopped onto the lower rail and reached over, stroking my palm down the mare’s back. She tensed at first, then settled against my touch.

“Back off, boy,” I chided Mystery who seemed to still be deciding if approaching was the right move. “Go on,” I fussed, “Don’t make me send you to your room with no apple.”

Whether he understood me or it was just good timing, Mystery shook his mane, huffed, and then turned away. He loped away, totally unbothered.

“You know, I think he likes you,” I comforted Sassafras, continuing to pet her back. “Guys will pick on a girl they like.”

The mare gave one more stomp of her right front hoof and then cantered away from me.

I watched both horses as they moved, keeping to opposite sides of the enclosure. God, they were stunning animals. I’d really thought they were a sure thing. If they didn’t warm up to one another soon, I was going to have to put them up for sale. There was no way I’d recoup all my money, but hopefully enough to figure out my next move.

Sighing, I folded my arms over the fence and rested my chin atop my wrist. In the distance, the majestic Flint Hills swashed smokey-blue across the horizon. Kansas was beautiful and totally indifferent to my struggles.

"You'll be back," Derek had predicted when I told him I was buying this place. His smile had been equal parts amusement and condescension. "You can't even break a horse, let alone run a ranch. You'll burn through that pitiful bank account, and then you'll come crawling back."

God, I still don’t know why I’d told him. He’d tracked me down to the hotel I’d been staying at, totally pissed that I’d sold the car.

“I don’t need you, Derek. I’m doing just fine on my own.” I crossed my arms, tilting my chin and trying to look tough.

“Sure, you are, darlin’. That’s why you had to sell the car I bought you to help fund this ridiculous idea.” He laughed one of his high and mighty, cutting guffaws—the kind that made him tip back his head and close his eyes.

Why had I been so damned determined to buy this place? Every dollar I had was invested in this place, in Mystery and Sassafras, in my conviction that I could build a life of my own. I was down to my last chance.

But even if this last chance went up in flames, I'd never crawl back to Derek.

The wide stable door was slightly ajar. I gripped its worn wood, wrapping my fingers around the splintered edge, and swung it outward slowly. The creak that greeted me was a defeated moan. Even this building was tired of trying. Given half a chance, I’m sure it would uproot itself and shuffle off into the wilderness to crumble into dust. After securing the door open by threading a rusty hook through an eyebolt set into the barn’s outer wall, I strode into the dimness inside.

The familiar scents of hay, leather, and horse that greeted me. This—this was home now. Not the fancy condo in Kansas City with its granite countertops and memory foam mattress. Not Derek's sprawling ranch with its manicured lawns and imported furniture that I was never allowed to actually use because, “What if Life of an Alpha wants to do another cover story, Tam? I can’t risk you spilling something.”

Why a self-proclaimed cowboy would pick white sofas was beyond me.

This ramshackle collection of weathered wood and rusted metal, these temperamental horses that held my future in their hooves—this was mine. Every splinter, every leaking roof tile, every triumph and failure belonged to me alone.

I straightened my shoulders and stepped into the cool shadows of the stable, ready to face another day of coaxing reluctant equines toward romance. My stomach growled, reminding me that coffee wasn't breakfast, but I ignored it. Food could wait. The bank wouldn't.

"Alright, you stubborn creatures," I said, my voice echoing slightly in the high-ceilinged space. "Time to fall in love or at least tolerate each other long enough to make a dang baby. My whole future is riding on your progeny, so let's get to it."

The answering whicker from the far stall might have been agreement or mockery. With horses, it was often hard to tell the difference—kind of like with ex-fiancées. Derek had mastered digs disguised as compliments. I’d long ago given up trying to figure out if any nice things he said to me were sincere. Jesus, why had I stayed with that jerk so long?

Mystery watched me approach his stall with the suspicion of a creature who'd seen too many bad humans. His deep mahogany coat gleamed even in the dim light of the stable, almost black where the shadows touched him, morphing nearly metallic wherever light kissed. He stood tall and proud in the corner, ears flicking back in disapproval as I unlatched his stall door. The large, intimidating animal stamped his front hoofs one after another as I entered. Did he just roll his eyes at me? Could horses even do that?

Mystery backed into the corner, staring warily at me now.

"Good morning," I said, advancing carefully into his domain.

The horse shook his head sharply, flicking his mane from one side to the other. His silky hair draped down in a midnight curtain, begging to be brushed and braided. I wasn’t trying that again though. The fading bruise on my side from the kick he’d offered up while I’d tried to groom his tail a couple weeks ago wouldn’t let me forget how much Mystery hated being fussed over in that way.

He shifted, angling his muscled body away from me.

"Still pretending you don't know me after all this time? That's commitment." I crossed my arms, trying to appear totally unfazed by the horse’s shenanigans. As a secondary benefit to the act, my left arm protectively shielded the bruised area. That made me feel slightly better about how his rear legs were closer to me. He’d only have to shift a little farther to land another kick and leave me with a matching bruise on the other side.

Mystery snorted, dragging his right front hoof against the straw-covered floor, gathering a little pile beneath his body.

“Well, let me introduce myself for the millionth time.” I placed my hand on my chest. “I’m Tammy. You work for me now. I’ve got a ridiculously large bank loan that says so.” I lifted my hand from my body and hovered it in the air, palm facing the horse. “And you’re Mystery. Champion of champions, and the future father of the gorgeous little foals that are going to save my ranch.”

Mystery grunted, nostrils flaring.

This horse came from two renowned bloodlines, he’d performed brilliantly on the track, but these days he behaved like he'd rather be anywhere else when humans were involved. The previous owner had offered me a deep discount. At the time, I’d celebrated my good luck. Now, I knew why they hadn’t been able to sell the horse to a more reputable breeding ranch. But, once in a while, I could see past the attitude to the potential underneath. If Mystery and I could find out footing, we could truly make this thing work.

I really hoped my optimism panned out.

Uncrossing my arms, I reached into my left pocket and snagged a sugar cube. I held it out to the horse, the pale cube flat on my palm.

"Come on, boy. We both know you're going to take it eventually."

Mystery regarded the offering with imperial disdain, as if accepting treats from humans was beneath his dignity. Finally, after making me stand there long enough to prove who was really in charge, he stretched his neck forward and delicately plucked the sugar from my hand with velvet lips.

"There's a good boy," I murmured, risking a gentle stroke down his muscled neck. He tolerated the touch, which I counted as progress. In the past, he would have sidestepped away, doing all he could to avoid contact.

I moved around his stall, checking his water bucket—still half full and clean—and running my hands down each of his legs, feeling for any heat or swelling. Despite his difficult personality, Mystery was worth every penny I'd spent on him. His bloodlines were impeccable, his conformation perfect. If I could get him to breed with Sassafras, their foal would be worth a small fortune.

"You know, for a horse who acts like he's too good for everyone, you sure keep a messy room." I grabbed a pitchfork and began cleaning his stall, removing soiled straw and replacing it with fresh bedding from the nearby pile. Mystery watched with detached interest, occasionally nudging my shoulder when I wasn't moving fast enough for his liking.

"Some of us have opposable thumbs and have to do all the work around here," I told him, ducking under his neck to reach a corner. "The least you could do is show some gratitude."

Once Mystery's accommodations were refreshed, I latched his stall and moved down the aisle to where Sassafras waited impatiently. In the beginning, I’d had them side-by-side in adjacent stalls. They’d both kept putting their heads over the gates, trying to nip at one another. Then I’d moved Sassy to the stall directly opposite of Mystery’s. Well… they’d bickered like an old married couple, minus the history of being happy once upon a time.

Whereas Mystery was all cool reserve and judgment, Sassafras was a bundle of nervous energy and neediness.

"Hey, Sassy girl," I called softly as I approached.

The chestnut mare whinnied in greeting, trotting in anxious circles around her stall before pressing her nose against the bars. Her white blaze caught the light streaming through the high stable windows, and her eyes—warm and liquid—followed my every movement with desperate attention.

"Someone's worked up this morning," I said, opening her stall. Unlike with Mystery, I didn't have to coax Sassafras to approach. She practically bulldozed into me, nuzzling my pockets for treats and pressing her head against my chest. "Easy, girl. I've got you."

I stroked her neck, feeling the nervous energy thrumming through her body. Sassafras had been a bargain purchase too—a Selle Français with excellent bloodlines but a tendency toward anxiety that made her unpredictable in the show ring. Her original owners had campaigned her over fences for three seasons before cutting their losses.

Here at Sunflower Hills, away from the chaos of the show circuit, she’d calmed considerably. As long as she wasn’t around Mystery, Sassy was a doll.

"What is it about him that gets you so worked up? And not in the good way." I asked, frowning and running my fingers through her mane, working out the tangles. "He's handsome. Good bones. Nice teeth. Granted, his personality leaves much to be desired, but you're not exactly marrying the guy. Just think of it as a good time, not a long time.”

Sassafras tossed her head and pawed at the ground, as if the mere mention of Mystery offended her delicate sensibilities. I sighed, glancing at the large, full year calendar pinned to the stable wall beside her stall. Red X's marked each failed attempt to bring the horses together for breeding—dozens of them, spanning months. The current date was circled in red, with "ATTEMPT ONE MILLION" written in capital letters that revealed my increasing desperation.

I walked over to the calendar, fingering the worn edges of the paper. Each painful X represented another day closer to financial ruin. The bank had given me a six-month extension on my loan, but that grace period was rapidly disappearing. Without a foal from this pairing, Sunflower Hills Ranch would be just another failed dream.

"We're running out of time, Sass," I whispered, turning back to the mare who was now happily munching on a flake of hay I'd tossed into her feeder. "Do you understand that? No foal, no farm."

I leaned against the stall door, my mind calculating costs like a particularly depressing calculator. Feed for two horses ran about five hundred a month. Vet bills, another few hundred if everyone stayed healthy. The mortgage payment was due in three weeks—fifteen hundred dollars I didn't have. Then there were utilities, insurance, property taxes...

My chest tightened with familiar anxiety. When I'd left Derek, I'd been so certain I could make this work. I knew horses, knew breeding. What I hadn't counted on was two equines with personality conflicts that rivaled the worst human divorces.

"Come on, girl," I whispered, returning to Sassafras and pressing my forehead against hers. "You've got to like him eventually. My whole future depends on it. Our future." I stroked her soft muzzle. "I know he's a bit of a jerk, but look at those legs, that chest. Your babies would be gorgeous. Worth every penny."

Sassafras nuzzled my hand, seemingly sympathetic to my plight but unconvinced by my matchmaking efforts. I couldn't blame her. Mystery wasn't exactly Prince Charming in the personality department. But in the horse world, bloodlines trumped congeniality every time.

I gave Sassafras a final pat and stepped out of her stall, latching it securely behind me. "Attempt number fifteen coming up after lunch," I informed her. "Try to keep an open mind."

The mare snorted in response, turning her back to me in a display of pure equine sass. I rubbed my temples, feeling the beginning of a stress headache forming behind my eyes.

"Fine, be that way," I muttered. "But one of these days, you're going to have to decide what's more important—your dislike of Mystery or having a roof over your head. Because trust me, if the bank takes this place, neither of us is going to like the alternatives."

The only answer was the soft sound of hay being chewed and the distant whicker of Mystery from his stall, as if he was eavesdropping on our conversation and finding it all terribly amusing. Horses, like ex-fiancées, had a talent for making difficult situations even more complicated.

The afternoon sun beat down on the paddock, turning the Kansas air into a tangible weight against my skin. I led Mystery from his stall with a mixture of sweet talk and gentle coaxing that I'd perfected over our months together. He followed with the reluctant dignity of royalty being paraded before commoners, his hooves striking the ground with measured precision. Sassafras, already in the paddock, paced the perimeter with increasing agitation, her chestnut coat gleaming with sweat that had nothing to do with the heat.

"Easy, girl," I called to her as I approached the gate. "Look who's coming to see you."

Sassafras responded by pinning her ears flat against her head and trotting to the farthest corner of the enclosure. Real encouraging.

Mystery, sensing the mare's hostility, lifted his head higher, nostrils flaring. I could almost see his thought process: If she's going to act like I have the equine plague, I'll double down on the arrogance.

"Don't you start," I muttered to him, unclipping the lead rope from his halter once we were safely inside the paddock. "Just for once, could you not be such a⁠—"

Mystery didn't wait for me to finish my sentence. He trotted away, tail held high like a banner of superiority, deliberately moving in the opposite direction from Sassafras. The paddock wasn't small, but somehow these two managed to maximize the distance between them, positioning themselves at perfect diagonal corners.

I sighed, leaning against the wooden fence. Attempt number fifteen was already looking like attempts one through fourteen.

"Come on, Mystery," I called, pulling a sugar cube from my pocket. "Show the lady what a gentleman you can be."

Mystery glanced my way, clearly tempted by the treat, but a nervous whicker from Sassafras seemed to remind him of his dignity. He snorted and resumed his proud pacing, occasionally stopping to tear at the grass with performative nonchalance.

I tried a different approach, walking over to Sassafras with slow, measured steps. "Hey, Sassy," I said softly, stroking her neck. "That's a handsome boy over there, isn't it? Champion bloodlines. Perfect conformation. Just think of the babies you'd make."

Sassafras pressed her head against my chest, seeking comfort. I stroked her mane, trying to soothe her obvious anxiety. "I know, I know. He's intimidating. But trust me, he's all bluster."

From across the paddock, Mystery watched our interaction with what I swear was jealousy in his dark eyes. For a moment, I thought he might approach—this was new, a potential breakthrough—but then Sassafras shifted nervously, and the stallion's ears flattened again in response.

"You've got to be kidding me," I groaned, gently pushing Sassafras’s hind quarters, urging her toward the center of the paddock. "Go on, girl. Give him a chance.”

The mare took two reluctant steps forward before freezing, then bolting back to my side like I was her only lifeline in a sea of predators. Mystery, apparently offended by this rejection, turned his back on us both and began grazing with exaggerated indifference.

My shoulders slumped as I watched another breeding attempt circle the drain. I'd been so sure that today would be different. The vet had confirmed both horses were in perfect health. Sassafras was in heat. The weather was ideal. Yet here we were, in a standoff that would have been comical if my entire future didn't hang in the balance.

I left Sassafras and walked to the opposite side of the paddock, leaning heavily against the sun-warmed wood. My hand instinctively went to my back pocket, pulling out the worn leather wallet that had become increasingly lighter over the past months. Inside, nestled where cash should have been, was the final notice from First Kansas Bank. The paper was creased from repeated folding and unfolding, the words practically burned into my retinas by now.

"...regret to inform you that without payment in full by June 30th, foreclosure proceedings will commence..."

June 30th. Three weeks away. And here I was, banking everything on two horses that couldn't stand each other.

I did the math again in my head, the numbers proving no less depressing than they were yesterday. Feed for all three horses came to about three hundred a month—only that low because the guy in town took pity on me. I budgeted another hundred monthly for the vet per horse for routine care and I kept an emergency slush fund since that amount didn’t include if any of the horses got hurt. Mortgage payment came to fifteen hundred. I was several months behind on that, with red-stamped overdue notices from the bank piling up on my desk. Property taxes were due in July; that would be around two thousand and hurt like hell to pay. Then there were all the necessary, irksome, smaller bills. Electricity, crap satellite internet, insurance policy on top of the homeowner’s wrapped into the mortgage. I hemorrhaged money every damn day and soon, my veins were going to go dry.

The numbers swirled like vultures, circling what remained of my savings… and my pride… and my sanity.

Even if by some miracle Mystery and Sassafras produced a foal tomorrow, it would be eleven months before the birth, and at least another year before the colt or filly could be fully sold. The timeline was impossible, unless I found the right buyer and asked for half up front as deposit. I'd known it was a long shot when I'd bought the horses, but I'd been so convinced I could make it work. So determined to prove Derek wrong.

Derek. The memory of his mocking laughter bubbled up unbidden.

We’d run into one another at a small auction a couple counties over, not long after I’d bought Mystery. I’d thought going that far would be safe, that I wouldn’t possibly run into Derek there, but I’d been painfully wrong. God, I was still recovering from when he’d come to the ranch and thrown his weight around. Seeing him again… had been horrible. While an owner was showing off an American Warmblood about sixteen hands tall in the auction ring, he’d stood uncomfortably close. I’d been so anxious by his proximity, that I’d told him all my grand plans which absolutely didn’t include him. Sunflower Hills Ranch was mine. I’d gotten Mystery. I was hoping to snap up a reputable broodmare. I’d had my heart set on Sassy already, but I’d had the good sense at the last moment not to say that, for fear he’d buy her just to spite me.

The look on his face as I crowed about how great life was without him wasn’t anger or surprise or disbelief. It had been complete derision, as if I was the biggest fool in the world, just asking to be mocked.

"You'll fail spectacularly," he'd said, that infuriating smirk playing at his lips. “You can't even break a horse, let alone run a ranch. This is just another one of your little rebellions. Remember that time you decided you were going to be a gourmet chef? Or a professional photographer? The day you tried to paint a wall that God awful shade of yellow. Like piss. How long did those phases last? How successful were you?"

I’d wanted to scream at him.

Every one of those ‘failures’ had been his doing. Tossing my camera. Deliberately leaving cuts of beef out to spoil. Throwing my beautiful paint out to splatter across the garage floor.

I'd stood my ground, chin lifted. "This is different."

"No, it's not," he'd countered, his voice softening into that patronizing tone I'd grown to hate. "You're just not cut out for this life, darlin'. Come back to the house. Put on that pretty blue dress I like. We'll forget this whole silly conversation."

The rage I'd felt in that moment had propelled me through many disheartening months. Pure spite saw me through every step forward, followed by twenty steps back, through bringing Sassafras home and watching Mystery flat-out reject her in the rudest, horse way possible (giving her his backside and kicking out at her when she dared step closer). I’d clawed my way back to standing every time I’d gotten knocked down. Every time I’d mucked out a stall or mended a fence or stayed up all night because I was too damn anxious to close my eyes.

To bolster my resolve, I often imagined the look on Derek's face when Sunflower Hills became a premier breeding operation.

Now, watching my hopes literally trot away from each other in the paddock, I wondered if he'd been right all along.

"No," I said aloud, startling Sassafras. "He doesn't get to be right about this."

Mystery wasn't as hostile toward her now, and that was progress. It had to be. I couldn’t think otherwise.

I kicked at the dirt, sending a small cloud of dust into the air. My boots, once shiny and new, were now cracked and worn—just like my dreams for this place. But I wasn't ready to give up. Not yet. Not ever.

I watched the horses for a moment longer, determination hardening my features despite the setback. Mystery had wandered closer to the center of the paddock, his curiosity apparently overcoming his pride. Sassafras, though still wary, was watching him with slightly less terror than before. It wasn't much, but it also wasn’t nothing.

“That's it,” I murmured. “Baby steps.”

Maybe what they needed was a different approach. Maybe I was pushing too hard, expecting too much too soon. Or maybe—and this thought landed like a stone in my stomach—I needed a Plan B that didn't rely on these two temperamental equines falling in love on my timeline. The way things were going now, I'd be in foreclosure before they were even willing to get within sniffing distance. The vet had mentioned artificial insemination, though that came with a price tag whereas just getting these two to naturally do the deed would be free.

“Ugh,” I murmured, running a hand down my face before resigning myself to accept another disappointment.

I pulled the gate closed behind me, latching it securely. The sun was beginning its slow descent toward the horizon, casting long shadows across the property. I headed back toward the house, my mind racing with increasingly desperate plans. Sell some of the equipment the old owners left behind? Take out another loan? Find a part-time job in town?

Most of the equipment was rusted and only worked half the time, probably why most of it got left behind.

I’d maxed out my credit options.

Finding a part-time job would mean putting less effort into Sunflower, which would be signing Sunflower’s death warrant. I was putting my all into it right now, and it was barely two steps above a shit hole. If I gave it half effort? Yeah, that wasn’t a solution.

And, even if I tried these options, none would generate enough cash fast enough anyways. What I needed was a miracle—or at the very least, a brilliant idea that hadn't occurred to me yet.

As I approached the farmhouse, its sagging porch mirroring my own frown, I decided. I would give Mystery and Sassafras three more days—exactly three more chances to overcome their mutual dislike. And if they couldn't or wouldn't? Well, then I'd have to get creative. I’d bring in a specialist, even if I had to bleed the last of my bank reserves dry. Breeding farms utilized artificial insemination all the time. I was being stubborn and stupid trying to force matters between the two horses. But… I’d wanted to prove that I could do this without help. I couldn’t shake the notion that asking for a hand was the same as failing. I knew it wasn’t. So, I needed to set aside my pride and do whatever was necessary.

Because one thing was certain—I wasn't going back to Derek. I'd sleep in the stable with the horses before I'd admit defeat and prove him right. Sunflower Hills Ranch might be hanging on by a thread, but it was my thread, and I'd be damned if I let it break without a fight.

2

TAMMY

Holding hope in a bucket… and the bucket’s full of holes.

The alarm blared at five-thirty in the morning, yanking me from a dream where Mystery and Sassafras were happily frolicking in a field together while I counted stacks of cash. Though I knew it was just my imagination, and that I was desperately clinging to a fantasy, I let myself bask in the joy the falsehood brought me as I stretched and yawned.

Of course, fantasies are fleeting things.

And reality hits harder than a wrecking ball.

Or the cold floor under my bare feet.

Another day, another desperate attempt to play equine matchmaker. I dressed in the dark, my movements automatic after months of the same routine: jeans, flannel shirt, boots that had seen better days. I dragged myself downstairs, poured coffee from a day-old pot, and warmed it too little before adding sugar that couldn’t dissolve properly. Lastly, I snagged a handful of baby carrots from the fridge to shove in my pants pockets before I shuffled out to the porch. Outside, the first hint of dawn painted the horizon in washed-out watercolors, like God himself was too tired to use the good paints this morning. I didn’t blame him. On mornings when things looked too sunny and saturated, it gave me too heavy a dose of false hope.

I drank the horrid coffee quickly, hoping it would give me enough pick-me-up to get through another day, and I left the mug on the cracked, flaking porch railing.

As I walked down the stairs and began crossing the gravelly ground, sweat quickly beaded on my forehead despite the early hour. It wasn’t even that warm yet, but the combination of Kansas humidity and the crushing weight of anxiety would make anyone perspire. Today had to work. It simply had to. I'd given them three more days, and this was day one of my final countdown.

The stable was quiet as I entered, the only sounds the soft shuffling of hooves on straw and the occasional snort. I moved past the stalls, the horses all pushing their heads over their respective gates, and I went to the feed bags hanging on the wall, specialized food containers beneath—those had the pellets and needed refilling, but right now I wanted the hay which is what I fed all three horses in the morning. I filled Artie’s slow feed hay bag first and carried it over to him, slinging it over his gate so the weight was on the outside, keeping the feed bag suspended on his side. Sassafras next. Then Mystery, whose eyes gleamed in the dim light as I approached his stall, watching me with that imperial disdain that had become his trademark.

"Morning, Your Highness," I said. “I’m here to feed you for free, seeing as you refuse to make a baby.”

His ears twitched, but otherwise he waited, knowing I was there to serve him. I draped his feed bag over his stall gate and then left the horses to eat while I went to the supply barn to check my inventory. I didn’t want to, mostly because I couldn’t afford to buy anything right now. If I found I was low on something important, then I’d have to rob Peter to pay Paul for the millionth time.

Back at the stables thirty minutes later, I grabbed a harness and, this time, went to Mystery first. He snorted, backing away from the harness held in my hand as if it were covered in toxic waste.

"Don't start," I warned, my voice low and steady despite the frustration already building in my chest. "We're doing this, whether you like it or not. Sassy is a literal doll and you’re a grumpy asshole. You don’t even deserve her."

After five minutes and a lot of coaxing, I finally had Mystery haltered and ready to go. I let him out into the connected, fenced pasture first by opening his exterior stable gate. He was in a mood, and I wanted to give him a few moments to run out some energy before we gave this doomed romance another try.

I didn’t have to bribe Sassafras. By contrast, she practically threw herself at her stall door when I approached, eager for attention.

"Easy, girl," I murmured, putting a training lead on her instead of a halter. She wasn’t the one I might need to manhandle if things went South. "Try not to seem so desperate. Guys hate that."

The pasture ground was dew soaked and the world fell silent as I swung open Sass’s exterior gate to let her prance out and join Mystery. I really didn’t understand why he hated her so much. She was a sweet thing. Though, she’d given as good as she took a few times, teaching Mystery that she wasn’t a complete pushover.

Artie whinnied as I began to stride out through Sassafras’s gate. I backed into view and smiled at him. “I’ll come let you out just as soon as I know those two aren’t going to be at each other’s throats.”

He stared at me with his docile, shiny eyes and pulled his head back over his inner gate.

The rising sun hit the fence posts, light inching across the grass farther and farther. I strolled slowly to Mystery, keeping in front of him, making sure he could always see me. “Now, we’re going to take this real slow, okay?”

He stood stock still as I took the reins. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing, or if he was biding his time until he could bite me properly. But, as I started walking, he followed behind with little hesitation. Maybe we were getting somewhere. Hope fluttered in my chest.

“We’re just gonna walk over to Sass. See if we can’t get within a few feet of her before you act like a jerk.” I kept talking to the horse, trying to put him at ease.

But as we got nearer to the mare, Mystery's reaction was immediate and depressingly familiar. His ears pinned back flat against his skull, and he snorted with such disdain I could practically hear him saying, "You expect me to mate with her?"

“Just a little closer. You can do this. She’s a great girl.” I pulled, but now he was locked in place, refusing to follow me. I tugged at the reins and, in response, Mystery turned sharply, presenting his hindquarters to us both—the equine equivalent of a middle finger.

"Oh, for God's sake," I muttered, dropping the reins and walking over to Sassafras. The mare lowered her head as I lifted my hand to stroke down her nose. "Give her a chance, you stuck-up jerk."

When I stopped petting her, Sassafras nuzzled my pockets for treats. When I didn't immediately produce something yummy, she lost interest and wandered away. By this time, Mystery had turned around. He wasn’t one to be left out when it came to treats. He took a tentative step forward. Now, I did reach into my pocket and grab two of the baby carrots I’d taken from the kitchen.

Mystery moved another foot or two nearer. Sassafras, interest piqued again, started moving my way again… closer to Mystery. The stallion stiffened, muscles tensing beneath his glossy coat.

"That's it," I encouraged, stepping between them and holding both arms up, hands holding carrots. "Just get to know each other. No pressure."

For a brief, hopeful moment, Sassafras continued to approach Mystery, her steps tentative but steady. Mystery even took another two steps. Then, as if remembering their mutual antipathy, Mystery let out a warning snort. Sassafras responded by braying loudly, her hind hooves stamping the ground roughly. They looked like they were going to get into it again, and I didn’t have the mental energy.

"Gosh damn it!" I hissed, tossing the carrots in opposite directions so they’d be distracted and move farther away from each other. "What is wrong with you two?"

For the next hour, I tried every trick I could think of. I led Mystery around the paddock on a lunge line, hoping the sight of him moving with such power and grace might ignite some interest in Sassafras. The mare watched from the corner, looking more bored than aroused.

When that failed, I reversed tactics, putting Sassafras on the lunge line while Mystery grazed nearby. The stallion deliberately turned his back, focusing intently on a patch of clover as if it were the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen.

Sweat trickled down my spine as the sun climbed higher, the morning coolness burning away to reveal another scorching Kansas day. My throat was dry, my patience thinner than my wallet, even if I cashed out my bank account in ones and fives to fold inside it.

"One more try," I muttered, bringing the horses close together again.

This time, Mystery pinned his ears so flat they practically disappeared into his head. Sassafras, meanwhile, alternated between trying to nuzzle me for treats and kicking out at Mystery when he shifted even slightly in her direction. It was like watching the world's worst first date, except with fifteen hundred pounds of stubborn horseflesh instead of awkward humans. And we were way past the first dang date.

That was when I lost it. The pressure of the past months—dwindling hope, the mounting bills, Derek's smug voice echoing in my head—it all crashed down on me in that moment. I ripped my cowboy hat from my head and threw it on the ground with such force that dust puffed up around it.

"You are damn stubborn animals!" I shouted, my voice cracking with frustration as it echoed across the empty pastures. "Do you have any idea what's at stake here? Any concept of what happens if you don't make a baby? We lose everything! Everything!"

Mystery merely tossed his mahogany head, looking almost smug as he trotted away. Sassafras whinnied nervously, retreating to the far side of the paddock. Neither appeared the least bit moved by my outburst.

I stooped to retrieve my hat, dusting it off against my thigh before jamming it back on my head. "Fine. New plan. You guys go into the other pasture, duke it out or get along, I don’t care. But Artie deserves to enjoy himself without you guys stressing him out.”

First, I took Sass’s lead and walked her to the long gate, currently closed, set into the fence that separated this large enclosure, and the adjacent. I undid the padlock and pulled off the chain, swinging the gate outward to make a gap. I walked slowly, in no hurry to navigate another disappointment. When I dropped the mare’s lead, she galloped off, hoofs kicking up dust. I didn’t put the horses in this side often. The grass wasn’t as nice, not great for grazing. Plus, the horses liked to roll in the dirt here. Or mud, if it was a rainy day. And then I’d be stuck scrubbing them clean.

Returning to Mystery, I glared at him when he tried to turn around and give me his haunches. “Nope, not this time,” I chided, grabbing his reins. “You’re going in with your girl whether you like it or not.” He huffed, and I swore rolled his eyes. “Yes, your girl. She’s the only one you get, bud, so better get with the program. I can barely afford your feed, let alone a different mare for you to reject.”

Maybe it was my tone, or the firm way I began tugging at him, but Mystery actually complied, walking beside me to the gate I’d left ajar. I took him through and let him go.

"Maybe a change of scenery will help," I said, watching Mystery stand still for a moment, shake his mane, and then trot off. "New place, new attitude. Worth a shot."

It wasn't worth a shot. Mystery immediately claimed one corner of the paddock, while Sassafras took the opposite. The invisible line dividing their territories might as well have been an electrified fence for all the crossing that happened.

I marched back through the gate, securing it closed this time, and headed to the stable and Artie. I felt like I’d neglected him while trying to save a lost cause. Not just today, but all the recent days.

Walking into the stables through Mystery’s stall, I went to a shelf at the back of the building and grabbed a few sugar cubes from an airtight container. Those were for Artie, and, after a moment’s thought, I grabbed a whole handful of the sugary, rectangular prisms. "Bribery couldn’t hurt," I said softly.

After giving Artie a sugar cube, I opened his outer gate. He didn’t rush out, instead moseying like he had one speed, and that speed was low and slow.

“Enjoy yourself, old man. I won’t let them come bother you this morning.”

He turned his head just enough to acknowledge me with those warm, kind eyes of his and then kept meandering deeper into the pasture.

“Okay, a spoonful of sugar helps the impossible horses finally like each other,” I mumbled, heading once again back toward the gate between pastures, ready to cowgirl up and not be defeated by two stubborn horses.

A few minutes later, I was placing the treats in a line between the horses, creating a breadcrumb trail that would bring them closer together if they both followed it. Sassafras eagerly devoured her way along the path, but Mystery stubbornly refused to move, watching the mare with disdain, like she was the lesser creature and he couldn’t be bought. When Sassy was only three glorious feet away from Mystery, she seemed to register his nearness. Her head shot up, she peered at him incredulously, then she turned and trotted farther away, leaving the last few sweet cubes behind.

"What about music?" I mused aloud, exhaustion making me slightly delirious. "Isn't that what they do in movies? Set the mood?"

I jogged away from them, climbed over the fence, and went to my ancient truck parked nearby. Opening the door and sliding into the driver’s seat, I pulled down the visor, so the keys dropped into my lap. I slotted in the correct, rusted key and turned it just enough to power the radio without starting the engine. After some fiddling with the dial, I found a suitable station. I cranked the volume as high as it would go, the tinny, crackling speakers straining to project the music across to the paddock.

Returning to the horses, I climbed onto the fence to perch and watch, feeling like my ass was pushing against pins and needles instead of a craggy, wooden length of wood. Why did I think some crappy music and sweets would win the day? No damn idea.

Mystery looking bored, Sassafras anxiously pacing the perimeter. The strains of a twangy country artist singing about love and loss seemed to have zero effect on either of them.

“You've got to be kidding me,” I groaned, sinking down onto the grass. The morning was nearly gone, along with another chance to save my ranch. “What's it going to take? Champagne? Candlelight? A written invitation?”

Mystery looked directly at me, his dark eyes seeming to say, "Nothing you do will make this happen." Then he deliberately turned away, gracefully lowering himself to the ground for a dust bath, rolling with pleasure in the dirt while completely ignoring both me and Sassafras.

Sassafras, apparently relieved by his disinterest, cautiously approached me. When she was near enough, she nuzzled my knee. I stroked her nose automatically, my mind racing through increasingly desperate scenarios. What if I footed the bill for insemination and it failed? Would we need to try hormone injections? A different stallion altogether? Selling both horses and using the money to buy time until I figured out another plan? I could pivot away from horse breeding. I had enough land to plant corn. Rip out all the chocolate sunflowers. Though, the idea of doing that made my heart hurt. The sunflowers were one of the reasons I fell in love with this janky property. They seemed happy to me, and they smelled divine.

Each option felt like admitting defeat, like proving Derek right. I wasn't cut out for this life. I couldn't even get two horses to do what should come naturally to them.

"We’ll try again later," I whispered, more to myself than to Sassafras, scratching behind her right ear. “Maybe you're just not morning people."

The mare lifted her face, pressing her soft nose against my cheek, and she snorted softly, as if acknowledging the absurdity of my hope. Behind us, the radio station switched to a commercial for bankruptcy attorneys.

The universe's sense of timing was as cruel as ever.

3

TAMMY

Don’t mind me. I’m just bleeding billion-dollar bills.

Many miserable hours later, I kicked off my dirt-caked boots on the front porch so as not to drag in filth and pushed into the house. The door slammed behind me as I stumbled toward the kitchen, exhaustion and defeat weighing me down like my belly was filled with rocks.

The kitchen had seen better days: discolored linoleum curling at the edges, cabinets with more chips than paint, and a refrigerator that hummed like it was on its last legs. Much like me, this room was running on fumes and sheer stubbornness.

I pulled Dr. Harmon's business card from beneath a horse-shaped magnet on the fridge, not that I needed it to remember the number, and beelined for the wall-mounted, rotary phone. The edges of the matte card were worn soft from previous contemplations of this very call. Oh, I’d made dozens of routine calls, but this one I'd avoided making until now, partly because of the cost, but mostly because it felt like truly admitting defeat. If Mystery and Sassafras couldn't produce a foal naturally, my careful calculations about recouping my investment went straight out the window. There’d be thousands more on the line.

Open another vein.

Bleed a billion-dollar bill or two.

The phone felt heavy in my hand, as if its spiraled cord weighed a ton and was trying to yank the receiver from my grip. I turned the dial, shoving my index finger into number holes one after another, letting the disc spin back into place. Rotary phones were wildly inefficient. I hadn’t even known how to use one when I first moved in. I’d had to google a tutorial.

Three rings, then a cheerful receptionist answered.

"Flint Hills Large Animal Practice, how can I help you?"

"Hey, Darlene, it's Tammy Tucker from Sunflower Hills. Is Dr. Harmon available?"

"Oh, Tammy! He's just finishing up some paperwork. Let me put you through."

I drummed my fingers on the countertop, eyes roving over the calendar hanging on the wall opposite me. June days were X-ed out leading to the thirtieth of the month, which was circled in aggressive red marker with "MORTGAGE" written in all caps. Beside it, in smaller writing: "miracle needed."

"Tammy! How are those horses of yours doing?" Dr. Harmon's voice boomed through the receiver, jolting me back to the present.

"That's actually why I'm calling, Doc." I sighed, leaning against the counter. "Mystery and Sassafras still won't... cooperate. I'm running out of time and options here. I need to know more about artificial insemination."

"Ah," he said, his tone shifting from jovial to professional. "I was wondering when we'd have this conversation. Those two didn't seem particularly fond of each other when I was out for their check-ups."

"That's putting it mildly," I muttered. "It's like trying to set up my vegetarian cousin with a butcher. They're fundamentally incompatible, but I need them to make a baby anyway."

Dr. Harmon chuckled. "Well, AI can certainly bypass the personality conflicts. Let me walk you through the process and costs."

I grabbed a pen and the back of an overdue electric bill to take notes. "Shoot."

"First, we need to collect from Mystery. The collection procedure alone is three-fifty."

I winced, scribbling down the number. That was already more than I'd budgeted for the month's feed.

"That includes sedation?" I asked, hoping to find a corner to cut.

"Some stallions need it, some don't. Won't know with Mystery until we try, but I'd recommend budgeting for it just in case. From my limited experience with him, I’d say he's... particular."

"That's one way to put it," I said dryly. "What else?"

"Then we've got handling fees—about a hundred. That covers the processing of the sample, extending it with the proper nutrients, and storing it until Sassafras is ready."

The number on my makeshift notepad grew. Four hundred and fifty dollars already, and we hadn't even gotten to the main event.

"The insemination itself is another two hundred," he continued. "That includes my time, the equipment, and the procedure. We'd need to time it perfectly with Sassafras's cycle, which means ultrasounds to track follicular growth."

"And how much would that be?" I asked, dreading the answer.

"Ultrasound is also two hundred per session, and we'd likely need at least two, possibly three depending on how her cycle progresses."

I closed my eyes, mental calculator spinning. We were up to one thousand and fifty dollars minimum, and even more if three imaging sessions were needed. The electric bill beneath my notes suddenly seemed less threatening by comparison.

"There's also the option of hormone treatments, which I mentioned when you were first having issues," Dr. Harmon added. "They increase the success probability significantly. Not strictly necessary, but given the investment you're already making..."

I interrupted him before he could add another three-digit figure to my growing debt. "So, we're looking at what, Doc? Ballpark?"

There was a brief pause, and I could practically see him tallying figures in his head, perhaps weighing how much to sugarcoat the news.

"Honestly, Tammy, I’d budget two thousand, bare minimum. That will cover everything and give you a cushion. But, of course, that’s assuming…” his words trailed off. I didn’t need him to finish; I knew what he was going to say.

“That it takes on the first try," I completed his thought.

Quiet fell across the line between us. It brewed and festered until my heart felt heavy and my brain hurt.

“Yes, well, if we do need a second round, then double that number,” he finally said, “And if there are any real complications or special care once Sassy’s pregnant, the financial padding factored in might not be enough.”

The room tilted slightly, or maybe that was just my hope slipping away. Two grand could become four grand could become… a slippery slope. Two thousand bucks would cover the overdue mortgage, this month’s expenses, maybe a new pack of panties which I really needed. To save my ranch, I’d have to risk it further. The irony wasn’t lost on me.

"Tammy? You still there?" Dr. Harmon's voice cut through my spiraling thoughts.

"Yeah, Doc. Just... processing." I cleared my throat. "And what are the success rates?"

"First-time insemination with proper timing has about a sixty percent success rate. With hormone treatments, we can bump that to around seventy-five."

So, I could spend my last hope on a procedure that still had a one-in-four chance of failure. Those weren't the kind of odds that justified betting the farm, literally. But what choice did I really have?

"I appreciate the information, Doc. Let me think it over and get back to you."

"Don't wait too long," he advised gently. "If you want to catch Sassafras's next cycle, we should start planning now."

"Right. Thanks again." I hung up before he could hear the wobble in my voice.

For an endless moment, I stood there, staring at the numbers I'd scrawled across the back of the electric bill. Two thousand dollars, he’d said, bare minimum. Might as well have been a million. I slammed my fist down on the counter, the sharp pain momentarily distracting from the deeper ache of impending failure.

The impact sent a stack of papers cascading to the floor—a colorful waterfall of final notices, past-due bills, and bank warnings. Red and yellow paper slips fanned out across the peeling linoleum like autumn leaves, each one a deadline I couldn't meet, a promise I couldn't keep.

I sank to my knees, gathering the scattered papers with trembling hands. Mortgage statement: months behind. Electric bill: final notice before disconnection. Feed supplier: full payment required on tab before next purchase. Property tax assessment: due in a matter of weeks.

And beneath them all, a postcard from Derek. "Hope you're enjoying playing rancher," he'd written. "My offer still stands when you're ready to come home. Got a few new dresses waiting. This season’s purses. Even those limited-edition shoes you wanted last year that were sold out.”

Sold out. What an asshole. They weren’t sold out; he’d just hated them. Said they looked frumpy.

I crumpled the postcard in my fist, rage temporarily overriding despair.

It wasn’t just rage at Derek.

No, it was rage at myself—for that millisecond my mind envisioned those stupid red soled shoes with the adorable bows across the pointed toes. I had really wanted those at the time. Now, I wanted to be totally free of that life, and the way it had strapped me into place as firmly as a good pair of peep toe, crisscross stilettos did.

When I was ready to come home…

Home. As if his sprawling ranch with its imported furniture and his suffocating expectations had ever been home. This place—this crumbling, financially unsustainable dream—was home. My home. And I was about to lose it.

I spread the bills across the kitchen table, a depressing mosaic of my failure. The red numbers blurred as tears threatened, but I blinked them back. Crying wouldn't solve anything. Neither would artificial insemination I couldn't afford.

My eyes drifted to the calendar again, to the bold red circle around looming foreclosure. I had so little time to come up with a miracle or surrender everything I'd worked for.

Outside, through the smudged kitchen window, I could see Mystery and Sassafras in their separate corners of the field, grazing contentedly, blissfully unaware that their mutual dislike might cost us all our home. The afternoon sun caught Mystery's coat, turning it to burnished copper, while Sassafras's chestnut hide gleamed with an almost golden sheen. Beautiful, valuable, and completely useless to me unless they produced a foal.

"There has to be another way," I muttered, turning away from the window and back to the mountain of bills. But as the afternoon shadows lengthened across the kitchen floor, no brilliant solution materialized, only the growing certainty that I was running out of both time and options.

The whiskey bottle clinked against the glass as I poured myself a generous two fingers. Derek never let me drink whiskey, said it was unladylike, which was exactly why I’d bought a case the day I closed on the ranch.

I moved outside, a glass in one hand, liquor bottle in the other, taking up roost in my normal evening spot.

The first sip of the amber liquid burned a now familiar path down my throat, warming me against the evening chill that had started to settle over Sunflower Hills. From my perch on the sagging porch steps, I watched the sunset paint the sky. Strokes of orange. Thick dashes of hot pink. It might have been beautiful if I could stop thinking about losing this place, about never sitting on this crappy porch to watch a sunrise or sunset again.

Another day gone, another day closer to losing everything.

The wetness in my glass caught the last rays of sunlight, glowing like liquid gold. If only it were actual gold, then I'd have enough to pay off the bank and wouldn't be sitting here, drinking away my sorrows while my future literally grazed in opposite corners of the pasture looking just as unlikely to mate as they had on day one. I’d opened the middle gate again, letting Mystery and Sassy have full roam of both sides. It didn’t matter if I gave them square miles or square inches, they found a way to avoid each other. I needed to go out and put them up for the night, but I didn’t have the energy right now. A few drinks, then I’d drag myself out there.

The shadowed creatures, the day darkening around them, continued to deliberately maintain their distance. They’d made it an art form. Earlier, when I’d given all the horses their nutritional evening feed, I’d tried to have Mystery and Sassy in the same stall—the largest one in the stables, easily big enough for four horses. That had almost led to a knockdown, drag out fight. So, I’d put them in their separate stalls again. About a week ago, I’d tried similar. For the next few days, Sassy hadn’t wanted to eat at all. I wasn’t sure which was worse: horses trying to kill each other, or horses starving to death.

If these horses weren’t my last hope for financial salvation, I might have found their mutual disdain amusing. Mystery and Sassafras were prime candidates for a real, slow-burn, enemies to lovers romance. It would be so fulfilling to see it play out, but I couldn’t wait for them to have changes of heart. There wasn’t time.

"You two are literally my last hope," I called out, raising my glass in a mock toast. My voice carried across the quiet evening air, startling a nearby meadowlark into flight. "The least you could do is pretend to like each other long enough to make a baby. Hell, how about a little hate sex?"

Mystery's head lifted at the sound of my voice, his ears pricked forward momentarily before he returned to grazing. Sassafras didn't even bother to look up, too happily engrossed in a patch of clover to acknowledge my existence. A thick, rough braying called my gaze over to Artie. His spotted body looked dingy. He needed a good scrub down again. I’d cleaned Mystery up after he’d rolled in the dirt, but I hadn’t paid him any attention today. I’d make it up to him tomorrow, give him a glorious grooming session and a bunch of apple slices.

“You’re the only one that really cares about me, Artie!” I shouted out, tipping my glass to him as well. He gave an adorable little jump that probably made his old haunches ache. He understood me; I just knew he did. Horses were like dogs and cats. Just big fur babies wanting love. Well… Mystery was a cat. Sassy and Artie were decidedly dog like.

I took another swig of whiskey, longer this time, welcoming the burn. The alcohol dulled the edges of my anxiety, softening the sharp corners of my fear. It was a temporary solution, but tonight, temporary was all I had.

Derek's voice drifted into my mind, unwelcome as a tax collector. "You'll come crawling back when you realize running a ranch isn't just standing there looking pretty."

I could see him so clearly. That day early on when he’d shown up, unwanted, to mock Sunflower Hills and what I was trying to accomplish. He’d leaned against the porch column, looking upward when the weight of his body made it creak in protest. He’d crossed his arms over his chest, that trademark infuriating smirk playing at his lips, as if the creaking of the house confirmed his belief that I was going to fail. He'd always looked at me like I was a particularly amusing child, my dreams and ambitions nothing more than adorable little phases to be indulged until I grew out of them. He said I was cute when I daydreamed. I never wanted a man to call me cute again.

"You can’t make it on your own," he'd continued, tone dancing between acidic and condescending. "Ranching is in my blood, Tammy. Not yours. You're a city girl playing cowgirl, and sooner or later, reality's going to catch up with you." Those were his parting words to me that day, as if I wasn’t already aware that I had zero experience.

But grit can get a girl a long way.

And so can a deep-rotted need to prove a walking red flag wrong.

I drained my glass and poured another, the whiskey bottle now dangerously lighter.

How long could I survive overdue red notices, empty feed bins, failing machinery, and uncooperative horses? The truth was that reality was running me ragged.

But crawling back to Derek? I'd rather sleep in the stable with Mystery, temperamental diva that he was.

Darkness spilled like ink across the ranch, the last traces of daylight fading into deep blue. One by one, stars began to appear overhead, pinpricks of light that seemed to wink at me with encouragement: “there’s still brightness even in the dead of night”.

The vast sky over this open land had been one of the first things I'd fallen in love with when Derek brought me out here from Kansas City. It was so clear, untainted by city lights. Its wideness felt different these days, stretching above me, indifferent to my troubles, a reminder of how small and insignificant my problems were in the grand scheme of things.

A small woman. Smaller problems. Unimportant when it came to keeping the world turning.

I refilled my glass. Was this my third or fourth? Did it matter? I was going to wreck my liver faster than I wrecked this floundering property.

Placing the bottle down on the second step, I glared at it, then gave it a sharp poke with my index finger.

It fell over, tumbling down the risers to clatter against the craggy ground.

I slid off the top step, wincing when a splinter threatened to push through the worn jeans and embed in my ass. I rocked back and forth, seeing if it was really going to pierce. When it didn’t, I leaned back against the weathered porch step, tilting my face up to the heavens. The wood creaked beneath me, another reminder of all the repairs I couldn't afford to make. This whole place was held together by little prayers and well-placed patches, much like its owner.

A shooting star streaked across the sky, a brief flash of silver against black. An old childhood habit kicked in, and I closed my eyes to make a wish.

Please let Mystery and Sassafras make a baby. Please let me keep this ranch. Please don't let Derek be right.

When I opened my eyes, another meteor was cutting through the darkness, its trail slightly longer than the first. Then another. And another. A meteor shower, unexpected and breathtaking. Under different circumstances, I might have grabbed a blanket and sprawled out in the pasture to watch nature's light show. Instead, I remained with my back pressed against rotting wood slats, the empty whiskey glass cool against my palm, counting falling stars.

Falling like the world around me.

Falling like my bank account balance.

Falling like the pieces of my broken, busted heart.

Among the meteors, one light moved differently than the others. Instead of the quick streak of a falling star, this one seemed to hover, pulsing slightly before changing direction. It was brighter too, with a bluish tinge that stood out against the silvery meteors. Was some once in a century comet supposed to rocket past Earth tonight?

"Weird," I murmured, squinting up at it. Probably a satellite or a plane, my alcohol-fuzzy brain reasoned, though it didn't move quite like either. After a moment, I dismissed it, too lost in my own troubles to give much thought to strange lights in the sky. The universe had bigger problems than Tammy Tucker and her failing horse ranch.

Standing up on wobbly legs, I moved down the rest of the stairs and leaned over to pick up the nearly empty glass bottle. About a half inch of whiskey sloshed inside. The stars kept falling overhead and I lifted the whiskey to my lips. I swallowed it slowly; the wetness no longer burned a path down my throat but instead spread gentle warmth throughout my limbs. My brain grew fuzzy and the depression thoughts faded.

I glanced over at the pasture. Mystery was gone, likely settled to rest in his stall. It was going to be a beautiful night, so maybe I wouldn’t bother gating them inside the stables. Sassafras still stood beneath starlight, looking almost ghostly. My eyes shifted over to Artie, who was almost prancing after a little flock of fireflies. The old guy always seemed to come alive at night, like his ancient bones gained fresh life as soon as the sunlight left.

"What am I going to do?" I asked the universe softly.

Of course, the universe stayed achingly quiet. No response. No easy answer.

Artie nickered happily though, and that sound made me smile despite myself.

Yet, soon after, a fresh wave of melancholy washed over me. What would it be like to have that kind of simplicity? To live without the constant pressure of bills and deadlines and expectations? To exist, eating grass and feeling the sun on your back, with no concept of tomorrow beyond whether it might rain?

I moved inside the house, beelining for a fresh whiskey bottle. Did I need it? No. But tomorrow would come with or without a hangover. The bank would still want its money. Mystery and Sassafras would still hate each other. Derek would still be waiting for me to fail.

Derek. The thought of him once again made my jaw clench. He'd been so certain I'd come crawling back, begging for his help, admitting he was right about me all along. And here I was, so many months later, precisely where he'd predicted I'd be—broke, desperate, and out of options.

Except giving up. I still had that option, didn't I? I could call him tomorrow, swallow my pride along with his smugness, and save what little I had left. He'd take me back—he'd made that clear enough. I could return to a life of financial stability, comfortable furniture, and being told to "just stand there and look pretty."

The very thought made bile rise in my throat. Or maybe that was the whiskey. Too much of a good, numbing thing.

I made myself stop before cracking open a second liquor bottle. I moved to the kitchen window, watching another shooting star blaze across the sky, brighter than the others, its trail lingering like a question mark. The oddly moving, blue hued comet was gone. Could I make another wish? The first falling star was long gone.

What would I wish for if I could have anything in the world? Not money—though that would solve my immediate problems. Not success—though that would prove Derek wrong. Not even for Mystery and Sassafras to suddenly fall madly in love—though that would save my ranch.

No, what I wanted more than anything was to prove to myself that I wasn't just decorative. My hands weren’t only made for manicures. My mind wasn’t a paperweight. My will was just as strong as some knuckle-headed, cowboy hat wearing man’s. I was more than the pretty redhead who'd looked good on Derek's arm at agricultural galas and horse auctions.

The stars blurred slightly as unwelcome tears filled my eyes. I blinked them away, angry at my own weakness. Crying solved nothing. Neither did sitting here feeling sorry for myself.

The tears halted when my gaze caught that strange light in the sky again, moving in a way no star or plane should move. It seemed brighter now, though that could have been a trick of my alcohol-blurred vision. Was it getting closer?

I closed my eyes, shaking my head sharply.

“Get it together, Tucker,” I scolded myself.

I parted my lashes, finding the light again.

For a heartbeat, it really did appear to come closer to the ground and hover directly over my property before drifting toward the distant tree line that marked the border of Sunflower Hills.

"Send help if you're aliens," I called out to it, laughing at my own absurdity. "Preferably in the form of horse aphrodisiacs or lottery winnings."

The light pulsed once, as if in acknowledgment, then disappeared behind the trees. I shook my head, blaming the whiskey for making me talk to strange lights in the sky. Next thing you know, I'd be having heart-to-hearts with the refrigerator about its rattling noise and how it wasn’t helping my mental state.

Inside the house, my bed called to me—the one luxury I'd allowed myself when purchasing this place, a memory foam mattress that cradled my exhausted body at the end of each grueling day. Tomorrow would bring another day. Another new beginning. Another matchmaking attempt.

Whatever happened, I'd face it on my feet, not on my knees begging for a savior. Derek had been wrong about so many things when it came to me. I was determined to make sure he was wrong about this too.

I might lose my ranch. I might lose my horses. I might lose everything I'd worked for. But I wouldn't lose myself. Not again. Not ever.

4

CYRO

Navigation is for morons from Mars!

My tentacles flicked across the navigation console, the touchstones of my home world’s technology familiar and reassuring. I’d trained on this system for several solar cycles; I knew it like the back of my tentacles.

The ship was an extension of myself and my kind. It pulsed around me in rippling waves of bioluminescent aquamarine, responding to my commands as we prepared to enter Earth's atmosphere. This primitive planet, mostly water with inconvenient landmasses interrupting the oceanic perfection, would yield samples critical to my research. Our own seas back home were drying. If we couldn’t replenish them, we’d need to abandon our planet.

As we sliced through the weak atmosphere easily, I allowed myself a moment of satisfaction, my skin shifting to a pleased lavender hue. After all, I was Cyro, respected xenobiologist of the Thalassar system, and this mission was proceeding exactly according to plan. I expected no different; I’d led a dozen flawless trips to various worlds.

"Trajectory locked for deep trench insertion," I announced to my crewmates, not bothering to hide the smug undulation rippling through my mantle. "As predicted, the gravitational pull is precisely as calculated in my pre-mission assessment. We should be able to collect and extract within six terradunes."

The living walls of our vessel contracted and expanded in a rhythmic pattern. The artificial intelligence and the oxygen-dependent nature of the newer vessels made them feel truly sentient. My companions and I had coined the ship Shada-Vey.

“Slight fluctuation in the salinity system,” Kalith notified me, the tips of three tentacles flying across his own engineering station.

“Concerning?” I questioned, shifting my eyes, not my head, easily watching him through narrowing slits, the colors around me highly contrasted as light split and flowed around objects.

“Barely a blip,” he lifted two tentacles into the air, curving them and using them to shrug dismissively.

“What have I told you, Kalith?” I admonished.

“If it’s not important, keep my mouth shut?” Kalith mumbled in irritation.

I monitored the readouts with half my attention, confident in my calculations. The other half of my consciousness was already anticipating the water samples we would collect—pristine specimens from Earth's deepest trench, crucial components for my synthetic terraforming research. From early probes, we knew various creatures protected the fathomless bottom of what humankind coined the Marianas, but they were peaceful unless provoked.

The first sign of trouble came as a subtle vibration through the gelatinous floor beneath me. I dismissed it initially as minor atmospheric turbulence, nothing more. The second sign was harder to ignore: a discordant tone from the navigation array, followed by a ripple of crimson warning lights across the console.

"Interesting," I murmured, three of my primary tentacles stretching toward different sections of the control panel. The ship's interior, normally a soothing, watery blue, began pulsing with anxious amber hues that matched my rising concern.

“Concerning?” Kalith quipped, mocking my earlier question.

“Bashta,” I shot back, basically telling him to quiet himself or tear out his own tongue.

“Mah-dar tash,” Kalith volleyed, hitting me where it hurt, calling me a smooth tentacle, a highly offensive insult on our planet.

My confident lavender skin tone faded, the color draining away and leaving behind only silver, as I steeled my focus. This wasn’t going right. Our entry point had shifted by several leagues. Our angle of atmospheric penetration was too shallow. The calculations had been perfect—I had verified them myself multiple times before we’d launched off world, leaving behind our own glorious world. Yet the readouts now indicated a deviation that I wasn’t sure I could correct.

"Adjusting course," I announced, trying to keep the uncertainty from my voice as Vantor and Kalith continued their pre-landing preparations behind me. My navigation arm, outfitted with the connection implants, extended to its full length, connecting directly with the ship's neural interface. The familiar sensation of melding with the vessel's consciousness usually brought comfort, but now I felt only the ship's confusion and alarm reflecting my own. Deeper shadows seeped into the metallic of my skin.

I couldn’t botch this mission. It was too important.

"Status report, Cyro?" Vantor's voice carried from his station, his tone already sharpening with suspicion.

"Minor course correction," I replied dismissively, unwilling to admit the growing problem. "Nothing I cannot handle."

But the ship didn't respond to my commands. The neural interface flickered, connection unstable. I pressed harder, forcing more of my consciousness into the link, my skin darkening further with effort. The living tissue of the control panel began to pulse erratically beneath my touch, secreting excess bonding fluid that left slick, iridescent trails across its surface.

Warning lights flashed—violent, jarring, crimson… unlike any I’d ever seen even during training modules—and the ship’s animalistic shrieks tore through the cabin. I felt the slow tendrils of dread wrap around my gut.

Every light on the console blinked frantically. This couldn’t be happening. I wouldn’t fail. There was no better researcher or mission lead than me. I was Cyro, unerring and adaptive! Now, though, I cursed as I struggled to pull the ship’s controls back into alignment. My tentacles moved with a desperate elegance, slick bioluminescent trails marking my frantic attempts to regain command of our trajectory. As anxiety took over, the suckers lining my appendages began to dry and snag, scratching up the ship’s undulating, fleshy surface. The more I damaged it, the less control I seemed to have. It was futile.

The walls of the cabin breathed in and out quickly, as if the vessel truly was a creature struggling to inhale.

An acidic odor enveloped us—circuitry overheating under the strain, sparks flying as every attempt I made led to increasingly worse outcomes. The ship’s body was charring. It was in pain.

Panic crashed against my confidence, eroding my composure. I struggled against the panic climbing into my throat. I couldn’t swallow it down. It tore from my mouth with wild abandon, my own cries of frustration joining the ship’s scared keening.

“Cyro! Can you regain control?” Vantor barked.

I wasn’t sure I could, but I didn’t say that out loud.

The navigation graph screamed jagged lines—no graceful plunge to the abyssal trench, but a wild arc toward a solid mass. Land. Blasted land.

“We’re being pulled toward the northern continent,” I said slowly, horror shredding my composure. I forced my eyes to the geo-display: indistinct browns and greens bleeding into focus—forests, cliffs, impossible terrain. The worst place we could land. We could put on the air-to-water adapters, but if our bodies didn’t adjust, we’d suffocate. But we weren’t locked into a land collision yet. The point of impact was still ocean, albeit far from the trench. I needed to stop further deviation.

“Correct course!” Vantor barked, rigid as a defense drone.

“What do you think I am trying to do, Vantor? Take a vacation on Nexus Prime?” I gasped back, fear cracking my response in half.

I plunged my nav tentacle into the neural nexus again. A bolt of feedback seared through my neurons. Black fluid spurted from my ink sacs in a spasmodic lurch—an infantile panic I’d long since mastered but never truly forgotten. My skin was full of shadows now; charcoal having long chased away the lilac.

“It’s… rejecting me,” I gasped, my siphon lungs gulping desperate air. “The navigation matrix seems shot! I can’t get us re-aligned!”

Another monstrous jolt pitched us sideways. Tools, cables, even my own coiled tentacles slid across the lurching deck. The view screen stabilized for one fatal second: a mosaic of trees and stone surging closer.

The ship lurched yet again violently. My tentacles lost purchase on the slick controls as I was sent sliding off the seat and across the alloy floor. My body jerked unceremoniously as I crashed against the side wall. A swirl of colors interrupted the slate hue of my skin in a chaotic display of stress patterns. The fiery orange and yellow only lasted long enough to trace over the length of my body, beginning at the tips of my tentacles and terminating at the top of my head. My gaze shot toward the large nexus monitor, finding only a land mass reflected upon it. No oceanic mass body in sight.

“Kalith! Vantor!” I hollered, dread threading through my voice, “We have no choice but to abandon course correction. We must ready ourselves for impact.”

My head swiveled, searching for my crewmates, my body still pressed roughly against the wall.

“Kalith, are you sure that solar flare didn’t damage anything?” I spoke sharply, though desperation for an answer tainted my words.

“There were no immediate signs of damage,” Kalith shook his head, then he blinked slowly. “I’ll run another diagnostic.”

Before Kalith could move, the ship tilted sideways then seemed to move strangely upward while still tilted. Then it froze. All movement halted. Time seemed to stop. Even the ship ceased its strobing lights and screams of alarm. Would we make it out of this unscathed? Could we salvage this?

Before I could feel even the slightest spark of hope, before even a single ribbon of pale purple could attack the darkness of my anxiety-hued skin, the ship began falling so fast that we were all lifted from the floor to hang midair. When I slammed back to the floor, agony shot through my body. But I had no time to nurse my pain.

I used all my tentacles to yank myself across the floor and back into the control seat. I curled four appendages around the top of the panel, anchoring myself. My eyes searched desperately for a way out of this mess.

The destination marker blinked at me, nowhere near our original goal.

What I’d feared moments ago.

Crashing at near the center of the Northern continent.

No blasted water in sight.

“Cyro!” Vantor’s voice rang through the cacophony, full of the sharp precision I had grown to appreciate and now rely on. “What is our projected trajectory?”

I pressed a sucker to one flashing button. Autopilot.

The vessel lurched, seemed to stop, then it hurled forward again.

“Firmly the northern continent now. Centralized. An easy distance to a body of water by ship.” An impossible distance if we must cover it without the ship, I added mentally. I pressed my tentacles into the soft console surface to stabilize myself. “If I cannot reestablish control, we are going to crash on this barbaric, horrible planet!”

I could see Vantor’s bioluminescence reacting, a series of disciplined pulses communicating his own assessment of the threat level. His skin danced with cobalt and aqua. Flashes of sky appeared every few heartbeats. He was keeping it together. I wasn’t. I admired his methodical nature despite the dread knotted in my gut. My heart raced—not with the thrill of exploration I’d known on previous journeys, but with the palpable weight of impending doom.

“Kalith, did you run diagnostics yet?” I tried to hold onto authority, tried not to sound like I was fracturing under pressure.

“Systems are fritzing. I’ll have to check everything out manually,” Kalith responded quickly, his tentacles reaching in all directions, ripping off access panels and getting to work.

Vantor was strapping down a medical pod, along with saltwater tanks and several emergency breathing units.

I was unable to move. I should help somehow, but I felt adhered to the chair.

A shower of sparks fell from the ceiling.

The ship moaned.

Screamed in pain.

Vibrated as if caught in the throes of death.

The overhead lights surged, sending us into darkness for several beats of my three hearts.

The vessel gave several, body-bruising spasms.

“Secure loose equipment!” Vantor shouted, his vocalization cutting through my internal chaos. “Cyro, move!” He commanded me. Me! I was the leader of this mission, not him.

His tentacles moved with brisk discipline, gathering and fastening equipment down to avert the mayhem that could follow. My stomach churned as I wondered if we would be meeting Earth’s creatures not as explorers, but as intergalactic collateral damage. Flarking madness… we weren’t supposed to meet any Earthlings at all. Not on purpose or by accident.

And I still wasn’t shifting into action. Still wasn’t taking control of the situation.

“At this speed and angle, our chances of survival or no better than ten percent,” Kalith flowed over to me, the umber and sunlight of his skin was highly pigmented, a sign that even he—our certified jokester—couldn’t make light of the situation. He locked eyes with me. The way the slitted wave of his gaze stared at me, I knew he was afraid. Kalith was never afraid. Typically, he laughed when things took a turn for the worst. He found a solidifying sliver of dark humor to help him hold onto sanity. If he looked full of fear, real fear, then we were facing horrible odds. “We need to enact crash protocol.”

“We will not crash!” I spat out. “Just keep running the diagnostics, Kalith. Now!”

My stubborn denial versus the truth seemed to hang in the air between us, then it began to battle for dominance.

The vessel’s hues were a dizzying kaleidoscope of color now.

Its sharp keening cracked around the edges.

My perfect record was going up in smoke along with the melting circuitry.

“This was not supposed to be a journey of failure!” I shouted, body pulsing with harsh blasts of blinding red. Anger twisted through me, not directed at my crewmates, but toward my inadequacies, my poor leadership, my fear that we’d land on this horrible planet and never get home again.

“Calm yourself,” Vantor instructed, his demeanor impenetrable. “Brace for impact.” He shifted gears, focusing not on fear but preparedness, emitting sharp signals—organized and steady despite the chaos unraveling around us. “Kalith, as security officer, I’m within my right to take over leadership of the ship in times of emergency. Code Arcane, Vector Twelve. Proceed with crash protocol. Diagnostics can wait!”

“On it!” Kalith shouted.

“I do not relinquish command!” I protested, but they ignored me.

As the ship plummeted, I splayed my entire body across the console, as if holding it together would absolve me of the monumental mess I’d made of this mission. The landing symbol continued to move farther off course, and I knew holding onto the command center was pointless.

Adrenaline pulsed through me—skin darkening and brightening, obsidian to silver to platinum. I was breaking under the pressure. I wasn’t worthy of leading anyone, not even myself. Amidst the chaos, Kalith was on the ground, tentacles stretched into a lower cavity, working furiously to protect us. And Vantor seemed ready as he furiously typed what could be our final entry into the mission log.

Seeing them hold themselves together was the grounding presence that pulled me from my emotional tailspin.

We might die in this foreign land long proven inhospitable to otherworldly beings. My generation had grown up with the intel from several stealth missions sent to discover what had become of crash-landed brethren. So we didn’t come here. We didn’t study this planet. We avoided it. Until the day we couldn’t, because it might hold the secrets to saving our world.

We risked being…

Imprisoned.

Experimented on.

Dissected and abused even in death.

But whatever came, we three would face it together.

5

KALITH

Saved by the intergalactic whipped cream.

Iwas top of my engineering class. Handpicked for this mission. I would not watch this ship tear itself apart. Vantor had given me the command. Our survival depended on me.

I pulled my brown and rust mottled appendages from the cavity; the cover I wore on my differently shaped arm caught at the edge of the compartment. I yanked it free, rolling over quickly and rising on eight of my tentacles to scurry across the rippling, gelatinous floor. I had barely ten triple heartbeats before I needed to enter the correct combination of orders on the control console or the safety foam wouldn’t deploy in time. Too late, and the impact would kill us. Too early, and the foam would soften too early. That would kill us too.

The timing had to be perfect.

No room for error.

And Cyro was in my way, his monochromatic tentacles flailing against the interface again, doing absolutely nothing except spreading viscous connection fluid everywhere. He looked odd void of color. I’d grown used to it, even decided it suited him, though I’d still tease him now and again about looking like my grandmother.

“Move!” I rasped, launching from the floor and pushing Cyro from the seat. He slid sideways with a snarl of frustration, his tentacles releasing the console he was futilely clinging to, his arrogance crumpling into stark uncertainty. If there was time, I’d enjoy the sight of him losing control. His panic mirrored my own.

The vessel shuddered, hurling me forward. I crashed my prime manipulator into the glitching control panel; jolts of diagnostic data rained through me; hot shards of information I didn’t want to pierce my nerves. It was distracting, throwing my mind off my mission.

The stench of burning bio circuits stung my chemoreceptors, and I reflexively unfurled a protective membrane over my eyes, turning the chamber around me into a dark blur.

“Initiating crash sequence,” I yelled over the ship’s organic screaming. “Manually changing angle of descent.” My voice sounded mechanical even to me—confidence forced into being. Panic was a virus; solutions were the cure. Our survival odds increased exponentially if we hit at less than thirty degrees tilted.

Three tentacles whipped toward the emergency tool hatches baked into the bulkheads. Two braced me against another feral lurch. My left-posterior limb twitched uselessly—its protective tip cover hanging, damaged from me brutally pulling it free from the compartment. Its color never synched with the rest of my body. Right now, it was brightest coral, whereas the rest of me displayed muted, determined hues. I gave my atypical limb a small shake, telling it to cooperate for once.

But it had never held me back. And it wouldn’t now. Sometimes, it was exactly my difference which helped me rise above. Like the time I’d found the shape of my left posterior limb fit perfectly inside the cavity of an air filtration channel on a mission. The stocked filters were square, we required round. I was able to shape my limb around what we had and hold it in place long enough to get us home.

I stretched farther, body rippling with the color of wet soil and decaying leaves, iron in my mind blasting past every boundary. My body became a stretched, contorted mass touching what must seem like random points inside the cabin. I curled one tentacle around initiator knob one, then another around knob two. Two tentacles reached to the floor, lifting small panels to reveal red ring pulls, both of which I jerked to an open position. One tentacle touched the ceiling, pressing at its center, activating a system-wide stop to auto-functions so I could fully be in control. I took a deep, settling breath and turned them simultaneously before instantly inputting the first code sequence.

Afterward, my tentacle tips flew across the input panel. Even the shortened arm had its job, hovering over the blinking button that needed pressing right before the quad lever pull. The emergency protocols were standard issue; an operator had to be in peak condition, with full command of their faculties. I should have made some programming changes before take-off. I hadn’t, and there wasn’t time for on-the-fly customizations while our ship plummeted toward an alien planet. I could handle this, and I knew the expansion foam would work. I’d designed it myself. I wasn’t too happy that its first real test in the field was on my personal mission though.

"Kalith! Status?" Vantor barked from somewhere behind me.

"Safety protocol engaged!" I called back, my voice steadier than my insides felt. "Brace for impact—gelatinous cushioning deploying in five seconds!"

The blunt tip of my posterior left limb pressed the blinking indicator, and then I yanked down the four yellow emergency levers: the final step.

“Brace for impact!” I roared as a countdown began on the pulsing panel. The ground was coming closer… closer… closer.

At the last moment, I put in another code. The one that would shut down everything in the ship right before collision. With some luck, it would protect the important systems from aftermath surges. From the few diagnostics I’d successfully run, it was already going to be a nightmare to recover from the current damage, not even counting what would be mangled upon collision with the planet.

“What are you doing?” Cyro came into view, lengthening his body as tall as possible and looming over me. I had no idea how he was staying upright as the ship rocked back and forth violently.

“Safeguarding the ship!” I shouted.

“Cancel that code,” Cyro demanded. “With everything powered down, the crash won’t send the automatic distress signal!”

“With everything powered on, we risk frying systems we can’t repair,” I argued.

“I’m the leader of this mission⁠—”

I cut him off, not bothering to point out that Vantor had assumed control. Cyro knew; he simply preferred to ignore reality. “We’ll manually set the beacon after surviving.”

What else could I protect? What was the most important thing to preserve?

Sliding off the chair, I stretched my gelatinous body around the base of the control panel. The interface surface was important, but the neural network beneath was far more precious. I could repair the display, but I highly doubted this planet would have synthetic fiber flesh and laboratory grown nerve pathways. My coloring shifted to a mottled tie dye of evergreen and dark soil as I felt resignation flood into my digestive cavity. I’d done all I could. We’d either survive or die.

“What can I do?” Vantor hollered, dropping into my sightlines, his own boneless body, skin swirling with alert hues, flattening against the floor.

“Protect the environmental system,” I ordered, as if I was in charge. I never was. I was good at following orders. Good at lightening the mood. I didn’t like to call the shots. Right now, though, I was the only one who could give us hope of leaving this planet after crashing. That made me the king of this plummeting paperweight.

Vantor nodded, slipping away quickly. I watched as he wrapped his own body, sucking in air to create protective cushioning pockets beneath his skin, around the quad tanks that kept the ship survivable for our bodies.

The circuitry I encircled throbbed against my body, sending tremors into every part of me. Once a vibrant, vital organ keeping our ship ‘alive’, it now had a staccato, choked pulse that threatened to give out at any second. Blotches of black scar tissue marked dead nodes between cerulean pathways still clinging to life. The sensory suckers of my tentacles explored the minor and major damage. The central processor core was charred, its organic matrix vaporized. Total corruption. But beneath the growing darkness, I sensed the light and lifeforce that meant the ship wasn’t past saving. We could revive the brain and get the heart pumping again even if it took on more damage.

We could survive this.

We could take flight again and get home.

Yet it wouldn’t be easy.

It would test even my remarkable talents.

This wasn’t a localized fault—this was systemic. The damage had spread through backups, through tertiary processors. The navigation neural web was annihilated. Cyro was right; I must have missed crucial effects of that solar flare, some catastrophic fracturing that I could have repaired had I caught it in time. Earlier, I hadn’t checked. Everything was too chaotic. Now…

I risked a direct link—something I’d refused to do earlier, choosing instead to gently probe hundreds of system sections at random. But now I pressed my central tentacle’s neural pad against the main diagnostic port beneath the console. Electronic screams flared in my mind as data dumped itself into me. Every corrupted pathway, every singed junction mapped themselves across my nerves. I tasted despair at a cellular level.

“It was the solar flare,” I croaked, voice hollow as I withdrew, sending spikes of phantom pain ricocheting through the linked appendage. “That K-class star we scoped yesterday—its radiation ripped the matrix to shreds. Shields. Scanners. Communication. Navigation’s molecular scaffold…all gone. I don’t know why it waited until we were this close to the planet to truly fail.”

Silence. Then Vantor’s tight inhale. Cyro dropped into view; his iridescence dwindled into ashen white.

“Can you fix it after we’ve landed?” Cyro’s words were weak.

Landed. He deliberately used that term.

There was no easy landing now. This was going to be brutal.

I lifted my appendage away, breaking the connection, breathing through the trembling in my chest. Fluid bleeding from the neural column dripped off me in sparks of flickering bioluminescence.

“Rebuilding that scaffold requires a clean facility and days of molecular re-synthesis. I… I don’t know if it’s possible on this planet with the equipment I requisitioned.” And didn’t officially requisition, I thought.

“There has to be a way,” Cyro pressed, tone urgent.

There was a very slim chance. If we could find several minerals that were scarce and priceless even on our own planet. “There’s a way,” I offered Cyro what he needed to hear, just so he wouldn’t despair further in what could be our last moments. “Protect the ship’s heart, Cyro. The more we can safeguard, the better off we’ll be later.”

He didn’t respond; he simply disappeared.

The ship pitched downward; I tightened my body around the network, liquid weeping out faster now, making my body slick, making it harder to keep my grip firm.

Cyro’s whisper was ghostly and soft, somehow audibly carrying through the ship despite the alarms: “Impact imminent.”

The living hull of the vessel groaned, layers of bio-fused skin flaking off in fiery ribbons. Chunks of fiber flesh fell from above. Wall panels crashed down. Every second stretched into an eternity of howling wind and searing heat. The protective membranes slipped across my eyes scorched; I clamped the over lids shut, letting the pain cut sharply through darkness.

As the systems began to shut down, responding to that final code I’d inputted, the floor of the vessel flickered transparent, giving us a clear view of our quickly approaching deaths.

The ground rose up to claim us: a dark wave of barren soil. The night vision adapters of the ship visuals made it seem like daytime below us, when I knew this galaxy’s star did not currently shine on this stretch of land.

Thrusters engaged in a stuttering roar then sputtered and choked as they were shut off thanks to the knock down command I’d inputted. The jittering force was enough to jerk the ship to the right by several Centaurus leaps. The landscape beneath shifted. A line of trees. A sea of yellow. Several odd quadrupeds. A few buildings, all ancient and left to ruin. We began falling right toward one of the time-worn structures, our vessel readying to give it a death blow.

I felt the pressure through every membrane, every neural strand. Bones of living metal groaned, supported by sinews of engineered cartilage. And… the crash protocol hadn’t worked.

The foam isn’t deploying.

It’s too late.

I messed up during installment. Or I entered the incorrect initiation code. Or…

Before I could finish the thought, waves of white exploded from circular pores in the floor, ceiling, and walls. The preservation foam flooded through, filling the cabin and conforming to our bodies and the ship’s mechanics. The warm, fluffy substance hardened seconds after deployment.

The impact came with a soul-shattering jolt as the ship catapulted into the derelict building. The foam encasing my body was a protective cocoon that absorbed the worst of the collision. And, thanks to my position, the neural network received double protection. Still, the force was enough to make me nauseous, my head pound, my ears ring, my body vibrate with aftershocks. Involuntary patterns rippled across my skin in muted waves.

As soon as the metallic shuddering of the ship quieted, the foam began to soften.

The ship’s systems were shut down.

The loudness of the crash left behind unsettling silence.

It only took moments for the protective crash mousse to dissolve into wet gel that magically evaporated. I lifted my tentacles, one by one, checking for any sudden pain as I moved. My body felt surprisingly fine.

I blinked slowly.

Strange, golden light was spilling into the ship’s cabin.

There shouldn’t be any brightness, not with every system shut down and it being night on this part of the planet.

My gaze wandered, finding a crack in the hull of the living vessel, one that breached every layer of flesh to let Earth air and the glow from some shining orb atop a pole seep inward.

That yawning fissure was going to be hard to fix, but not impossible. I’d brought along several unsanctioned engineering items, including a handheld bio-knitter capable of stitching the ship together well enough to take flight. But, as I’d already told Cyro, the more delicate systems would be a far greater challenge.

When the ship settled completely, I forced my body to unfurl from its contorted position around the neural stump. Despite feeling unbroken, every bit of me ached. Gel dripped from my skin, fragments of organic circuitry clinging to my skin. My lungs struggled as the polluted, dirty air from outside continued to permeate the carefully controlled ship environment. Every breath set my membranes pulsing with agony. I also felt impossibly heavy now that we were no longer airborne. The gravity of this world felt like a trap, pulling down on my limbs with unexpected force.

My hearts hammered with relief. We were alive. We’d survived.

“Well, I guess my crash foam works,” I breathed out. “Deserves a few good pats on the back.”

I reached four tentacles up, curved them over my body, and tapped my body in congratulations.

“We nearly died,” Vantor grumbled, “and you’re only concerned with playing hero.”

“Well,” I quipped, “Sort of did play hero.”

“Turn the damn systems back on and let’s see what we’re working with,” Vantor ordered, pulling himself to a standing position.

Cyro was moving too, his body flowing with hues of anxiety and embarrassment. He said nothing as he made his way slowly toward the controls. I didn’t fight for the chair. I could tell he needed to reclaim his place. Besides, I had no desire to be in charge.

I was really glad to be alive.

6

VANTOR

Zero signs of intelligent life anywhere…

My body hummed with tension as I catalogued the fallout—the crash foam was dissolving quickly, metallic shards of our craft littered the no longer pulsing floor. Artifacts of a botched mission were all around us. We couldn’t ignore the evidence, not as dim light seeped through a wound in the upper hull, the ship’s air quality lowering with every beat of my hearts.

We were far from home now, marooned amidst unfamiliar chaos that smelled of damp earth and acrid, rotting foliage. I focused on controlling my pulsating bioluminescence, the shifting patterns across my skin conveying both urgency and unrest. As an oceanic defense specialist, I had little experience against land-based threats, and yet, here I was, stranded in that exact environment. How many unknown dangers had never been cited on this planet because our pre-op intel was mostly localized to Earth’s waters? How many poisonous plants could end our lives with one bite?

Were the natives truly as barbaric as our records indicated? I tried to remember the historical information. Our planetary leaders only gave the barest information about this planet to the general populace. Before coming here, I’d read the unredacted files.

Bodies of our kind were found because of our unique signature of decay. We emitted a gas during decomp that otherwise does not exist on this world; it permeates the soil long after the body is fully gone. One intact body was found. It had been butchered. There were clear signs of being restrained and tortured. Jagged, stitched-together wounds. Organs removed. Our people did not stay long enough to discover the predator who had committed the atrocity. We were not even sure what the dominant species here was.

But, we would survive.

I had the mind for this, the training, and the physical prowess. My instincts would guide me. And I could draw upon the few missions I’d manned to other, water-weak worlds.

I reached out with my tentacles, feeling my way through the wreckage of our ship’s interior. The slight offering of light from outside illuminated very little clearly.

Through the jagged tear in the ceiling above, innumerable stars blinked down. That’s where we should be, already back outside this planet’s atmosphere, readying ourselves for the journey home. The oceanic samples would have taken so little time had this journey stayed on track. No, not that fast, I corrected myself. We’d still be in the trench but nearly done there. Everything was wrong.

Upside down.

Gone sideways.

My head spun, sudden disorientation kicking in, as if the spinning, plummeting crash was only now registering inside my body.

Each tentacular appendage gave me separate information. I felt a thrumming through the floor, telling me the sentient ship was not completely dead, only mostly. Another tip of an arm felt a breeze push into the ship, and with it dust that tried to cling to my skin and dry it out. My advanced optic lobes flexed, seeing every nuance of every wound in the vessel. I became entrenched inside tactical analyses, algorithms calculating survival probabilities based solely on mission intelligence, not direct observation.

An object flew overhead—a winged creature—its shadow momentarily blocking the faint starlight and yellow glow filtering through the breach. I strained my senses toward the sound of rustling brush. Was it the quadrupeds spotted before the impact? What was outside these battered, bent walls? What watched us while we remained blind in our metal coffin?

“Whatever land creatures inhabit this sector will be nothing like the creatures of the Marianas, who are peaceful unless provoked,” I stated, my voice a clipped cadence pushing through the shadows. I sounded professional and calm, despite the chaos that swirled around me. Unfortunately, our kind do not easily hide our internal thoughts. The fluctuating patterns of my bioluminescent skin betrayed the intensity I was suppressing inside. “We need to ensure our location can be defended before we do anything else.”

Cyro, my so-called leader, appeared as I finished my calculations, annoyance simmering in the furrows across his brow. “No,” he said firmly. “First, we need to study the extent of the damage,” he instructed, gaze darting across the debris. “We need to fix the ship as quickly as possible and gather the samples before departing.”

“If Kalith can miraculously get this vessel flight worthy—” I paused, cursing under my breath, frustration threading through my tentacles as I analyzed the shattered state of our craft— “then we will head home and regroup before a second attempt.”

“What do you mean a second attempt?” Cyro snapped back, irritation clouding his usual arrogance. “Do you plan on returning empty handed? I certainly have no intention of limping home with my tentacles tucked.”

My patience melted like the wires in the console. Cyro had already reverted to his usual commanding tone, exuding the arrogant audacity that grated my every nerve. We typically got along. I even liked him sometimes. But other times I wanted to shake the sense into him. Our relationship had been this way for well over a hundred star cycles. On the flip side, I couldn’t imagine my life without the infuriating egomaniac.

I kept my voice even, though frustration clawed at my resolve. “I don’t think we can repair delicate machinery here, Cyro. Records indicate limited fossil fuels and diminished natural resources. We’ll be Argoth-blessed if we can get home at all, regardless of your precious samples. Not to mention the unknown threats we will face while stranded. You read the unredacted files just like I did.”

“We will not be leaving this planet without the samples,” Cyro intoned slowly, putting authority in each gurgle and pop of sound. “And many species have come to this world without experiencing violence from the natives.”

I sighed heavily, gaze rolling up to the ceiling chasm, then I shook myself to slough off Cyro’s unimaginable hubris and turned to Kalith.

“Is it safe to turn the systems back on?” I asked him, voice low, trusting the smaller one despite the odds. 

Kalith’s undulating colors gave away his worry, his mind clearly shaken by our precarious predicament. Kalith had been the engineer on most of my missions. We’d become quick comrades. I enjoyed his company, though his sense of humor sometimes left me wondering about his sanity.

“There’s only one way to find out,” he admitted slowly, the top of his head wrinkling as his gaze narrowed in thought. “Actually, I can run some diagnostics at subliminal power. That will help me pinpoint problems that might fry when energy surges back through pathways. It won’t be quick, but better safe and slow.”

“Do your thing,” I replied, turning away from both as I shifted and slipped across the floor, the fleshy surface beginning to lose its moisture. “I’m going to check our surroundings. Do I need to suit up?”

“No,” Cyro responded in a clipped tone, his coloring bellying his irritation. “Though drying to our anatomy, the atmosphere is survivable. I do recommend taking a moisturizing unit along.”

“Noted,” I replied, beginning to move away again. I didn’t get far.

“But you are not doing anything until the ship is powered back on,” Cyro ordered, clawing to regain his so-called authority. “We cannot risk exposing ourselves without knowing what kind of lifeforms might be nearby.”

“You do realize we crashed without stealth mode engaged,” Kalith said, his expression looking confused, “If there’s any sentient creature in the vicinity, they know something has happened. It won't take long to discover our ship.”

“Which is exactly why we need to power it on now and turn on the shields,” Cyro barked.

“Sure thing, boss,” Kalith gave his tentacled approximation of a shrug, his tone derisive as he said the word boss. “And when we do that, the motherboard will probably overload thanks to melted pathways that try to force power down other routes that will, I promise you, fail and make matters worse than they are now.”

“It’s a chance we’ll have to take,” our blowhard commander pressed.

“No, it’s not.” Kalith shook his bulbous head, which was shifting into a crimson, annoyed hue. “We can make the choice to check all we can before powering up.”

“You will do as I say, Kalith.”

“Or I will not do as you say and, instead, I’ll take my short, stub of a tentacle and shove it so far up your mantle cavity that you choke on it.” Kalith crossed his tentacles, pointedly refusing to touch any ship controls.

“Fine, then I’ll do it.” Cyro stomped toward the controls, his gaze roving over the blank screen. The overbearing puss bucket didn’t know how to reverse Kalith’s shutdown code.

“I have not relinquished my command power,” I finally breathed out, the frustration boiling inside me. “We are still in crisis, Cyro.” 

“Exactly, and it’s my crisis now,” he replied dismissively. “We have landed, and the imminent threat is⁠—”

“Possibly right outside the ship’s hatch. This is not your crisis. I do not recognize your power to take back command,” I interrupted, emphasizing the need for tactical action. “I’m going to do my job and keep us safe. You do your job minus the ordering us around part…whatever that entails, aside from scraping samples into collection tubes.”

His gaze heated, his body shifting dark brown, nearly black. Our kind only took on that hue when they were ready for all-out war. A heady, spiced scent wafted from him. Territorial. Aggressive.

I wouldn’t be intimidated.

“Cyro, we may be stuck on this planet together for a long time. Let’s stop measuring terminal organs and the size of our spermatophore packs and instead focus on survival.”

He gave me a strange look, then cocked his head. “My terminal organ is above average in both length, girth, and abundance of production.”

“That’s a weird flex,” Kalith shifted across the floor, tentacles moving fluidly, and nudged Cyro’s side. “But just so we’re all aware, mine’s abnormally long and bent at the tip.”

“For Bantor’s sake,” I breathed out. “We are in a perilous situation and my future depends on whether you—” I pointed one tentacle at Cyro— “can get off your self-built pedestal of superiority and act like a real part of this team, and whether you—” I pointed another sucker-lined arm at Kalith— “can stay serious long enough to actually fix the ship.”

“Are you changing the subject?” Kalith narrowed his gaze; the slitted wave of his iris laser focused on me. “Is your terminal organ unimpressive?”

I growled. Then, before I could think it through, I let my heavy, long, girthy penetration organ slide into view. I gyrated my body, swinging it between the five tentacles currently supporting me upright, its tip hovered just above the floor of the ship.

Kalith’s gaze widened.

Cyro sputtered in surprise.

“I usually win when it comes to measuring, but we can see this through if you both insist.”

“I’m good,” Kalith held up four tentacles, suckers pointed toward me, begging off.

“That will be a citation for indecent exposure. I’ll write you up the minute we’re home.” Cyro’s body was a tie-dye tapestry of pink and pale yellow as he stumbled over every word.

“Sure, Cyro, you do that.” I retracted myself, then turned away, striding toward the sliding doors… which did not open as I approached. I pressed the tips of six tentacles between the two barriers, pushing outward with all my might. I could only create a small gap, but that was all the space I needed to contort my boneless body through into the arched hall that led to the cargo bay.

Without really meaning to, one of my tentacles lifted and punched one of the ungainly environmental suits the moment I stepped into cargo. I was glad I didn’t need to strap on the exoskeleton. The heavy monstrosity restricted rather than enhanced my movements. With every adjustment, that suit molded to the body. It was tight in places, unwieldy in others. It was the opposite of my natural state. Graceful. Fluid. Uninhibited by a skeletal system. It forced me to curl my longest tentacles around my middle; there was no place for them inside the five protrusions. One upper space for my head. Four others to contain appendages.

It had taken me two days of training to properly slot two arms into one cavity, three in another, and one each into the lower two spaces. This particular design was made to mimic bipeds of various planets, should we need to hide our true forms. How could any creature survive with such limited anatomy? Four appendages; I couldn’t even imagine existing that way.

I thought back to the first training session.

One attempted step, and I’d fallen over. Two trainers had to help me stand; the heavy booted legs were far too bulky. My tentacles couldn’t properly conform inside, despite contorting them into “L” shapes within something the manufacturing team called “shoes”.

“You can stay right where you are,” I mumbled at the exoskeleton, then I lifted one tentacle to snag a moisturizing unit. Crescent shaped, easily curled around my neck, latching into place and immediately activating to mist out precious water from my world.

The feel of it, the scent of it, the coolness… all made me miss home.

I made my way to the weapon’s wall. I studied my options, then slipped a stunner device from its perch and notched it into the holster at my thigh.

Hopefully, I wouldn’t have to use it. If the stun setting was too high, I could kill a weaker lifeform. If the setting was too low, they’d barely feel a buzz.

Breath in. Focus. I told myself. Nothing is out there. Nothing is going to happen. Get the lay of the land and come back inside.

Power wasn’t needed to manually release the escape hatch. I almost lifted the lever, but intuition made me stop. Maybe the viewer would work while the ship was no more than a carcass of its normal self. Hearts beating sluggishly, I swiped a tentacle down the hatch surface, hoping the morph material would respond.

It did, but only for a moment.

The material seemed to vanish right in front of me, its solidness giving way to nothingness. Flexion metal was magical in that way, heat making it go transparent. But it wasn’t my gentle touch that initiated the transformation; it was the residual warmth in the temp modulator.

But that glimpse of outside was enough.

A biped with fiery fur atop its head stood too close to our vessel. It was a bizarre creature poised with a three-bladed, long handled weapon. Sudden, sharp adrenaline spiked inside me, amplifying the tensions I’d sought to suppress. My muscles tensed, one tentacle wrapping around the stunner.

Just as I had steeled myself to open the hatch and immobilize the enemy, the internal ship lights fluctuated, then steadied. The ship hummed with energy. The shields went up.

I pressed the cool metal of the hatch door again.

It shifted away, transparent once more.

The flame-haired biped had lowered the weapon, the butt of its handle pressed into the soiled ground. The creature’s forehead wrinkled deeply. One tentacle, moving with its own purpose, lifted to press the one-way comm. I could hear the outside, but the outside couldn’t hear me. Not that hearing mattered; I had no way to understand the strange words it spoke.

“Drunk. I must be totally, skunk drunk.” The biped ran one hand down its face, shoulders shaking. The sound it made next was either one of grief or joy; I couldn’t tell. Both, maybe. Its whole body vibrated now and it wiped moisture from beneath its two, small eyes. How could the being see anything with those tiny optical spheres? “The barn finally gave up. Can’t even blame it.”

The lifeform, which had seemed so fierce heartbeats ago, dropped the weapon and walked away.

I removed the moistening unit, returning it to its perch, my skin pulsing in waves of orange and scarlet—much like the creature’s vibrant skull fur—and returned to the command deck.

“There was a biped outside. It held a weapon.”

“Do you believe it will attack?” Cyro didn’t look up from the control monitor, now brought back to life, though its surface was cracked, and the icons were bisected by horizontal black lines.

“No,” I replied, moving to the curved wall closest to my station. I pressed a button, lifting the burn shield lowered to guard us when entering the atmosphere. It might save us from intense heat and radiation, but it did not protect us from major system failures.

I caught a glimpse of bright red fur, then the color was swallowed by darkness. “It dropped its weapon and walked away. It was... talking to itself.”

“What did it say?” Kalith asked, his tentacles twisting and turning inside the wall of the ship where he’d removed a protective panel. He pulled a wire out, assessing a melted section. He bent the wire into a “U” and lifted it to his beak, clipping off the damage before stripping the outer coating and twisting the gleaming, metallic pathways back together. He used his own sticky excretions as a replacement for the protective outer coating. 

“I was not wearing a translator. I only know that the creature seemed unhinged.” I answered.

“So, it has a weapon and it’s possibly insane,” Cyro concluded. “If it comes back, take it down.”

For some reason, Cyro’s words caused fury to bloom in my chest. I had no idea why. There was zero reason to feel protective over a strange alien, especially not one who’d clearly approached the ship ready to attack.

Yet…

The color of its fur was beautiful.

A tiny part of me wanted to know what it felt like.

I wasn’t the curious scientist. I was the stoic defense specialist. I didn’t come to explore and engage with the natives. My only job was to protect my mission companions and get us all home safely.

So, I’d stop wondering if the creature smelled like volcanic ash or smoked Targabeast meat.

I’d stop wondering where it went.

And I’d stop hoping it would come back.

7

TAMMY

When you wish for a miracle, be specific.

The explosion slammed through my restful sleep like a wrecking ball, jolting me upright in bed before my conscious mind even registered what had happened. My pulse kicked into double-time as I blinked into the darkness, disoriented and gasping. Sleep-addled thoughts scattered like startled birds as I tried to make sense of the sound that had ripped me from sleep. It didn’t help that I was massively hungover. Like, my belly still felt warm from all the whiskey and, now that I was sort of awake, I realized my head was still swimmy.

I hadn’t imagined the sound though.

Jarring. Loud. Dancing between a crash and a boom, with an oddly metallic quality that still echoed in my ears.

"What the hell?" I muttered, fumbling for my glasses on the nightstand. My fingers knocked against the lamp instead, sending it teetering. I caught it just before it crashed to the floor, steadying it with shaking hands.

Another sound filtered through the night—the horses neighing frantically.

I shoved my glasses onto my face and scrambled to the window, nearly crashing to the ground when my right foot landed on a liquor bottle. I waved my arms, managing not to slip. I kicked the bottle away and finished stumbling to the window, yanking aside the faded curtain I'd never gotten around to replacing. What I saw made my breath catch in my throat.

Where my supply barn should have been—that listing structure which I'd been meaning to shore up, but hadn’t gotten around to yet—was a twisted mass of splintered wood. Dammit. Why had it held on for so long, just to fall apart now?

But… there was something else in the middle of the wreckage. A metal structure catching the dim glow of the pole light.

"Jesus Christ," I whispered, my fingers pressed against the cool glass of the window. “Did a plane crash into the barn?”

The horses brayed with fear again. I glanced at the paddock, regretting my decision not to stable them properly. My vision blurred and I shook my head, which only made me nauseous. It registered that Mystery and Sassafras were close to one another, nearly shoulder-to-shoulder, but I couldn’t celebrate. What if people were on that plane? What if someone had died?

My gaze was pulled back to the barn. I blinked several times. I didn’t see the metallic shine… or did I?

For a wild moment, I wondered if I was still dreaming—if this was just some bizarre stress-induced nightmare brought on by the looming bank deadline and all the whiskey. But the pounding of my heart felt too real, the cool floorboards beneath my feet too solid, the electric fear shooting through my veins too immediate. No, the barn hadn’t just collapsed. Some outside force had made it give up the ghost.

I yanked on my ripped jeans, not bothering with underwear, and pulled my faded Kansas Jayhawks t-shirt over my head. My fingers trembled as I shoved my feet into my boots without socks. Whatever was happening out there, I needed to check on the horses. And my supply barn. And… whatever had crashed.

As I clomped down the narrow hallway toward the front door, my mind raced through other possibilities. A meteor fell after the shooting stars. A gas pocket had exploded. Someone really got lost on the back roads and drove right into the damn barn.

The moment I pushed open the front door, my senses were assaulted from every direction. The night air hit me first, unexpectedly cool for June in Kansas, raising goosebumps along my bare arms. The strange metallic smell came next. It was laced with copper and smoke, along with an underlying sweetness like overripe fruit left too long in the sun. Not the familiar scent of my ranch at all. A barn post snapped, the crack of busting wood rocketing through the night.

Artie whined.

As much as I wanted to check out the barn first, I set my direction toward the pastures. I went to my old man first, cooing at him soothingly.

“It’s okay, Art. Nothing to worry. Let’s get you inside.”

One by one, I soothed the three animals. I led them to safety, offered them sugar cubes none of them would eat, and then, with gates locked, I focused back on my ruined supply barn.

As I drew closer and details came into stark view, I stopped dead in my tracks. My barn hadn't just collapsed; it had been obliterated. Splintered beams jutted from the wreckage like broken bones, while smaller pieces of wood and corrugated metal were scattered across the yard as if a giant hand had swept them aside in irritation. I was going to have to build it from scratch. There was no saving this mess.

My eyes widened as I noted the plumes of smoke curling upward from the wreckage. Had the hay bales caught fire? How? There weren’t any lanterns in the barn. Just the… power line running to the building to power the one damn lightbulb swinging from the ceiling.

“Shit,” I breathed out. “I should call the fire department. If the fire spreads, it won’t just be my ranch that gets hit.”

I turned away, took three steps, then stopped.

The burning smell wasn’t wood and hay. It wasn’t horse feed or saddle leather.

It was more like the scent that wafts off melted wires and circuits. It smelled like the HVAC when the entire electrical panel melted.

My feet turned me back around and carried me forward before my brain had fully processed the decision to move. Each step took me closer to the wreckage, to the overwhelming smell of scorched wiring, to whatever the hell had happened to my supply barn while I'd been sleeping off cheap whiskey and despair.

Halfway to what used to be the barn door, my foot kicked a solid object. I looked down to see the pitchfork I'd left leaning against the barn earlier. Without hesitation, I bent to grab it, my fingers closing around the wooden handle with grim determination. I could use it to move debris out of the way, try to find the source of the smoke so I could douse the flames… the flames I couldn’t see yet.

As I stepped over the threshold into the ruined building, the pole light became a spotlight.

It landed on the metal object I’d seen from the house.

The glowing wrapped around the curved body of what I could only describe as a… freaking UFO. I held the pitchfork higher, brandishing the tines in the direction of the vessel. I pushed the tool closer, letting the sharp tips scratch the craft. It was real. That nails-on-chalkboard sound wasn’t from my imagination.

“Hello?” I called, my voice embarrassingly thin and wavering. "Is someone in there? Are you hurt?"

What the hell was I doing? I was a broke horse breeder with a pitchfork, not some action hero equipped to deal with whatever... this was. The sensible part of my brain—the part that hadn't been completely overwhelmed by shock—screamed at me to back away, to go call for help, to not become the stupid character in a horror movie who investigates the strange noise alone.

I closed my eyes, telling myself that this was all a fantasy. I was going to open my eyes, and there’d be no alien ship. My barn would be standing per usual, albeit tilted, and I needed to lay off the liquor for a few days. Maybe abstain from drinking completely. I was losing everything tangible, so I should safeguard my damn sanity at all costs.

My heartbeat slowed when I parted my lashes. I laughed, an abrupt sound full of relief.

“Drunk. I must be totally, skunk drunk.” The laughter built, but so too did overwhelming sadness. I was losing my mind. I really was. “The barn finally gave up. Can’t even blame it.” My entire body shook as I laugh-cried. I wiped tears away, refusing to let the joy completely give way to grief.

Dropping the pitchfork, I walked out of the wreckage. I needed to sleep off the lingering buzz. Tomorrow, I’d deal with the supply barn issue. Wasn’t sure how, since everything took money and I had precious little of that these days. But I’d figure it out. I wasn’t a quitter with a pretty face who was only good for being arm candy.

Candy. I wanted something sweet. Or salty.

I pressed one hand to my grumbling stomach. I’d hoover a frozen burrito before crashing. That should give me indigestion and bad dreams, but I was pretty used to both of those things now.

When I woke up, blinding light streaming through the raggedy curtains I’d forgotten to close, I remembered the weird ass dream.

The booming crash. The busted barn. The scared horses. The UFO.

“Luckily, I imagined it all. Wonder if aliens actually perform butt probes?” Sitting up, I swung my legs off the bed and rolled my shoulders. My stomach hurt, my head ached, and my mouth tasted terrible, like refried beans and picante sauce.

I rubbed my eyes, still disoriented, and fought against the dawn’s invasive brightness. Lately, I felt like I was holding onto a buoy in choppy water. I always thought drinking my sorrows away would help, but it never did. Now it felt like the damn buoy had capsized and I was left treading water, sinking despite my best efforts as I gasped for air.

At least the barn was fine.

At least I didn’t have aliens in my backyard.

At least… at least… at least.

“Maybe I had that dream because aliens are easier to believe in than my ability to run this place,” I murmured to myself, as my feet hit the cold floor.

I pushed myself up and headed for the bathroom, each step reverberating through my skull. The vanity mirror reflected my new normal face. Puffy eye bags, messy hair, chapped skin desperate for lotion. One good thing about looking so raggedy was aliens probably wouldn’t abduct me. I looked like a shit specimen.

Splashing cold water on my face, hoping the icy wetness could wash away the remnants of whiskey and self-loathing, I blinked several times before glancing back at my reflection. I looked the same just… wetter. The existential dread sprouting inside me was chillier than the water, but I was used to that feeling. I’d been fighting long enough that I knew, beyond a doubt, that putting on my game face was more about how I felt on the inside versus my outer package. This stupid flesh and meat suit was only the shell. I had to keep myself steady at the core, not the surface.

Why was that far harder than slapping on some makeup to look presentable?

As I brushed my teeth, the dream rushed back into my brain in vivid detail—the sound of the explosive crash, the downed barn, the weird ass spaceship. A soft chuckle escaped my lips while I rinsed my mouth. It was ridiculous. I was ridiculous.

I padded into the bedroom, opening the small closet with its half broken bi-folding doors, and pulled out a button up shirt. I was still wearing jeans; guess I’d been too liquor buzzed to take them off last night.

Mostly dressed, I made my way to the kitchen, giving myself a few good shakes along the way to get myself in the zone.

Today, I’d make sure my future looked bright. Mystery and Sassy would cooperate even if it killed me.

8

TAMMY

Boy, this dream feels incredibly real. Why does the barn smell like bananas?

The absurdity of last night’s dream bubbled to the surface of my mind as I spooned instant coffee into my favorite mug then added water from the tap. A quick minute in the microwave and I was stirring warm sludge. Instead of a dash of cream, my hand shook and I dumped in enough to turn the black mud into pale tan. I frowned. I liked a little cream with my coffee, and not the other way around.

“Whatever, good enough,” I grumbled to the empty kitchen, turning toward the front door and striding forward, leaving the faint aroma of cheap, bitter coffee in my wake. I closed the door after stepping onto the porch, blinking against the sunlight spilling across Sunflower Hills Ranch. It was a gorgeous morning—bright blue sky unblemished by clouds, the air sweet with notes of cocoa, farm musk, and a fruity undercurrent that made my nose twitch. That didn’t belong, but maybe the breeze was carrying the smell of the neighbor’s pig trough my way again.

I turned my gaze to the stable and the empty pasture beyond. Had I stabled the horses before bed? The weather was supposed to be gorgeous all night, so I really thought I’d left them to roam. I must have gated them up though, because none of the three horses were prancing around the paddock. They were even strangely quiet, no soft neighing to serenade me while I drank my morning cup.

Not a big deal. The horses were safe. That was all that mattered.

I took another gulp of coffee, gaze shifting over to the barn which seemed, thank goodness, upright.

A fresh spark of relief lit in my chest, like I’d won a mini lottery just because the barn—which probably should be condemned—wasn’t toppled over. I sighed, closing my eyes for a second and breathing in the scent of coffee and sunflowers. When I parted my lashes, I stared at the barn again, studying how the bright sunlight highlighted every crack and hole in the weathered wood.

As I stood there, trying to decide if the barn was leaning a little more severely today, my vision fuzzed and then sharpened, leaving me with an unsettled feeling. Had the barn shimmered? Had I, for a millisecond, seen through the damn thing to the flat land beyond? No. It was solid. It was real. I glared at it, waiting for my vision to trick me a second time. And… it did. One moment my eyes were locked on the tilted building, the next it was a collapsed heap of splintered wood and smashed equipment. Panic prickled under my skin, and I rubbed my eyes roughly with one hand, as if that would force reality back into its proper place.

“Jesus, brain, knock it off. That dream wasn’t even that scary,” I murmured to myself, blaming my hangover for tricking me. Maybe my eyes were just too tired. 

But when I blinked again, it happened a third time. One second the barn stood tall and determined, the next it was a crumbled ruin. Panic inched its way through my gut, a heavy band of dread tightening around my insides. The reality of my ranch felt shaky under my feet, an unnerving reminder that nothing here was guaranteed, not even my sanity.

“Freaking weird,” I muttered under my breath, and I nearly laughed as I imagined telling someone about this—like they’d believe my bonkers story. So, like, I had this dream. There was this UFO that crashed into the barn. It was batshit. But of course it was just a dream… pretty sure I’m losing my mind though.

I’m sane.

I’m not losing it.

This was my life. I’d built it from the ground up. Just… shaky ground.

The barn is fine. It’s fine.

I kept telling myself everything was a-okay. After about twenty repetitions in my head, I felt a little better.

I lifted the mug to my lips, seeking further comfort from the cooling, too-creamy drink. What I’d give for a break. A real, no tricks, break. Just a little sliver of victory to keep me going. The coffee’s warmth soothed my throat, but the aftertaste seemed laced with dread which worsened as I leaned forward to get a better look at the barn. This time, I narrowed my eyes and studied the cracked window.

“Are you really there?” I mumbled, feeling like an idiot. “Of course I’m here, are you blind?” I responded to myself in a high-pitched, cartoonish voice.

But then… then… then the window was gone. Not cracked. Just… gone.

In a sudden flash, last night’s dream was at the front of my thoughts, reminding me of the ship that had plunged into the center of my barn… the pitchfork…the scared horses… the loads of whiskey I’d consumed prior to sleeping.

“You were drunk. Let it go.” I gripped the mug tightly, as if it could anchor me to reality. “Stop being ridiculous.”

I was a normal, human woman. I got dirt under my nails these days. My hair was chock full of split ends. My Omega scent was generally overpowered by a perfume of sweat, hay, and sunscreen. So much sunscreen. A redhead doesn’t survive farm work for long without generously slathering it on daily.

Tammy ‘the Normal’ Tucker. That was me. My biggest worry was getting two horses to like one another. Definitely not aliens.

Still, there was a deep, persistent feeling that I couldn’t shake. The nudge that told me I hadn’t been that drunk.

I placed the mug down on the railing too quickly. Thanks to my recklessness, the cup tipped over, plummeting and smashing into the porch floorboards. The handle snapped off. Dammit, that was my favorite novelty coffee mug. Great. Just peachy. But the broken drinkware would stay where it was, ruined against splintered wood while I investigated whether I was losing my freaking mind or not.

Forcing my gaze away from the floor, I locked eyes on the barn as I began moving quickly.

Jesus! It was shimmering again, bending and shifting in ways my brain couldn’t comprehend.

I practically jumped off the porch and darted toward the supply building which seemed, currently, to exist in a state of being and not being.

My pulse throbbed in my throat; each beat a reminder that something strange awaited me just across the yard. Did I need a weapon? In my dream, I’d had one. The pitchfork. I’d… dropped it inside the barn. Despite fear and anxiety roiling in my belly, instinct drove me forward.

As I moved, my eyes darted around for anything I could use as a weapon to defend myself against whatever alien ship lay wrecked in the middle of my damn supply barn.

“Crap,” I muttered, coming up empty. There was a leather riding crop in the stables; I hadn’t touched it, an artifact left by the old owners. That wouldn’t be enough against… against what? An unidentified flying object and a couple green-skinned space men?

It was official. I was absolutely cracked. A broken egg, yolk spilling out. I couldn’t possibly be sane if I was seriously preparing to fight aliens.

Only a few feet from the barn, I remembered the pile of old wood I hadn’t taken to the dump, stuff ripped from the fencing during repairs. The lumber might be weather worn, splintered, and full of nails, but that made it absolutely perfect.

My determination surged, and I shifted my path, racing around the barn, giving it a wide berth, toward the jagged remnants of lumber.

As every ounce of my being urged me to find something sturdy—like it might help chase away the choking anxiety as I moved—the fruity smell that didn’t quite belong intensified. It was coming from the supply barn, not the neighbor’s pig scraps. I inhaled deeply as I stopped in front of the busted-up, weathered wood pile.

Bananas. It smelled like overripe bananas. Ugh. I hated that smell.

Yet, I didn’t have time to analyze it; I had to focus on whatever lay ahead, whatever answer awaited me.

I leaned over, rifling through carefully until I found a sturdy, knotty length boasting half a dozen bent nails. When I stood up, weighing the wood in my hand and wondering how hard I needed to hit an alien to bash its brains in, a strange buzzing began.

It was a swarm of cicadas.

Growing louder every second.

Suddenly, I decided that I was still dreaming. I hadn’t woken up today. Hadn’t had a cup of coffee. Hadn’t seen the barn shimmer. I supported the wood in one hand and I pinched myself hard. I winced; the sharp pain did nothing to make the buzzing stop or lessen the scent of rotting fruit.

I clutched the board and pushed myself into action again. My pulse raced. Sweat beaded across my forehead. As I rounded the building, it shifted from standing to collapsed once more. Only, this time it didn’t immediately erect back into place.

Shit. Today was not going to be just another ordinary day at Sunflower Hills Ranch.

When I finally stepped inside the warped wreckage of my supply barn, shock washed over me in waves. I drowned in it, head below water. The building really was in ruins. I was surrounded by a mess of sharp edges and broken boards. The remnants of my reality were punctured by what stood at the center of the destruction.

The UFO.

Not a dream. All real.

A breeze kicked up. Each gust of wind rattled the wreckage. There was zero way I could re-enter denial zone now. Not when the truth assaulted my senses from all angles.

The shimmering had completely stopped, as if the illusion knew it did no good now. Details sharpened around me. The large metal sphere raised from the ground by six hinged legs reflected its surroundings. If I cocked my head a certain way, it almost disappeared, blending with the ranch.

This was so strange. So surreal.

The biggest question now screamed inside my head: what the hell is inside this spaceship?

I turned around in a wide circle, drawing on the nearly empty reservoirs of my hope. Please. Please. Please. I begged the universe. Do me a solid. Put the barn back together. I don’t care if it’s leaning or weathered.

“Breathe, Tammy. Just breathe.” Panic was winning.

My legs shook as I pushed through the fear, approaching the dented and scarred alien vessel currently nestled against splintered beams, smashed hay bales, and frayed rope.

The hum was almost unbearable once I was only a foot or so away. I raised one hand, the other still gripping the wood tightly, and I pressed my palm against the ship. At my touch, the metallic surface began radiating a bizarre luminescence. Warmth pulsed against my skin, seeping into my insides.

“What the hell is this?” I blurted, my heart thumping erratically. I tried to pull my hand back, but I couldn’t. My palm felt glued to the ship surface. “Let me go! Let me go!” I shouted, yanking brutally. I’d rip my own skin off before I let this damn UFO trap me. What if it took off? Would it drag me into freaking space?

I raised the two-by-four, knuckles going white, and slammed it down on the spaceship. Its surface rippled, like a stone dropped into a placid lake. That was enough to spur me onward. I hit the ship over and over again. When my hand broke free, I stumbled backward violently, losing my footing, and falling. My ass slammed into the ground.

“Ouch,” I grunted out, rolling to my side and nursing my aching hand for a heartbeat before remembering what the hell was happening. As quickly as I could, I stood, brandishing the wood again. I held it out, aimed at the ship, wondering if I should keep beating the damn thing in hopes it would suddenly fly away.

And then—without warning—a whooshing sound erupted, a hatch began to lower, and a thick cloud of lavender smoke spilled outward. The very air turned heavy and cloying, and I instinctively recoiled, fanning the acrid mist from my face with one hand. But that was futile; the overwhelming smell surged toward me, entering my gaped mouth and nostrils. It left a sugared, acidic taste on my tongue.

“Ugh, what is this?” I gasped, blinking rapidly and coughing against the smoke. The lavender haze twisted around me, as if sentient. A strong sense of vertigo threatened to plunge me into the floor, and my body felt heavy, pulled down by an invisible weight. My heart pounded in my chest—the panic wasn’t something I could swallow down anymore—and my vision blurred as I nearly fell again.

Desperately, I swung the length of wood wildly. It did nothing to chase away the noxious fog.

A squelching, slithering sound joined the buzzing.

Wet pops and clicks.

Through the smoke, a figure began to take shape. Then a second…and a third. The indistinct shadows moved low to the ground at first. Stray dogs. Got to be stray dogs. Maybe really giant raccoons. Rats of extraordinary size creeping toward me, ready to bite. I tried to back away, tried to conjure up a fighting fire, but any strong independent, single gal aura abandoned me.

The shadowed shapes were getting closer.

The purple fog began to dissipate, leaving behind an impossible reality.

“Oh… Oh, God,” I breathed out, voice barely audible.

Tentacled beings with rippling appendages undulated gracefully toward me, their bodies changing color like some otherworldly kaleidoscope. They seemed to almost swim across the dusty surface beneath them; their bodies appeared slicked with saltwater.

As they drew closer, their bodies began to lengthen, becoming taller, wider, menacing.

Their damp, shimmering skin turned to oil slicks with colors spreading through a dark pool. It was like nothing I'd ever seen—pulsing with a rainbow that shifted and flowed across their surfaces—iridescent blues that deepened into royal purples, earthy browns that flickered with flecks of gold. There seemed to be a translucent outer layer that caught the sunlight, taking on a mirror shine. They contracted and expanded, gelatinous bodies heaving. My breath quickened as fear intermingled with a strange, intoxicating curiosity.

I stumbled back, tightening my grip on the piece of raggedy lumber. The beautiful monsters kept approaching in that boneless, disturbing way. My mind fumbled for comparisons, landing somewhere between octopus and Lovecraftian horror. A trio of freaking Cthulhu had crashed into my barn!

The rational part of my brain shut down completely as I stared at the impossible beings before me. Each had a bulbous central mass—like a head but not quite—from which extended multiple writhing tentacles that propelled them forward over the debris with surprising efficiency.

The largest one—a towering mass of primarily bluish-purple tentacles now that its coloring had settled—paused a few feet from me. Its skin flashed with patterns of light that reminded me of fireflies on a summer night, but more ordered, almost like... communication. The smallest one, whose earthy brown coloration seemed to ripple with green undertones, swayed from side to side, studying me. It uttered a string of wet noises.

The third creature, whose iridescent skin was now pulsing with lavender and turquoise, moved to the right of the largest one. It extended two tentacles toward a piece of twisted metal, lifting it with casual strength before tossing it aside like it weighed nothing. The metal landed with a clang that echoed across my silent property, startling a chorus of frantic whinnies from the stables where the horses were still corralled.

My breath caught in my lungs, trapped by shock and disbelief. This couldn't be happening. Aliens didn't crash-land on failing horse ranches in Kansas. That was the stuff of movies, not real life. Definitely not my life. Yet the evidence stood—or rather, rippling and waving—a yard away from me, as tangible as the useless piece of wood clutched in my aching hand.

The air around me and the creatures swirled, carrying that spoiled fruit scent mixed with a briny, ocean-like smell that had no business being in landlocked Kansas. It reminded me of the one vacation I'd taken to the Gulf Coast years ago, but twisted somehow, overlaid with notes of copper and something acrid that burned the back of my throat when I finally remembered to breathe.

Each one of them was larger than me, looming above as they advanced cautiously. Yet rather than feeling threatened by their size, I felt something more than my earlier curiosity flicker within the depths of my terror. The saltwater and banana odor gave way to an almost pleasant cocktail. Cucumbers and mint. Tangerine and vanilla. Honeydew and musk. My Omega nature coiled inside of me, reacting in a way it never had with Derek or anyone else.

The creatures went perfectly still for several heartbeats, then their bodies began to ripple and flow once again.

Fireworks exploded across their skin, and the wet noises they made came quickly, tumbling over each other, their voices warring with one another for dominance.

Suddenly, the closest creature pulsed—its brightness threatening to blind me—and it shot forth a torrent of thick, dark fluid that sprayed across my face before I could react. The substance coated my glasses, my cheeks, my neck. It hit me with an immediate shock—sugared and unexpectedly dizzying. I dropped my makeshift weapon to frantically swipe my palms down my face, knocking off my glasses. But the liquid wouldn’t budge, no matter how desperately I rubbed. My vision blurred instantly, and I staggered back, collapsing to the ground as my limbs grew heavy and unresponsive.

“Hey! Wait! Stop!” I tried to shout, but my voice came out as nothing more than a choked whisper. The creatures loomed larger and closer, their iridescent bodies all becoming a violent shade of green. I lifted an arm, but my movement was sluggish, stunted, futile.

“No, no, no…” The protest felt distant, swallowed by the brain fog. I was confused and helpless.

I fought against the heaviness clinging to my mind. The aliens hovered over me. I had to stay awake. I couldn’t pass out. With that flicker of defiance sparking inside me, I held onto the last strands of clarity, raising one arm, curling my hand into a fist, and limply hitting out. My knuckles only contacted air. I moaned, eyelids weighted down, thoughts fading.

This was not how my day was supposed to go; I was meant to salvage my ranch, not find myself at the mercy of otherworldly beings. Struggling, I rose onto my knees. My head swam and I felt like I was going to throw up. Desperately, I pressed both hands into the ground and tried to push myself upright.

But a second spray of the sticky, viscous fluid rained over me.

My body tilted sideways and I fell onto my side as my consciousness dimmed into oblivion. 

Be a dream. Be a dream.

Those three words cycled through my head as darkness swallowed me.

9

TAMMY

I think… I was inked.

Consciousness returned in painful increments, each sensation more unpleasant than the last.

First came the throbbing behind my eyes, a rhythmic pounding that matched the frantic beat of my heart. Then the burning in my throat, raw and scratchy as if I'd swallowed sandpaper, its grit made of sea salt. The taste in my mouth was worse—metallic and bitter, with an underlying flavor so alien my brain couldn't even categorize it. So… alien…

I pried my eyelids open to find the world tilted sideways, my cheek pressed against the sun-warmed ground of my own front yard. I blinked, adjusting to the brightness of the world. Why the hell was I on the ground in front of the porch?

For one merciful moment, my foggy brain couldn't recall recent events. I must have been drunk off my ass—drunker than ever, two shots away from alcohol poisoning—to end up face down in the dirt.

Flattening my palms into the gravelly surface below me, I pushed up. I had to pause every few inches. It felt like I was on a tilt-a-whirl, one that was moving far too fast. Every move I made quickened the spins.

When I finally was on my feet, albeit swaying, my eyes refused to completely focus. I blinked rapidly, eventually realizing that I didn’t have my dang glasses on.

“So weird,” I muttered, rubbing one hand down my face, trying to chase away lingering confusion.

When I pulled my hand back, despite hazy vision, I could tell that my palm was coated in a dark, powdery residue.

Memory slammed into me with the rib-fracturing force of a freight train. My stomach churned, and I spat into the grass, desperate to rid my mouth of the gross lingering taste of ocean water, blood, and something rotten. Dark speckles dotted the ground where I'd spit, remnants of that inky substance one of the crazy ass creatures had shot at me.

Tentacles. So many tentacles.

Pulsing, damp bodies that changed color.

"No," I croaked, my voice a ragged whisper. "No, no, no."

It couldn’t be real, could it?

I turned around, legs feeling like gelatin, and I beelined for the porch stairs. I stumbled up them, crossing the few feet to the front door, and then pushed into the house. Thankfully, I was familiar enough with the house’s layout that even blindfolded, I could find my way around. Moments later, I was in the kitchen where I had a spare set of glasses stuffed in the junk drawer. I grabbed them, pushing them onto my face and immediately racing back outside.

Though I already knew what I would see, my eyes landed on the supply barn—that listing structure I'd been meaning to fix for months. Wisps of that odd, lavender smoke which had spilled from the spaceship before the creatures emerged rose from the center of the wreckage. I could almost pretend that the thin ribbons quickly dispersing in the light breeze didn’t exist. And if they didn’t exist, then the weird, inking octopi monsters also didn’t exist. And, in that case, the barn was totally fine.

Unfortunately, reality refused me my delusions.

The purple didn’t fade fast enough. I had no time to convince myself.

"It was all real," I whispered, my voice sounding foreign to my own ears. "They were real.” I glanced down at my filthy palm. “And one freaking inked me!”

A frantic whinny cut through the morning air, jerking my attention away from the barn wreckage. My head snapped around so fast that pain lanced down my neck. The sound came again—a distressed horse, but not from the paddock where Mystery and Sassafras were kept. This came from the far pasture, where Artie, my elderly Appaloosa, spent his retirement days. That made no sense. If everything that happened last night and this morning was real, then that meant I’d stabled the horses last night. They should be safe, not out in the open.

Through the morning haze, I spotted movement in Artie's pasture. Three figures, too tall and too fluid to be human, advancing on my old horse. Their bodies rippled with color in the sunlight—vibrant blues, purples, and browns shifting across surfaces that glistened with moisture. Tentacles extended from what passed for torsos, reaching toward Artie, who backed away with another panicked whinny. I may be scared out of my wits, but I’d be damned if those squid mutants hurt my horse.

"Get away from him!" I shouted, though the words emerged as a hoarse croak that wouldn't carry half the distance to the pasture.

A surge of protective rage swept through me, clearing the last cobwebs from my brain. Artie was twenty-three years old, practically ancient in horse years, with arthritis in his hocks and cataracts clouding his once-bright eyes. He'd been part of the ranch when I bought it, and I'd promised the previous owners I'd give him a peaceful retirement. He wasn't like Mystery and Sassafras—valuable breeding stock that represented my financial future. Artie was family, a gentle soul who'd earned his quiet golden years.

Without hesitation, I scrambled toward the barn ruins, my boots slipping on the dew-slick grass. It was all real. All real. And that meant the pitchfork I’d held in my ‘dream’ was somewhere inside the rubble. If I couldn’t find it, then I’d get the nail-riddled two-by-four again.

Once again in the middle of the destruction, doing my best to ignore the gleaming, dented UFO at the center of the mess, I searched. In passing, I wondered how the aliens had made the barn look unharmed last night. Some sort of illusion technology? I’d dropped the pitchfork devil-may-care on what seemed to be the empty ground. My hands trembled with a mixture of fear and determination as I began pulling aside pieces of wood and twisted metal. Splinters jabbed into my palms, but I barely felt the pain through the adrenaline surging through my system.

"Come on, come on," I muttered, tossing aside a chunk of broken rafter.

My scent shifted as panic and protectiveness flooded my system. The normally sweet, slightly floral notes that marked me as an Omega darkened to something sharper and acidic—a biological warning system that shit was hitting the fan. Even to my own nose, the change was startling, a tangible manifestation of my fear and rage.

Another distressed neigh from Artie's pasture sent my hands scrambling faster through the debris. My fingers were bleeding by the time they closed around something solid. I pulled hard, revealing the snapped shaft of one of my shovels. Not good enough. I’d have to get too close to the outer space interlopers. I moved on, digging through the wreckage like a woman possessed.

"Please," I whispered, not sure who I was begging—God, fate, the universe—just that I needed help. My horse needed help. If they hurt Artie, I’d kill them.

Finally, mercifully, a pitchfork revealed itself. Not the one from last night—this one was older, its wooden handle worn smooth by years of use. The metal tines were dulled with age but still pointed enough to give those creatures pause if I jabbed with enough force. The newer pitchfork seemed to have vanished into thin air.

I wrapped my hands around it, ignoring the splinter embedding itself deeper into my thumb and the stinging cut along my palm where it had scraped against a jagged piece of metal. Blood welled from the wound, trickling down my wrist and dripping onto the ground, but it wasn’t important. All that mattered was getting to Artie.

With the pitchfork clutched firmly, I sprinted across the yard, leaving droplets of blood in my wake. My boot laces came undone, and the clunky shoes threatened to trip me with every stride. A strange slickness coated random areas of gravel and grass, making every footfall treacherous. I nearly slipped twice, catching myself at the last moment. The distance to the pasture—normally a pleasant two-minute stroll—stretched before me like miles of obstacle course.

But I had to keep going. I could see them clearly now.

Three monstrosities looming over my sweet horse.

As I ran, I caught glimpses of Mystery and Sassafras in their paddock, pressed against the far fence, eyes rolling with terror as they watched the aliens. For once, they stood side by side, their mutual dislike forgotten in the face of a greater threat. Any other day, I would have marked this as progress in my breeding efforts. Today, I barely registered it.

"Get away from him!" I screamed as I approached the pasture fence, my voice stronger now, fueled by protective fury. "Leave my horse alone, you... you freaks!"

The creatures turned at the sound of my voice, their strange bodies shifting and pulsing with new patterns of color. One of them—the largest, with primarily blue-purple skin at the moment—extended a tentacle in my direction. I couldn't tell if the gesture was threatening or curious, but I didn't care. All I knew was that these things had destroyed my barn, knocked me unconscious, and were now terrorizing my elderly horse.

I vaulted over the lowest rail of the fence with more agility than I knew I possessed, landing hard on the other side. Pain shot up from my ankle, but I ignored it, raising the pitchfork like a spear as I charged toward the creatures.

"I said, get away from my horse!" I bellowed, my voice cracking with emotion. "I don't know what you are or where you came from, but you touch one hair on his mane, and I swear I'll turn you into sushi!"

The threat was ridiculous—I knew that even as it left my mouth. What could I, a lone woman with a rusty pitchfork, do against three creatures that had survived a crash that obliterated a barn? But logic be damned. I had to save my Artie from whatever these things were planning to do to him!

As I got closer, a new scent hit me. It was simultaneously foreign, yet also oddly familiar. It reminded me of the beach, of crashing waves, of knocking back an ice-cold beer while my toes pushed into warm sand. The intoxicating tapestry of smells made my steps falter even as my grip tightened on the pitchfork and my pulse quickened. Beneath the alien strangeness was something I recognized on a genetic level—the unmistakable musk of Alphas. Not human but pulsing against my Omega in the most delicious way.

My instincts screamed conflicting messages—submit, run, fight, protect. I steeled myself, needful warmth pooling in my belly, and chose the last. I placed myself between the creatures and Artie, pitchfork raised and feet planted firmly in the Kansas soil that was, for better or worse, my home.

"You want him?" I snarled. "You go through me first."

The three aliens, their movements so perfectly synchronized it seemed choreographed, flowed across the ground toward me. I’d been drowning in fear the first time I’d faced the trio. Now, the details of them were obvious under the unforgiving daylight. They were even more impossible than I remembered. More wrong. More warped. Their bodies—bulbous, glistening, and writhing with tentacles—were an offense to everything I’d previously called real. Each abomination stood at least seven feet tall, though their heights fluctuated as they moved. Physical dimensions were merely suggestions rather than laws for these creatures.

One pulled ahead of its companions. It pulsed with blues and greens that shifted across its skin like northern lights compressed into a living form. Its tentacles were longer than the others', moving with a fluid grace that reminded me of underwater documentaries I'd seen of octopi navigating coral reefs. What might have been a face was smooth and featureless, save for two silvery orbs that reflected the morning sun like polished chrome.

The second creature was slightly smaller, its skin rippling with patches of deep purple and angry red that flowed and merged into each other. Unlike the blue-green mass, this one's movements were precise, almost mechanical in their efficiency. Its tentacles remained closer to its main body, and I noticed that one appeared shorter than the others, as if it were injured or deformed.

The third, standing slightly behind the others, was the most dynamic in appearance. Its coloration swirled in constant motion—yellows bleeding into oranges, then earthy browns, then back again. It seemed to vibrate with a nervous energy, its tentacles twitching and curling in patterns that made my eyes hurt to follow.

Were the creatures this mesmerizing last night? Were they so visually overwhelming that it nearly hurt to watch them move?

All three glistened with a slick, gelatinous coating that caught the sunlight and refracted it in prismatic bursts. When they floated across the ground, they left moist trails behind, like enormous slugs.

Enormous, fast slugs with a deeper purpose than just existing.

Behind me, Artie let out another frightened whinny, followed by the sound of hooves scrambling across packed dirt as he retreated, using my presence as an escape shield. I turned for a heartbeat—and it was terrifying to take my focus from the aliens for even those few seconds— finding my old boy shoved into the far-right corner of the fenced paddock. The elderly Appaloosa's dappled gray, Appaloosa-spotted coat trembled visibly even from a distance, his tail tucked tight against his body, signaling fear. At least he had the sense to run. My own instincts screamed at me to do the same, but my feet remained planted, the aged pitchfork still raised between me and the aliens like the world's most inadequate shield.

"Back off, you weird octo-monsters!" I shouted, trying to sound fierce but I was unable to hide the fear that made my voice crack. "This is private property! My property!"

The absurdity of treating extraterrestrial visitors like trespassers—as if they’d freaking care that my name was on the deed to this chunk of land—wasn't lost on me, but this cosmically strange situation wasn’t exactly breeding rational thought. My hands shook so badly that my makeshift weapon trembled, its dull tines bobbing up and down.

The aliens made a series of sounds in response—wet, squelching noises punctuated by clicks and what sounded disturbingly like bubbles popping underwater. They were communicating again, just like last night, though their bodies weren’t currently cycling through a million colors. I wondered in passing if how they looked now was their natural state. Cool waters of the first. Hot like summer, almost threatening colors of the second. Earthy, Autumnal palette of the third.

The gyrating, sticky monster with crimson rippling through its amethyst skin base, lifted one suckered arm and pointed its tip at me.

I realized with a fresh wave of terror that these weren't mindless creatures—hell, I already knew that, but being pointed at by a scary, giant monster makes you hyperaware of the threat you’re facing.

“Why the hell are you pointing at me!” I meant to shout, but the syllables came out in a garbled mess.

My mind began to imagine what they might have done to Artie had I not intervened. Kill him? Eat him? Dissect him for some sick, cosmic research?

The ocean skinned one took a step forward, its massive body flowing over the ground rather than walking on it. With each movement, it seemed to grow larger, expanding in both height and width until it loomed over me like a living tidal wave. It gave me flashbacks to the night before, with them looming over me. Two of its tentacles extended outward, reaching toward me with an almost gentle curiosity that was somehow more terrifying than aggression would have been.

Its scent hit me.

Just as hard as it had last night.

Waking up parts of my Omega nature that had been dormant for my entire life. Never awoken by a human Alpha. What the hell’s wrong with me? My brain screamed. It’s a crazy ass alien with tentacles! Don’t be a psycho!

I stumbled backward from its touch. My boots caught on a tuft of grass, and I nearly fell, windmilling my arms to regain balance while somehow keeping hold of the pitchfork. The movement sent a fresh spike of pain through my cut palm, warm blood trickling down my wrist.

The creatures froze, all three of them turning those mirror-like eyes toward my bleeding hand. The scent in the air shifted dramatically. The strong odor intensified to something that made my sinuses burn. This wasn’t the delicious cologne that made me want to toss common sense out the window and jump their boneless body like I was fully in heat. This was like rotting seaweed left baking in the sun, mixed with cheap beer, and a base note that reminded me of the hospital where I'd spent a month after breaking my leg during a cheer competition in high school.

Then they were advancing on me fast, spurred from motionless statues into blurred bullets, each trying to get closest to me. The noxious, acrid cologne wafting through the air around them settled back down, returning to warm beaches, sunshine, and ice-cold drinks in glass bottles.

Underlying it all was that unmistakable musk of Alpha—times three, amplified beyond anything I'd ever encountered, not just stronger but fundamentally different from the human variety I was used to.

My body responded before my mind could process what was happening. Heat flooded my cheeks and neck. My breathing quickened. Deep in my core, a treacherous warmth began to build—my Omega biology recognizing something my conscious mind wanted to reject completely. But I couldn’t ignore my nature. Whatever these things were, part of me sensed their dominance, their power, and it wanted me to submit.

"No," I whispered, more to myself than to them. I bit down hard on my lower lip, using pain to focus my thoughts. "Stay back!"

I pushed the pitchfork toward them, jutting it out hard, the rounded tines rocketing toward the purple-red alien’s stomach. It made a sound like water being sucked down a drain, then stepped to the side in a movement too fluid to be human. The creature caught in an Autumn haze mirrored the other’s action, the two of them circling to flank me on either side, as the deep sea of blue and green undulated straight toward me. A classic predator strategy. I spun, trying to keep all three in my field of vision, but it was impossible. For every degree I turned, they adjusted their positions with unnerving precision.

My Omega perfume changed again, terror and adrenaline turning it into spoiled lemons laced with pepper. Sweat beaded along my hairline and between my shoulder blades, despite the icy fear flooding my core. My heart thundered so loudly I was sure they could hear it. God, they could probably smell my every emotion the way I could smell their alienness.

Did they know I’d been momentarily aroused like a mad woman? If so, I’d be mortified.

Did they know I was truly terrified of them right now? If they did, they didn’t seem to care one damn bit.

A tentacle came into view, reaching toward my hair. Forest. Seas. The hues of my world hovered in my sightlines. The suckered appendage moving with hypnotic slowness through the air between us. I jerked backward, nearly losing my balance again, my boots sliding on grass slick with alien excretions. The tentacle’s tip hovered just inches from my face, close enough that I could see the small, center barbed suckers lining its underside and the strange, shifting patterns that rippled across its surface like living tattoos. Not waves of color, but texture. Part of me wanted to let the creature touch me.

The other part of me wanted to run.

"Don't touch me," I hissed, brandishing the pitchfork with renewed determination. "I'm warning you⁠—"

The movement happened so fast I barely registered it. One moment I was holding the pitchfork, the next it was gone, snatched from my grasp by a lightning-quick tentacle from the blue-green alien. The creature held my weapon aloft, turning it this way and that, its silvery eyes studying the tines with what could only be described as scientific curiosity. The wooden handle looked absurdly small in its massive appendage, like a toothpick in a human hand.

I stood frozen, arms still raised in the pitchfork-holding position, my brain struggling to catch up with what had just happened. The aliens' scents plumed into the air around me, stronger now, almost triumphant in their potency. The Alpha musk intensified, sending my Omega instincts into overdrive—submit, appease, survive. My head swam, turning my brain foggy. Heat in my stomach turned into a bonfire.

Cold waves of realization washed over me. I was completely defenseless now. No weapon. No backup. No plan. Just me, my trembling body, and three alien creatures that could probably crush me without effort. The same creatures that had survived a crash that obliterated my supply barn.

"Shit," I whispered, the words escaping on a shuddering breath.

The blue-green alien lowered the pitchfork, holding it almost delicately between two tentacles. Then, with deliberate slowness, it bent the metal tines as easily as I might fold a piece of paper. The protest of bending metal cut through the morning air, making me flinch. It surprised me that the creature didn’t simply, barbarically, ruin the tool. Instead, the twisting and turning began to create spiraling where straightness once existed.

When the galactic monster was done, even the metal portion of the handle was crushed and pinched. It was no longer fit for farming or for protection, manipulated more into a piece of art than anything else. And, despite working hard to change the pitchfork just so, the alien dropped it with zero care to the ground.

The message couldn't have been clearer if they'd spoken English: Your defenses mean nothing to us.

My legs threatened to buckle beneath me, knees turning to water as the remnants of my courage washed away. These things could have killed me at any moment—last night when I first discovered them, or as I’d stood foolishly challenging them with a farming implement. Yet they hadn't. They'd destroyed my weapon, yes, but with a casualness that didn’t suggest pure malice.

The creatures congregated, mercifully gathering which meant they no longer circled around me. The purple-red alien made another series of popping, gurgling sounds, and his companions responded in kind. Colors swirled. One seemed to grunt, the sound almost annoyed. Eventually, after what I could only describe as a heated discussion, they each raised two long, serpentine appendages and touched one another. Like freaking footballers huddled during a game. Then, in that perfectly synched, unsettling way of theirs, they stared me down again. Three freakish, silvery orbed gazes reflected a warped version of me.

The intensity of their focus was physical, a weight pressing against my skin. Their scents changed again, warming and soothing. Waves crashing on a midnight shore. The window open in late Spring. The scent of saltwater threading through a dream. Belonging. Home. Happiness. Peace. I wasn't sure if I was picking up emotional cues from their pheromones or if my Omega was creating something out of nothing.

I only knew that the smell that poured from them all right now calmed my frightened brain.

The creature made of ocean and land slipped over the grassy pasture in my direction. It extended a tentacle toward me again, slower this time, the movement almost hesitant. I remained frozen, caught between the instinct to flee—though I knew with horrible certainty that running would be pointless—and the growing desire to stay. These things could catch me in seconds. If they wanted me dead, I would be dead already. The fact that I was still breathing suggested they wanted something else. Was my Omega truly picking up the right vibes? Were these oddities some kind of outer space Alphas?

My voice, when I finally found it, emerged as little more than a whisper.

"What do you want?"

The tentacle paused mid-air, hovering just inches from my face. It twisted its upper body, looking behind him at the other two. The three aliens exchanged another series of those unsettling noises, their skin patterns shifting in rapid, complex sequences that seemed to correspond with their vocalizations.

“Don’t suppose you all could just, I don’t know, speak English? Or somehow magically help me understand your wet, snotty language?” My tone was sarcastic, and my voice didn’t quake. If I was going to be abducted and probed, or whatever, I wouldn’t be a whiny, useless damsel about it. I’d be strong, because I wasn’t a pretty thing with zero skill like Derek thought.

Their mirrored gazes were on me again, the closest untwisting its body to face me once more.

Each of them began to ripple in a new pattern. Their colors even coordinated, shifting into warm, lovely yellow hues. It was as if faraway stars had settled into their bodies, offering me light.

A few damp clicks.

A sloshy sigh.

A bubbling grunt.

And the warm colored one dropped to the ground and began slipping away.

The other two moved to flank me once again, six tentacles each rising to wave through the air. They curved those long, tentacular appendages into a circled barrier, fencing me inside.

“Don’t suppose either of you know a few good intergalactic ice breakers?” I murmured. I clamped my mouth shut, feeling stupid. They ‘said’ nothing, stood there rippling and flowing and preventing me from leaving.

“Okay, I’ll start,” the words tumbled out before I could stop them. I chattered when I was nervous. “What did the human say to the squid aliens when they crash-landed into her barn?” I paused, butterflies nervously flitting in my uneasy stomach. “Bloop, blip, snort, spit,” I said quickly, trying to mimic their weird ass sounds.

Their colors shifted.

Violent hues forced into once serene paint strokes.

Oh… crap. Maybe I’d accidentally said something offensive.

10

CYRO, VANTOR, KALITH

Four legs are anatomically and quantifiably better than two.

CYRO

Seeing the small biped in the light of day, not surrounded by the purple ozone byproduct of our ship adjusting to this world’s parameters, was like seeing it for the first time.

It waved its primitive tool with frantic energy, its vocal emanations sharp and staccato in the morning air. My sensory receptors tracked each movement, but it was the creature's cranial filaments that truly captured my attention—fiery red strands that caught the sunlight and seemed to burn with their own internal energy. Nothing on our ocean world displayed such vibrant coloration outside of warning displays. Was this a threat posture? A mating signal? My chromatophores pulsed with curiosity as I extended a tentacle toward those fascinating strands.

The land-dwelling creature's vocalizations increased in volume, its mouth opening wider to reveal blunt white protrusions—likely for crushing food rather than tearing prey. Primitive, yet efficient for its apparent dietary needs. Its upper appendages clutched the metal-tipped tool with surprising dexterity, suggesting at least basic tool use. Still, compared to the majestic four-legged beings we'd encountered earlier, this small vertical biped seemed far less evolved. The four-legged creatures at least possessed the wisdom to retreat from potential danger.

"Fascinating pigmentation," I communicated to Vantor and Kalith through a complex ripple of bioluminescent patterns across my mantle combined with the squelching gurgles that sounded eloquent on our world, but on this world became stunted, mangled utterances that struck my auditory nerves in an unpleasant way. "The cranial filaments appear to be keratin-based, similar to other mammalian structures we've studied, but the coloration is remarkably intense."

"Its scent is… stimulating," Vantor replied, his skin flashing with patterns of cautious assessment.

“Yes, nothing like the other Earthian mammals we’ve studied in captivity. More complex.” I agreed.

“More... potent," Kalith added.

He was right. My olfactory receptors had been processing the small biped's chemical signatures since our first encounter. The scent cloud surrounding it shifted constantly, a complex molecular symphony that told a story my brain struggled to translate. Even now, the scent was changing, becoming sharper, more acidic—a stress response, perhaps? Yet underneath that acidity lingered something sweet and alluring, triggering receptors I didn't even know I possessed.

I moved my tentacle closer to the red filaments, modulating my movements to appear non-threatening. The creature's eyes—round, white organs with striking blue centers—widened dramatically. Its pupils contracted to pinpoints, another stress response. How wonderfully transparent its emotional states were, displayed on its features for any observer to read. So jarringly primitive compared to our sophisticated chromatophore communication.

The biped suddenly lurched backward, its lower appendages tangling with each other as it struggled to maintain vertical orientation. A high-pitched sound escaped its respiratory opening as it nearly lost balance. The biochemical cloud around it intensified, flooding my sensory receptors with new information—fear, primarily, but also something more complex that I couldn't quite categorize with our existing xenobiological frameworks.

My skin flashed with patterns of excitement, shifting from my default lavender to a vibrant turquoise that rippled across my mantle in waves. Such a dramatic reaction to simple curiosity! The scientific potential of studying this creature's responses was considerable, though clearly secondary to our main mission objectives. Still, while we were stranded on this landmass, we might as well collect useful data.

"Its balance seems precarious on those rigid lower appendages," I noted to my companions, my chromatophores pulsing with amused observation. "Highly inefficient locomotion compared to our fluid movement. The limbs cannot even bisect for increased stability."

"Effective enough," Kalith responded, his earth-toned skin flickering with interest.

"Look how the appendages are specialized for different functions. The weight-bearing lower, flatter and wider for balancing across varied terrain. The upper clearly evolved for small motor movements and tool manipulation." If we weren’t in such a precarious situation, I would insist we bring this specimen aboard to study… even if it did go against our mission directive.

The small biped continued its frantic vocalizations, volume increasing to levels that were becoming uncomfortable to my sensitive auditory receptors. It gestured repeatedly with the pointed tool, creating obvious threat displays that would be concerning if they weren't so laughably ineffective against our superior physiology.

Kalith's attention had shifted fully to the primitive implement the creature brandished. His engineer’s mind—always more focused on tools and mechanics than my firmly-rooted biological interests—was evident in the way his tentacles twitched analytically.

"I’d like to see the tool up close," he communicated, his skin pattern shifting to muted, segmented lines, evenly spaced, slowly flowing over his body. He always looked that way when his engineer's brain was at work. “It looks slightly different than the other I took aboard the ship.”

Before I could respond, Kalith extended one of his tentacles with surprising speed, snatching the implement from the biped's grasp. The creature froze, its vocalizations cutting off mid-sound. The eyes seemed to enlarge, the fluid-filled orbs threatening to pop out of its face. I observed with interest as its facial features transformed—the aggressive display melting away like sea foam, replaced by something new. Its mouth formed a perfect circle, mimicking the widened shape of its eyes. The biochemical cloud surrounding it shifted again, the sweet undertones completely overwhelmed by the sharp tang of fear.

"Its expression has shifted. Limited facial morphing abilities," I noted, recording the observation in my mental research log, then I inhaled deeply. "The removal of its primitive weapon has triggered an intense fear response. It smells… unpleasant. Fascinating how dependent it is on artificial extensions for confidence."

“Do you have to sound like a textbook all the time, Cyro?” Kalith manipulated the tool with his tentacles, turning it this way and that, his natural curiosity making him flash hot pink “Same archaic metallurgy, yet poorer condition. Something we’d only see in a museum back home.” He lifted it, shoving the forked end in my direction, clearly amusing himself. “Think these pronged tools are for defense?” He taunted, bringing the tines nearer.

“Stop fooling around, Kalith,” Vantor cut in, a tentacle darting out to take the tool away from Kalith. The latter was too quick though, moving the tentacle curled around the wooden pole just out of reach. Vantor gave a wet, gurgle of irritation, but didn’t pursue the matter further.

The biped's mouth opened, its high-pitched utterances resumed. There was a different quality now—hurried, more fragmented. Its upper limbs gesticulated wildly, pointing to itself and then to us in a pattern that suggested it was attempting to communicate.

“Taaa” it slapped its chest once, “meee,” it slapped its chest a second time. Then it waved a hand in our direction, a line of hair above one eye lifting. “Myyyy,” it was nearly shouting now, odd sounds splintering as it tried to make us understand it, “ranch!”

How quaint, yet ultimately futile. We needed the translators, but Kalith had written them off as unreliable due to the crash.

With time, perhaps, we could immerse ourselves in the language and cross that barrier. I had a wave of regret that I had not taken the basic Earthian speech crash course more seriously, but there were far too many nuances and dialects on this small green-blue planet. It reminded me of the mythical Pillar of Pantonia back home, a story told to small ones to explain the variations in light communication between our many water-bound colonies.

My attention drifted from the small biped back to the four-legged creatures in the distance. They were clearly the dominant species on this landmass—larger, more graceful, with a natural dignity that the vertical biped lacked. Their retreat behavior showed intelligence and appropriate caution, unlike this small creature's foolish aggression. How smart could a sentient creature be if it opted to charge headfirst toward a perceived danger?

Perhaps we would finally solve the mystery of the “message in a star bottle.” Perhaps the four-legged creatures were ones who had reached out to the stars, hoping for a response.

"I believe we should continue to focus our communication efforts on the quadrupeds," I announced to my companions, my skin shifting to blue-purple. It was beginning to grate that my mission companions were disregarding my authority. "We have already determined their obvious superiority as the more evolved species on this landmass.”

I twisted my body, still stretched tall, to once again observe the impressive beings standing on four muscular limbs. Their size, their physical perfection, their appropriate distance-maintaining behavior were trademarks of a dominant lifeform. This small biped was likely some form of symbiotic lesser species—perhaps a parasite or commensalist. Turning back around, I peered at the biped yet again. Was its purpose to defend the quadrupeds? If so, it was ill suited for the job.

"True," Vantor responded, his precise hue patterns reflecting cautious agreement. "The quadrupeds did respond with appropriate strategic withdrawal rather than this one's ineffective aggression. However, the present threat should be evaluated and dealt with first."

“This being is hardly a threat,” I scoffed. “It lacks both the physical strength and the mental acuity to inflict the slightest damage.”

"But this small one obviously approached us and wants to communicate," Kalith’s voice sounded odd—his vocal cords drying in this environment, the wet gurgling becoming sandy, scraping out of his throat. His metachrosis patterns showing a slight rebellion. "Doesn't that suggest intelligence?"

I dismissed his observation with a flash of electric lime, intellectual confidence across my mantle. "Parasites often display greater risk-taking behavior than their hosts. It's a well-documented phenomenon across multiple planetary ecosystems. No, the quadrupeds are clearly the dominant intelligence here.” I felt a flash of irritation, coloring momentarily shifting with my mood.

The lower lifeform continued its futile attempts to speak with us, though the sounds were beginning to seem like base, instinctual responses versus anything meaningful. I turned away from it, extending my sensory tentacles toward the distant quadrupeds instead. Their large eyes, mobile ears, and powerful bodies suggested a far more evolutionarily successful design than the fragile biped.

"We need to stop wasting time," I declared, my chromatophores settling into a solid deep blue, showing I had zero doubt in my earlier assessment. “The quadrupeds are our best chance at finding what we require on this planet.”

Without waiting for Kalith and Vantor to agree, I began flowing across the ground, flora brushing against my bumpy, moist skin and suckers.

Behind me, the parasite’s yells rose to a new, distressed pitch, but I paid it no further attention. In the hierarchy of this strange, dry world, the small red-filament creature was clearly of secondary importance at best. Our mission required efficiency, and that meant prioritizing contact with the dominant species of this alien environment. The others could pretend I was no longer in charge, continuing to cite some ridiculous rule of order, but I would do what I did best: study and adapt so we could work toward the most important goal: going home… after getting our samples.

The nearer I moved to the closest quadruped, the louder the biped’s shouting grew. Continuing my advance, I swiveled my head just enough to see the fiery-crowned native racing after me. My mission companions moved slowly after it and seemed in no hurry. I would write a scathing review of their behavior once we were back on course. This time, I might even submit the assessment with the mission logs. Vantor and Kalith might be the nearest I had to friends, but this was far from the first time that they’d band together to thwart my command.

VANTOR

I scanned the perimeter of the pasture, instincts honed by endless star cycles of G.E.F. training that directed my every movement. The ground beneath my tentacles was coarse and unforgiving, but I navigated it with ease. The biped’s scent wafted back toward me as it chased after Cyro, thickening in the air with an unmistakable blend of fear and desperation—a heady concoction that sent ripples across my bioluminescent patterns as I observed the scene unfolding before me. Though, the scene seemed to shimmer no matter how hard I concentrated. If I stayed in this strange being’s presence, I risked succumbing to whatever strange power its pheromones wielded. That would put me at a major tactical disadvantage.

Kalith moved alongside me, his body flowing with a nervous energy, his tentacles twitching in response to the chaotic atmosphere… or perhaps the biped’s scent was wreaking havoc on his senses too. I noticed how his earth-toned skin rippled and darkened, mirroring my own unease and confusion as the situation progressed. He still held the primitive tool, nervously rolling it over within the circles of two curled tentacles. Kalith muttered something, a string of moist bubbles and pops, but I couldn’t make out his words.

“Keep it together,” I grunted at Kalith.

His head swiveled, our gazes clashing momentarily, then we both looked away simultaneously.

Cyro had paused a few feet from the nearest quadruped, once again trying to transcend the language and species barrier. His tentacles reached out, the ends of his appendages twitching with anticipation as he called to the frightened horses. But every time he extended his limbs in greeting, they recoiled farther, leaving me to silently question his strategy. He was earnest in his attempts but, perhaps, ill-prepared to navigate this new realm of confusion. It was funny, seeing the always confident scientist grapple at success without the normal tools at his disposal.

The biped screamed again, picking up her pace. It was almost to Cyro. Its rising panic echoed through the air, the thick scent of its warring emotions engulfing me like fog. A primordial awareness tingled at the edges of my perception, reminding me of past encounters on my home world—of prey and predator. No, not exactly that. Not enemies facing off. There was something below that, layers of biochemicals that somehow called to my own. Suddenly, its turmoil cracked through my composed demeanor, causing feelings of deep-rooted responsibility to tighten my chest. The biped tried to defend the quadrupeds so fiercely that I couldn’t help but admire it. Though, given the way the creature looked at smelled right now, I should probably do my duty and shield Cyro.

Before I could cross the distance, it happened—a moment I would come to define as ridiculous in retrospect. The biped braved closer proximity to Cyro, curled the protrusions of her upper right appendage into something like a ball, and then cocked her limb back. She rocketed it forward, slamming Cyro at the intersection of one tentacle and his main body.

Cyro grunted, his eyes widening, his coloring shifting erratically in surprise.

The biped hit him again and I watched as my mission companion wrapped four tentacles around the creature’s middle and lifted it high enough that its lower limbs kicked uselessly above the ground. The biped yelled and struck the tentacles anywhere it could reach.

I came to a stop, surprise freezing me. Kalith paused too, amusement gurgling up his throat and bubbling out of his mouth. I crossed four tentacles over my chest and stared in disbelief.

"What is your intention, biped?" Cyro asked, unfazed by the creature’s assault.

The biped's shriek pierced the air. "Release me!"

Though I did not understand its words, my tentacles tensed involuntarily at the sound— a reaction I couldn't explain. Cyro held the creature suspended, its limbs flailing uselessly as it struggled against his grip. Something about its distress made my chromatophores pulse with an unfamiliar pattern. Wrong. This felt wrong.

I shifted my weight, the dry earth scraping beneath me. Every moment in this arid climate made me long for our deliciously wet planet.

"Cyro," I called, my voice emerging rougher than intended. "Perhaps you should set it down. I think it’s harmless."

Cyro turned toward me, his skin flashing dismissive patterns. “Have your visual organs failed you, Vantor? Can you not observe that I am currently preoccupied dealing with this barbaric lifeform? Is assaulting me a sign that it is harmless?”

Ignoring Cyro’s sarcasm, I appealed to his logical side. "Its behavior is that of a cornered prey, Cyro, and without the translators, attempting to talk to it is futile.”

“I do not believe that I cannot, in some basic way, reason with this infernal creature,” Cyro volleyed back, turning his attention back to the fire-haired being. “Stop fighting,” he spoke slowly, as if talking to one of our young ones back home, “you are small and weak.” Despite his confident words, his unoccupied tentacles twitched, betraying his nerves.

“I said let me go!” The biped screamed unintelligible words again as its scent became even sharper and odious. Fear? Determination? My training had never covered interpreting alien biochemistry, yet somehow, I recognized it. I almost grinned. What Cyro had spent ages studying to become an expert in, I instinctively understood. He’d hate that.

“Kalith! Vantor! Come closer!”

When Cyro called our names, I approached cautiously, my bioluminescence betraying my conflicted state. Behind me, Kalith's tentacles curled inquisitively. The creature twisted in Cyro's grip, and I found myself strangely hoping he wouldn't tighten his hold.

“Are you both suddenly immobilized by some unseen force, or have your auditory functions ceased to work?” Cyro shouted, his tone agitated and tense.

I glanced at Kalith and unfolded my tentacles. In synch, we both surged forward toward Cyro and the flailing biped.

Cyro and the biped continued to exchange heated words, though neither understood the other. As the creature kicked one of its lower limbs out, Cyro sucked his body inward, creating a cavity, ensuring the biped only hit air.

“Get our translators, Vantor,” he growled, his tone void of any gurgling wetness. I stared at him for a moment, weighing the foolishness of his command. He was aware that Kalith had deemed them unserviceable.

"You do recall that—” but my protests were cut off before I could finish.

“Just get them, Vantor. They'll work well enough for such a simple-minded creature,” Cyro persisted, his metallic-silver eyes flashing with intensity as they met mine.

With a swift nod, I dropped to the ground, slithering across the blades of grass, slipping easily beneath the wooden barrier, and flowing over the dusty, gravely earth between the pasture and where we crash-landed. By the time I reached the ruined structure with our battered ship seated at its destroyed center, my body was coated in a layer of uncomfortable grit. I didn’t pause to shake off the grime, instead staying focused as I navigated around debris, weaving in and out, dodging sharp edges. Despite my effort, new wounds sprouted across my already heavily scarred form.

At the entrance point of our ship, I raised a tentacle and pressed a sucker to the disguised panel. Lightly, I traced the pattern to activate the entrance. A hiss sounded, the ramp lowering, a fresh wave of atmospheric fog bleeding out.

Retrieving the small, disc-shaped translator devices was a quick job, no searching involved. Though Kalith said they were damaged, he’d left them in their charging port.

The four discs pulsed intermittently, and I doubted they’d do us much good. Yet, our fearless leader had insisted, so I secured them against the suckers of one tentacle and journeyed back to the chaos.

Once back, I first secured my own translator in place, pressing the crescent around the bulbous auditory node on the right side of my head. Afterward, I did the same for Cyro and Kalith. The creature was gesticulating so wildly, still hoisted in the air by Cyro, that I hesitated before placing the fourth translator upon its body. Of course, I also hesitated because I wasn’t sure anatomically where its auditory bundles resided.

“Target just below one of the curved protrusions on the side of its head,” Cyro instructed, understanding my hesitation.

I did so, though the biped did not make it an easy feat. It twisted, turned, yelled, kicked, and even bent far enough over to clamp blunt white teeth around Cyro’s tentacle. Cyro shrieked, finally loosening his hold and causing the lifeform to fall toward the ground.

Without thinking it through, I lunged forward, falling and extending tentacles beneath its plummeting body. I caught it, cushioning the impact. It froze in surprise, strange eyes widening. So close to it, I was nearly rendered insensible by its otherworldly, intoxicating aroma. The curiosity I’d been feeling exploded into something else entirely. I shivered with delight, metachrosis going wild. A violent rainbow of shifting hues. I leaned nearer to it, mating tentacle throbbing with need.

But then it screamed, struggling to get away from me.

And the translator suddenly activated with a series of clicks and crackles.

The barrier between us lifted.

KALITH

“Get away from me!” The biped shouted, its words crystal clear now thanks to the translator. Despite its frantic motions, it could not extricate itself from Vantor’s grasp. Dozens of his suckers had adhered to its form. “I can’t believe I’m going to die like this. You’re going to probe me, aren’t you? Stick a giant silver alien tech dildo up my ass and call it research.”

“I do not know what a dildo is, but it would be easier to comply with your request if you would cease your manic movements,” Vantor said slowly, voice neutral. I knew him well enough to see how hard he was struggling to maintain his composure though. One by one, he peeled his suckers away, releasing the being. It struggled to stand, nearly falling. Vantor reached for its body quickly, as if he couldn’t help himself.

He sucked in a breath as the biped recoiled, his colors roiling with confusion and need.

It was the same for me.

This creature smelled unlike anything I’d ever encountered. It made me forget myself, forget where I was and what our mission had once been.

"You… you understand what I'm saying now?" The red-filament biped’s tone shifted, its expression confused. It reached one upper limb toward its neck, the five blunt digits at the appendage’s termination touching its skin, slowly exploring until it encountered the curved device now attached to its body.

Cyro, Vantor, and I said nothing.

The biped waved at us, both lines of fur above its eyes raising. “Hello? Earth to weird squid monsters. Ground control to majorly freaky aliens.”

Squid registered. I’d seen that species in a pre-mission briefing as a possible lifeform we’d encounter at the trench. I could understand the comparison, though it was a surface similarity at best.

My mission comrades and I were still frozen in place. Cyro’s assessment of this being a simple-minded creature seemed in error. Cyro's mantle flashed with patterns of astonishment so bright they were almost painful to observe directly. Vantor’s colors had gone completely still. I unfroze first, bouncing upon the tips of four tentacles, anxious energy flowing through me as quickly as the wash of colors slipping over my skin.

“After all those gross, wet sounds you were making, now you’re all suddenly quiet. Couple of cats got your tongues?” The biped whipped around, red filaments fanning out around its head, its visual orbs flashing bluer than the sky above.

“We comprehend your words,” Cyro answered slowly, carefully.

“Well, that’s just freaking great,” the biped grunted, standing up and bending over, swiping the ends of her upper appendages down the front of her lower appendages, presumably to clear away debris. “Now that you know what I’m saying, listen very carefully. Leave my⁠—”

My translator glitched out. I tapped it quickly. I’d found over the course of my career that one good blow could fix many unidentified issues.

“—got it?” I caught her last two words as the device began to work again.

“What did it say?” I asked quickly, directing the query to my comrades.

“It? Did you just call me it?” The biped stomped toward me, stopping a foot from my form which towered over her. It stared up at me defiantly, then it raised one upper limb and slammed a singular digit into my body. “I am not an “it,” okay? I am a woman.”

“A woman?” Cyro’s eyes narrowed, likely trolling through a brain full of Earth data that he’d studied before arriving.

“Female. A girl. Womb bearer and registered member of the titty committee.” As if to emphasize the last, whatever it was supposed to mean, the biped slammed the wider, flatter part of its upper limbs against the rounded mounds on its chest.

“Ah,” Cyro bobbed his large head. “Mammary glands. A female. The offspring-bearing gender. There are so many species on this planet. I spent most of my time studying the more important organisms. I believe she is what they coin human.”

“More important?” She scoffed, whirling to face Cyro. “I’m the top of the damn food chain, buddy. And, for your information, male and female Omegas can bear children.”

“Omegas?” This from Vantor. “Is that a social, cultural, or professional classification?”

“It’s a secondary gender classification,” she shook her head. “I can’t believe I was terrified of you guys. You’re a bunch of outer space idiots. Why come to a planet you know jack shit about?”

I laughed, the sound cutting through the tension. Cyro bristled.

“Never thought I’d exist to see the day you were called an idiot, Cyro.” I couldn’t stop chuckling, even as Cyro’s hues shifted decidedly hostile.

Idiot didn’t phase me. I’d been called worse over the endless star cycles I’d been alive, my differently abled tentacle making me an easy target for taunts. The biped… no, the woman’s scent had sweetened now that she’d calmed down some. The perfume of her rolled over me in delicious waves, reminding me of the saccharine waters of KerKraken Abyss back home.

“We have recently begun cataloguing your world seriously,” Cyro’s tone was sharp, “It takes at least one-hundred-star cycles to complete a planetary study. We always began with oceanic mapping.”

“Awesome, then get back in your ship and go find a pod of damn dolphins.” She cocked her head, staring at Cyro now, her expression challenging. Her pheromones plumed the air, a spicy note threading through the sugary notes.

I closed my eyes, inhaling deeply. She still stood nearest to me. Were the others as affected by her smell?

The translators usually processed more than base language, also providing cultural and biological context, drawing from its vast database of interspecies encounters. Not that it could provide much when it came to Earth’s land beings. But it didn’t matter, apparently, those translator functions were rendered completely inoperable thanks to the crash.

Yet just the knowledge that she was female triggered unexpected responses in my physiology. Beyond that, I felt the ingrained attraction my kind only felt toward their destined mate. My chromatophores pulsed with patterns I'd never displayed before. They were called from an ancient place inside my genetic coding. Intense, rare colors that spoke of attraction and desire. My silvery gaze roved away from her, finding my companions exhibiting similar reactions. Their own bodies were recognizing this human female, preparing to claim her.

On our planet, that would mean years of courtship, of dodging endless refusals, of eventually winning over three hearts at once. Were the mating rituals similar on this planet? Was that why she’d attacked Cyro? That thought made me feel an emotion I couldn’t identify at first. Was it anger that Cyro had received her advances first? Perhaps desire to switch places with him?

Envy. Jealousy. Boiling hot need.

"Her scent is impairing my thoughts," Vantor communicated, his normal discipline visibly struggling against biological imperatives. "My translator is enhancing her biochemical signatures.”

I glared at him. Why was his translator working properly and mine wasn’t? I reached a tentacle up, tapping hard against the device once more. All that did was make it glitch out for several heartbeats.

“Biochemical signature?” The woman’s mouth warped, her face scrunching. “Do you mean my scent?” She raised one upper limb, bringing a pale, delicate expanse of skin to her nose, sniffing. Now, her mouth turned downward. “God, you guys are making my body go haywire. Is that some weird ass alien thing?”

"Fascinating evolutionary adaptation," Cyro managed, though his forced detachment was contradicted by the intense colors rippling across his mantle. "An olfactory communication system that transcends species boundaries. It is—” he abruptly stopped speaking, gaze traveling down his body. My own gaze followed, snapping down to where his mating tentacle had protruded outward, into view.

The female’s gaze caught sight of Cyro’s engorged member, and her speckled face turned crimson.

Cyro turned his body slightly, hiding his arousal.

I nearly groaned as the female’s odor intensified, clouding the air, making my mind go hazy.

But then Vantor moved closer to the woman, his tentacle extending toward her left lower limb, and I snapped back to life, clarity chasing away any brain fog.

I found myself drawn forward too, a spark of possessive need not wanting him to touch her before I could. My diminutive tentacle reached for her first, as if more desperate than my other appendages in its need to touch her body.

The woman’s eyes widened, her pupils dilating dramatically. Her scent spiked with alarm and fear again, but it was now interlaced with something even more compelling. Colors flowed across my skin, undulating and shifting. The smell of her triggered ingrained protective instincts alongside the already confusing attraction response.

She wasn’t our species.

It was likely impossible to mate with her. How could her slight body handle our massive lengths? The anatomical logistics didn’t matter though, not while my biological response was steering the ship.

"Stay away from me, you intergalactic perverts!" she cried, stumbling backward and losing her balance. She fell, her body hitting the ground with a soft thud before she began scrambling backward across the dirt. “Seriously, don’t even think about abducting and probing me!”

My translator finally regained full functionality, though I wasn’t sure how long it would last. It provided immediate context for her outburst—cultural references to supposed extraterrestrial encounters that her species had mythologized, involving examination procedures she clearly feared. Her terror was genuine, but so was our inexplicable attraction to her presence. My tentacles continued reaching forward, even as my brain urged me to cease advancing. We may not know much about the land parts of this world, but many star cycles ago, our planet had intercepted a long-range Earth communication.

It had been coded “message in a star bottle.”

Filled with various images and random stories that took our best language experts many eons to understand, simply because the dialects were varied, the information was eventually entered into our historical database. Senseless anecdotes, but I’d read them as a young G.E.F. recruit. They’d made me laugh, even if they were not entirely accurate when translated into our native tongue.

That communication had also allowed our technology to input parameters into our translation technology—ones that, hopefully, would allow us to process the varied languages of Earth. At that time, many thought it was unnecessary; our kind had zero desire to explore Earth’s barbaric landscape. We were not even sure what type of sentient land creatures had sent the large transmission. We knew a bit about the oceans, with its giant creatures, some fifty tentacles in width. We also knew of the dolphins, long ago migrated to Earth’s waters (none of the languages in the “star bottle” belonged to that alien species) from a sister planet. But the communique had clearly come from the land masses, of which our knowledge was cripplingly limited.

Right now, I was grateful that we had enough knowledge of Earth to understand what this enraged biped was saying.

Cyro was edging closer now, drawn by the same inexplicable force that had taken control over my and Vantor’s bodies.

“I’m serious! One inch closer and I’ll… I’ll… I’ll turn your asses into Area-51!”

It took all my willpower to halt in place, not because of her strange threat, but because I did not want to terrify this human woman. I didn’t want her to fear me, to fear us. I stretched out two tentacles to either side of me, using them to keep both Vantor and Cyro from getting closer to her.

“We are not here to hurt you,” I finally breathed out. “In fact, we need your help.”

She stared up at our trio. The fire surrounding her face capturing sunlight and seeming to burn.

How could this strange, gangly, four-limbed creature be more beautiful than all the females of my home world?

We had come seeking water samples from Earth's oceans. Instead, we had found something far more intriguing—an Omega human whose biochemistry called to us in ways none of us understood, but none of us could resist.

11

TAMMY

Angry and scared is wayyyyy better than aroused and slippery with slick…

“My help?” I stuttered out the question, confusion flooding into every part of my body. “If you needed my help, why the hell were you trying to attack my horse?”

“Attack your horse?” The one who’d caught me as I fell, rippled, body stretching a few inches taller, then shrinking again.

“She must mean the quadruped,” another explained after a brief pause.

“Yes, the big animal on four legs.” I stood up, adrenaline fading and leaving me feeling deflated.

The aliens' scents had been absolutely assaulting me since the second I’d come at them with the old pitchfork—an impossible mixture of ocean depths and something metallic that had no business existing in landlocked Kansas. When they’d reached for me, a tiny, irrational part of me had considered not moving and letting them explore my body. What the hell was my malfunction? Was I that starved for intimacy that a tentacle up my cobweb-covered vagina sounded like a good option?

Thank goodness one of the damn things had stopped himself, and the others, otherwise I might have let them do their worst.

My own scent bloomed around me yet again. Stupid body.

It hadn’t even reacted this way to Derek, and I’d convinced myself he was my future.

My mind was cycling through every alien invasion movie I'd ever seen. This wasn't happening. Couldn't be happening. But the three glistening, color-shifting beings before me were undeniably real, their strange eyes focused entirely on my trembling form… and I didn’t like the way their creepy, metallic eyes watched me with unveiled hunger.

It was good that we understood each other now, though the translator device—or whatever the glowing disc now stuck to my neck was—felt slightly itchy and uncomfortable.

“To be clear, we were not trying to attack your horse.” The creature holding my pitchfork seemed to be smiling. I wasn’t sure what the curve of the mouth meant to them though. Maybe it wasn’t amusement. Maybe it was a threat.

“So why did you surround Artie then?” I could tell saying his name confused them, so I corrected. “My horse. Why did you surround my horse. You were scaring him.”

“We simply approached the horse for assistance,” one answered, its body settling into the color of persimmons.

“You wanted my horse to help you?” I asked, mouth gaping. “How the hell was Artie gonna help you? He doesn’t even have opposable thumbs.” I lifted my hands, sticking both thumbs upright and bending them a few times, showing off how great a hand was in comparison to a hoof.

“The horse seemed like the logical choice,” the same alien said matter-of-factly.

“Right. Sure. A four-legged, hay-eating horse versus a human woman. You’re all dudes, aren’t you?”

“Dudes?” The pitchfork wielder sounded curious.

“Men. Males. Dick measurers, compensating for inadequacies with loud muscle cars or jacked up trucks. You guys give total Alpha energy.” I rolled my eyes. Of all the aliens in the galaxy, I had to get the Derek kind.

“Dudes. I’m going to use that back home.” The alien lifted the pitchfork over his bloated head, supporting it with the curled tips of two tentacles and resting it across what approximately served for shoulders. A breeze kicked up, pushing his saltwater and margarita scent in my direction. It hit me, slipping over my entire body, seeping into my pores, and sending my glandular production into overdrive.

“Back home.” I repeated, words pushing through the haze of my own Omega perfume spilling outward. I wasn’t sure why, but those two words made me realize just how exposed the aliens were while standing in the open field. My eyes darted to the unpaved road beyond my property line, half-expecting to see a convoy of black SUVs already racing toward us, filled with men in hazmat suits and assault rifles.

Why was panic surging inside me? Why did I care if a bunch of men in black arrived to haul the creepy creatures away? My inner Omega recoiled at the thought of the three aliens being sedated and dissected.

"You’re not safe," I whispered, my throat constricting around the words. "You can't stay out here."

The blue green one tilted its head, its skin rippling with curious patterns of light. I forced myself to think past the cocktail of conflicting feelings—attraction, revulsion, fear, terror. If anyone drove by and saw these creatures—these unmistakably alien beings—my life would be over before the bank could even foreclose on my ranch. But that wasn’t the thing that bothered me most. Not my life, but theirs. I wanted, I realized with horror, to protect them.

I wanted to give them a haven. I pictured government agents swarming over Sunflower Hills, cordoning off the property with yellow tape and stern warnings. They'd haul away the ship in my destroyed barn. They'd quarantine my horses for possible contamination. They'd investigate me, dig into my life, discover my failing finances, the overdue bills stacked on my kitchen table, the final notices from the bank. They'd know I was just days away from losing everything. Which didn’t matter, since they’d claim some sort of bullshit eminent domain to seize the ranch regardless.

And then I'd have nothing. Not even the slim chance of somehow turning things around.

Half-remembered scenes from movies blasted through my mind once more.

These creatures, though disgusting—even as I thought that, the word ‘enticing’ interjected, seeking to overwrite the first adjective—did not deserve to have their bodies sliced and diced in the name of science.

"You need to hide," I said, my voice steadier than I expected. "Follow me."

I turned toward the stable, not quite crazy enough yet to take them into my home. I didn’t hear them following, so I glanced back to see if they understood. All three were moving in my direction, their bodies flowing over the ground in that unnervingly fluid way that made my stomach clench. Shivers ran the length of my spine, but at least they were following.

At least they were following me.

I wanted them to follow me?

Yep, I was certifiably insane.

I hopped over the fence, looking back once more to make sure they didn’t have an issue crossing the barrier. My eyes widened as I watched them collapse to the ground, boneless bodies contorting, to slip beneath the lowest rail.

That sight, thankfully, doused the Omega need sparking inside me. Being attracted to one of them would be like wanting to bone an octopus at the aquarium. Freaking psychotic.

Taking a deep breath, I locked eyes on the stable and kept a determined, but not panicked, pace. I was afraid if I ran, it would incite some sort of predatory response from the aliens. That was a thing, right? Prey got nervous, they tried to race away, and all the sudden the predator shifts into hunter mode.

I heard them drawing nearer, but I didn’t let myself turn around to look at them again. As they drew even closer though, fresh waves of their scent washed over me—stronger now, more complex. Beneath the briny, oceanic notes was something else entirely. Something that made my pulse quicken for reasons that had nothing to do with fear. Heat bloomed low in my belly, spreading outward in tendrils of unexpected warmth. My skin prickled with sudden sensitivity, each hair standing on end as if electrically charged.

"What the hell?" I whispered, pressing a hand to my flushed cheek as my stomach clenched.

My Omega biology really was responding to them as if they were human Alphas—impossibly powerful, overwhelmingly dominant, toss me onto a mattress and have me ten ways ‘til Sunday, Alphas. My rational mind recoiled at the thought, but my body had already decided. My scent shifted, sweetening further with heady notes of arousal that made me want to crawl out of my skin with embarrassment. Could they sense my desire? God, I hoped not.

"The stable is right there," I said nervously, pointing to the weathered wooden structure ahead. "Just... follow me inside and stay quiet. I need to think."

The aliens made more of those unsettling gurgling sounds behind me, their tentacles making soft slapping noises against the dirt as they followed. I tried desperately to ignore the way their scents wrapped around me, the way my body continued to respond, the way my mind kept supplying unwanted images of those tentacles touching me again. Jesus, they were squid… octopi… monstrosities! I should be thinking about dicing them up for a nice plate of calamari, not debating jumping into bed with their boneless bodies!

What the hell was happening to me? And more importantly, what was I going to do with three aliens who smelled like the most potent Alphas I'd ever encountered?

I quickened my pace, desperate to put distance between us, but one of the creatures—the lavender-turquoise one—surged forward with unexpected speed. A tentacle brushed against my bare arm, leaving a trail of cool moisture on my skin.

Electricity jolted through me at the contact—not pain, but something far more alarming. Pleasure shot up my arm and spread throughout my body, pooling between my thighs with an intensity that made me gasp. I jumped backward, every nerve firing at once.

"Don't touch me!" I yelped, the words emerging higher and tighter than I'd intended, as I spun around to confront whichever of them had touched me.

“It was an accident.” The creature's skin flashed with lemon yellow, its tentacle withdrawing immediately. The other two had stopped moving as well, their strange eyes fixed on me with what seemed like concern. “I couldn’t help myself.”

“Couldn’t fucking help yourself? Sounds like every pervert’s excuse ever.” My voice was no better than a snarl at this point, but revulsion still didn’t win out over arousal.

“Pervert…” Lemon monster mused. “Perversion.” His coloring shifted more orange, hotter. Had I offended him? Shit, what would happen if I offended three terrifying extraterrestrials?

“If you say it was an accident, I’ll believe you.” I took a deep breath. "Just give me space, okay?" I ordered, shocked when my voice came out steady despite the chaos inside me.

To my amazement, they complied, creating more distance between us as they continued to follow. I resumed walking, hyperaware of their presence at my back, of their scents filtering through the air, of the way my body continued to respond to them. With every step, I could feel slick heat building between my legs, my body preparing itself for something my mind refused to even contemplate. The faster I got these assholes whatever help they needed to leave, the better.

The tightness in my chest eased when I finally reached the building.

The stable door protested with a long, drawn-out whine as I opened it, the sound slicing through the tense silence that had fallen between me and my unlikely followers. I bit my lower lip as I pushed into the cool shadows of the building. A wave of familiar scents greeted me—hay and horse and leather, the comforting smells of my daily life. But as the aliens flowed in behind me, those familiar odors were quickly overwhelmed by their alien musk, intensified tenfold in the enclosed space. I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry as desert sand.

My boots scuffed against the hay-strewn concrete floor as I moved deeper into the stables, the familiar sound somehow grounding me despite the surrealness of the moment. The expansive structure had never felt small before—it housed six stalls, a tack room, and a feed storage area with plenty of space to move around. But as the three massive aliens slithered in behind me, the building seemed to shrink around us, the ceiling suddenly too low, the walls pressing in from all sides.

My chest constricted again with brutal force. My lungs had a hard time expanding so I could breathe. I hit the space between my breasts with one closed fist, trying to knock my body back into normal rhythm.

In a bid to feel safer, I moved to the back of the building, turning to press my body against the wall. From this vantage, I could see everything. None of them would be out of eyesight. They moved slowly, in a synchronized line, coming to stop in the middle of the building. The were still maintaining a respectful distance. Their skin continued to ripple with a myriad of hues, the colors shifting across their surfaces like living tattoos. Sometimes, small sections along the surface of their bodies flashed brighter than the rest.

The largest one—the purple creature who’d sprayed that ink at me—was physically imposing in a way that seemed almost deliberately intimidating. Its tentacles were perfectly proportioned, its movements graceful despite its bulk. Next to it, the blue green one made only minute movements, its keen eyes studying every inch of the stable’s interior. There was so much intelligence in its silvery eyes.

The third alien, with its constantly shifting earthy colors, caught my attention with its strange, uneven movements. One of its tentacles, its tip covered in a small leather-like sheath, hung awkwardly at its side. It twitched occasionally and was markedly shorter than the rest.

The way all their appendages moved, undulating in different directions, made it seem like each tentacle had its own innate intelligence.

“Okay,” I breathed out, “some ground rules. Six feet away at all times, like you three have a horrible, highly communicable disease. No coming into my house unless I invite you, which isn’t likely. If I think, even for a second, that you guys are going to hurt me or my horses, then I’ll kill you.”

Sure, that last one was an empty threat, but they didn’t need to know that.

"We have no plans to hurt you," the blue purple one responded and, now that we were inside a building that usually echoed a bit, I realized that his words had fallen flat. They weren’t actually speaking English; they were still gurgling like they were underwater. Subconsciously, my hand drifted to the little crescent on my neck. It was sort of amazing.

"That's tantamount to 'we come in peace,'" I finally said, shaking my head. "I've seen this movie before. Aliens always say they're harmless right before they blow up the White House."

Their bodies flashed and rippled.

“Is that a way you talk too?” I pointed at them, indicating the shifting patterns and flickers of brightness.

“Yes,” the lavender one verified.

“That’s rude,” I mumbled, crossing my arms over my body. “It’s like gossiping about someone to their face, but in a foreign language. No more flashlight morse code. That’s another rule.”

“Human, we seek only survival and repair capabilities.” This from the blue-green one.

“My name is Tammy, not human.” I paused, thinking. “Actually, that’s a good place to start. Do you have names? Ones I might be able to pronounce? If they sound like—” I made a bunch of exaggerated, moist pops with my mouth— “Then I’m probably just going to call you guys E.T. One, Two, and Three.”

They said nothing, so I stared at them, trying to imagine cowboy hats atop their bulbous heads, tentacles shoved into boots, plaid shirts somehow fitted over their rippling bulk. Though, maybe they’d just contort into a human enough shape to fit into pants and such. Their platinum eyes were fixed in my direction, reflecting warped, fun-house versions of me. Their strange, alien cologne saturated the small space, making my glands send forth mini bursts of Omega perfume.

My mind still spun, earlier confusion whirling in my head, renewed adrenaline coursing through my veins as the morning light spilled into the stables, illuminating the shimmering colors of their skin.

“So,” I said to fill the silence, “do you have names or are we going with my brilliant suggestions?” I asked. They didn’t respond. “Do you know what a name is? What your family named you when you were born. What your friends call you. A name.”

I clamped my mouth shut to keep myself from rambling longer.

“Names?” The lavender one tilted its head, its skin shimmered, catching light, as if someone had dumped a bucket full of glitter over its head.

This is the alien skin of a tentacled killer, Tammy.

“Yes, a name. What can I call you,” I explained, trying to keep my impatience in check. If talking to them was still this difficult with the translators, we stood a snow’s chance in hell of having any meaningful dialogue. “Like—” I pressed my palm to my chest— “I’m Tammy. Shout that, and I’ll come running. And if I want to get your attention, I can say…” I let my voice fade away, hoping they’d get it or I just might scream.

More colors rippled across their surfaces—who knew color could have so much personality? The blue green one stepped forward, tentacles swaying like seaweed in an ocean current.

“I am Cyro.” The words emanated from the crescent device on my neck, yet somehow, I felt as if he were speaking directly into my mind.

“Great!” I clapped my hands, struggling to contain the slight tremor in my fingers. “Awesome start. So, we have Cyro here…” I looked over at the alien, whose skin was a wild whirl of russet browns and autumnal red, and raised an eyebrow. “And you are?”

“I am Kalith,” it responded.

“Okay,” I said slowly, pointing at the purple creature. “Cyro—” I shifted my hand to indicate the reddish-brown one— “Kalith. I like your names.”

My gaze roved over to the third alien, its skin mottled with blues and greens. I waited, wondering what the sudden sparks of yellow light interrupting the Earth-colored expanse of its body meant. When my patience had nearly worn out, he finally spoke.

“Vantor.” The name rolled into my mind, deep and melodic, sounding like it was carried on a gentle wave, rolling straight off the blue of its skin.

“Vantor,” I smiled at him, “I like that.”

Small fireworks exploded across its skin, as if it understood my statement for what it was: approval.

The air in the stable suddenly became so scented it was stifling. Our four chemistries became tangled together, creating a brand-new aroma that made me simultaneously so relaxed that I wanted to nap, and achingly aroused. Jesus, I didn’t even know if they were male. Well, I was pretty sure at least one of them was male after glimpsing that singular, hardened protrusion before it shifted sideways to block my view.

“We’ve established that I’m female. Are you all… male?” The question slipped from beneath my lips, darting toward them, and I desperately wanted to pull it back inside me. What was the point of asking? Why did I want to know if they were male or female?

The trio exchanged glances, put on a brief light show to rudely talk without me understanding them, then the purple alien—whose color was quickly shifting to something closer to magenta—moved a few feet nearer to me. I automatically pressed my back more firmly into the wall. There was nowhere to retreat. I’d thought I was being so brilliant positioning here so I could see them easily so they couldn’t take me by surprise with a second ink attack… or worse.

“We are the carriers of seed on our world. We are male.”

Why did his words send a thrill through me?

Why did my belly warm and my pulse quicken?

God, I’m not just a little crazy.

I’m certifiably insane.

12

TAMMY

Hide a trio of aliens like Sunflower Hills is Kansas’s very own Area-51? That’s batshit crazy!

Wind caught one side of the stable entrance, and it swung shut with another prolonged creak, sealing us all inside together.

The moment it closed, the aliens' scents intensified beyond anything I'd experienced in the open air. The enclosed space trapped their pheromones, creating an almost visible cloud of scent that filled every corner of the stable. There were hundreds of colors threading through the fog of their natural cologne. Each breath I took flooded my system with their alien musk—that impossible mixture of deep ocean, brine, sweetest lemonade, and something else that made my knees weak and my pulse race.

My body's reaction was immediate and mortifying. Heat swept through me in a relentless wave, flushing my skin and settling low and deep with an insistent throb. My heart lunged like it was trying to escape its cage, each beat sending another pulse of warmth to my core. Between my thighs, I grew embarrassingly slick, my body preparing itself without my permission or consent.

"Shit," I whispered, pressing a hand to my burning cheek. This wasn't normal. This wasn't right. I shouldn't be responding this way to alien beings, to creatures that weren't even remotely human.

But my Omega biology didn't seem to care about the rational arguments my brain was making. It only cared that it recognized a connection in their scent and was responding accordingly. I inhaled deeply, despite myself, and their individual scents began to separate in my heightened awareness. Cyro smelled of murky saltwater and coconut oil on sun-warmed skin; I was suddenly at the beach if I closed my eyes. Vantor carried notes of marshland and swamp milkweed, like rain hitting cattails combined with pink bubblegum. Kalith’s scent was earthier, reminding me of the river and the algae blooms that turned sweet as the days heated. Out of them all, Kalith awoke things in me, simply because the smell of him took me back to sandbar camping on the Kaw when I was a child.

"Why do you all smell so amazing?" The words formed before I could stop them, and I immediately tried to swallow them down, horrified by my own reaction. It was too late though; the words were alive, already carrying over to the three watchful aliens.

"Your secretions have changed significantly," Cyro mused, his translated voice analytical and curious. "Your biochemistry appears to be responding to our presence in unexpected ways. And—” he glanced at his companions— “our own bodies are reacting strangely. I need my mission log. I need to record these observations while they’re fresh.”

Warmth crept up my cheeks. Great. They could smell my freaking arousal. Could probably sense every humiliating way my body was betraying me right now. I turned around quickly, hiding the searing blush. Pressing my clammy palms against my face, I mentally urged my body to chill out.

“There is significant moisture building between her lower limbs. Fascinating.” Cyro’s voice again.

I dropped one hand, pushing it between my thighs, feeling how the slick had soaked through my pants. I could say I pissed myself. Was that less embarrassing? Of course, nothing could hide the fact I’d just crassly shoved a hand down to check for dampness.

Thankfully, I was saved by the bell… or rather the horses.

A nervous whinny sounded from just outside one of the stalls. Seconds later, Mystery came into view. Every few steps, he slammed a hoof down against the ground, making it clear that he meant business. Sassafras, to my surprise, followed in after him. She stood at his back, using his shadow for shield, her large, beautiful eyes studying what was happening inside the stables.

Neither of the horses were outright panicking, and I wasn’t sure what had shifted. Earlier, in the pasture, they’d seemed terrified of the aliens. Eyes rolled white with fear. Nostrils flared wide. Keeping as far away as possible. Yet now, they watched with cautious alertness.

"Your quadrupeds have become remarkably calm," Vantor observed, his thoughts sliding into my mind with disturbing ease. He turned slowly, the tentacles pressed against the ground beneath him carrying him a foot or so closer to the stable where the two horses stood.

"They're not exactly calm," I muttered, watching Mystery's ears pin now flat against his skull. The stallion snorted loudly, pawing at the stall floor. Behind him, Sassafras trembled visibly, her chestnut coat darkened with sweat despite the early hour.

“She is right, Vantor. Cease advancement.” Cyro reached one tentacle out, curling it around Vantor’s approximation of a shoulder. “The animals are displaying renewed fear response. Auditory protrusions flattened. Front limbs reactive.”

Vantor bobbed his bulbous head. “I observe.” He backed away, rejoining his companions in the middle of the stable.

I could practically taste the tension hanging in the air; it settled on my tongue as a metallic-sweet scent. Blood roared in my ears, each thunderous beat threatening to drown out the soft rustle of horses shifting in their stalls nearby. How had things escalated so fast? One moment I was ready to battle them with a blunt farm tool, the next I was fighting the swirling desires of four beings.

My surroundings seemed to vibrate.

Anxiety-laced warmth swirled in my belly.

I clenched my fists, digging nails into my palms, to bring me up for air and reclaim sanity.

“Focus, Tammy,” I whispered, but words could do nothing to stop the searing blush creeping up my neck into my face.

“The colors on her skin are so fascinating,” Cyro’s tentacles twitched, two lifting to reach for me. I glared, and he pulled his appendages back.

“Okay, let’s get back on track,” I breathed out, hoping that focusing on something else—anything else—other than how hot these tentacled, alien Alphas made me feel, might help my Omega nature come to her damn senses. “You need my help.”

“Yes. Assistance is imperative if we are to complete our mission.” Cyro looked me up and down, and I could swear—though his expressions were hard to read thanks to the nature of his face—that he thought it dubious that I could help in any real way.

“Great,” I gave a quick, confident jerk of my head. “What do you need? A rubber hose? A hammer? You already have my pitchforks. How about a jump from the truck. I’ve got pretty long cables, just point me in the direction of your ship’s power source terminals. If it’ll get you airborne, I’m at your service.”

"Your readings keep leaping right off my gauges," Kalith soundly said, its skin shifting through shades of amber and forest green.

“I believe that our presence is triggering her reproductive readiness signals,” Cyro added, tone still that of a researcher.

My cheeks burned hotter. "Stop analyzing me," I snapped, wishing I could back farther away from them. "And stop... smelling me."

"Impossible request," Vantor responded, his thoughts carrying a hint of what might have been amusement. "Olfactory input is involuntary for our species, as it appears to be for yours.”

In the dim light filtering through the stable windows, their bodies continued to pulse with flowing hues punctuated by communicative light bursts. They cast an eerie firework show across the wooden walls and hard floor. Their wet skin still glistened but seemed to be drying out further by the second. Still, I felt like I was trapped in a small room with three living, breathing lava lamps.

Lava lamps that made me horny.

“You can at least stop saying shit like that out loud,” I huffed. “There’s such a thing as inside thoughts for a reason.”

“We will attempt to vocalize about you less frequently,” Vantor assured me. “Barring strategic assessments.”

I had no idea what he meant by strategic assessments, but that was an issue for later.

“Just tell me what you need so I can pop down to the store.” Was it too much to ask that the answer to this outer space problem could be found on a shelf at Hank’s Hardware?

Yeah, that would be way too easy, and my life was never a breeze.

“Does this store carry Alloy 626, Alloy 54, and refined Magnetic Mineral 197?” Kalith stepped closer, raising his tentacles as he ticked off items. “I also require collagen hydrolysate and lacteal secretions rich in Docosahexaenoic acid.”

My mouth dropped open, realization flooding through me. Fixing their ship wasn’t going to be a quick trip to the market for scotch tape and glue. Which meant…

Shit, was I stuck with them for the foreseeable future?

I stared at the three aliens, my thoughts spinning while I processed the absurdity of the situation. Was this real life? Was I actually standing in my stables with extraterrestrial beings, talking over supplies to fix their damn spaceship as if it were a roadside flat tire?

Yep.

“First of all,” I said, trying to keep my voice even despite the fluttering in my stomach. “I have no idea what the hell those substances are. You’ll need to explain each one like I’m a complete moron. If you asked me for a great foundation or what color lipstick suits you best, it would be easy-peasy. But—” I stopped talking, rolling my head back, staring up at the ceiling for a heartbeat before finishing— “it sounds like what you need isn’t easy to get. Which means, you’re stuck here. And you can’t be, at least not looking like that.” I lifted my hand, raising and lowering it, indicating every sticky, moist, colorful part of them.

“Then, do you intend to turn us into your authorities?” Vantor bristled, his colors morphing away from tranquil blue greens to stormy gray with traces of crimson. “We do not know much about your planet yet, but we know enough of its barbaric history. Your world does not treat trespassers kindly.”

"I'm not turning you guys into anyone," I said, pressing myself harder against the wall behind me, as if I could somehow phase through the wood. "The last thing I need is government agents crawling all over my property. Hell, it’s already two seconds from foreclosure. The freaking government would just claim eminent domain or some bullshit and take it by force. And I refuse to give Derek the damn satisfaction.”

I swallowed hard, still leaning against the wall, trying to figure out how on Earth—literally—this was happening. Their scents filled the air, making my pulse race, and I couldn’t help but be acutely aware of the fresh heat warming my stomach and the recurrent waves of slick seeping into my pants. I tried not to think about the fact they could smell me, see my pinked face, and probably read my dirty, deviant thoughts.

“Who is Derek?” Cyro asked out of the blue.

“Huh?” I blinked rapidly, focusing on his face. “Oh, um, he’s my ex.”

“Ex?” Cyro tilted his air balloon shaped head.

“You know. My ex. We used to date. No, more than that. We were engaged.”

“He was your mate.”

“Ex,” I said again, emphasizing the very important modifier. “As in not anymore, never again, and he can rot in hell.”

“Rot in hell,” Kalith seemed to gurgle on a laugh. “I do not know this hell, but if rotting in it is a bad thing, I will use that phrase.” He turned to Vantor, face stretching with what I think was a grin. “Rot in hell, Vantor.”

Vantor ignored him, changing the subject back to more important matters. “You said you do not know the items we require.”

“Right, no idea. Absolute blank. Too bad you don’t need a banana. I’ve got a couple of those in the house, overripe and ready for bread.” I didn’t even know what I was saying, rambling nonsense.

“Then we must disguise ourselves while we search.” Vantor spoke slowly, a bubbling current beneath his words. “We are exposed with zero tactical advantage in these forms.”

“Does that mean you can… look like something else?” I quirked an eyebrow, wondering if they were more similar to Earth octopi and squid than I’d guessed.

As if to answer, Kalith raised two tentacles, wrapped them around one another, and suddenly, as if by magic, they looked like a human arm. Not just any human arm. My human arm.

“That’s—” I swallowed deeply— “Freaky as all get out.”

I watched as he did the same with two lower tentacles, suddenly lifting one pants-clad leg into the air. Just like mine, right down to the boots.

Freaky. Totally freaky. I kept trying to convince myself that what I was seeing was disturbing. Yet there was a part of me—a part that overrode sanity—that said, “if they can shapeshift like this… then maybe my Omega isn’t totally crazy.”

“Can you change back,” I frowned, “It’s freaking me out seeing my arm and leg on your body.”

Kalith glanced down at his newly shaped appendages, gave them both shakes, and they went back to four normal tentacles.

“Thank you,” I breathed out.

We all stood there awkwardly for several heartbeats, no one seeming to know what the next move should be.

“Let’s go into the house,” I heard myself finally saying, even though I’d earlier told them to stay clear of my home. “It’ll be more comfortable in there.”

My voice sounded strange to my own ears—breathier than normal, slightly higher pitched. The same way I'd sounded around Derek when we first met, when his Alpha pheromones had turned me into a giggly, submissive mess. The comparison made me cringe inwardly. I was not that person anymore. I refused to be.

"Something's got your engine running hot," Kalith noted, his smaller tentacle reaching up to trace suckers down his own body. It was… way too similar to a guy rubbing himself.

“Uh-uh,” I held up a hand, palm outward. “Stop. You just agreed to stop saying shit like that out loud, remember?”

Kalith’s coloring paled, and he went perfectly still.

“Now, we can't stay in here all day, so follow me to the house. I have work to do, horses to feed, and you... you need to figure out your—” I struggled for the right word— “disguises.”

Saying nothing else, I finally moved away from the wall. The absence of it felt wrong, like I’d lost the only thing truly steadying me. But I reached deep inside and gathered the fortitude to walk forward, past them, and out of the stables. They followed. I didn’t have to look. Their bodies slipped across the ground in damp whooshes.

Halfway to the house, one of them spoke, possibly Kalith again. I wasn’t totally familiar with their voices yet. "Repair may be impossible without the materials I listed. We could be stranded on your world indefinitely."

The words hit me like a physical blow, and I staggered to a stop. Indefinitely. These creatures weren't just a temporary problem to hide for a few hours or days. They were here to stay. On my property. Eating my food. Using my resources. Filling my space with their intoxicating scent that made me want to⁠—

I cut that thought off before it could fully form, and I whirled around.

"Indefinitely," I repeated, the word tasting bitter on my tongue. "Well, that's just perfect. The bank wants to take my ranch, I’ve got supply invoices out the ass, a looming vet bill, and now three alien squatters. The universe really has a sick sense of humor."

My hands trembled visibly now, adrenaline and arousal and fear all mixing together into a cocktail of confusion that made it hard to think straight and spiked my sweet Omega scent with acid. Thank goodness that I was outside now, the fresh air helping to dilute all our combined scents, or I’d go mad.

"You are in financial distress?" Vantor asked, his skin patterns shifting to something that seemed almost concerned. The other two followed suit, colors rolling in and out as if carried on invisible tides, alien Alpha colognes suddenly heady with spice.

"That's putting it mildly," I muttered, running a shaking hand through my hair. "But that's not your problem. The only thing you guys need to focus on is getting your flying saucer, UFO… or whatever working again."

The tension was palpable—a living thing stretched between us, pulled taut by conflicting instincts and impossible circumstances. The aliens' tentacles moved in restless patterns, occasionally reaching toward me before withdrawing, as if they too were fighting against instincts they didn't fully understand.

And me? I stood trapped in place, my body humming with a need I refused to acknowledge, my mind racing to find a solution to a problem I'd never imagined facing, and the future looking bleaker than ever.

Three aliens. Mere weeks until I lost everything. And not a single good idea in sight.

13

VANTOR

Is makeover montage music from an 80s movie some form of psychological warfare?

Ifollowed the human female as she moved with confident strides across the barren ground, my tactician’s mind cataloging every detail about her. Small yet defiant. Fragile physically but possessing a core of unmistakable strength. The fiery filaments sprouting from her cranial region caught the sunlight, creating a beacon that drew the eye—perhaps an evolutionary advantage on this sun-drenched planet. My skin rippled with involuntary patterns of curiosity, and I dampened them immediately. Now was not the time for unrestrained biological responses. Control and vigilance were paramount in unknown territory.

“She’s a strange but formidable creature,” I thought, watching how she navigated the uneven terrain without hesitation, despite her seemingly inefficient bipedal locomotion. My tentacles propelled me forward with far greater efficiency, gliding across the dry Kansas soil. The texture felt wrong against my sensitive membranes—too granular, too parched—but I’d adapted to worse environments during seventeen missions.

Cyro and Kalith moved close behind me, their colors pulsing with patterns that betrayed their anxiety. Strange, how in the hours since our crash-landing, I’d begun thinking of them less as mission colleagues and more as... brothers. We’d survived countless missions together, but something about this crisis had crystallized our bond into something stronger.

Perhaps it was the vulnerability we now shared. Without the protection of our ship’s environment, without mission protocols, we were exposed in ways none of our training had prepared us for. Yet somehow, that exposure had made me more aware of my responsibility toward them, more determined to see them safely home.

We reached the wooden structure Tammy called her “house,” ascending a series of flat horizontal platforms she navigated with practiced ease. I analyzed each step for structural integrity before allowing my weight to settle. The material creaked beneath us—a tactical disadvantage that would announce any approach or retreat.

“It’s just the steps,” Tammy explained, misinterpreting my hesitation. “They’re old, but they’ll hold you.”

She pushed open a rectangular barrier—a “door,” I recalled from our briefing materials—and gestured for us to enter. The threshold represented a tactical decision point. Once inside, we would be confined, potentially vulnerable. My training screamed caution, but strategic necessity demanded we follow.

I crossed over first, positioning myself to shield Cyro and Kalith if necessary. The moment I entered, my sensory membranes were overwhelmed by Tammy’s scent. In the enclosed space, her biochemical signature saturated everything—the air, the furnishings, the very particles of dust suspended in the shafts of light penetrating through transparent wall sections. 

The effect was immediate and disorienting. My colors broke discipline, flushing with shades I couldn't rein in—deep purples and electric blues rippling across my skin in waves that would have been immediately recognizable to any of my species as intense attraction. I fought to regain mastery over my biological responses, forcing my colors to settle into the muted patterns of professional detachment.

My tentacles tightened against my body, a defensive posture meant to minimize vulnerabilities. Around me, the dwelling presented countless unknowns. Strange objects of varied shapes and purposes occupied the space. Some I recognized from our mission briefs—primitive food preparation stations, rudimentary climate control devices—but others remained baffling in their function.

I cataloged potential weapons (several), viable exit points (three visible), defensive positions (limited), and threats (unknown). A large rectangular object on one wall particularly concerned me—a potential surveillance device or communication array.

“This way,” Tammy directed, leading us through an opening into another chamber. “This is the living room.”

The designation confused me. Did other rooms in this dwelling not support life? Was this a specialized life-support chamber? I remained vigilant as we entered, positioning myself between my companions and any potential threats.

“Go ahead and sit down on the sofa,” she instructed, gesturing toward a large, padded structure.

I hesitated, unwilling to place us in such a vulnerable position. The “sofa” would restrict our mobility, potentially trap us if we needed to respond quickly to danger. Kalith, however, approached it with his usual curiosity, extending a tentacle to probe its surface.

“It’s just furniture,” Tammy sighed, apparently sensing my reluctance. “It won’t eat you.”

The absurdity of her statement—as if inanimate objects could consume sentient beings—momentarily disrupted my tactical assessment. Was this human humor? Or did some furniture on this planet indeed pose such threats? I filed the information away for further analysis.

After a brief assessment, I settled onto one end of the sofa, maintaining maximum distance from the others to preserve our collective maneuverability. The strange surface compressed beneath my weight, conforming to my body in a way that was not entirely unpleasant. Cyro and Kalith followed suit, their tentacles arranging themselves awkwardly across the unfamiliar structure.

“Okay, crash course in being human...ish,” Tammy announced, approaching the rectangular wall object I’d noted earlier. She manipulated a small device, and suddenly the rectangle illuminated with moving images and sound. I reflexively reached for a weapon that wasn’t there, then forced myself to relax when I recognized the technology.

“This is television,” Tammy explained. “It’s entertainment, fiction. These aren’t real humans in the room with us—they’re recordings of actors pretending to be other humans.” She manipulated the device again until the screen showed several humans in an artificial dwelling like hers. “This is a sitcom—a comedy show. The behaviors are almost always more extreme than how humans actually act in real life, but you can use it as a loose guide.”

On the illuminated surface, humans moved and interacted in patterns that seemed ritualistic yet chaotic. Their vocalizations were punctuated by eruptions of sound from unseen sources. When I questioned the phantom sounds, Tammy referred to them as “laugh tracks,” explaining they signaled humor.

I watched intently, studying their movements, their expressions, the strange ways they arranged their bodies when interacting. All tactical information, I told myself. Knowledge that could help us blend in, survive, complete our mission. But beneath my professional analysis, I felt deep-seated curiosity, which was typically Cyro’s and Kalith’s domains.

These creatures—so different from us in form and function—experienced emotions we recognized. They formed bonds, they competed, they misunderstood each other in ways that seemed strangely familiar despite the alien context. 

Beside me, Cyro’s skin rippled with analytical patterns as he absorbed the educational material. Kalith leaned forward, his engineer’s mind likely deconstructing the technology that delivered these images rather than focusing on their content. And yet, all three of us were transfixed, united in our study of this strange new world we’d crashed into.

As we watched, I became aware of something shifting within me—a tactical assessment transforming into something more complex. We were in unknown territory, yes. Vulnerable, certainly. But for the first time since our crash, I felt something beyond alertness and caution.

I felt curiosity about what would come next.

As the “sitcom” continued, I found myself categorizing human behaviors with the same methodical precision I’d use to catalog potential threats on a hostile planet. The humans on screen moved in exaggerated patterns, their facial expressions shifting dramatically to convey emotional states. Inefficient communication, I noted. My species’ chromatophore displays were far more precise in conveying nuanced emotional data. And yet, I couldn’t deny a certain fascinating elegance to their expressions—the way their mouths curved to signal pleasure, how their optical organs widened to indicate surprise or narrowed in suspicion.

Beside me, Kalith’s skin flickered with amber excitement as he absorbed the screen’s information. His tentacles twitched with growing restlessness—a sign I recognized from countless missions. Kalith never could remain still when processing new technical information. He sometimes became so high energy, it was jarring.

Without warning, Kalith leapt up from the sofa. His body stretched and contorted, tentacles reshaping themselves with alarming speed into approximations of human limbs. Before I could assess potential threat levels, he had wedged his newly formed appendages beneath one side of the furniture where Cyro and I remained seated.

“Pivot!” Kalith shouted, his voice mimicking the exact pitch and volume of the human male on screen. “PIVOT!”

The sofa lurched precariously as Kalith attempted to maneuver it exactly as the humans on screen had done. My tentacles instinctively gripped the padding beneath me, preparing for evasive action.

Instead of the alarm I expected from Tammy, a strange sound erupted from her respiratory passages—high-pitched, rhythmic, almost musical. Her facial features contorted, eyes narrowing to gleaming slits, mouth stretched wide, shoulders shaking. For a moment, my combat training assessed this as a potential distress response, but the biochemical cloud surrounding her told a different story. Her scent bloomed with notes I hadn’t detected before—lighter, sweeter, lacking the sharp edges of fear.

“She’s experiencing pleasure,” Cyro whispered, his analytical mind reaching the conclusion just ahead of mine.

This was laughter—genuine, unrestrained. Something about Kalith’s ridiculous mimicry had pierced through her defenses. I filed this observation away: humor appeared to be a potential bonding mechanism with this species, perhaps even a strategic advantage in gaining her cooperation.

We continued watching various “programs” as the sun tracked across the sky outside the transparent wall panels. Time measurement felt strange here—my internal rhythms disrupted by the dry air, the unfamiliar gravity, and the constant barrage of sensory input from the television. I noticed subtle shifts in our group dynamic as hours passed. Tammy’s posture relaxed incrementally. The rigid distance she’d maintained between herself and us had decreased by approximately eighteen percent. Cyro's colors had settled into patterns I rarely saw outside our home environment—comfortable, analytical but not defensive.

Kalith occasionally attempted other mimicries, each one eliciting varied degrees of that musical laughter from Tammy. I remained vigilant but found myself unexpectedly... enjoying this strange educational process. The tactical part of my mind justified this as necessary intelligence gathering. The rest of me wasn’t so certain.

“Alright,” Tammy eventually announced, manipulating another device that caused the television images to vanish. “TV time is over. You’ve got the basic idea of how humans move and interact. Now you need to decide what you’re going to look like.”

Her statement triggered an immediate tactical reassessment. Our current forms were conspicuous, unsuitable for covert operation on this planet. Adaptation was necessary for survival.

“You absolutely cannot look like me,” she continued, moving toward a storage unit built into the wall. “Not only because I’m a girl, and you guys said you’re male, but people would ask questions I can’t answer. Three redheaded women appearing out of nowhere would definitely raise eyebrows.”

The idiom confused me momentarily before I connected it to the physical expression I’d observed on screen—the raising of facial hair tufts to indicate surprise or suspicion.

“I’ve got some old magazines somewhere...” She rummaged through a container, eventually producing several bound collections of glossy paper. “These should give you some ideas.”

I accepted the offering she extended, my tentacles carefully manipulating the fragile Earth material. The surface displayed images of humans in various attire and poses. Tactical analysis suggested these were recording devices, perhaps meant to document human appearance variations for identification purposes.

Cyro and Kalith received similar collections, their tentacles spreading the pages with eager curiosity. As we examined these records, Tammy continued searching through the container. Her movements suddenly stilled, her biochemistry shifting to something sharper, more complex.

From my angle, I could see she’d uncovered a small rectangular object—another image capture, but this one featuring Tammy herself alongside a male human. Their postures suggested intimate connection, their faces displaying expressions the television had taught me to recognize as “happiness.”

Before I could process further, Cyro’s tentacle snaked out, snatching the image from Tammy’s grasp. His xenobiologist curiosity—always his primary weakness in perilous situations—overrode all basic tactical caution.

“Intriguing specimen,” he murmured, his surface already beginning to ripple and reform. I watched with mounting concern as his features began to morph, reshaping into a crude approximation of the male human from the image.

Tammy’s reaction was immediate and visceral. Her respiratory rate doubled, her scent spiked with acrid notes of distress, and her musculature tensed for confrontation. I recognized the fight response from countless combat situations.

“Absolutely not!” She lunged forward with surprising speed, snatching the image from Cyro’s grasp before his transformation could proceed further. Her movement patterns indicated barely restrained aggression, her eyes narrowed to tactical targeting mode. She took me off guard so fully that I hadn’t even moved one inch to protect my mission brother. Was I losing my edge because of my intense gravitational pull toward this human woman?

Cyro recoiled, his partially formed features melting back into their natural state. “Why not?” he asked, genuine confusion rippling across his skin. “He seems suitable enough.”

“That’s my asshole ex,” Tammy spat, her voice dropping to a lower register that my threat assessment protocols immediately flagged as dangerous. “If I have to look at his face every day again, I’m going to puke.”

I filed this information carefully: the male human represented a source of significant psychological distress for Tammy. Potential enemy combatant. Possible threat to our safety through his connection to her. Most importantly, his appearance triggered a defensive response that could compromise our concealment objectives.

“Duly noted,” Cyro acknowledged, his colors flashing with chastened understanding.

“Just... pick a different person,” Tammy sighed, her biochemistry gradually stabilizing as she returned to her seat, carefully placing the image face-down on a surface well out of our reach. Seconds later, she picked it back up again, ripped it in half, put the two pieces together, and ripped those in half too. “I loved that trip,” she muttered. “So many memories ruined.”

Part of me wanted to say something, wanted to console her for some reason, but instead I returned my attention to the magazine, analyzing each human specimen with tactical precision. My mission now had dual objectives: select an appearance that would facilitate our concealment on this planet, while avoiding any features that might trigger negative responses from our host.

Turning through the pages, I eventually discovered an ideal candidate. The male displayed significant musculature, ideal height-to-width ratio for intimidation purposes, and wore what looked like a secondary protective layer with a flowing barrier of some sort attached at the shoulders—perhaps for concealing weapons or equipment. Exactly the type of disguise I would need to protect us while we were stranded.

“He looks strong,” I observed, feeling my body already beginning to respond to my mental commands, tentacles shifting and reforming. “Threats will think twice before approaching.”

My shape began to flow, reorganizing itself molecule by molecule into this new configuration. Limbs formed where tentacles had been, solid bone structures manifesting beneath newly forming skin. The sensation was familiar yet always disorienting—like swimming through particularly dense currents while wearing sensory dampening equipment.

Throughout the transformation, I kept my attention fixed on Tammy, monitoring her biochemical responses for any sign of distress or rejection. Instead, I detected the exact opposite—a subtle sweetening of her scent, pupils dilating as she watched my emerging form.

Interesting. Very interesting indeed.

14

CYRO

Just a big, ole hunk of burning alien love.

What I’d observed on the rectangular screen called a television, rolled endlessly through my mind as I continued to look for the perfect specimen with which to shape my disguise.

The “sitcoms”, as she’d called them, were a wealth of knowledge about her species—their social hierarchies, communication patterns, and mating rituals laid bare in this bizarre performance art. I studied each scene with the same intensity I’d once devoted to rare deep-water specimens of Zanar Prime, cataloging subtle shifts in vocal tone, the purpose behind their exaggerated facial contortions, and most fascinatingly, the complex interplay between what they called Alphas and Omegas. The Betas served their purpose but seemed always relegated to a supportive role.

“So that character—the tall one with excessive shoulder width—he’s what you’d call an Alpha?” I asked, my skin rippling with scientific excitement I couldn’t fully suppress.

Tammy sighed, her patience clearly wearing thin after hours of explaining her world’s basics to us. “Yeah, that’s the idea. Though TV Alphas are usually over-the-top stereotypes—all swagger and domination. Real ones are...” She paused, her scent shifting subtly. “Well, they’re still insufferable, but in more complex ways.”

I absorbed this information, adding it to my growing mental catalog of Earth species dynamics. Unlike the straightforward reproductive classifications of my home world, humans had developed this secondary gender system that fascinated me. Their biology was both simpler and more complex than ours—fewer appendages but more intricate social structures.

The screen showed the Alpha male approaching a smaller female. Her scent would be sweetening, I hypothesized, though the primitive recording technology couldn’t capture this crucial data. The Alpha displayed dominance through postural expansion—chest forward, limbs spread to occupy maximum space, vocalizations dropping to a lower register. The female responded with submissive signals—head tilt exposing the neck, pupils dilating, voice rising in pitch.

“Textbook Omega response,” Tammy muttered, as if reading my thoughts. “But that’s not how it always works in real life. Some of us fight back.”

Some of us. The words registered immediately. Tammy was an Omega, then. My chromatophores pulsed with excitement at this confirmation, a reaction I quickly suppressed. This explained her complex biochemical responses to our presence, the sweet undertones in her scent that had grown increasingly pronounced since our arrival. Our alien pheromones must register as Alpha-adjacent to her biology, triggering responses she seemed determined to resist.

Fascinating. Absolutely fascinating.

My attention locked back onto the magazine splayed across my tentacles. I pored over the glossy pages again, memories of my earlier misstep rippling through me like a cold current, making me hesitate to settle on a second choice.

I had acted on impulse, snatching that image of Tammy with her “ex”. Her tone had been incredibly venomous, my miscalculation causing her intense distress. Humans must attach deep emotional significance to visual records of past pair-bondings, it seemed. A cultural nuance the “sitcoms” had failed to cover.

Guilt was rare for me. I was always resolute in my leadership, confident of my decisions, and striding through existence without second thinking my actions. Yet I found myself experiencing something uncomfortably close to it as I recalled her reaction. The sharp spike in her stress hormones, the flash of pain across her features. I had caused that, through ignorance and impulsivity.

I would not repeat such an error. My selection this time must be precise, calculated for optimal functionality without triggering negative associations.

My attention shifted as Vantor’s body began to flow and reshape beside me. His attention to detail, and to precise execution, was on full display as he arranged each molecule of his form. The basic shape of a human male emerged first, then details quickly crystallized: impressive musculature, strong jawline, chiseled features. His chosen template was unmistakably powerful, the epitome of physical dominance in human form.

More intriguing than the transformation itself was Tammy’s response to it. Her pupils dilated significantly, her respiration increasing by approximately twenty-seven percent. A flush of blood rushed to the surface of her facial skin again, tinting it a deep rose hue. Most tellingly, her scent bloomed—that sweet Omega perfume intensifying to fill the room like invisible smoke.

Irritation flickered through me—an irrational but undeniable response. Why should Vantor’s transformation elicit such a strong biological reaction from her? His chosen form was adequate but hardly optimal. Too obvious in its strength display, lacking the subtlety that would mark true genetic superiority.

I could do better.

My gaze returned to the magazine, scanning with renewed purpose until I found him—a human male with dark hair styled in a distinctive wave, features symmetrical with a particular curl to the upper lip that seemed to indicate some form of genetic advantage. The caption identified him as “Elvis,” a figure of apparent cultural significance, as evidenced by the lengthy article about his “estate” being purchased by another high-status human.

Perfect.

I focused my consciousness on transformation, a process that required precise mental control. Unlike Kalith’s haphazard shape-shifting or even Vantor’s efficient but utilitarian approach, I prided myself on accuracy. Every detail mattered—the exact curve of the brow ridge, the specific angle of the nasal cartilage, the precise distance between visual organs. Rushing would result in an uncanny approximation rather than a convincing replication.

My body responded to my mental commands, molecules rearranging themselves in the pattern I visualized. First came the basic bipedal structure—the vertical spinal column, the ridiculous pelvis designed for upright walking, the inefficient limb configuration with their limited range of motion. Then finer details emerged: the texture of epidermis, the specific shade of melanin, the arrangement of facial features. I paid particular attention to that distinctive upper lip curl, sensing it held some special significance.

As my transformation neared completion, I became aware of movement in my peripheral vision. Kalith, true to his impulsive nature, had already completed his transformation with characteristic speed and minimal consideration. He’d simply adopted the form of the loudest human from the television program—the one who constantly consumed nourishment and engaged in nonstop courtship with various females, sometimes simultaneously.

I felt a ripple of annoyance pass through my newly formed human skin, an odd sensation without the release of my normal chromatophore display. Kalith’s approach to everything was like this—leap first, analyze later. A paralarva’s mentality in an adult’s body. He’d once reconfigured a critical propulsion component without proper testing, nearly stranding us in the gravity well of a gas giant. Yet somehow, his reckless modifications had not only worked but improved efficiency exceeding twelve and a half percent.

It was infuriating.

I completed my transformation with deliberate precision, feeling the final molecules settle into place. My new eyes—limited in spectrum sensitivity but adequate for this environment—focused on Tammy, eager to measure her physiological response to my superior form. Would her pupils dilate more dramatically? Would her scent sweeten further? The scientist in me needed this data, needed to know that my selection process had been superior to Vantor’s.

What I hadn’t anticipated was her expression of complete disbelief as she looked at the three of us standing before her. Not admiration. Not attraction. But something closer to exasperation mixed with barely suppressed laughter.

Something had gone wrong with my calculations.

“You know, as much as I’d like to live out my fantasies with Superman, The King of Rock and Roll, and the guy who made ‘How you doing?’ sexy, I think you’d draw more attention like this than you would in your alien form.” Tammy’s words hit me with unexpected force, triggering an unfamiliar sensation in my newly formed human digestive system—something akin to the dropping sensation our species experiences when descending too rapidly through thermal ocean layers. Her rejection of our carefully selected forms wasn’t proceeding according to any of my predicted scenarios.

I blinked—an unnecessarily frequent action in this dry environment—and attempted to process her statement. My newly formed vocal apparatus felt strange as I prepared to speak, lacking the comforting vibration of fluid-filled chambers that characterized communication on my home world.

“These forms are inadequate?” I inquired, unable to keep the puzzlement from my tone. “I selected this specimen specifically for its apparent anatomical superiority and cultural significance.”

Tammy pressed her fingers against her temples, a gesture I’d observed in the television programs that seemed to indicate cognitive strain. “That’s exactly the problem. You’ve turned yourselves into literally the most recognizable people on the planet. Elvis died almost fifty years ago—people would think you’re either a ghost or an impersonator. And Superman?” She gestured toward Vantor’s imposing form. “He’s fictional. As in not real. People dressed as him usually charge for photos at tourist traps.”

The data didn’t compute initially. On my world, adopting the appearance of the most genetically superior specimens was logical and expected. If one of my kind encountered danger, we would take on the guise of a large, terrifying being. A Carlaxian Seprus. A winged Darinube Rapturn. We’d visually become the predator most suited to deflect the threat.

Why would humans not prefer to encounter visually optimal members of their species?

Vantor—his new human features impressively stoic despite his evident confusion—stepped forward. The flowing cloth extension behind him rippled with the movement, catching the air in a way that was oddly graceful for such an unnecessary appendage.

“Then what would you have us look like, Tammy?” he asked, his voice carrying the same intonations even through this alien vocal apparatus.

She bit her lower lip, a gesture that appeared to indicate deep thought rather than the stress response it would signify in our species. My newly formed visual organs tracked the movement with unexpected intensity.

Vantor gathered the length of cloth behind him, pulling it over his shoulder with a curious expression as he studied the material. The fabric—a manifestation of our molecular manipulation rather than actual cloth—moved with convincing realism. I had to admire his attention to detail, though I’d never admit it aloud.

“Perhaps that is for aerodynamics, Vantor,” I offered, applying deductive reasoning to the puzzling design element. The aerodynamic requirements of Earth’s atmosphere differed significantly from our water-based home world, but certain principles remained constant.

Kalith shook his head immediately, his borrowed human features arranging themselves into an expression of dismissal I’d seen frequently on the television. “That wouldn’t help flight,” he countered with the immediate certainty. “It’s got no rigidity.”

We might have continued the debate—I already had three counterarguments forming—but I noticed that Tammy had fallen silent. All three of us turned our attention to her, our newly formed human eyes tracking her movements as she tilted her head in contemplation.

After a moment, she spoke. “Just make a couple changes. The eye and hair color, maybe add a dimple, like this.” She demonstrated by pressing two fingers into her cheeks, creating small indentations in her skin. The gesture was oddly intimate, and I found myself cataloging the exact pressure she applied, the precise depth of the resulting depressions.

“One of you could rock a cleft chin,” she continued, pressing a finger down the line of her chin to demonstrate. Her eyes settled on my face with unexpected attention. “Though I guess Cyro already has that.”

I felt an unfamiliar warmth in my facial region at her focused attention. She even smiled as she lowered her finger from her chin. Despite my earlier error, I seemed to have made amends with this new transformation.

Her expression scrunched slightly as she looked us up and down, her gaze lingering in ways that triggered strange new sensations throughout my manufactured human form. “So, a couple of alien plastic surgery tweaks and you should be good to go in the body disguise department.”

Beside me, Kalith’s face began melting away, one eye slipping down his cheek, the corners of his mouth turning impossibly downward. Tammy stared at him in horror, holding up both hands quickly.

“Stop, put your face back.” She waited for Kalith to comply, and once he did, she sighed. “Just glance back through the magazines and change up your features a little. But maybe do it later, when I’m not in the room. I don’t think my brain can handle more shapeshifting.”

“We will do so,” I nodded, not wanting to bother her badly as I had before. “What else is necessary to assimilate?”

“Well, we need to get you clothes too. It’s cool that you can shape yourselves, so that you don’t look naked, but I really can’t live with perpetually nude aliens.” She bit her lower lip for some reason, seeming to chew on it like she required nutrients. The color of her cheeks deepened.

“But we are donning human attire,” I reasoned, holding up the hem of the button shirt with its wide collar.

“Fake human attire,” Tammy corrected. “Maybe it’s silly, but because I know it’s not real clothing, I can’t stop thinking about you being naked.”

The redness in her face reached a fever pitch.

“Not that I think about you guys naked or anything,” she stammered.

The concept seemed contradictory—we had created the appearance of clothing through our molecular manipulation, yet she classified us as “nude.” Another cultural nuance our television education had failed to cover. I filed the information away, wondering what benefit outside of Tammy’s comfort that real clothing might provide.

When her face had gone deeply crimson, her personal biochemical signature had thickened the air again—that distinctive Omega perfume that had been affecting my sensory receptors since our first encounter. I inhaled deeply, my new human olfactory system less sensitive than my natural one but still capable of detecting the subtle shifts in her scent profile. The sweetness intensified momentarily, carrying notes that indicated a complex emotional state that I couldn’t fully decode. But my body instinctively knew what to do. My reproductive tentacle—now shaped differently, tucked closer to my body and exposed more on the outside at all times—began to lengthen and harden in that telltale way that meant I was attracted to her.

Something profound struck me then, an understanding that transcended objective observation. She was more interesting than all the females of my world. More complex. More contradictory. More... alive. The thought formed with such clarity that it momentarily disrupted my analytical processes.

My brow—this new, limited human brow—furrowed as the implications cascaded through my consciousness. I had spent my entire existence searching for the meaning of life in the universe, traversing a dozen star systems, collecting samples from countless worlds. Always seeking, always analyzing, always believing the answer lay in some grand unifying theory that would reveal itself through rigorous scientific method.

And now, on this barbaric planet, in this primitive dwelling, faced with this contradictory, fascinating creature with her fiery cranial filaments and her complex biochemistry... I was experiencing something dangerously close to meaning. Something that defied quantification or sample collection.

The irony was almost unbearable. That after all my searching through the vast cosmos, I would find something truly worthy of study in such an unlikely place. It must be a cruel joke of the universe—a cosmic punchline at my expense.

She cleared her throat. “So, anyways. If you’re going to stay here, you might as well make yourself useful. I mean, your ship is the priority, but there’s a lot of repairs to be done and, honestly, I’m in over my head here.”

Her mouth curved downward, clearly dissatisfied with herself.

“This can be a mutually beneficial set-up. I scratch your back, and you scratch mine. Hell, maybe we’ll get you back in the air and get me back on track here.”

As Tammy continued speaking, outlining how we were to function while residing at her ranch, I shaped my new human features into what I hoped was an expression of neutral interest rather than the existential crisis brewing beneath. This wasn’t the time for philosophical recalibration. We had practical problems to solve—disguises to perfect, “clothes” to acquire, and a ship to repair.

Yet I couldn’t ignore the uncomfortable truth that had settled into my true triple hearts, now disguised as the singular, inferior beating organ of this species:

Discovering meaning on Earth might be the most disruptive event of my lauded career.

15

KALITH

“Touch nothing” & “break nothing” were both tantamount to “stop breathing”.

Ipaced the small living space, my new human legs still feeling oddly stiff and jointed compared to the fluid grace of my natural tentacles. After hours of studying Tammy’s dwelling, I’d categorized precisely twenty-three mechanical devices whose functions remained mysterious to me. What wonders they might contain! Back home, I’d have dismantled them immediately, but even my excitement couldn’t override the clear warning Tammy had given before departing: “Touch nothing. Break nothing. Learn nothing. Just sit and wait.”

It was like asking me to grow wings and fly instead of swim! A nearly impossible task for someone like me—who’d never met a piece of machinery I didn’t want to strip down to its individual components. My shorter tentacle twitched with nervous energy as I tried to stay still.

The time measurement device on the wall—a “clock,” according to the television programs—had completed three full rotations of its thinnest appendage since Tammy’s departure. Vantor had positioned himself near the transparent wall section, maintaining vigilant observation of the external environment. His human disguise remained perfectly poised, not a molecule out of place. Cyro had settled into what Tammy called a “recliner,” his expression shifting between contemplation and what appeared to be existential distress. Neither seemed as fascinated as I was by the infinite mysteries surrounding us.

“Do you think this device creates artificial climate zones?” I asked, pointing to a rectangular object with numerous small holes and buttons. “Or perhaps it’s for communication with other humans?”

Neither responded. They’d grown tired of my questions approximately one hour and seventeen minutes ago.

The distant rumble of approaching machinery silenced my next inquiry. Vantor’s posture stiffened, his manufactured human muscles tensing beneath his simulated clothing.

“She’s returned,” he announced, unnecessary information since we’d all detected the distinctive sound pattern of Tammy’s vehicle.

I rushed to the window, pressing my face against the transparent barrier. My excitement manifested in an unintended molecular shift—my right hand momentarily reverting to tentacle form before I hastily corrected it. The brief fluidity felt like blessed relief after hours of maintaining rigid human structure.

Tammy emerged from her vehicle carrying multiple large containers. Even from this distance, my enhanced visual acuity detected the shift in her expressions—exhaustion giving way to determination as she approached the dwelling. The sunlight caught her red cranial filaments, igniting them like the bioluminescent plankton fields of Sentari IV. Something in my newly formed chest cavity contracted at the sight.

“Should we assist her?” I asked, already moving toward the door.

“Negative,” Vantor replied. “We maintain position until invited. Tactical advantage remains with her on familiar territory.”

The door swung open before I could protest, and Tammy staggered in under the weight of five bulging containers. Her eyes widened as she took in our altered appearances.

“Wow, see, this works,” she exclaimed, setting down her burdens with a relieved sigh. “You guys look like you could be related to a famous person, but not actually them.”

I preened slightly, pleased that my modifications met with approval. I’d maintained the basic structure of the television human I’d selected but had adjusted the cranial hair to a lighter shade, altered the nasal cartilage by approximately two point eight millimeters, and reduced the prominence of certain facial features. My human shape now looked like what Tammy called a “second cousin” to the original—similar but distinctly different.

“Well, there goes the last of my free capital,” Tammy announced, gesturing toward the containers. “Wally World’s best of the best.”

Cyro’s human eyebrows shot upward. “You’ve visited another world?” His voice carried astonishment. “Your propulsion technology must be considerably more advanced than our briefings indicated. This means our necessary materials must be readily available, or similar enough proponents to modify.”

“And you returned so quickly,” I added, my mind already calculating the impossible velocities required to cross the distance to a reasonable planet suitable to Tammy’s anatomy. “The nearest habitable exoplanet you could visit without specialized equipment would be⁠—"

Tammy’s laughter erupted suddenly, cutting off my calculations. It was that same musical sound from earlier, but fuller now, genuine amusement bubbling up from deep within her. Her entire body participated in the expression—shoulders shaking, eyes crinkling at the corners, respiratory rate increasing by more than a third.

“Oh my God, you guys,” she gasped between bursts of laughter. “Wally World isn’t an actual planet. It’s just what people call Walmart—a big store where you can buy pretty much anything. It’s like... twenty minutes away by car.”

Heat flooded my facial region—another strange sensation of this human form. Back home, embarrassment manifested as a ripple of pale yellow across my mantle, visible but quickly dissipated in the currents. Here, the sensation seemed to linger, trapped beneath the skin with nowhere to disperse.

“Of course,” Cyro recovered first, his innate and often undeserved dignity reasserting itself. “A humorous colloquialism. I was merely testing your reaction.”

“Sure, you were,” Tammy smirked, beginning to remove items from the containers. “Now come see what I got you.”

I approached eagerly, my curiosity overriding my lingering embarrassment. The items she spread across the flat surface were fascinatingly diverse textiles in various configurations, and each were apparently designed for specific body regions.

“These are jeans,” she explained, holding up stiff blue fabric constructs. “And plaid shirts—very Kansas farmer chic. Plus socks, boots, and hats. The basic farm boy uniform.”

“But our forms already include the appearance of clothing,” Vantor noted, gesturing to his perfectly simulated attire. “I quite like this,” he pulled the length of cloth from around his body again, fanning it outward and showing it off.

“So, that’s a cape. And real people only wear things like that on Halloween.” She smirked, shaking her head, swallowing down a laugh.

“I find it appealing,” Vantor mumbled, his voice taking on a surprisingly human quality. Something like… irritation.

“Yeah, but I know you’re actually naked under there,” Tammy replied, her facial skin tinting slightly. “And that’s just... weird. Plus, what if someone touched you and felt that it wasn’t actual fabric? Better to be safe than sorry.”

I reached out, running my fingers over the “jeans” material. The texture was intriguing—coarse yet somehow pleasing, with a complex weave pattern that spoke to sophisticated manufacturing processes. I could spend days analyzing just this single textile variant.

Tammy arranged the items in neat piles, then stepped back, surveying her work. Suddenly, her expression brightened, lips curving upward and eyes sparking with new energy.

“You know what we need?” she said excitedly. “80s makeover music!”

She practically skipped to another corner of the room, retrieving a small rectangular device. Her fingers danced across its surface, and without warning, sound erupted from various points around the room.

The effect was immediate and overwhelming. Waves of organized vibration assaulted my sensory receptors—not unpleasant, but utterly unlike anything on my home world. We had something akin to it, though our “makeover music” relied on pressure wave modulation through water, subtle and felt rather than heard. It was most often gentle, carried on waves. This was... magnificent chaos.

My body responded before my mind could analyze the reaction. The molecular structure I’d so carefully arranged into human form began to move, not according to my conscious commands but to the rhythmic patterns filling the air. My limbs extended and contracted, joints bending in ways human anatomy wouldn’t permit. I felt myself stretching taller, then compressing shorter, my manufactured body flowing like liquid as it sought to express what these sound waves made me feel.

“I like it!” I called out, my voice barely audible over the magnificent din. One arm, overcome with the joy of movement, reverted partially to its natural state—splitting into two tentacles that waved enthusiastically in perfect time with the pulsing beat.

Tammy’s eyes widened, but instead of fear, her expression bloomed into delight. She reached for a control mechanism and increased the sound’s intensity. The vibrations penetrated deeper, resonating with my true form beneath the human disguise.

“Are we under attack?” Vantor shouted, his hands clamped firmly over his auditory receptors.

“I believe it is meant to be enjoyable!” Cyro called back, visibly wrestling with his discomfort.

“Come on,” Tammy said, eyes widening, “You must have music back home. You listen to it. Dance to it. Hold a boombox blasting music over your head while you try to win back the girl.”

“It is tantamount to warfare,” Vantor groaned, shutting his hazel eyes.

“Barbaric. Definitely not meant for mating!” Cyro added, his body coloring going haywire.

“This painful din must cease,” he demanded, his human face contorted into what the television programs had taught me was a grimace. Even in this borrowed form, his military bearing remained unchanged, shoulders squared with precision, stance wide and defensive.

Tammy’s expression fell, joy draining from her features like water seeping through sand. She reached for the control mechanism, reducing the glorious sound to a whisper of its former magnificence. My tentacles drooped in disappointment, molecules reluctantly reshaping themselves back into the approximation of a human arm.

“This is only one of the best songs ever,” she sighed, her finger hovering over the control as if reluctant to silence it completely. The diminished vibrations still pulsed through the room, but muted now, a ghost of their former power.

“It is infernal noise,” Vantor grumbled, lowering his hands from his auditory receptors with visible relief. “And makes it impossible to hear approaching threats.”

Tammy rolled her eyes, a gesture I’d observed thirty-one times since our arrival. According to the television programs, it indicated exasperation or disbelief. “We’re in the middle of nowhere Kansas, Vantor.”

I glanced through the transparent wall panel at the vast expanse of open land surrounding Tammy’s dwelling. Her assessment seemed accurate—no structures visible for considerable distance, minimal signs of other human activity. A strategic location for our unplanned arrival, though I doubted she had selected it with concealing crash-landed aliens in mind.

“From my perspective,” Tammy added, her finger tapping against the music device, “you’re the only threat around.”

My partially reformed human hand twitched at her words, an uncomfortable sensation spreading through my manufactured nervous system. Did she still view us as dangerous, despite our cooperative behavior? My shorter tentacle curled protectively against my simulated torso. Being perceived as threatening was an unusual experience; on our home world, my malformation had always marked me as the one requiring protection.

“We have told you we are not here to harm you,” Vantor pressed, his tone carrying that familiar note of strategic patience he reserved for difficult mission parameters.

“I know, I know,” Tammy replied quickly. “You guys come in peace. Remember that’s what all the aliens say before they attack in films.”

Cyro stepped forward, his expertly shaped human face contorting with confusion. “Movies are fictional like the sitcoms you forced us to observe, yes?”

“Yes. They’re fiction,” Tammy conceded, setting down the music device. “But they might be based off a real story. All the conspiracy theories about Area-51 exist for a reason.”

I watched this exchange with growing fascination. My specialized engineering focus had meant less time studying Earth culture than Cyro had been allocated during mission preparation. My knowledge centered primarily on Earth’s physical composition, atmospheric conditions, and technological development level—not its entertainment constructs or societal paranoia regarding extraterrestrial contact.

“Area-51?” Cyro’s biped features arranged themselves, somehow carrying the same expression he did in his natural form when his mind was trenching deeply into some new scientific mystery he needed to solve. “Our mission briefing contained no data on this designation. It must not be a water-bound facility.”

Tammy’s mouth curved upward at one corner. “It’s this top-secret government facility in Nevada where they supposedly keep all the alien bodies and spacecraft they’ve recovered. Everyone knows about it even though it’s classified. Hell, a bunch of idiots threatened to storm it years ago.”

“If everyone knows about this location, it hardly seems secure,” Vantor observed with professional disapproval.

“That’s not—” Tammy began, then shook her head— “Never mind. The point is, humans are pretty paranoid about aliens coming to invade. All our movies show you guys harvesting organs, probing butts, or stealing our women.”

Beneath the manufactured skin and bones, my tentacles twitched with confusion. “Why would we need human organs? We do not even know if our biology is compatible for lifesaving transplants.” My technical mind began calculating the possibility of cross-species organ donation. If one of our hearts failed us, would the remaining two sync with a human heart? Not without rhythm modulators and larger arterial pathways, I decided.

“Please stop,” Tammy held up both hands, her facial skin flushing that fascinating shade of pink again. “That’s not what I’m saying. I’m just explaining why humans might freak out if they knew you were here. Also, if you guys exist, I’m sure there are also dolphin aliens and tarantula aliens and elephant aliens.” She ticked off the three wild possibilities.

“Dolphins are aliens,” Cyro said with a shrug. “We know this only because our records tracked their migration from the star grouping Delphinus.”

“Shut up. Dolphins are not aliens.” Her mouth gaped, her eyes threatening to bug from her face.

“I believe you are overwhelming her processors, Cyro. Best to give her information slowly or not at all.” Vantor suggested, but Cyro continued anyways.

“Yes, when their planet, much like our own, began to dry, they were forced to leave. The dolphins, as your world calls them, are able to swim through various mediums, even through the hydrogen and helium composition of deep space.”

“Okay, I’m good. I don’t need to know anything else. I’m sure at some point they’ll thank us for the fish and leave again, but until that time comes, I’m just going to think of them as sweet, playful little sea mammals.”

“Sweet is not how I’d describe a dolphin,” Vantor frowned.

Throughout this conversation, the music had continued its soft pulsations in the background, a tempting rhythm calling to my molecules. The reduced volume hadn’t diminished its appeal—only my ability to fully experience it. While Cyro, Vantor, and Tammy discussed dolphins, I found myself drifting closer to the control mechanism Tammy had adjusted earlier.

My fingers connected with the control, turning it in the direction I’d observed Tammy use earlier. Immediately, the glorious chaos rushed back into the room, though not yet at its former magnificence. The effect was instant—my body responding with joyful molecular vibrations that threatened my carefully maintained human disguise.

I danced toward Tammy, my movements fluid in ways no human skeleton would permit. The arm that had already betrayed me earlier fully surrendered to its natural state, tentacles emerging from the elbow down and reaching exuberantly for the music device. I turned the control further, and the magnificent sound swelled to fill every corner of the room.

“Kalith!” Cyro growled.

“Turn it back down,” Vantor ordered.

I spun, four-tentacles-turned-two-arms raising into the air.

“You know what they say,” I called out over the pulsing beat, my face stretching into what I hoped was a proper human smile. “When on Netpox 7, do as the Netpoxians do!”

The idiom made perfect sense to me—Netpox 7 was infamous for its inhabitants’ elaborate sound wave performances that visitors were expected to participate in regardless of ability. But Tammy’s expression suggested my cultural reference might have missed its mark.

It didn’t matter. The music had reclaimed the space, and my body surrendered to its rhythm, molecular structure flowing in defiance of this planet’s rigid expectations. My companions’ protests became distant background noise, drowned beneath the glorious chaos of what Tammy called “80s music.”

A few moments later, Tammy had moved to my side, and she had bent her arms, alternating them up and down, her fists clenched. She cocked her head from side to side and bounced her shoulders. Her fiery hair floated around her delightful human face. And I had a spark of feeling that maybe crashing here wasn’t a bad thing.

Maybe I could get used to this dry planet.

16

TAMMY

Now that they had dimples and rock-hard abs, it was way too easy to forget their real bodies…

My breath came in short gasps as Kalith spun me again across the weathered floorboards of my living room.

I was dancing with an alien.

The makeshift dance floor in the middle of my living area—normally cluttered with farm catalogs and unpaid bills—now witnessed an absurd pairing: a desperate Kansas rancher and a shapeshifter who looked like he’d stepped right out of a cologne advertisement. My hands trembled slightly where they rested against his broad shoulders, the warmth of his skin seeping through shirt that I knew wasn’t real. God help me, I was enjoying this.

“I must stop now,” Kalith announced, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “My three hearts feel odd beating so quickly as one false organ. It is... disorienting.”

Three hearts? The casual revelation stunned me momentarily. Without thinking—without permission—I pressed my palm flat against his chest. 

Beneath my fingertips, I felt it. Not the steady thump-thump of a human heartbeat, but something utterly foreign and mesmerizing. Three distinct rhythms pulsed under my touch, slightly out of sync with each other, creating a fluttering cascade like ripples overlapping in a pond. The sensation reminded me of something I’d read about pregnant Omegas carrying twins—how their heartbeats didn’t fully synchronize, creating that same rolling wave pattern.

“That’s amazing,” I murmured, fascination overriding any sense of propriety. My fingers spread wider, eager to map the territory of this impossible anatomy. What I felt was hard, muscular definition of a very defined man’s chest.

Kalith’s hand—warm and slightly larger than a human male’s of his size should be—suddenly covered mine, pressing my palm more firmly against his chest. The triple beat accelerated under our joined hands. I glanced up to find his eyes—rich brown dotted with gold flecks, set into his borrowed human face—gazing down at me with an intensity that made my stomach flip.

Reality crashed back. I was fondling an alien’s chest in my living room. I jerked my hand away, heat flooding my cheeks as embarrassment washed over me. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have⁠—"

“You do not need to stop touching me,” Kalith said softly, though something sly glinted in his expression. His voice carried that strange echo quality they all had, like someone speaking simultaneously from two throats.

“No, I shouldn’t have... that’s not okay to touch someone without permission.” I stepped back, trying to regain composure. Turning enough so that I could see the other two aliens—currently mimicking insanely attractive human males lounging on my secondhand furniture—I slipped into what I’d come to think of as my “Earth ambassador” tone. “Remember that, okay? You only touch someone after asking, and they say it’s okay.”

The three nodded slowly, eerily in unison, like they shared a neural network.

I rubbed my forehead, feeling the situation’s absurdity afresh. Three days ago, my biggest problem had been convincing Mystery and Sassafras to tolerate each other long enough for breeding. Now I was giving consent lessons to tentacled aliens wearing human skin suits like Halloween costumes.

And, good God, what costumes they’d made for themselves. 

While I’d been gone, they’d done what I’d asked, changing their original shapes into ones that wouldn’t get us followed by paparazzo.

Kalith looked like he should be leading a sexy biker gang, complete with tousled blond hair and a jawline that could cut glass. Cyro had morphed into the hot actor from that Johnny Cash biopic I’d caught on the television last month. And Vantor—well, Vantor had apparently not been able to let go of his superhero physique, but at least now his face shape was softer, with deep dimples and thick brows.

Even though they were no longer the spitting image of famous heartthrobs, I was pretty sure every sane woman who saw them would go into instant heat.

Hell, I was riding the edge of a blistering heat right now, even though my cycle was weeks from due. My Omega nature didn’t seem to give a damn that they weren’t human. My body responded to them like they’d been designed specifically to trigger every biological mating instinct I possessed. The traitorous warmth curling low in my core was proof enough of that.

“So… you guys should get dressed.” I frowned. “Undressed, then dressed.”

The aliens moved toward the pile of clothes. The outfits they were projecting across their human bodies shimmered as they moved.

Vantor picked up a button-down shirt, examining it closely. Then, without warning, he began dissolving the illusion of clothing from his body. First, the projected shirt disappeared, revealing an expanse of chiseled muscle that glistened in the afternoon light filtering through the curtains.

My mouth went dry as the illusion of pants began to dissolve next, the waistband slowly creeping downward… downward… revealing a first peek of dark hair trailing ever lower.

“Wait!” I shouted, finding my voice just before things got X-rated. “You shouldn’t change with me here. Humans only really see one another naked if they’re intimate with one another. Or... I guess if they’re nudists.” A nervous laugh escaped me. “I’m not explaining what nudists are.”

“Human specimens who prefer to be naked?” Cyro offered, his anthropologist’s brain making the obvious connection.

“Right, yes. But we are not nudists on this ranch.” I pointed toward the small bathroom off the hallway. “Vantor can go to the bathroom over there.” I directed my finger down the narrow hallway. “Cyro can use the guest room.” Finally, I gestured toward the kitchen. “And Kalith can take the kitchen.”

They blinked at me, processing this information with those unsettlingly perfect faces. I’m sure they were thinking how absurd it was for me to worry about seeing their fake bodies naked. I knew it wasn’t logical, but I didn’t care. I was already fighting my body’s urges. If I saw them stripped of clothing, I might lose my last threads of control. The three made their clothing selections and began walking to their assigned changing locations.

As Vantor passed by me—too close, definitely too close—his arm brushed against mine. The contact, brief and innocent, sent electricity racing along my nerves. My body’s response was immediate and embarrassing: pulse skyrocketing, skin flushing, and an unmistakable slick warmth between my thighs.

“I’m going to feed the horses,” I blurted, practically lunging for the door. “They’re probably starving.”

I stumbled down the porch steps, the cool evening air a blessed relief against my heated skin. Pressing a hand against my chest, I tried to slow my thundering heart.

“Get it together, Tammy,” I muttered to myself, kicking at a clump of dirt as I headed toward the stables. “They’re aliens. With tentacles. From space.”

But the persistent throb of desire wouldn’t listen to reason. I glanced back at my house, now containing three impossibly attractive not-men changing into actual clothes, and let out a half-hysterical laugh.

“They better fix their ship and leave soon, or I’m going to be the first human ever who asks to be probed.”

Farm life doesn’t pause for alien invasions. The horses still needed to be fed, watered, and exercised, stalls needed mucking, and the smashed barn wasn’t going to magically rebuild itself. I trudged across the yard, toward the now invisible ship. Every step closer to the UFO, though I couldn’t see it, made my mouth go drier and my pace slow.

“Just business as usual,” I told myself, trying to affect a cheery voice and make my legs walk at a reasonable speed. “That barn needed rebuilding anyways.”

Like a middle finger from the universe reminding me that “business as usual” had packed its bags and left Sunflower Hills Ranch, a sudden gust kicked dust up in my face. I blinked rapidly to clear my eyes and spat out debris.

Looking up at the sky, I shouted, “Am I just one big cosmic joke? Is this my life now?”

Of course, the damn sky didn’t answer.

When I reached the ruined building, I found that the entrance had collapsed further, leaving only a narrow gap to squeeze through. I started to push my body into the passageway, then froze.

“You’re an idiot,” I mumbled at myself, pulling myself back out and then walking two feet to the right to begin stepping up and over the piles of rubble. Even though there was no roof, barely walls left to speak of, and splintered wood everywhere, the air smelled differently once I “entered”. There were the expected scents of hay and rust, but also something cleaner and antiseptic. That last clung to my tongue.

I climbed cautiously over a fallen support beam, heading to where I thought I’d stored the feed bags. They should be fine, since I kept them in rugged, plastic containers. The east wall had gotten the brunt of the impact, the dark green bins partially buried under splintered wood and twisted metal roofing. I dug cautiously through the debris, shifting rubble until my fingernails were rimmed with dirt and splinters jabbed my palms.

Finally, I uncovered what I needed for the evening feed since the stable containers were nearly empty. Artie’s special senior blend in the green tub, still mercifully intact despite being pinned under a section of collapsed shelving. The poor old guy needed the extra nutrients and joint supplements mixed in. Next to Artie’s feed was the black tub of premium pellets for Mystery and Sassafras. The broodmare and stud required higher protein content, especially if I was ever going to get them to breed. It would be easier on my pocketbook if that wasn’t the case. Even buying a decent brand, Artie’s food ran me about fifty bucks a pop. The specialized food set me back more than three times that.

Dragging the heavy bins into the cleared-out area around the invisible ship, I flipped the latches and lifted the lids to reveal full feed bags. The last I had for now. I really wasn’t sure how I was going to buy more. My tab at the Feed & Supply had gotten out of control.

Arms loaded down with one of each food type, I made my way to the stables on the other side of the property. I’d been meaning to transfer all the horse food over there, using one of the empty stalls for storage, but I’d kept putting it off. Maybe later, I’d ask Vantor—with all his marvelous muscles—to move the insanely heavy tubs.

The familiar nickers and whinnies greeted me as I approached, and something in my chest loosened. At least the horses weren’t freaking out about our extra-terrestrial visitors anymore. As I pushed into the stables, all three horses pushed their large heads over their respective gates.

“Good evening, you spoiled monsters,” I called as I walked inside, beelining for the back wall and dropping the bags next to the food containers. I’d refill them after I doled out the evening meal of hay. “Sorry about the delay. We had a slight apocalypse situation.”

Mystery tossed his magnificent, ebony head and gave me a look of flat, imperious disdain. I sometimes thought he didn’t like me, instead only tolerating me because I gave him food and shelter. Meanwhile Sassafras, her chestnut face as sweet as ever, nickered eagerly and pressed her body against her gate, trying to get closer to me. She’d follow me into a burning building if she thought I had sugar cubes. Artie stared placidly in my direction, waiting patiently.

I moved to Sassafras first, patting her velvety nose gently. “I know, I know. Mealtime is sacred. Don’t worry, I’ll get us back on track tomorrow. Unless the aliens eat all your food by then. I honestly don’t know what to feed them. Maybe they’d like hay and alfalfa pellets.” I shrugged, realizing I should have gotten more groceries while in town.

Next, I went to Artie, my gaze meeting his patient eyes. I brushed my hand down his mane. “You’re the linchpin, you know. I’d fall apart without you, old timer.”

He was such a gentle horse. Unlike Mystery and Sassafras, I realized, he hadn’t gone completely bonkers over the aliens when they’d first arrived. Thinking back, he’d stood there as they’d surrounded him, like he’d seen enough in his long life that aliens were no more exciting than a fresh apple. Actually, Artie would probably perk up over a Red Delicious or Granny Smith. Squid monsters? Not so much.

When I moved to Mystery, he turned away, showing me his haunches.

“Well, hello to you too,” I joked, not having expected a warmer greeting from him.

I moved through the familiar routine of filling feed bags with fresh hay, cleaning and filling water buckets, checking hooves for any issues, and brushing coats until they gleamed. The repetitive motions soothed my frayed nerves. With each stroke of the brush across Mystery’s muscled flank—though he acted like his normal imperial self, barely looking at me—and with each gentle word murmured into Sassafras’s twitching ear, I felt more grounded, more myself. And I couldn’t forget my old man Artie, who always seemed content just to be alive.

After they’d all eaten, I released them one by one into the pasture. Mystery walked regally through the gate, always acting like king of the castle, while Sassafras pranced through happily, keeping her distance from the larger Quarter horse. Artie lingered next to me for a while after I opened his gate, pressing his rounded side into my body until I scratched behind his ears, then he ambled out at his own leisurely pace, pausing to sniff the morning air before finding his favorite sunny spot.

Back in the stable, I grabbed a pitchfork and the wheelbarrow. The least glamorous part of horse ownership awaited. Mucking out stalls wasn’t fun, but necessary. I attacked the first pile of soiled hay and manure, muscles straining as I lifted it into the wheelbarrow. The physical exertion felt good, mindless and necessary. Bonus, it took my mind off the weird, tentacled aliens that now looked dangerously hot.

“This is how you care for your Earth companions?”

I startled, the pitchfork slipping in my grasp. Standing in the stable doorway were my three visitors, now properly dressed in the Western-style clothes I’d provided. Their human disguises were impeccable in the daylight—almost. Something about the way they stood too still, the way they blinked too infrequently, betrayed their otherness. And, once in a while, a shimmer passed over their skin, and beneath that were colors that did not belong on a human.

I was pretty sure it was Vantor who’d spoken, so I looked at him when I answered.

“Jesus, make some noise when you approach,” I said, pressing a hand to my chest. “And yes, this is part of it. Horses make messes. We clean them up.”

“You are physically laboring for their comfort,” Cyro noted, “yet another reason to believe they are the dominant lifeform.”

“If you go by that logic, then dogs and cats would be dominant too.” I rolled my eyes.

“Do you also handle their excrements and clean their sleeping space?” Cyro lifted an eyebrow, human mouth scrunching.

“Well,” I sighed out, “yes. Cats usually have litter boxes if they’re indoor pets. Dogs have to be taken outside to use the bathroom. In both cases, excrement removal is a human job.”

“I do not understand how humans are the top of Earth’s food chain then,” he said slowly, as if his brain couldn’t compute.

“Cyro, you do not need to analyze everything.” This from Kalith, who curled a hand around Cyro’s newly made shoulder.

“I in fact do need to analyze everything,” Cyro shrugged away from Kalith’s touch. “Are you not intrigued seeing the primitive Earth tool in action?”

Kalith looked sheepish for a moment. “Caught me.”

“Let us cease interrupting her activity.” Vantor told the other two, flicking them both a look that made them fall silent.

“I’m… going to get back to work,” I said slowly, wondering if they’d leave or stay.

They stayed and proceeded to watch with unnerving intensity as I resumed work, their eyes tracking every movement of the pitchfork. After a few minutes, Vantor stepped forward.

“We can assist,” he said.

Before I could respond, something extraordinary happened. Their human arms shifted. The skin rippled like disturbed water, and where two arms had been on each man, multiple tentacles now emerged, still wearing the sleeves of their shirts, which strained to accommodate the change. Look, I’d seen their real bodies. I shouldn’t be surprised by the writhing appendages now on display. Yet, it was still freaky as hell to see a seemingly human man suddenly become part octopus…squid… Eldritch terror.

I stumbled backward, pitchfork clattering to the ground. “What are you⁠—"

But the question died in my throat as I watched them each take one of the three stalls and begin to work. Those tentacles—strong, dexterous, and far more numerous than human limbs—made quick work of the soiled bedding. Kalith’s appendages gripped and scooped with precision. Cyro’s tentacles gathered old hay into a neat pile outside the stall, then snagged fresh hay from the bales I’d stacked in an unused stall. And Vantor, with his massive form, cleared an entire stall in what must have been record time with his bare hands… um… tentacles.

My first instinct was to tell them to hide those alien appendages, to maintain their human appearance completely. But practicality won out over panic. They were doing in minutes what would take me an hour plus.

I leaned against the stable wall, watching in fascination as twelve tentacles worked in perfect harmony. “I wasn’t considering hiring ranch hands,” I said finally, a reluctant smile tugging at my lips, “but maybe that’s because I needed ranch tentacles.”

Kalith’s human face brightened at my joke, his too-perfect teeth gleaming in the stable’s dim light. “That was humorous,” he commented, unnecessarily. I’d have to tell them that body language sometimes made spoken language repetitive.

Their tentacles pushed together, twisting and merging into arms. The scent of their sweat—because apparently squid aliens do sweat—was salty and sweet and a little charred. Caramel, saltwater, and a hint of smoke.

Despite myself, my gaze lingered on the way their forearms glistened where they’d rolled up their sleeves. The tentacles should have repulsed me—they were decidedly not human, after all—but there was something almost hypnotic about their fluid efficiency. And now that they bore human arms again, the vision of tentacles quickly became secondary to rippling muscles. I found myself repeating a mental mantra: They’re octopus E.T.s. Not sexy. Can’t keep them. Must send home.

The mantra weakened with each passing second.

Where could a girl get an intergalactic phone? They could call their home planet for a ride and leave faster. Otherwise…

They wouldn’t even need a trail of peanut butter candy to coax me into a bedroom.

Vantor approached me first, shovel in hand, his tentacles now retracted back into the semblance of human arms. Sweat beaded on his brow, making his impossibly perfect skin glisten heavily. “What else can we assist with?” he asked, voice deep and resonant.

I exhaled slowly, trying to ignore the flutter in my stomach. “Everything,” I breathed out despite myself. Then, collecting my wits, I gestured toward the half-demolished barn and the gleaming spacecraft. “But maybe you should hide your ship first? Besides, I’m used to doing things alone.”

“While you are forced to host us, you do not have to do things alone,” Vantor said. His tone was neutral, his offer clearly based solely on repaying my favor of not turning them into the government to be dissected.

“There are a few repairs I can assist with, aside from fixing the building we damaged,” Kalith added.

“That’s the understatement of the century,” I chuckled.

“I would like to study the equines while we are stranded,” Cyro noted, though I think that was less to help me and more to satisfy his curiosity.

“I’m really in no position to reject help,” I admitted, then nodded. “Okay. Tomorrow, we can start the day out properly. I’ll show you the ropes.”

“What material are these ropes made of?” Kalith asked, a glint in his eye. “Are they organic or inorganic?”

“Not real ropes,” I laughed again, I couldn’t help myself, “It’s just a saying.”

“It is nonsensical,” Cyro observed.

“Yes, just like three aliens crash-landing on a ranch in Kansas,” I volleyed back. “Speaking of, how about we go pile a bunch of tree limbs onto the UFO so the big bad men in black don’t find out you’re here?”

Walking toward the destroyed supply building before they could answer, my brain began imagining what life on the ranch would be like with these three at my side.

Which was ridiculous.

Yet…

I pictured waking up before sunrise, brewing coffee for four, and standing on the porch with them as the sun crested over the horizon. Just me and a trio of Cthulhu aliens in disguise. A pang shot through my heart, thinking about how nice it would feel to not be so damn lonely all the time.

17

TAMMY

No, we don’t eat horses… and we don’t use their fecal matter for fuel.

The morning sun beat down on me as I guided my three very unexpected houseguests across the property. I knew they were aliens, obviously, but every time I glanced back to find them striding across my property looking like New York fashion week runway models—a true feat of handsomeness seeing as they were wearing cowboy chic, not haute couture—my inner Omega conveniently forgot what they truly were: tentacular beings from another world.

Gosh, they looked well rested. I wasn’t sure how. If I’d ended up stranded on a different planet, my anxiety would keep me awake all night. Added to that, they’d stayed up late working on their ship, eventually repairing whatever shield technology made it blend into its surroundings. It was properly fixed this time, so it wasn’t on the fritz the way it had before, seeming to shimmer in and out of existence.

Whereas they looked ready for the catwalk, I looked like roadkill. I’d managed about four hours of fitful sleep after tucking them into my spare bedroom and attic space, my mind churning with equal parts terror and fascination. Now, with first light barely breaking over the horizon, I was giving extraterrestrials a tour of my failing horse ranch. Not exactly how I’d planned to spend my Tuesday. Was it Tuesday? The disappointing days of failure sometimes blurred together. I should probably check the calendar. I could mark a big green box around the day the aliens crash-landed and treat that as the first day of the weirdest chapter of my so far unimpressive life.

I stifled a yawn as I entered the stables. They all followed, boots hitting the ground which somehow felt stranger than the sound of their tentacles moving. When I turned, each of them seemed to vibrate and gather themselves, settling their disguises solidly into place.

“When it’s just me, it’s okay to show your alien sides. But if other humans are here, like my vet might come over to check on Sassafras, then you really have to stay fully disguised. Okay?”

“We understand,” Vantor nodded, “It would be tactically unwise to reveal ourselves to potentially hostile humans.”

“My vet isn’t⁠—”

“Any being of any species on any world can become hostile,” Vantor interrupted firmly.

“Right, I guess that’s true.” I took a deep breath, not liking the thought that my docile, kind-faced vet could turn brutal. “Anyways, the morning feeding routine starts at six,” I explained, gesturing to the worn digital watch on my wrist. “Horses thrive on consistency. Most animals do. They get used to a schedule. I had a beagle as a kid and if his food bowl wasn’t full by exactly eight in the morning and five at night, he’d riot.”

“Ah, like the feeding protocols for our young ones,” Cyro said, nodding knowingly. His human disguise had changed slightly from yesterday, but I couldn’t put my finger on how. There was a little scar through one eyebrow which I thought was new, and his upper lip was more angular. His eyes were still a pale blue that leaned lavender, reminding me of his real body. When his gaze caught sunlight, though, an unsettling metallic sheen came to life.

“Exactly like... whatever you just said.” I walked to the rear of the stables where I’d stored the feed I hadn’t used up yesterday. As I passed their stalls, I greeted Mystery, Sass, and Artie. Cyro, Vantor, and Kalith followed, also acknowledging the horses.

Artie was cool as a cucumber of course, but even Mystery and Sassafras merely perked their ears as the aliens neared them.

“They seem... calmer,” I observed, momentarily forgetting the feed and cautiously approaching Mystery’s stall again. The stallion eyed me with his usual aristocratic disdain but didn’t back away. His gaze flicked to the aliens, and he gave them the same treatment.

At least I wasn’t special. The horse apparently treated everyone that way. Small comfort.

“That is because we are now emitting calming pheromones specifically designed for their species,” Vantor explained matter-of-factly, his stone-carved physique standing ramrod straight. “We can change our outsides, but we can also shift our scents to adapt to an environment and its natives. It is also an offensive advantage.”

I blinked slowly. “Gotcha,” I replied, wondering if the situation was going to get even weirder as time went on. Somehow, I knew the answer was yes. “So, you’re basically walking horse tranquilizers. That’s... convenient, I guess.”

Kalith grinned a crooked, charming smile that made me weak in the knees. Then, one of his human arms split into desert-hued tentacles and he reached out, stroking sucker-ridged skin down Sassafras’s back. I thought she might freak out, but the horse leaned into his touch happily. “We can modulate. Too much would render them unconscious.”

“Let’s avoid that,” I commented, returning to my original task of grabbing the feed and filling the buckets.

I demonstrated how to measure the grain mixture, explaining protein content and nutritional requirements for horses of different ages and activity levels. The aliens absorbed the information with surprising intensity. Cyro’s skin actually rippled with excitement patterns—like goosebumps but somehow more fluid—when we fed the horses. His fingers elongated slightly as he poured the grain into Mystery’s feed bucket.

“This reminds me of a safari I had on Trillidex 8 many star cycles ago,” he said wistfully. “Very few scientists have the honor of hand feeding the Abrax Hexapodas. They are somewhat similar to your Earth horses actually, but they have six legs and two heads.”

“Two heads,” I repeated flatly, unable to compute. I think my mind finally reached the point where it would believe anything—cephalopod aliens, UFOs, two-headed horses. “Sure. Why not?”

Mystery maintained his distance, regarding us haughtily from the back of his stall. Sassafras, on the other hand, pressed her nose against the gate, nickering softly for attention.

“I think she likes us even without the scent modulation,” Kalith said, his hands flexing in that odd way that seemed to betray his tentacular nature.

“She likes food,” I corrected, handing him a flake of hay. “Here, put this in her stall. But watch your fingers—she gets excited.”

As Kalith successfully navigated the hay delivery, I turned to find Vantor studying Mystery with uncomfortable intensity. His eyes narrowed as he examined the horse’s muscular hindquarters.

“No, Vantor, we don’t eat the horses,” I sighed, recognizing that analytical look. “That’s not why we’re feeding them.”

Vantor looked genuinely confused. “We only keep animals caged when we are preparing them for sustenance,” he said, shaking his head. “Caging them for other motives seems oppressive.”

I snorted. “More oppressive than fattening them up for dinner?”

“There is honesty in the arrangement,” he replied with a shrug that seemed too fluid for human shoulders.

Something twisted in my chest. I’d never thought about it that way. My ex used to joke that I was too soft-hearted for ranch life, that I treated the horses more like pets than livestock. Maybe I did. But then again, I wasn’t interested in living by anyone else’s rulebook anymore—terrestrial or extraterrestrial.

“Well, we ride them. We race them. We breed them,” I explained. “Mystery here is—was—going to be my foundation stallion.” I glanced over at Sassafras’s stall. “If I could just get those two to stop hating each other.”

While I was distracted, Cyro had sidled up to Mystery’s stall, mimicking my sugar cube offering technique from yesterday. The stallion snorted dismissively, backing away from the stall door. Not to be deterred, Cyro persisted, his fingers elongating slightly as he extended the sugar cube.

“You must speak their language,” he explained seriously to me, as if I hadn’t spent the last two years of my life with horses. Then, to my absolute horror and amusement, he made a series of whinnying sounds that sounded nothing like a horse—more like a dying accordion crossed with a squeaky door.

Mystery pinned his ears back in annoyance, stomping one hoof against the stall floor.

“I don’t think that’s working,” I said, pressing my lips together to keep from laughing.

“I am merely establishing trust,” Cyro insisted, making another attempt at horse communication that sounded even more ridiculous than the first. “On Trillidex 8, vocal mimicry is the first step to interspecies bonding.”

“Horses are more about body language,” I offered, but he wasn’t listening, continuing his determined efforts. To my surprise, after several minutes of this bizarre serenade, Mystery cautiously stretched his neck forward, accepting the sugar cube with reluctant dignity.

“See?” Cyro turned to me triumphantly. “Success!”

His victory was short-lived, however. When Kalith casually walked over and began to stroke Mystery’s head without any issue, the stallion leaning into his touch like they were old friends, Cyro’s face fell into a scowl. Even I was taken aback. That horsey traitor hadn’t warmed up to me, and we’d been together for eons (or, at least, that’s what it felt like).

“Some people just have a way with animals,” I said, patting Cyro’s shoulder to comfort him. His skin felt oddly warm beneath my palm, almost vibrating with some internal energy.

“I have studied a dozen different planetary ecosystems,” Cyro muttered, watching Kalith and Mystery with narrowed eyes. “I have documented over three thousand species.”

“And I’m sure you’re very good at it,” I reassured him, wondering if alien scientists had egos as fragile as human ones. Based on the way he was pouting, I guessed the answer was yes.

“I just executed a perfect Hexapoda greeting call,” he insisted.

“Which might explain why Mystery didn’t like it,” I pointed out gently. “Wrong species.”

That got a small smile out of him, his metallic eyes catching the light as he turned to me. For a brief moment, I caught a glimpse of something beneath the human disguise—an intelligence both alien and familiar, curious and ancient.

My phone alarm chirped in my pocket. “Time to move on,” I announced, pulling away from Cyro’s gaze. “Next up on Alien Farm Tour 101: the exciting world of horse manure management.”

They all perked up at this, exchanging glances that suggested horse waste might be more interesting to them than I could possibly imagine.

God help me.

I led the aliens around the back of the stables to a sectioned-off area where a massive pile of horse manure and soiled bedding steamed gently in the morning air. The smell hit like a physical wall—rich, pungent, and undeniably agricultural. I’d gotten used to it over time, but I still caught myself breathing through my mouth as I gestured grandly to what was essentially a mountain of shit. “And this,” I announced with mock ceremony, “is where all the horse droppings go. The compost pile. Glamorous, isn’t it?”

The three aliens exchanged glances, their human forms momentarily betraying them. A subtle ripple of movement passed beneath Vantor’s skin, while Cyro’s fingers elongated slightly before snapping back to human proportions. Kalith’s eyes blinked with a double set of lids—a quick horizontal flick that would have been easy to miss if I hadn’t been watching.

“You collect their fecal matter?” Cyro asked, his head tilting at an angle that seemed just slightly beyond human neck flexibility. He scanned the property with those eerie metallic eyes. “I do not see fields to be fertilized on your terrain.”

“Is it for fuel?” Kalith asked, leaning down toward the steaming pile.

His torso stretched in a strange, not-quite-human way as his disguise fractured, his spine extending several inches longer than any human’s possibly could. I glanced around nervously, grateful that my nearest neighbors were miles away.

“We experimented with organic fuel sources fifty star cycles ago,” he continued, seemingly oblivious to his anatomical slip-up. “It was sustainable, but we could not eliminate the smell.”

I laughed, more from nerves than actual humor. “Shit-propelled starships. Probably was like a space port-a-john.”

Three pairs of confused eyes turned to me.

“Like the bathroom inside,” I clarified, pointing back toward the house. “Where you go to relieve yourselves. But a port-a-john can be moved to different locations. What do you have on your planet?”

The aliens’ human skin shimmered and shifted, tanned areas giving way to pale, then settling back into a golden-kissed hue. It was like watching a chameleon trying to match a moving background, never quite settling on the right pattern.

“We do not think of such things,” Cyro finally said after what seemed like an uncomfortable silence. “We simply return our byproducts back to the waters.”

“Note to self,” I cringed, taking a step back, “don’t take you guys to a public pool.”

Vantor’s brow furrowed. “Is a public pool similar to our communal breeding waters? Where your species procreates en masse?”

I choked on nothing but air. “No! God, no. It’s where people swim. For recreation. No breeding.” I waved my hands frantically. “Zero breeding. And, again, zero way I’m taking you within a hundred feet of a public pool.”

“Fascinating,” Cyro murmured, clearly filing away this information for future reference. “Your species has designated non-breeding water recreation zones.”

“Let’s just... move on,” I suggested, desperate to change the subject before I learned more about alien toilet habits or breeding waters than I could mentally handle. “There’s more to see.”

I led them past the compost pile to the paddock area, a series of connected enclosures with various types of fencing. “This is where the horses get their exercise when they’re not in the pasture. Back in its heyday, the ranch had dozens of horses. I obviously don’t, so I’ve not seen the need to fix up the fencing here. Someday, maybe, if I win the lottery.”

“Does she mean a lottery like on our world?” Kalith whispered to Cyro, clearly not understanding how well sound carried in the open air. “Do you recall when Vantor entered each time for several star cycles and was finally chosen by that female?”

“I had never seen Vantor look so scared,” Cyro nodded, his face splitting into a grin.

Vantor’s human face darkened, a flush spreading across his cheeks in unnatural patterns that reminded me of an octopus changing colors. “She attempted to consume my reproductive appendage,” he muttered defensively. “We were not compatible.”

I nearly tripped over my own boots. “Okay! Moving right along!” I clapped my hands together and quickened my pace. “This storage shed is full of old gardening tools, but I don’t garden. Over there is an equipment barn with one working tractor, one not working tractor, and a bunch of attachments. No idea what they’re for, but they exist.”

As we walked, I pointed out various features of the ranch, like the riding ring where I’d hoped to show off my breeders if the ranch ever truly got up and running. Prospective buyers always wanted to see that the foals would come from good, strong stock. Lineage papers were great, but there was nothing quite like seeing a magnificent horse in action. I took them over to the small creek that ran along the property line providing natural water if I ever wanted to get the irrigation system back in order, and the overgrown trails that wound through the back acreage. With each stop, the aliens asked questions that veered between surprisingly insightful and completely absurd. I didn’t answer them, but they didn’t seem to care.

“Do all Earth females maintain territory alone? Is this a matriarchal society?” from Cyro.

“Are you able to asexually reproduce if you continue an isolated lifestyle?” Cyro.

When we ended the grand tour at the machinery building, the trio pushed inside without invitation. I entered, finding them hovering around the ancient John Deere.

“That’s the working tractor,” I commented.

“Can I disassemble whatever a tractor is?” Kalith asked, his fingers already twitching toward the machinery.

“No,” I said firmly to the last question, pulling Kalith away. “That stays in one piece.”

He looked disappointed but nodded. “I understand. It is primitive technology, but clearly precious to you.”

I bit my tongue. It was a piece of crap, older than I was, and I hadn’t even used it yet. I only knew it turned on; the sellers had said they’d leave all the ranch equipment as a buying bonus. What they didn’t say is they’d left all their junk and made it all seem like a gift. But I might need it eventually, and replacing it wasn’t in my nonexistent budget.

“Well, that’s the whole of it.” I shrugged, walking back out of the equipment building. “It’s not much, but it’s mine. At least, it’s mine until the bank takes it back.”

“You have mentioned your financial woes before,” Cyro spoke, “Is it consuming you?”

“Well, when you’re on the verge of losing your home, you tend to worry a lot.” A wave of emotion flooded me, and I looked up at the hot afternoon sun, blinking back dampness. Crying solved nothing.

“We understand your situation.” Kalith sounded sad. “We are here for samples in hopes of repairing our oceans.”

“I’m sorry,” I stuttered out, feeling awkward. How could I compare losing this ranch to losing an entire world?

Cyro’s eyes met mine, and something passed between us—a moment of understanding, perhaps, or simple curiosity. “We appreciate your hospitality, Tammy Tucker. Not all species would be so accommodating to unexpected visitors.”

“Well,” I sighed, looking around at my rundown ranch with its leaning buildings and overgrown pastures, “hospitality might be the only thing I have in abundance right now.”

“You also have us now,” Kalith beamed at me. “Give us a few days and we’ll have this ranch brand new.”

Three aliens disguised as humans stood near me, gazing out at my failing ranch with what seemed like genuine interest. My life had taken a turn toward the bizarre, and yet somehow, standing there with them felt oddly right. Less lonely. Less worried. Less expecting the sky to fall down on me, because it already kind of had.

“I’m glad you crash-landed in Kansas,” I said absentmindedly.

But… I meant it.

And I wasn’t sure if that was comforting or terrifying.

18

TAMMY

Once upon a time, I’d thought Derek was the kind of Alpha that any Omega would want. Now, I saw that he was less of a man than three aliens wearing human meat suits.

Late afternoon light spilled across my porch steps as I sat in the old rocker with my boots propped up on the smooth, splinter-free railing. Kalith had rescued the chair from the belly of the equipment barn, quickly repairing it to a useable state. I hadn’t even known there was furniture abandoned behind the tractors beneath faded tarps. A few hours of exploration, and the aliens were discovering things I’d missed despite having been here for much, much longer.

It was mind boggling how quickly they were making progress. Kalith seemed to be able to fix anything. Cyro was making wondrous strides with the horses. And Vantor… well, all he cared about was “strengthening the defensive capabilities” of the property.

I was nursing a lukewarm beer and watching three hot-as-heck aliens renovate my ramshackle ranch. If someone had told me a week ago that extraterrestrial cephalopods would be my salvation, I’d have laughed myself sick. Yet there they were—Cyro, Kalith, and Vantor—their forms moving with inhuman efficiency as they transformed my property in ways I’d only dreamed about. Honestly, I think part of me was expecting to lose the place any day, so putting my heart into repairs felt painful.

At one point, I had tried to help them. Honestly, I’d gotten in their way.

Down in the paddock, Cyro was leading Mystery in gentle circles, the stallion’s ears perked forward with interest instead of pinned back in disdain. One of Cyro’s tentacles was arched over the Quarter Horse, scratching behind his right ear. My jaw had nearly hit the porch floorboards the first time I noticed Mystery trailing after him like some besotted puppy. That horse had spent months treating me like I was invisible at best, contemptible at worst. Now here he was, practically nuzzling an alien’s palm for attention.

“How did you do that?” I’d asked earlier, when I first witnessed the miracle.

Cyro had simply shrugged, his human shoulders moving with that too-fluid grace. “I learned to speak his language correctly. Kalith may have luck, but I have learning.” Then he’d made that ridiculous whinnying sound again, and—impossibly—Mystery had responded with a soft nicker.

I took another swig of beer, wondering if I’d somehow slipped into an alternate dimension where everything made sense in the most nonsensical way possible.

Across the yard, Kalith was half-hidden inside the supply barn as he repaired the extensive damage. His human disguise was less controlled than the others, revealing all his forest-green tentacles as he worked. He’d been at it since mid-morning, using some kind of material he’d retrieved from their cloaked ship—a substance that looked like shimmering putty but hardened instantly into something stronger than concrete. The entire north wall, which had been one stiff breeze away from total collapse, now stood straight and solid. Soon, he’d have the other four solidly in place, I was sure.

When I’d peeked in earlier, he’d been humming something that sounded like whale song crossed with a dial-up modem, his hands—occasionally splitting into tentacles when he thought I wasn’t looking—moving with practiced precision.

“This compound mimics your wooden structures but has five times the tensile strength,” he’d explained enthusiastically. “It will self-repair minor damage and resist your weather patterns for approximately fifty Earth years.”

“That’s... convenient,” I’d managed to reply, wondering how much a contractor would charge for alien building materials. Forget pine and cedar, this was intergalactic platinum diamond alloy. I mean, it probably wasn’t that at all, but it sounded weird and expensive.

Now, as the sun hovered halfway between afternoon and evening, I found myself relaxing into daydreams.

Visions of Sunflower Hills brought to life.

Foals prancing around the pastures.

Money in the bank, food on the table.

No more Derek telling me I wasn’t good enough.

I smiled, taking another long draw on the bottle neck. The beer slipped easily down my throat, sloshing comfortingly in my stomach. My gaze continued to rove over the property.

There was Vantor in the distance, moving along the western fence line with methodical efficiency. His human form was too good. Every time I looked at him, I felt tingling in places I shouldn’t. My body didn’t even care that right now his tentacles were extending, betraying his alienness. His confidence and commanding presence made him even more attractive. Earlier, he’d examined the rotting posts and rails with abject horror.

“This is inadequate protection,” he’d declared, sounding personally offended. “A juvenile Kraxnar could breach this barrier.”

I hadn’t asked what a Kraxnar was. Some questions were better left unanswered when dealing with aliens.

Now the entire western boundary gleamed with freshly repaired fencing, each post set perfectly straight, the wire tight enough to play like guitar strings. At the rate they were going, my entire ranch would be transformed by the end of the week.

A dangerous bubble of hope expanded in my chest. For the first time since I’d signed the mortgage papers, I allowed myself to imagine success.

The fantasy of everything turning out right felt so real I could almost taste it—sweet and tangy, like the first bite of a fresh apple. Maybe I wouldn’t fail after all. Maybe this crazy cosmic accident was the universe finally cutting me a break.

The crunch of tires on gravel shattered my reverie.

I bolted upright, dropping the beer bottle. It tipped over, contents foaming onto the porch. No one ever came out here. Not since I’d stopped answering calls from friends who were tired of hearing about my ranch problems. Not since I’d scared off the last feed delivery guy by crying when he asked how business was going.

“Someone’s coming!” I yelled, scrambling down the porch steps, my pulse slamming in my throat. The driveway curved through a stand of cottonwoods, blocking my view of the approaching vehicle. “Make sure you look human!”

My head darted left and right, and I watched in horrified fascination as all three aliens visibly shuddered. Their forms briefly wavered like heat mirages before solidifying fully into their human disguises. Tentacles vanished, skin tones stabilized, and extra joints disappeared with sickening little pops.

A sleek black pickup truck finally came into view, its glossy paint job reflecting the sun above and casting blinding rays. My stomach dropped to somewhere around my ankles as I recognized the custom grille, the oversized tires, the pretentious chrome detailing.

Derek freaking Morgan.

My ex-fiancé, local ranching golden boy, and the human embodiment of every bad decision I’d ever made. I loathed him. I felt nothing these days but hatred toward him, and disgust toward myself for loving him for so long.

“Shit,” I whispered, feeling my newfound hope crumble like stale bread. What was he doing here? Coming to gloat? To make another lowball offer on my property? To remind me that I was “playing cowgirl” while he ran a “real business”?

I glanced back at the aliens, who had paused in their work and were now watching with unsettling intensity. Something in their stance had shifted—shoulders broader, spines straighter, jaws set at angles that looked almost predatory. Even from a distance, they seemed to sense my distress. They began to approach, moving with synchronized purpose that reminded me they weren’t just odd-looking humans but members of a different species entirely.

“Get out of sight!” I shouted, looking at each of them in turn and shooing them away with quick hand motions. They didn’t immediately comply, so I repeated my command. “Get. Out. Of. Sight!”

My breath caught as I watched them all seem to melt down, flattening against the ground. Sure, that was a totally human thing to do.

I squared my shoulders and forced my leaden feet to carry me down the drive toward Derek’s approaching truck. Whatever he wanted, I couldn’t let him see my fear. Couldn’t let him know how close I was to losing everything. Couldn’t let him discover that my ranch hands were actually extraterrestrials who could probably turn him inside out if they wanted to.

Though that last thought did bring a small, vindictive smile to my face as I walked to meet my past.

Derek Morgan slid from his truck with the practiced ease of a man who’d never doubted his welcome anywhere. His boots hit the gravel with a deliberate crunch, and that familiar smile—the one that had once made my heart skip but now made my skin crawl—spread across his face like oil on water. He’d dressed for the occasion in what I called his “gentleman rancher” outfit: pristine jeans with a razor-sharp crease, a Western shirt so crisp it could probably stand up on its own, and a hat that cost more than my monthly mortgage payment.

“Well, well, sugar,” he drawled, his practiced southern accent thicker than molasses in January. “Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

I crossed my arms over my chest, suddenly aware of my dirt-smudged jeans and sweat-stained t-shirt. “What do you want, Derek?”

His eyes, always cold and calculating despite their warm brown color, slid past me to take in the ranch. For a brief second, surprise flickered across his face as he noticed the in-progress repairs to the barn, the straightened fence line, and Mystery trotting contentedly in the paddock nearer to Sassafras than ever. I savored that momentary crack in his facade; the tiny tell that he’d expected to find everything falling apart.

“Just checking in on my favorite little cowgirl,” he said, recovering quickly. “Looks like you’ve been busy around here.” He gestured toward the barn. “That’s some mighty fine carpentry. How’d you afford it?”

“That’s none of your business,” I seethed, crossing my arms.

Derek chuckled, a sound as hollow as his compliments. “Now, now. That’s a matter of opinion, Tam-Tam.” His gaze shifted to something over my shoulder, and his smile faltered slightly. “Didn’t realize you’d hired help.”

I didn’t need to turn around to know the aliens had decided to come out of hiding. I could feel that they were closing in behind me. My Omega recognized them by smell and instinct. When they stopped approaching, I wanted to look back and reach for them, but I steeled myself and kept facing my asshole ex.

“They’re friends,” I said simply, because what else could I say? “They’re staying with me for a while.”

“Friends, huh?” Derek’s smile tightened. “Well, ain’t that interesting. My buddy Jason down at First Kansas Savings was just telling me about your situation.” He lowered his voice to a faux-whisper. “Said you’re months behind on payments. Said they’re starting to talk foreclosure. Guess it’s more than just talk, seeing as they’ve sent you a couple notices.”

My cheeks burned with humiliation. Of course, Derek would have banking connections. Of course he’d use them to monitor my failure.

“Your point?” I managed through gritted teeth.

He spread his hands in a gesture of false generosity. “No point, sugar. Just concerned is all. This cute little project of yours—” he swept his arm to encompass the whole ranch, “—it’s admirable how you’re trying so hard. But we both know you’re in over your head.”

Now, I did feel the aliens move to stand close to me. I turned my head slightly, catching glimpses of them arranging themselves—Vantor slightly to my left, Kalith to my right, Cyro directly behind me. My personal alien bodyguard triangle.

Derek’s gaze flickered between them, his brow furrowing slightly as he took in their size, their silent intensity. I tilted my head, looking upward and seeing Cyro’s body stretched taller than usual. I looked left, then right, noting that all of them seemed to have made themselves bigger and more intimidating.

“Who did you say these fellas were again?” he asked, a new edge in his voice.

“My friends,” I said again firmly. “They’re helping me get this place back on track.”

Derek took a step closer, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. “Look, Tammy, we both know where this is headed. You’ve got what, a couple weeks before the bank calls it in? Less, if they get antsy?” His eyes gleamed with something predatory. “I could buy this place for ten cents on the dollar at auction, but out of respect for our... special connection, I’m willing to make you a fair offer now. Save you some dignity.”

I felt a subtle shift in the air around me—an almost imperceptible change in temperature and pressure. The alien presence behind me seemed to intensify, like storm clouds gathering charge before lightning strikes.

“There’s nothing special about our connection,” I spat. “There never was.”

Derek’s eyes narrowed, but he pressed on. “Don’t be like that, darling. We had something good. Could have it again.” His gaze slid from me to the ranch house, then back. “You weren’t meant for this life, Tammy. All this hard work, all this...” he wrinkled his nose slightly, “...dirt. You were meant to be taken care of. To be shown off.”

“You mean to stand there and look pretty?” I quoted his favorite phrase back at him.

A muscle in his jaw twitched. “There are worse things.”

“Yeah, like being with you.”

His practiced smile slipped for a moment, revealing the coldness beneath. “You always did have a smart mouth.”

Behind me, I heard a sound like fabric stretching—the soft, wet sliding of something that wasn’t entirely solid anymore. I didn’t dare turn around, but I could feel the aliens struggling to maintain their human forms in response to my distress.

Derek noticed too. His eyes widened slightly as he focused on something just over my left shoulder. Whatever he saw there made him take an involuntary step back.

“Your new friends are... interesting,” he said, his voice tighter than before.

I risked a quick glance to my left and nearly gasped. Vantor’s human disguise was intact, but only just. His skin rippled with suppressed colors—deep burgundy and flashes of orange visible just beneath the surface, like magma under thin rock. His frame had expanded slightly, making him tower over me, and his eyes had that metallic alien sheen.

I turned back to Derek, who was now actively backing toward his truck. “They’re very protective,” I said, allowing a small smile.

Derek’s eyes darted between the three aliens, thinly masked, genuine unease replacing his usual arrogance. For once in his life, Derek Morgan didn’t seem to know what to say.

“Think about my offer,” he finally managed, reaching his truck and yanking the door open. “I’ll buy it off you, we can go back to how things used to be.”

I felt a surge of something fierce and hot in my chest—not just anger, but a new kind of strength, bolstered by the silent, solid presence of my alien companions.

“In your dreams,” I said, the words sharp and clear.

Derek forced a laugh, but it sounded brittle. “Baby, you're playing house on borrowed time. You know where to find me when this all falls apart,” he called, climbing into his truck. The door slammed with finality, the engine roared to life, and he executed a hasty three-point turn, gravel spraying from beneath his tires as he accelerated back up the driveway.

I watched his taillights disappear through the trees, my body humming with adrenaline and something that felt suspiciously like victory.

The sound of Derek’s truck faded into the distance, but the echo of his words remained, ringing in my ears with cruel persistence. The momentary triumph I’d felt watching him retreat drained away like water from a cracked basin, leaving me hollow. I stood frozen in the driveway, my body suddenly too heavy to move, my chest constricted as if iron bands had wrapped themselves around my ribcage, squeezing tighter with each breath. Shadows seemed to build around me, and something inside me—something I’d been holding together with duct tape and sheer stubbornness—finally broke.

The first tear slipped down my cheek before I could stop it, hot and shameful. Then another. And another. Until they were falling in earnest, my vision blurring as my carefully constructed walls crumbled.

“Tammy?” Cyro’s voice came from somewhere to my right, uncertain and concerned.

I couldn’t answer. Couldn’t even look at them. Every fear I’d been suppressing rushed to the surface at once—the impending foreclosure, the failing breeding program, the dwindling bank account, the crushing loneliness of fighting this battle alone. Derek’s smug certainty that I would fail echoed in my mind, and the worst part was that some small, traitorous part of me believed him.

What if he was right? What if this was all just delaying the inevitable? The aliens would leave eventually. They’d fix their ship, collect their water samples, and disappear back into the stars. And I’d be alone again, just the owner of a half-fixed ranch I couldn’t afford to maintain and horses I couldn’t afford to feed.

I heard the aliens exchanging words in their own language—a series of wet clicks and undulating tones that sounded like whale song and electronic music had a baby. I didn’t like when they did that. I wanted to know what they were saying. I only understood when they spoke aloud and the translator did its magic, delivering words to my ears and brain.

Through my tears, I saw them gesturing to one another, seemingly at a loss for how to respond. Their bodies sparked with tiny lights. Stars across their bodies even in daytime. It was like they carried the universe with them. They couldn’t stay on Earth. It wouldn’t be natural.

“Should we...” Kalith began, his voice trailing off uncertainly.

“On our planet, such distress would require—” Vantor started.

“Yes,” Cyro interrupted, his voice firm with sudden decision.

I wiped futilely at my cheeks, embarrassment burning through me. “I’m sorry,” I managed, my voice catching on the words. “I don’t usually⁠—”

The words died in my throat as I felt something warm and impossibly gentle brush against my cheek. I was glad for the interruption. It was best that I didn’t finish the lie.

I blinked through tears to find Cyro standing before me, his human disguise partially dissolved around one arm. A slender, iridescent tentacle had extended from where his wrist should be, its tip delicately catching a teardrop as it rolled down my face.

I froze, my breath catching.

“On our world,” he said softly, his voice reverent, “such moisture is sacred.”

The tentacle withdrew, cradling the tear as if it were a precious gem. His metallic eyes met mine, and I saw something profound in their depths—not pity, but a kind of solemn respect.

Kalith stepped forward next, his human form similarly melting away around one hand. A forest-green tentacle uncoiled with surprising grace, reaching out to gently collect another tear from my other cheek. “Water is life,” he murmured. “And these waters come from your essence.”

Before I could process this, Vantor joined them, a burgundy-hued tentacle extending to brush softly beneath my eye. “In our deepest rituals,” he explained, his usually stern voice gentled, “we share the waters of our beings.”

I stood motionless as their tentacles moved with incredible tenderness across my face, gathering my tears with reverent care. The sensation was unlike anything I’d ever experienced—warm and slightly textured, the sucker ridges softened and careful against my skin. It should have been terrifying or disgusting or at least deeply weird. Instead, it felt... sacred. Like they’d said.

“What happens to them?” I whispered, watching as the tentacles curled protectively around their collected tears.

Cyro’s human face softened into a smile that seemed more genuine than any he’d shown before. “We absorb them,” he said simply. “They become part of us, as your kindness already has.”

As if to demonstrate, the tentacles slowly retracted, the tears disappearing into their alien flesh. For a moment, their skin glowed faintly where the tears had been absorbed—subtle, shimmering patterns that reminded me of starlight on water.

I looked up at them through the last of my tear-blurred vision, struck by the tenderness in their strange eyes. Beautifully half human and half alien. For a moment, we stood together in silence. The strange, intimate ritual felt odd performed in the open with sunlight pressing down on our bodies.

From the paddock, I heard Mystery’s soft nicker and Sassafras’s answering whicker. The sound of them pulled me back into reality. I glanced over to see both horses standing at the fence, watching us with unusual stillness, as if they too sensed the importance of the moment.

The last of my tears dried, leaving behind that peculiar hollowed-out feeling that comes after a good cry. But a wondrous other sensation remained as well. It was warm and solid, like a small ember glowing in my chest.

“Thank you,” I said simply, because what else could you say after aliens collected your tears as part of a sacred rite?

Cyro nodded, his human disguise settling back into place, though his eyes retained that metallic alien gleam. “It is we who thank you, Tammy Tucker. Not all beings would welcome strangers so different from themselves.”

“Or share their water essence so freely,” added Kalith with a crooked smile.

I straightened my shoulders, drawing in a deep breath that seemed to fill the hollow spaces inside me. “I’m not going to let that dickhead get to me again,” I said, and was surprised to find I meant it. “Derek Morgan can take his offer and shove it up his⁠—"

“Bodily waste orifice?” Vantor suggested helpfully.

A startled laugh burst from my throat, the sound strange after so many tears. “Something like that,” I agreed.

The sun hung a little lower now, the day far from young but hours from done. The ranch stretched around us, its familiar shape changed, not just by the aliens’ handiwork, but also by my resolve to never let Derek get under my skin again.

Like Sunflower Hills, I wasn’t perfect, not totally fixed, but... I was different. Would this feeling stay tomorrow? I knew from experience that life could shift in seconds, yet it all felt so miraculously unexpected.

Cosmically unexpected, I corrected, staring at the aliens.

“Thank you for everything you’ve already done,” I said, my voice stronger than before. “For the first time in ages, I feel like tomorrow won’t be so bad.”

They smiled at me, human mouths lifting. Their eyes warmed, silvery sheens gleaming. I felt something shift and settle into place: a certainty that whatever happened next, I wasn’t facing it alone.

19

TAMMY

I wanted to wash Derek’s visit from my brain. Yet every time I tried to mentally shower, that asshole stepped right into the water with me.

Derek's truck had disappeared down my driveway hours ago, but the aftertaste of his visit lingered. I sat on my now level porch steps, arms wrapped around my knees, watching as the setting sun painted the landscape in riotous hues. The beer bottle was still tipped over behind me on the porch, its spilled contents long dry.

Watching my property at the end of the day wasn’t like before though, when the golden light spilled over the derelict buildings and the fences I couldn’t afford to fix. The aliens had repaired so much in the short time since they’d crash-landed. Even the still somewhat shabby parts looked like hope made visible. My gaze roved over everything, and my entire body ached.

This was a fleeting beauty. Barely two weeks from foreclosure, still one bad month from becoming another Derek Morgan acquisition. If only the bank could see it like this, bathed in glorious light, the transformation in progress. A little longer, and a little more cash. That’s all I needed. Sunflower Hills could look like something out of a country living magazine if the universe would just give me a break.

Hasn’t it already? My brain pulsed. Didn’t that break ruin your supply barn?

A fresh wave of melancholy washed over me. For all the alien help, for all their technological wonders and inexplicable abilities, Derek's visit had sucked me right back into the headspace I’d had before leaving him.

Feeling like a decorative, useless ornament meant to hang on his arm and look pretty.

God, he'd always had that effect, reducing me to the sum of my failures with just a few carefully chosen words and that practiced, pitying smile. I seemed to wilt inside whenever he gave me that sort of “sounds loving but is actually cruel” brand of attention.

"You're playing house on borrowed time." His voice echoed in my head, the drawl thicker in memory than it had been in person. I pressed my palms against my eyes, trying to physically push the thought away.

The sunset deepened, pink and purple tendrils fingering through the remaining blue sky. Even as my chest ached with uncertainty, the view soothed me. This was my ranch. It may be failing, soon foreclosing, parts of it still a mess, but it was mine. For now.

Movement in the distance called my attention, pulling me away from quickly worsening thoughts.

The alien trio had spread out across the property after dinner, each returning to their self-appointed tasks. Kalith tinkered with their UFO. Cyro was in the stables observing the horses—he’d found a book on Jane Goodall in the house and now insisted he could assimilate with the equines. And Vantor was reinforcing the perimeter for the third time, or maybe fourth time.

I stood up, deciding to head inside for a much-needed glass of anything alcoholic. Just as my hand touched the screen door, my nose caught wind of a scent that didn’t belong. At first, I thought it was just coming from something Kalith was doing. Maybe welding some strange galactic alloy inside the ship. But as my gaze searched the land, skimming over my truck, the stables, the well that was now working better than ever, I saw something that made my pulse quicken and my heart free-fall into my belly.

Smoke.

A flicker of unmistakable orange licking upward that did not belong among the sunset colors.

Fire.

The pasture next to the stable paddock was on fire.

The dry grass there, too poor for grazing, was aflame.

My heartbeat stuttered, then slammed against my ribs as the flames leapt up the side of the gate between the two cordoned areas. In the split second before I moved, I registered everything with crystal clarity. It wouldn’t take long for that fire to spread to the greener pasture. For it to get nearer and nearer the stables. The stables. Where the horses were. Where Cyro was. Where my future might truly go up in smoke. Shit, I’d never bought new fire extinguishers. There was one in almost every building, but they were ancient. A decade old. They wouldn’t work. God! They wouldn’t work! How could I let something so important fall to the wayside?

"Fire!" I screamed, already moving, my feet pounding against the hard-packed, rock littered earth as I sprinted across the yard. "Help! Fire!"

The horses must have sensed the danger now. I heard them braying and whinnying in panic. Cyro shouted, but I couldn’t make out his words. I kept running, thighs burning, lungs searing, mind imagining the worst outcome.

"I'm coming!" I screamed to them, as if they could understand, as if my voice could protect them from the hungry orange tongues licking up the fence posts and now spilling across to the other side of the barrier. “Don’t be scared!”

The fire moved impossibly fast, a trail of fire snaking across the grass as if someone had dumped kerosene across the pasture. It was getting dangerously close to the side of the stables.

I was halfway across the yard when movement erupted from three different directions. Cyro and Kalith both launched out of the supply barn. Cyro wasn’t in the stables. He wasn’t with the horses. I was both relieved, and anxious. At least if he were with Mystery, Sass, and Artie, they wouldn’t be so alone, so terrified. Vantor was also sprinting toward me from the direction of the machinery building, his human disguise rippling slightly as he exerted himself.

Arriving at the stables first, I tore the doors open. Mystery and Sassafras were slamming their bodies into their gates, desperate to get away from the approaching danger. My eyes widened when I saw that, somehow, the fire had already spread inside the building. Smoke spilled from the rearmost stall.

Mystery reared back, his powerful forelegs slamming into his gate and nearly knocking it off its hinges. I should save Sassy first; she was the most expensive. Then Mystery. But I grabbed a lead off a wall hook, and my heart took me to Artie first, where he stood frozen with his body crammed into a corner of his stall. His ears were pinned back, tail tucked between his back legs, body shaking.

I heard the aliens tumble into the stables, but I didn’t turn around. “Get Mystery and Sassafras out of here!” I screamed, approaching Artie slowly. “It’s okay, honey. You’re fine. Let’s get you out of here.”

Where should I take him? Where would be safest?

The flames were spreading faster than I'd thought possible, crackling and spitting as they devoured the stables. Smoke billowed upward, black against the ceiling. I coughed, the noxious fog invading my lungs.

“Let’s take them to the training area Kalith just fixed!” I shouted, putting the easy loop lead over Artie’s head and pulling him gently. He wouldn’t move. He was too scared. “Please move, honey. Artie, you’ve got to move.” I was close to tears.

Suddenly, Vantor was beside me. He took control, his defensive training making him efficient even in the middle of disaster. He scooped the elderly Appaloosa up—I dropped the lead automatically—and he strode quickly away. I didn’t have time to follow and make sure he got Artie to safety. I launched out of the stall, catching a glimpse of Cyro carrying Mystery and Kalith carrying Sassafras outside.

When I faced the fire, I froze. It was out of control. I knew I couldn’t stop it. Not just me. Not without a million fire extinguishers or a lake’s worth of water.

I patted my pockets. No phone. Why was I surprised? I never carried my cell. It lived stuffed in a kitchen drawer, off half the time. I’d thought it was so retro to use the rotary phone. Tammy Tucker, certified rancher with a landline.

Should I race back into the house? Should I call 911?

I backed away from the building inferno, heat burning my body, sweat slicking across my skin to dampen my clothes. I coughed again, eyes closing against the sting of smoke. I felt the world crash down on me. This was the end. It was all over. Over. Over. Over. It’s all over.

When I was about to fall to the ground, give up right then and there and let a horrible death consume me, tentacles wrapped around my body. They held me upright, then lifted me gently, and carried me out of the stables.

Who was holding me? I glanced up awkwardly, finding Vantor’s face. Cyro brushed past us; six buckets held in the curl of six tentacles. He entered the smoke, disappearing.

“Cyro! Don't go in there!” I shouted.

“Do not worry, Tammy. He will be fine.” Vantor soothed, slowly setting me down. “Stay at a safe distance. We will handle this.”

I watched as Vantor quickly left, tentacles flowing beneath him, human legs split past the knees. He beelined for the water trough, jumping inside to soak his body. When he hurried back, water sprayed from his pores, as if he’d filled himself to bursting like a balloon ready to empty itself against the slightest pressure. Vantor ducked into the stables.

Kalith returned shortly after. He unfurled something like a firehose, its length extending toward the supply barn and their spaceship. He pointed its gleaming nozzle toward the stables and strode inside. 

I stood frozen, unable to tear my eyes away from the burning stables. My horses were safe—that much I knew—but my livelihood was going up in flames before my eyes. The heat pressed against my face like a physical hand, and I backed up several more steps, struggling to breathe through the thickening smoke.

What the hell were they doing? The aliens had disappeared into an inferno that would kill any normal human being. I’d just started to move forward, some irrational part of my brain insisting I needed to drag them out, when a strange hissing sound cut through the roar of the fire.

A moment later, a plume of blue-tinted foam shot from the stable doors, arcing high before raining down on the burning roof. It glowed faintly, light pulsing through the heavy smoke and lighting the now-dark evening. The substance spread rapidly, seeming to multiply wherever it touched flame, suffocating the fire beneath its expanding mass.

“Holy shit,” I whispered, watching as Kalith slowly reemerged. He was walking backward as he handled the alien fire hose. Its tube lengthened and shortened automatically, preventing him from getting tangled up in its length.

The smoke was clearing rapidly. I could see Vantor inside the stables, his human disguise completely abandoned as his tentacles whipped with incredible speed to slap patches of glowing blue goo onto wall hotspots. He moved methodically and calmly, like he’d done this a hundred times before.

Then Cyro burst outward, looking like some bizarre octopus firefighter with each tentacle swinging buckets. But instead of the water they’d held when he’d entered, they now also held the strange azure substance. He nodded at me, then rounded the building to jump the fence and address the pasture. Flames still crawled across the fence line and grass, hunting for more to burn. Strangely, I realized, the fire had not spread farther into the dryer pasture. But the worst of it was over. My mind reeled, and it struck me that the fire really did seem to snake directly toward the stables, as if sentient.

A mystery I’d solve later. Right now, I needed to know how they’d doused the fire so quickly.

“What is that stuff?” I called out, my voice raspy from the smoke.

Cyro glanced over, his metallic eyes reflecting the dying flames. “Ionic neutralizer. Standard equipment for any interstellar traveler. It is easily compressed so we can carry great quantities in cargo. It is lucky its containment survived the crash.”

“I mean, obviously that’s what it is,” I muttered, watching as the three aliens systematically conquered the fire that would have consumed my entire ranch if left to human firefighting methods.

Within minutes, the entire blaze was reduced to smoldering patches that the aliens continued to treat with their otherworldly substances. The acrid smell of smoke hung heavy in the air. As the charred quality faded, a sweet chemical note made my nose tingle.

I walked into the stables on shaky legs, surveying the damage. Despite the darkness outside, I could easily make out the details of the scorched building thanks to the glowing fire-retardant slime. The back wall was charred black, and a portion of the roof had collapsed inward, but it was still standing. Without the aliens’ intervention, there would have been nothing left.

Cyro, Vantor, and Kalith came into the stables just as I pressed my palm into blackened wood. I turned to them, feeling heavier than I had in my entire life. The world seemed to be crashing down to crush me. They didn’t crowd me, instead standing about ten feet away.

“The horses,” I said, turning to face them. “You got them into the training paddock?”

The light from the sticky alien goo bathed all of us in cool hues. It almost lent the situation an illusion of happening underwater.

“Yes,” Vantor said, his human disguise rolling and rippling across the surface. One eyebrow tried to slip too far down. Vantor’s hazel eyes lifted and he focused for a second, forcing the line of hair up. Then he continued. “They are unharmed, though agitated.”

I coughed heavily then, lungs aching.

"Rest," Cyro urged. "Your respiratory system is compromised."

“And yours aren’t?” I questioned, eyes narrowing to study them all. “You just fought a raging fire, and without any safety equipment I might add.”

“Our anatomy is of course different,” Cyro replied, his skin flushing in strange patterns of lavender and cream. “We are able to handle extreme environments.”

“We spend summers bathing in underwater lava vents,” Kalith shrugged. “Waterless heat is drying, but not deadly.”

I stared at the charred remains of my stables, feeling like useless arm candy more than ever.

“I don’t have the right kind of insurance for this. I couldn’t afford it.” My voice cracked. “The horses are safe, but they need a place to stay. I’m an idiot. Why didn’t I get fire extinguishers? And I shouldn’t have gotten the bare minimum coverage.”

Kalith stepped a few feet forward, his human face rippling as he struggled to settle his expression. When he spoke, there was a watery tremble in his words. “Do not despair. We can repair this, just as we did the supply barn and other structures. The damage is mostly cosmetic.”

“Cosmetic?” I gestured at the gaping hole in the roof. It wasn’t cosmetic, not by a long shot in Earth terms. But, then again, they’d been fixing this place up like magic.

“Yes, cosmetic,” Kalith confirmed. His smaller tentacle reached for me, twitched, then he lowered it again.

I nodded, relief washing through me so powerfully I nearly collapsed. My legs wobbled, and I reached out to steady myself against the blackened wall next to me.

For a moment, no one spoke. Then I noted how… all three aliens were fidgeting slightly, looking uneasy.

“What? What is it?” My mind reeled with other terrible things that might have happened because of the fire. But burned-down stable was bad enough.

“Tammy,” Kalith spoke slowly, his voice becoming more serious. “I believe this fire was not accidental.”

I stared at him. “What do you mean?”

But I knew.

Without him explaining.

There was a reason why the fire seemed sentient, licking across the ground, targeting Sunflower Hills’ only hope at survival.

“The pattern of ignition,” Vantor chimed in. He held up what looked like a small metal disc that pulsed with soft yellow light. “Our sensors detected an accelerant. It is not of our world, but yours. Someone wanted your stables to burn.”

A chill ran down my spine despite the lingering warmth. I envisioned Derek Morgan's truck disappearing down my driveway, his familiar smirk as he'd reminded me that he'd be waiting when I failed, that he might "buy this place for ten cents on the dollar when the bank forecloses." Derek, who'd always hated to lose, who'd never accepted that I could make it without him.

“Derek,” I whispered. The name felt like poison on my tongue.

Vantor nodded slowly. “I believe he is the assailant.”

My eyes locked with his, colliding as understanding flowed between us.

“I didn’t think he’d ever do something like this. He’s an asshole, but he’s never physically hurt me.”

“He has not?” This from Cyro, who tilted his human head, lilac eyes peering into my soul. His look made me question the accuracy of my own statement.

Physically hurt me? He hadn’t hit me. He hadn’t forced himself on me. But he had controlled the way I dressed, the friendships I kept, the places I could go.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I muttered.

“That is fine. We do not need to speak of your ex-mate.” Vantor lifted a tentacle and stretched it toward me. He brushed it against my shoulder. I let him. He was undeniably handsome in a way. Standing there with his superhero body and wonderful face, body enhanced by amazing tentacles that could put out a fire easily.

Suddenly, I couldn’t help but compare my Alpha human ex to this specimen of E.T. kind standing in front of me. Despite the heat, he was still somehow moist. His skin had a translucent quality where the water had soaked through his clothes, and beneath it, I could see the complex patterns of muscles and chromatophores that made up his true form. His eyes had developed a second, filmy lid that occasionally swept across the surface, protection against the smoke that my human eyes lacked.

Instead of backing away, I found myself stepping closer, drawn to the alienness of him even as part of my brain screamed that I should be running in the opposite direction. His scent cut through the smoke. It was an ocean-deep smell that had affected me since their arrival, but stronger now, rawer and more authentic without the full human disguise to mask it.

"Your biochemistry is shifting," Cyro observed, his voice losing all analytical edge. "The fear markers are being replaced by... different compounds."

I stopped in place, still feet away from Vantor. I didn't need an alien scientist to tell me what my body was doing. I could feel it—the liquid warmth pooling between my thighs, the heightened sensitivity of my skin, the way my breasts felt suddenly heavy and tender where they pressed against Cyro's chest. My Omega biology was responding to their combined presence with an intensity that left me breathless. They were not human Alphas. I could not feel this way about them.

Vantor moved closer, his gaze widening as he positioned himself close to me. His large form shadowed mine. "Your scent..." he began, then stopped, apparently unable to find the words to complete his thought.

Cyro and Kalith closed the gap between us quickly, their tentacles also moving to touch me cautiously and tenderly. I closed my eyes, reveling in how their touch felt silky yet rough against my skin where the suckers brushed. Maybe I should give into this need? Jump their alien bodies right here, right now, in the middle of a disaster zone.

“We’re not from the same world,” I made myself say, my voice barely above a whisper. “And I need to figure out what to do about Derek.”

The three aliens exchanged glances, their strange eyes communicating something I couldn’t understand. Vantor was the first to withdraw his tentacle, his human disguise solidifying as he took a deliberate step back.

“You are correct,” he said, his voice regaining its steadiness. “We have allowed our biological responses to override our duty.”

“The mission is our priority,” Cyro nodded, his voice filtering into my mind and my ears at once.

“I have to fix the ship,” Kalith murmured, a river of untapped need flowing inside each syllable.

“Right.” The fight drained out of me as fast as it had come. Because a restraining order meant a police report, and a police report meant a deputy standing in my yard, asking who had rebuilt a whole barn overnight—and wanting to shake hands with three ranch hands who had no last names, no papers, and a bad habit of sprouting extra limbs when startled. I could hang Derek for this fire. All it would cost me was handing the world three aliens to strap to a dissection table. So there’d be no cops. No court. No restraining order. Just me, a shotgun I barely knew how to aim, and three squid men who’d apparently appointed themselves my security detail. “I’m going to go check on the horses,” I said, and made myself walk toward the door.

Despite my good sense, I glanced back as I walked over the stable’s threshold.

All three aliens were staring at me.

They were magnificent. Terrifying, but utterly magnificent. My Omega biology responded with a rush of wet warmth between my thighs, my scent flaring outward again. Shit, I hope they couldn’t smell this new wave of desire.

I forced myself back into motion, ducking out of sight to press my back into the exterior stable wall. The evening air kissed against the Omega heat pulsing from my pores. I needed to catch my breath and reclaim sanity. As I stood there, taking deep, steadying breaths, I heard them talking inside the flame-crisped building.

"If Derek Morgan is responsible for this attack,” Cyro’s voice floated to me, "then he represents an ongoing threat that must be neutralized.”

“That we will neutralize,” Vantor amended.

“We have many security devices onboard.” This from Kalith.

“Then we will do more than repair the fence barrier. We will fortify this place against future attacks.” Vantor’s voice was firm.

In that moment, I knew that whatever psycho switch had flipped inside Derek wasn’t about to turn off anytime soon. This was just the start.

Because he wasn’t going to give up on me. I’d had this silly hope that, after a while, he’d find someone new. I’d be that crazy girl who abandoned a good thing—the big ring, the pretty dresses, the designer shoes—and bought a shithole ranch with no future.

I should have known better.

Derek didn’t like losing what he thought of as “his”. And I’d been his for a long time.

That crushing weight pressing down on me grew even heavier as I pushed myself away from the building and slowly walked through night shadows toward the training paddock.

20

VANTOR

If Tammy’s ex-mate returned, we would be ready, and he would soon discover why I held the Andromeda Belt for immobilizing hostile lifeforms.

Imoved through the darkness with practiced efficiency, each step precisely calculated to maximize coverage while minimizing noise.

The dual scanner and immobilizing wand hummed softly in my grip, its alien technology disguised as the primitive Earth weapon known as a rifle. Tammy had shown me one on a monitor which opened and folded closed again. She’d called it a laptop, before laughing that it had been “top of the line” ten years ago. The second Kalith had seen the device; he’d grabbed it and hyper fixated on the wealth of information that could be channeled through its diminutive monitor.

The cool night air filled my respiratory chambers with unfamiliar scents: decomposing vegetation, nocturnal animals, the lingering char from the deliberate fire. My tentacle twitched beneath my human disguise, responding to the memory of flames that had nearly claimed what I now felt compelled to protect.

Reaching the next perimeter point, I allowed one tentacle to curl outward. Its tip rooted into the pocket of the human jeans, pulling out the next security node. I spilled downward, body pooling into boneless folds. It made it easier to push the sensor into the soil. I should practice doing these things in my human guise, but I did not feel the need to hide myself under the cover of Earth’s night sky.

I pressed the top of the node, activating it. Two pale lights shot out, their rays connecting with other placed sensors. I lifted my body again, skeleton pushing into place giving me rigidity. That was the last necessary connection. Now the ranch existed within the boundaries of a protective field which Kalith had calibrated to recognize human signatures. We would not let the likes of Derek Morgan trespass on Tammy’s property without warning again.

Slowly, I flowed across the ground, tentacles pulling me forward. At a section of charred fence posts that still carried traces of accelerant, I paused. Pressing my palm against the blackened wood, I closed my eyes and focused my sensory receptors. I wanted to remember this smell, so I knew how to identify it quickly later. Using Tammy’s Earth knowledge, we were sure it was a substance called 2-propanone.

“Derek Morgan,” I whispered, the name leaving an unpleasant resonance in my vocal chambers.

The human male represented a tactical threat that could not be ignored. His territorial aggression toward Tammy and her property triggered my defensive instincts. I had not felt this way since the Thalassar conflict involving four worlds.

I stood, scanning the horizon with vision that penetrated the darkness far more effectively than human sight. The fence line stretched before me, parts I’d repaired, and parts the fire had damaged. The primitive wooden structure was weak, barely more than decorative. But now, it was joined by technology that would warn us of danger, so we could repel most Earth-based threats before they could do harm. If the human male returned, he would leave with pain and regret.

Giving myself an all-over, boneless body shake, I continued my patrol, moving counterclockwise around the property’s perimeter this time. The scanner swept invisible arcs before me, monitoring for bio-signatures, heat patterns, movement anomalies—anything that might indicate an approaching threat. My body maintained perfect posture, the discipline of my training falling into place easily.

The scanner in my hand beeped suddenly, the sound sharp in the quiet night. I dropped instantly into combat stance, my free hand transforming partially into a defensive tentacle. My other tentacles arched around me, ready to hit outward with maximum force. The scanner’s display illuminated my face with a pulsing, red warning: movement detected, twelve Earth meters ahead, approaching the back of the dwelling.

I moved silently toward the intruder’s location, each step precisely placed to avoid creating sound. My weapon arm extended, the scanner reconfiguring into immobilizer mode. My three heart rates accelerated to combat readiness.

Rounding the house, the creature that triggered the alert emerged from the darkness.

Small quadruped, ringed tail, masked facial markings.

My translator, which Kalith had recently upgraded with data from Earth’s wireless information network, supplied the Earth designation: “raccoon.” Non-threatening omnivore, nocturnal scavenger. The tension in my body eased fractionally, though I maintained vigilance. False alarms often preceded actual threats, a lesson taught through tasting blood in many worlds’ waters.

The raccoon sensed my presence despite my stealth, its primitive eyes reflecting moonlight as it turned toward me. We regarded each other for a few Earth seconds. It moved closer, head cocking back and forth.

“I will not hurt you, small creature, unless you seek to harm me.” I spoke as if it could understand me, despite its lack of translator.

It sat back on its haunches, upper body raising, small hands grabbing at air.

“I have nothing to offer you,” I told it.

The raccoon gave a huff before it scurried away, apparently off to find a different food source.

I lowered the scanner, allowing myself exactly four seconds of reduced alertness before resuming patrol. The night stretched around me, stars visible in unfamiliar patterns overhead. On my world, stars were viewed through layers of ocean, their light diffused and scattered by azure waters. Here, they burned with fierce clarity against the black void.

My gaze drifted to where Tammy slept inside the house. Her upper window glowed with faint artificial light. She’d mentioned “keeping a lamp on” for comfort after the fire incident. The structure appeared fragile from my position, vulnerable to countless threats this primitive planet might deliver. For a moment, I worried our technology was not adequate protection.

Protection against the likes of Derek Morgan, if he chose to escalate beyond fire. Such behavior patterns rarely diminished without intervention. He would return, and when he did...

Nothing would breach this perimeter. Nothing would harm what—and who—was contained within it. Not while my lungs continued to expand and my triple hearts continued their beating.

It was an oath formed silently in my mind. Until our ship was once again flight worthy, I would protect this ranch. I would protect her. Not because duty demanded it, but because something deeper required it of me.

I squared my shoulders and continued my patrol, eyes piercing the darkness beyond the fence line, scanning for threats that would inevitably come. And when they did, they would find me waiting.

21

KALITH

How could such a primitive structure be so challenging to fix? I was dismantling and repairing complex energy systems by the tender age of fifteen star cycles. This should be a walk in the water park.

The stables would be slightly harder to repair than the supply barn, but not an impossible feat.

The fire retardant’s glow had all but faded, the sticky slime slowly dripping down to the ground to become watery before naturally evaporating and leaving behind a pale blue dust. I positioned the hovering bioluminescent spheres at precisely calculated intervals, their soft glow casting long shadows across the damage.

The fire, though contained before reaching catastrophic levels, had compromised key structural elements. I stretched out a tentacle, dipping the tip into the cavity of my ship toolbox. I pulled a measuring device from its depths. It had been Tammy’s, just a simple extendable measuring tool that I’d enhanced with quantum calibration sensors.

I allowed my left arm to elongate slightly beyond human proportions, the added reach necessary for proper assessment. The shorter tentacle traced across a charred section of wood, sensing how deeply it was compromised. Back home, the differently abled appendage caused me no end of grief. Here, I had discovered an appreciation for it.

Extending another tentacle, I lifted my toolbox onto a makeshift workbench. My gaze landed on its contents, now a curious blend of Earth implements and salvaged ship technology. Hammers and wrenches nestled alongside molecular bonding agents and insta-hard alloy strips. I’d been cautious to keep the most obviously alien components hidden beneath ordinary tools, though at this late hour, discovery by a trespassing human seemed unlikely. The ranch stood isolated in the darkness, Tammy’s dwelling the only other structure showing signs of life—a single lamp glowing in a distant window. We were safe from prying eyes.

I positioned the first alloy strip against the damaged beam, watching with satisfaction as it adhered instantly, molecular bonds forming at contact points. The material glowed briefly, then began spreading along the wood’s surface, strengthening the beam from within rather than merely supporting it externally. Primitive, yes, but effective.

A sudden movement at ground level sent me spinning around, my shorter tentacle extending defensively before I could suppress the reaction. My eyes searched the shadows, threat assessment protocols activating automatically.

Two reflective orbs stared back at me from beneath the workbench, accompanied by a soft vibrating sound my translator struggled to interpret. The creature emerged slowly into the bioluminescent light—small, quadrupedal, covered in fur with elongated whiskers and a twitching tail. Earth classification: domestic feline. “Cat,” my translator supplied, alongside cultural context about human attachment to these creatures as companions rather than food sources.

I smiled as the translator finished reciting information about the creature. When I’d discovered Tammy’s satellite network link, funneled through a folding device called a laptop, I’d tapped into something called the world wide web. Everything that could be known about this planet was now linked to my device. I’d done the same for the other translators too.

“Unauthorized presence detected,” I addressed it formally, uncertain how to interact with the small predator. The cat responded by approaching without apparent fear, rubbing its body against my lower leg in a motion my translator identified as “territorial marking behavior” or “greeting ritual.”

The vibrating sound intensified as the creature circled my legs. Something about the gesture triggered an unexpected emotional response, a memory surfacing from my time before the expedition.

“You remind me of a Tartulus,” I told the cat, cautiously lowering myself to observe it more closely. My pet back home—a six-tentacled coral-dwelling creature with similar fur-like filaments—had displayed comparable affection behaviors. Manji would wrap his feeding tentacles around my arm when I returned from engineering duties, vibrating his central cavity in greeting.

The Earth cat seemed unperturbed by my alien scent, which surprised me. Perhaps my human disguise was more effective than anticipated. Or perhaps this creature possessed greater adaptability than its appearance suggested.

“I wonder if someone is feeding Manji back home,” I murmured, tracing a tentacle down the creature’s back. The cat pushed against my suckers, its vocalizations intensifying.

“Manji 2,” I decided. “That is your name.” It felt right, despite the obvious anatomical and origin differences. The cat responded by leaping onto my repair storage and investigating my tools with apparent curiosity. It nosed a volatile subsonic welding wand. I fished that out quickly, holding it with one curled tentacle tip.

“That contains sensitive equipment,” I warned as Manji 2 circled inside my toolbox, pushing aside devices to create a nest-like depression. The creature settled into the space, curling into a compact form that made it appear far smaller than seemed possible.

I returned to my repair work, careful not to disturb my unexpected companion. The damaged section required intricate reinforcement at a junction point well above my human height. Normally, I would simply extend my tentacles to the necessary elevation, but with Manji 2 observing me...

The cat’s eyes had closed, its respiratory rate indicating sleep onset. I glanced around the darkened landscape—no witnesses, no approaching lights. Only night sounds and distant stars.

I exhaled slowly, then allowed my true nature partial expression. Both arms split into multiple tentacles, my left side moving with less coordination but still functional enough for construction purposes. The appendages stretched upward, carrying alloy strips and bonding agents to the damaged junction. My natural coloration—earthen browns and greens—glowed faintly through my human disguise as I worked, color shifting with the concentration the work required.

“This is too cumbersome. No one is here to observe me,” I mumbled to myself, and began loosening my grip on the human façade.

Four tentacles held the splintered beams in alignment while three others applied the bonding strips. My shorter left tentacle trembled slightly, neural misfires causing uneven pressure distribution, but I compensated with the others. It was liberating, using my true form after hours of confinement within human parameters. My tentacles worked in harmony, each performing its specialized function in the repair process.

A soft shuffling from the toolbox alerted me that Manji 2 had awakened. I froze mid-application; tentacles extended in flagrant violation of our cover protocols. I’d even let my true face show. The cat observed my true form with unblinking eyes, tail twitching slightly. Then, to my astonishment, it simply yawned, circled three times, and resumed its sleeping position, apparently untroubled by my alien appearance.

“Your acceptance parameters are admirably flexible,” I told the sleeping creature, gradually resuming work with my extended appendages. “Perhaps humans could learn from your example.”

As I completed the junction repair, a thought surfaced that I hadn’t fully acknowledged before. My mission priorities had shifted, recalibrated without conscious decision. The ship repair—our primary objective since the crash—had become secondary to reinforcing this structure, to protecting Tammy’s dwelling and resources.

My tentacles paused in their work as the realization crystallized. My concern for this human’s territorial stability exceeded my urgency to return to our world. The admission sent a strange sensation flooding through my three hearts.

22

CYRO

Mission failure was not an option.

What if we do not complete our mission?

It was a question which had rolled through my mind repeatedly over the last Earth hour. For some reason, the fire had set off a cascade of anxiety. I had not been able to right my emotions yet. I gave myself a harsh shake.

Failing our mission wasn’t a possibility. We could not fail.

To keep myself busy, though it was well past the reasonable human time to rest, I’d thrown myself into studying the horses. Determination set in quickly. We would do more than deliver the planet-saving samples home, we would also bring back enough lucrative data from this world to satisfy our superiors. We would be praised for our bravery in the face of terrible odds. We would be lauded heroes for surviving the crash, the barbaric natives, and the journey home.

Barbaric natives…

Tammy’s face flashed across my mind.

The only thing barbarous about the human Omega was how deeply she affected me, ruining my scientific composure.

As I adjusted the recording sensor I’d been working with, the device projected a translucent overlay across my field of vision. The horses’ heat signatures pulsed in soothing patterns of red and orange against the cooler backdrop of the machinery building, which Kalith had quickly retrofitted with separation panels to create individual stalls. It was a barely adequate situation, but the equines were safe. That was all that mattered.

That was all that mattered? I felt like I was betraying my home world by even thinking that thought.

I calibrated each device with precise movements. though I was painfully aware that my excessive attention to detail was merely a distraction from the more troubling calculations running parallel in my mind: probability of a second fire (sixty-three percent), estimated response time if such an event occurred (approximately one hundred and forty-two seconds), and most disturbing—likelihood that Derek Morgan would escalate his tactics beyond property damage (eighty-six percent, with a ten percent variance). I could smell him, how his scent had shifted, how my own internal alarms warned me he was a predator. My tentacles twitched beneath my human disguise, betraying anxiety that I tried hard to ignore.

Mystery shifted in his makeshift stall, the sound of his powerful body moving against straw sending an unexpected pulse of alarm through my nervous system. My right tentacle nearly burst through my wrist before I regained control, forcing it back beneath my human disguise with a concentration that momentarily interrupted my sensor placement.

The structure, full of ancient earth machinery, had a particular olfactory profile I was still categorizing—oxidized metal, fuel, mildew. Different from the sweet hay and musk of the stables before the fire. That building had also held Tammy’s distinctive omega pheromones, like her very aura had seeped into the wood. Her unique perfume continued to affect my endocrine systems in ways I found increasingly difficult to resist.

I approached Mystery’s cordoned off area in the machinery building, placing a thermal sensor above his gate where it would have optimal coverage of both the interior space and the walkway. The stallion’s ears flicked forward at my presence, his dark eyes reflecting the dim light like polished obsidian. Unlike my first encounter with him, he no longer retreated to the far corner of his enclosure when I approached. Progress in interspecies rapport development, I noted mentally.

Mystery stepped toward the temporary stall’s gate, his nostrils flaring as he scented me. I recalled my previous attempts at equine communication and produced a series of soft clicking sounds with my mouth—an approximation of the sounds horses made to each other during grooming rituals, according to my research.

His ears pivoted with evident interest, head tilting slightly as he processed this attempt at cross-species dialogue. We engaged in what could almost be described as mutual observation—my intense, detailed observation matched by his equine assessment. Then, with what appeared to be a decisive snort, Mystery turned and walked back to his hay, dismissing me as neither threat nor sufficiently interesting companion.

“Communication attempt: partially successful but ultimately terminated by subject,” I murmured into my recording device, ignoring the irrational sensation of disappointment that rippled beneath my chromatophores. “Subject demonstrated initial curiosity but insufficient engagement to sustain interaction.”

As I turned to place the next sensor, a memory surfaced—Tammy’s voice explaining how to gain the horses’ trust. Sugar cubes. Apples. Rewards for desired behaviors. My gaze swept the machinery building. There was no shelf here which held various containers.

I left the building, moving quickly over to the scorched stables. I glanced inside, finding Kalith hard at work. There was no way the treats had survived. I turned instead toward the house, and crossed the distance to it in record time, flowing up the front steps and pushing through the door. I found my way to the kitchen, opening cabinets until I found a rectangular box of the sucrose cubes favored by the equines. Moving closer, I identified a glass jar with white crystalline cubes visible through its transparent walls. I took the box with me, making my way back to the horses.

Mystery’s reaction was immediate. His head lifted, ears pivoting forward with unmistakable interest as I approached his space once more. This time, when I extended my hand with two sugar cubes resting on my palm, he moved toward me with remarkable alacrity.

“Fascinating response to sucrose stimulus,” I observed as his velvety muzzle tickled my palm, lips carefully extracting the sugar cubes with surprising delicacy. “Subject demonstrates clear preference hierarchy, prioritizing caloric reward over previous disinterest in interspecies interaction.”

The sound of whickering interrupted my documentation. Sassafras and Artie had both extended their heads over their respective “gates”, ears pricked forward, eyes focused intently on the sugar jar in my hand. Their vocalizations contained unmistakable elements of demand and expectation.

“It appears that feeding one being and not the others incites dissatisfaction in the herd,” I noted, observing the social dynamics with interest.

I faced a logistical challenge—three horses requiring simultaneous attention to maintain social equilibrium. Without conscious decision, my arms separated beneath my human disguise, tentacles extending to perform multiple tasks concurrently. I placed sugar cubes in each extended appendage, offering treats to all three horses simultaneously while reaching for grooming brushes with additional tentacles that emerged from beneath my sleeves.

The sensation of three different equine muzzles against my tentacles was unexpectedly pleasant—each with unique texture and pressure, each accepting the offering with different techniques. As I began brushing their coats with three separate brushes held by three separate tentacles, I experienced an unusual sensation of harmony. The repetitive motion, combined with the horses’ evident pleasure, created a feedback loop of satisfaction that transcended simple biological reward mechanisms.

“Cyro? What in the world are you doing?”

Tammy’s voice startled me, nearly causing a breach in my concentration. I turned to find her standing in the building’s doorway, her red hair caught in the beam of moonlight streaming through the window. Her expression cycled rapidly through surprise, confusion, and then unrestrained amusement as she took in the sight of my multiple appendages simultaneously attending to all three horses.

“With you around, I’d never have a jealous horse,” she laughed, the sound echoing pleasantly off the interior walls.

I tilted my head, processing the concept. “They have the capacity for... what is jealousy?” I asked, raising one human eyebrow while maintaining the brushing rhythm with my tentacles.

“Oh, well,” Tammy cocked her head thoughtfully. “It’s like when you see someone else getting what you want, and you can’t have it. Jealousy.”

“Ah,” I nodded, making the connection to my own experience. “Like when I did not receive the research grant for the Fordjan asteroid field. They gave it to Crepsus and his foolish study of deep currents on Tolivay, long rendered dry.”

“Sure, exactly,” Tammy said slowly, with a shake of her head that suggested my comparison wasn’t entirely accurate. Her smile remained, however, soft and warm in a way that created inexplicable fluctuations in my core temperature. “Come on, I made some coffee. I can’t sleep either, and I feel bad you guys are working through the night.”

I carefully extracted my tentacles, allowing them to revert to human form before following her. As we exited the structure, I glanced back at the horses, now peacefully returning to the hay we’d piled within their makeshift stalls. The sensor grid glowed softly on my tablet, a protective net of technology spread over these creatures that had somehow transitioned from research subjects to entities worthy of my protection.

A troubling development for a scientist committed to objective observation. More troubling still was how little that fact bothered me.

23

TAMMY

Aliens under a starry sky… why is this the most romantic thing that’s ever happened to me?

The night stretched above us, its stars scattered in patterns so familiar yet suddenly oh-so strange when viewed alongside three beings who had traveled through them. We sat along the fence line, the four of us perched on newly reinforced posts that Vantor had installed, coffee mugs steaming in the cool night air. It must be around two o’clock now. Early enough we could go to sleep and get decent enough rest, yet it also felt too late for that.

I was wired.

More awake than I’d ever been in my life.

Body humming with energy.

How could I feel so alive with these aliens right now, when I’d never felt that way around other humans?

Titling my head, I gazed upward. For a heartbeat, I wondered if the twinkling stars were trying to tell me a secret, trying to communicate in the same way that the aliens did when tiny bursts of light punctuated the colorful expanses of their real skins. Unfortunately, my human brain couldn’t grasp the meaning behind either bright language. But even beyond the foreign speech of sky, I didn’t comprehend much right now, not with three impossible silhouettes beside me. I looked back down, glancing right then left. None of them were bothering to keep their perfect human guises in check.

Kalith’s lower tentacles were woven into the fence below him, keeping him stable perched atop the barrier. Vantor was using the tip of one tentacle to stir his coffee, frowning down at it and what he called its “pungent scent”. And Cyro was currently tiptoeing four tentacles through the pasture grass, trailing behind a large group of musical katydids.

My body felt warm, heat radiating from my center. It wasn’t the hot coffee mug, or the woolen sweater; it was the company.

Kalith’s hovering lamps spilled emerald, sapphire, and amber glows across us and the landscape. Without warning, they grew more intense, dulling the stars above.

“Can you lower the lights?” I asked as I lifted my mug up for a long, life-affirming sip.

Without answering, Kalith pressed something on a strange watch type device. I hadn’t noticed it before. The suspended lamps did not decrease in brightness, but instead lowered closer to the ground, coming to stop at about the level of the middle fence railing. I laughed. “I mean; I guess that’s technically lower.”

“Did you wish for a different outcome?” Kalith’s tentacle tip hovered over the watch again.

“The brightness. Could you lower that too?”

He nodded, and seconds later the tri-color glowing dimmed.

I took another sip of the hot coffee, letting the rich flavors envelop me as Kalith’s lights cast their enchanting effects over the scene. It was all surreal and made more so by the blend of alien and Earth colors. The katydids’ singing rose in pitch. Beside me, Cyro tried to mimic their sounds, joining into the chorus. It was jarring at first, but he shifted his pitch and volume until his vocalizations melded almost seamlessly with the insects.

This should be incredibly strange.

I should be freaking out still.

But it already felt normal. Like Sunflower Hills had always had three alien ranch hands.

“I’ll have the stables back in order by tomorrow,” Kalith said absentmindedly. “The damage looked worse than it was.”

“Tomorrow?” I breathed out. “That’s amazing.”

“It is simple engineering,” he shrugged, tone humble.

“It’s simply awesome is what it is, Kalith,” I corrected. His skin flushed with happy hues, and he gave me a quick, boyish smile.

Less than twenty-four hours, and a burned-down stable would be useable again. How had I ever survived without three magical aliens at my side?

I had never imagined I’d feel so at ease with anyone, let alone an iridescent group of extraterrestrial beings whose mere presence had turned my life upside down.

When they left me, would they miss it here?

I knew I’d miss them.

More than I was able to admit right now.

“What’s your home like?” I needed to understand what they were longing to get back to, to find out how far away from their reality they felt. Maybe I could make them feel more at home here. “Could I go there?”

They exchanged glances, and for a moment, I sensed a quiet tension among them. Cyro ceased mimicking the katydids’ rhythmic chirps, pausing mid-note. He met my gaze, those metallic blue-lavender eyes shimmering under Kalith’s lights.

“Our home is not so different, yet very different from Earth,” he finally said, turning serious in a way that made my heart clench. “It is a place of vast underwater cities, formed out of organic materials that breathe and adapt like living beings. The sky is dark most of the star cycle, with three moons that provide nourishment to our flora. And the creatures of our world swim in endless, migratory patterns. They have to, as most need different minerals from different oceanic regions throughout their life cycles in order to thrive.”

“If it’s nighttime most of the year,” I said, not exactly sure what a star cycle meant, “then how do the plants photosynthesize?”

“Photo…” Cyro let the word trail off, obviously thinking. “Create nutrition from light?”

I nodded.

“Our moons provide the same necessary catalyst for that. They are Mimasa, Nereida, and Nixa. They are life.”

He began describing the way the moons changed color during their cycles, how the tides shifted as the moons waxed and waned.

I leaned forward, captivated by Cyro’s description. My mind painted vivid scenes of iridescent cities shimmering beneath waves, bustling with the life of creatures I could scarcely comprehend. The image was so enchanting, so otherworldly, that I momentarily forgot about my own troubles—the impending foreclosure, the painful memories of Derek, the creeping doubt that threatened to overwhelm me. Here I was, on my ranch, and somehow part of a cosmic tapestry that spanned more than just Earth.

“That sounds beautiful,” I murmured, glancing at the stars, suddenly filled with longing. “I guess all I have here are... well, fields of sunflowers and hope in a bucket full of holes.”

“We are here,” Kalith said.

“For now,” I murmured sullenly.

The world went absolutely quiet, even the insects ceased singing. I didn’t think I was breathing, my mind trying to fight against a crash. I didn’t want them to leave. How could I already feel that way?

Tension mounted.

And it was Vantor that pulled us up for air. Though, maybe they didn’t need it. They were all three used to living underwater.

“Your constellations look so different here… warped somehow,” Vantor murmured, his body arched back, too far to be natural, one human arm split into tentacles from the elbow down, clinging to fence rails so he wouldn’t fall off the barrier. “On our world, we view them through azure waters. The light refracts, creating patterns that shift and dance with the tides.”

Part of me wanted to point out that viewing stars through water would make them appear warped, not viewing them through unfettered air, but I was sure to Vantor, seeing the night sky like this was strange.

I sipped my coffee, trying to imagine stars seen through an ocean ceiling. “That sounds beautiful.”

“It is,” he confirmed, his voice carrying a slight underwater quality. I’d noticed that all their voices changed when they let their human disguises slip. Now, that bubbling undercurrent in his words held an emotional note. “As a juvenile, I would swim to the surface barriers at night and press my appendages against them, imagining I could reach through and touch the stars. Back then, only adults could breach the barrier. Young ones do not have developed enough lung systems. The moment I was of age, I felt air kiss my body. I breathed freedom. I saw the stars and wanted nothing more than to reach them. It is why I entered the Galaxy Exploration Force Academy.”

His words reminded me of a childhood memory I’d long forgotten.

“I used to climb onto my roof with a flashlight,” I offered. “I thought if I flashed it enough times, aliens would see it and come visit.” I laughed softly. “Guess it worked eventually.”

Kalith chuckled out of the blue, the sound bubbling from him like water over stones in a brook. “My story isn’t nearly as poetic as Vantor’s. I was recruited to G.E.F Academy after repeatedly dismantling colony systems to understand their functions. It was incarceration at one of the coral mines or join.”

“You got in trouble for taking things apart?” I asked, grinning at how perfectly that aligned with what I’d seen of him. I was pretty sure he’d snuck back to the tractor already. I’d probably find it in pieces tomorrow.

“Seventeen incidents,” he confirmed, looking sheepish but proud. “Including the primary atmospheric regulation system of the third surface quadrant. I improved its efficiency by forty-three percent, but that was considered insufficient justification for the sixteen hours of emergency breathing apparatus deployment.”

“Surface quadrant?” I quirked an eyebrow, then took another long draw of coffee gone too cool for my liking.

“As our species expanded, it became necessary to build above water, bio-domes.” Cyro explained. “Compromising the water breathing systems was dangerously foolish.”

Kalith rolled his golden-flecked human eyes.

“Are the bio-domes filled with water?” I guessed.

“Precisely. Though, it is becoming harder to maintain them as our oceans fail.” Cyro sobered, at that, and I wondered if he was thinking about their failed mission.

It would be so selfish of me to want them to stay. An entire planet was waiting on samples of Earth water to try to repair things.

Silence blanketed us again. I didn’t like how serious the air felt around us.

“So, how many people… your kind, I mean, live in these snow globes?” I smiled, imagining a bunch of them in my winter wonderland globe I put out at Christmas time.

“I do not know what a snow globe is,” Cyro looked confused, “but approximately a third of our species currently reside above water.”

“A snow globe is—” I stopped. Maybe explaining to them that I’d pictured their people inside a glass orb filled with water and fake snow, wasn’t the best idea— “You know, never mind.”

Kalith chimed in. “You know, if they’d just let me optimize the other globes, the existing resources would go further.”

“Like when you optimized the salination tanks in the trench laboratories?” Cyro almost glared at him.

“Hey. It wasn’t my fault that the pressure readouts weren’t accurate. If they had been, the tanks would have stayed intact.” Kalith shrugged.

“Instead, they shattered, releasing two years’ worth of research into the wild,” Cyro’s voice was devolving into a growl. “Pixarian eggs can only be found near active lava tubes. Raising them to maturity to test their adaptive abilities could have revolutionized our hull materials against intense heat input.”

“That research was a waste of time,” Kalith volleyed back, “Paralarva know that mature pixarians would have eaten right through the salinity tanks. I was simply testing out a coating to keep that from happening.”

“A coating that—” Cyro began, but Vantor cut him off.

“Enough,” he gave a strange, gurgling sigh.

“It is not my fault that Kalith is insufferably reckless,” Cyro huffed.

“And you’ve always been a know-it-all,” Kalith retorted, but his tone was affectionate. “Cyro had few friends before us. His peers found his conviction in his own superiority somewhat... challenging.” He reached out with one arm that split mid-extension into tentacles, poking Cyro playfully in the sides.

I watched with fascination as Cyro’s dignified facade cracked, his body jerking away from the tentacles with what looked suspiciously like ticklishness. For a moment, they seemed so human—friends teasing each other, reminiscing, giving one another hell.

Then Kalith’s expression shifted, something wistful passing across his features as his tentacles retreated back into human form. “I miss my mother’s sea flower cakes,” he said quietly, the non sequitur hanging in the night air between us. “She would infuse them with bioluminescent nectar that glowed as you ate them. They tasted of home.”

The simple admission carried such weight that I felt my throat tighten. These weren’t just aliens with a broken ship; they were beings far from home, missing their families, their foods, their skies. I searched for something to say that wouldn’t sound hollow or trite.

I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know how to comfort them. None of them had taken a single sip of coffee. I could bake something. Though, I had zero idea what would taste like glowing nectar, sea flower cakes. Maybe marzipan?

“Coffee helps,” I finally offered limply, lifting my mug in a small toast. “Not with homesickness, necessarily, but it’s warm and familiar and makes everything seem a little more manageable.”

They looked at their untouched mugs with varying degrees of suspicion, then all three took simultaneous sips in what seemed like an act of solidarity. The reaction was immediate and dramatic—Cyro’s face contorted in disgust, Vantor spat the liquid onto the ground with patented efficiency, and Kalith made a sound like a drowning cat.

“This is...consumable?” Cyro managed, holding the mug away from himself as if it contained toxic waste.

“It tastes like licking a Snarzback!” Kalith added, his tongue visibly distended as he fanned it with his hand.

“Tactical error,” Vantor stated grimly, using his sleeve to wipe his mouth. “Flavor profile inconsistent with biological compatibility.”

I couldn’t help it—I doubled over laughing, nearly tumbling from my perch on the fence. They watched me with identical expressions of bewilderment, which only made me laugh harder.

“If you guys want to cosplay as human ranchers,” I finally managed between hiccuping breaths, “you’re going to have to learn to like coffee. It’s practically a requirement.”

“I prefer to focus on more critical adaptations,” Cyro sniffed, setting his mug aside with evident relief. “Such as repairing our ship’s communication array to signal for extraction.”

My laughter died in my throat. Of course they were working on leaving. They had lives, careers, families back on their world. This was just a temporary situation for them—an expedition gone wrong, an unplanned detour. The thought of them leaving created a hollow ache beneath my ribs that caught me completely off guard. A tremor ran through me, and I clung to the coffee mug so hard I thought I might bust its handle. To keep from doing so, I set it down on the rail.

Kalith must have noticed the change in me. It would be hard to miss—body quaking slightly, a frown, my Omega scent shifting.

“The ship repairs are complicated. They will take time,” he assured me, looking at me through lowered lashes, his tone so sincere that I couldn’t help but believe his words. “And we will not leave until we’ve fixed what we destroyed.”

“And the protective systems remain incomplete,” Vantor added, his confident bearing returning as he scanned the dark perimeter of my property. “I will not leave your ranch vulnerable.”

Cyro gave me a strange, considering look, his head tilted slightly in that way that reminded me he wasn’t human, despite his appearance. “The research here is fascinating. I am learning a great deal from the horses. Premature termination would compromise data integrity. The original mission can wait.”

I wasn’t fooled by their excuses, but I was touched by them. These impossible beings from another world were trying, in their alien way, to comfort me. Without thinking about the implications, I leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to Kalith’s cheek, then I tilted in the opposite direction, placing a quick peck on Vantor’s face too. To get to Cyro, I had to hop down from the fence and move to him. Lifting on tiptoes so I could wrap my arms around his neck, I tugged him gently closer to me. My lips tingled after pressing them to his cheek. Their skin was cool, with a slight texture like fine silk against my lips. I licked across my mouth, finding a salty sweetness there.

“Thank you,” I said simply, stepping a few feet away to face them, and finding all three frozen in identical expressions of shock, their scents suddenly intensifying in the cool night air. Their ocean-deep musk called to my own Omega perfume. It plumed strongly, combining with their alien cologne in a way that made my head swim and stomach clench.

Beneath their human disguises, colors shifted in waves to interrupt expanses of sun-kissed tans. Kalith’s earthy greens, Vantor’s deep purples, and Cyro’s iridescent blues pulsed in impossible patterns, making them look otherworldly despite the carefully crafted faces and bodies.

None spoke, but their eyes remained fixed on me with an intensity that sent more warmth cascading through my body.

I perched back atop the fence. We sat in silence after that, four beings from different worlds watching the stars, each lost in private thoughts yet somehow connected by more than just proximity. Whatever was developing between us—this strange, impossible bond—it felt both terrifying and inevitable, like standing at the edge of a cliff with the certainty that jumping wouldn’t be falling but flying.

I hoped that when they eventually left for those stars, they wouldn’t take too much of my heart with them.

24

TAMMY

Momma said you gotta crack a lot of eggs to make an omelette… But this was ridiculous!

Iwoke to the unfamiliar sound of clattering from my kitchen. Living alone for so long, I expected quiet and stillness in the mornings. I’d hated it at first but grown used to the solitude after a while. Now, the sounds of life downstairs warmed my chest. I stretched, blinking slowly, letting wakefulness wash over me.

The sunlight streaming through my bedroom window was persistent, trying to coax me further awake. It wasn’t bright enough to be late in the day. Early still. I blinked slowly, glancing over at the clock, finding that it was after eight. My alarm hadn’t gone off.

Last night’s stargazing with the aliens had kept me up later than I’d intended, but there was something about sharing the vast Kansas sky with beings who had actually traveled through it that made sleep seem like a waste of precious time. Now, though, I rubbed my eyes and wondered what unholy ruckus had interrupted my well-earned rest.

The sound of something shattering—followed by a very un-alien-like curse that had to have come from Kalith—had me throwing back my covers and shuffling toward the door in my mismatched pajamas. I’d given up on matching sets years ago; life was too short for coordinated sleepwear when nobody was around to see it.

“If they’ve broken any of my favorite coffee mugs, there’s going to be an interplanetary incident,” I muttered, padding barefoot down the hallway.

I rounded the corner and froze, my hand flying to my mouth. For a moment, I wondered if I was still dreaming or if I’d accidentally stepped through some sort of alien portal during the night.

This wasn’t my kitchen.

My kitchen had peeling laminate countertops, cabinets from the Nixon era, and a linoleum floor that had seen better days sometime during the Great Depression. This kitchen—this impossible, gleaming space—had polished stone countertops that caught the morning light and threw it back in prismatic sparkles. The cabinets were new, their wood grain rich and warm, with handles that looked like actual metal instead of the plastic-pretending-to-be-metal I’d grown accustomed to. The floor beneath my bare feet was smooth tile that felt cool and perfectly level—no more of that weird dip by the refrigerator that always made me feel like I was walking slightly uphill after a few too many glasses of wine.

Most startling of all were the windows—no longer the small, cloudy panes that had been there yesterday, but expansive glass that opened up the entire eastern wall, framing the Kansas morning like it was a painting worthy of being admired.

“What the...” I whispered, turning in a slow circle, taking in the transformation.

That’s when I noticed them.

Kalith was hunched over the kitchen island, his brow furrowed in concentration as his hands—and what appeared to be three partially emerged tentacles—worked over the scattered remains of my coffee maker. Parts I didn’t even know existed lay in precise arrangements around him like some deranged mechanical autopsy. His left tentacle twitched with its usual dysfunction as he muttered calculations under his breath.

He’d taken… apart… my coffee pot.

That was way worse than a UFO crashing into my supply barn.

“The grounds-to-water ratio is fundamentally flawed,” he was saying, holding up what looked like the heating element. “Earth technology operates at suboptimal brewing temperatures. No wonder the resulting liquid causes digestive distress.”

I opened my mouth to say, “It’s supposed to be hot,” but my attention was yanked away by movement near the stove before I could expel a single word.

Cyro stood surrounded by what could only be described as an egg massacre. Broken shells littered the counter, sad puddles of egg white dripped off the counter’s edge onto the floor, and several bowls contained what looked like failed attempts at scrambled eggs in various states of congealment. He held the last unbroken egg up to the light, turning it slowly as if calculating the exact spot it needed to crack for success, his silver eyes narrowed in concentration.

“The structural integrity of this calcium carbonate container is impressive considering its thinness,” he observed to nobody in particular. “Yet its breaking point remains inconsistent across specimens. Fascinating.”

He didn’t move to break the egg.

He kept staring at it, like it was a puzzle that held the solution to saving the damn world.

Lord, help me. They had made such a damn mess.

Before I could process what to do first to correct the craziness happening in my kitchen, a machinery growl and a strangled yelp drew my attention to the far side of the kitchen, where Vantor was engaged in what appeared to be mortal combat with my ancient vacuum cleaner.

The larger-than-life security guard’s human disguise was slipping badly around his right arm, where a purplish-red tentacle had extended well beyond human proportions. The appendage was caught firmly in the vacuum’s roller brush, being sucked deeper with every frantic tug. Vantor’s face was a focused mask as he braced one foot against the vacuum’s body, pulling his captured limb with increasing desperation.

“Enemy combatant has established grip lock,” he growled, his voice carrying that underwater echo it got when he was stressed. I could easily hear him over the roaring Hoover, thanks to the translator that seemed to tap directly into my brain. “Tactical retreat impossible. Considering appendage severance as viable option.”

“Don’t you dare cut off your tentacle in my kitchen!” I shrieked, finally finding my voice. “And what the hell happened to my house?”

Three alien heads swiveled toward me in perfect unison, offering me a range of expressions. The vacuum roared louder, sucking another inch of Vantor’s tentacle into its maw.

“Tammy Tucker!” Kalith brightened, seemingly oblivious to the coffee maker carnage around him. He raised his voice, as if forgetting I could hear him clearly despite the vacuum’s din. “We have implemented structural improvements to your dwelling’s food preparation area. The previous configuration was operating at only fifteen percent efficiency. I am now repairing your brown liquid creator. We observed your dependence on this substance.”

“Your caffeine delivery system did require significant modification,” Cyro added, his voice normal, obviously remembering there was no need to yell. He lifted the unbroken egg still in his hand. “I am on the precipice of performing a most excellent egg from shell extraction.”

Vantor, still locked in his death struggle with the vacuum, managed a curt nod. “Home base security enhanced. New entry points fortified with—ARRGGH!” His explanation cut off as the vacuum made a particularly violent lurch, dragging his tentacle farther into the brush.

I stood rooted to the spot, my brain struggling to process the scene before me. My kitchen—my crappy, outdated, familiar kitchen—looked amazing. And in this gleaming new space, three powerful aliens from beyond the stars were being utterly defeated by the most basic human tasks: making coffee, cooking eggs, and vacuuming the floor.

“How did you even...” I waved a hand helplessly at the renovations surrounding me. “When did you...”

“After you entered sleep cycle,” Kalith crowed cheerfully, lifting what I recognized as the coffee pot’s water reservoir. “Your dwelling’s structural components were substandard. We utilized materials from our ship’s non-essential systems to implement upgrades. Much of our best technology can be compressed and then expanded, so our cargo is a wealth of spare parts.”

“The work was completed in approximately four Earth hours,” Cyro added. “We would have achieved greater efficiency, but Vantor insisted on maintaining noise suppression protocols to avoid disrupting your sleep patterns.”

Vantor, still struggling with the vacuum, shot me a look that managed to be both apologetic and dignified despite his predicament. “The vacuum extraction device activated unexpectedly during final cleaning procedures,” he explained, as if this were a normal mission debriefing and not a scene of domestic chaos. “It appears to possess predatory instincts.”

The egg in Cyro’s hand chose that moment to slip from his grip, joining its fallen comrades on the countertop with a wet splat. He looked down at it with genuine surprise, as if the laws of physics had suddenly betrayed him.

“That was my final experimental subject,” he murmured, before looking back up at me with his disconcertingly beautiful, silver laced, lilac eyes. “I am afraid we will be unable to prepare you a traditional morning sustenance. I will require new test subjects before I can reattempt.”

I pressed my palms against my eyes, wondering if I could somehow reset the day by not seeing it for a few moments. When I lowered my hands, everything was still there—the gorgeous new kitchen, the destroyed coffee maker, the egg catastrophe, and Vantor, who had now resorted to hissing threats at the vacuum in what I assumed was his native language. Or…was he trying to mimic the Hoover’s mechanical howling?

Part of me wanted to scream. Another part wanted to laugh until my sides hurt. But mostly, I wanted coffee, which was probably not happening on this beautiful disaster of a morning.

“God,” I finally managed. “You guys are worse than a litter of puppies with power tools.”

For a solid minute, I stood there, my brain cycling through which disaster to tackle first—the disemboweled coffee maker, the egg apocalypse, or the tentacle-eating vacuum cleaner. This was like some twisted alien version of those “what would you save first in a fire?” scenarios, except all the potential disasters were happening simultaneously, and all were caused by beings from another planet who were supposedly more advanced than humans.

Before I could decide, Cyro provided fresh motivation when he snagged half an eggshell with one finger, bringing the cracked piece of white toward his mouth. “I can study other aspects of these calcium carbonate crystalline remains. Taste, texture, rate of burn.”

“Wait—” I started, but it was too late.

Cyro popped the eggshell in his mouth, bits of attached egg white and yolk seeping from the corner of his mouth to run down his chin. His human disguise rippled slightly around the edges with surprise.

“Fascinating,” he finally said, wiping his mouth with a tentacle now protruding from his back. “It is both crunchy, slimy, and inducing a strange sensation in my belly. I feel like I may expel the fragments involuntarily.”

“We don’t typically eat the eggshells,” I said, walking over to him. “And that feeling is probably nausea. If you vomit, I’m not cleaning it up.”

“Physical discomfort is acceptable during the pursuit of knowledge,” he countered, then he was rambling to himself. “I can taste albumin and nine essential amino acids. The lipid profile is particularly⁠—”

A sudden mechanical whirring sound cut off Cyro’s study of eggshells. I whipped around just in time to see Kalith take his hand from the cord of my reassembled coffee maker after plugging it into an outlet. The machine gave a high-pitched whine that no coffee maker should ever make, vibrating violently on the counter before shooting a geyser of dark grounds straight up into the air. The coffee grounds hung suspended for what seemed like an impossible moment before gravity reclaimed them, sending them showering down across the kitchen like caffeinated shrapnel.

“Minor recalibration required!” Kalith shouted over the coffee maker’s death scream, his left arm twitching frantically, splitting into tentacles, as he tried to disconnect the power. More tentacles emerged, frantically attempting to contain the grounds explosion while his right human hand fumbled with wires. “The pressure regulator appears to be⁠—”

Whatever the pressure regulator appeared to be was drowned out by an agonized yowl from Vantor as the vacuum cleaner gave a triumphant roar and sucked another three inches of his tentacle into its spinning brush. A few more inches and more than half of his appendage would be wound around the internal vacuum brush. The powerful security specialist, who currently looked like a seven-foot-tall superhero, was now awkwardly sprawled across the tile floor, his dignity completely abandoned as he engaged in a desperate tug-of-war with my ancient Hoover.

“Enemy combatant has the upper tentacle! My defensive capabilities are deficient!” he shouted, his usually controlled voice rising in pitch. His human disguise was failing spectacularly now, patches of deep blue-green skin showing through as he strained against the vacuum’s pull. “Request immediate tactical assistance!”

Coffee grounds were still raining down, Cyro was delivering a dissertation on proteins while chomping on eggshells, and Vantor was about to lose a limb to household cleaning equipment. Something inside me snapped—not with anger, but with the absurd hilarity of it all.

These beings could traverse the stars, but they couldn’t handle basic domestic Earth tasks.

25

TAMMY

A fight to the death… with a vacuum.

“This is a formidable opponent!” Vantor grunted, still struggling to win against the heavy, old Hoover.

“Oh for—” I lunged across the kitchen, my bare feet slipping slightly on egg white as I made my way to the vacuum cleaner. “You’re supposed to be the defensive genius!”

I dropped to my knees beside Vantor, reached around the vacuum’s body, and yanked the plug from the wall socket. The machine gave one last defiant whine before dying, its death grip on Vantor’s tentacle finally relaxing.

Vantor stared at the plug in my hand with what could only be described as embarrassment mixed with awe. “A kill switch,” he muttered. “Tactical oversight.”

“It’s not an enemy combatant,” I explained, carefully helping him extract his tentacle from the roller brush. The appendage was clearly tender, its usual vibrant color slightly dulled where the brush had caught it. “It’s a vacuum cleaner. It sucks up dirt. You don’t fight with it; you control it.”

I demonstrated by holding the handle properly, making a short sweeping motion before setting it aside. “See? Not a weapon.”

Vantor’s expression was so serious that I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. “I have underestimated Earth technology,” he said gravely, examining his injured appendage. “It will not happen again.”

A crash from behind me announced that Kalith had dropped something else. I spun around to find him standing amid a growing pile of coffee maker parts, his expression shifting between determination and despair. The grounds had settled over everything like a fine dark dust, including Kalith himself, giving him the appearance of having been caught in some bizarre coffee sandstorm.

“The caffeine extraction system is more complex than initially assessed,” he admitted, holding up what I recognized as the heating element, now bent at an angle that couldn’t possibly be functional. “But I am confident that with additional time and resources⁠—”

“Fix it,” I interrupted, my voice taking on an edge that surprised even me. My red hair had fallen across my face, and I blew it away with an exasperated huff. “I don’t care how, but you better fix my coffee pot or your ‘come in peace’ is going to become ‘leave in pieces.’”

His eyes widened at my tone, and for a moment, I caught a glimpse of what might have been genuine alarm rippling across his skin in waves of green. Then he nodded quickly, tentacles moving with renewed purpose among the scattered components.

I turned my attention to Cyro, who was still meticulously sorting through the egg mess, separating shell fragments from the gooey mixture with intense focus. His human disguise was mostly in place, though occasional flashes of purple iridescence shimmered across his forearms as he worked.

“You,” I said, pointing at him with what I hoped was intimidating authority. “Pick out all the shells—now! And then find a way to make those eggs edible.”

He blinked at me, those metallic eyes catching the light. “The protein denaturation process has already begun due to exposure to air. Cooking at this stage will⁠—”

“I don’t need a scientific paper,” I cut him off. “I need breakfast!”

I stepped back, surveying the state of my beautiful new kitchen—now a war zone of coffee grounds, egg slime, and alien confusion. The countertops that had gleamed so impressively just minutes ago were now covered in a fine layer of dark grounds that crunched underfoot. Egg dripped slowly from the edge of the island, forming a viscous puddle on the pristine tile. The vacuum lay on its side like a vanquished foe, still holding strands of purplish tentacle fiber in its brush.

And in the midst of it all stood three powerful beings from beyond the stars, looking for all the world like scolded children caught in the cookie jar. Their human disguises flickered and rippled under stress, hints of their true forms showing through—a tentacle here, a flash of otherworldly color there, eyes that occasionally revealed double lids or pupils that contracted vertically instead of in circles.

My brand-new kitchen was a disaster zone, breakfast was nowhere in sight, and I was standing in the middle of it all in my mismatched pajamas with no coffee in my system. By all rights, I should have been furious.

Instead, I felt something dangerously close to affection blooming beneath my exasperation. These impossible beings had transformed my kitchen overnight as a gesture of... what? Gratitude? Friendship? Whatever it was, they’d done it because they cared, and now they were trying—however catastrophically—to take care of me.

God help me, it was actually kind of sweet.

“You’re all hopeless,” I sighed, pushing my hair back from my face. “Completely hopeless.”

I grabbed a mixing bowl from one of the new cabinets—at least they’d put things back in roughly the right places—and began scraping the least-shelly egg mixture into it. If I could salvage enough of Cyro’s “perfectly crack a calcium carbonate, crystalline ellipsoid” experiment, I might be able to make something resembling scrambled eggs. The coffee grounds crunched beneath my bare feet as I moved around the kitchen, a sound that made me wince with each step. The beautiful new floor, covered in breakfast shrapnel before I’d even had a chance to properly appreciate it.

“You missed a fragment,” Cyro observed, pointing to a nearly microscopic piece of eggshell in the mixture. He leaned in with scientific intensity, his silver eyes narrowed as he extracted the offending shard with surgical precision. “The calcium carbonate structure would create an unpleasant textural contrast with the protein coagulation.”

“Thanks,” I muttered, whisking the eggs with more vigor than necessary. Behind me, I could hear Kalith’s continued tinkering with the coffee maker, punctuated by occasional mutters in what I assumed was his native language—sounds like water bubbling through strange pipes.

Vantor had retreated to the corner, nursing his injured tentacle while keeping a suspicious eye on the now-dormant vacuum cleaner. The appendage was slowly retracting back into his human disguise, though it twitched occasionally as if still remembering its trauma.

As I turned to the stove—at least they hadn’t dismantled that yet—I caught the three aliens exchanging glances over my head. Cyro leaned toward the others, his voice dropping to what he probably thought was a whisper but was actually perfectly audible.

“We must remember that humans are volatile without their caffeine,” he murmured, his tone that of a scientist documenting a dangerous phenomenon. “The biochemical dependency creates significant behavioral alterations when intake is delayed.”

Vantor nodded solemnly, still cradling his injured appendage. “Dangerously hostile,” he agreed gravely. “Tactical approach must be adjusted to accommodate this vulnerability.”

I rolled my eyes as I poured the salvaged eggs into a pan. “I can hear you, you know.”

All three had the decency to look momentarily abashed, though Cyro’s curious nature quickly overcame his embarrassment. “The correlation between caffeine deprivation and increased aggression is fascinating. Is this common among all humans or specific to certain phenotypes?”

“It’s common among people who wake up to find aliens destroying their kitchen,” I retorted, but there wasn’t much heat in it. I was too tired—and too coffee-deprived—to sustain proper indignation.

Behind me, I heard a sharp intake of breath followed by a muffled curse. I turned to see Kalith sucking on his finger, a small bead of greenish-blue blood welling up where he’d apparently cut himself on a sharp edge of the coffee maker. His skin rippled around the injury, the human disguise momentarily failing to reveal the true color and texture beneath.

“Are you okay?” I asked, abandoning the eggs to move toward him.

He nodded quickly, looking almost embarrassed. “Minor systemic breach. Already sealing.” Even as he spoke, I could see the small cut closing itself, his remarkable alien biology healing the wound before my eyes. “The caffeine delivery system is nearly operational. The power distribution network required significant reconfiguration.”

I glanced down at the coffee maker, which now looked mostly reassembled, though with several extra wires protruding from its base and a small glowing component that definitely hadn’t been part of the original design. “What did you add to it?”

“Efficiency enhancement,” he explained, his golden-flecked eyes lighting up with pride. “It will now extract twenty-three percent more caffeine per volume while reducing brewing time by thirty-seven percent.”

“So... it’ll make stronger coffee faster?” I translated, feeling a spark of hope for the first time that morning.

“Affirmative,” Kalith confirmed, his smaller left tentacle emerging briefly from his sleeve to make a final adjustment before disappearing back into his human disguise.

As I returned to the eggs, which were starting to form actual curds in the pan, I took in the full state of the kitchen. Despite its beautiful new fixtures and surfaces, it currently resembled a war zone. Coffee grounds covered every horizontal surface like some bizarre volcanic ash. Bits of eggshell glinted in the morning light, nestled in globs of drying yolk and white. The vacuum cleaner lay on its side, a defeated enemy with tentacle fibers still caught in its brush. And somewhere in the midst of it all, I caught the acrid smell of burning⁠—

“The toast!” I spun around to discover smoke rising from the toaster—another appliance I hadn’t even realized they’d been tampering with. Two blackened rectangles popped up as if on cue, sending up small plumes of char.

“Bread carbonization complete,” Cyro announced helpfully. “Though perhaps beyond optimal consumption parameters.”

I closed my eyes and counted slowly to ten, feeling a hysterical laugh building in my chest. When I opened them again, nothing had changed—my kitchen was still a disaster zone, breakfast was still a questionable proposition, and I was still surrounded by three aliens who looked at me with expressions that were both dissimilar, yet totally the same.

Yet undeniable warmth unfolded in my chest as I looked at them—these impossible beings who had crashed into my barn and my life just days ago. They had transformed my kitchen overnight, not because it benefited them, but because they thought it would make me happy. They were attempting breakfast—however catastrophically—because they’d observed my morning routine and wanted to contribute. They were so powerful, so advanced, and yet completely defeated by the mundane realities of Earth life.

There was something endearing about their failure, about the way they approached every task with such earnest determination despite their complete lack of know how. It made them seem less alien and more human.

A soft clicking sound pulled me from my thoughts. Kalith had connected the final component of the coffee maker, and the machine was now humming to life, water beginning to trickle through the newly reassembled system. The scent of brewing coffee—that rich, promising aroma that always smelled like possibility—began to fill the kitchen, cutting through the chaos of burned toast and spilled eggs.

“Coffee synthesis initiated,” Kalith announced, his voice carrying unmistakable pride.

I abandoned the eggs, which were probably beyond saving anyway, and moved toward the coffee maker like it was dispensing liquid gold. The pot filled with a darker, richer brew than my old machine had ever produced, and when it finally beeped to signal completion, I nearly wept with relief.

With reverent hands, I poured the steaming liquid into a mug that had somehow survived the morning’s carnage. The coffee was darker than usual, almost syrupy in consistency, and the aroma was intense enough to make my eyes water slightly. I lifted the mug to my lips, closed my eyes, and took the first sip.

Heat. Bitterness. Strength. Heaven.

Whatever Kalith had done to my coffee maker, it now produced what might have been the perfect cup of coffee—rich and complex and powerful enough to cut through the fog of my caffeine-deprived brain. I felt the warmth spread through me, felt the tight knot of tension between my shoulders begin to unravel. A deep sigh escaped me, my body visibly relaxing as the caffeine entered my system.

When I opened my eyes, I found all three aliens watching me with identical expressions of fascination, as if they were witnessing some miraculous transformation. In a way, I supposed they were.

“Remarkable,” Cyro murmured, his gaze cataloging my every reaction. “The physiological response is immediate and pronounced.”

“Vital signs stabilizing,” Vantor observed, head tilted, eyes narrowed. “Threat level decreasing.”

“The enhancement is functioning as designed,” Kalith added, pride evident in the slight puffing of his chest.

I took another long, deep sip, feeling the last of my morning rage dissipate, allowing a softer mood to settle inside me. Yes, my kitchen was a disaster. Yes, breakfast was a lost cause. Yes, I was surrounded by aliens who couldn’t crack an egg without creating a catastrophe.

But I had coffee. Really good coffee. And somehow, as I stood in the sunlight streaming through my new windows, surrounded by the beautiful chaos these impossible beings had created, that seemed like enough for now.

“You guys,” I said, shaking my head with a mixture of exasperation and affection, “are going to learn how to clean before you learn anything else.”

All three nodded with solemn determination, as if I’d just assigned them the most important mission of their interstellar careers. And despite everything—the coffee grounds crunching beneath my feet, the egg congealing on my beautiful new countertops, the faint smell of smoke still lingering in the air—I couldn’t help but smile.

26

VANTOR

The angry beast Tammy called a vacuum had won, but I would not be bested twice in one day!

In the light of day, the raccoon was obviously not a threat.

The Earth creature stared at me with beady eyes that reflected an intelligence I’d missed during our first encounter when it was dark outside. I didn’t expect such alertness from a non-dominant species. Its ringed tail flicked back and forth as it stood on its hind legs beside the waste receptacles, fearless in the face of a trained combat specialist from another world. The food I had been unprepared to provide it last time, had been replaced by Tammy’s buckets of refuse. The creature had already tipped one container over, spilling its contents across the ground.

The audacity.

I squared my shoulders, feeling my skin ripple with patches of burgundy beneath my human disguise in a warning I wasn’t sure the raccoon could understand. After the kitchen disaster and my defeat by the suction device Tammy called a “vacuum,” I refused to be bested by yet another Earth entity, especially one that barely reached my human knee.

“You are trespassing again,” I informed the creature in a firm voice. “This territory belongs to Tammy Tucker and, temporarily, to three superior aquatic beings from the Thalassar system.”

The raccoon tilted its head, black mask-like markings making it appear calculating. It chittered softly, tiny hands working at nothing in the air between us.

“Your reluctance to vacate is noted,” I continued, taking a step forward. “But I should inform you that I hold the victory belt for cross-species combat in the Andromeda Arena three cycles running. I have defeated beings with twice your number of appendages and a hundred times your mass.”

The raccoon blinked slowly, then moved closer rather than retreating. We’d done this same dance before. A tactical error on its part. It approached with a strange sideways gait that I recognized as an attempt at deception. It was trying to appear non-threatening while advancing its position. A classic maneuver I’d employed myself on hostile planets.

“Final warning,” I said, deepening my voice to the register that had made the largest Kelpian sea-beasts flee in terror. “Your stubborn persistence will result in⁠—”

The creature launched itself at my chest with unexpected velocity. 

I staggered backward, unprepared for the direct assault. All of my tentacles emerged in automatic defense. The raccoon’s small claws dug into the fabric of the shirt Tammy had provided as it scrambled up toward my face.

“Cease this immediately!” I commanded, my voice pitched higher than intended. It took great effort, but I formed two tentacles back into arms, thinking it might be easier to control the rabid beast with fingers.

The raccoon responded by chittering louder and patting my cheek with a paw that felt unnervingly like a miniature version of my own tentacle tip. I attempted to grasp it by what appeared to be the scruff, the way Tammy handled the uncooperative feline back at the ship, but the creature twisted with unnatural flexibility and nipped at my fingers.

“That’s it,” I growled, feeling my skin flash hot orange patches beneath the human exterior.

What followed was not my finest display of combat expertise. 

I spun in circles, the raccoon now somehow on my back. I reached behind me, but it evaded my grasp with infuriating ease. When I finally caught hold of its tail, it made a sound like the warning sirens on our ship and wrapped itself around my arm, tiny teeth bared. I shook the human arm vigorously, which only encouraged the furry monster to climb higher, until it perched on my head like some sort of living hat.

I dropped to the ground and rolled, certain this would dislodge my opponent.

The raccoon simply hopped off, watched me complete my tactical maneuver, then climbed back onto my now-grass-stained body when I finished.

After three more minutes of undignified struggling that I was grateful my G.E.F. commanders couldn’t witness, I admitted defeat. The creature was clearly not hostile—merely insistent on establishing some form of relationship.

“You fight well for a non-aquatic species,” I conceded, my breathing slightly labored. “I propose a truce.”

The raccoon settled onto my shoulder, its warm weight strangely comforting. Its whiskers tickled my neck as it sniffed curiously at my skin, perhaps detecting the faint scent of ocean that all my kind carried regardless of form.

“I shall call you Hoover,” I decided, thinking of the vacuum that had proven such a worthy adversary that morning. “A name befitting a creature of your tenacious nature.”

Hoover chittered in what I chose to interpret as approval, then curled its tail around my neck in what might have been affection or a half-hearted strangling attempt. Either way, I found I didn’t mind.

I thought of the cat—the one Kalith had claimed and dubbed Manji 2—currently treating our crashed vessel like its personal territory. Perhaps Earth’s smaller life forms weren’t threats but potential allies. An intriguing development that warranted further study.

My contemplation was interrupted by a pained shout that made my skin flash cold blue with alarm. Tammy. My human disguise stabilized instantly as my training kicked in. I moved toward the sound at maximum velocity, Hoover flattening himself against my shoulder as if sensing the urgency.

I discovered Tammy by the compost pit, holding her palm and unleashing a string of Earth expletives that our language processors were still working to categorize. Some appeared to involve deities and reproductive functions in combinations that made little biological sense.

“Goddamn mother-fucking piece of—” She looked up, noticing my approach. “Oh, Vantor. Just got a splinter the size of Kansas in my hand from the damn shovel handle. I try to do one thing, and I screw it up.”

I was at her side in an instant, assessing for serious damage. Her palm displayed a puncture where a wooden shard had embedded itself in her soft skin. Blood welled up around it—such a vivid red, so different from my own bluish fluid.

“Allow me,” I said, not waiting for permission before taking her hand in mine. 

I pressed a suction cup to her injury, the one disguised as a fingerprint on my human thumb. Automatic extraction protocol engaged, and I felt the wood fragment dislodge into my specialized collection pouch. I held up the splinter—two centimeters of jagged wood—examined it briefly, then discarded it.

“Injury contained,” I informed her, then pressed a different digit to her wound. 

“What are you—” she began but went silent as I released a small amount of healing gel, sliding it across her damaged skin.

“Antiseptic, coagulant, and cellular regeneration compound,” I explained. “Standard field medical treatment.”

Tammy stared at her palm where a thin, slightly iridescent film now covered the wound. “That’s... actually pretty cool. Thanks.”

It was then that she noticed Hoover, who had remained remarkably still throughout the procedure.

“Um, Vantor? You’ve got a raccoon on your shoulder.”

“Yes. This is Hoover. He presented a security threat initially but has since been tamed by my superior combat skills.”

A laugh burst from her, bright and genuine. “It’s just a trash panda. They’re basically the least threatening thing out here, unless you count how they’ll steal anything that isn’t nailed down.”

As if to prove her point, Hoover chose that moment to leap from my shoulder and dart away with what I now realized was a button from my shirt clutched in his paws.

Tammy grinned. “See? Told you.”

I frowned at the retreating form of my newly named companion. “It is an absurd creature.” Even to my own ears, my tone sounded saddened that the “trash panda” had left me.

“Don’t worry, it’ll be back. Especially if you feed it next time.” Tammy soothed with a smile. “Though, that’s exactly what you shouldn’t do. They’re greedy little monsters.” Her tone suggested amusement rather than censure.

“I will carry substance in my human pants pockets so I am ready,” I decided aloud, already planning which foods might appeal to a creature with such tactical prowess.

Tammy’s lips quirked upward as she looked at me with an expression I couldn’t quite decode, but which made my core temperature rise by no less than two degrees. “You know what, Van? You’re kind of adorable for a big scary alien.”

I wasn’t entirely certain what “adorable” signified in this context, but the way her eyes softened when she said it made me hope it was a warrior’s compliment of the highest order.

The air shifted before I heard their footsteps—Cyro and Kalith approaching rapidly from different directions, drawn by Tammy’s earlier cry. They emerged from behind different outbuildings, their human disguises perfect except for the telltale flush creeping up their necks—a bleeding through of our natural coloration that happened when emotions ran high. I recognized the hues immediately: the deep teal of Cyro’s concern mixed with primal impulses, while Kalith’s skin showed faint traces of forest green jealousy. I didn’t need to see my own skin to know similar colors were betraying me. They both halted, taking in the sight of my hand still gently holding Tammy’s, my body positioned protectively close to hers.

“We heard shouting,” Cyro said, his metallic-sheened eyes darting between us. “A threat?”

“Injury,” I replied tersely, not stepping away from Tammy. “Contained.”

Kalith moved closer, his gaze fixed on where my healing secretion glistened on Tammy’s palm. “You used biological assistance?” Frustration flickered across his face, as if he were irritated that he hadn’t been the one to aid her.

I felt an unfamiliar possessiveness surge through me. On our home world, we shared everything—resources, discoveries, even mates. But here, with Tammy, something primitive and territorial awakened in me. I wanted to step between her and my companions, to declare a claim I had no right making.

Then she exhaled softly, and everything changed.

Her scent—that “Omega” biological signature that was more potent than anything I’d encountered in all my many star cycles of living—bloomed in the air between us. Sweet, intoxicating, like the electric flowering sea anemones that bloomed once a century in our deepest trenches. I inhaled involuntarily, drawing it deep into my specialized olfactory chambers.

My companions did the same, their pupils dilating visibly even in their human forms. Cyro’s neck flushed more intensely, patches of iridescent pastels breaking through his disguise. Kalith’s fingers twitched at his sides, a small tendril of deep green temporarily replacing his pinky finger before he regained control.

Our bodies responded immediately, releasing our own musk—what humans might call “Alpha” pheromones—into the air. The chemicals mixed with Tammy’s scent, creating a brand-new experience. It was heady and rich, making my blood rush hot and fast through my veins.

As if drawn by an invisible current, we all moved closer to her. I stepped forward first, Cyro and Kalith flanking me, our movements unconsciously synchronized as they had been during countless missions. Tammy’s eyes widened, darting between us as she took one step back, then another, until her shoulders met the weathered wall of the outbuilding.

“Guys?” Her voice came out huskier than usual. “What’s happening?”

I couldn’t answer. My throat had constricted, all moisture redirected to more urgent biological functions. Beneath my human disguise, my reproductive tentacle throbbed painfully, demanding release. The specialized appendage began to assert itself against my control, causing a visible change to my human form—my manhood swelling beyond what any Earth male could physically achieve.

Tammy’s gaze dropped briefly, her cheeks flushing a deep pink that made my skin ripple with answering color. She raised her hands, pressing her palms against my chest to maintain distance between us. The touch, though meant to keep me away, sent electricity arcing through my nervous system.

“Your biochemistry makes it clear you are not averse to our advances,” Cyro pointed out, his brain somehow still functioning despite the thick cloud of pheromones. His voice carried that slight echo quality it always did when he was struggling to maintain his disguise.

Tammy sucked in a breath, her chest rising and falling in a rhythm that made it hard for me to focus on anything else. “Still,” she managed, “give a girl room to breathe.”

But I was a security specialist first. Protection was my primary directive. With tremendous effort, I stepped back, my muscles trembling with the strain of denying what every cell in my body demanded.

Cyro and Kalith reluctantly followed my lead, moving several feet away though their eyes never left her. We formed a loose semicircle, giving her the space she requested while remaining close enough that her scent continued to intoxicate us.

In my mind, forbidden images formed in rapid succession: my tentacles wrapping gently around her wrists, pinning them above her head. My specialized touch appendages tracing the curve of her spine, counting each vertebra through her soft skin. My reproductive organ—so different from the limited human equivalent—enveloping her in pleasure from multiple angles simultaneously.

My scent grew stronger with each thought, and I saw Tammy’s nostrils flare as she detected the change. Her eyes dropped again to where my arousal strained against the confines of what Tammy had called “jeans.” The fabric was ill-equipped to contain a reproductive organ designed for both penetration and envelopment.

She bit her lower lip, the small action sending a jolt of electricity from my central nerve cluster to every extremity. Slowly, deliberately, she raised her gaze to meet mine. Many things passed between us—acknowledgment, curiosity, desire. Then her eyes shifted to Cyro, then Kalith, exchanging the same silent communication with each of them.

Understanding dawned across her features, followed by something that might have been amusement dancing with wonder. She knew. She understood what we were, what we wanted, what we could offer her. Three beings devoted to her pleasure. Beings that could share her without jealousy… well, mostly without jealousy.

I glanced at my companions, seeing my own desire reflected in their eyes, but other things too—uncertainty about our mission, about our planned return. The same doubt that had begun to take root in my mind.

Our ship still required repairs. We had to gather the water samples that were our original goal, and then those had to be transported back to G.E.F.’s research station. Our people awaited our findings on the viability of Earth’s water as a healing conduit. Our many waters awaited the solution to healing.

But as I looked at the human woman—chin up, the pulse ticking visibly at her throat, holding her ground before three predators she had every reason to fear—I suddenly wanted a lifetime to stand between her and whatever had taught her to brace like that. I found myself wondering, for the first time in my career as an explorer, if I wished to stop moving. To stand still and plant roots that could not flourish on my home world.

27

KALITH

A swift kick is sometimes exactly what a device requires to function. I kept kicking myself, but I could not find the will to continue ship repairs.

Another Earth day was nearly gone. Time moved too quickly on this planet.

The stables were fixed, the horses returned, and I now stared at the exposed innards of the gravity regulation system of our ship. But I could not focus, my vision intermittently blurring as Tammy’s scent ghosted through my memory again.

Sweet. Intoxicating. Maddening.

The sensory echo hit me with the same force as it had hours ago, making my tentacles ripple beneath my human disguise. I blinked hard, forcing my attention back to the tangle of circuitry and fluid channels before me. The regulator needed fixing—one more critical system to repair before our ship could leave this planet. Before I could leave Tammy. My specialized digits hovered over the delicate components, suddenly uncertain. When had I started thinking of departure as an event to dread rather than a mission objective to complete?

The ship’s internal lighting dimmed automatically, shifting to night cycle. How long had I been sitting here, tools spread around me like fallen soldiers, accomplishing nothing? I reached for a molecular bonder, but instead found myself inhaling deeply, searching for any lingering trace of her in the recycled air. Nothing. Just the sterile, familiar scent of our vessel—metal, synthetic lubricants, the faint ozone smell of active electronics. Not a hint of that earthy, warm fragrance that clung to Tammy’s skin.

“Focus,” I muttered to myself, the word echoing in the empty chamber.

I picked up the piece of Alloy 626—a perfectly refined metal compound we used for critical structural components. It gleamed in my palm, catching the low light. We’d been fortunate. The cargo hold had remained largely intact after the crash, preserving enough repair materials to make our vessel space worthy again. Theoretically. For some reason, I’d kept that discovery to myself, gathering important elements and storing them in a storage floor compartment. I also had not told the others that we had the rarest repair materials on hand, that we were not at the mercy of searching for them on this planet.

My mind wandered to the sheer mechanics of it—the tolerances, the fit, whether her body could physically accommodate mine at all. The thought made my skin flush deep green under my disguise. I wasn’t even certain her frame could withstand the exchange that mating would require. Our species reproduced through a complex transfer of genetic material via specialized tentacle appendages—nothing like the primitive but somehow enthralling method humans employed.

Yet my body responded to her as if she were the most compatible mate in the galaxy.

“Biologically impossible,” I whispered, letting the alloy drop to the floor with a dull clank. “Unprecedented. Irrational.”

I closed my eyes, remembering the way her hair had caught the sunlight. Red. Such an unusual color. On my world, red was the color of toxic deep-sea creatures, a warning to stay away. On Tammy, it was a beacon drawing me closer.

A soft beep from my diagnostic tool pulled me reluctantly back to the task at hand. The gravity regulator. Right. If I connected the alloy piece to the primary flow junction, then rerouted the secondary conduits...

My thoughts drifted again, this time to my surprising discovery in Tammy’s kitchen, where I’d found the two necessary materials that had not been included on the cargo manifest.

Two Earth substances with molecular structures remarkably similar to components we used in our ship’s biological interfaces. She’d called them “gelatin” and “milk”—such simple names for complex compounds. The collagen hydrolysate contained precisely the right amino acid chains to serve as a temporary binding agent for our neural interface gels. And the lacteal secretion’s calcium-phosphate matrix could, with minimal processing, substitute for our stabilization fluid.

I’d already tested small samples, confirming their compatibility. With these Earth materials and the salvaged alloy, I could have the ship’s critical systems operational within forty-eight Earth rotations. Two days. Just two days, and we could leave.

My tentacles twisted painfully beneath my skin at the thought.

I rolled onto my back, staring up at the curved ceiling of the engine compartment. The effort of maintaining my human form suddenly felt exhausting. I let it slip, feeling the relief as my legs separated into their natural configuration—eight tentacles spreading out beneath me on the cool metal floor. My skin darkened to its natural blue-green hue, color flickering across me with every troubled thought.

What was happening to me? I was an engineer, a problem solver. I identified issues and fixed them. That was my purpose, my function. The ship was damaged. I had the materials to repair it. The logical next step was clear.

There were so many fascinating devices here on Earth that I hadn’t yet had the chance to dismantle and understand. Tammy’s “toaster” alone, while primitive, showed such creativity. And the “riding mowers” in her storage building—I’d only glimpsed them, but the combustion engine called to me, begging to be explored. If I tore one apart, she’d still have a spare.

But it wasn’t just the machines. It was Tammy herself. The way her eyes crinkled at the corners when she laughed. The determined set of her jaw when she tackled difficult tasks around the ranch. The gentleness in her hands when she tended to her horses.

I picked up the diagnostic tool again, forcing myself to read the results. The gravity regulator needed three more connections, a fluid refill, and a complete recalibration. Hours of work, not days. Once complete, we would only need to repair the navigation system and seal the hull breach in the cargo area. Then nothing would prevent us from leaving Earth behind.

Nothing except the growing ache in my chest cavity at the thought of never seeing Tammy again.

I let the tool drop from my grip, listening to the hollow sound it made as it hit the floor. My usual focus and determination had abandoned me, replaced by an unfamiliar yearning that made my tentacles curl restlessly against the floor. I had become as non-functional as the gravity regulator beside me—all my parts present but somehow unable to perform their designated purpose.

The ship could be fixed. That much was certain. But I was beginning to suspect that I might be irreparably changed.

A soft sound from the shadowy corner of the ship made me lift my head. Two green eyes gleamed in the darkness, watching me with that peculiar, focused intensity I was beginning to recognize. Manji 2 emerged from her hiding place, moving with the fluid grace that still fascinated me—how could a creature with such a rigid skeletal structure appear to flow like water? Her black and white fur caught the dim light as she approached, tail held high like a victory banner. I remained still, sprawled on my back with my tentacles spread across the cool metal floor, curious to see what she would do.

“Hello, small predator,” I murmured, watching as she paused to consider me. When Tammy met the feline, she’d hoisted her up against her body, stroking down the cat’s back, and then lifting her high to “check under her skirt.” I now knew Manji 2 was female.

The cat tilted her head, whiskers twitching as she assessed my alien form. I had stopped maintaining my human disguise within the ship when alone, finding comfort in my natural configuration. Would she still approach me this way, now that I appeared so different from the bipedal form she first encountered?

My question was answered as she padded closer, sniffing delicately at one of my outstretched tentacles. The sensitive surface registered her warm breath, the whisper-soft touch of her whiskers. After a moment’s consideration, she stepped onto my central body mass with deliberate paws, turned three precise circles, then settled onto my chest with a weight that felt strangely anchoring.

A rumbling vibration emanated from her body—purring, Tammy had called it. A sound of contentment. I felt an answering vibration in my own chest cavity, color washing over me in slow, pleased waves of deep blue. My primary tentacles instinctively curved upward, one settling gently on Manji 2’s back, the touch receptors mapping the texture of her fur.

“Your regulatory system is quite efficient,” I told her, stroking along her spine. “Temperature maintenance, structural protection, and sensory enhancement all from one biological covering.”

The purring intensified as I continued the rhythmic movement, each stroke seeming to release accumulated tension from my nervous system. My thoughts, which had been scattered and agitated, began to organize themselves into clearer patterns. The ship, Tammy, the mission—all these concerns remained, but they no longer buzzed around my consciousness like angry insects.

“I enjoy this planet,” I said aloud, the words hanging in the quiet air between us. Speaking to a creature who couldn’t understand my language felt oddly freeing. “I do not think I wish to go home.”

Manji 2’s ears twitched, rotating toward my voice without her opening her eyes.

“Even if I will miss Manji I and my mother’s sea flower cakes,” I continued, remembering the spiral-shaped pastries my maternal parent created from the bioluminescent blooms that grew in our deepest trenches. The memory brought an unexpected ache—not for the taste, but for the ritual. Mother, primary tentacles coated in glistening batter, weaving the delicate strands into perfect geometric patterns while telling stories of her exploration days.

I stroked Manji 2 more slowly, letting my digit tips sink deeper into her fur. “Perhaps we could visit someday? Take Tammy home to see our world.”

The image formed unbidden in my mind: Tammy, eyes wide with wonder, viewing the crystalline towers of our central city rising from the ocean floor. Her red hair floating around her face in our aquatic environment, protected by a specialized breathing apparatus I would personally design to ensure her comfort and safety. I would show her the Rainbow Caverns where I had spent my early development cycle, teach her to ride the great manta creatures that served as our transport beasts.

“You would like Manji I,” I told the cat purring on my chest. “Though she might consider you a peculiar sort of cousin. Eight tentacles instead of four legs, but the same hunting instinct, the same independence.”

My daydream expanded, incorporating more details of a shared future: A workshop built onto the side of her dwelling at Sunflower Hills Ranch. A specialized tank for me to rest in during sleep cycles, perhaps adjacent to her sleeping platform. Joint meals where we each sampled the other’s traditional foods—her introducing me to more of Earth’s culinary offerings, me recreating the few dishes from home that wouldn’t be toxic to her physiology.

I stretched, feeling an unusual tightness in my skin. For a moment, I couldn’t identify the sensation. Then comprehension dawned—my epidermis wasn’t as moist as it should be. For my aquatic species, surface hydration was essential for respiration and sensory function. I should have felt panicked at the dryness, should have been experiencing respiratory distress.

Instead, I felt... comfortable.

I reached one tentacle up to my neck where the moisture unit was secured—the device that continuously released a fine mist of specialized water to keep my skin functioning. My digit tips found the unit’s familiar contours, but none of the vibration that indicated active operation.

“I wonder when this stopped working?” I mused aloud, removing the device and holding it up to examine in the dim light. The fluid reservoir was completely empty, the power cell drained. It must have failed hours ago, perhaps even days.

I tossed it aside, the soft clatter as it hit the floor barely disturbing Manji 2’s rest. An unsettling realization settled over me: my body was adapting to Earth’s environment. Evolving. Changing to survive in this terrestrial world with its dry air and gravitational differences.

Suddenly, my entire epidermis felt parched, as if the mere awareness of the moisture unit’s failure had triggered a delayed reaction. My respiratory surfaces contracted uncomfortably, and a new sensation—thirst, I recognized—swept through me with unexpected intensity.

I cradled Manji 2 carefully in the cradle of two tentacles as I flowed upright, the rest of my appendages moving in fluid coordination. Despite the discomfort, I marveled at how easily I maintained balance without the moisture that had once been essential to my species’ movement.

“I require hydration,” I informed the cat, who blinked lazily up at me as I carried her. “Tammy mentioned a ‘bathtub’ that sounds ideal for total immersion.”

I moved toward the ship’s exit, my mind already calculating the most efficient path to the farmhouse bathroom. An eternity-long soak—that would solve the immediate problem. And perhaps, if I were fortunate, I might encounter Tammy along the way.

28

CYRO

Who is this joyful Marvin fellow, and how did he discover sexual healing?

The dusty particles swirled through shafts of afternoon sunlight as Tammy led me into the revitalized structure where her equine specimens were housed. Kalith had gone overboard in here, gilding the padlocks and adding numerous transparent panels for increased light entry.

“I love all the windows. It’s so much brighter in there,” Tammy said, tilting her face up to look. The sun rays bathed across her face, making her seem to glow. She was a stunning human. Not that I’d seen many humans. Even so, I had little doubt she was a magnificent example of her kind.

“Yes, Kalith has done a satisfactory job,” I nodded.

“It’s way better than just satisfactory, Cyro,” she teased.

“It is better than just satisfactory,” I allowed. She scrunched her face, then rolled her eyes.

I took a deep breath. The air carried complex organic compounds, and they were a warm greeting.

I recognized them easily now as manure, leather, and the distinct musk of the large Earth mammals themselves. The scents seeped into my olfactory channels, alongside the increasingly potent perfume of Tammy herself. It was a combination of what she called “vanilla shampoo” and her own unique biochemical signature. That smell continued to affect my nervous system in ways I could not understand. The mere proximity of the human Omega caused my senses to go haywire at times.

“Do you really think you can get them to breed?” Tammy sounded anxious, stopping and turning around to face me. She was chewing on her lower lip in that way I now found endearing, though at first I thought it was a strange, species-specific behavior that happened in times of high emotion.

I nodded, clutching the small case containing my pheromone devices. “The environmental conditions appear adequate. Temperature and humidity levels fall within acceptable parameters for reproductive activity. I have observed them behaviorally and believe I know what is creating the physical divide between the two animals.”

“But it’s not just science,” she protested. “Horses are like people. You can’t force them to mate.”

“I am confident in my analysis and plan,” I protested.

Tammy’s mouth quirked up at one corner. “Well, that’s not quite enough, science boy.” She moved to a dusty shelf where an antiquated audio device sat. “We need some mood music.”

“Mood... music?” I repeated, the concept completely foreign to me. On my world, reproductive activities were scheduled according to biological cycles and chemical compatibility, not auditory stimulation.

Tammy pressed a button, and the device emitted a series of disruptive crackling sounds before a low, melodic human voice filled the stable. The vocal patterns were unlike anything I’d heard on Earth thus far—deep, sensual, with rhythmic instrumental accompaniment that seemed designed to mimic biological functions.

“The one. The only. Marvin The Marvelous Gaye,” Tammy announced with satisfaction. “Classic baby-making music.”

I tilted my head, analyzing the sonic patterns. It was at least less jarring than the horrid music she’d played in the house. What was it again? Eighties makeover madness? I shook my head. I understood sound input on a sonic level, applied to various experiments. I understood the vibrations of it that some on my planet purely enjoyed. But it had no place in reproduction.

“You believe auditory stimulation will encourage reproductive compatibility between two equines who have previously displayed antagonistic behavior?”

She turned to me with those bright blue eyes that reminded me of the rare cerulean pools on my home world. “You obviously need a crash course in what the right kind of song will do in the bedroom. Duration,” she ticked off on her fingers, “speed, rhythm. All the good stuff.”

I processed this information, finding it both primitive and strangely intriguing. “Still, I do not believe healing sexually will happen, no matter how happy this Marvin human may be.”

Tammy laughed, the sound causing a pleasant ripple of warmth across my skin beneath my human disguise. “Just set up your alien love potion contraptions while I bring in the happy couple.”

I knelt and opened my case, revealing the six small devices I’d constructed from components salvaged from our ship combined with materials from Tammy’s kitchen. Each was approximately three centimeters in diameter, with a specialized emission port designed to release synthesized pheromones calibrated specifically for Earth equines.

“These will release compounds that mimic the biochemical signals produced during peak fertility cycles,” I explained as I positioned the first device in a corner of the enclosure. “I analyzed hair samples from both specimens and identified the specific chemical signatures their bodies produce when receptive to mating.”

“Uh-huh,” Tammy replied, clearly more focused on leading Mystery into the enclosure. The stallion’s muscles rippled beneath his mahogany coat as he tossed his head, nostrils flaring at the unfamiliar scents my devices were beginning to emit.

I placed the remaining units at strategic points throughout the space, calculating optimal air flow patterns for maximum dispersion. By the time I’d finished, Tammy had brought in Sassafras as well, the mare immediately pinning her ears back and moving to the opposite end of the enclosure from Mystery.

“They still look like they want to kill each other,” Tammy observed, her optimism noticeably diminishing as she leaned against the fence. “Are you sure this will work?”

“The pheromonal influence requires approximately seven to ten minutes to overcome existing behavioral patterns,” I informed her, moving to stand beside her at the fence. “Observe their respiratory rates. The compounds are already entering their systems.”

We stood in silence as the Marvin Gaye human continued to vocalize about sexual healing. The juxtaposition of primitive Earth music with advanced xenobiological technology struck me as oddly appropriate—a perfect representation of the strange fusion my life had become since crash-landing on this planet.

Gradually, subtle changes began to manifest in the horses’ behavior. Mystery’s aggressive stance softened, his ears rotating forward rather than flattened against his head. His neck, previously rigid with tension, developed a gentle arch that displayed his muscular structure to advantage. My analytical mind recognized this as a classic reproductive display behavior, designed to showcase peak fitness to potential mates.

Across the enclosure, Sassafras had stopped pawing nervously at the ground. Her tail, which had been clamped tightly against her body, now raised slightly, her head lowering in what my research identified as a preliminary receptivity posture.

“Look!” Tammy whispered, her fingers wrapping around my forearm with surprising strength. “She’s not trying to kick him!”

I nodded, noting how Mystery took a tentative step toward the mare, his movement careful rather than aggressive. “The pheromone blend is successfully overriding their learned antagonistic responses and activating natural reproductive instincts.”

Sassafras remained still as Mystery approached, neither welcoming nor rejecting his advance. The stallion extended his nose, nostrils flaring as he processed the chemical signals now flooding the enclosure. Sassafras responded with a soft nickering sound that made Tammy’s grip tighten further on my arm.

“Oh my god,” she breathed, her excitement palpable. “That’s her happy sound. She never makes that around him.”

The horses moved closer together, their movements becoming synchronized in a dance of cautious interest. Mystery circled Sassafras slowly, his powerful neck arched even more prominently. Sassafras tracked his movement, her tail rising higher with each passing minute.

The transformation was remarkable—two creatures who had previously expressed nothing, but hostility now engaged in a carefully choreographed courtship ritual. Mystery gently nipped at Sassafras’s neck, and instead of kicking out at him, she stood perfectly still, allowing the contact.

“Your devices are working,” Tammy whispered, her voice trembling slightly. “They’re actually working.”

I felt an unfamiliar sensation in my chest—pride mixed with pleasure at her approval. “The pheromonal influence mimics optimal breeding conditions while suppressing stress hormones that would inhibit reproductive behavior.”

As if to confirm my explanation, Mystery suddenly reared up behind Sassafras, his forelegs coming to rest on her back. Sassafras’s stance widened to accommodate him, her body language now fully receptive.

“YES!” Tammy’s jubilant shout erupted beside me, startling both horses. Mystery quickly dismounted, but—crucially—did not retreat to the opposite side of the enclosure. Instead, he remained close to Sassafras, their bodies nearly touching as they both turned to look at the source of the outburst.

Tammy clapped her hands over her mouth, eyes wide above her fingers. “Sorry,” she mumbled through her hands, then turned to me with an expression of such pure joy that my respiratory system momentarily faltered. “They did it! I mean, they were doing it before I yelled like an idiot.”

“The initial mounting was successful,” I confirmed, analyzing the continuing behavior of the equines. “More importantly, they maintain proximity without aggression. The biochemical attraction has been established. They will likely complete the reproductive act once we leave them undisturbed.”

Tammy threw her arms around me with unexpected force, pressing her body against mine in what I recognized as a human “hug.” The contact sent waves of pleasant electrical impulses shivering up my spine, making my skin flush beneath my disguise.

“You wonderful alien genius,” she murmured against my neck, her warm breath causing localized temperature increases that spread rapidly throughout my form. “You just saved my farm.”

Tammy practically floated beside me as we made our way back to the cottage, her steps light and bouncing in a manner I’d never observed before. Her biochemical signature had shifted dramatically—endorphins and dopamine flooding her system at levels that registered clearly even to my muted terrestrial sensory organs. She talked rapidly, words spilling out about breeding schedules, foal preparations, and market values that would mean little to most humans but represented something profound: hope. The achievement of facilitating equine reproduction paled in comparison to my satisfaction at witnessing her transformation from despair to elation.

“We have to celebrate,” she declared as we entered her dwelling. “This calls for the good stuff.”

I followed her into the kitchen, a space I’d come to find oddly comforting despite its primitive cooking technology. The afternoon sunlight filtered through gauzy curtains, creating patterns across the worn wooden floor that reminded me of light refractions in our oceanic cities.

“I’ve been saving this for exactly this moment,” Tammy announced, pulling open the refrigeration unit and reaching far into its recesses. She emerged triumphant with a green bottle covered in a thin layer of dust. “Champagne. The real deal, not the cheap stuff.”

I examined the object curiously. “This contains the fermented fruit beverage that causes mild neurological impairment in humans?”

She laughed—a sound I’d begun cataloguing in different categories based on pitch and duration. This was her genuine amusement laugh, the one that made the corners of her eyes crinkle in a manner I found inexplicably fascinating.

“That’s one way of describing it. But mostly, it’s for special occasions.” She stretched upward toward a high cabinet, her form elongating in a way that drew my attention to the anatomical proportions I’d been studying with increasing interest. Her fingertips barely brushed the glass vessels she sought.

Dust particles danced in the slanting sunbeams as she struggled. I could have assisted—should have offered assistance—but found myself momentarily transfixed by the way the light caught in her red hair, creating variations in hue from copper to deep crimson that no synthetic pigment on my world could replicate.

“Almost... got... them,” she muttered, finally managing to grasp two long-stemmed glasses. She turned toward me with a victorious smile; the transparent vessels held aloft like trophies.

Just as she moved toward the counter where the bottle waited, a sharp electronic tone cut through the moment. Her communication device, which she called a “rotary phone,” emitted its demanding summons from where it melded with the wall.

“Hold these,” she said, transferring the delicate glasses to my hands. I accepted them carefully, aware of how easily human craftsmanship could be damaged by my superior strength.

Tammy walked over to the phone and lifted the receiver. She pressed the device to her ear. “Hello, this is Tammy Tucker.”

I observed a remarkable transformation occur over the next seventy-four seconds. The jubilant, confident woman who had stood before me moments ago seemed to physically diminish. Her shoulders curved inward, her spine losing its proud posture. The blood vessels in her face constricted, draining color from her cheeks and leaving her freckles in stark relief against suddenly pale skin.

“But that’s not what the last notice said,” she said, her voice tightening. “Three more weeks... Yes, I understand market rates have changed, but...” Her fingers whitened around the device, knuckles protruding sharply. “I see.”

I set down the glasses, calculating the optimal position for maximum stability on the uneven surface, while maintaining auditory focus on Tammy’s conversation.

“What about the agricultural extension program? Someone mentioned that last month,” she asked, a hollow quality entering her voice. “Right. Yes. I understand.” She paced in a small circle, her free hand moving to her hair, tugging at strands in what I recognized as a stress response. “I can bring the mortgage mostly up to date, but I’ll need to use the money I’d set aside for veterinary expenses.”

The conversation continued for another two minutes and seventeen seconds, filled with financial terminology I made note of for later research. Throughout, Tammy’s vital signs indicated increasing distress—elevated heart rate, shallow breathing, perspiration at her temples.

When she finally pushed the phone back onto the wall, her entire demeanor had transformed. The celebration that had propelled us from the stables had evaporated completely, replaced by a heavy and desperate aura. It seemed to pull her physically toward Earth’s gravity.

“What has occurred?” I inquired, modulating my voice to what my research indicated was an appropriate tone for expressing concern.

Tammy stared at the champagne bottle, no longer reaching for it. “They’re moving up the timeline. They spoke some bullshit Latin about risk assessment and current market values.” She inhaled shakily. “They want their money now, or they start foreclosure next week.”

The unfamiliar term required clarification. “Foreclosure?”

“They take my ranch,” she translated, her voice breaking on the final word. “Everything. The horses, the house, the land. All of it.”

I processed this information, analyzing its implications against what I knew of Tammy’s psychological attachment to this place. “But the breeding success—does this not resolve the financial distress?”

“Not fast enough.” She slumped against the counter; eyes fixed on some distant point outside the window. “A foal takes eleven months to develop. The bank wants their money way before that.”

A sensation spread through my chest cavity; it was strange, yet similar to the pressure changes experienced during rapid deep-sea descents. I identified it, after brief analysis, as protectiveness mingled with distress on her behalf.

“I really hope you’ve fixed my horses, Cyro,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “If I lose everything, if Derek wins and I’m a waste of oxygen, then I don’t know what I’ll do.”

The despair in her voice activated involuntary responses in my physiology. Without conscious decision, I moved toward her, extending my arms in the human comfort gesture I’d observed. She didn’t resist as I enfolded her against my chest, her smaller frame fitting against my constructed human form with surprising complementarity.

“Do not call yourself a waste of oxygen, Tammy,” I said firmly, feeling my control over my human disguise waver as emotion disrupted my concentration. Two tentacles emerged from beneath my shirt, wrapping gently around her back in an instinctive protective gesture. “You deserve every life-supporting inhalation you take. And your ex-mate is the one who deserves deprivation of air.”

She didn’t recoil from the revealed appendages, instead leaning further into my embrace. I felt moisture against my chest—saline secretions from her lacrimal ducts that indicated extreme emotional distress. The dampness triggered protective urges that seemed to bypass my rational thought processes.

Our moment of connection was abruptly severed by an aggressive, rhythmic sound from outside—short, sharp blasts of audio disturbance that my sensors identified as a vehicle’s signaling system.

Tammy stiffened in my arms, her respiratory pattern shifting instantly from distress to alert fear. “That’s Derek’s truck,” she whispered, her hands clutching at my shirt. “He always honks three times, then waits ten seconds, then honks again.”

As if summoned by her description, another series of honks pierced the afternoon quiet.

My tentacles tightened around her instinctively, the protective suckers extending slightly against the fabric of her shirt. I felt a surge of unfamiliar hostility toward this unseen human male who had caused Tammy such distress.

“Do not worry, Tammy,” I assured her, my voice dropping to a lower register as my specialized vocal apparatus prepared for potential confrontation signals. “We will ensure he does not distress you again.”

The honking came once more, more insistent this time. Tammy pulled back slightly, looking up at me with those remarkable blue eyes now reddened from her tears.

“He’s not going to go away,” she said, resignation heavy in her voice. “He never does.”

“Then perhaps,” I replied, allowing my tentacles to become fully visible as they unfurled to their impressive length, “it is time he learned about persistence from a species that has perfected it across seventeen star systems.”

29

TAMMY

Like a bad penny, he kept coming back.

The horn blared again outside, each blast like a nail being hammered directly into my temple. Derek. Three honks, pause, repeat. His signature move. I’d once found it endearing, back when I thought his impatience was passion rather than entitlement. Now it felt like the audio equivalent of a dog marking its territory. I watched Cyro’s tentacles writhe with protective rage, the iridescent sheen beneath his human disguise intensifying as his emotions ran high. If tentacles could speak, his would be screaming obscenities.

“I know you want to help, but just stay in here,” I told Cyro, my voice steadier than my hands. “I’ll go see what that asshole wants.”

“This male has caused you distress.” Cyro’s voice carried that slight echo quality it always did when he was upset, his human facade slipping. A ripple of pastel colors flashed across his neck—the otherworldly equivalent of flushing with anger. “His presence is unwelcome. Let me remove him from your territory.”

I held up my hand, palm out. “No. I’ve been handling Derek Morgan long before you crash-landed in my horse trough. I need to do this myself.”

Cyro’s metallic-sheened eyes narrowed, but he nodded once, a jerky motion that telegraphed his reluctance. His tentacles retracted beneath his skin. The double lenses in his eyes flicked over once, betraying his agitation.

The horn sounded again, more insistent. Of course. God forbid Derek wait like a normal person.

I straightened my shoulders and marched toward the door, pausing only to check my reflection in the small entryway mirror. My red hair was a tangled mess, my eyes still puffy from crying. Perfect. Let him see what he’d done.

The screen door slammed behind me with a satisfying bang as I stepped onto the porch. The late afternoon sun hit me straight in the eyes, momentarily blinding me. When my vision cleared, I saw Derek’s oversized truck idling in my driveway, its glossy black finish gleaming like an oil spill against the dusty backdrop of my ranch. The truck was new. Of course it was. Derek measured his success in horsepower and chrome detailing.

As I appeared, the driver’s door swung open and out stepped my ex-fiancé, his movements calculated for maximum impact. Derek always entered a room—or in this case, a yard—like he was being filmed for a cologne commercial. Pressed jeans that probably cost more than my monthly feed bill. Crisp button-down with just enough buttons undone to be inappropriate for anything but a nightclub. Leather boots that had never seen an actual day’s work.

His smile widened when he spotted me, white teeth flashing in his tanned face. A predator’s smile. It never reached his eyes.

“There she is,” he called out, spreading his arms wide like we were in some twisted reunion show. “The stubborn little filly herself.”

I didn’t move from the porch. Height advantage. Never give it up when dealing with snakes. “What do you want, Derek?”

He approached with that swagger that used to make my heart skip. Now it made my stomach clench. “Can’t a man check in on his favorite neighbor?” His eyes roamed over me, assessing. “Though you’re looking a little rough around the edges these days, darlin’. Running this place into the ground taking its toll?”

“Cut the crap.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “Why are you here?”

Derek’s smile tightened at the corners. He never did like when I didn’t play along with his games. “Word travels fast in a small town. Heard you got a call from Farmers & Merchants today.” He tsked, shaking his head like I was a child who’d made a mess. “Foreclosure’s such an ugly business. All those papers, all those lawyers. Not to mention the humiliation.”

My blood turned to ice water in my veins. How the hell did he know about the bank call already? It had been less than an hour.

“Your concern is touching,” I said, the words bitter on my tongue. “But I’ll manage.”

“Will you?” He was at the bottom of the porch steps now, looking up at me with what someone who didn’t know better might mistake for genuine concern. “Because from where I’m standing, you need about sixty thousand dollars by next Friday, or you’ll be loading those two worthless horses into a trailer and looking for a studio apartment in town.”

My hands clenched into fists so tight I felt my nails bite into my palms. Worthless horses. As if Mystery and Sassafras were just inventory, not living, breathing creatures I’d poured my heart and savings into. As if the foal they might now produce wasn’t my last, best hope.

“I’ve got options,” I lied.

“Do you?” Derek climbed the first step, then the second. Too close now. Close enough that I could smell his cologne—sandalwood and money. “Because I’ve got sixty-five thousand dollars in options just waiting for you.”

My mouth went dry. Sixty-five thousand. More than enough to save the ranch. Hell, I’d be set for a year. I could pay for the artificial insemination. I had to think practically. The aliens weren’t staying forever. Just because Mystery and Sassafras were finally coupled didn’t mean anything yet. It’s not like the broodmare was pregnant.

“And what would that money cost me?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

His smile spread wider, more genuine now that he sensed weakness. “Just dinner. A conversation about our future. That gorgeous little body of yours back where it belongs—in my bed.” He reached out, his fingertips grazing my cheek before I could jerk away. “You can keep playing cowgirl if that’s what gets you off. But we both know you need a man to handle the business end of things.”

Pride and panic waged war in my chest. I needed that money. The ranch needed that money. Everything I’d worked for, everything I’d sacrificed—it would all be gone in a week without it. I could endure one night with Derek if it meant saving Sunflower Hills.

No. No, I couldn’t. Because it wouldn’t be just one night. It never was with Derek. He’d use the money to collar me as surely as if he’d wrapped a leash around my neck.

“The desperation looks cute on you,” Derek said, climbing the final step so we were face to face. “Not as cute as you looked in that little black dress at the cattlemen’s gala last year, but it’s got its own charm.” He leaned closer, his breath hot against my ear. “Just say the word, and all your problems disappear. All you have to do is admit you can’t do this without me.”

A tenuous cord inside me snapped. I’d rather burn the ranch to the ground myself than give Derek the satisfaction of rescuing me. I opened my mouth to tell him exactly where he could shove his sixty-five thousand dollars when his expression changed. His eyes widened, then narrowed to slits as he focused on an object over my shoulder.

I turned, finding Cyro in his perfect human disguise, striding silently down the front steps. His movements were too fluid to be human, but only someone looking for oddities would notice.

Relief flooded through me. I’d told him to stay inside, but in that moment, I couldn’t remember why. Safety in numbers seemed like a much better plan when facing Derek Morgan.

Movement from the corner of my eye caught my attention. Vantor was approaching from the direction of the stables, his imposing superhero-esque form seeming bigger than ever. From the opposite direction, near the equipment shed, Kalith emerged, his carved features set in determination.

My alien cavalry had arrived, summoned by some unspoken alarm system that I suspected had everything to do with the distress pheromones they claimed humans emitted. For once, I was grateful for their alien super-senses.

Derek hadn’t noticed the other two yet. His attention was fixed solely on Cyro, sizing him up like a bull encountering a rival for the first time. I turned back to face my ex, a new confidence straightening my spine.

“Actually, Derek,” I said, “I think you should leave. Now.”

Derek’s jaw tightened as Cyro positioned himself beside me. He’d never liked competition. In the past, if a man so much as smiled at me across a bar, I’d spend the whole night listening to whispered accusations about my supposed flirting. Now here was Cyro—tall, otherworldly handsome despite his human disguise—standing close enough that our shoulders touched. I felt the subtle shift in temperature that always came when he was agitated, his alien body heat rising to meet the challenge.

For one horrifying moment, I thought my inner Omega was going to riot, sending me into a violent heat right then and there. I had to swallow hard, concentrating with all my might to calm down, so I wouldn’t absolutely lose it. All I needed was for Derek to see me get soaked with slick. Asshole would probably think it was because of him.

I couldn’t stop the blush crawling up my cheeks, no matter how much I tried to regulate my breathing. I felt my face catch fire as Cyro shifted just a fraction, pressing more firmly into me. Oh, Jupiter help me, I was two seconds away from jumping Cyro’s bones in front of Derek!

I could practically feel the lava rising off Cyro, his Alpha cologne pouring out in heady waves. He was right there, his presence grounding me, yet also igniting searing need I desperately tried to shove out of my mind. Arms. Legs. Tentacles. His ability to shapeshift into… anything. The possibilities clouded my good sense. Even with Derek’s smug face right in front of me, I wanted to forget the chaos and dive into whatever potent mix of alien chemistry Cyro and I were brewing. If Kalith and Vantor showed up, I’d be a lost cause.

But leave it to Derek to kill my mood with one sentence.

“You still blush like crazy for me, Tammy.” His gaze had darkened, not with anger, but with odious desire. One time, I’d thought he was the most attractive man on Earth. Now, looking at the sheen across his brow, the mottled tan from the fake tanner he insisted ‘evened out the sun’s work’, and the teeth he had whitened yet again—seeing as how they are jarringly, unnaturally white—I only felt revulsion. Not a single ounce of attraction.

He leaned forward, causing Cyro to automatically wrap one human arm around me, tugging me into his side. The sight of that only made Derek pause momentarily in his advance. He pressed onward, running his calloused finger down my bare arm. I shivered, and not with desire. This man was repulsive. He’d always been, but now I was sane enough to see it. “Admit it, baby. You can’t live without me. Drop this crazy act, stop pretending these guys mean three shits to you, and come home. I’ll have the bank paid in a matter of hours. Hell, we can even keep this place if you don’t want to sell it. It can be your pet project. With my help, you can’t fail.”

Even though my need for Cyro still existed as smoldering embers in my tightened belly, my hatred for Derek was enough to overpower it and clear my head.

“No,” I said simply. I didn’t offer further explanation. He didn’t deserve it.

But… I knew better than to think Derek would accept a one-word answer. Even if it was a complete, firm sentence.

“You know you don’t mean that, Tam-Tam.” He brushed one finger down my cheek now. I flinched away, Cyro’s arm wrapping further around me. Almost… too far. God, I hoped he hadn’t forgotten to keep his tentacles looking human. I risked a glance down, breathing a shallow sigh of relief to see the very large male hand pressed against my abdomen.

“No,” I said again, with all the conviction I could muster, but Derek didn’t flinch. His arrogance flowed over me like a filthy oil slick, and as that jaw of his tightened, I could only feel my resolve hardening further. “I won’t be bought. Not by you. Not now. Not ever. I never should have been with you in the first place, Derek. You. Don’t. Deserve me.”

“Come on, Tammy,” he grinned, the kind of smile that promised manipulation and danger. The kind that didn’t reach his cold, calculating eyes. Because to Derek, I wasn’t a person. I was his object. I still was, despite cutting the cord months ago. “This is about the reality of your situation.” The way he leaned in close—too close—made me want to recoil, but I stood my ground.

I wished Cyro would loosen his hold so I could back away. Even the smell of Derek’s breath was making me nauseous.

But Cyro didn’t let me back away. He made me stand my ground. He also reached out one muscled, thick arm and pressed one giant palm against Derek’s chest. Cyro’s beefy fingers splayed out, enveloping one pectoral muscle and beyond.

Derek glanced down in surprise. His brow furrowed. His lip curled.

“Get your damn hand off me,” he snarled.

“Step back from Tammy,” Cyro said clearly, without aggression.

“She’s my girl,” Derek spat, “I’ll get as close as I fucking want.”

“You can try.” Was all the response Cyro offered as he stared Derek down.

Maybe I imagined it, but I saw real fear flash through Derek’s haughty eyes.

Then, for one horrifying moment, I thought my ex was going to get into a punching match with my alien. Maybe if it was Vantor, I’d not be worried. But Cyro was the quintessential pocket square, pencil toting nerd. His human guise might be a tall glass of water with muscles for days, but I wasn’t sure that would translate in a fight.

Crap.

30

TAMMY

There’s nothing quite like seeing your asshole ex covered in manure.

“What the fuck did you say to me?” Derek’s face was going red, making the fake tan look almost orange. But he stepped back. Derek actually gave way to Cyro, even if he was trying to sound tough still.

“I said, you may try to get as close as you wish to her. Try being the operative word.” Cyro stated, his voice carrying that formal, clipped quality that sometimes made him sound like he was reading from a textbook. The slight, wet echo underneath betrayed his anger.

“It’s okay, Cyro,” I told him, curving my hand around the forearm wrapped around my waist. “He’s not worth it.”

“Not worth it,” Derek breathed out. “You thought I was worth it for a long damn time, baby. Even wore my ring for a while.”

“Yes, I did. And I’m really glad I came to my senses before that ring got stuck on my finger.” My voice sounded bitter; I couldn’t help it, despite wanting to sound neutral and like I couldn’t care less.

“That fucking ring cost a mint,” Derek growled.

“You know, that’s your biggest problem, Derek. You think money solves everything. You think it can buy people the way it does livestock.”

“And it can’t? Don’t tell me that if you didn’t have these guys momentarily giving you hope and a backbone, you wouldn’t have already crawled back to me for money.” His words shot out like rapid fire bullets. Hitting me. One. Two. Three. Twenty. Square in the chest.

“Tammy no longer requires financial assistance from you, Derek Morgan,” Cyro said, and I wished I could keep my voice as even as his. Even the gurgling rage quality had lessened. I could barely tell he was irritated. His tone suggested he was dealing with something annoying, like a fly buzzing around a drink outside.

Derek’s eyebrows shot up, amusement replacing his initial surprise. “Tammy Tucker requires?” he mimicked, his drawl exaggerating the stilted phrasing. “And who exactly are you to decide what Tammy requires?”

“He’s a friend,” I cut in before Cyro could answer with anything dangerously close to the truth. “And he’s right. I don’t need your money.”

Derek shifted his weight, eyes darting from Cyro to me and back again. “Friend, huh? Funny, you never mentioned having friends staying at the ranch.” His gaze drifted past us, taking in the approaching figures of Kalith and Vantor. “Or should I say friends, plural?”

Kalith reached us first, his undeniable good looks drawing a dismissive scowl from Derek. He stepped up to my other side, radiating protective energy that felt like a warm blanket wrapping around my shoulders.

“The structural improvements to the equine housing have exceeded expectations,” Kalith announced proudly, gesturing toward the stable with its new windows and reinforced frame. His hands moved as he spoke, an unconscious habit that sometimes led to tentacle slips. I watched his fingers anxiously, relaxing when they remained distinctly human. “The irrigation system modifications have increased efficiency by seventy-eight percent, and the⁠—”

“Wait,” Derek interrupted, his eyes narrowing as he took in the various improvements around the ranch—improvements that would have cost thousands if done by professional contractors. “You’re telling me you fixed up this dump in what, less than a damn week?”

“We work with exceptional efficiency,” Kalith replied, his earth-toned eyes flashing with barely contained pride.

Derek turned his attention back to me. “So that’s your game? Hiring undocumented workers to save money while your horses starve? Probably got the materials off the back of a truck too.”

His tone dripped with acid, and his expression was warped in that textbook Derek way when the charisma gave way to narcissistic venom.

“My horses aren’t starving,” I snapped, fury rising hot in my chest. “And my friends are helping me out.”

“Friends.” Derek dragged the word out skeptically. “Right. So, I’m guessing you’ve got all their paperwork on file? I-9s? Work visas? Couple of bootleg contractor licenses?” He smiled thinly. “Because I’d hate for ICE to take an interest in Sunflower Hills.”

My stomach dropped. Immigration and Customs Enforcement was the absolute last government agency I wanted sniffing around my property. Not with three literal aliens using my barn as their temporary home.

“You know,” Kalith said conversationally, his eyes never leaving Derek’s face, “when we were fixing the damage from the recent fire, we found the strangest thing. Chemical residue. Accelerant. The authorities might find that interesting.”

Derek’s face twitched, a muscle jumping in his jaw as sweat beaded at his temples. The stable fire was only two nights old, and the aliens had pulled traces of accelerant from the ash—Derek’s handiwork, I’d been sure of it since I first smelled the smoke. And there it was, buried in Kalith’s mild little threat: the leash. Derek could whisper “immigration” all he liked, but the moment he did, a sample of his own accelerant would land on the county fire marshal’s desk with his name stapled to it. Mutually assured destruction, ranch-style. I watched it register—the tic at the corner of his jaw, the way his gaze skated off Kalith’s and dropped to the dirt. He understood the terms.

“Sounds like you’ve got quite the imagination,” Derek recovered quickly, his voice steady despite the sheen of sweat now visible on his forehead. “But then, you’d need one to believe that Tammy here can actually turn this failing ranch around.”

“The ranch is improving daily,” Cyro interjected, a ripple of iridescent color flashing briefly at his collar before he controlled it. “The equine reproductive program has been successfully initiated. The offspring will provide substantial financial returns.”

Derek’s eyebrows shot up. “Reproductive program? Finally got those two nags to stop trying to kill each other, did you?” He turned to me, stepping closer until I could smell his cologne again. “That’s sweet, darlin’. Really. But a foal won’t save you from foreclosure next week.”

Vantor chose that moment to insert himself smoothly between us, his imposing frame casting a shadow over Derek’s slightly shorter form. Despite his human disguise, Vantor radiated the same lethal energy that must have made him an effective security specialist in the deep oceans of his home world.

“Your proximity to Tammy Tucker exceeds acceptable parameters,” Vantor rumbled, his voice carrying the hint of a growl. “Step back.”

For a fleeting moment, I saw uncertainty flash in Derek’s eyes. He wasn’t used to being physically intimidated. At six feet tall with an athlete’s build, Derek typically dominated any space he occupied. But Vantor in his human form stood several inches taller, with shoulders broad enough to make my ex look almost slight in comparison.

The uncertainty quickly morphed into outrage. “Who the hell are these people?” Derek demanded, glaring at me from around Vantor’s shoulder. “How long have they been working for you?”

“We are not employees,” Cyro clarified, his formal tone somehow making the statement more threatening. “We are Tammy’s... companions.”

The way he said “companions” carried a weight of meaning that wasn’t lost on Derek. His face darkened, jealousy and disgust warring in his expression.

“Jesus Christ, Tammy,” he spat. “You’re telling me you’ve got three live-in boyfriends now? That’s how you’re paying the bills? They pound in a couple of fence posts by day, and then they pound you a couple times come night?”

Heat climbed my face—half embarrassment, half fury. “That is none of your business.”

“It is when you’re destroying what should have been our ranch,” he snapped. “You’re living like some kind of⁠—”

“Careful,” I interrupted, my voice dropping to a dangerous register. God, I’d never heard myself sound like that before. I hated the person Derek made me become. “Your next words may determine whether you leave this property on your feet or on a stretcher.”

As if they understood what I meant—what a stretcher was and that I was threatening Derek with bodily harm—my men moved fractionally closer.

Derek’s gaze darted between the three aliens, finally seeming to register the genuine threat they posed. But Derek had never known when to back down.

“You know what?” he said, pulling his phone from his pocket. “I think I’ll just call my buddy at the county sheriff’s office. See if he’d like to check the immigration status of your new... companions. Or maybe the IRS would be interested in how you’re paying for labor without filing any employment taxes.”

Panic seized my throat. Government officials. Investigations. Documentation that my aliens definitely didn’t have. My mind spun with nightmare scenarios—men in hazmat suits, area quarantines, my aliens trapped in underground labs being dissected by grim-faced scientists.

“Derek, don’t—” I started, but he was already thumbing through his contacts, a smug smile spreading across his face.

“What’s wrong, darlin’? Worried about something?” he taunted. “Just admit you need my help. Say the words, and this all goes away.”

I felt sick. If he made that call, everything would unravel. Not just my ranch, but the aliens’ safety, their mission, their very lives. They could be captured, studied, killed—all because my ex-fiancé couldn’t stand that I’d chosen independence over his control.

“These men have work visas,” I lied desperately. “They’re agricultural specialists from... from Iceland.” It was the first place that came to mind that might explain their occasionally formal English and pale complexions. “Everything’s legal. There’s no need to involve anyone else.”

Derek’s smile widened, knowing he’d found my weakness. “Iceland, huh?” He looked pointedly at Kalith’s golden-tanned skin and Vantor’s darker complexion. “Interesting place, Iceland. Lot of diversity there, is there?”

“You’d be surprised,” I said weakly.

“I’m sure I would be.” Derek lowered his phone but didn’t put it away. “So, what’s it going to be, Tammy? My money and protection, or should I make this call and see what shakes out?”

Desperation clawed at my insides. I’d been backed into a corner, and Derek knew it. The ranch or the aliens. An impossible choice. I opened my mouth, not even sure what would come out, when I realized that Cyro and Kalith had silently disappeared from beside me.

Where had they gone? And more importantly, what were they planning?

Derek’s fingers closed around my upper arm like a vise, digging into my flesh with enough force that I knew I’d have bruises shaped like his fingerprints tomorrow. The sudden pain stole my breath, a reminder of all the times he’d grabbed me like this when we were together—not enough to leave marks, just enough to show who was really in charge. But this time, in his anger, he’d forgotten to be careful. This time, there would be evidence.

“You listen to me,” he hissed, yanking me closer. “I built everything you have. I taught you everything you know about horses, about ranching. You’d still be painting your nails in a city apartment if it wasn’t for me.”

A low, guttural sound emerged from Vantor’s chest, a growl so primal it barely seemed human… because it wasn’t.

Before I could blink, his hand clamped down on Derek’s wrist, applying pressure to nerve points that made my ex’s fingers spring open involuntarily.

“You will not touch her,” Vantor stated, each word precise and deadly.

Derek snatched his hand back, rubbing his wrist where angry red marks were already forming. “Keep your hands off me, you—” He bit off whatever slur had been about to escape his lips, his gaze darting around. “Where’d your other two boyfriends go? Calling their alien friends to beam them up?”

He’d meant it as a joke, a jab at their foreignness, but I felt my heart skip a beat at how close he’d accidentally come to the truth. I glanced around, realizing that Cyro and Kalith had indeed vanished. My stomach tightened. I wasn’t sure if their absence was good or bad news.

“You think you’re so clever,” Derek continued, his face flushing an ugly red. “Little Tammy Tucker playing ranch boss with her stable of foreign studs. But we both know something’s not adding up here.” He gestured expansively around the property. “A week ago, this place was falling apart. Now suddenly you’ve got new fencing, repaired outbuildings, and those two horses that have hated each other since day one are supposedly making baby horses?”

“It’s called hard work,” I snapped. “A crazy concept that you wouldn’t recognize if it bit you on your designer-jeaned ass.”

Derek’s laugh was ugly, cutting. “Hard work doesn’t explain this kind of turnaround. Not without money. And we both know you don’t have any.” His eyes narrowed. “So. what is it, Tammy? Drugs? Running some kind of underground gambling operation? Or maybe—” his gaze raked over me insultingly, “—maybe you’re just servicing your new friends and charging premium rates for exotic pussy.”

The words hit like a physical slap. Even Vantor seemed momentarily stunned by the crudeness of the accusation, his protective stance momentarily faltering.

“Get. Off. My. Property.” Each word felt like a stone in my mouth, hard and unyielding.

“Or what?” Derek sneered, recovering his swagger now that he thought he’d found my weakness. “You’ll call the cops? Have them look into all the mysterious improvements around here? Have them check out your new friends who don’t seem to have any identification or background? I bet they’d be real interested in where these guys actually came from.”

The irony of his accidental accuracy might have been funny under other circumstances. Where did they come from, indeed. A hundred and twenty-four light years away, give or take.

“Your accusation that Tammy Tucker would engage in illegal activities demonstrates both your intellectual limitations and your moral deficiency,” Vantor stated coldly. “It suggests you project your own corrupt tendencies onto others.”

Derek’s face contorted with rage. “Who the fuck do you think you are, talking to me like that? Do you have any idea who I am in this town?”

“Yes,” came Cyro’s voice from behind Derek. “You are the waste material expelled from the lowest life form on this planet.”

Derek whirled around, and I nearly choked on a shocked laugh at what I saw. Cyro and Kalith had returned, each carrying a large metal bucket that steamed slightly in the cooling evening air. The unmistakable pungent aroma of fresh horse manure wafted toward us.

“What the hell—” Derek began but got no further.

With perfect synchronization, as if they’d practiced the move for years, Cyro and Kalith upended their buckets directly over Derek’s head. Wet, warm manure cascaded down, covering his expensive shirt, his pressed jeans, his perfectly styled hair. The smell hit instantly—a concentrated blast of ammonia and decomposing hay that made my eyes water even from several feet away.

Derek stood frozen in shock, manure dripping from his eyelashes, sliding down his neck and into his collar. A particularly large clump landed with a wet plop onto his tooled leather boots.

“Oh my God,” I whispered, half-horrified, half-delighted.

Kalith examined his now-empty bucket with unveiled interest. “I calculated the volume and consistency for maximum coverage,” he commented mildly. “The higher fiber content from this morning’s feeding created optimal adhesion properties.”

Derek finally unfroze, sputtering and spitting, wiping frantically at his eyes. “You—you—” Words seemed to fail him as he stood there dripping with horse excrement, the substance matting his hair and soaking into his clothes.

A strange feeling bubbled up from my chest—part hysteria, part pure joy. For years, I’d put up with Derek’s condescension, his control, his subtle put-downs. I’d left him, but never truly stood up to him. Now he stood before me, literally covered in shit, and I felt suddenly, achingly liberated.

I stepped forward, no longer afraid. “If you ever trespass on my ranch again,” I said, my voice steady and strong, “I’ll shoot first and ask questions later. I don’t need your money or your help. I never did.”

Derek stumbled backward, slipping slightly in the manure that had fallen to puddle around his feet. He nearly lost his balance, arms windmilling comically before he caught himself. “This isn’t over,” he sputtered, chunks of manure falling from his lips as he spoke. “You’ll be hearing from my lawyer!”

“Be sure to shower first,” I called after him as he squelched his way back to his truck. “I don’t think the county courthouse allows shitheads inside without special permission.”

Derek yanked open his truck door, hesitated as he looked at his pristine leather seats, then climbed in anyway, smearing manure across everything he touched. The engine roared to life, and he peeled out of my driveway, tires spitting gravel.

For a moment, we all stood in stunned silence watching the truck disappear down the road. Then Kalith raised one hand to his face, pinched his nose, and announced in a nasal voice, “The odor is rather intense.”

That did it. The laughter I’d been holding back erupted, bending me double as tears streamed down my face. Cyro looked confused at first, then his lips curved into a smile that grew wider as my infectious laughter spread. Soon even Vantor was chuckling, a deep rumbling sound that seemed to shake the ground beneath our feet.

“Did you see his face?” I gasped between fits of giggles. “When it first hit him? I thought he was going to pass out!”

“The consistency was perfect,” Kalith said proudly. “Maximum coverage with minimal drip factor.”

“His vehicle interior is now thoroughly contaminated,” Vantor observed with satisfaction. “The decontamination process will be lengthy and imperfect.”

I wiped tears from my eyes, my cheeks actually hurting from smiling so hard. “You guys are incredible. I don’t know how to thank you.”

“No thanks are required,” Cyro said formally, though his metallic-sheened eyes sparked with a human-like joy. “Defending one’s chosen human is a natural response.”

My heart swelled at the words “chosen human,” even as I remembered that my financial problems weren’t magically solved just because Derek was now covered in horse poop. The bank would still want their money in a week. But somehow, with these three beside me, the problem seemed less insurmountable.

“It’s too bad you guys don’t have some alien teleportation device to send him to Pluto,” I said, still grinning. “Or a way to erase me from his mind. Crisp suits, dark glasses, silver wand, and a blinding light. It would be so easy if we could pull a Men in Black.”

Three blank stares met my pop culture reference.

“Never mind,” I said, shaking my head. “Earth movie thing. I’ll show you sometime.”

My heart was still beating fast from the confrontation, adrenaline making my fingers tingle and my knees feel slightly wobbly now that the danger had passed. As if sensing my sudden vulnerability, the aliens moved closer, surrounding me in a protective circle. Cyro’s arm slid around my waist, Kalith’s hand found mine, and Vantor stood at my back, a solid presence I could lean against if needed.

The warmth of their bodies—slightly higher than human normal but comforting all the same—enveloped me like a living blanket. For the first time since the bank’s call, since Derek’s arrival, I felt safe. Protected. Chosen.

Whatever happened next, I wouldn’t face it alone. And that was worth more than all the money in Derek Morgan’s bank account.

31

TAMMY

Note to self: never mix alcohol with the company of super-hot aliens.

Awild, euphoric energy buzzed through my veins that demanded celebration. Maybe it was the adrenaline crash from the confrontation, or maybe it was the simple joy of watching my ex get exactly what he deserved, but I couldn’t stop grinning as I marched toward the storage shed. “We’re having a party,” I announced over my shoulder to my three alien saviors. “An honest-to-goodness, down-home Kansas celebration.” I yanked open the shed door, my hands still trembling with residual excitement as I reached for the dusty cooler tucked behind my garden tools. Some victories demanded beer, music, and firelight.

And watching Derek Morgan drive away covered in horse shit definitely qualified.

“Celebration requires sustenance?” Vantor asked, materializing beside me with that eerie silent movement that still made me jump. His hazel eyes scanned the shed’s interior, clearly data-banking every detail as he reached past me to lift the heavy cooler I was struggling with.

“It requires beer,” I corrected, brushing cobwebs from the portable speaker I’d stashed away after my last barn dance—before Derek, before the financial troubles, back when Sunflower Hills still hosted weekend gatherings for the local ranchers. “And music. And fire.”

“Fire has very recently attacked this property,” Cyro observed from the doorway, his metallic-sheened eyes catching the fading sunlight in a way that made them flash like mercury. “Yet you speak of it with positive anticipation now.”

“Contained, controlled fire,” I clarified. “For atmosphere. Trust me, you’ll see.”

Within twenty minutes, we’d transformed my weathered front porch into a makeshift party space. Kalith had been fascinated by the fire pit’s mechanics, disassembling and reassembling it twice before finally allowing me to fill it with wood and light it at the base of the stairs. Cyro had systematically arranged the beer bottles in the cooler by what he declared were “optimal cooling positions,” while Vantor established a perimeter of mismatched lawn chairs that somehow managed to look like a tactical formation.

The sun was setting, painting the Kansas sky in brushstrokes of orange and purple that even my alien guests stopped to admire. I cracked open the cooler, condensation misting around my fingers as I pulled out five bottles.

“This,” I announced, holding up a bottle ceremoniously, “is one of humanity’s greatest inventions. Beer.”

“Fermented grain beverage,” Cyro clarified immediately, taking the bottle and holding it up, gaze peering at the liquid inside. “The consumption of which produces mild neurological impairment through alcohol’s effect on GABA receptors in the human brain.”

“That’s... technically correct,” I admitted, twisting off my own cap. “But you’re missing the cultural significance. Beer isn’t just about getting buzzed. It’s about celebration, relaxation, camaraderie.” I gestured around at our little gathering. “When humans share alcohol, we’re sharing a moment together. Lowering our guards.”

“Deliberately impairing defensive capabilities seems counterproductive to survival,” Vantor noted, though he accepted his bottle with curious fingers.

“Sometimes surviving means more than just staying alive,” I replied, surprised by my own sudden philosophical turn. “Sometimes it means actually enjoying being alive.” I raised my bottle. “To dumping shit on shitty exes.”

After a moment’s hesitation, they raised their bottles too, mimicking my gesture before bringing the beer to their lips. The reactions were immediate and priceless.

Vantor’s face remained stoically unchanged, but his throat worked visibly as he swallowed, and a faint navy flush crept up his neck, his natural coloring bleeding through his human disguise.

Kalith’s eyes widened with surprise, and he pulled the bottle away to examine it again. “Fascinating effervescence,” he declared, holding the beer up to catch the firelight. “The carbonation creates a pleasant tactile sensation against the oral membranes.” He took another experimental sip, then nodded approvingly. “The glass container design is remarkably efficient for heat retention properties. Superior to aluminum, which would conduct cold temperatures to the hand more rapidly.”

Cyro, predictably, was analyzing the taste with the concentration of a wine sommelier at a competition. “I detect malted barley, hops—approximately thirty-eight IBUs—and a yeast strain likely of the Saccharomyces cerevisiae variety. The fermentation process has resulted in an alcohol content of... five-point, four percent by volume.” He took another careful sip. “There are also notes of citrus and pine, suggesting late-addition aroma hops, possibly Cascade or Centennial varieties.”

“It’s a local microbrew,” I explained, taking a long swallow of my own. The cold, slightly bitter liquid slid down my throat, familiar and comforting. “Nothing fancy, but it does the job. And word to the wise, we’re drinking to have mindless fun, not analyze every liquor atom.”

Cyro looked like he was about to correct my use of “atom”, but I shot him a death stare, so he clamped his mouth shut.

As the beer bottles emptied and were replaced with fresh ones from the cooler, I connected my phone to the portable speaker. The opening guitar riffs of a Brooks & Dunn classic filled the evening air, and I felt the tension I’d been carrying since the bank’s call begin to loosen in my chest.

“This is country music,” I explained, turning up the volume and setting my beer down on the porch railing. “The soundtrack to every good and bad decision I’ve ever made in my life.”

“The lyrics suggest significant emotional distress regarding the loss of romantic attachment,” Cyro observed, tilting his head as he listened. “Yet the melody is surprisingly upbeat.”

“That’s country music for you,” I replied, already swaying to the rhythm. “Singing about heartbreak while tapping your foot.” The chorus hit, and I couldn’t help but belt it out, my voice carrying across the darkening yard. “I’M SO MUCH BETTER OFF... SINCE YOU’VE BEEN GONE!”

The aliens watched with expressions ranging from fascination to bewilderment as I danced around the fire pit, using my beer bottle as an impromptu microphone. The second time the chorus came around, Cyro surprised me by joining in, his voice a perfect pitch-match to the recording—too perfect, actually, like hearing a studio-quality cover version.

Not to be outdone, Kalith attempted to harmonize, producing a sound somewhere between a foghorn and a dying cow. I nearly spit out my beer laughing as he enthusiastically warbled off-key, completely oblivious to how badly he was butchering the melody.

Even Vantor, who had maintained his vigilant perimeter checks between sips of beer, began nodding his head to the rhythm. His gaze still swept the property line unceasingly, but his shoulders had lost some of their rigid tension.

Three beers in, I was feeling loose enough to grab Kalith’s hands. “Come on,” I urged, pulling him to an open space on the porch. “I’m teaching you to line dance.”

“Is this a traditional Earth mating ritual?” he asked earnestly, allowing himself to be positioned next to me.

“Sometimes,” I admitted with a laugh. “But right now it’s just fun. Watch my feet.”

I demonstrated the simple grapevine step, heel taps, and quarter turns that made up the basic line dance. Cyro picked it up almost instantly, his movements precise and controlled despite the alcohol. Kalith stumbled through the steps with enthusiastic ineptitude, occasionally catching his foot on a floorboard or turning in the wrong direction.

Vantor initially refused to participate, maintaining what he called his “security perimeter,” but after my third pleading look, he reluctantly joined our mismatched line. His movements were stiff at first, almost robotic, but as the music continued and the beer worked its magic, he began to loosen up.

“Right foot forward, left foot back,” I called out, laughing as Kalith went left when everyone else went right, creating a domino effect of collisions. “No, your other right!”

“I believe the alcohol is affecting my coordination capabilities,” Cyro announced before stumbling slightly on a turn. A ripple of iridescent color briefly flashed across his forearm, a sign that his human disguise was beginning to slip.

“That’s the whole point,” I replied, executing a slightly wobbly spin of my own. “Beer and bad dancing—it’s the human way.”

As the evening deepened and stars began to speckle the Kansas sky, our dancing grew increasingly uncoordinated. I found myself laughing more than I had in months, maybe years—genuine belly laughs that left my sides aching and tears streaming down my face. For a few blessed hours, I didn’t think about the bank, or the foreclosure, or Derek. There was just music, and firelight, and three aliens attempting to master the Electric Slide with varying degrees of success.

When Kalith attempted a particularly ambitious turn and ended up sprawled across the porch steps, I collapsed onto a lawn chair, breathless with laughter. “I think,” I gasped between giggles, “you guys might be drunk.”

“Impossible,” Cyro declared, even as he swayed slightly where he stood. “Our metabolic processes are far superior to human... to human...” He frowned, seemingly losing his train of thought. “What was I saying?”

“You were saying we need more beer,” I suggested, reaching for the cooler with a grin that felt permanent.

For one perfect night, under the vast Kansas sky, my problems seemed as distant as the stars above us. Tomorrow would come with all its complications—the bank, the farm, the fact that I was harboring three aliens who’d soon be leaving Earth forever. But tonight? Tonight was for celebrating small victories with cold beer and warm company.

The fire had burned down to glowing embers, casting a warm orange glow across the porch that made everything seem dreamlike and soft-edged. Four empty six-packs were scattered around our feet—evidence of the night’s celebration. I’d lost count of my own drinks somewhere around beer number five, but a pleasant buzz hummed through my body, making the night air feel like velvet against my skin. I leaned back in my chair, tipping my face toward the star-scattered sky, when a strange blue-green shimmer caught my eye. At first, I thought it was a trick of the firelight, but then I realized the glow was coming from Cyro’s forearm where his sleeve had rolled up.

“You’re... glowing,” I said, my tongue feeling pleasantly heavy in my mouth.

Cyro glanced down, his eyes widening slightly before he tugged his sleeve down. “A minor lapse in concentration,” he explained, his formal tone undercut by the slight slurring of his words. “The beer appears to be affecting our ability to maintain molecular stability.”

“In human words, please,” I laughed, reaching for another bottle.

“We’re drunk,” Kalith supplied helpfully, his grin slightly lopsided. “And it’s making it hard to keep looking human.”

As if to prove his point, Cyro burst into laughter at a particularly ridiculous lyric from the current song, and his entire neck lit up with undulating patterns of soft pastel light. It was like watching the aurora borealis play across his skin—shimmering waves of turquoise and lavender that pulsed with his laughter. The colors seemed to flow in rhythm with the music, intensifying with each burst of mirth.

“That’s beautiful,” I murmured, leaning closer without even realizing I was moving. The alcohol had stripped away my inhibitions, leaving only wonder in its place.

Cyro’s laughter faded as he noticed my stare, but the lights continued to ripple under his skin. “This is... embarrassing,” he admitted. “We are trained to maintain our disguises at all times while on foreign planets.”

“Don’t be embarrassed,” I said, still mesmerized by the play of colors. “It’s like having your own personal light show.”

Before he could respond, the song I’d been half-listening to hit its chorus with a sudden increase in volume. Vantor, who had been scanning the tree line while nursing his beer, startled visibly. A dark cloud erupted from somewhere beneath his shirt collar, spraying into the air like a fountain of midnight ink. The substance arced gracefully before splattering directly onto the fire pit, extinguishing a third of our carefully tended flames with a hissing sound.

“Defensive ink release,” Vantor stated flatly, looking mortified as dark droplets dripped from his chin onto his shirt. “My apologies.” He reached for a napkin, but the damage was already done—his light blue button-down now splattered with irregular black stains.

I blinked in surprise, then dissolved into giggles. “Did you just... ink yourself? Like an octopus?”

“A cephalopod-like defense mechanism,” he corrected stiffly, though the corners of his mouth twitched. “Typically deployed against deep-sea predators, not... Brooks and Dunn.”

My laughter doubled, tears streaming down my face as Cyro’s skin flashed brighter in response to his own amusement. Even Vantor eventually cracked a smile, his usually stern features softening in the firelight.

Kalith, meanwhile, was having his own disguise issues. As he raised his bottle to his lips, his shorter tentacle slipped out from his shirt collar, waving in the air like a curious snake. He cursed under his breath, shoving it back down and adjusting his collar with exaggerated casualness.

“Let it breathe,” I joked, pointing toward his neck.

“I do not like it when my appendages rebel,” he admitted sheepishly. “And the shorter one is often harder to control.” He took another swig of beer. As if on cue, the small tentacle popped out again, this time from his sleeve. “Oh, for the love of the deep trenches,” he muttered, stuffing it back out of sight.

My curiosity finally overwhelmed my restraint. I scooted my chair closer to Kalith, whose skin was still shimmering. “Can I...” I hesitated, then reached out slowly. “Can I touch it?”

Kalith’s marvelous eyes widened, their double lenses flicking across with surprise. “You wish to make physical contact with my tentacle?”

“Yes,” I said simply, the beer making me bolder than I might otherwise have been. “If that’s okay?”

After a moment’s hesitation, he nodded once. He did not offer me the shorter tentacle, instead slowly extending his arm. His glow intensified as he allowed the human disguise to fade, revealing what lay beneath—a tentacle that shimmered with iridescent patterns, tapering to a delicate point where a human hand was only seconds before.

Heart pounding, I reached out and ran my fingertip lightly along the surface. It was smoother than I expected, slightly cooler than human skin, with a pleasant silkiness that reminded me of touching satin underwater. I traced my finger down its length, mesmerized by the way the lights beneath the surface brightened and followed my touch like they were chasing my fingertip.

Without warning, the tentacle curled gently around my finger, its tip wrapping in a delicate coil that sent an unexpected shiver down my spine. Not a shiver of disgust or fear, but a different feeling entirely, causing heat to pool low in my belly.

“Oh,” I breathed, watching as the colors beneath Cyro’s skin pulsed in time with my heartbeat.

“You are not repulsed,” he observed, his voice pitched lower than usual, carrying that slight echo quality that emerged when his emotions ran high.

“Not even a little bit,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

The air between us changed, becoming charged with uncertainty and the tension of possibility that now existed, and hadn’t before. Or perhaps it had always been there, and I’d been too afraid to notice. No, not perhaps. I had felt the pull toward these aliens since the beginning, even as I wielded a pitchfork in their directions, demanding they leave Artie alone.

Kalith moved closer, his chair scraping across the wooden porch. His smaller tentacle had emerged again, but this time he made no attempt to hide it. The appendage waved gently in the night air, as if testing its freedom.

“The human female appears receptive to our true forms,” he said to the others, though his eyes remained fixed on me. “This is... unexpected.”

“Highly statistically improbable,” Cyro agreed, yet Kalith’s tentacle remained wrapped around my finger, its grip tightening slightly.

Vantor moved to stand behind my chair, his presence warm and solid at my back. “You do not fear our differences,” he said, his deep voice rumbling through me.

“I think I like your differences,” I admitted, surprising myself with the truth of it. The alcohol had lowered my defenses enough to acknowledge what I’d been fighting since they first crash-landed on my ranch—attraction. Not despite their alien nature, but somehow because of it.

As if responding to my unspoken thoughts, more tentacles began to emerge—from beneath Cyro’s sleeves, from Kalith’s collar, from Vantor’s sides where his shirt had ridden up. They moved with hypnotic grace, reaching out hesitantly, brushing against my bare arms, my shoulders, the nape of my neck.

Each touch sent electric tingles racing across my skin. They were being careful, so careful—the tentacles ghosting over me with feather-light pressure, asking permission with each caress. I closed my eyes, leaning into the sensation. The multiple points of contact were overwhelming in the best possible way, like being surrounded by living silk.

When I opened my eyes again, their human faces were flickering—handsome features giving way to glimpses of their true forms before snapping back into place. Rather than finding it disturbing, I was fascinated by each brief revelation—Cyro’s metallic eyes expanding to take up more of his face, Kalith’s mouth momentarily revealing a structure more complex than human lips, Vantor’s skin shifting through a palette of colors that reflected the firelight.

“You’re all so beautiful,” I murmured, reaching out to touch Kalith’s face as it rippled between forms. 

His eyes—deep brown with gold flecks in human form—briefly revealed their true nature, with horizontal pupils that dilated at my touch. The smaller tentacle that had been causing him so much trouble curled around my wrist with surprising gentleness.

“Tammy Tucker finds our natural forms aesthetically pleasing,” Vantor stated from behind me, his voice carrying a hint of wonder. A tendril that must have emerged from his side brushed against my cheek, leaving a cool, tingling trail in its wake.

“More than pleasing,” I corrected, my breath going shallow as I allowed myself to acknowledge the truth. Under the Kansas stars, with the remnants of our celebration scattered around us and the warmth of alcohol in my veins, I made a confession I never could have imagined making when I woke up that morning: “I think I’m attracted to all three of you. Not just your human disguises. The real you.”

The tentacles stilled for a moment, as if processing my words. Then they resumed their exploratory touches with renewed purpose, no longer hesitant but appreciative, intentional. I leaned back, letting my head rest against Vantor’s solid presence behind me, while Cyro and Kalith moved their chairs closer, surrounding me in a circle of alien warmth and attention.

I knew there were complications ahead—the bank, the farm, their eventual departure from Earth. But in that moment, with tentacles gently cradling my face and bioluminescent patterns casting soft light across my skin, I couldn’t bring myself to worry about tomorrow.

32

KALITH

A lifetime spent in water, yet I was only now learning to swim.

My epidermis burned with an unfamiliar dryness, the outer membrane of my usually slick skin beginning to flake and crack like ancient parchment. It was unnerving and unexpected, considering I, along with my mission brothers, had all been fine without the moisture units.

The Earth alcohol—this “beer” that had tasted so pleasantly bitter—was extracting moisture from my system at an alarming rate. I flexed my tentacles experimentally, wincing as tiny fissures formed along the surface, dulling the natural sheen that should have glistened in the firelight. Through the pleasant haze of intoxication, a warning signal pulsed in my brain: dehydration levels approaching critical.

I wasn’t alone in my discomfort. Cyro’s iridescent patches had lost their luminosity, turning dull and matte where they should have shimmered with life. Even stoic Vantor showed signs of distress, the rich burgundy color of his exposed tentacle fading to an anemic pink, the normally smooth surface now textured with tiny ridges like a relief map of an alien landscape.

“You guys okay?” Tammy’s voice cut through my assessment of our group deterioration. Her blue eyes—remarkable instruments, really, calibrated somehow to read starlight and concern in the very same glance—scanned our faces. “You’re looking a little... crusty.”

“The ethanol content in your Earth beverage appears to have unexpected dehydrating properties for our species,” I explained, calculating the fluid replacement necessary to restore optimal functionality. “Our natural environment is primarily aquatic, so our epidermis requires constant moisture to⁠—”

“You need water,” she translated, her mouth quirking into that half-smile I’d catalogued as “fondly exasperated.” It was rapidly becoming my favorite of her facial configurations.

“I should attempt to repair our moisturizing units,” I suggested, reluctantly withdrawing my tentacles from where they’d been exploring the fascinating texture of Tammy’s hair. My shorter tentacle snagged briefly on a strand, and I muttered an apology as I carefully untangled it. “With minimal modifications, I could have three units operational within approximately forty-two minutes.”

Tammy laughed, the sound warming my central nerve cluster. “Or,” she suggested, standing up with a slight wobble that indicated her own intoxication levels, “we could use the water trough I just watched you rebuild and clean yesterday.”

I blinked all three sets of eyelids in rapid succession, momentarily forgetting to maintain my human disguise. “The livestock hydration receptacle?”

“The horse trough,” she confirmed, already kicking off her boots. “It’s clean water, it’s big enough for all of us, and it’s a lot faster than you tinkering with alien gadgets while three sheets to the wind.”

The simple elegance of her solution appealed to my problem-solving nature, even as her casual disrobing sent my cognitive functions into temporary disarray. She peeled off her socks, wiggling her toes in the grass with obvious pleasure before reaching for the hem of her shirt.

“Well?” she challenged, pausing with her fingers at the bottom edge of the fabric. “Are you coming?”

“Our cellular structure is primarily designed for aquatic environments,” Cyro corrected automatically, though his attention seemed fixed on Tammy’s hands at the edge of her shirt. “However, the social protocol for communal immersion on this planet is unclear to us.”

Tammy rolled her eyes, a gestural shorthand for exasperation that I’d grown to appreciate for its efficiency. “Keep your underwear on if you’re shy. But those clothes are coming off before you get in my clean trough. I just scrubbed the algae out of that thing.”

Without further preamble, she pulled her shirt over her head, revealing a simple fabric undergarment that supported her mammary tissue. The moonlight painted her exposed skin silver, highlighting the fascinating constellation of darker pigmentation spots across her shoulders. I believe she’d called those marvelous little dots “freckles” at one point. Tammy shimmied out of her jeans with practiced movements, standing before us in nothing but thin fabric coverings that concealed surprisingly little.

My temperature regulation system immediately malfunctioned, sending heat flooding to areas that definitely didn’t need additional warmth in my dehydrated state.

Vantor, Cyro, and I exchanged glances, a silent communication that transcended species. With varying degrees of awkwardness, we began removing our human clothing, carefully folding each item (in Cyro’s case), dropping them in a haphazard pile (mine), or arranging them with militant precision (Vantor’s).

I hesitated at the final layer, uncertain of how to proceed. Our human disguises included anatomically correct genitalia—necessary for a complete transformation—but beneath that façade, our actual reproductive appendages were... different. Significantly different.

“Oh for—it’s just underwear,” Tammy called over her shoulder, already walking toward the large trough beside the stables. Her hips swayed with a rhythm so precisely counterweighted—each step a small marvel of load and balance—that it momentarily distracted me from my dilemma. “I promise not to look at your alien junk if you’re worried about it.”

That settled it. We followed her example, keeping the minimal coverings in place, though maintaining the appearance of human underwear rather than allowing our natural forms to emerge completely. A compromise between worlds.

The moment I slipped into the water, relief washed over me in a literal wave. My parched skin drank in the moisture, absorbing it through specialized cells designed for exactly this purpose. The painful tightness eased almost immediately, my natural coloration deepening from faded forest green to a rich emerald that rippled across my surface in waves of gratitude.

“Oh,” I sighed, the sound emerging as a bubbling gurgle as I submerged further, allowing water to flow through specialized respiratory channels I hadn’t been able to use properly since our crash landing. “This is...”

“Better than beer?” Tammy asked, settling herself against the opposite side of the trough, water lapping at her collarbones.

“Different functional categories,” Cyro murmured, his eyes half-closed in bliss as his true colors began to glow beneath the water’s surface, casting ethereal pastel light across the ripples. “But yes.”

Vantor, always the most reserved, had allowed himself to sink until only his eyes remained above water, their usual hazel now showing flashes of their true vermilion as his disguise wavered in the comfort of hydration. Beneath the surface, his powerful tentacles stretched to their full impressive length, no longer constrained by human form.

For a few moments, we floated in contented silence, our bodies suspended between forms—not fully revealed in our natural state but no longer bound by the limitations of our human disguises either. Half-man, half-cephalopod creatures sharing a midnight bath with a human woman who seemed remarkably unperturbed by the whole situation.

Then, without warning, Tammy’s hand sliced through the water, sending a spray directly into my face. The unexpected assault caught me mid-relaxation, water flooding into my speech orifice and causing me to sputter in surprise.

“Got you!” she declared triumphantly, already preparing another attack.

I blinked water from my eyes, momentarily bewildered by this unprovoked aggression. “What strategic purpose does this liquid projectile serve?”

Her answer came in the form of another splash, this one catching Cyro, who emitted a startled sound somewhere between a yelp and a gurgle. “It’s called having fun, genius.”

Understanding dawned. A recreational activity involving the propulsion of water toward companions. Inefficient, purposeless, and utterly delightful. My shorter tentacle, always the most eager to participate in new experiences, whipped through the water’s surface, creating a counter-wave that drenched Tammy’s hair and face.

Her shocked expression lasted only a moment before dissolving into laughter. “Oh, it’s on now, tentacle boy!”

What followed was aquatic chaos. Tammy proved surprisingly skilled at water combat, using her smaller size and quickness to launch sneak attacks while dodging our slower, more powerful splashes. Vantor, after initial reluctance, revealed an unexpected competitive streak, using his security training to create tactical water diversions that left all of us sputtering. Cyro employed his vast knowledge of fluid dynamics to generate perfectly aimed waves, while I discovered that my shorter tentacle made an excellent water-flicking appendage.

The livestock tank, which had seemed generously sized when we entered, became a battleground of flying water and tangled limbs. Tammy’s laughter rang out across the moonlit ranch yard, punctuated by our less human sounds of amusement—Cyro’s melodic trill, Vantor’s deep rumbling chuckle, my own bubbling giggles.

“Truce!” Tammy finally gasped, raising her hands in surrender as water streamed from her hair down her flushed face. “I give up!”

We ceased our aquatic assault, all of us breathing heavily from the exertion. The silence that followed was broken only by the gentle lapping of water against the sides of the trough and our collective breathing gradually returning to normal.

“That,” I declared, my shortest tentacle drawing a satisfied figure-eight on the water’s surface, “was an excellent use of H₂O resources.”

Tammy’s answering smile lit a fire inside me that had nothing to do with bioluminescence and everything to do with the strange, wonderful creature who had welcomed three aliens into her life with open arms and a water fight. 

“Well,” she said, pushing her soaked hair back from her face, “I’ve always believed in the therapeutic properties of acting like a complete idiot once in a while.”

I gazed at her—this tiny, fierce human female with droplets clinging to her eyelashes like miniature stars—and found myself hoping that our ship would take a very, very long time to repair.

We remained in the water long after our dehydration had been remedied, our alien physiologies now functioning at optimal levels while our minds remained pleasantly clouded by the lingering effects of Earth alcohol. Tammy floated on her back, her red hair spreading around her head like fiery tentacles of a sea anemone, her face tilted toward the star-speckled Kansas sky. The moonlight carved silver paths across her mostly exposed form, highlighting the gentle rise and fall of her chest with each breath. The simple perfection of human respiratory systems—no specialized chambers or filtration mechanisms, just the elegant exchange of gases through those delicate, vulnerable lungs—was an engineering marvel.

“I have an idea,” Tammy announced suddenly, splashing upright with such force that water cascaded over the trough’s edge. Her eyes sparkled with mischief and the determination that I’d come to recognize as her “about to do something impulsive” expression.

“Another recreational water activity?” Cyro inquired, his pastel-hued tentacles lazily creating miniature whirlpools beneath the surface.

“Better.” She turned to me, focusing those remarkable blue eyes on my face with an intensity that sent color sparking erratically across my skin. “Kalith, I need you to lift me over your head.”

I blinked my tertiary eyelids in confusion. “For what purpose?”

“So, I can be Baby at her family’s summer retreat learning how to dance!” She said this as if it explained everything, her excitement building visibly as she splashed toward me. Registering our triple confusion, she laughed. “We have soooo many Earth movies to watch. Dirty Dancing was only my absolute favorite movie in the world growing up. Swayze was a serious heartthrob. Drop dead gorgeous.”

My language processor frantically searched for meaning in this string of seemingly disconnected references. Dirty... dancing? And being a heartthrob sounded like a medical condition, especially if it caused someone to “drop dead”. Earth entertainment often involved the strangest combinations of words.

“Come on,” she pressed, “I want to do the classic water lift. Please?”

“I am unfamiliar with this cultural reference,” I admitted, “but I am capable of lifting you if that is your desire.”

“It’s the most iconic moment in the film,” she explained with a pout, already positioning herself in front of me. “Swayze lifts Baby over his head in a lake… or was it a river?” She scrunched up her face, thinking. “Anyways, it goes badly at first. Baby falls a bunch of times. They try over and over again to make it work. Finally, in the epic finale, the lift is flawless. Everyone knows the scene.”

“Everyone on Earth, perhaps,” Vantor observed dryly from his corner of the trough.

“Well, you’re on Earth now,” Tammy pointed out. “What was it you said the other day? When in Neptune Land, do as the Neptunians? Come on, Kalith. Lift me up!”

“There is no such thing as Neptune Land,” I shook my head, a small grin sprouting across my human face at her absurdity. “I assume you are referencing my mention of Netpox 7 and the Netpoxians.”

“Neptune. Netpox. Tomato, tomato. Besides, Do you know for sure there’s no Neptune Land?” She quirked an eyebrow. “Have you been to Neptune? There could be a theme park.” She shrugged.

“I can assure you that Neptune does not have anything called a Neptune Land,” Cyro answered before I could. “In fact, it is a most unlikeable planet. Low visibility, incredible stench, odious lifeforms. I have been there once. Never again.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Tammy said with a laugh. “Now, lift!” She reached her arms out to me, eyes sparkling.

I assessed the physics of her request. My tentacles were certainly strong enough—on my home world, I regularly manipulated equipment weighing three times Tammy’s mass. The water would provide additional buoyancy, reducing the effective weight I needed to support. My smaller tentacle would be a liability, but my other seven primary appendages could compensate.

“Very well,” I agreed, extending four of my strongest tentacles above the water’s surface. “I will require your cooperation to achieve optimal positioning.”

“Just get a good grip on my waist,” she instructed, placing her hands on my shoulders. The contact of her warm palms against my slightly cooler skin sent pleasant current sparking along every nerve.

I complied, wrapping two tentacles securely around her waist, feeling the fascinating contrast between the firm muscle beneath and the softer layer above. Human bodies were remarkable in their variegation of textures—so different from our uniformly smooth exteriors.

“On the count of three,” she said, her eyes bright with anticipation. “One... two... three!”

I lifted her smoothly, using my tentacles’ natural hydraulic strength to raise her above my head. For a moment, she hung suspended in the moonlight, water droplets cascading from her body like liquid stars, her arms outstretched in what I presumed was the “iconic pose” she had referenced. Her face reflected pure joy, a mixture of triumph and exhilaration that made my central processor stutter briefly.

“I’m flying, Jack!” she cried out, another reference that meant nothing to me but clearly delighted her.

Then physics reasserted itself. The water’s movement beneath us, the slight wobble in my stance due to the trough’s uneven bottom, and Tammy’s excited wiggling combined to create an instability in our carefully balanced arrangement. She began to tip backward, her expression shifting from joy to surprise as her center of gravity shifted beyond my tentacles’ grip.

“Oh shi—” she began.

My reaction was instantaneous. All eight tentacles deployed in protective formation, reaching to intercept her falling body. Four primary tentacles caught her shoulders and lower back, while three more curled protectively around her head to prevent impact. My smaller tentacle—often the least coordinated—shot out in a trajectory of its own devising, wrapping around her midsection and sliding upward across her bare stomach.

Time seemed to slow as the sensitive suction cups on my shortest appendage mapped the contours of her abdomen—the slight dip of her navel, the nearly imperceptible ridges of muscle beneath soft skin, the tiny bumps that rose in the tentacle’s wake. My touch receptors transmitted every minute detail directly to my central nervous system, overwhelming me with sensory input.

A small sound escaped Tammy’s throat. It wasn’t uttered from fear. Nor discomfort. This was from pleasure. Her vocalization sent deep emerald flashing across my visible skin.

I held her suspended just above the water’s surface, our eyes locked in a moment of mutual discovery. Her pupils dilated visibly, the black centers expanding to eclipse the blue, and her breathing pattern shifted to short, shallow inhalations that made her chest rise and fall rapidly against my supporting tentacles.

“That wasn’t exactly the lift I had in mind,” she whispered, her voice husky in a way I hadn’t heard before. “But I’m not complaining.”

My smallest tentacle, emboldened by her response, continued its exploration, sliding higher until it brushed the underside of her fabric-covered breast. The contact sent a jolt through both of us—I felt her sharp intake of breath as clearly as my own surge of pleasure from the touch-sensitive appendage.

"Your skin sends a current straight through every one of my receptors," I explained, though my words could not capture the overwhelming intimacy of the moment. “It’s... extraordinary.”

“Is that alien-speak for ‘you feel good’?” she asked, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth even as her eyes remained intense, focused.

“You feel... exquisite,” I clarified, allowing my tentacles to adjust their grip, bringing her closer to my face.

Movement in the water reminded me that we weren’t alone. Cyro and Vantor had closed the distance between us, drawn by a primal instinct that transcended species barriers. They circled us like satellites caught in our gravitational pull, their own tentacles breaking the water’s surface to reach toward Tammy.

Cyro’s iridescent appendages found her legs, wrapping gently around her calves and thighs, their bioluminescent patches creating underwater patterns that danced across her skin. Vantor’s more powerful tentacles encircled her arms with careful precision, his touch firm yet reverent.

“This is getting interesting,” Tammy breathed, her gaze flickering between the three of us as tentacles from three different alien beings caressed her suspended body from all directions. “Very interesting.”

“Your biochemical signals indicate heightened arousal,” Cyro observed, the liquid echo creeping into his voice the way it did when his emotions ran strong. His tentacles pulsed with waves of pastel light that matched the rhythm of Tammy’s quickening heartbeat.

“You’re reading my pheromones again, aren’t you?” she asked, but there was no accusation in her tone—only a breathless anticipation.

“Your scent has intensified,” Vantor confirmed, his normally precise voice deepening to a rumble that vibrated through the water around us. “It calls to a primitive code in our biology.”

My shorter tentacle, seeming to possess a will independent from my conscious control, traced delicate circles across the sensitive skin just below Tammy’s rib cage. Her resulting shiver transmitted through all my touch receptors simultaneously, creating a feedback loop of sensation that made my own breathing falter.

“I have analyzed and repaired countless mechanical systems across seventeen planets,” I told her, watching her pupils dilate further at my words, “but nothing compares to the complexity and beauty of your human form.”

“Your tentacles—” she whispered, arching slightly as Cyro’s appendage traced the curve of her hip— “how are they so silky? They look like they’d be rough.”

I watched as Cyro pressed and lifted a row of suckers to her skin, leaving behind red marks. I knew they would feel warm to her, tingly even.

“That’s amazing.” Tammy fluttered fingers over where Cyro’s suckers had pressed into her body.

I wanted to touch her.

Wrap every one of my tentacles around her luscious body. Touch her gently with my smaller tentacle that had caused me grief growing up yet didn’t seem to bother Tammy at all.

And I wanted to sink into her body.

Reproductive organ disappearing into the mystery of her own sexual cavity.

The water around us began to warm, our collective body heat transforming the trough into a veritable hot spring. It reminded me of the volcanic vents near the colony of my youth. We would all gather there, normal pursuits paused, when experts forecasted an active eruption day. There was nothing quite so relaxing as bathing in the scorching, mineral rich waters emitted from those lava chutes.

But we were not home in a volcanic vent field. We were on Earth. We were in Kansas. We were at Sunflower Hills. And currently we lounged inside a circular, water-holding vessel meant for horses.

Steam rose in delicate wisps around Tammy’s exposed shoulders, giving her an otherworldly appearance in the moonlight. I wanted so badly to touch every part of her. I wanted to feel the way my tentacles would slip across her slick skin. I wanted to use my human shaped hands to trail fingers down between those legs which supported her shapely body.

“We could pleasure you in ways no human male could comprehend,” Cyro murmured, his tentacles glowing brighter as they slid higher along her thighs. “Three minds, twenty-four tentacles for exploration, three appendages for penetration, all devoted to your satisfaction.”

“However you wish to be touched, we will oblige. Everywhere, all at once.” I added, beginning to harden with need.

A laugh bubbled up from Tammy’s throat—not mocking, but joyful, genuine. “Careful, I only have so much body to go around,” she said, reaching out to trace a finger along one of my primary tentacles, sending electric shivers chasing down my limbs. “But… you three can have all of it.”

Vantor, never one to waste words, simply tightened his grip fractionally, his tentacles pulsing with deep crimson waves that betrayed his growing arousal. “We should relocate to a more appropriate, secure venue,” he suggested, his gaze never leaving Tammy’s face.

“And this livestock hydration receptacle is structurally inadequate for what I envision,” I breathed out.

“Where does your species go for matters of mating?” Cyro asked, his human, lavender eyes turning more metallic by the second. “Shall we go to the stables or pasture? Do humans follow similar breeding habits?”

The raw need in his voice made my own reproductive appendage shift uncomfortably within its protective sheath, eager for release. From Cyro’s increasingly intense bioluminescence, I could tell he was experiencing similar biological imperatives.

Tammy’s eyes darted between us, her breath coming in short gasps now as tentacles continued their exploration of her suspended body. The decision crystallized in her expression—a surrendering to desire that made her entire being seem to glow from within.

“We’re not horses. So, no. We aren’t going to have mind-blowing sex on a pile of hay.” She bit her lower lip, eyes roving over our three forms. We waited, nine hearts beating sluggishly, minds both able and unable to accept what was about to happen. It seemed so unreal, like crash-landing on this ranch and everything that happened after had just been a joint, lucid dream.

“My bedroom,” she finally whispered, the invitation unmistakable in her voice. “Now.”

33

VANTOR

I’d reached the stars, and they were in her eyes.

We emerged from the water like creatures from some primordial sea, our bodies glistening in the moonlight as we helped Tammy from the trough. Water cascaded down her pale skin in rivulets that caught the starlight, mapping paths I found myself wanting to trace with my tentacles. My security training demanded I maintain vigilance of our surroundings, but my attention remained fixed on her—the way her wet undergarments clung to her curves, how her teeth chattered slightly in the night air, and the unmistakable scent of arousal that grew stronger with each passing moment.

“You’re cold,” I observed, instinctively reaching for one of the towels we’d left draped over the fence. My tentacles emerged without conscious thought, wrapping around the fabric and bringing it to her trembling form. I enveloped her in the towel’s rough embrace, allowing my appendages to linger fractionally longer than necessary against her shoulders.

“Thanks,” she whispered, her voice carrying a husky quality that triggered an immediate physiological response in my reproductive organs. The scent of her—sweet, wild, undeniably Omega—intensified as I stood close to her, my body heat seeming to activate baser needs within her biochemistry.

Cyro and Kalith flanked us, their own towels hanging forgotten from their hands as they breathed deeply, drawing her scent into specialized olfactory receptors. I watched as patches of iridescent color rippled across Cyro’s neck, betraying his struggle to maintain his human disguise.

“Your dwelling is approximately sixty-seven meters in that direction,” I stated, attempting to focus on practical matters while pointing toward the darkened silhouette of her farmhouse. “We should relocate there immediately to prevent hypothermia.”

Tammy nodded, but as we took our first steps away from the trough, her knees buckled slightly. I caught her with four tentacles, stabilizing her against my chest. The contact sent electric pulses cascading through every appendage, making my skin flush deep burgundy beneath my human disguise.

“Sorry,” she murmured, her pupils dilating as she looked up at me. “I feel... strange. Hot. Like my skin’s too tight.”

“Your hormonal levels are escalating rapidly,” Cyro observed, moving closer until his shoulder brushed mine. His voice carried that wet, echoing quality that emerged when his emotional control wavered. “The chemical signature suggests you’re entering a phase of reproductive receptivity.”

“Heat,” Tammy translated, her breathing growing more rapid. “I’m going into heat. But that’s impossible—I’m not due for weeks.”

Kalith moved to her other side, his shorter tentacle escaping his human disguise to curl experimentally around her wrist. "Cyro thinks the three of us kicked your cycle into gear early," he explained, inquisitiveness momentarily overriding desire in his tone. "Our pheromones, the alcohol, all that contact—together they’ve set off something unprecedented."

We resumed our journey toward the house, moving at what should have been an efficient pace. But with each step, Tammy’s scent grew more intoxicating, and our progress slowed as tentacles emerged unbidden to caress whatever part of her was nearest—her shoulder, the small of her back, the delicate curve of her neck.

Twenty meters from the trough, we stopped entirely when Tammy pressed herself against me, her face burying into my chest as she inhaled deeply. “You smell like the ocean at midnight,” she murmured, her hands sliding under my shirt to explore the transition point where human skin gave way to cephalopod texture. “Deep and mysterious and dangerous.”

My control slipped further, more tentacles breaking free of my human disguise to wrap around her, pulling her closer. Beside us, Cyro’s entire neck was now exposed, his true nature revealing itself in undulating waves of pastel light that illuminated Tammy’s flushed face.

Kalith had abandoned his towel entirely, his smallest tentacle now joined by three others that reached for Tammy with gentle insistence. “Your body temperature is rising,” he reported, his control evaporating as his tentacles contacted her skin. “It will take us approximately five more Earth minutes to reach your bedroom.”

Tammy suddenly pulled away from my embrace, her eyes wild with a need that made my protective instincts surge. She looked toward the house, then back at the stables, clearly calculating. “Fuck it,” she declared, grabbing my hand and Cyro’s simultaneously. “We’re going to the stables.”

“The stables?” Cyro repeated, his tentacles rippling with confusion. “Are we... are we going to breed like the horses?”

The question floated in the air for a moment before Tammy’s laughter burst forth—not mocking, but breathy and charged with need. “Only if you’re hung like one,” she replied, the playful words nearly lost as she turned and pulled us toward the barn’s looming shadow.

I scanned our surroundings automatically, my security training never fully dormant despite the haze of desire clouding my judgment. The perimeter remained clear, the horses all safely contained in the distant pasture, visible only as dark shapes against the star-speckled horizon. Optimal conditions for what was to come.

The stable door creaked as Kalith pushed it open, his nimble tentacles and fingers automatically assessing the hinges even in his distracted state. Inside, the familiar scents of hay, leather, and horse enveloped us—earthy counterpoints to the electric tension crackling between our bodies.

“There,” Tammy pointed toward an empty stall at the far end, larger than the others and freshly filled with clean hay. Kalith found an old lantern, his dexterous tentacles making quick work of lighting it. The warm glow cast our shadows large against the wooden walls, transforming the mood inside the dim stables. The stables had electricity, but I was glad that my crew brother opted for the ancient source of light. It suited the feelings coursing through my body.

We moved as one into the spacious stall, our wet bodies already beginning to steam in the cooler air. Tammy sank down into the hay, then immediately grimaced, shifting uncomfortably. “Shit, this is itchier than I remembered,” she complained, running her hands over the prickly surface.

Before I could offer a solution, Kalith’s tentacles had already extended beyond the stall, his mind solving the problem before I could even digest the issue.

“Horse blankets,” he announced, retrieving several from nearby hooks. He laid them over the hay, then used his specialized secretion glands to spray the fabrics with a fine mist of warm, slippery fluid.

“That will neutralize any irritants and create a more compatible surface texture,” he explained, spreading the now slightly dampened blankets with meticulous care.

“A compatible… surface… texture,” Tammy breathed out as she watched, fascination evident in her expression. “Are you... lubricating our bed?”

“Essentially,” Kalith admitted, his shorter tentacle curling with what might have been embarrassment. “The secretion has antimicrobial properties and will create a more pleasant tactile experience.”

Tammy’s laugh was soft and genuine as she lowered herself onto the transformed blankets. “This is the first nest any Alpha has ever made for me,” she said, stretching out with a sinuous movement that made my pulse accelerate. “And it’s hay and horse blankets. Somehow that’s perfect.”

It struck me that Tammy was an Omega of advancing years. Not young, not old. She had been with that horrid human Alpha Derek. Had he never made her this thing called a “nest” before? Had he not treated her with tender care?

The questions would have to wait. The building need inside my body would not be ignored.

I joined her on the makeshift bed, my mind automatically noting exit points and defensive positions even as my body responded to her proximity. Cyro settled on her other side, his bioluminescent patches casting ethereal patterns across her skin. Kalith completed our circle, his tentacles already exploring the textures of her damp, darkened red hair with fascination.

As we surrounded her, Tammy’s body visibly changed—her skin flushing pink from her chest upward, her breathing becoming shallow and rapid. The scent of her heat crashed over us like a tidal wave, triggering automatic responses in our alien physiologies. My tentacles darkened to deep crimson, while Cyro’s glowed with intensified pastels and Kalith’s twitched with barely restrained eagerness.

“It’s happening,” Tammy whispered, her voice thick with need as she reached for me. “I can’t stop it. I don’t want to stop it. You all smell, God—” she moaned, lashes fluttering— “so amazing.”

She didn’t want to stop. Neither did I. None of us did.

Our scents mingled in the warm air of the stable—my deep oceanic musk blending with Cyro’s lighter, almost sweet marsh aroma and Kalith’s earthy, forest-floor richness. But it was Tammy’s scent that dominated the space between us, growing more potent with each passing second. She smelled of salt and sun-warmed skin, with undercurrents of the white-fleshed seeds of the tropics on my planet. Her scent made me salivate.

As her heat intensified, sweet floral notes emerged. The algae blooms when the moons waned. The flowers that only opened at dawn twice a star cycle. Tammy was as rare as those flora blooms. As beautiful. As perfumed. Her body gave irresistible signals of her readiness and I felt every part of me begin to vibrate with need, my hues pulsing erratically as my control wavered.

I tracked these chemical changes; my heightened senses focused on the subtle shifts in Tammy’s physiology. Her skin flushed a deeper pink now, starting at her chest and creeping upward toward her neck in a visible wave of desire. Perspiration gathered at her temples and collarbones, each droplet catching the lantern light like tiny stars. One of my tentacles reached of its own accord, gathering up her moisture.

“You’re slicking,” Cyro observed, intense passion evident in his glowing skin. His iridescent tentacle reached out to trace the inside of Tammy’s thigh, where dampness had begun to collect. “Your reproductive system is preparing for penetration. Fascinating.”

Tammy laughed softly, the sound vibrating through her body where it pressed against mine. “That’s one way of putting it,” she murmured, reaching out to touch the point where my human neck transitioned. Her fingers traced the subtle ridges where skin gave way to more complex textures, sending electric pulses rippling out from where she touched.

I mirrored her exploration, allowing all my tentacles—now fully emerged from my human disguise—to map the geography of her body. My touch receptors catalogued each detail: the softness of her inner elbow, the slight roughness of her knees, the remarkable smoothness of her stomach. Everywhere I touched left trails of moisture that seemed to spark pleasure—her sharp intakes of breath confirmed this hypothesis.

Beside us, Kalith’s tentacles were conducting their own investigation, precise and methodical as he traced the curve of her spine, the soft underside of her breasts, the delicate hollow behind her ear. His shorter tentacle moved with particular enthusiasm, as if compensating for its reduced length with extra attentiveness.

“Your epidermis responds differently to each of us,” Kalith noted with fascination. “The biofeedback patterns suggest varying pleasure responses to different pressure applications.”

“All of you,” she addressed us, “less analyzing, more touching,” Tammy’s voice was a breathy command that none of us could resist.

Our breathing gradually synchronized—eight inhalations for each of Tammy’s two, our alien respiratory systems slowing to match her human rhythm. The shared cadence created an intimate connection that transcended physical touch, binding us together in ways I hadn’t anticipated when we crashed onto this planet.

Cyro shifted position, his pastel-hued tentacles wrapping around Tammy’s waist as he cupped her face with both his human hands and two smaller appendages. His eyes—now fully revealed as metallic, alien orbs—sought permission in her gaze before he leaned forward. Their lips met in a kiss that seemed to ignite the very air around us, his specialized secretion glands releasing trace amounts of biochemicals that heightened sensitivity wherever they touched her skin.

I watched, transfixed by the sight of their connection, feeling no territorial impulse to intervene. On our home world, mating was often a communal activity, multiple partners sharing pleasure without the human concept of jealousy. Seeing Cyro taste Tammy’s mouth awakened my own desire to experience that same connection.

When they finally parted, Tammy’s gaze found mine, an invitation clear in her dilated pupils. I moved with the calculated precision that had once made me the most effective security specialist in my quadrant, cupping the back of her head with one human hand while my primary tentacle supported her lower back.

“May I?” I asked, the formal request automatic despite the intimate setting. She’d told us we needed to ask, we needed permission. I hoped she’d answer me quickly, or I might explode.

Her response came as she pulled me down to her, our lips meeting with an intensity that triggered a full-body color change, my skin flushing burgundy with pleasure that my camouflage couldn’t conceal. She tasted of beer and desire, her tongue exploring my mouth with curious insistence. I kept my specialized beak carefully retracted, focusing instead on the human kissing techniques I’d observed.

The hay rustled beneath us as we shifted positions, Kalith taking his turn to taste her lips while Cyro and I explored other regions of her body. My tentacles discovered a particularly sensitive spot at the junction of her neck and shoulder. The sound she made when I applied gentle pressure, letting my suckers pull and catch her tender skin, was unlike anything I’d heard from her before—halfway between a gasp and a moan, a vocalization that made my reproductive tentacle swell painfully against its protective sheath.

Our combined scents had transformed the stable’s atmosphere, creating a heady, intoxicating cloud that seemed to intensify every touch, every sensation. The horse blankets beneath us, now thoroughly dampened by our various secretions, created a slick surface that allowed our bodies to slide against each other with minimal friction. Tammy’s skin gleamed in the lantern light, patterns of moisture left by our tentacles catching the golden glow.

“I need—” she began, her voice breaking as Kalith’s tentacle found a particularly sensitive area. “I need more. Please.”

We understood without further explanation. On our home world, communication during mating was often non-verbal, chemical signals carrying information more precise than words could convey, while our colors shifted in undeniable patterns of desire. Tammy’s body was speaking to us clearly, her heated need reaching its peak, demanding completion.

I shifted position, allowing my reproductive tentacle to emerge fully from its protective sheath. Unlike our manipulation appendages, this specialized organ was thicker, more muscular, with a tapered end that gradually expanded to a substantial width before narrowing again at the base. Beside me, Cyro and Kalith underwent similar transformations, their reproductive organs emerging in response to Tammy’s biochemical invitation.

“One at a time,” Tammy whispered, her eyes widening at the sight of our fully extended appendages. “Start slow.”

I deferred to Cyro, whose understanding of human physiology was most comprehensive. He positioned himself carefully, his bioluminescent patches pulsing with anticipation as he pressed the narrow tip of his reproductive tentacle against her entrance. The organ secreted a specialized lubricant, easing the initial penetration as he pushed forward with exquisite gentleness.

Tammy’s back arched, her fingers digging into the blankets beneath her as she accommodated his alien anatomy. “Oh god,” she gasped, her internal muscles visibly adjusting to the unfamiliar shape. “That’s—that’s incredible.”

I watched with fascination as Cyro’s tentacle disappeared into her body, the base gradually swelling to create what our species called a “lock”—a natural mechanism for ensuring reproductive success. Tammy’s expression transformed as the swelling stretched her internal tissues, pain and pleasure clearly warring across her features before pleasure evidently won.

When it was my turn, I approached with the same care I’d apply to any delicate operation. My reproductive tentacle slid into the space Cyro had prepared, the specialized nerve endings along its surface mapping every millimeter of her internal geography. The sensation was overwhelming—warm, tight, perfect. My skin flashed through a spectrum of colors as I struggled to maintain control. I did not immediately lock inside of her. She pushed at my hips, urging me back out. I was confused for several beats of my hearts, but when she tugged me back toward her, I understood.

I pushed inward and pulled outward in a careful rhythm, not wanting to strain the warm channel of her human womanhood. She reached down between us, pushing two fingers between her folds and circling something. Whatever she touched seemed to make her cries of pleasure intensify. I made a mental note to ask Cyro what part of the anatomy she was manipulating. Finally, I swelled inside of her, seating myself tightly, feeling the bond between us become a physical cord.

Kalith completed our connection, his reproductive tentacle—shorter but proportionally thicker than ours—creating the final seal that bound us together. Tammy’s eyes widened impossibly as her body accommodated him, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. Kalith extended his shorter tentacle, pushing it inside to join his sexual appendage. He rippled the tentacle up and down, left and right, its tip stroking her insides as his hardened alien manhood claimed her body.

“Your internal organs are being compressed,” Kalith sounded concerned, even as his tentacle pulsed with pleasure inside her. “Are you experiencing discomfort?”

“It’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever felt,” Tammy replied, her voice strained but her smile radiant. “Don’t you dare stop. In fact,” her eyes traveled over our faces, making it clear she was addressing all of us, “put all those wonderful tentacles to good use.”

I reached for her, tentacle tips grazing skin, tugging her nipples, and one rogue tentacle traveling beneath her body to tease at the hole currently unoccupied between her glorious human butt cheeks. Cyro’s tentacles likewise explored, one tip pushing against her mouth. Tammy parted her lips, allowing him entry and beginning to suck gently.

As our bodies joined completely in a tangle of limbs and tentacles, the specialized glands along our tentacles released a calming, heady cocktail of scent designed to ease our mate through the mating process. It was amazing that our bodies were responding so fully to hers, despite our vastly different anatomies. The biochemicals flooded the space around us, visibly relaxing Tammy as they enhanced the pleasure connections forming between our nervous systems.

Instead of biting her as I understood human Alphas did, my suckers extended naturally, wrapping around her neck in a gentle but firm grip. The specialized organs pressed against her gland points, extracting and exchanging the biochemicals that would cement our bond. Beside me, Cyro did the same, his suckers leaving a perfect ring of marks like a collar around her throat.

Kalith focused on her wrists, his tentacles encircling them like living bracelets, his suckers leaving matching patterns that resembled intricate jewelry pressed into her skin. The marks would fade eventually, but the biochemical bond they created would remain.

In a gesture that surprised all of us, Tammy leaned forward, biting first my neck, then Cyro’s, then Kalith’s in rapid succession. The unexpected pressure of her blunt human teeth against our skin sent waves of pleasure through my system, completing the circle of our connection.

As the intensity of our joining gradually subsided, we remained locked together, our bodies cooling slowly in the night air. I traced a tentacle down the side of Tammy’s head, curving behind her auditory protrusion. Surprisingly, I found that her universal translator was missing, likely lost in the water trough during our earlier activities.

“Your translation device,” I began, preparing to explain the potential communication barrier.

“Is gone,” she finished, smiling up at me with drowsy contentment. “I know. It fell off in the pool.”

“Yet you understand our speech,” Cyro said, his tone relaxed, his body limp as he succumbed to post-mating relaxation.

“Perfectly,” she confirmed, a look of wonder crossing her features. “Every word.”

We exchanged glances, the implication clear. The bond had created more than physical pleasure—it had formed neural pathways that transcended our biological differences. Such connections were rare even among our own kind, occurring only when compatibility was extraordinary.

“The biochemical exchange appears to have facilitated direct neural language transfer,” Kalith hypothesized, his shorter tentacle tracing lazy circles on Tammy’s hip. “Unprecedented between species.”

Tammy yawned, her eyelids growing heavy as the intensity of her heat began to fade. “So, I’m basically the alien whisperer now?” she murmured, nestling closer against my chest. “That’s pretty cool.”

I adjusted my position to support her more comfortably, my tentacles arranging the horse blankets around her to prevent heat loss as her body cooled. Cyro’s bioluminescent glow provided gentle illumination as Kalith extinguished the lantern, the stable falling into a peaceful semi-darkness broken only by the soft, pulsing light from Cyro’s skin.

As Tammy drifted toward sleep between us, her breathing deep and even, I maintained my vigilance. Even now as I basked in the aftermath of our joining, my security training wouldn’t allow me to completely relax. Still, I could feel a sense of belonging and of rightness. That helped me find a calmness inside that I hadn’t expected to find so far from my oceanic home.

“We are bonded,” I whispered, more to myself than to my sleeping human mate or my mission brothers. “We are home.”

34

CYRO

Science cannot explain all mysteries.

The biochemical cascade of post-reproductive hormones flooded my system, dulling my typically razor-sharp faculties. My tentacles, still coated with a mixture of my secretions and Tammy’s sweat, loosened their grip on her supple form as the intensity of our coupling faded to a comfortable hum. It was less urgent, yet more significant.

My chromatophores pulsed in lazy, satisfied waves—deep blues and purples that reflected contentment I hadn’t experienced since before our mission began. This wasn’t part of our assignment. Bonding with a native species wasn’t in our protocols. Yet as I watched Tammy’s breathing slow, her eyelids growing heavy in the aftermath of our union, I couldn’t bring myself to regret what we’d done.

“Your human reproductive process produces a remarkable endorphin response,” I murmured, tracing one tentacle tip along the curve of her shoulder. The sensitive suckers mapped every freckle, every pore, transmitting the data directly to my pleasure centers.

Tammy’s laugh was a drowsy vibration against my chest. “That’s one way of saying ‘good sex’.”

Her eyelids fluttered, fighting against the weight of exhaustion. Beside her, Kalith’s differently abled tentacle had found its way to her hair, weaving through the copper strands with delicate precision. The appendage that had once been a source of shame for him now seemed perfectly designed for this tender task, separating and smoothing each lock as if cataloging its properties.

"Every strand of this is its own perfect little filament," Kalith observed, his voice carrying that soft echo that emerged when his emotional control slipped. "Spun finer than anything I could machine."

“Are you seriously analyzing my split ends right now?” Tammy mumbled, though her smile betrayed her amusement as she nestled deeper into our entangled limbs. “Also, you guys really need to work on talking more human. You sound robotic sometimes.”

I pressed my lips to her bare shoulder, tasting the salt of her skin. Earlier, my kisses had been desperate, consuming. I’d let baser needs control my every instinct. Now, I found myself cataloging each point of contact with methodical tenderness. The curve where her neck met her shoulder. The hollow beneath her ear. The faint pulse point at her temple. Each kiss was softer than the last as the alcohol and exhaustion dulled my usually precise movements.

“Your epidermis releases trace amounts of sodium chloride through perspiration,” I informed her between kisses. “The taste activates pleasure receptors I didn’t know I possessed.”

Tammy’s eyes closed fully, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “You robotic sweet talker, you.”

From the edge of our makeshift nest, Vantor surveyed our tangled forms before making adjustments to our positioning. His powerful tentacles lifted and rearranged the hay beneath the horse blankets, creating a more stable foundation. Typical Vantor—even in post-coital relaxation, he remained focused on security and structural integrity.

“The ambient temperature will decrease approximately eight degrees Celsius during the night cycle,” he announced, his voice carrying that deep rumble that made Tammy’s skin pebble with goosebumps. “Body heat conservation is optimal in a circular configuration.”

“I think we need to have another sitcom crash course so you guys can practice talking more casually,” Tammy yawned out.

“Precise speech avoids misunderstandings and ensures smooth mission progression,” Vantor insisted.

With surprising gentleness for one so powerful, Vantor’s tentacles encircled all of us, pulling our bodies into a tighter formation. His specialized security training—once used to guard our most sensitive oceanic research facilities—now deployed to protect this improbable family unit we’d formed.

“Always on duty, aren’t you?” Tammy whispered as Vantor settled beside her, his larger body creating a windbreak between her and the stable door.

“It is my function,” he replied simply, though I noticed the faintest burgundy flush ripple across his neck—a physiological tell that betrayed deeper emotion than his words admitted.

Our bodies gradually arranged themselves in a formation that would have fascinated xenobiologists from any planet—human limbs interwoven with cephalopod tentacles in a complex, living knot. Three tentacles from Kalith supported Tammy’s head and shoulders, while my appendages wrapped securely around her waist. Vantor’s larger tentacles formed a protective outer ring, occasionally twitching as they monitored for potential threats even in rest.

I found myself calculating the mathematical improbability of our connection. We were three beings from a watery world that existed eons away. We were likely genetically incompatible with this Earth female in every measurable way. On the slim chance we were compatible, I had been careful not to fertilize my seed. By the colors my crew brothers turned while locking inside Tammy, they too had taken that precaution.

So different.

Born on planets a hundred and twenty-four light years apart.

Yet, somehow, we were creating a bond that ruined my understanding of rational limits.

The statistical unlikelihood was so vast that even my scientist’s mind struggled to comprehend it.

“This should feel weird,” Tammy murmured, her voice thick with approaching sleep. “Why doesn’t this feel weird?”

I had no answer for her. By all logical parameters, a human female nesting with three alien beings should indeed register as “weird” on her psychological assessment scale. Yet the rightness of our configuration seemed to override any cultural or biological barriers that should have existed.

“Biochemical bonding creates neurological pathways that normalize unexpected stimuli,” I suggested, though the explanation felt inadequate even to my own auditory receptors.

“Mmm.” Was her only response as her breathing deepened, her conscious mind surrendering to sleep.

The lantern’s flame had dwindled to a faint orange glow, casting long shadows across the stable walls. Through the high windows, moonlight spilled in silver ribbons, casting all of our bodies in metallic light. In the neighboring stalls, the horses shifted and snuffled occasionally, their large bodies radiating heat that kept the stable several degrees warmer than the outside night air.

My tentacles unconsciously adjusted their pressure on Tammy’s skin, monitoring her vital signs as she drifted deeper into sleep. Her heartbeat had slowed to fifty-eight beats per minute—optimal for human rest phase. Her respiration had settled into the regular pattern of REM sleep. Beside her, Kalith had already succumbed to exhaustion, his tentacles still gently entangled in her hair even as his consciousness faded.

As I watched her sleep, possibilities unfolded in my mind—connections deeper than the physical joining we’d experienced. On our home world, mating bonds could develop into profound neural links over time, allowing partners to sense each other’s emotional states across vast distances. Would such a connection be possible with a human? The scientist in me itched to study the phenomenon, to document and analyze this unprecedented cross-species bonding.

The question followed me down into darkness as my own consciousness began to dim. My last waking observation was of Tammy’s sleeping face, peaceful and trusting despite being wrapped in alien appendages that most humans would find terrifying. The trust she placed in us was both illogical and precious.

Then I was no longer in the stable but floating in the vast coral cities of my home world. The familiar aquamarine glow of our bioluminescent architecture surrounded me. Quickly, I noted something was wrong, but I could not discern what. Suddenly, the water levels dropped dramatically, leaving the highest spires exposed to air. The beautiful crystal structures, designed to refract light through water, stood dry and cracking in the alien atmosphere.

My mother floated before me; her tentacles were spread in the formal gesture of accusation. “You were sent to find a solution,” she said, her voice carrying the harmonics of deep disappointment. “Instead, you found a mate and abandoned your people.”

I tried to explain about the crashed ship, about the need for repairs, but my words produced no sound in the drying ocean.

“The samples,” another voice accused—my research director, his skin mottled with the gray patches of dehydration. “Where are the Earth water samples? Our world is dying while you mate with primitives.”

Around me, the ocean continued to recede, revealing more and more of our city to the devastating exposure of air. Younger cephalopods flopped helplessly on the drying sea floor, their underdeveloped respiratory systems failing without the buoyant support of water. My people were dying because I had failed in my mission.

“I can still fix this,” I tried to say, but my speech organs had dried out, producing only painful rasping sounds as I reached toward the suffering young ones.

The accusatory faces of my people surrounded me, their once-beautiful tentacles now shriveled and pale, their chromatophores dim with approaching death. All because I had let myself be distracted—by a biochemistry I couldn't classify, by readings I could not stop gathering, by the intoxicating scent of a female who couldn't possibly help our dying world.

I surfaced from the nightmare with a full-body shudder, my chromatophores flashing warning patterns of acid yellow and bright orange before I could suppress them. The stable’s familiar scents—hay, leather, horse, and now the musky aftermath of our mating—grounded me back in reality as my respiratory system adjusted from the panicked rhythm of sleep to the measured pattern of wakefulness. Carefully, I lifted what passed for my head in my natural state, noting the sunlight streaming through the stable windows. Morning. We had survived the night, limbs and tentacles still entangled in improbable configurations that defied the neat categorization I personally preferred.

The dream clung to me like a parasite, images of my dying world and accusations from my people sending fresh waves of anxiety through my nervous system. I had allowed myself to become distracted from our mission—our desperate, world-saving mission. The water samples we needed remained uncollected, our ship not repaired, while I had indulged in pleasure with this fascinating Earth female.

A quick self-assessment confirmed what I already suspected: my form had almost completely reverted during sleep. Eight tentacles spread from my central mass, their natural blue-green hue shimmering with bioluminescent patterns that pulsed with my heartbeat. Only my face retained any semblance of human structure—a partial mask where Tammy had rested her cheek against me during the night.

Beside me, Kalith had undergone a similar transformation. His earth-toned tentacles sprawled across the makeshift nest, one wrapped protectively around Tammy’s ankle, another still tangled in her copper hair. His smallest tentacle had curled into a spiral. Only the vaguest outline of his human jawline remained visible, like a half-finished sculpture emerging from living clay.

Vantor, however, presented a stark contrast to our relaxed states. Despite deep sleep, his human form remained largely intact—only three tentacles had emerged from his lower torso, and his face retained almost all its human characteristics. The discipline was remarkable, a testament to his security training and tactical mindset. Even unconscious, Vantor maintained vigilance, his body positioned between the stable door and our vulnerable group.

I studied him, completely fascinated. Was it training alone that allowed such control? Or had Vantor’s physiology adapted differently to Earth’s environment? Perhaps his specialized security conditioning had created neural pathways that maintained camouflage even during rest cycles. A study would be warranted—if we had time for such academic pursuits while our home world dried up and died.

The thought sent a fresh wave of guilt through my system, my chromatophores darkening momentarily before I regained control. I needed to begin working on the ship repairs immediately. The first step would be extraction from this complex tangle of limbs without waking the others.

I began the delicate process of unwinding my tentacles from the sleeping forms. One appendage had wrapped twice around Tammy’s waist, another had slid between her thighs during the night, while a third had somehow intertwined with one of Kalith’s, creating a biological knot that required careful manipulation to loosen.

As I slowly retracted my primary tentacle from beneath Tammy’s warm body, the sensitive suckers dragged across her bare stomach. The contact sent unexpected pulses of pleasure crackling through me, each suction cup mapping the texture of her skin with such precision that my central processor became momentarily overwhelmed with sensory data.

I paused, forcing myself to regain my composure. This was simple biology—tactile input triggering automatic responses. Nothing more. I needed to complete the extraction and begin work on the ship.

My tentacle continued its careful withdrawal, brushing across the inside of Tammy’s thigh. The soft, warm texture there differed subtly from the skin of her stomach—more delicate, with a higher concentration of the tiny mounds that humans called “goosebumps” that rose in response to my touch. My internal temperature regulation system immediately malfunctioned, sending heat flooding through my reproductive channels.

To my horror, I felt my specialized mating tentacle begin to emerge from its protective sheath, responding to the biochemical signals Tammy’s sleeping body was unknowingly emitting. The appendage swelled, lengthening as it escaped its containment, its sensitive tip already seeking the source of the intoxicating pheromones that had triggered its awakening.

“This is highly inappropriate,” I whispered to my own rebellious anatomy. “Return to dormant state immediately.”

My reproductive organ, apparently not subject to verbal commands, continued its emergence. I applied neural suppression techniques, attempting to redirect blood flow away from the aroused appendage. My efforts proved futile—if anything, the organ swelled further, its color deepening to a rich purple that signaled peak fertility.

This was absurd. I was a respected xenobiologist, not some juvenile experiencing his first mating cycle. I had collected samples from a dozen different planets without once becoming distracted by reproductive urges. Yet here I was, tentacle rigid with desire, unable to control my own physiological responses to this sleeping human female.

My tenuously held detachment rapidly failing me, I made a strategic decision. If I couldn’t suppress the physical response, perhaps I could disguise it. I concentrated on my human form, feeling my tentacles reluctantly retract as my body reconfigured itself. The transformation was imperfect—hasty and partial—but sufficient to replace my obvious alien arousal with its human equivalent.

The human genitalia were, at least, somewhat less conspicuous than a fully extended reproductive tentacle, though the persistent erection still created an obvious protrusion beneath the blanket I hastily pulled across my lower body. Not ideal, but marginally less alarming should Tammy wake suddenly.

As if summoned by my thoughts, Tammy stirred beside me. Her eyelashes fluttered against freckled cheeks, and a soft sound—somewhere between a sigh and a moan—escaped her lips as consciousness gradually returned. I held perfectly still, hoping she might drift back to sleep, giving me time to regain full control of my rebellious anatomy.

No such luck. Her blue eyes opened, unfocused at first, then sharpening as they found mine. A slow smile spread across her face, and I was struck again by how beautiful this human was—not despite her alien features, but because of them. The varied pigmentation of her skin, the remarkable color of her hair, the asymmetrical arrangement of her freckles—all created a fascinating complexity that my own species’ uniform appearance lacked.

“Morning,” she murmured, voice rough with sleep. Her gaze drifted downward, noting the tent in the blanket with obvious amusement. “Someone’s happy to see me.”

I felt heat rise to my face—a human reaction my partially-transformed body had adopted. “I apologize for the involuntary physiological response. My tentacle—” I stopped, correcting myself. “My reproductive organ seems to have developed autonomy from my conscious control.”

Tammy’s sleepy grin widened as she propped herself up on one elbow, careful not to disturb Kalith who still slumbered beside her. “Don’t apologize. I’m flattered.” Her eyes narrowed slightly, studying me with unexpected perceptiveness. “You shifted back to looking human. Were you trying to hide your tentacle boner?”

The directness of her question caught me off guard. “I... thought the human equivalent might be less alarming to wake up to.”

“Cyro,” she said, reaching out to trace one finger along my still partially-iridescent cheek, “I literally had all three of your alien selves inside me last night. Nothing about your anatomy alarms me anymore.”

Her touch sent fresh waves of desire through my system, and I felt my human disguise slipping further as my control wavered. A ripple of lavender washed across my skin, and I knew my eyes had reverted to their natural metallic state when Tammy’s pupils dilated in response.

“Besides,” she whispered, leaning closer until her breath warmed my face, “I kind of prefer the natural version. More... versatile.”

The last traces of my neutrality crumbled under the heat of her gaze.

How did she do this to me?

Make me want to abandon duty, science, and my true home…

35

TAMMY

To infinity, which surprisingly isn’t beyond Kansas.

Cyro changed. I watched it in real time, as his control slipped away and he melted under my gaze. His struggle played out across his face, the human features fighting against alien instincts as his skin rippled with barely contained iridescence.

There was something endearing about watching a being from another world wrestle with the same basic urges that had been driving humans since we crawled out of the primordial soup. Only difference was, his urges came with tentacles.

“I am glad that our bodies do not bother you,” he finally said, shaking his head slowly. “But I am unused to being controlled by primitive urges. I am a being of science, of facts and figures.”

His words were formal, but his body language screamed conflict. The blanket over his lap twitched suspiciously, and patches of blue-green light pulsed at his collar where his human disguise was thinning. I fought back a smile, strangely touched by his internal struggle.

I darted my tongue across my lower lip, not missing how his metallic eyes tracked the movement. “And if I want you to be controlled by primitive urges?”

My cheeks went hot as the words left my mouth, blood rushing to the surface like I was sixteen again, asking Bobby Miller to the Sadie Hawkins dance. Except Bobby Miller hadn’t had tentacles or the ability to make every nerve ending in my body sing like a choir on Christmas. My breath came in small gasps of anticipation. Last night had been amazing—transformative even—but somehow, it wasn’t nearly enough.

I didn’t think I’d ever be satisfied now. Being with the aliens was... transcendent. Like discovering a new color in the rainbow, or an extra sense I never knew I had. How could I go back to plain old human sex after experiencing multiple limbs that could touch me everywhere at once?

Cyro hesitated, his posture rigid with restraint even as more patches of his true skin peeked through the human disguise. I could practically see the formulas and probability calculations running behind those silver eyes.

“Think of it as... further research, Cyro,” I suggested, my voice dropping to a whisper that seemed to fill the still morning air of the stable. “You’re just continuing to explore a new world, and new species.”

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, like sunshine breaking through clouds, Cyro’s human mouth cocked up on one side. He couldn’t help but smile at me, his silvery eyes warming from mercury to molten platinum.

“Research,” he repeated, his formal tone now tinged with amusement. “An ongoing xenobiological study with significant mutual benefit potential.”

“Exactly,” I nodded eagerly. “Very important scientific work. Can’t leave it half-finished.”

His smile widened, and I watched in fascination as he made his decision. Slowly but deliberately, he allowed his true sexual organ to shift, lengthening and stretching out of one of the boxer leg holes. It grew and transformed until it hung just past his human knee, exactly as it had the night before. The tip was thick and bulbous, mushroom-shaped like a knot already beginning to swell, its color deepening from pale lavender to a rich purple that seemed to pulse with its own heartbeat.

“I can’t believe that was inside me last night,” I whispered, looking up at him, then back down at the impressive appendage. My insides clenched with remembered pleasure and anticipation of more to come.

Movement from the hay beside me caught my attention. I turned to find Kalith stirring, his deep brown eyes flickering open to meet mine. Unlike Cyro and Vantor, he hadn’t bothered maintaining his human disguise through the night—tentacles sprawled in all directions from his central mass, only the vaguest suggestion of the handsome, sharp-cut features remaining on what passed for his face.

As our eyes locked, those features rapidly reconstructed themselves, tentacles withdrawing beneath skin that materialized like paint flowing across canvas. Within seconds, he appeared almost entirely human again, except for the smaller tentacle that remained stubbornly wrapped around a lock of my hair, as if unwilling to break that final connection.

“Good morning, Tammy Tucker,” he murmured, his voice carrying that slight mechanical quality it always had when he first shifted forms.

A throat cleared from behind me, and I turned to find Vantor already fully human-shaped and sitting upright, his stiff posture in comical contrast to our rumpled nest of horse blankets. Unlike the others, his human mask was firmly in place, only the unusual burgundy flush across his collarbones betraying his alien nature.

“Perimeter remains secure,” he reported automatically, though his eyes—hazel in human form but flashing vermilion at the edges—were fixed on the junction of my thighs with unmistakable intent.

I looked at them in turn, three aliens wearing human skins like ill-fitting suits, and realized that they were all hardening with need for me. The air filled with their distinctive scents—Cyro’s oceanic musk, Kalith’s earthy richness, Vantor’s deeper, almost smoky aroma. My Omega biology responded instantly, my body producing slick that I could feel dampening my thighs.

The response was automatic and overwhelming. My eyes hooded with white-hot desire I couldn’t ignore if I’d wanted to—which I definitely didn’t. I reached out, fingers grazing across the tentacles that had begun to emerge from beneath their human disguises.

Cyro’s appendage met my touch first, wrapping around my wrist with delicate precision. Numerous suckers seemed to gently kiss my skin, creating tiny points of suction that sent shivers racing up my arm. Vantor’s larger tentacles emerged next, sliding around my waist from behind with confident purpose. Even Kalith’s differently abled tentacle grew bolder, abandoning my hair to trace the curve of my ear with whisper-soft touches.

“I want you,” I admitted, my voice hardly recognizable to my own ears—husky and demanding in a way I’d never heard myself sound before. “All of you. Again.”

Their scents intensified in response, the air growing thick with pheromones that made my head swim. The tiny stable stall seemed to shrink around us, the outside world fading until there was nothing but the four of us and the heat building between our bodies. Horse blankets rustled beneath us as we shifted closer together, human skin meeting alien appendages in a dance that should have felt strange but instead felt like coming home.

I breathed in the tapestry of scents flowing around me, my body humming with anticipation. My skin felt electric, hypersensitive, like every nerve ending had been replaced with live wires. I knew I should probably be sore, should probably give my very human body a break after what we’d done last night, but my Omega biology had other ideas. The sight of three aroused aliens—my aliens—sent fresh waves of desire gathering low in my hips.

“Can we do it again?” I asked, trying to sound casual despite the neediness creeping into my voice. “Or do you guys need more of a break?” The question was purely polite—the evidence before my eyes made it clear that all three were more than ready for round two. Or was it round three? I’d lost count somewhere between Cyro’s tentacles finding that spot behind my knee and Kalith’s specialized appendage doing things that would make a yoga instructor jealous.

“We do not require breaks,” Cyro answered, his voice deep and resonant with a bubbling brook ribboning through his words. The sound sent pleasant shivers down my spine. “Our species can maintain reproductive activity for extended periods without physiological fatigue.”

Of course they could. Alien super-stamina. Just one more thing to add to the growing list of “Ways Aliens Are Better Than Human Men,” right underneath “multiple tentacles” and “no snoring.”

Cyro’s expression grew more serious, his silver eyes studying me with obvious concern. “We do not want to over-exert your human body, though,” he added. “Your species has less efficient recovery mechanisms than ours.”

I couldn’t help but smile at his clinical description of what was essentially alien worry that they might break me with too much tentacle sex. It was both touching and hilarious.

“We need a safe word then,” I breathed out, sitting up straighter as my practical side briefly took control. Heat or no heat, I wasn’t about to dive into another multi-limbed marathon without some basic ground rules.

I thought for a moment, then smiled as the perfect word came to mind. “Watermelon. I’ll say that if I need you guys to stop. Okay?”

Three pairs of eyes—silver, hazel, and brown—stared at me with identical expressions of confusion.

“Why watermelon?” Kalith finally asked, his head tilting to one side like a puzzled puppy. The tentacle still wrapped around my wrist tightened slightly, as if emphasizing his question.

I shook my head, unable to suppress a grin. “That’s between me, myself, and I.”

The truth was too embarrassing to admit—that I’d chosen “watermelon” because it was the only fruit I could think of that I absolutely hated. The texture made my skin crawl, and the taste reminded me of sweetened disappointment. There was zero chance I’d accidentally say it in the throes of passion, which made it perfect safe word material.

Vantor, Cyro, and Kalith exchanged glances, communicating in that silent way they sometimes did. Then they shrugged almost in unison—a very human gesture they must have picked up from watching me. Cyro’s expression seemed to say, “Perhaps it is best we do not fully understand.”

“Agreed,” Vantor nodded firmly, as if we’d just established a new security protocol rather than sex guidelines. “We will cease all activity upon hearing the fruit designation.”

I stood up, stretching my arms overhead and feeling a satisfying pop in my spine. “Why don’t we make it to the bedroom this time?” The stable had been romantic in its way, but hay—no matter how carefully arranged or tentacle-lubricated—wasn’t exactly memory foam.

I turned away from them and strode out of the stall, very aware of three pairs of eyes tracking my every move. I didn’t hear them follow me immediately. I had no doubt they would.

My thighs were slippery, and pangs of need hit my intimate parts with each step, making me clench involuntarily. I felt powerful in that moment—desired, wanted, needed by beings who could probably have their pick of partners across the galaxy.

As I stepped into the early morning light, a breeze hit my body and brought with it a sudden realization. I glanced down to find both of my bra straps broken, the cups pulled down so my breasts hung freely in the cool morning air. My underwear hadn’t fared much better—the cotton material was torn in multiple places, barely hanging onto the elastic waistband by a few stubborn threads.

“Good thing we’re isolated out here,” I grinned over my shoulder at my alien entourage, who were following me with varying degrees of disguised hunger in their eyes. Kalith seemed particularly fixated on the way the remains of my underwear shifted with each step.

A familiar neighing sound drew my gaze to the pasture, where all three horses stood at the fence line watching me with what looked suspiciously like judgment in their large brown eyes. I did a double-take when I noticed Mystery and Sassafras standing side by side, their bodies pressed against one another like they were... cuddling? The stallion’s head was draped protectively over the mare’s neck, a posture I’d never seen from him before—especially not with Sassafras, who he’d tried to kick into next Tuesday not even a week ago.

Unshakable hope joined the blistering desire inside me. Cyro’s careful planning had worked. Not only was my heat getting satisfied by the most unusual breeding trio ever, but my horses were finally getting along too. If they produced a foal, maybe—just maybe—I could keep the ranch afloat and stop worrying about how I was going to afford the next bag of horse feed, the next vet visit, the next mortgage payment.

“I’ll be right back to feed you, but I’m getting my morning fill first,” I hollered at the horses, earning an unimpressed huff from Mystery. He shook his magnificent head and nudged Sassafras toward the water trough, as if he understood perfectly well what I was up to and found my priorities questionable.

Almost to the porch stairs, I half-turned, my gaze landing on the supply barn in the distance. No longer leaning precariously to the right, it stood straight and solid thanks to Kalith’s utter construction genius. The weathered boards had been reinforced and stained a warm honey color that caught the morning sun. The white trim around the windows was so fresh and clean. I doubted the building had looked so nice even when brand new.

Though the sight of it made me happy, it also hurt my heart.

Because inside that newly-restored structure, shielded by technology I didn’t understand and probably never would, was the ship that would eventually take my aliens away. The thought sent breath-stealing pangs through my chest, dulling the euphoric buzz of desire.

For now, they were here with me.

For now, they weren’t ready to leave.

I pushed the melancholy aside, determined not to let future worries spoil the present moment. Their ship wasn’t repaired yet. The water samples they needed weren’t collected. For now—for however long this strange, wonderful interlude lasted—they were here with me. And I intended to enjoy every second, every tentacle, every impossible, mind-bending orgasm they could give me before reality came crashing back. 

Ignoring the inevitable would be harder if I loved them. And I didn’t love them. Not really. That would be insane for a million reasons, not the least of which was the fact that I’d only known them a ridiculously short time and they weren’t even human.

Did I love them?

That was a problem for later.

I turned back toward the house, a smile spreading across my face as I heard their footsteps approaching. Glancing over my shoulder, I took a mental snapshot of how sexy they looked striding beneath the sunlight in only the boxers. The bedroom was calling, and three aliens were about to answer.

36

VANTOR, CYRO, & KALITH

Two worlds. Two futures. One impossible choice.

VANTOR

Imeasured the perimeter in precise strides, each footfall landing exactly where it had the day before, and the day before that. Seven days had passed since our bonding with Tammy—seven Earth rotations that felt simultaneously like mere moments and several lifetimes. The morning sun cast long shadows across the ranch, highlighting the sun-bleached gold of high-summer grass and the weathered wood of fence posts I had reinforced with my own hands. Hands that weren’t truly mine, but a careful fabrication designed to blend among the humans of this planet. Hands that had now touched, caressed, and memorized every inch of Tammy Tucker’s skin.

My internal chronometer had lost track of Earth time. I glanced up at the sky, trying to calculate how long I’d been patrolling. The likelihood of external threats remained minimal at this rural location, yet I continued to be vigilant. Security protocols provided structure. Structure provided comfort. And in the tumultuous storm of emotions I’d experienced since our crash landing, comfort was increasingly difficult to find.

The horses watched me from the paddock—Mystery with his usual imperious stare, Sassafras with newfound contentment since her relationship with the stallion had evolved from hostility to what Tammy called “horse romance.” The older one, Artie, simply observed with patient eyes that seemed to hold ancient wisdom. Their acceptance of our alien presence still surprised me. Animals often possessed keener instincts than their human counterparts.

I paused at the northernmost point of the property, where a small stream marked the boundary. The water gurgled over smooth stones—a sound so different from the deep, resonant currents of my home world’s vast oceans. I knelt, allowing one finger to break the surface. The sensation triggered memories of home, of the crushing pressures and bioluminescent landscapes that had shaped my development. The world where I had trained, served, and sworn oaths to protect my people.

The people I was now considering abandoning.

My three hearts pulsed asynchronously, a physiological manifestation of my inner discord. The rhythm had been disrupted since our bonding, since Tammy’s biochemistry had merged with ours in ways none of us could have anticipated. Where once my cardiac system had maintained a precise operation, now it sometimes stuttered when she entered a room, accelerated when she smiled, nearly stopped when she cried.

Was this what humans called “love”?

The concept was not entirely foreign to my species. We formed bonds—partnerships based on compatibility, shared purpose, mutual protection. But nothing in my training had prepared me for this overwhelming sensation that seemed to rewrite the very code of my being. Three hearts beating as one, instead of in their natural, carefully coordinated sequence.

I stood, resuming my patrol with outward stoicism that belied my inner turmoil. The western boundary brought me past the repaired barn where our ship lay hidden beneath layers of Earth technology and alien camouflage. Its presence loomed in my consciousness like an accusation. Every day we remained increased the likelihood of mission failure, of our people continuing to suffer as their ocean home slowly evaporated into toxic mists.

I had never failed a mission.

In seventeen planetary cycles of service, I had maintained a perfect operational record. My specialized training as a security specialist had earned me commendations from the highest echelons of our cultural structure. My assignment to protect this critical research team over many star cycles had been considered an honor, a recognition of exceptional service.

And yet…

Here I stood, on an alien world, contemplating purposeful failure. Deliberate dereliction of duty. Treason, by any objective standard of our laws.

I traced the fence line, testing each post with mechanical precision while my mind wandered dangerous paths. What if we simply... stayed? What if we integrated our superior technology with this primitive but promising planet? What if we brought Tammy back with us? What if⁠—

The logical flaws in each scenario arose immediately, cutting down hopeful possibilities with ruthless efficiency. Our physiological needs would eventually betray us among humans. Tammy would die within decades in the atmospheric conditions of our world. The water samples we were sent to collect remained crucial to our planet’s survival.

Every path led back to the same brutal truth: we would have to leave.

The thought hollowed me out, creating a void where purpose had once resided. I had always been defined by duty—by oaths sworn to a world and a people I had never chosen. But for the first time, I understood the difference between being ordered to protect and choosing what to protect. I did not merely want a tomorrow with copper hair and freckled skin in it. I wanted to be the one who stood between it and every harm that might come—not because command required it of me, but because I had chosen her as my post.

A crash from behind the house interrupted my spiral of thought. I had a split second of recognition, the situation feeling familiar, but I ignored it and barreled onward.

My senses heightened instantly, battle reflexes engaging before conscious thought could form. Without hesitation, I released my human disguise below the waist, legs splitting into powerful tentacles that propelled me forward faster.

I rounded the corner of the farmhouse, tentacles churning the earth beneath me, only to halt abruptly at the scene before me.

We’d moved the refuse containers behind the house, even erecting a short barrier around them, but apparently few things deterred a trash panda. The receptacle’s contents spilled across the ground in a chaotic array of discarded packaging and food waste. And in the middle of this destruction sat a small, masked creature, front paws delicately sorting through the refuse with surprising dexterity.

“Hoover,” I said, my voice pitched lower than intended. “You are a mildly distressing creature.”

The raccoon’s head snapped up, beady eyes reflecting morning light as they fixed on me. He showed no fear, merely flicked his ringed tail back and forth. He was incredibly smart, considering his brain size. Over the course of several encounters, I had studied his problem-solving capabilities, his adaptability, his resilient nature. He had studied me with equal intensity, somehow recognizing me despite my shifting forms.

“That is not your food source,” I informed him, knowing full well he couldn’t understand my words but finding comfort in speaking to the creature, nonetheless. I’d asked Kalith if a translator could be adapted for Hoover, but the neural link that worked between human and our kind, did not hold true in terms of the smaller mammal. Kalith knew, because he’d already attempted to do so with Manji 2.

Hoover chittered in response, selected a half-eaten apple core from the debris, and held it up as if offering to share. The gesture struck me with force. This small Earth creature had no concept of interplanetary crisis, of duty or mission parameters. He simply existed in the present moment, finding joy in simple pleasures, forming connections where they were available.

I extended a tentacle slowly, allowing it to rest near the raccoon. After a moment’s consideration, Hoover abandoned his apple core and climbed onto the appendage, his tiny claws finding purchase on my skin as he made his way up to my shoulder. His weight was negligible, his presence somehow comforting. I had not intended to adopt an Earth companion, yet here we were—alien and raccoon, both outsiders finding common ground.

As I began to clean the scattered trash, Hoover’s warm body pressed against my neck, I felt the full weight of my dilemma. Each object I returned to the container represented a choice—the oath I had been handed, or the one I was beginning to swear to myself. The raccoon’s whiskers tickled my ear, his small heart beating rapidly against my skin.

How strange, I thought, that I could feel so connected to this primitive creature in such a short time. How much stranger still that I could feel bound to Tammy in ways that defied all logical explanation. How utterly devastating that I would eventually have to sever these bonds and return to a duty that suddenly felt hollow.

Hoover chittered again, as if sensing my melancholy. Perhaps he did. Perhaps Earth creatures possessed emotional intelligence my species had never properly evaluated.

“I know,” I told him softly, placing the last piece of trash in the container. “I know.”

CYRO

I stood in the stable doorway, watching as Vantor strolled along the fence line with that ridiculous Earth creature perched on his shoulder like some primitive ornament. The “trash panda,” as Tammy called it, flicked its ringed tail and chittered occasionally, as if engaged in conversation with my security specialist colleague. The sight would have been comical if it weren’t so poignant.

A highly trained security operative from an advanced aquatic civilization, forming an attachment to a terrestrial scavenger. The creature’s species barely evolved beyond basic problem-solving capabilities. Logically, it was not worthy of a meaningful connection. Yet, I understood the impulse better than I cared to admit, even to myself.

“It’s ridiculous how they have both adopted pet creatures on this planet, as if we can stay,” I murmured, the words escaping before I could analyze their true source.

Kalith had his feline companion “Manji 2,” an Earth cat with striped fur and remarkable climbing abilities that had somehow migrated from a neighboring farm directly into our youngest crew mate’s affections. And now Vantor with his raccoon, a creature that should be classified as a nuisance according to multiple human ecological management texts I’d studied in our database.

They were forming attachments to a world we would soon leave behind. A world we were never meant to inhabit in the first place. Our mission parameters had been clear: collect water samples from Earth’s deepest oceans, analyze their chemical composition, and return with data that might help our scientists reverse the catastrophic evaporation plaguing our home world. Nowhere in those parameters had there been instructions to crash-land in the middle of a rural area called “Kansas,” to integrate with the local fauna, or to form pair-bonds with native sentient life forms.

A soft nickering sound drew my attention away from the window. I turned to find myself observed by gentle, dark eyes set in a mottled gray face. Artie, the elderly Appaloosa, watched me from his stall with the placid patience that seemed his defining characteristic. Unlike the younger horses—the temperamental Mystery with his mahogany coat or the spirited Sassafras with her chestnut coloring—Artie never demanded attention. He simply waited, as if time were an infinite resource available for his casual consumption.

I moved toward him, my steps measured and deliberate as I maintained my human form. The disguise had become almost second nature now, requiring minimal conscious effort to sustain. Only when my emotions ran particularly high did the camouflage falter, revealing patches of my true skin beneath the human facade.

“Good morning, ancient equine specimen,” I greeted him. Artie’s ears flicked forward at the sound of my voice, his gaze remaining fixed on me. I might be deluding myself, but I liked to imagine there was genuine affection in his eyes, that this horse had accepted me fully—in all my forms—just as Tammy had.

My relationship with the older equine differed greatly from my interactions with the other two. Mystery and Sassafras represented challenges—their breeding difficulties had provided an opportunity to apply xenobiological principles to Earth fauna, resulting in what looked like a successful mating. Their genetic recombination, if it produced viable offspring, would serve Tammy’s financial needs while simultaneously satisfying my intellectual curiosity.

But Artie... Artie served no scientific purpose. His advanced age made him reproductively irrelevant. His docile temperament offered limited insights into equine behavioral patterns. By all objective metrics, he was the least valuable horse on the property.

Yet I found myself drawn to his stall each morning, seeking those moments of quiet communion that seemed to transcend our biological differences. Perhaps it was the way he accepted me without question, showing no fear of my alien scent or occasionally slipping disguise. Perhaps it was the gentle rhythm of his breathing that reminded me of the tidal patterns of my home world’s shallow coastal regions. Perhaps it was simply that he asked nothing of me beyond my presence.

I moved to the airtight container where Tammy stored sugar cubes—a crystallized carbohydrate that seemed to function as a universal reward system for her equine charges. The container’s seal had been enhanced with materials from our ship, ensuring that moisture couldn’t deteriorate the contents. Another small way I had integrated our technology into her world, leaving invisible traces of our presence that would remain long after we departed.

The thought sent an unexpected ripple of color across my neck, a momentary lapse in my human disguise that reflected emotional disturbance I couldn’t quite suppress. I extracted two white cubes and returned to Artie’s stall, extending my palm flat as Tammy had taught me.

“Your supplement, elder equine,” I offered.

Artie’s lips, soft and surprisingly dexterous, tickled against my palm as he delicately collected the treats. The sensation triggered a cascade of sensory data that my analytical mind automatically cataloged. At the same time a deeper part of me simply wanted to experience the moment for what it was: connection.

I raised my other hand to stroke his forehead, fingers tracing the irregular pattern of darker spots that gave his breed its name. Simultaneously, I allowed a tentacle to emerge discreetly from beneath the back of my shirt, extending it toward the shelf where grooming tools were stored. The appendage selected a curry brush with the practiced ease of repeated motion, bringing it around to my waiting human hand while maintaining the illusion that I had simply reached for it normally.

These small deceptions had become routine—maintaining human appearance while utilizing my natural appendages for convenience. Another adaptation to this temporary existence on Earth, another sign of how thoroughly we had integrated into a world we must eventually abandon.

As I began brushing Artie’s coat in slow, circular motions, the elderly horse leaned into the pressure with evident pleasure. His eyes half-closed, his lower lip drooping slightly in what Tammy called his “bliss face.” The repetitive motion soothed us both—my natural bioluminescence dimming to soft pastels beneath my skin as tension I hadn’t realized I was carrying gradually released.

“I have grown inappropriately attached to you,” I informed Artie quietly. “This represents a significant breach of the objectivity that defines an uncompromised scientist.”

The horse snorted softly, as if dismissing the importance of remaining true to my training.

As I continued grooming, dust motes dancing in the sunlight that streamed through the stable windows, a realization crystallized with uncomfortable clarity: I was no different than Vantor with his raccoon or Kalith with his cat. In fact, I was worse. I had formed attachments not to one Earth creature, but to three—Mystery, Sassafras, and Artie. Four, if I included Tammy herself, which my biochemistry insisted on doing with increasing urgency since our bonding.

The magnitude of this attachment settled over me like a heavy weight, pressing against my respiratory chambers and making it difficult to maintain optimal oxygen exchange. My people were suffering on our distant world, their once-vibrant ocean homes evaporating into toxic wastelands while I stood in an Earth stable, brushing an Earth horse and contemplating ways to extend my stay on this planet that was never meant to be my home.

“I have a planet to save, Artie,” I whispered, leaning my forehead against his warm neck. “I couldn’t stay, even if I wanted to.”

The words tasted bitter in my mouth, their truthfulness doing nothing to ease the hollow sensation that expanded within my central cavity. My mission was clear. My duty was undeniable. The water samples we had finally collected from Earth’s Mariana Trench could hold the key to saving millions of my species.

Yet as Artie’s steady heartbeat pulsed against my skin, as the scent of hay and horse and Earth filled my specialized respiratory system, as memories of Tammy’s laughter echoed through my consciousness, I found myself calculating—not for the first time—just how long we could delay our departure before mission failure became inevitable.

The answer, like a countdown clock I couldn’t silence, ticked relentlessly forward: not long enough. Never long enough.

KALITH

I couldn’t postpone it any longer. The final repair component sat before me, its molecular structure mocking my reluctance with perfect, efficient design. For days, I’d invented excuses—calibrations that needed additional refinement, diagnostic sequences that required multiple verifications, hull integrity tests that could be run again and again with marginally different parameters. But Cyro had grown suspicious, especially after discovering the cache of components I’d salvaged weeks ago from cargo. Components that would make our ship flight-worthy again. Components I’d hidden beneath spare parts and tools, as if their very existence was a betrayal of the life I’d begun to imagine for myself here on Earth.

“Just a few more minutes,” I murmured to myself, reaching for the container of gelatin milk paste with my shorter tentacle. The appendage trembled slightly, betraying my emotional state despite my best efforts to maintain a high level of precision.

Cyro had confronted me yesterday, barely masking his accusation. “The propulsion system diagnostics indicate all functional components are present in storage bay three,” he had said, silver eyes fixing on mine with uncomfortable intensity. “Yet you reported that the tertiary navigational array still required replacement parts.”

I’d fumbled through an explanation about compatibility issues and recalibration needs—technical jargon designed to confuse rather than clarify. Cyro hadn’t believed me. How could he? We’d been mission partners for too long; he knew when I was creating solutions and when I was creating problems.

The truth was simpler and more complicated: I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t want to fix the ship. Each repair brought us closer to departure, closer to saying goodbye to Tammy, closer to returning to an ocean world where my tentacular dysfunction would once again mark me as different, deficient, less than optimal.

Here, in this primitive structure housing our advanced technology, my differently abled tentacle was just another part of me that Tammy accepted without question. She even seemed to find it endearing, often seeking it out specifically for gentle caresses against her cheek or to twine around her smallest finger.

The thought of her sent a deep forest green pulsing across my skin before I could check it, momentarily disrupting my human disguise. I forced myself back to the task at hand, dipping three primary tentacles into the container of gelatin milk paste. The substance—a biomechanical polymer with self-regulating properties—coated my appendages in a thin, translucent layer. With practiced movements, I began applying it to the sensor array, creating the adhesive base that would bond with the soft alloy I’d finally retrieved from storage.

Each stroke of paste felt like sealing away possibility. Each careful application brought us closer to flight capability. Each methodical motion was an act of self-betrayal.

A soft “mrrp” sound drew my attention to the command chair, where Manji had made herself comfortable. The cat watched me with half-lidded amber eyes, her tail occasionally flicking with what I’d come to recognize as contented interest. She’d appeared at the barn door three weeks ago, immediately claiming me as her human despite my complete lack of qualifications for the role.

“Just finishing the job that I never wanted to complete,” I told her, reaching for Alloy 54—softer than its Alloy 626 counterpart, but far more conductive—with my primary appendages while my shorter tentacle continued applying paste to the delicate sensors. “Cyro discovered the repair components I’d hidden. He knows I’ve been stalling.”

Manji yawned in response, pink tongue curling in a tiny display of feline unconcern.

Though I’d originally called her Manji 2 to distinguish her from Manji 1 back home, I found myself often abandoning the numeric designation. The cat was simply Manji. My Manji. An Earth creature who had somehow recognized the alien beneath the human façade and decided to stay anyway. Besides, she had the same kind of spirit as my pet Tartulus, like they were the same souls split across two planets. I truly wished I could make a translating device work with the feline and have meaningful conversations with her. It had surprised me when Vantor approached me with the same desire for his animal coined Hoover.

I rolled the soft alloy within the curl of my tentacle, and it began to warm and soften further. When Alloy 54 met another substance, assuming that substance was mostly inorganic, it would harden while maintaining the flexibility needed to resist gravitational stresses. It had taken our scientists years to develop. The alloy’s silvery surface caught the light filtering through the barn windows. It gleamed, shifting copper. It reminded me so much of Tammy’s hair when sunlight struck it at certain angles that my breath caught.

I was so distracted by the thought of Tammy—of her laughter, of her resilience, of the way she’d looked at us with wonder instead of fear when she’d discovered our true forms—that I didn’t notice how close I’d positioned myself to the control panel above. As I sat up to reach for another tool, my head slammed into the unyielding metal with an impact that sent stars exploding across my vision.

“Ghhkkk!” The sound that emerged from my speech orifice was purely cephalopod, my human vocalization temporarily forgotten as pain radiated through my skull.

Two tentacles immediately shot up to press against the injured area, seeking to alleviate the throbbing. The ridiculousness of the situation wasn’t lost on me—my head had still been in human form, an illusion of vulnerable bone and thin skin, while my true head—which would have been cushioned against such an impact by its natural resilience—remained hidden beneath.

Yet the pain was real enough. My body had adapted so completely to this human disguise that it sometimes forgot its own superior design.

“What a mess,” I mumbled, sinking back onto my work platform. “How can everything I want out of life change so drastically in such a short time, Manji?”

The cat blinked slowly in response; a gesture I’d learned signified affection in feline communication. She rose from her curled position, stretching with elaborate precision before leaping down from the command chair and padding toward me. Her soft paws made no sound on the metal flooring.

I sat up more carefully this time, extending my shorter tentacle to curve beneath Manji’s warm body. With gentle precision, I lifted her from the floor and brought her to my chest, where she immediately began vibrating with that remarkable Earth adaptation called “purring.” The rhythmic vibration traveled through my skin, resonating with my internal structures in a way that created an unexpected sense of calm.

“There’s so many things to take apart on this planet,” I told her, stroking her fur with the tip of a primary tentacle. The texture fascinated me still. Touching it was addictive. I wondered if that was an evolutionary design, to be so soft that even predators would fall prey to the feel of it.

And then there was Tammy. Tammy with her copper hair and blue eyes. Tammy with her fierce independence and vulnerability that she tried so hard to hide. Tammy with her body that had accepted ours as if we’d been designed for each other, despite the vast evolutionary distances between our species.

“And... she’s here,” I whispered, the words carrying a weight that seemed to reconfigure the molecular structure of the air around us.

In response, Manji purred louder, her small heart beating against my chest in counterpoint to my own triple cardiac rhythm.

“Yeah, I think I should stay too,” I admitted, the words simultaneously liberating and terrifying.

But even as I said it, my tentacles continued working, muscle memory completing the repair process my conscious mind wished to abandon. The soft alloy molded perfectly against the sensors, the gelatin milk paste creating the seamless bond that would allow for optimal functionality. My body betrayed my heart’s desires, continuing the work I’d been trained to do—fixing, repairing, making things operational again.

The final component clicked into place with a soft sound that might as well have been a thunderclap. The ship’s systems recognized the completed circuit immediately, status lights shifting from amber standby to operational green across the console. A gentle hum rose from the propulsion chamber as dormant systems began their automated testing sequences.

Flight-worthy. The ship was flight-worthy again.

I sat motionless, Manji purring against my chest, as the full implications settled over me like a suffocating weight. We could leave now. We should leave now. Our mission, our people, our dying world—all demanded our immediate departure.

But my gaze fell on the barn door, beyond which lay a small ranch house where Tammy would be making coffee in her chipped blue mug, probably wondering why I hadn’t come in for breakfast yet. Beyond which lay fields where horses grazed and a raccoon had somehow formed a bond with a security specialist from another world. Beyond which lay a life I’d never imagined wanting but now couldn’t imagine leaving.

“We’re supposed to save our world,” I told Manji softly. “Not fall in love with this one.”

She had no answer for me beyond her steady purring. Perhaps that was answer enough.

37

TAMMY

Why was happiness so dang fleeting?

Iheld my breath as Kalith ran the strange alien device over Sassafras’s rounded belly, its soft blue glow casting ethereal patterns across the mare’s chestnut coat. The stable smelled of fresh hay and horse sweat, familiar scents that grounded me while my heart thundered with anticipation. Sassafras munched contentedly, oblivious to how her body might be carrying my future—my ranch’s salvation—inside her womb. Mystery watched from his stall with unusual attentiveness; his dark eyes fixed on his mate as if he understood exactly what we were checking for.

“Stay still, sweet girl,” I whispered, stroking Sassafras’s neck as she shifted slightly under the unfamiliar sensation of the scanner. “Just a few more seconds.”

Kalith moved with careful precision, his fingers dancing over the handheld device with the ease of someone who had built and rebuilt countless machines across multiple star systems. The scanner hummed softly, a musical alien tone that seemed to fascinate Mystery, whose ears pricked forward at the sound. For all his previous temperamental behavior, the stallion had become remarkably protective of Sassafras since their mating.

“The embryonic cellular patterns are unusually dense,” Kalith murmured, his brow furrowing with concentration. “I’m detecting multiple distinct heat signatures.”

“What does that mean?” I asked, my fingers tensing in Sassafras’s mane. “Is something wrong?”

Kalith didn’t answer immediately. He adjusted his device, and the blue light intensified, projecting what looked like a three-dimensional hologram above Sassafras’s belly. I squinted at the glowing image, trying to make sense of the pulsing shapes suspended in the air between us.

“Is that...” I began, my voice catching as I started to recognize the tiny, curved forms.

Kalith’s eyes widened suddenly, the brown irises flashing with gold as his human disguise momentarily slipped. A ripple of forest-green passed across his forearms, his true skin showing through the camouflage as excitement overrode his control.

“Twins,” he announced, looking up at me with a genuine smile that transformed his usually analytical expression. “Sassafras is carrying twin foals.”

I stared at him, uncomprehending for a heartbeat. Then the reality crashed over me like a wave.

“Twins?” I repeated, my voice rising to a pitch that made Sassafras flick her ears back. “Are you sure?”

“The scans are quite conclusive,” Kalith said, tapping the device to expand the holographic image. “Two distinct embryos, both exhibiting strong cellular division and proper development. They are mere days along—far too early for any Earth ultrasound to catch. But my scanner reads life the moment it kindles.”

“Twin foals,” I whispered, the words settling into my bones like a revelation. “Twin Selle Français, Quarter Horse crosses.”

The implications hit me all at once—not just one premium foal to sell, but two. Two chances to establish Sunflower Hills as a breeding operation worth investing in. Two perfect examples of what Mystery and Sassafras could produce together. The financial possibilities multiplied in my head like the cells in those precious embryos. But then the reality of a mare successfully bringing two foals to term hit me.

“Twin pregnancies are notoriously hard on horses,” I breathed out, stomach dropping. “The vet said they were rare, but he still warned me we’d probably have to reduce the smaller of the two fetuses out if the larger has any chance to live.”

“I believe,” Kalith said slowly, “I can help with that.”

“How?” I asked, a seed of hope desperately trying to replant in my heart so this moment could be triumphant, instead of tear-inducing.

“We can consider transferring one foal to an artificial womb. I believe I can create something operationally worthy, if not visually accurate. Or perhaps I can find ways to support Sassafras as the pregnancy progresses.”

“Do you really think you can keep both twins alive?” I breathed out, scarcely daring to hope.

Kalith hesitated, then gave a sharp nod. “Absolutely.”

Joy exploded through me with such force that I couldn’t contain it. I let out a whoop that echoed through the stable, startling Sassafras and making Mystery snort in alarm.

“Sorry, sorry!” I laughed, petting Sassafras’s neck to reassure her. Then I threw my arms around her in an impulsive hug, pressing my cheek against her warm shoulder. “You clever, wonderful girl! Twins! You’re giving us twins!”

Sassafras tolerated my enthusiasm with her usual patience, continuing to munch her hay as if producing multiple foals was all in a day’s work. Mystery, however, nickered sharply from his stall, as if demanding recognition for his contribution to this miracle.

“Yes, you too, you magnificent beast,” I called to him, grinning so hard my cheeks hurt. “You’ve done your part extremely well.”

Without thinking, I spun around and threw my arms around Kalith, the alien engineer who had become so much more than just a crash-landed visitor. His body tensed momentarily in surprise before softening into my embrace. I felt a gentle pressure against my back as his smallest tentacle emerged from beneath his shirt collar, wrapping around my shoulder in a way that had become comfortingly familiar.

“Thank you,” I murmured against his chest, where I could feel the strange triple rhythm of his hearts. “For checking her, for helping with the breeding plan, for everything.”

Kalith’s arms tightened around me, his voice carrying that slight mechanical echo it got when he was moved. “The credit belongs primarily to the equines’ reproductive compatibility.”

“Still,” I said, pulling back to look at his face, “I couldn’t have done this without you three. You know that.”

A shadow passed briefly across his features, there and gone so quickly I almost missed it. Before I could question it, my mind raced ahead to all the possibilities this pregnancy represented.

“Do you know what this means?” I asked, pacing the stable aisle as plans crystallized in my mind. “This changes everything! With twins, I can keep one as proof of bloodline and sell the other. Or sell both and use the money to expand—maybe buy another mare next season. We could start building a real breeding program!”

I spun back to Sassafras, approaching her with reverent steps. Gently, I placed my palm against her slightly rounded belly, marveling at the miracle happening beneath my hand. Two tiny lives, growing stronger every day. Two potential champions that could put Sunflower Hills back on the map.

“Buyers will be lining up,” I whispered, stroking the warm curve of her abdomen. “We’ll have reservation deposits coming in before they’re even born. Mystery’s bloodlines and your speed, Sass—these foals will be extraordinary.”

Sassafras nuzzled my shoulder as if understanding every word, her soft lips tickling against my skin in a gesture of affection that made my eyes sting with sudden tears.

“I promise you’ll always have the best care,” I told her softly. “The best feed, the best pasture, the best of everything. Your babies are going to save this ranch, sweet girl. And I’ll make sure you never want for anything.”

Mystery whinnied from his stall, stamping a hoof impatiently as if demanding to be included in these promises.

“You too, you jealous boy,” I laughed, wiping moisture from my eyes. “Premium feed and regular grooming for the stud who made it all possible.”

Kalith watched me with quiet fascination, his eyes tracking my movements as I practically danced around the stable in my excitement. The scanner in his hand had dimmed, the holographic image of the twin foals now just a memory, but the knowledge of their existence filled the air between us like electricity.

“We have to tell Cyro and Vantor!” I exclaimed, grabbing Kalith’s hand and tugging him toward the stable door. “Cyro will want to monitor the development, and Vantor—well, he’ll pretend to be stoic about it, but I bet even he will be excited.”

Kalith allowed himself to be pulled along, his hand warm in mine as we stepped into the afternoon sunlight. My mind was already racing ahead—I’d need to call the vet to confirm the pregnancy officially, start researching twin foal complications, adjust Sassafras’s diet, begin marketing to potential buyers. The list grew with each step toward the house, but for once, the tasks ahead felt like opportunities rather than burdens.

“You’re very happy,” Kalith observed as we crossed the yard, his tone carrying that endearing mixture of detached researcher and genuine warmth that I’d come to adore.

“Happier than I’ve been in forever,” I confirmed, squeezing his hand. “Everything’s finally turning around for Sunflower Hills. For me.” I looked up at him, my heart so full it felt like it might burst. “And it’s partly because you three crashed into my life.”

The future stretched before me, suddenly bright with possibility. Twin foals. Financial security. A chance to rebuild everything I’d thought was lost. And three incredible aliens who had somehow become the center of my world in ways I never could have imagined.

The afternoon sun had shifted into that golden Kansas hour that painted everything in honey-warm light. I practically floated across the yard toward the supply barn. Twin foals. The words kept repeating in my mind like a promise that everything was going to be okay. I had already drafted a social media announcement in my head, imagining the responses from potential buyers when they heard that Sunflower Hills was back in business with not one but two premium foals on the way. My financial salvation was growing inside Sassafras’s belly, and for the first time in months, I felt like I could breathe without the weight of impending foreclosure pressing on my chest.

I spotted all three aliens gathered near the newly rebuilt supply barn—the structure that Kalith had transformed from a leaning hazard into a solid building that would stand for decades. They stood in a tight cluster, their postures oddly formal, like they were attending some sort of alien business meeting rather than just hanging out on a lazy Kansas afternoon.

Cyro stood slightly ahead of the others, his normally animated face set in lines so solemn they seemed carved from stone. His shoulders formed a perfect horizontal line, rigid in a way I’d never seen before—not even when we’d first met and he’d been trying so hard to appear human. Vantor had his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his formidable bearing more pronounced than usual, like he was bracing against an invisible enemy. Between them, Kalith fidgeted with a small tool, his fingers moving with nervous energy as he repeatedly assembled and disassembled an object that glinted silver in the sunlight.

“Hey guys!” I called out, my voice carrying on the warm breeze. “Wait till you hear the news about Sassafras!”

None of them moved to greet me. No smiles appeared on their faces. The atmosphere around them seemed heavy, like the air before a storm. My steps slowed as I approached, the excitement in my chest beginning to curdle into unease.

“What’s going on?” I asked, coming to a stop several feet away from them. “You all look like someone died.”

Cyro’s silver-lilac eyes met mine, and the skin around them tightened. His face scrunched, then flattened, like he was trying desperately to contain feelings that may explode at any moment.

“Tammy,” he began, his voice carefully controlled. “We must inform you of a significant development.”

My stomach dropped. Whatever this was, it wasn’t good.

“The ship has been fully repaired,” he continued, each word precise and measured. “All systems are operational. We have collected the necessary water samples from Earth’s oceans. We must complete our mission and return to our home world.”

For a moment, the words didn’t make sense. They were just sounds, disconnected from meaning, floating in the golden afternoon light. Then understanding crashed through me like a physical blow, knocking the air from my lungs and the joy from my heart.

“You’re leaving,” I said flatly. Not a question. A terrible statement of fact.

“Yes,” Vantor confirmed, his voice deeper than usual, as if he had to force it from his chest. “Our mission parameters require immediate departure once operational capability is restored.”

“When?” I asked, the word sticking in my suddenly dry throat.

“Tonight,” Kalith answered, his eyes fixed on the tool in his hands rather than my face. “Optimal atmospheric conditions for cloaked departure will occur at approximately 23:47 local time.”

“Tonight.” I repeated the word, testing its sharp edges against my tongue. “You’re leaving tonight.”

A ripple passed across Cyro’s neck—his true skin showing through the human disguise for just a moment before he regained control. “The ecological crisis on our home world grows more severe with each planetary rotation. The water samples we’ve collected may contain crucial molecular structures needed to reverse the evaporation process.”

“Millions of our species are at risk,” Vantor added, his hazel eyes briefly flashing vermilion at the edges. “Entire communities have already been displaced as ocean levels continue to decline.”

I knew all this. They had explained their mission weeks ago, when I’d first discovered their true nature. But somehow, I’d pushed it to the back of my mind, focusing instead on the here and now—on how it felt to be with them, to be chosen by them. I’d known they would leave eventually. I hadn’t expected it to be so soon.

“But you just found out about the twins,” I said, grasping for reasons, for anything that might delay the inevitable. “Don’t you want to monitor the pregnancy? See how they develop?”

Cyro’s gaze dropped to the ground. “We have transferred all relevant equine reproductive data to your computer system. The files include projected developmental milestones and potential complications to monitor.”

“That’s not the point,” I said, my voice rising. “You helped make this happen. Don’t you want to see it through?”

Kalith’s smaller tentacle escaped from his sleeve, curling into a tight spiral of distress before he hastily tucked it away. “We have... responsibilities,” he said, the words sounding hollow even to my ears. “Our people⁠—”

“I know about your people,” I interrupted, anger flaring hot and bright in my chest. “I know about your mission. I just thought...” I trailed off, unsure what exactly I had thought. That they would stay? That somehow, impossibly, they would choose me over their entire civilization?

An uncomfortable silence stretched between us, broken only by the distant whinny of a horse and the soft clicking of Kalith’s tool as he continued to fidget with it.

“We have prepared several technological improvements for your ranch infrastructure,” Vantor finally said, his voice oddly gentle for someone so naturally commanding. “The stable’s water filtration system has been enhanced with components from our ship. It will remain operational for approximately seven and a half Earth years before requiring maintenance.”

“And the soil enrichment compounds I synthesized have been distributed throughout your pastures,” Cyro added. “They will increase grass yield by forty-two percent and nutritional content by thirty-five.”

“We’ve also modified your tractor engine,” Kalith said quietly. “It will now operate at eighty-nine percent improved efficiency and will not require fuel replacement for approximately four point seven years.”

They were leaving me gifts. Parting gifts. As if alien technology could somehow fill the void they would create by disappearing from my life. As if improved grass yield could replace what we had become to each other.

“Will you come back?” I asked, hating how small my voice sounded, how desperate. “When your mission is complete, will you return?”

The three aliens exchanged glances, a silent communication passing between them that I couldn’t interpret. It was Cyro who finally answered, his voice carefully neutral.

“The distance between our worlds is... significant. The energy requirements for interstellar travel are extreme. Our mission directives do not include provisions for return journeys to non-essential survey locations.”

Non-essential survey locations. That’s what Earth was to their people. That’s what I was.

“I see,” I said, though I didn’t. Not really. I couldn’t see anything beyond the growing hollowness in my chest, the pressure building behind my eyes.

“We will depart from the field behind this structure,” Vantor said, gesturing toward the supply barn. “At eleven-thirty Earth time, if you wish to... if you would like to be present.”

If I wanted to say goodbye. That’s what he meant but couldn’t bring himself to say.

I nodded stiffly, not trusting my voice. The joy of the twin foals seemed distant now, a spark of light overwhelmed by the darkness spreading through me. Without another word, I turned and walked away, each step heavier than the last. My shoulders slumped forward as if physically bearing the weight of what I was losing.

Behind me, I heard Kalith make a strange, bubbling sound. It toed the line between a sigh and a sob. I didn’t look back. I couldn’t bear to see what emotions might be rippling across their skin, what colors might be flashing beneath their human disguises.

I kept walking, alone, the golden Kansas sunlight now seeming like a cruel mockery of the happiness I’d felt just minutes before.

38

TAMMY

Well, the E.T.s phoned home… and left me.

The sunlight abandoned me so quickly, hurrying forward the time when they’d leave me. And I’d wasted precious hours, hiding in my room, watching the world grow darker through the window. Crying until my eyes burned and my throat ached.

I stared at the ceiling, trying to find the will to stand up and go find them. Trying to cherish the little bit of time we had left.

But I couldn’t move.

As if sensing my distress, someone knocked on the door. When I didn’t answer, it opened, and Kalith slipped inside. Tentative, sweet. Half man, half alien. His tentacles slipped beneath the sheets and whispered over them, touching me gently. I didn’t move. I couldn’t move. My heart screamed at me to enjoy the precious remaining hours with them, but my brain wouldn’t work to move my body. Not even a twitch. A lift of a finger. A smile. Just more tears, which Kalith gently gathered with tentacle tips.

Cyro and Vantor came into the room together. When they saw me, their light communication began blinking across their skins.

Finally, the concern in their eyes, the downturn of their mouths, the realization that they too must be grieving, unfroze me. I sat up slowly, Kalith’s tentacles automatically curling around my back to support me.

“I don’t want you to leave,” I whispered, choking back fresh sobs. “I hate that you’re leaving,” I said with more force.

My words hung in the air, thick and suffocating. I pulled my knees to my chest, feeling smaller than ever, as I stared at their silvery eyes. Every part of them looked so normal to me now… so them. The human faces, the arms and legs transitioning to tentacles at the joints. They were beautiful to me now. Not terrifying, as they had been those first encounters. I could look back on being inked with a laugh. It was the best meet-cute, even if I couldn’t tell anyone about it. 

How did you meet your Alphas?

Oh, you know, it’s the same old story.

UFO crash-lands in girl’s backyard. Girl gets inked by squid aliens, then protects her horse with a pitchfork. After a while, they were invading more than just my ranch. If you know what I mean. And then I’d wink suggestively. The listener would giggle.

But I wasn’t going to get the happily ever after that follows the meeting, the courting, the kinship. Any delusion I had that this could be forever was about to fly off into outer space. So far out of reach, I might as well try to touch the moon.

They hadn’t said anything, and I felt sullen. I pulled away from Kalith’s embrace, shuffling on the bed to put space between us.

“I wish you’d never come here. I was doing fine. I was pathetic, but I was used to that. Hell, maybe I would have failed and run back to Derek, but I wouldn’t know any better.” I blinked back hot tears, feeling anger wash away my grief. “But you did come, and now I don’t know if I can live without you!”

I was nearly shouting at them by the last few words.

None of them looked irritated with me, or disgusted with my mottled, tear-stained face.

“Tammy,” Kalith’s voice broke through the haze of my despair, soft yet insistent. He leaned closer, the warm glow of his skin illuminating the shadows on my face. “If we don’t finish our mission, we fail our entire world. We can’t⁠—”

“I know, Kalith,” I growled, “You can’t pick me over your planet. One me, weighed against millions. Can you just pretend—” I moved my gaze from his warm, brown eyes backlit with that alien, platinum quality, to Cyro’s lavender, to Vantor's deep burgundy— “that you’re not leaving. Just for another hour or two. You’re not leaving, we’re bound by a trick of cosmic fate and our own markings.” I lifted my wrists, showing the sucker impressions circling them; then I lifted one hand to touch the ones on my neck.

The three aliens mimicked my movements, tentacles grazing across my bite marks.

“We can do that,” Vantor murmured. Cyro and Kalith nodded.

I held out my hands, reaching for them all. Wanting them. Needing them. In my life. In my bed. In my body.

Their arms reached for me, tentacles unfurling from beneath human skin. Their bodies became alive with colors. Sky blue. Evergreen. Lilac. Joyful yellow. I fell into their embrace, greedy for every touch, every sensation I could burn into my memory. My tears had dried, leaving salt trails on my cheeks that Cyro’s tentacle traced, as if mapping territories he wanted to remember.

“I need you,” I whispered against Vantor’s chest, where his triple heartbeats thrummed against my ear. “All of you. One more time.”

“We’re here, Tammy,” Cyro’s low, bubbling brook voice promised.

We didn’t speak anymore as clothes fell away and their human disguises slipped further to grant me the full glory of iridescent skin and writhing appendages. What was there to say? Words seemed pointless in the face of what was coming. Instead, we communicated through touch—desperate, hungry caresses that sought to memorize every curve, every texture, every response.

Kalith’s smaller tentacle found my wrist, wrapping around it with such tenderness that fresh tears sprang to my eyes. He’d absentmindedly mentioned being shamed for it on his world while repairing one of the tractors—which now ran flawlessly. I loved the otherness of that tentacle though, because it was part of him. It was precious. Uniquely his. They were all so important to me now.

“I’ll never forget how you feel,” I told him, lifting my arm to bring the tentacle to my lips and pressing a kiss against its silky surface.

“There will never be another female in our lives like you, Tammy,” Kalith promised, tilting his head—still mostly human—down to rest against the top of mine.

Cyro’s tentacles glowed with soft pastel light as they reached for me then. Three encircled my waist, lifting me effortlessly off the bed and away from Kalith. He pulled me into his body, and I melted against his form which conformed so perfectly to mine.

His bioluminescence painted my skin in otherworldly patterns, turning ordinary freckles into constellations. His face and body betrayed raw emotion that rippled across his skin in waves of color too complex for human eyes to fully comprehend.

“Your biochemistry has fundamentally altered ours,” he murmured, the liquid echo washing back into his voice as his emotions ran strong. “We are not the same beings who crashed on your planet. You have changed us.”

I kissed him deeply as he pulled me closer. So close I didn’t think we’d ever part.

But then Vantor’s powerful tentacles found me. Cyro hesitated, then released me. And Vantor gathered me up in a cradle of suckered appendages, returning me to the mattress. He lowered me slowly, carefully. His normally stoic, watchdog expression had softened, those hazel eyes flashing citrine at the edges as his control wavered.

“You make me let my defenses fall.” His voice, first slow and careful, gave way to rawness. “In ways I did not think possible.”

“I want you all touching me. I want you so close I can’t breathe.” My voice didn’t sound like my own. It was throaty, raw, overcome by need.

They came at my behest, and we were soon a tangle of limbs both human and alien. A tentacle slipped lower, trailing over my navel, slicking across the space above my most intimate place. The feel sent a bright current sparking through me. The more than a dozen sucker-lined tentacles were familiar now, but no less intense than the first time. I waited for the other three. The glorious lengths of their alien cocks. My body was primed and ready. It remembered them and was hungry for everything they offered.

I opened for them, and they hardened for me, as if we’d been designed for each other across the vast evolutionary distances that separated our worlds.

Vantor’s tentacles found my breasts, circling and teasing until I arched off the mattress, gasping. Cyro explored lower, his appendages tracing up my legs, then moving lower again just before he touched my womanhood. Kalith’s stronger tentacles wrapped around my thighs, spreading me gently.

“Please,” I gasped as the sweet torture continued, their tentacles exploring everywhere except where I needed them most.

Vantor’s tentacle stroked my cheek, catching a tear I hadn’t realized was falling. “We want to memorize you,” he whispered, voice thick, watery, as if he were drowning in the sensations of what we were doing.

“Every freckle,” Cyro added, a tentacle whispering across my shoulders.

“Every sound,” Kalith finished, one of his tentacles finally, mercifully sliding between my thighs.

The first touch against my center sent lightning through my system. My back arched off the bed as pleasure coursed through me, intense and immediate. Their alien manhoods had felt amazing. Thicker, harder, swelling larger than any human Alpha’s could. But the suckers along one of their working tentacles grazed my insides, adding dozens of small touches to the penetration. I wanted them. Urgently. Painfully. I wanted them to mark my body so heavily that the memory of them could never fade, no matter how far away their planet was, and no matter if I never saw them again.

We made love for hours.

Each of them eventually swelling inside of me, knotting firmly, spilling their salty, hot seed into my needful womanhood.

“I’ll be right behind you,” I told my aliens. They hesitated in the foyer, unsure if they should leave me. “I’m fine,” I promised, “I just need a moment.”

They walked out, midnight quickly swallowing them, turning them into shadows.

I walked to the small bathroom, leaning over to grip the edges of the sink. In the mirror, I saw ruddy cheeks, puffy eyes, messy hair. This was not the last picture I wanted them to have of me. So, I washed my face. I got the little toiletry bag from the medicine cabinet, putting on a little cherry lip balm and mascara. I brushed my hair. And then, with as much dignity as I could muster, I headed out to join them. 

Cyro. Vantor. Kalith.

My aliens.

My Alphas.

Who were leaving me.

I wouldn’t cry again. No red nose. No trembling lip. No mascara tracks. Just me, Tammy Tucker, saying goodbye to the three beings who had crash-landed into my life and changed everything.

They stood near their ship inside the supply barn. Kalith had modified the original door so it could open wide enough for the ship to exit. They were in their human forms, though each had subtle tells that might give them away to a discerning eye. Too-perfect posture. Fingers shimmering every now and then, giving a flash of textured tentacle. This world wasn’t meant for them, and I knew that. Eventually, someone would stumble upon their secret and bad things might happen to them. Still… selfishly… I wanted them to stay.

The ship hummed softly, almost musically.

“Your ship looks good as new,” I said, breaking the silence that stretched between us. My voice sounded steadier than I felt, and I was grateful for small mercies.

“Kalith’s repairs have exceeded original specifications,” Vantor replied, his tone formal despite the emotion I could see flashing beneath his metallic eyes. “The defense systems are operating at full efficiency.”

He would care about that, more than anything else. It almost made me smile.

“I improved the safety protocol too, just in case—” Kalith stopped talking abruptly.

I smiled. “Just in case you crash-land in another desperate cowgirl’s yard?”

He gave a sheepish grin, raising a hand to rub the back of his neck. When he pulled it away, it had split at the wrist into tentacle tips.

We were talking about the ship because we couldn’t bear to talk about what really mattered. I took a deep breath, drawing courage from the Kansas air that had sustained generations of my family before me.

“I never understood soulmates before,” I said, finally giving voice to the thoughts that had circled in my mind all evening. “I never understood what it would feel like to scent match with an Alpha. I guess I didn’t know what it was, because my soulmates weren’t on this planet.” I met each of their gazes in turn, refusing to look away even as my heart cracked open in my chest. “You three taught me how it feels. I can’t imagine not being with you.”

The air shifted between us with a collective intake of breath and ripples of emotion too powerful to suppress. Cyro’s neck flushed with undulating patterns of pastel light, breaking through his human disguise like dawn through storm clouds. Kalith’s smaller tentacle emerged from his sleeve, reaching toward me before he could stop it. Even Vantor’s carefully maintained control slipped, a flash of deep burgundy sweeping across his forearms as his fingers curled into fists at his sides.

“The biochemical bond we’ve formed is… unfathomable. I could never have predicted it despite a lifetime of research,” Cyro said, his voice carrying that liquid echo quality that emerged when their emotions ran high.

“It’s not just biochemical,” I insisted, taking a step closer to them. “It’s more than that. I know it is. But even if that was all this was—” I gestured between me and them— “how amazing is that? A human Omega somehow connecting like this with aliens.” I smiled. “Alien Alphas,” I corrected, because that’s what they were.

The three aliens exchanged meaningful glances, a silent communication passing between them that needed no words. When they looked back at me, every detail had shifted in their expressions. A decision made, a truth acknowledged. The words were waiting to be spoken.

“Before Earth,” Kalith began, his voice soft but clear in the night air, “before you, we knew only empty physical pleasures. We had not found mates with which to create family units.”

“Our species does not conceptualize emotional attachment in the way humans do,” Cyro continued, a tentacle emerging fully from his collar now, its tip glowing with bioluminescent patterns that pulsed in rhythm with his words. “We form bonds based on compatibility, on shared purpose, on mutual benefit.”

“What you have taught us,” Vantor said, his deep voice unusually gentle, “is love.”

I felt tears welling in my eyes despite my determination to stay composed. One escaped, tracking down my cheek like a falling star, and before I could wipe it away, a tentacle—Cyro’s, its surface cool and silky—reached out to brush it gently from my skin.

“In the deepest trenches of our home world,” Cyro said, his tentacle lingering against my face, “there are creatures that produce light so brilliantly beautiful that it can be seen even from the surface. For many planetary cycles, I studied those bioluminescent wonders.” His silvery eyes, no longer even attempting to look human, fixed on mine with startling intensity. “None of them can compare to the light I’ve seen in you, Tammy Tucker.”

I reached up, pressing my palm against his tentacle, memorizing the feel of it one last time. “You guys really know how to leave a girl heartbroken.”

Kalith moved closer. “On our world, when we part ways, we say, ‘until our currents cross again.’”

“Until our currents cross again,” I repeated, the alien phrase feeling strange yet somehow right on my tongue. “I like that better than goodbye.”

Twenty-four powerful tentacles, each rippling with emotion and color shifting, wrapped around me.

For a long moment, we stood there in the Kansas night. I tried to memorize every sensation: the slight suction of Cyro’s tentacle against my cheek, the gentle pressure of Kalith’s appendage around my waist, the protective embrace of Vantor’s larger tentacles across my shoulders. The mingled scents of ocean depths, forest floors, sweet marshes, and my own human, Omega perfume. How long would the smell of them last upon my body? Should I never shower again?

After what felt like both an eternity and mere seconds, they withdrew, each touch lingering until the last possible moment before breaking contact.

They moved as one toward their ship, their human disguises dissolving with each step until three magnificent cephalopod-like beings stood silhouetted against the ambient light of their UFO. Their tentacles flowed with hypnotic grace, their skin alive with rich, vibrant, living colors. When they all turned to look at me once more, their metallic eyes glowed.

Vantor pressed a tentacle against the ship, and its entrance revealed itself. Lavender smoke. Bright light. It was beautiful, and part of me wanted to race forward and stowaway inside the vessel. But they needed to finish their mission. They needed to get home and hopefully save their many waters. They did not need a human woman aboard complicating things more than she already had.

One more look.

Sadness passing between us in almost visible waves.

Then they were gone, the doorway sealing seamlessly behind them. The ship hummed with increasing intensity, the sound vibrating through the ground beneath my feet and into my bones. It seemed to skate across the supply barn floor and out the much wider entrance. Then it was lifting upward. Slowly at first, then with gathering speed, it rose into the night sky—a dark shape outlined briefly against the stars. 

Then a ripple passed across its surface, and it vanished from sight.

Gone. They were really gone.

I stood alone; my arms wrapped around myself where alien tentacles had been just moments before.

The night sky above Kansas had never seemed so vast or so terribly beautiful. Stars punctured the darkness like countless wounds, their light traveling years, centuries even, just to shine down on this ordinary ranch. That stupid, breathtaking sky made me feel small and unimportant again—feelings that the aliens had erased during their stay. I hugged myself tighter, closing my eyes, trying to center myself back into a reality without three aliens.

The crisp night air carried the scent of prairie grass and sunflowers. The distant nickering of horses reminded me I wasn’t completely alone. It would be okay. I would be okay.

I’d existed before Cyro, Vantor, and Kalith crash-landed; I’d continue existing now.

Opening my eyes again, I took one more look above me. It was a wide, terrifying universe. Maybe it could swallow my grief whole.

“Until currents cross again,” I whispered into the darkness.

39

CYRO, KALITH, & VANTOR

Home planet is where the hearts reside.

CYRO

The belly of the ship felt suffocating now.

I imagined the sensation was worse than if I ventured out into the trench itself to feel a hectare of oceanic pressure crushing down against my boneless body. The interior of our vessel was filled with saltwater, forcing out all air pockets, otherwise the ship (and us with it) would have crumpled the deeper we descended. We were safe. Everything was going smoothly. Still, it felt like the weight of an entire world was pressing against my form… and my hearts.

My brothers and I had spoken very little since leaving Tammy, only flashing communicative lights as necessary. Brief pops of brightness, interrupting the expanses of dull hues washing over our skins. For some reason, we’d all slowly morphed back to a mostly human form as we’d traveled to our mission’s coordinates. It was cumbersome, making our tasks harder, yet it felt right to operate in our ship with arms, and legs, and tentacles.

“Load another vial,” I flashed at Kalith, who’d complied, giving me one quick blink in response.

“Your pressure modulator is not fully charged.” He gurgled at me, bubbles spilling from his mouth, seeming to hover around him like we were far too deep for the pockets of air to know which way was up and which way was down. They’d be snuffed out by the water pressure soon. They couldn’t survive for long.

“I am self-modulating fine,” I blinked back dismissively. Our bodies could handle the depth and descent; the modulators were a precaution. I didn’t care if mine was working. It was very uncharacteristic of me not to follow precise protocol. But it was liberating. Maybe our strong-headed, pitchfork-wielding Omega had rubbed off on me.

Why did I feel like nothing mattered, yet everything mattered too much?

No, all that matters is we finish the mission.

And stop thinking about the human woman. She’s an Earthling. Being together forever was never a possibility.

The sample collection screen bathed my face in cold blue light as I watched the fourteenth, and final, vial fill with inky darkness from Earth’s deepest waters. Tiny particulates swirled within the specimen, dull, red bioluminescent lights that made me think of fiery filaments atop a biped’s skull. I shook myself, trying to focus on the molecular stability readings fluctuating across my display, but my mind kept drifting back to Kansas, to golden sunlight on copper hair, to blue eyes that somehow contained more depth than even this bottomless trench.

A robotic arm moved the newly capped vial out of sight, lowering it into the waiting storage slot below. I squatted, eyes clapping on it again. Sliding one tentacle tip across the relocation bar, I watched as the sample slid to the right, into tubing I could not observe, on its way over to the research station’s preservation locker and the other thirteen vials.

“Sample fourteen acquisition complete,” I light blinked to no one in particular. “Molecular stability at ninety-six percent. Optimal concentration of particulate matter achieved. Full preservation of all samples can commence once they are properly docked.”

This was the mission.

We were finally doing our duty.

And I just didn’t care.

Because I missed her.

It had not even been one full Earth day since we’d left Tammy, yet it felt like weeks… months… a lifetime of traveling to Earth’s deepest ocean trench, of collecting the water samples that might save our dying world, of enduring the silence heavy enough to crush us more thoroughly than the ocean pressure outside.

Kalith adjusted the external camouflage parameters. I watched through the view screen as our vessel’s exterior rippled and shifted, its surface perfectly mimicking the deep-sea environment around us, so we’d be shielded from view as we returned to the surface for take-off. We’d turned them off after passing four-hundred meters to preserve the ship’s core energy. Though Kalith had fixed the vessel admirably, we were all concerned with its distance capabilities and if we could make it home.

I walked over to the curved inner hull, raising a tentacle and pressing it against the panel which would widen the view screen so I could see outside better. I doubted we’d ever return to this place, this ocean, and I wanted to memorize the sight. It took only three beats of my hearts to wish I’d ignored the beauty outside. Bioluminescent creatures drifted past, their bodies pulsing with light that reminded me painfully of home—and of my own skin when Tammy touched me, triggering cascades of color I couldn’t control. Why did everything make me think of her? Why couldn’t I turn off my emotions like I used to and become the detached, objective Cyro again? The old Cyro had lived for one thing, and one thing only: knowledge. The new Cyro… was torn between more than one true love.

“I’ll start the final checks on all samples, in case we need to re-sample during ascent,” I flashed, not caring if anyone saw my communication. I began moving again, heading to the research console.

All samples were seated in a tank now, each of them slotted above an environmental stabilizer which would maintain the precise temperature and salinity of the trench depth from which they were taken.

Information scrolled across my station, confirming what I already knew—Earth’s waters held the key. The chemical composition of these deep-trench samples contained precisely the molecular structures our scientists needed to synthesize the compound that could restore our planet’s evaporating oceans. Because we’d come here, our planet could be re-aquaformed. We wouldn’t become a dry, inhospitable place. That had happened to a planet in our galaxy. Its inhabitants had largely died out, unable to adapt or migrate. I could not imagine my world without its vast seas.

This mission was a success by every objective measure.

So why did success taste so bitter?

A sudden groan from the ship’s hull interrupted my thoughts, like the vessel was voicing the agony I couldn’t.

“Structural integrity holding at eighty-seven percent,” Kalith spoke out loud from his station, not bothering to look up, automatically assuring me and Vantor that we were not about to be crushed. “Hull compression within acceptable parameters.” My youngest mission brother did not sound like himself. Drained of his normal humor. No energy in sight.

I glanced at him, noting how rigidly he maintained his human form. Only his smallest tentacle betrayed him, occasionally emerging to adjust controls before being hastily tucked away, as if he were ashamed of its existence again. I did not like seeing him this way—robbed of his vibrancy. Though the teasing, impulsive version of him grated sometimes, it was his authentic self.

Across the command center, Vantor stood motionless at the security console, his posture militarily precise. Three screens before him displayed different angles of our external environment, but his eyes were focused on some unseen object far beyond the crushing darkness outside. He had reverted completely to his security protocols—efficient, taciturn, impenetrable. The raccoon-loving, horse-tending softness that had emerged during our time at Sunflower Hills had vanished beneath layers of self-protection.

“The bioluminescent organisms at this depth display remarkable similarity to the deep-trench dwellers of our home world,” I ventured, speaking out loud, hoping I could break the tension. Someone had to. “The convergent evolution suggests fundamental constants in deep ocean environments across vastly different planetary systems.”

Kalith grunted noncommittally, while Vantor merely glanced at me before returning his attention to his screens.

“The dragon fish species we observed during descent showed particularly interesting adaptations,” I continued, my voice sounding unnaturally loud in the quiet command center. “Their light-producing organs were reminiscent of our planet’s Stomiidae Finn-Bachrus.”

“Fascinating,” Vantor flashed, not bothering to look at me again. One quick burst of light on his back. That was it. Worse than silence.

I stopped trying, my tentacles shifting restlessly beneath my human form. This was who we had become—three beings occupying the same space but separated by walls of unspoken grief. Before Earth, before Tammy, our professional relationship had been comfortable, productive, even occasionally friendly. Now, we were strangers united only by a shared loss we couldn’t acknowledge. I missed the brotherhood we’d started building on the ranch. I missed the feeling of a true family. What had Tammy called family units on her world?

Packs.

We had been so close to becoming a real pack, to being Tammy’s Alphas. And now we were three beings with nine broken hearts between us.

I returned my attention to the sample preservation protocols, forcing myself to concentrate on the technical details. The fourteenth sample—collected from the deepest point of our descent—showed the highest concentration of the crucial molecular compounds. Its preservation was paramount. I carefully adjusted the temperature stasis field, ensuring optimal conditions for transport back to our home world. If the ship failed us partway, we’d be able to use the emergency pod. It was outfitted with autopilot and the coordinates of G.E.F.’s research headquarters at the bottom of the Aquariun Sea. No matter what, the samples would get back to our home world.

Our home world. The phrase echoed hollowly in my mind.

For numerous planetary cycles, I had dedicated my life to finding a solution for our world’s ecological crisis. The gradual evaporation of our oceans had already displaced millions, forcing them into overcrowded water dome colonies that strained our resources and social structures. These samples represented salvation—the culmination of my life’s work, the achievement that would cement my place in our planet’s history.

Yet as I stared at the swirling darkness captured in the sample vials, I couldn’t summon the triumph I had always imagined would accompany this moment. Instead, I found myself calculating the exact distance between the Mariana Trench and Kansas. Between this moment and saying goodbye to Tammy. Between this moment and what? What did I want to do? What could I do? Did I even have a choice?

An unexpected memory surfaced—Artie, the elderly Appaloosa, gently nuzzling my palm as I fed him sugar cubes. The quiet dignity of his aging form, the trust in his dark eyes. The way Tammy had laughed when she caught me having what she called a “heart-to-heart” with the horse.

“I am nearly done,” I announced, struggling to keep my voice steady. I flashed my words across my body too, just in case I couldn’t finish speaking as emotions threatened to overcome me. “We can begin ascent procedures after final containment verification.”

“Acknowledged,” Vantor responded, leaving his post and striding to the auxiliary navigation controls since Kalith was manning the main.

“Hull integrity optimized for pressure decrease,” Kalith added, his fingers moving mechanically.

We worked in practiced coordination, our bodies going through motions we had performed countless times during training. The ship hummed around us as systems engaged for our return to the surface. Soon we would leave Earth’s oceans behind, break atmosphere, and begin the long journey home.

Home. That word again. It felt wrong somehow, misplaced in my thoughts.

I found myself staring at my reflection in the darkened portion of my screen—the human face I had crafted so carefully, which I was senselessly maintaining right now. The face Tammy had touched with such wonder, had kissed with such passion. I allowed my camouflage to slip slightly, watching as the human eyes slipped down my human cheeks, as the human cheeks sagged at the jawline, as the human hair began to retract into the scalp, which was roughening with texture. When I was satisfied that I could abandon the human guise, I pulled it back into place. Though, now, I allowed more of my natural, iridescent purple to disrupt the human skin tone.

The preservation process came to a close.

“I have finished,” I said, voice shaking. We had what we came for. We should be celebrating our success, planning our triumphant return. But my voice wasn’t shaking from joy. Quite the opposite in fact.

We were three broken creatures, drifting in Earth’s darkest depths, carrying water that might save our world but could never wash away the memory of what—of who—we’d left behind.

And I did not think I would ever recover.

KALITH

My tentacles pushed outward from my human body, and they worked across multiple control panels simultaneously, each appendage tip executing precise movements as I prepared to manage the ship’s internal adjustments during ascent.

“Initiating ascent,” Vantor said in a clipped tone.

“I am prepared,” I answered.

Cyro said nothing, his form motionless, seemingly adhered to the small research station’s seat.

We began to rise.

Slowly at first, then picking up speed until we held a steady rate of nine Earth meters per Earth minute.

The ship’s environmental system hummed a familiar note as it adjusted to the gradual decrease in external pressure during our ascent. When we reached a safe depth, the system would begin purging saltwater at measured intervals. I should have found comfort in the mathematical precision of my work, in the engineering challenges that had once been my greatest joy. Instead, I felt empty. My true, boneless body flattened out and lifeless. My focus drifted.

To tractors.

Radios.

Toasters.

Barn raising.

The feel of Tammy’s body.

“Kreshtak!” I cursed in my native language as the tip of my shorter tentacle turned the calibration dial too soon, nearly disrupting the delicate balance necessary to keep the ship undamaged as we surfaced. I glared at the offending appendage—the tentacle that had always been the source of so much mockery in my youth. Before Earth, I had planned to have it surgically enhanced upon our return. Before Tammy.

Tammy, who had never once looked at my tentacle which never lengthened properly with disgust or pity. Who had instead sought it out specifically, claiming its slightly different texture was “extra special” against her skin. Who had pressed kisses to its tip while whispering that she loved every part of me, especially the parts I’d been taught to hide.

As I noted our current angle of ascent may cause a collision with an above protrusion and I made a small adjustment, a thought struck me with such force that my chromatophores flashed bright yellow with distress.

“I forgot to feed Manji 2,” I blurted out, the words escaping before I could analyze their appropriateness. My voice sounded strange in the command center, breaking the heavy silence that had enveloped us for days. “We should go back.”

The moment the words left my speech organs, the flicka-sec my outburst lit up my skin with sparks of light, I knew how irrational I was being. Manji 2 would not suffer without me. At this very moment, the feline was likely being pampered by Tammy. So, worry for my cat wasn’t truly the issue, and we all knew it.

Cyro turned from his station, his neck rippling with subtle color changes that betrayed his emotional state despite his carefully maintained human façade. “It is illogical to go back for your feline, Kalith,” he said, his voice lacking the clinical detachment he clearly aimed for. “I am sure Tammy will care for it.”

I noted how softly he spoke her name, with reverence, as if the syllables themselves were precious. We’d all been avoiding speaking her name, though I knew she occupied Cyro’s and Vantor’s thoughts as completely as she did mine.

“But who will care for Tammy?” I asked the question before I could stop myself. So much pain. Sadness. Seeping into every tentacle tip.

Our no-nonsense, by-the-book, scientist’s chromatophores pulsed with pastel hues that shifted toward smoky gray—the colors of longing and unresolved grief in our species’ emotional spectrum. When brightness faded away, when the hue of corals no longer graced our skin, when we felt flat and unable to inflate.

The silence that followed should have been awkward but instead felt like the first honest moment we’d shared since leaving Tammy. I stared at my tentacles, at the artificial tip that suddenly seemed like a betrayal of everything Tammy had taught me about self-acceptance.

To my surprise, Vantor pushed away from his security station, his massive form casting long shadows across the command center as he crossed his tentacles and leaned against the inner hull. His body had softened slightly, smacking of a vulnerability he rarely showed.

“Do you think Hoover notices I’m gone?” he asked, his deep voice unusually quiet.

I blinked my tertiary eyelids in confusion, momentarily disoriented by the non-sequitur until I remembered the raccoon Vantor had befriended—the clever creature he’d named after the vacuum cleaner that had once attacked him (or the other way around.) Hoover was a skittish creature, who favored Vantor and appeared and disappeared at will. He matched Vantor, our security specialist, the most disciplined among us. But I was taken aback by how much befriending the small Earth mammal had affected my larger, older crew brother.

Yet, I couldn’t blame him. I hadn’t forgotten my cat. I was in the process of burying the memories of Tammy and the ranch way down deep, into my stomachs, far away from my triple hearts, so I wouldn’t suffer.

But forgetting our experiences on Earth was like swimming against the currents of our home planet.

The water rushing against my body too quickly, pushing me in the wrong direction, sending me backward. Ever backward. Right where I didn’t want to be.

“Bet Artie is wondering where we went,” Cyro breathed out, voice carefully controlled, bubbles spilling from his mouth. “Animals get used to schedules and people. It would be interesting to catalog the horses’ behaviors in our absence.”

He didn’t really care about the research angle. Cyro was covering up his emotions with data. That was his way.

The implications hung heavy between us all. If any air bubbles still existed in the pressurized space, currently filled to bursting with sea water, they would be chased away by the tension building around our bodies.

Vantor missed his raccoon. Cyro missed the horses. I missed my cat. But none of us would outright say it. Just like we wouldn’t say how much Tammy had seeded herself into our bodies, like the parasitic underwater vines of our planet called Aqua-kudzu. She was twined around our many hearts, circulatory systems, ctenidia. Every part of us threaded with every part of her, inexorably.

When Aqua-kudzu attached itself firmly to coral, there were only two paths to rectify:

Eradicate it, along with all it had infected.

Or allow it to take over.

I knew which choice I would make right now, given the chance.

“Are you sure we should not at least check on the ranch before exiting the atmosphere?” I asked, hope shining dimly across my body. I crossed my human arms, fingers phasing in and out of reality, giving glimpses of the tentacle, showing the texture of my true skin. It was harder to keep my hybrid form firmly in place when emotions railed against me.

Cyro’s skin rippled with conflicted emotions—lavender lightening to smoky gray as he internally struggled. Three of his tentacles lifted, tips scraping down his rounded head, a gesture that signified deep contemplation in our species. “No, we cannot go back. If we do—” He abruptly stopped speaking, any lingering color bleeding away from his skin.

What was he going to say when he abruptly stopped? Possibilities raced through my brain.

If we do, we may not leave?

If we do, we may fail our planet?

If we do, we might kidnap Tammy and take her with us, proving all those alien abduction fictions true?

“Even though she told me trash pandas are not pets, she did not discourage my attachment to Hoover,” Vantor spoke again, his voice taking on a distant quality. His words, once again, felt out of the blue.

“If she were here, she’d make some nonsensical joke about attachments and a Hoover going hand-in-hand,” I quipped, a sadness unlike I’d ever felt settling into my three hearts, making them beat sluggishly.

“That she would,” Vantor agreed with me. “Though, I do understand her jokes about the vacuum now. She explained them in great detail after I battled with her Hoover a second time. The vacuum, not the raccoon.”

I didn’t point out that his explanation was unnecessary. Tammy’s Hoover was a loud, engineering curiosity she’d refused to let me dismantle.

“She loves Artie. It was easy to see.” Cyro’s voice was no longer neutral. It gurgled and shook. “And the elderly equine returned her affection. Always waiting on her patiently, not caring if she brought carrots or sugar cubes. Sassafras and Mystery were focused on themselves, then each other. But Artie and Tammy shared a special bond.”

I found myself nodding, my shortest tentacle curling protectively against my chest. “Did you know she found yarn in that cavity above the ceiling in the house? Colored string. Brown, yellow, green. She was knitting something, but she wouldn’t tell me what. Before our departure, I snuck a peek. An odd sweater, too small for a human body. I believe it is for Manji.”

“Or Hoover,” Vantor countered.

“Maybe for Hoover,” I agreed, smiling at my crew brother.

The shared memories floated in the waters between us like physical things, carrying their own bioluminescence that brightened the shadows and lightened the heaviness we felt.

For the first time since our departure, we were acknowledging what we had left behind. Not just a planet, not just specimens for study, but connections. Relationships. A life none of us had expected to find or to cherish.

An indicator beeped. I looked over, finding a row of three, telltale green lights. “We have reached the pressure safe zone. The internal water levels will begin to decrease.”

“I’ll check the samples to ensure the system is keeping their individual containment parameters steady.” Cyro turned to the research station, tentacles tapping furiously, as if he needed to put all his effort into this minor task so he could stop focusing on Earth and Tammy and the horses. And everything we all were longing for. “Containment parameters are holding,” he reported, his voice steadier than I expected. “Preservation not compromised.”

What he didn’t say—what he didn’t need to say as our eyes met in silent understanding—was that no preservation protocol could maintain what truly mattered.

The memory of Tammy’s laughter would fade. The specific shade of her fire-kissed hair would become harder to recall. The animals would forget us, and the warmth of belonging we had found at Sunflower Hills would cool with distance and time.

We were fulfilling our mission. We were saving our world. We were doing exactly what we had sworn to do when we embarked on this journey.

And in succeeding, we had never felt like greater failures.

VANTOR

The command center fell into silence as the water purged from inside the ship, returning to where it belonged.

Returning… to where it belonged. Which was what we were on the path to doing. So why did it feel so wrong? Why did our home world not call to me?

Maybe it was because even as a young one, unable to leave the many waters, I longed for the surface. And when I was finally able to surface, I saw the sky and longed for the stars. I’d poured myself into being the best security specialist G.E.F. had to offer. To what end?

To get me off planet.

To reach those stars I longed for.

To, I realized now, find her.

The quiet that filled the ship in place of the saltwater was charged with tension, regret, confusion. I watched as Cyro’s human fingers tapped an irregular pattern against the edge of his console, while his tentacles hung listlessly down his back. He looked unmoored. Cyro, who was always confident even when he should not be, looked like a lost youngling at the bottom of a dark ocean. His normally impeccable facade had cracked, revealing the emotional turbulence beneath. My security training had taught me to recognize the subtle signs of a coming avalanche—the small shifts that preceded massive change. This moment felt like the first tremor before everything would slide inexorably into motion. The only question was, which of us would be the catalyst? Which of us would break first?

I was on the edge.

Ready to leap.

The water levels were lowering. The saltwater splashed against my shoulders as I shifted uncomfortably, wondering what I should do, what I should say.

Then Cyro turned from his station, abandoning all pretense of monitoring the samples. His human disguise flickered, eyes drifting, nose drooping, neck gathering in folds.

“I cannot stop thinking about her,” he said, the words emerging with such force that I knew he had been containing them for as long as I’d been containing my own need for our fire-haired Omega. His grayed skin flushed with bright purple. “About Tammy. About the ranch. About the peculiar sense of peace which I experienced while conducting what should have been mundane tasks like feeding horses, repairing fences, observing the night sky without quantitative instruments.”

Peace. Cyro was not one to put stock in such a pedantic concept. Yet, peace was the word he chose. And I felt that to the center of my body, to where my hearts beat, to where Tammy had planted herself.

Cyro’s tentacles natural body revealed itself now, his human form dissolving as he surrendered to his true nature. Patterns of light danced across his skin—not the controlled, deliberate signals of our formal communication system, but the instinctive expression of emotions too powerful to contain. The tentacles he’d kept in his hybrid form, recently lifeless, rose into the air and rippled.

We all followed suit, embracing our natural state, as if that would force us to accept leaving Earth.

“I have visited countless worlds in my pursuit of knowledge and answers,” he continued, his voice carrying that liquid quality that emerged when his speech organs reverted to their natural state. “I have cataloged thousands of species, analyzed countless environments, and I have never felt that I belonged anywhere but in our research facilities at home. Until Sunflower Hills.”

The raw honesty in his admission broke the last of my own control. The rigidity I’d maintained throughout my career softened. All my life, I’d hid behind security protocol, staying on my guard, never fully trusting any being on my home world or on strange worlds. Professional distance was safer than confronting the hollowness that had taken root in my central cavity, keeping me at tentacles’ length from real connection. Oh, I’d learned to enjoy Kalith’s company on missions. I’d learned to tolerate, and even respect, Cyro’s keen mind and ego. But it was only on this mission, after so many missions with the duo, that I had found within them a family.

When we went back home, diving into waters and culture of our people, would we drift apart? Without Tammy tying us together, would we lose this brotherhood?

“The first time I reached the surface,” I found myself saying, “when I was barely mature enough for independent swimming, I breached our world’s ocean and saw the stars directly, without the distortion of water. That moment created a question without words, a yearning without direction.” My tentacles shifted, curling inward in the gesture that signified deep vulnerability in our species. “At the ranch, watching the Kansas sunset with Hoover on my shoulder and Tammy beside me, I found the answer to that question.”

Kalith lifted his smallest tentacle out of the water, which was now waist high. His gaze dropped, eyes clamping on the shorter appendage. He stared at it with obvious distaste before shaking himself. His expression softened.

“Earth’s primitive technology is fascinating,” he said, his voice barely a whisper but gaining strength with each word. “The simplicity of their mechanical solutions and the ingenuity born from resource limitations are things that I could spend lifetimes studying. The challenge of improving their systems calls to me.” He paused, his chromatophores pulsing with warm browns and muted oranges. “But that’s not why I want to return. I want to return because Tammy looked at this—” he extended his shorter tentacle, “—and saw not dysfunction but uniqueness. Not deficiency but difference.”

Our hues changed rapidly as emotions surged through us, overwhelming our natural, unique coloring—blues of sadness for what we were leaving behind, reds of passion for what we had found on Earth, and greens of hope for what might still be possible. Our skin became living canvases painting the complexity of our shared experience, more eloquent than any words our mouths could say or our bodies could communicate with light.

I moved toward the central navigation console; drawn by an impulse I didn’t try to analyze. Cyro and Kalith followed, until we stood in a triangle around the glowing interface that controlled our course through Earth’s oceans, through its atmosphere, and eventually back to our distant home world.

“We all feel the same,” I said, stating the obvious but needing to hear it confirmed aloud. “Sunflower Hills Ranch and Tammy are where we belong.”

Cyro’s tentacles wrapped around the edge of the console, his grip tightening as he nodded. “The statistical improbability of three beings from our world finding such connection with the same Earth female is...” he trailed off, for once unable to calculate the precise odds.

“Like making a square filtration insert fit the round cavity water recycler of a dome colony,” Kalith supplied, a hint of his old humor flickering across his features. “Yet here we are.”

We stood in silence for a moment, the weight of our impending decision hanging between us. Our mission, our world, and our people, all waited for our return, for the samples that could save an entire civilization. The logical choice was clear.

But logic had ceased to guide us the moment we bonded with Tammy.

Kalith’s engineering mind, always seeking solutions to seemingly impossible problems, whirred into action first. “We could send the pod,” he suggested, tentacles gesturing animatedly as his excitement built. “It’s already programmed with the right coordinates. It will travel directly to G.E.F.’s research station.”

“I can redact the mission data to exclude the crash. We could include a message claiming we perished during collection in the trench, that our last act was to ensure the samples made it home.”

“Our people would mourn us, but no rescue mission would be launched,” I noted, automatically assessing the viability of the deception. “They would focus on synthesizing the solution from our samples rather than recovering our remains from such depths.”

“And, to their knowledge, Earth is largely an unstudied, uncivilized planet,” Cyro nodded. “They would not wish to risk any of our people.”

Kalith’s skin pulsed with conflicted colors, the bright yellows of hope warring with the deep mauves of responsibility. “We would be abandoning our world,” he said softly. “Choosing one life over innumerable now living and unborn back home. And I’d never—” his voice caught, and he had to take a deep breath before continuing— “I’d never have a meal with my mother again.”

“We would never see our world thrive again after aqua-forming,” Cyro voiced his own grief, seeming to grow smaller. But then he quickly pulled himself together, form stretching toward the ceiling, part of his body beginning to remold into human form. “But we would live with the knowledge that we finished the mission and paved the path to healing our oceans.”

“We are not choosing between duty and Tammy,” I breathed out, feeling resolute in the decision solidifying inside me. “The mission first, loyalty to our home first, and then we will be free to live for ourselves.”

The reality of what we were contemplating settled over us like a physical weight. I found myself thinking of the underwater city where I had trained, its crystal spires rising through the clear waters of our home world’s northern sea. I thought of my mother and father, who had supported my career pursuit despite their hopes that I would stay with them, to join the artistic guild like hundreds of my siblings had. But I was not content to stay in place, not after witnessing the galaxy beyond the ocean, with its many stars full of secrets. I thought of my favorite view back home. I would float just below the ocean’s surface, mesmerized by the three moons hanging in the night sky and how their light filtered and refracted.

It was always about light.

My entire life had been spent chasing its brightness, as if finding just the right glowing source would answer every buried question.

Now I had found the right glow.

The incandescence that I could not part from.

In the color of her eyes. The fire of her hair. The heat of her body. The indomitable nature of her spirit.

“I truly will miss sea flower cakes and the Festival of Currents,” Kalith said quietly, his thoughts apparently running parallel to mine. “Those cakes dissolve on the tongue, leaving traces of sweetness that linger for hours. That festival united all our people, even those who existed on the outskirts of our cities.”

“The library in the Athosian Trench,” Cyro added, his tentacles curling with nostalgia. “The knowledge crystals that glow with accumulated wisdom from ten thousand generations. I will never touch those cold, crystalline growths again. I will never witness in my mindscape the brilliance of our past scientists.”

I nodded, feeling the loss of these things as a physical ache. “The song chambers in the eastern reefs, where sound carries for impossible distances, echoing the ancient melodies of our ancestors. My colony. My many brothers and sisters. The living art that categorizes the guild,” I said, my voice deeper than usual as emotion thickened it. “I never thought I would willingly give those up.”

We stood together, contemplating the unthinkable of choosing exile for love. Quiet fell between us again, but it wasn’t tense and inescapable. It was filled with shared understanding, with the weight of our impending decision. No, not impending.

The choice was made.

Carved into the unbreakable coral that forms around the Hydrix land mass that bisects the current of Torrent.

“Maybe someday we can return,” Kalith ventured, his engineer’s mind already seeking compromise. “Show Tammy our world. Introduce her to the underwater cities, the crystalline spires, the bioluminescent coral forests.”

“Her human physiology would require significant protection,” Cyro mused, scientist even now. “But adaptations could be engineered. Specialized breathing apparatus, pressure stabilization technology...”

“I can do that,” Kalith claimed, excitement sparking his shifting, shaping eyes.

“We cannot fake our deaths and then return unscathed,” I shook my head, which was now shaped into the hair-crowned human eyes, the two-nostril olfactory protrusion, the sharp jawline that Tammy once joked could cut glass. “It would be best, should we attempt to take her, that we travel only in uninhabited areas. We would need to shield our reentry somehow.”

The idea hung between us. We could craft a bridge between worlds; between the past we were considering abandoning and the future we might build together. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it offered a precious thing: possibility.

“The decision to stay is not just about what we leave behind,” I said, unable to stop myself from bringing up another harsh reality. “It’s about what dangers we might face by remaining. Earth authorities may discover us someday.”

“It’s worth the risk,” Kalith insisted with conviction.

“She is worth the risk,” Cyro said adamantly.

Despite the dangers, my mind echoed their sentiments.

40

KALITH, VANTOR, & CYRO

Bless the broken star road that led us straight to her.

KALITH

My tentacles flew across the control panels, each appendage executing precise movements with the efficiency my engineering training had drilled into me for decades. Yet beneath this mechanical precision, my three hearts thudded in an uneven rhythm that betrayed the magnitude of our decision. We were abandoning our home world. Choosing Tammy. Choosing a love that made no sense. The thought should have paralyzed me with guilt, but instead, my tentacles moved faster, more determined than ever as I prepared the delivery pod that would carry our samples—but not us—back to the ocean planet where I’d been born.

“I’ve modified the pod. The substance I crafted for crash protection will work well to insulate the samples” I announced, my voice carrying that slight mechanical quality it always did when my emotions ran high. “Cyro, release the environmental control unit from the research station’s dock, let’s transfer it over.”

Across the command center, Cyro flashed that he understood, lights blinking across his body. They reminded me of freckles, glowing ones, and suddenly Tammy’s sun-kissed face took over my mind. I had to force myself back to the important task at hand.

As Cyro carefully began to manually move the samples, I fiddled with retrofitting a battery unit, optimizing its abilities, so hopefully it would maintain each samples’ exact parameters. Vantor was hunched over the auxiliary command, composing the false message that would accompany our samples. His tentacles tapped against the liquid crystal interface with uncharacteristic hesitation, each word carefully chosen to convince our scientists of our tragic demise. I caught fragments of his fabrication as he thought, lights strobing across his skin: “catastrophic pressure failure” … “heroic final actions” … “sample preservation prioritized” … “hostile conditions, do not attempt” … “Abandon all future excursions.”

A string of convincing lies that would ensure no rescue mission would be launched and no questions asked about three missing G.E.F. explorers, even if one was a renowned xenobiologist and the other a promising, young engineer.

“Is that enough,” Vantor now muttered, more to himself than to us. “Have I deterred them fully?”

“It is tragic enough that they will not look too deeply, Vantor. It lends to shallow waters,” I assured him, understanding his struggle. Our people were not overly emotional, but they respected sacrifice for the greater good. They would honor our “deaths” rather than investigate them. More importantly, they would take our word for it when it came to future Earth exploration.

I ducked under the pod, body having to squish and distort to reach a panel at its base. My shortest tentacle reached inside for the energy transfer cable and a second tentacle curled around the newly adapted battery, ready to re-power the pod. Pride swelled in my chest cavity as my differently matured limb performed flawlessly, its unique shape perfectly suited for the delicate connection that required maneuvering in the tight space between components. I didn’t need one of my modifying attachments. My special appendage had its purpose.

Not the least of which was bringing me closer to Tammy, who reveled in our differences.

The thought of her sent ripples of forest green across my skin—the color of hope in our species’ emotional spectrum. I allowed the coloration to flow freely rather than suppressing it as I’d been trained to do. Here, among my bonded brothers, there was no need to hide what I felt. Not anymore.

I attached the battery, and a few Earth moments later, the pod rocked above me as Cyro pushed inside to secure the samples.

“I have successfully crafted the necessary communication,” Vantor spoke aloud to Cyro and me, since we could not see him in our current positions. “We are twenty Earth meters from breaching the surface.”

As the vessel grew nearer to the transition between ocean and sky, its engines began to properly warm for flight. The deep, resonant hum of it vibrated through my body, the familiar sensation comforting. When I pulled myself from beneath the pod, checking that the energy register was lit up now, I flowed across the floor, human legs split into tentacles to quicken my pace, and positioned at the main command panel. My appendage tips flew across the console, inputting commands.

“Ascent trajectory calculated,” I called out.

“Are we fully shielded?” Vantor inquired, his mind always on the offense.

“We are,” I both spoke and light blinked.

Cyro chimed in then. “The pod is prepared. Let us fulfill our final duty to our people.”

The vessel shifted beneath us as Vantor piloted us upward, away from the crushing depths of Earth’s ocean trench, away from the dark blue surface of expansive waters, higher and higher. Farther from Sunflower Hills, farther from Tammy. I consoled myself that it was only temporary. Soon, we’d be holding her again.

Through the external sensors, as I monitored our path for any obstructions, I watched as the strange world I’d come to love grew smaller beneath us.

“Are we ascending toward the atmosphere too fast? The ship cannot tolerate exiting at this speed.” Cyro’s tone was alarmed, but his worry was unfounded. Perhaps his anxiety stemmed from what we were doing, rather than any real threat to our lives.

“The speed is well within tolerance parameters,” I finished for him. I felt as sure of the reinforced hull as I did of our decision to stay. “We’ll be fine.”

“Fine the way Tammy sometimes says she is fine?” Vantor said, his human mouth quirking, a note of humor threading through each syllable.

“Fine has proven to be a matter of perspective with our Omega,” Cyro added.

“We will survive exit and reentry,” I said simply. I couldn’t join them in their teasing. I was having a hard enough time keeping Tammy from taking over my every thought.

As we ascended, our trio lapsed once again into silence.

We burned through the atmosphere, and for a moment, our vessel hovered at the boundary between our past and our future. Then it shot outward to the nearest acceptable distance from Earth’s gravitational pull before stilling once more.

Silently, we gathered around the pod carrying the precious samples.

“Navigation coordinates verified,” I confirmed, checking the pre-programmed destination in the pod’s guidance system. “Estimated arrival time: three-hundred and forty-two Earth days.”

By then, we would be well-established in our new life at Sunflower Hills Ranch. By then, there would be no going back, even if we changed our minds. I tried to picture my mother receiving news of my “death.” I imagined the ripples of mourning that would spread through the community of my youth. The guilt was sharp but manageable, because it was balanced against the hollow emptiness I’d felt every moment since leaving Tammy behind. I knew even if our future waters turned murky, our deep bond would give us full visibility to press onward.

The vessel slowly rotated, Earth’s curvature becoming visible through the view screens. The blue, green, and white planet seemed small and fragile from this far away. It was so different from our home world with its vast, unbroken oceans and crystalline cities beneath the waves. Few land masses. Only the domed cities above surface which could not be seen so far away. Yet somehow, impossibly, this foreign planet had become a place I could not imagine abandoning.

“Are we ready?” I asked. That was a loaded question. Ready to send the samples. Ready to truly say goodbye to our planet. Ready to return to her.

Both of my crew brothers flashed an affirmative.

I disconnected the clamps below the pod which kept it grounded to the ship. Pressing a digital sensor, I initiated the conveyer belt. We all watched as the world-saving samples drifted into a cavity in the wall. The blue-tinged vessel hummed with contained energy, its bioluminescent markings pulsing with the rhythm of internal systems checking and rechecking their functionality. And then the transparent door was closing, a barrier between us and the choice we were making. I swiped a tentacle across the launch icon.

No turning back.

“For our people,” Vantor intoned, his deep voice carrying the formal cadence of a sacred ritual back home.

“For their future,” Cyro added, his tentacle glowing with soft blue light.

“For a tomorrow of many waters,” I concluded.

The exterior hatch slid open, revealing the vast darkness of space beyond. For one breathtaking moment, the pod sat motionless in its cradle, bioluminescent markings pulsing like a heartbeat. Then the cosmic slingshot activated, propelling the vessel forward in a burst of energy and light.

We watched in silence as our delivery pod—carrying both our world’s salvation and our final farewell—shot away from us, its blue glow diminishing rapidly until it was just another point of light among the stars. The distance between us and our past growing with every second.

“It’s done,” Cyro whispered, his tentacles curling inward with emotion.

I nodded, unable to speak past the constriction in my respiratory chambers. We had made our choice. We had acted on it. Now there was only forward—only Earth, only Kansas, only Tammy. Only home.

VANTOR

I returned to the bridge with hard, determined steps. Allowing my training to take over, I kept focused on the goal. Analyze. Assess. Execute.

The ship felt emptier somehow, as if the delivery pod had taken with it some essential part of our vessel’s soul. But emptiness could be filled with new purpose. My tentacles moved across the navigation console with renewed determination as Kalith input the coordinates—not the unfathomable distance to our ocean home, but the ones that would bring us back to Kansas. Back to Sunflower Hills Ranch. Back to Tammy.

“Course plotted and locked,” Kalith announced. He sounded like his old self: eager, almost boyish in his excitement. “Estimated arrival time: seventeen minutes.”

Cyro passed, as if he did not know what to do with himself. His entire existence had been devoted to studying lifeforms and then, to endless ways to save our world. His life’s mission was currently on a journey without him. I wondered if he would regret choosing this path.

But I could not focus on Cyro, not now that my mind was filled with thoughts of her.

Seventeen minutes. Less than one-twentieth of an Earth day separated us from the woman who had somehow become the center of our shared existence. My skin rippled with deep burgundy waves that betrayed my emotions. I was bursting with anticipation, hope, and a sharp twist of fear that kept me grounded. Not fear of danger—my security training had prepared me for physical threats—but fear of rejection. What if Tammy hadn’t wanted us to stay after all? What if our return was a complication instead of a joyful event?

No, she wanted us. I knew that by her expressions, her body language, her Omega smell.

Our vessel cut back through the atmosphere quickly, seeming as eager as we were to get back to Kansas.

“I am abandoning my duty,” I said aloud. The words should carry shame, but instead I felt lighter than air. I turned to face my brothers. “Everything I was trained for. Everything I swore to uphold. Why do I feel no remorse?”

Kalith’s tentacles had paused, hovering above the main command station, and Cyro’s silvery eyes quickly found mine across the bridge. Neither spoke immediately, understanding the weight of what I was acknowledging.

“I also feel content with our choice,” Cyro finally said, his colors pulsing with soft blues of compassion. “I believe, as Tammy once said, the heart wants what the heart wants. It is often impossible to understand.”

“And we have three of them,” Kalith added, a glint in his eyes as his shorter tentacle curled against his chest. “So, we’re triple confused.”

I nodded slowly, a smile lifting the corners of my mostly formed human mouth. “In the G.E.F. security forces, we are taught that duty is absolute. That personal desires must always be sacrificed for the greater good.”

“And yet,” Cyro ventured, “what greater good is there than love? Our people study science to improve lives, to create connection, to find meaning. We’ve found those things with Tammy.”

His words resonated through my central cavity with unexpected force. Throughout my career, I had defined myself by my service—protector, guardian, security specialist. I had never questioned what I was protecting or why. Now, as a familiar landmass grew larger in our view screens, I understood with sudden clarity that my duty had not been abandoned but transformed. I was still a protector, but now of a precious creation beyond calculation.

The ship dropped lower, cutting through clouds that parted around our hull like white foam on ocean waves. Below us, the patchwork landscape of Kansas farmland came into view, with its geometric fields in varying shades of green and gold, bisected by narrow roads that stretched toward distant horizons. Somewhere in that human landscape was the small patch of land that had become more home to me than the breathtaking, jeweled ocean cities of my old planet.

“We’re almost there,” I announced, my voice steadier than I’d expected. “We’re almost back to her.”

I took command of the vessel, steering us now instead of letting it auto-pilot. I wanted to get there faster. As soon as possible. My need for her vibrated outward from my core to shake every part of my body, every tentacle, every finger, every toe as my hybrid human and alien bodies mixed.

The ship responded to my commands, descending in a controlled spiral that would bring us directly over Sunflower Hills Ranch. Through the forward view screen, I caught glimpses of familiar landmarks—the winding creek that marked the property’s northern boundary, the rolling hills that gave the ranch its name, the cluster of buildings that constituted Tammy’s world.

“I will embrace her for as long as she will allow,” Cyro flashed.

“As will I,” Kalith blinked.

“You both may embrace her after I have had my turn,” I countered.

Before they could complain, the navigation console beneath my tentacles flashed red. Warning signals pulsed across multiple systems as the ship’s stabilizers failed, sending us into a slight but alarming drift to the left.

“We’re experiencing system failures across multiple subsystems,” Kalith reported, his tentacles flying across his engineering station. “Propulsion efficiency dropping to seventy-three percent. Stabilizers offline. This makes no sense. I have repaired these systems!”

“This is identical to our original system failure pattern,” Cyro observed, a note of fascination creeping into his voice despite the situation. “The exact same cascade effect that caused our first crash.”

“But we experienced no cosmic event or impact since leaving the ranch,” Kalith said in disbelief.

A strange sensation swept through me—what humans called déjà vu. The same alarms, the same failures, the same struggle to control a vessel determined to crash itself onto Tammy Tucker’s property. Only this time, instead of panic, I felt amusement. As if the universe itself had a sense of humor, bringing our journey full circle.

“Kalith, reroute auxiliary power to the stabilizers. Cyro, recalibrate the gravitational compensators to account for drift,” I called out, my security training allowing me to remain outwardly calm even as my skin flashed with emergency patterns of orange and red. I didn’t think it would do any good. Perhaps it would be easier to simply mimic our crash positions from before. The ship bucked and shuddered beneath us, but working together, we held it steady—more or less—as we approached the final coordinates.

“Twenty miles to target,” Kalith called out, his voice steady despite the chaos around us. “Eighteen... fifteen...”

The ship lurched violently to one side, nearly throwing me from my station. Only the quick extension of two tentacles to anchor myself to adjacent structures kept me in position.

“We’re going to crash,” Kalith announced, his voice carrying not fear but a strange resignation. Almost anticipation.

“Target that supply barn,” I ordered, seeing its shape form on the view screen. “If we’re going to crash, let’s at least crash someplace familiar.”

Cyro actually laughed—a burbling sound that carried through the command center despite the blaring alarms and shuddering hull.

“The currents are carrying us home in a most ridiculous way,” he managed between chuckles.

The barn grew larger in our view screen as we approached, the distance closing rapidly as our damaged systems struggled to maintain even minimal control. I poured every ounce of my training into guiding our descent, ensuring we hit the barn directly rather than the main house or, worse, the stables where the horses—including Sassafras with her precious twin foals—would be housed.

“Impact in three...” Kalith called out, his tentacles securing the remaining loose equipment. “Two... one...”

The crash was both more and less violent than our first arrival. More, because we hit with greater velocity, smashing through the barn’s newly repaired roof with a splintering of wood and shrieking of metal. Less, because this time we were mentally prepared.

Kalith’s expanding impact foam filled the space like whipped cream; that sugary concoction Tammy always coated her ice cream with.

Our vessel came to rest precisely where it had been stored for the past months. It was a cosmic coincidence that seemed too perfect to be random. The power flickered, then died. The expanding foam began to melt away. The command center filled with the acrid scent of burned circuitry and the sweet, distinctive odor of our alien Alpha scents pluming in happiness.

Because we may have crashed again, but we were home. And that’s all that mattered.

For a long moment, none of us moved. Then Kalith’s smallest tentacle reached up to brush lingering impact foam from his human nose, and he made a sound that might have been a sigh or might have been a chuckle.

“I’ll fix it all tomorrow,” he said, gesturing around at the once-again busted ship.

We spilled out of the vessel, nearly falling over one another in our rush to be outside breathing Earth air. I glanced up, examining the shattered roof above us, starlight now visible through the jagged opening we’d created.

“We’ll have to fix that tomorrow too,” I said, still glancing upward.

“Piece of Earth cake,” Kalith quipped.

Cyro gave another strange, uncharacteristic bubble of laughter. “Easy as Earth pie,” he agreed.

Our ridiculous words broke the tension. We stood in a half circle, forming our bodies into our human costumes—muscles and bones taking shape where tentacles had been moments before, hair sprouting from smoothed scalps, tri-hearts converging into one organ.

Before we had finished, the oversized barn door flew open with such force that it bounced against the outside wall. Framed in the doorway, silhouetted against the night sky, stood Tammy Tucker.

She wore cut-off denim shorts frayed at the hem and a stained tank top. Her feet were clad only in socks that must have provided little protection as she’d traversed the gravelly ground between house and barn. Her copper hair caught moonlight, making it appear almost silver at the edges. Her chest heaved with exertion, her blue eyes wide with disbelief as they locked onto mine.

“You came back,” she breathed, her voice strangled from running, from emotion, from the sheer impossibility of what she was seeing.

I stepped forward, feeling Cyro and Kalith move up beside me. Three beings from another world, choosing this moment, this place, this woman as our destiny.

“We came back,” I agreed, my human voice steady despite the storm of emotions making my true skin pulse with color beneath its disguise.

CYRO

I moved before my brain could analyze the optimal approach, my body acting on pure instinct. I halted immediately, not wanting to alarm her. Vantor and Kalith stood behind me, perfectly still, frozen in the moment. But I could not contain myself for long. I rushed toward Tammy, desperately needing to touch her.

I did not complete the transition from alien to human form as I crossed the distance between us. I stayed half man, half alien. Some tentacles writhed beneath manufactured skin, my colors dimmed beneath the human pigment, but five appendages still sprouted from my body, waving in the air, eager to wrap around Tammy’s body.

By the time I reached her, the racing of my three hearts and the surge of chemicals through my system was anything but controlled or scientific. This reaction had no place in xenobiology textbooks; this was uniquely Tammy and uniquely us.

My human hands wrapped around her waist with careful precision, lifting her effortlessly into the air. The pressure sensors in my palms registered every detail of the contact—the slight give of soft human tissue over the harder structure of her hip bones, the elevated temperature of her skin through the thin fabric of her tank top, the rapid expansion and contraction of her ribcage as she breathed. In my former life, I would have cataloged these observations, filed them away for further study. Now, they simply fueled the joy expanding through my central cavity.

I twirled her in a circle, a human gesture I’d observed in Earth entertainment media that seemed to express precisely the emotion overwhelming my usually ordered mind. Tammy’s head tipped back, copper hair cascading like liquid fire in the moonlight that streamed through our newly created skylight. The laughter that escaped her lips—musical, uninhibited, genuine—triggered a cascading hormonal response in my system that no amount of control or training could suppress.

When I finally set her down, I kept her close, allowing our bodies to slide together with carefully calculated friction. My hands—still strange to me sometimes despite months of practice with this form—moved to cradle her face, fingertips detecting the microscopic salt trails left by earlier tears. Had she been crying before our return? The thought sent a pang through my central nervous system.

“You’re really here,” she whispered, her pupils dilating as they adjusted to the low light, her gaze roving over my features as if confirming every detail matched her memory. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

“Never seeing you again was a reality that we could not accept,” I replied, my voice thick and wet with emotion, bubbles popping inside syllables. “So, we corrected our course.”

Her smile widened at my formal phrasing, the familiar quirk of her lips triggering another surge of hormones through my system. I lifted a tentacle, tracing her soft cheek. Then her gaze shifted upward, past my shoulder to where the night sky was visible through the jagged hole our ship had created in the barn roof. Stars glittered against the black canvas of space—distant, cold fusion reactions that suddenly seemed infinitely less fascinating than the micro-expressions flitting across Tammy’s face.

“Let me down,” she said, tapping my shoulder with gentle insistence.

I complied immediately, lowering her to the ground but maintaining physical contact, my hands sliding to her waist, unwilling to break connection even momentarily. She tilted her head back further, studying the damaged roof with an intensity that surprised me. Then, astonishingly, her smile grew even wider.

“I think we should just put in a bunch of skylights,” she said, eyes still fixed on the stars above. “Let’s not block the stars.”

My scientific mind immediately began calculating structural integrity issues, weather-proofing requirements, optimal transparent material options—but I forced these thoughts aside, focusing instead on the remarkable adaptability this human woman displayed. Where others might see destruction, she saw possibility. Where some might mourn what was lost, she envisioned something new and beautiful.

“Skylights,” I repeated, testing the word and concept simultaneously. “Transparent roof sections to allow visual access to astronomical phenomena while maintaining structural protection.”

“Exactly,” she nodded, finally looking back at me. “Why fix what was never really broken?”

Before I could formulate a response, I felt Kalith’s presence behind me. He approached with uncharacteristic hesitation, caution temporarily overriding the emotional reunion. When he reached us, his human arms wrapped around both Tammy and me, creating a triangle of contact that felt both structurally sound and emotionally necessary.

“I can do that,” he murmured, his breath warm against my neck as he leaned over my shoulder to address Tammy. “Custom skylights. Perhaps with automatic shading capabilities for daytime.”

“Of course you’re already improving on my idea,” Tammy laughed, the sound vibrating through her body and into mine where we connected. “It doesn’t need to be so complicated.”

“Not complicated,” Kalith corrected gently. “Optimized.”

The final piece of our quaternary bond approached last. Vantor, moving with measured precision, his towering human form casting a long shadow in the starlight as he joined our circle, placed one large hand on my shoulder while the other lifted to cup Tammy’s cheek with surprising tenderness.

“You’re here to stay, right?” Tammy asked, her eyes locking with his, her voice suddenly smaller, more vulnerable. Her gaze traveled, taking us all in. My sensory receptors detected the minute tension in her muscles, the slight elevation in her heart rate. Her Omega scent spiced with worry. “You won’t suddenly change your minds later?”

“We will not,” Vantor replied with absolute certainty, his deep voice brokering no room for doubt. He only offered her a simple, powerful truth.

Tammy leaned into his palm, her cheek pressing against his skin in a gesture of trust that made my respiratory system momentarily malfunction. “Good,” she said simply. “Let’s go to the house then. Let’s go home.”

Home. The word activated neural pathways that connected to memories of crystalline spires rising through clear waters, of bioluminescent coral gardens stretching toward three moons. Yet those images felt distant now, theoretical rather than experiential.

Home was no longer a place but a presence—specifically, the copper-haired human woman now stepping toward the open barn door with the three of us in her gravitational pull.

We moved as one unit toward the exit, leaving the damaged ship behind us without a backward glance. The cool Kansas night air hit my artificial skin, carrying scents my specialized receptors automatically identified: fresh grass, horse manure, wildflowers, and the distinctive pheromone signature that was uniquely Tammy’s. I inhaled deeply, allowing my respiratory system to catalog and preserve these chemical markers of our return.

As we walked toward the farmhouse, its windows glowing with warm light, I let my human body marry bits of my original form. A tentacle emerged from beneath my shirt collar, extending of its own accord toward Kalith on my right. Beside me, Kalith’s own appendages were already appearing, one wrapping around my extended tentacle while another reached for Vantor. Within moments, we had created a living network of connection, our tentacles intertwined with each other and with Tammy, who welcomed the alien touch without hesitation.

The human disguises we wore for the outside world mattered little in this moment. Here, under the Kansas stars, walking toward the home we had chosen, we were our new, true selves.

We were forever three hybrid beings from a distant ocean world who loved one remarkable Earth woman. Our quartet was bound together forever, in the way human Alphas tether to their one true mate. A pack.

My tentacle brushed against the bite mark still visible on Tammy’s neck—the mark I had placed during our bonding. The sight sparked deep blue satisfaction across me beneath my human skin. My brilliant brain, once dedicated to objective observation, now found its greatest fulfillment in this subjective experience: the sensory input of Tammy’s fingers stroking my tentacle, the visual data of her smile in the moonlight, the auditory stimulation of her voice saying “home” and meaning us.

We walked the final distance to the house united physically and emotionally, our silhouette against the starlit sky unlike any other on this planet—one human woman and three aliens in imperfect disguise, tentacles rippling in the gentle night breeze. Not explorers, not scientists, not visitors anymore.

Home. We were finally home.

41

TAMMY

Crazyyyyyy, for thinking three aliens would love meeeeeee.

Isat alone on my porch steps, the wooden edge of one riser digging into my thighs through thin cotton shorts as I tipped the whiskey bottle to my lips for the umpteenth time that evening. Patsy Cline’s heartbreak spilled from my ancient radio, her voice carrying across the empty Kansas night like it was made specifically for abandoned women like me. The burn of alcohol couldn’t match the searing pain in my chest—that special kind of hollow that forms when something that was never supposed to be yours in the first place slips through your fingers and shoots off into the stars, taking pieces of your heart along for the ride.

“Crazyyyyyyyyyy,” I warbled along with Patsy, my voice cracking on the high notes. I sobbed, missing a few words, before singing off-key again. “My stupid human love could—” I hiccuped, made a pitiful, whimpering sound. When I tried to keep singing, my voice failed me.

Three empty bottles of Jack lined up beside me like fallen soldiers, testament to the battle I was fighting against the memory of tentacles wrapped around my waist, silver eyes watching me with wonder, and the scents of ocean depths and forest floors that had become as familiar to me as my own skin. One night since they'd left. One endless night of pretending I could function, could breathe, could exist in a world that suddenly felt two-dimensional and colorless.

The porch light cast sickly yellow patterns across the yard, illuminating the newly repaired barn that Kalith had fixed with such care. Every inch of this ranch held their fingerprints now—the straightened fence posts Vantor had reinforced, the thriving pasture grass enhanced by Cyro’s alien compounds, the horses that now grazed peacefully side by side because of their intervention.

I’d spent my entire adult life being left. My parents died when I was twenty-two. College friends moved on to bigger cities. Derek had kept me around only as long as I was willing to be his pretty, silent accessory. I should have built up immunity by now, developed some kind of emotional callus against abandonment.

But this—this was different. This was three beings who had seen me—really seen me—and chosen me anyway. They had known my flaws, my fears, my failures, and still looked at me like I was the most fascinating creature in the universe.

And then they’d left.

Because of course they had. They had a mission. They had a dying planet. They had millions of their own kind depending on them. What was one heartbroken human woman compared to all that?

My throat burned raw from hours of singing along to sad country songs, each lyric feeling like it had been written specifically about loving and losing alien cephalopods. I swallowed another mouthful of whiskey, feeling the gulp slide down to join the lake of alcohol already sloshing in my empty stomach.

“You think I don’t miss them?” I slurred at Mystery, who watched me judgmentally from the fence line. “You think this is pathetic? Fuck you, horse. You got your happy ending.” 

Mystery snorted and turned away, as if he couldn’t bear to witness my breakdown anymore. Even my horses were disappointed in me.

I stumbled to my feet, the world tilting dangerously as I found my balance. The whiskey bottle dangled from my fingertips, nearly empty now, a single golden swallow clinging to the bottom. Above me stretched the vast Kansas sky, stars scattered across black velvet like diamonds on display—cold, distant, and completely indifferent to my pain.

“You are cruel assholes!” I screamed upward, my voice cracking as tears streamed down my face. “You’re worse than Derek! At least he never made me love him first!”

My words echoed across the empty ranch, bouncing back to me and making me flinch at their harshness. I didn’t mean it. Not really. Derek had been controlling, belittling, undermining my every attempt at independence. My aliens had been... everything opposite. Supportive. Kind. Amazed by my capabilities.

That’s what made it so much worse. They hadn’t left because they didn’t care. They’d left because they had to. Because duty and responsibility and the fate of an entire civilization outweighed whatever we’d found together in these precious months.

I tipped my head back and drained the last drops from the bottle, tilting it so dramatically that whiskey dribbled down my chin and neck. When nothing more would come, I ran my tongue desperately around the rim, chasing the burn, seeking oblivion in the last molecules of alcohol clinging to the glass.

“I hate that I love you,” I whispered to the stars, my voice so hoarse it was barely audible even to my own ears. “I hate that I’ll never stop loving you.”

My reflection in the window caught my eye—tangled copper hair sticking out in all directions, mascara streaked down flushed cheeks, eyes swollen and red-rimmed from hours of crying. I looked like a woman undone, unmade by grief. I looked exactly how I felt.

I raised the empty bottle in a mocking toast to the universe, to three aliens who were likely already light years away, to the fucking unfairness of falling in love with beings who belonged among those distant stars rather than here in the Kansas dirt with me.

“To Cyro and his annoying analysis of everything,” I croaked, my voice barely functioning. “To Vantor and his stupid protective instincts. To Kalith and his—” My voice broke completely, the words dissolving into silent tears— “infuriating dismantling of everything I own.”

And that’s when I heard it. At first, I thought it was just the blood rushing in my ears, the sound of too much alcohol sloshing through my veins. But it grew louder—a familiar rumbling that vibrated through my bones and made the porch boards tremble beneath my bare feet.

I froze, bottle still raised in mid-toast, my breath caught in my throat. The rumbling intensified, a mechanical groaning that I recognized with every cell in my body. My head snapped up, eyes searching the star-strewn sky with desperate hope.

Materializing against the backdrop of stars like a mirage, was a dark shape with pulsing lights that I’d only seen once before. The aliens’ spacecraft, its outline shifting and rippling as if struggling to maintain form. But something was wrong. The ship wasn’t moving with the smooth precision I remembered. It listed to one side, engines sputtering and flaring erratically.

“No,” I breathed, sobering instantly as adrenaline flooded my system. “No, no, no...”

The ship plummeted toward the ground, its descent too fast, too uncontrolled. I watched in horror as it fell directly toward the newly repaired supply barn—the same structure it had crashed into the first time. The collision was catastrophic. Wood splintered, metal shrieked, and a cloud of dust erupted into the night air as the spacecraft tore through the roof and buried itself in the heart of the building.

The whiskey bottle slipped from my fingers, shattering on the porch steps. I didn’t even flinch at the explosion of glass around my bare feet. All I could focus on was the settling dust cloud surrounding what remained of my barn.

They came back. They came back.

My legs moved before my brain could catch up, propelling me forward across the yard. Gravel bit into my bare feet, but the pain barely registered. My heart kept ragged time with each pounding step, a desperate rhythm of hope and terror and disbelief.

“Please be alive,” I gasped between heaving breaths as I sprinted toward the wreckage. “Please, please, please be alive.”

Part of me knew my terror was unfounded. They’d survived a much harsher crash already. But for some reason I was scared to death.

Scared I was dreaming this. Scared I was so drunk I was making it all up. Scared the supply barn was undamaged and no UFO rested at its ruined center.

The barn door hung crooked on its hinges, moonlight streaming through the massive hole in the roof. I reached it in seconds that felt like centuries, my hand connecting with the splintered wood and shoving it open with strength born of desperation.

Dust swirled in the air, illuminated by strange lights pulsing from within the crashed ship. And through that hazy curtain, I saw three silhouettes emerge.

I stumbled through the barn door, dust particles dancing in the moonlight that streamed through the gaping hole in the roof. My lungs seized, refusing to draw breath as three silhouettes materialized through the swirling debris cloud. Not human silhouettes—not entirely. Tentacles unfurled from torsos, rippling with colors that pulsed like heartbeats in the semi-darkness. Colors I’d memorized, dreamed about, cried over for days. My aliens. My impossible, beautiful aliens had returned.

My heart stuttered in my chest, unable to process the reality of what I was seeing. Was this a whiskey-induced hallucination? Had grief finally broken my mind completely?

“You came back,” I managed, my voice a strangled whisper. My vocal cords, already raw from hours of drunken crying, could barely form the words. They sounded like an accusation and a prayer simultaneously.

“We came back,” Vantor agreed, his voice steady despite the way his body trembled, his skin pulsing with beautiful hues. I still understood his language, just as I had after losing the translator in the water trough. I’d never put it back on; I hadn’t needed to. Our beautiful, improbable pack bond transcended barriers.

Cyro stepped forward first, then hesitated. His magnificent tentacles flowed out behind him, undulating and mesmerizing. He stared at me through the dusty air, light flowing across his form, his silvery eyes fixed upon me with an intensity that made my knees weaken. So many emotions crossed his face, too complex for human words.

Kalith and Vantor stood just behind Cyro. If only we could read one another’s minds right now. I waited for one of them to speak again, to say anything at all. I needed to hear their voices; to confirm they were truly standing in front of me. Vantor’s three words were not enough.

Then suddenly Cyro was moving again, crossing the distance between us with that fluid and quick grace that no human could ever truly mimic. As he approached, his form rippled and shifted, but he did not fully withdraw into a human disguise. He settled into a hybrid self, with several tentacles extended, undulating with raw emotion.

Those tentacles wrapped around my waist, gentle but insistent as they lifted me effortlessly into the air. My feet left the ground, and suddenly I was spinning, twirling in circles as Cyro held me against his chest. The motion sent dust motes swirling around us like tiny stars in our own private galaxy.

“You’re really here,” I whispered, reaching up to touch his face—the face he’d crafted to walk among humans but that had become so dear to me. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

“Never seeing you again was a reality that we could not accept,” he replied, his voice soaked in emotion. “So, we corrected our course.”

I smiled widely as a tentacle emerged from beneath his collar, curling to stroke my cheek with exquisite gentleness. The sensation—cool silk against my tear-heated skin—broke everything loose inside me. Fresh tears spilled over, but these weren’t the bitter tears of abandonment.

Joy. Relief. Hope.

I looked up at the wrecked roof of the barn, eyes clamping on innumerable stars.

“Let me down,” I tapped Cyro’s shoulder firmly.

He lowered me immediately but refused to release his hold. Moments later, Vantor was at our side.

“We have missed you deeply, Tammy.” My watchdog alien’s words were low and heated. There was nothing cold and apathetic about his tone. The softness inside of him, usually shielded, now existed out in the open. His body flashed with brightness, communicating other things he perhaps couldn’t speak out loud. He extended his tentacles, wrapping them tightly around me and Cyro.

Kalith arrived next and completed our circle, his human form the most complete of the three, though his smallest tentacle remained stubbornly visible, reaching to wrap around my wrist in that familiar, comforting gesture I’d missed so keenly it had quickly become a physical pain.

“I missed you too,” I murmured, then gave a soft laugh, “We’re acting like you guys have been gone years.”

“It feels like we left a lifespan ago,” Cyro said, uncharacteristically hyperbolic.

“Ten lifespans ago,” Kalith mumbled, stretching and curving his body so he could rest his head atop mine.

“You abandoned your mission,” I said, the realization striking me with breathtaking force. “Your people, your planet⁠—”

“We sent the samples,” Kalith explained, his voice carrying that slight mechanical echo it always did when he was deeply moved. “The data will reach our world. But we... we couldn’t leave you.”

I looked from one face to another, seeing the truth written in their expressions, in the colors pulsing beneath their skin, in the way their tentacles reached for me as if they couldn’t bear even inches of separation.

“I can’t believe you did that.” My heart thudded. The heat in my belly reached a fever pitch. How could I ever live up to that? How could I be worth leaving a world for?

I tilted my head back, looking up again through the massive hole their ship had torn through the roof. The night sky sprawled above us, stars scattered across the darkness in patterns I’d stared at for hours since their departure. But now, with them beside me again, those stars no longer seemed cold or distant. They were simply beautiful.

“I think we should just put in a bunch of skylights,” I said, my eyes fixed on the glittering expanse above. “Let’s not block the stars.”

“Skylights,” Cyro repeated slowly. “Transparent roof sections to allow visual access to astronomical phenomena while maintaining structural protection.”

I’d missed the way he explained the world. The way he constantly looked for answers.

“I can do that,” Kalith said quietly, warm breath pulsing against me. “Custom skylights. Perhaps with automatic shading capabilities for daytime.”

“Of course you’re already improving on my idea,” I laughed, and the sound of it floated around us. “It doesn’t need to be so complicated.”

“Not complicated,” Kalith corrected gently. “Optimized.”

A comfortable silence blanketed us, but only for a heartbeat, before panic tried to seed itself inside me.

“You’re here to stay, right?” I blurted out, feeling like a raw nerve. My gaze roved over their faces, studying their expressions. My Omega scent spiked the air, shifting with anxiety. “You won’t suddenly change your minds later?”

“We will not.” Vantor’s reply was fast and firm. There was no way I could doubt his sincerity. He lifted his human hand, cupping my face. I leaned into his palm.

“Good. Let’s go to the house then. Let’s go home.”

Soon, we were in the living room of my home—our home—and exhaustion, along with the large quantity of liquor I’d consumed earlier, began to do their worst. I swayed, body feeling like it wasn’t my own. My aliens tried to coax me toward the stairs, but I protested.

“I don’t want to sleep. I want to stay awake,” I protested, stumbling in the other direction toward the sofa. “I’m afraid you’ll be gone when I wake up.” I collapsed onto the cushion, shaking my head emphatically, as if they were still trying to get me to go upstairs.

“We left everything behind,” Vantor spoke as he moved to stand in front of me. “Our world, our people, our past. For this. For you. Why would we leave?”

“I don’t know. Maybe your bodies will suddenly de-adapt to Earth. You’ll get to dry. Or… or—” I sleepily struggled for another stupid reason they might abandon me again— “or you might suddenly realize Earth sucks compared to your real planet. What’s the name of your planet? Did you ever tell me that?”

I was so tired my vision was blurring, but I refused to close my eyes.

“You are being unreasonable,” Cyro moved next to Vantor, and folded his arms across his chest, tentacles hanging down low, ends twitching. “I am not sure how to calm your distress.”

“It is simply the World of Many Waters.” Kalith was the one to answer my question. “But it goes by other names. I am unsure which, if any, we imparted to you.”

I was being stupid. I knew that. Exhaustion always made me irrational.

“I’m tired and still a little drunk,” I admitted, feeling the lingering effects of whiskey softening the edges of reality. “Are you sure I’m not dreaming you?”

Cyro’s tentacle brushed a strand of hair from my face, his touch sending shivers down my spine. His human hands touched my shoulders and gently turned me. He gave my upper body a gentle push, and I laid down across the cushions without protesting. “We will be here when you wake,” he promised. “And the day after, and all days to follow.”

“We love you, Tammy,” Kalith said the words I needed to hear to succumb to sleep. To trust that this was all real.

42

TAMMY

Alien magic carpet ride, no UFO required…

Iwoke up with a start, arms splaying outward, finding nothing but the sofa’s rear cushions and the blanket I’d apparently pulled over myself before falling asleep.

“It was a dream,” I moaned, lashes fluttering, head tilting from side to side, eyes finding only moonlight splashed across everything around me. I’d gotten skunk drunk again and I’d imagined their return. “I never want to dream again.”

Tears welled in my eyes. I closed them quickly, desperate to fall back asleep, desperate to dream again. But I was wide awake now, hot dampness slipping from between my lids to wet my face.

“Tammy, we’re here.” It was Cyro’s voice.

Just another figment of my grief.

“We came back.” Vantor’s voice.

Fake! Fake words manufactured by a broken heart!

“Open your eyes, Tammy.” Kalith’s voice now.

I couldn’t open my eyes. If I did, I’d have to face the reality that I was alone.

But then I was being gently touched, several somethings tracing the tear tracks, claiming the moisture.

I bolted upright, even though it made my head throb.

Tentacles writhed around me.

And they were attached to Cyro, Vantor, and Kalith.

My aliens weren’t an otherworldly presence any longer. They were here, where they belonged. They deserved to be here just as much as I did. I’d bought Sunflower Hills, but they’d saved it.

“You’ve barely slept, Tammy. We’re here. Try to sleep again,” Vantor urged.

“I don’t want to sleep. I don’t want to miss a moment with you.”

Moonlight spilled through the windows, painting stripes of cool brightness across the worn floorboards and illuminating swirling particles. My head still buzzed with disbelief, but the tentacles that brushed against my skin—cool, silken touches that sent electricity racing through my nerves—were undeniably real. They had come back. They had chosen me.

“I want you all. I want you so badly.” I almost whimpered out the words, sounding pathetic.

But I didn’t care how I sounded. The look in their eyes, concern shifting to outright hunger, told me that they wanted me just as badly. They moved closer. Kalith sat next to me on the right and Cyro positioned on my left. Vantor knelt in front of the sofa, running a human hand up my blanket-covered leg.

“I haven’t showered,” I blurted out, suddenly self-conscious about my tear-stained face and whiskey-soured breath. “I’m a mess.”

Cyro smiled, caressing my shoulder. “Your natural scent is,” he said, his voice carrying that bubbling-brook quality that made my insides clench, “extraordinarily appealing.”

A tentacle brushed my cheek, the gentle suction of its underside pulling slightly at my skin. A wave of goosebumps cascaded down my body in response. My nipples tightened beneath my thin tank top, and I felt a rush of wetness between my thighs that had nothing to do with the remnants of alcohol in my system and everything to do with the three sets of alien eyes fixed on me with unrestrained desire.

“How do we know this isn’t temporary?” I asked, the question escaping before I could stop it. My biggest fear tumbling from whiskey-loosened lips. “How do I know you really won’t change your minds and leave again?”

Vantor moved so quickly my heart skipped a beat. His massive frame rose until he towered over me, and he lifted me from the sofa. He carried me over to the wall with tentacles supporting my body, and he pressed me against the hard surface. One of his large hands braced beside my head while the other gently tilted my chin upward.

“We abandoned our home world,” he said, his deep voice resonating in my bones. “We sent the samples and claimed we were near perishing. There is no return for us now.”

The magnitude of their sacrifice hit me again as his mouth descended on mine. The kiss was hungry, desperate, longing compressed into a single point of contact. His human disguise shifted in and out of focus, more writhing appendages wrapped around my waist, my thighs, sliding beneath my shirt to stroke the bare skin of my back.

Cyro appeared, his own tentacles joining the embrace. Kalith arrived seconds later, his shorter tentacle curling against the pulse at my throat, as if to count my racing heartbeat. “We have chosen our home,” he murmured against my ear, his breath warm against my neck. “It is here. With you.”

Their combined scents enveloped me—Vantor's brine-deep ocean musk, Cyro's sweet-marsh warmth, Kalith's loamy forest richness. The familiar aphrodisiac cocktail that my body had missed so desperately these past days. My Omega biology responded instantly, slick dampening my thighs as my body recognized its mates.

They pulled me away from the wall.

My clothing disappeared in a frenzied blur of hands and tentacles.

My tank top torn in half by Vantor’s impatient appendages. Shorts pushed down by Kalith’s nimble touch, his human fingers phasing in and out of tentacle form. Cyro grabbing the thin panties and slipping them lower and lower until they, too, were gone.

My aliens weren’t wearing the real clothing I’d bought them, so their outfits seemed to absorb into their bodies. They soon stood before me in their glorious hybrid forms. Four tentacles each, writhing from their bodies. Yet, they’d somehow also kept two arms and two legs, forming them instead with one tentacle each instead of two. Half human limbs, half alien. Lavender. Blue. Green. Brown. Rust. Yellow. Their handsome faces were alive with shining, metallic eyes. Their reproductive appendages were lengthened, hard, ready. The sight of them made me salivate. Part human, part alien, all mine.

We collapsed onto the living room floor in a heap of tangled limbs and coiling tentacles. Cyro’s tentacles wrapped around my calves, stroking upward with exquisite slowness, the suckers creating points of pleasure that made me gasp and arch. Vantor’s larger appendages cradled my upper body, supporting me as Kalith knelt between my spread thighs, his eyes—brown irises ringed with metallic gold—drinking in the sight of me.

“Your eyes are gorgeous,” I breathed, my voice hoarse with need.

“As is every part of you,” Kalith replied, his tentacles glowing with inner light that illuminated the darkness. “Every,” he pushed his shorter tentacle between my legs, “single,” he pressed its tip against my warm, slick opening, “part of you,” he finished, as he shoved deeper.

I moaned as his tentacle found my center, pressing incessantly, trying to go deeper, before stroking slowly back out. The textured surface of his appendage, with its glorious suckers, left behind a thousand pricking sensations that made me writhe. He nearly pulled all the way out, and then he was sinking inside me again, tip tickling the walls of my body on its journey to my termination point.

“Oh… god… you feel so amazing,” I breathed out, brain already on the fritz as my body trembled against the feeling of him entering and exiting me.

“And you are so very, very slick.” He said, voice low and needful, deep ocean currents slipping through each syllable.

“Share her inner moisture,” Cyro pushed into Kalith’s side. Both of their Alpha scents flooded the space, creating a noxious cocktail. I didn’t like that. I didn’t want them to ever feel like they needed to compete for me.

“I’m all of yours. No fighting.” I reached out and stroked my hands down one of their tentacles. Cyro felt rougher, dryer. Kalith was all velvet. “Cyro needs me, Kalith.”

Kalith’s eyes locked on mine, the gold rings expanding and contracting around his warm brown irises. Then he pulled out slowly, reluctantly, and stood, moving slightly away.

Cyro entered me, not with a working tentacle, but with his alien cock. He pushed firmly, without pause, into my dripping, needful cavity. He gave a wet, long moan, his silvery lilac eyes rolling back as he basked in the feel of our bodies meeting.

It felt wonderful, but I couldn’t focus fully on his amazing rhythm as he thrust in and pulled out of me. Because… behind him… Kalith’s gaze was fixed on the ceiling fan above us. A look of inspiration crossed his features—that familiar engineer’s problem-solving expression I’d seen countless times since he’d crashed into my life.

“Kalith… what are you about to do?” I barely got the words out before a firm slam from Cyro’s throbbing member stole my breath.

“Nothing,” he lied, mouth quirking mischievously.

“Tammy,” Cyro growled, “pay attention to me.”

The intensity of his voice drew my eyes. God, the lavender in the pool of silver seemed to glow. The way he wanted me, the way they all wanted me, was something I’d never understand.

His tentacles tightened around my hips, pulling me closer with each thrust. The rhythmic, wet sounds of our joining filled the small living room, underscored by my own ragged breaths. I could feel the familiar pressure building deep inside me, that coil of pleasure tightening with every movement of his alien cock. The suckers along its length massaged my inner walls in a way no human ever could, drawing me toward a climax I’d feared I’d never feel again.

But my attention fractured yet again as I watched Kalith over Cyro’s shoulder. Two of his strongest tentacles shot upward, wrapping around the blades of the ceiling fan. With a graceful heave, Kalith lifted himself off the ground. Three more tentacles curled upward, latching on for support. His tentacles strained, muscles rippling beneath iridescent skin as he created a makeshift hammock with his own body, his torso sinking to about hip height, cradled in the sling of his own straining tentacles. The fan creaked ominously but held his weight.

“What are you doing?” I gasped, torn between the exquisite pleasure of Cyro inside me and fascination with Kalith’s acrobatics.

“Creating a better viewing angle,” Kalith replied, his voice husky with desire. “And preparing something special.”

Cyro, irritated that my eyes weren’t on him, pulled away. I gasped, protesting the loss of his body. But before I could pull him back to me, Vantor was lifting me from the floor. He’d been so steady at my back, a warm presence, his tentacles gently exploring my body. Now, he carried me like I weighed nothing, moving me over to Kalith. Vantor turned me around to face him, then lowered me down onto Kalith's waiting, engorged member—his true sex now, not the questing tentacle that had teased me before.

“Oh my god,” I gasped. The thick, pulsing organ began to swell inside of me. Slick gushed from my body. Even how tightly we fit together could not stop it from seeping outward. “Kalith, the fan can’t possibly support both of us.”

“The load-bearing capacity is adequate” he assured me, the slight mechanical echo in his voice betraying his arousal. “Plus, I am reinforcing us from below.”

I glanced down, finding two of his tentacles pressed into the carpet. That left only his shorter tentacle free to wrap around my waist. It wasn’t strong enough to help me ride him. So Vantor, hunger in his eyes, helped.

He guided my hips up and down with firm hands, his hazel eyes dark with need. “Show him how much you missed us,” Vantor commanded, his voice a low growl that vibrated through me.

They’d only been gone hours.

But I had grieved a life of possibilities in that time.

I let my head fall back, surrendering to the sensation of Kalith filling me completely. The fan groaned above us but held. Cyro moved behind Kalith, wrapping his tentacles around the alien-turned-sex swing, and spread my thighs wider before the tip of one tentacle could find the swollen bead above my entrance. He began rubbing my clit, slow circles at first, quickly speeding.

The combined sensations were almost too much - Kalith’s thickness stretching me from inside, the ceiling fan creaking dangerously above us, and Cyro’s expert tentacle working my most sensitive spot with maddening precision. My thighs trembled as pleasure built, coiling tighter with each movement.

“I missed you,” I gasped, my voice breaking as Vantor guided my hips left and right, then back and forth, instead of up and down. The new motion made Kalith’s eyes roll back and the orgasm that had been building crested. “I missed you all so much!” My words became a cry of pleasure.

The fan wobbled precariously as Kalith’s tentacles tightened around the blades, his knot swelling inside of me. I was locked so tightly to him now that Vantor could no longer move me. So, he moved to my breasts, massaging and kneading them, pulling at the nipples and even ducking his head down to nip.

I wanted to cry out in ecstasy. This was everything. Kalith’s body vibrated beneath me, behind me, inside me. Cyro continued his maddening, wonderful attention to my clit. I could die of pleasure, right then and there, suspended from a fan by one alien while two more worshiped my body.

“I can’t take this anymore,” Vantor growled, his own alien cock lengthening, hardening. He used one of his free tentacles to stroke down his length and it was such a human male thing to do that I found myself staring.

A different tentacle reached out, the tip pressing beneath my chin, urging my gaze upward. Vantor. Suddenly, he was doing what seemed like a cartwheel, flipping his body upside down, four tentacles below to stabilize him, two upward pressing against the ceiling. With another tentacle, he directed his engorged reproductive length toward my mouth. Did he know what we called this on Earth? Or did he just see another hole waiting to be filled? The tentacle tip that had been on my chin traced higher, slipping across my lip. I opened for him without hesitation and he pushed his manhood inside. He was salty and sweet.

As Kalith’s knot began to deflate—yet still spread me deliciously wide, causing wonderful pressure—Vantor took my mouth, his thick length sliding between my lips. Cyro worked me toward another climax. I shook uncontrollably, feeling like I’d fall apart from the trembling. The ceiling fan creaked ominously above us, but I was too lost in pleasure to care if the whole thing came crashing down.

When I could finally be freed of Kalith’s amazing cock, Vantor pulled himself from my mouth, leaving behind flavors of ocean water and sugar. He spun again, standing upright, and he pulled me away from his alien brother.

With ease, he carried me toward the sofa. I sucked in a breath when he spun me around, pressing my back against his chest. He lowered us both onto the cushions. My juices were heavy, soaking against his now human legs, dripping down tentacle sections that appeared past his knees, pooling onto the sofa below. He held his throbbing member with a human hand, then wrapped a tentacle firmly around my middle to lift me. In seconds, his bulbous tip pressed into my wet entrance. He sheathed inside me slowly, carefully, and I arched my head, pressing it into his shoulder. I gasped as he filled me, thick and insistent. They were huge, and I hadn’t given any thought to the physics of how they fit themselves inside of my smaller body, but none of that mattered.

Cyro moved in front of me, his lavender eyes dark with need. He knelt, his tentacles caressing my face, my neck, my breasts. Behind him, I watched Kalith lower himself from the ceiling and collapse into a satisfied heap on the carpet.

I lost track of time as Vantor and Cyro pleasured me in perfect coordination. Cyro’s tentacles exploring every sensitive spot on my body that he could reach. Vantor kissing my neck as his knot locked into place, hot seed spilling moments later.

Caresses.

The whisper of suckers against my skin.

Thrusts. Moans. Bubbling sighs of ecstasy.

By the time Cyro withdrew his reproductive appendage from my still slick body, I was completely spent. The sofa was beyond salvation, soaked with our combined fluids. Every muscle in my body ached deliciously, and I couldn’t stop smiling.

“That was...” I panted, unable to find words adequate enough to describe what had just happened.

My alien trio also didn’t know what to say.

It was only heavy breathing filling the air, and the musk of our pack scent. Saltwater. Sunflowers. Marshland. Coconut. Lemonade. Everything bright, and warm, and wonderful.

My Alphas from another world shifted, gathering around me, tentacles—with no ulterior motive other than touching me, affirming I existed—found a resting place upon my prone body.

Everything was so peaceful.

And then the ceiling fan came crashing down, slamming against the carpet.

Kalith’s engineering pride instantly deflated, his tentacles drooping as he stared at the shattered remains of the fan. “I may have miscalculated the load-bearing capacity,” he admitted sheepishly.

I couldn’t help it—I burst out laughing. The sound bubbled up from deep in my chest, pure joy breaking through the haze of post-orgasmic bliss. Everything about this moment was so perfectly, wonderfully us.

Alien tentacle sex followed by property damage.

Maybe that would be how our future always played out: breakage often following something joyful. Honestly, I was okay with that.

We moved to the bedroom, leaving the busted ceiling fan behind, a problem for tomorrow. Vantor carried me, because my legs wobbled too much. I was fighting sleep yet again by the time he lowered me onto the bed, and they wrapped their bodies around me.

“Tell me again,” I murmured, fighting the drowsiness that threatened to pull me under. “Tell me you’re staying.”

Their tentacles tightened around me in unison, and in their arms, I felt safer than I had in my entire life.

“Until our hearts stop beating,” Vantor promised.

“Until the stars burn out,” added Kalith.

“Until molecular entropy claims the universe itself,” Cyro concluded.

Their promises wrapped around me like their tentacles, sealing me in warmth and security as I gave into dreamland. They had traveled across the stars, abandoned their home world, chosen to fake their deaths—all for me. And I had given them Earth, given them Sunflower Hills Ranch, given them myself. I didn’t know if it was a fair exchange. I hoped they wouldn’t regret it.

No. They wouldn’t.

They were home. I was home. We were home.

43

TAMMY

Sunflowers, tentacles, and all the time in the universe.

Iwoke to find the bed empty, the space beside me still warm where three bodies had been. Almost a year later, and I still couldn’t quite believe that they’d chosen me, chosen this place, over the oceans of their home world. So, whenever I woke up and they weren’t with me, I had a moment of panic even now.

Morning light filtered through the half-drawn curtains, glowing across the rumpled sheets, still damp from our late night lovemaking. We didn’t ruin ceiling fans nowadays, since Kalith had set large, weight-bearing eye hooks into the ceiling above my bed.

I smiled despite still feeling exhausted, stretching muscles that still ached pleasantly from being torn apart, and put back together again, by my three mates. Even so, after climaxing repeatedly, I hadn’t slept very well. The ranch, our livelihood, hinged on Sassafras’ pregnancy continuing to do well. And it was going beautifully so far, but I kept waiting for everything to fall apart. The bank had nearly beaten me to it. But a confirmed pregnancy changed the math—twins, no less, out of champion lines—and I’d taken the vet’s report straight to First Kansas and walked out with a reprieve. A reputable buyer, hungry for a piece of the comeback the whole county had suddenly started whispering about, wired me a deposit: half down on a foal not yet born. It was just enough to drag the mortgage current and carry me to the auction. Barely. That razor-thin margin still visited me at three in the morning.

Sitting up, I tossed away the covers and swung my legs over the bed, letting my feet dangle above the hardwoods. A large lump pushed up one butt cheek uncomfortably. The mattress wasn’t holding up very well with all of us sleeping—and doing far more active things than sleeping—on it. Even if it wasn’t indenting and lumping, springs losing their shapes, the bed wasn’t built for four. I mean, we’d figured out the logistics through trial and error and an embarrassing number of late-night spills onto the floor, but it wouldn’t work forever. I should buy a bigger bed, or maybe a twin to butt up against the queen, but I also didn’t relish the idea of there being more space for us to spread out. I liked falling asleep wrapped in tentacles, legs, and arms. I liked the pressure, and the heat, and the sound of their many hearts beating.

Speaking of sounds, the house creaked with familiar ones, despite being rebuilt and alien upgraded. You can remodel all you want, but “old” is a state of mind when it comes to a home.

There was water running in the bathroom, soft voices from the kitchen, the gentle hum of our Wi-Fi router that Kalith had “optimized” last week so I could finally watch all my shows out here in the middle of nowhere. Standing up, I grabbed an oversized t-shirt from the floor that belonged to Cyro and put it on. The tee had ragged holes in various places where his tentacles pushed through. Earth clothing constantly presented challenges, so we kept a closet of good-condition outfits for when we needed to go out in public and have them look wholly human. At the ranch though? They were always walking around in their full hybrid glory.

I padded barefoot through the hallway, shimmying a little to stop the panties from giving me a wedgie, then skipped down the stairs toward the kitchen.

The scent hit me first—rich, dark coffee with that hint of vanilla Kalith always added. He’d made some horrible combinations at first when he’d taken over prepping our morning Joe. Cayenne. Lemon. Mashed raspberries. Even mustard one morning, because he thought it might compliment the breakfast blend. He had down pat now though.

After the glorious smell of coffee, came the sight of Vantor leaning against the counter. I stopped in my tracks to stare at him. His human face always made me do a double-take. No one had any right to be so handsome. Of course, when you can craft your face anyway you wish through sheer will, why would you choose to be average looking? His tentacles trailed behind him, tips brushing the floor, and his muscular arms were crossed over his chest as he watched Kalith carefully measure the perfect amount of creamer into a mug. I glanced to the right, finding Cyro standing by the window, his face turned toward the rising sun, three tentacles emerging from his back to grip separate mugs while a fourth welded a spoon, stirring the liquid inside each vessel one-by-one.

Their tanned bodies rippled with subtle colors wherever sunlight hit them—crimson waves chasing across Vantor's forearms, lavender-tinged silver dancing along Cyro’s back, and forest greens pulsing through Kalith’s neck as he concentrated on his task. The colors were brighter now than when they’d first arrived, less controlled, more expressive. It had taken them months to stop hiding their emotions, to understand that I wanted to see everything—their true selves, not the masks they thought I needed. I’d even told them they didn’t need to keep up the human guises in the house, but apparently, they’d gotten used to looking human.

“Good morning,” I said, leaning against the doorframe, cocking one leg up to rest the sole of its foot against my other leg’s calf. I scratched absentmindedly at my side, the shirt hem lifting high enough to show off my panties. Six alien-man eyes flicked down, and the kitchen air clouded with scent. My Omega nature stretched, wanting them, but I wanted something else more—coffee.

“It is always a good morning, Tammy,” Vantor reasoned, as if it was the most normal thing in the world to exist without bad days interrupting anything good. But with them around, that was becoming my new reality.

“I guess I should stop being surprised when I wake up and everything’s right in the world,” I mused. Vantor always put things plainly. He didn’t exaggerate or undersell things. I appreciated that. It was easy, sometimes, to wonder if he didn’t feel things as deeply as the rest of us, but I’d found he cared every bit as much, just in a quieter way.

“Everything’s right,” Kalith agreed, walking toward me with the now-ready fourth cup of coffee he’d been making, “and it will keep being right.”

“As soon as I have my coffee, I’ll believe that.” I gave him a warm smile, standing up straight and reaching for the mug. He lifted it too high for me to grab, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Hey, you know the rule, we don’t mess with Tammy before coffee.”

I raised an eyebrow at Kalith, arms crossed over my chest, tapping my foot against the floor in mock impatience. “You know how I feel about mornings. I need my coffee, or all you get is a grumpy rancher who won’t be able to focus on anything but how much she hates life.”

He laughed, the sound bubbling up like his precious coffee brewing. It was that kind of laughter that made my heart swell—so genuine, so unrestrained. He stepped closer, still holding the mug out of reach, his tentacles flicking with playful mischief as if daring me to challenge him. “It’ll cost you,” he breathed out.

“I have morning breath” I scowled at him.

His head ducked closer, human nostrils flaring. “Hmmm, you do.”

“Hey!” I slapped out, palm striking his chest. “Are you really trying to get on my bad side this morning?”

Kalith offered me a cocky grin and then quickly kissed me before relenting, finally handing over the mug.

“You’re on my naughty list for the entire day now, just so you know.”

He was already turning around, padding back over to clean up the prep items. “Feel free to punish me later,” he quipped teasingly.

I yawned loudly before taking the first sip of pale coffee. It was delicious, per usual.

Vantor turned, his human features rearranging themselves into that mixture of protectiveness and desire that never failed to make my insides twist with want. “You should have slept longer,” he said, crossing the space between us to wrap an arm around my waist.

“She was worried about Sassafras,” Cyro guessed, extending a tentacle in my direction and tracing its tip down my cheek. “You have to relax, Tammy. The gestation period is proceeding exactly as predicted in all three reference models.”

“Telling your mate to relax rarely helps anything,” I reminded him. It was something I’d had to point out repeatedly. Calm down. It will all be fine. Just breathe. Those kinds of statements made me want to scream when I was stressed. “But I’m not worried,” I lied, taking a sip that warmed me from the inside out. “Not with you three around.”

“That is a deception,” Vantor mumbled affectionately, shrinking his height so he could easily press his forehead against mine. “But I will allow you to pretend if it helps you.”

“Allow me?” I quirked an eyebrow.

Vantor pulled back and scrunched his face, thinking. “I will not point out your obvious falsehood so you can continue to live in your delusion.”

“That’s… not any better,” I said, unable to fight the way the corners of my mouth turned up, or the note of laughter in my words. “I’m going out to the porch,” I announced, unnecessarily. It was my habit and had become theirs. Coffee on the porch, early morning light glowing across the rebuilt ranch, the scent of sunflowers in the air. They followed me, carrying their own untouched coffees.

Outside, we settled into our favorite positions—me in the center of the swing, Vantor’s massive frame beside me, Kalith perched on the railing, and Cyro leaning against the porch support, his face turned toward the sunrise with scientific appreciation.

From this vantage point, Sunflower Hills spread before us in all its glory—a dramatic transformation from the derelict property I’d bought from the bank. The main house gleamed with fresh white paint, the porch rebuilt with wood that matched the newly repaired barn. Beyond them stretched modernized stables with subtle upgrades that any human would mistake for cutting-edge agricultural technology rather than the product of intergalactic engineering. In the pastures, the horses were roaming. I didn’t worry about stabling them every night, not now that Kalith had created a sort of force field around that area to keep them safe at all times.

Sassafras meandered over to Mystery, who nuzzled her neck. She was so large now and doing so well thanks to the supportive belt circling her middle. It had helped her body expand and adapt to the growing twins. It monitored her vitals, even releasing different medicines into her body if needed, like when her Prostaglandins spiked and we were terrified she might lose the twins.

Then there was my old man, Artie. He had a little more pep in his step now. I loved the moments he’d frolic like a young pony.

I’d stood here every morning since my alien mates had decided to stay, and the sight of how they’d changed my life still made me teary.

“You’re crying again,” Cyro observed, his silver eyes flashing. A tentacle, I wasn’t sure whose because I couldn’t take my gaze off our home, darted to my cheek and claimed the first tear that slipped down from my right eye. “Why? What do you see?”

I knew Cyro. He was searching for what had changed today, versus yesterday, to make me once again become so emotional.

I took another sip of coffee, letting the question settle. What did I see? Not just a ranch anymore. Not just a business I was struggling to save. “Just home,” I said finally, the word feeling perfect on my tongue. “I see our home.”

They moved to touch me then. With hands. Tentacles. God, I loved this life now.

“Do you think the auction will go well?” I was worried not only about Sassafras’ pregnancy, but the way we’d chosen to pre-sale her foals at the big livestock auction next week. It wasn’t that we hadn’t found reputable buyers ready to take a chance, but instead that we wanted to make our mark on the breeding community in a memorable way. Getting top dollar in a public forum like that would launch Sunflower Hills into the community. Word spread like wildfire in our business.

A breeding ranch basically raised from the dead paying out the nose for a prime pre-auction display booth to create buzz… on Derek’s turf… seemed like a good idea in the heat of the moment. Now? I had all the regrets.

“I am confident it will yield a lucrative result,” Cyro nodded, as if he could somehow magically measure the readiness of unknown buyers participating in something as traditionally unpredictable as a live auction.

But I chose to believe him, because it was easier right now to have blind hope than keep drowning in fake worst-case scenarios and manufacture fears.

44

TAMMY

Well, if it isn’t the consequences of Derek’s own actions… staining his pants.

The county equestrian auction buzzed with activity—horse people clustering in tight conversation circles, the air thick with leather polish and expensive cologne and that particular smell of money pretending to be rustic. It was always easy to tell the real ranch workers from the deep pocket men who were cosplaying. The fake “cowboys” wore jeans that were always a little too clean and a little too crisp at the seams. They wore hats barely broken in, and their boots looked brand new. Of course, I couldn’t avoid them. They were the ones with egos the size of Texas who would pay top dollar for a horse they could brag about over cigars.

I stood behind my booth, smoothing down the front of my blazer (purchased specifically for this occasion and still feeling like a costume) and trying not to look as nervous as I felt. Once, I’d have been invisible here—just another struggling rancher with a failed breeding program and a property headed for foreclosure. Now, heads turned as I passed. Whispers followed. And all because of the three impossible, wonderful beings currently positioned strategically around the exhibition hall, watching over me with the careful vigilance that had become as familiar as breathing.

Across the room, Cyro chatted with a group of veterinarians, his human form maintained with careful precision, his silver-blue eyes catching mine for just a moment before returning to his conversation. He’d spent three days memorizing equine medical terminology, and now he was dropping phrases like “biomechanical fetlock stabilization” with such authority that the actual doctors were nodding along, completely unaware they were learning from an alien xenobiologist who’d never set foot in Earth’s medical schools.

Near the refreshment table, Kalith demonstrated what appeared to be a normal tablet to a group of impressed ranch owners, though I knew the device contained technology centuries beyond anything humans had developed. His shorter tentacle remained carefully concealed beneath his sleeve, but I caught the slight shimmer along his forearms—his true skin showing through in moments of excitement. He’d promised to behave, to maintain his disguise, but engineering enthusiasm was hard to contain.

And by the entrance, Vantor stood with an almost eerie stillness. His massive frame was somehow both intimidating and reassuring as he scanned the crowd for potential threats. His defense training had kicked into high gear the moment we’d decided to attend the auction—three days of perimeter assessments, contingency planning, and that look of concentration that meant he was calculating exit strategies should our cover be compromised.

But it was our booth that drew the most attention. Where other breeders had photos, pedigrees on laminated cards, and the occasional video playing on tablet screens, we had Kalith’s masterpiece: a holographic display that projected three-dimensional images of Mystery and Sassafras directly above our table. Not the fuzzy, blue-tinted projections of Earth technology, but crystal-clear, full-color renderings that rotated slowly, showing every angle of the magnificent animals—Mystery’s powerful build, Sassafras’s elegant lines, and most impressively, a translucent cutaway that revealed the twin foals developing in her womb.

The technology had required significant adaptation—Kalith had spent two weeks “dumbing down” the actual capabilities to something humans might theoretically develop within the next decade. But the effect was stunning. As I watched, a woman in a tailored riding outfit stopped abruptly, her expensive boots nearly tripping over themselves as she stared at the display.

“Is that...” she began, her voice trailing off as she leaned closer to the hologram.

“Sunflower Hills’ first premium breeding pair,” I finished for her, falling into the practiced spiel I’d rehearsed a hundred times in the bathroom mirror. “A Quarter Horse stallion out of Midnight’s Mirage bloodlines, bred to a Selle Français mare with three generations of championship show jumping in her pedigree.”

The woman’s eyes widened as the hologram rotated, showing a carefully analyzed breakdown of the expected traits in the foals.

“But they’re not even born yet,” she said, reaching a finger toward the projection before snatching it back as if afraid to touch it. “How can you possibly⁠—”

“Advanced ultrasonography and genetic modeling,” I said smoothly, parroting the phrase that Cyro had painstakingly drilled into my head. “We’ve partnered with some innovative tech developers to create predictive breeding analytics.”

It wasn’t exactly a lie. Just not the whole truth about which planet the “tech developers” called home.

More people were gathering now, drawn by the woman’s obvious fascination. A murmur ran through the crowd as the hologram shifted to display the ultrasound imagery of the twin foals—two perfect, miniature horses floating in a ghostly blue womb, hearts visibly beating in perfect synchronization.

“Twins?” A man in a Stetson that probably cost more than my first horse pushed to the front of the group. “You’re breeding for twins deliberately?”

I smiled, feeling a flutter of pride. “Not deliberately, no. It just happened that way. Thankfully, we’ve developed specialized prenatal care protocols that maximize the chances of both foals arriving healthy.” This was another carefully crafted half-truth. The “protocols” mostly involved Kalith’s alien tech harness and Cyro’s daily monitoring of fetal development.

The Stetson man frowned, skepticism written across his weathered features. “And if something goes wrong? Twins are risky. One or both might not make it.”

This was the moment I’d been dreading, and the question that had kept me awake for three nights before the auction. But I’d rehearsed for it, prepared for it, and now the words came with a confidence that surprised even me.

“Sunflower Hills offers a full money-back guarantee,” I said, meeting his eyes steadily. “If either foal fails to thrive during the first year, we’ll refund the purchase price in full. We also plan to provide personalized support during that twelve-month period, ensuring the best outcome for our buyers.”

A ripple of surprise passed through the crowd. Money-back guarantees were virtually unheard of in horse breeding—the risks too great, the variables too many. But I’d made the decision after a long night of discussion with my alien trio, watching as they’d carefully calculated probabilities and return-on-investment scenarios with the same precision they’d once used to plot their course between stars. Buyers would be more willing to hand over the large deposit and make the commitment if they knew they were safeguarded.

“So, you’re guaranteeing pedigreed, viable twins?” The woman had recovered from her surprise and was now studying me with new interest. “At what price point?”

I named a figure that made several people in the crowd inhale sharply. It was high, and deliberately so. We weren’t just selling horses; we were establishing Sunflower Hills as a premium breeding operation. The price reflected that ambition. If we started low, it would be harder to claw our way to the top of the Junction City community.

The woman didn’t even blink. “I’ll take them both,” she said, reaching for her checkbook. “Is it the industry standard of half now as a deposit and half on delivery?”

The crowd’s reaction was immediate.

A buzz of conversation erupted, several people moving forward with suddenly urgent questions, others pulling out phones to text what was clearly developing into the auction’s biggest news. I maintained my calm with great effort, accepting the woman’s information and beginning to fill out the preliminary paperwork.

“That’s quite a gamble, Ms. Tucker.”

The voice cut through the excited chatter like a physical thing, hitting me square in the chest, nearly making me drop my pen. The sound of his stupid voice was smooth, cultured, and it carried a threatening undercurrent that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I didn’t need to look up to know who it belonged to. It could be a decade from now, and Derek Morgan’s voice would still trigger my fight-or-flight response. No matter how hard I tried to heal from his asshole self, I couldn’t quite wrap bandages around all the little wounds.

With a trembling hand, I finished writing the date on the form before raising my eyes to meet his. I plastered a smile on my face, so my buyer wouldn’t be put off.

Derek looked exactly the same as always, with his tall, lean frame draped in custom ranch wear, and his smile never quite reaching his eyes. The only difference was the new tension around his mouth, the slight narrowing of his gaze as he took in the holographic display, the crowd around my booth, and most importantly, the signed check the woman was extending toward me. Pay to the order of Sunflower Hills Ranch. If Derek hadn’t shown up, I think I might die of happiness on the spot seeing how the woman had written my property’s name.

“Derek,” I said, keeping my voice neutral with effort. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“The season opening event?” He smirked. “Seems silly not to expect me. You know I make it a point to keep up with all developments in Junction City’s breeding network.” His slow drawl was a shade too careful to be natural. “Though I must admit, I am surprised by this particular development.” He gave a quick jerk of his head, indicating the display. “Last I’d heard, Sunflower Hills was all washed up, new owner about to foreclose. She couldn’t even feed her horses properly.”

He was being careful not to betray his relationship to me. He wanted to soil my reputation before I could even make one for myself here. The woman beside me paused, check still extended, her eyes moving between us with sudden wariness.

“We’ve had some fortunate investments,” I said smoothly. “And some excellent help with the breeding program.”

Derek’s gaze slid past me to where Vantor had straightened from his position by the door, his massive frame suddenly alert. Part of me wanted to warn Derek that he didn’t want to mess with me today, but the other part of me wanted to see how this was going to play out. If the safeguard we’d implemented actually worked against him, it would make my day. Might even surpass the sight of him driving away covered in horse dung.

“Why, yes. I’ve heard about your... foreign workers.” The pause was deliberate, the implication clear. “Three men who showed up out of nowhere, no previous ranching experience, and somehow turned around a failing operation in record time. Sounds too good to be true, don’t it?”

He leaned closer, his voice dropping conspiratorially. He still spoke deliberately loud enough for his words to carry though. I winced as his cigar-laced breath pushed against me. “Immigration would be very interested in their paperwork, I imagine. As would the IRS, given what’s about to be a sudden cash flow.” Derek’s gaze flicked over and down to the woman’s check, then his eyes collided with mine. Cold. Ice freaking cold.

My hand tightened on the pen, knuckles whitening. “They’re here legally,” I said, the words coming out more defensively than I’d intended. “Their documentation is all in order.”

“Is it?” Derek’s smile widened, a predator sensing weakness. “Because I don’t recall seeing any visa applications processed for Junction City in the past year. And the improvements to your property alone would cost more than the ranch’s assessed value.” He took a step closer, invading my space with deliberate intimidation. “So, either you’re cooking meth in that fancy new barn, or your boyfriends aren’t exactly playing by the rules.”

The crowd had gone quiet around us, all pretense of conversation abandoned as they openly watched the confrontation. I felt heat rising in my cheeks—embarrassment, anger, and a flash of the old fear that Derek had always been so skilled at triggering.

“They’re not—” I began but got no further.

Derek took another step toward me, close enough now that I was drowning within the cocktail of his rank breath and the expensive cologne he splashed on every morning.

I looked over to Vantor, who was already moving. Then I turned my head, finding Cyro and Kalith also approaching. They weren’t running, trying not to alarm the crowd. I gave a little shake of my head, making sure they knew I didn’t want to make this worse than it already was. Besides, I had a payback ace up my sleeve.

“I think,” he said, his voice carrying to the watching crowd, “that the breeding community deserves to know exactly what they’re investing in. Because something doesn’t add up, Tammy. And in my experience, when something seems too good to be true...”

He reached for the holographic display controller sitting on the table—whether to examine it or disrupt it, I wasn’t sure. My aliens weren’t going to make it in time to stop Derek from messing with our equipment, but they didn’t need to.

Because the moment Derek’s fingers closed around the controller, there was a soft, almost inaudible click. Derek froze, his body going rigid as if he’d touched a live wire. His eyes widened, mouth opening in a silent “O” of surprise. Then, with horrible clarity, a loud gurgling sound emerged from his abdomen. Then a second. A third.

Wet, rolling waves of gaseous sound.

“No,” he whispered, his face draining of color. “No, no, no⁠—”

He dropped the controller and turned, prepared to retreat. He was far too slow. A dark stain spread rapidly across the expensive denim of his jeans, accompanied by a smell that made several people in the front row step back hastily. Derek made a strangled sound of humiliation, his hands flying to cover the spreading wetness as he backed away from my booth.

“I—I need to—” he stammered, but whatever excuse he’d been planning was lost as another cramp visibly seized him. He turned and fled, half-running, half-hobbling toward the exit, leaving a trail of muffled laughter and hastily covered smiles in his wake.

The woman with the check was staring after him, her expression caught between disgust and amazement. “What just happened?” she asked, turning back to me.

I met Vantor’s eyes as he came to stand by my side. He offered me a slight, satisfied nod. The device he’d implanted in the controller had worked perfectly, delivering exactly the non-lethal but extremely effective deterrent we’d discussed.

“I believe,” I said, keeping my voice carefully neutral, “that Mr. Morgan just discovered the consequences of making unfounded accusations.” I accepted her check with a steady hand.

I raised my voice, addressing the watching crowd. “If anyone is worried about the legality of Sunflower Hills and its workers, we are happy to make our paperwork public knowledge.” I could offer this without worry. Kalith, using the wonder of the worldwide dark web, had already hacked everything necessary to legalize their status. They even had driver’s licenses and passports now. The only card Derek had ever held against me had just turned to ash, and I was the one holding the match now. Area-51 could suck their tentacles.

My voice returning to normal, I smiled warmly at the buyer. “Now, about those foals. Would you like to schedule a visit to the ranch to see the broodmare and stud?”

Her face lit up, and I had a feeling we were about to embark on a wonderful business journey.

The crowd gradually returned to normal, conversations resuming with a new undercurrent of amusement whenever Derek’s name was mentioned. I completed the paperwork with practiced efficiency, my earlier nervousness replaced by a calm certainty. This was my world now—these people, this business, this life I’d built with my three impossible aliens. And no smug, manipulative ex was going to take it from me. What he didn’t know yet was that his reign of petty terror had an expiration date.

Two days later, Vantor—who did not believe in leaving threats un-neutralized—made sure an anonymous package reached the county fire marshal: a sealed sample of accelerant lifted from my scorched fence posts, an analysis no rural lab could have produced, and a tidy account of exactly where Derek had been the night my stable burned. By the time the foals came, my ex had traded his custom truck for a court date, and his threats against me for the far more pressing problem of saving his own hide.

As the initial rush subsided, I caught glimpses of my men moving through the crowd. Cyro was again explaining his breeding techniques, being careful to omit anything too alien, to a fascinated group of veterinarians. Kalith was enthusiastically demonstrating a soil analysis app to ranchers. We hadn’t used it yet, but Kalith had this grand plan for a garden to try and cultivate Earth-adapted plants from his home world. And Vantor simply maintained his vigilant watch from a position that gave him clear sightlines to every entrance.

They’d given me more than love, more than passion, more than the physical connection that still left me breathless. They’d given me confidence, and the absolute certainty that whatever happened, whatever challenges arose, I would never face them alone.

I had unshakable security now.

Not just financial.

But, also, the deeper security of knowing I was valued, protected, and oh-so cherished.

Looking at the three extraordinary beings who had crossed the stars to find me, I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my face. Sunflower Hills was finally everything I’d dreamed it could be. Not because of luck, or coincidence, or even my own stubborn determination.

But because sometimes, the universe delivered exactly what you needed—even if it arrived in a crashing UFO, manned by tentacled aliens who fell in love with you despite, or perhaps because of, your messy, imperfect humanity.

45

TAMMY

And life continues. On Earth. In the oceans. Among the stars.

The alert blasted through the house at exactly two-seventeen in the morning.

Kalith’s specialized monitoring system, integrated into the pregnancy support harness, had registered Sassy’s first contraction.

The sharp, incessant sound scared both Hoover and Manji 2. The animals—both now used to sleeping in bed with us—darted from the room, scrambling down the stairs to hide somewhere within the house.

I was out of bed in seconds, barely able to suck in a breath. My bare feet hit the cold floorboards as I fumbled for the jeans that I’d left draped over the chair. Around me, the bedroom erupted into coordinated chaos with Vantor already pulling on boots, Cyro yanking on a shirt, and Kalith’s fingers flying across his tablet as he pulled up the real-time vital readings from the stable.

“She’s in stage one labor,” Kalith announced, his voice carrying that slightly mechanical quality it got when he was processing multiple data streams simultaneously. “Contraction intervals less than nine minutes, duration averaging forty-two seconds, intensity⁠—”

“Plain English, Kal!” I interrupted, yanking a sweatshirt over my head. “Is she okay? Are the babies?”

He looked up, hazel eyes briefly flashing with that telltale metallic sheen that appeared when his emotions overrode his human disguise. “Vital signs are within optimal parameters for this stage,” he assured me. “But we should get to the stable immediately.”

We moved as one unit through the darkened house—Vantor in the lead with a flashlight cutting through the pre-dawn darkness, Cyro close behind with the emergency kit cradled carefully in arms that were already beginning to show the subtle rippling that preceded full tentacle emergence, Kalith with his tablet casting blue light across his intent features, and me bringing up the rear, chest tight with a mixture of excitement and terror.

The night wrapped around us as we hurried across the yard—Kansas in late spring, the air carrying the promise of warmth still hours away, stars scattered across the vast black sky in patterns that had become as familiar as old friends. Somewhere in the distance, an owl called, the sound carrying across the silent ranch where, just a year ago, I’d stood alone under these same stars, convinced I’d lost everything.

Now, I ran beside three aliens who had crossed the stars to find me, hurrying to welcome new life into the world we’d built together.

We reached the stable to find Sassafras already lying on her side in the fresh straw Kalith had laid that afternoon, her chestnut coat dark with sweat, sides heaving with each contraction. Mystery stood guard at the far end of the stall, his normally aloof demeanor transformed into protective vigilance, ears pricked forward and eyes fixed on his mate with unmistakable concern.

“She’s progressing faster than the models predicted,” Cyro observed, already kneeling beside the mare, one hand—now more tentacle than human—gently stroking her neck. “Contraction intervals have decreased to five and a half minutes.”

I dropped to my knees beside him, running practiced hands along Sassafras’s swollen belly, feeling the foals shift beneath my palms. “Hey there, beautiful,” I murmured, keeping my voice soft and steady despite the adrenaline coursing through my system. “You’re doing great. We’re all here with you.”

Sassafras nickered softly in response, her dark eyes finding mine with that particular look of trust that never failed to make my chest tighten. Not so very long ago, she’d been so skittish—wary of Mystery, prone to bolting at shadows. Now, she pressed her muzzle against my palm, seeking comfort as another contraction visibly rippled through her massive body.

“We need to set up the monitoring equipment,” Cyro said, already unpacking the emergency kit. What appeared to be normal veterinary supplies to human eyes contained technology far beyond Earth’s capabilities—subtly disguised alien devices that would let us track every aspect of the birth with precision no Earth vet could match.

Vantor moved to the stable door, his massive frame silhouetted against the star-filled sky as he secured the perimeter with the careful attention that his defense training had ingrained. “Temperature’s dropping,” he called over his shoulder. “External reading is fifty-two degrees Fahrenheit. We should increase the stable heating.”

“I’m on it,” Kalith replied, already moving toward the climate control panel he’d installed. As he reached upward, his arm stretched with impossible extension—his human disguise momentarily abandoned as a tentacle extended to its full length, easily reaching the previously inaccessible controls. He adjusted the settings with careful precision, then retracted the limb with a slightly embarrassed glance in my direction.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “More efficient than the ladder.”

I couldn’t help the smile that broke across my face. “No apologies for being yourself,” I said, echoing the words I’d told him a hundred times since discovering his true nature. “Not here. Not ever.”

His answering smile transformed his face—the practiced human expression giving way to something more genuine, more uniquely Kalith. Then another contraction seized Sassafras, her body arching with the force of it, and we all snapped back to attention.

“Contraction duration increasing,” Cyro reported, one tentacle now fully emerged to operate what appeared to be a normal ultrasound machine. “Ninety-two seconds. Intensity registering seven point five of ten.”

I moved to Sassafras’s head, stroking her damp forelock and murmuring reassurances as Vantor returned with buckets of clean water. His normally impeccable human disguise had slipped further—two tentacles now visibly extending from beneath his rolled-up sleeves as he worked, moving with the efficient precision that characterized everything he did.

“The first foal is in position,” Cyro announced, his scientific detachment giving way to clear excitement. “Anterior presentation, head extended. We should see the first water bag within six minutes.”

The prediction proved remarkably accurate. Exactly seven minutes later, Sassafras’s labor visibly intensified, her body straining as the first water bag appeared. I’d attended enough births to know what came next—the careful monitoring, the painful progression of contractions, the moment of truth when new life emerged into the world. But… now this was my circus, and my monkeys… erhm, my mare and my foals… and I was so nervous that I might vomit.

But I’d been hoping for this for so long.

Praying until it hurt.

Wishing on stars, even once upon a falling meteor that turned out to be a spaceship.

I knew what to do. I had everything necessary. Did I envision managing Sunflower Hills’ first birth with three aliens whose disguises slipped further with each passing minute? No. Yet, it was perfect. Watching it all unfold—their tentacles emerging to reach equipment, to stroke Sassafras’s heaving sides, to grip my hand in moments of tension—was like watching a favorite movie again for the first time.

Life-changing.

When the first foal’s nose appeared, glistening in the stable lights, all three of my men had abandoned any pretense of full human disguise, their upper bodies a fascinating hybrid of human musculature and iridescent tentacles.

“It’s coming,” I breathed, watching as the tiny nose was followed by a forehead, then eyes still sealed shut, then the full head emerged in a rush of fluid. “That’s it, Sass. You’re doing beautifully.”

Cyro moved with fluid grace to position himself behind the emerging foal, one tentacle extending to support the tiny body while another reached for the specialized suction device we’d prepared. “First foal’s airways need clearing,” he said, his voice taking on that clinical tone that emerged during crises. “Minor fluid obstruction in the left pulmonary passage.”

I was beside him in an instant, my hands joining his tentacles in the careful work of clearing the newborn’s airways. The foal—a perfect miniature of its mother, chestnut coat already visible beneath the birthing fluids—gave a shudder, then another, before its sides expanded in that first, miraculous breath.

“It’s breathing,” I whispered, unable to keep the wonder from my voice despite having witnessed this moment dozens of times before. “It’s really breathing.”

The first foal emerged fully with the next contraction, a slippery rush of new life that left us all momentarily speechless. A perfect chestnut filly with her mother’s blaze and her father’s proud carriage, already struggling to move despite the umbilical cord still connecting her to Sassafras.

“Vitals stable,” Cyro reported, his tentacles moving with gentle precision to check the newborn’s heartbeat, respiration, and temperature. “All parameters within optimal range.”

But we had no time to celebrate. Even as the first foal drew her first rattling breaths, Sassafras’s body was already preparing for the second birth. Her sides heaved with renewed contractions, her strength visibly flagging after the effort of the first delivery.

“She’s tiring,” I said, concern rising as I stroked the mare’s sweat-dampened neck. “The second birth typically comes faster, but⁠—”

“I’ll support her,” Kalith said, moving to position himself at Sassafras’s head. His tentacles extended fully now, wrapping gently around the exhausted mare’s neck and shoulders, providing both physical support and, though he’d never admit it, emotional comfort. “My tensile strength is approximately six times human capacity. I can maintain this position indefinitely if necessary.”

The second birth progressed with unexpected speed—almost as if the first foal had cleared the path for her sibling. Within twenty minutes, the second water bag appeared, followed quickly by the distinctive bubble that signaled the second foal’s imminent arrival.

“This one’s coming fast,” I called, moving to position myself behind Sassafras. “Really fast. I think it’s⁠—”

The rest of my sentence was lost as the second foal emerged in a single, powerful contraction—a perfect colt, slightly larger than his sister, with Mystery’s dark coat and proud bearing already evident despite his minutes-old status. Unlike his sibling, he needed no assistance—his first breath emerged as a full-bodied whinny that made us all jump in surprise.

“He’s vocal,” Vantor observed, his deep voice carrying a note of what might almost have been pride. “Security potential is high.”

Despite everything—the tension, the exhaustion, the very real fear that had gripped me when we’d first received the alert—I laughed. Only Vantor would assess a newborn foal’s defensive capabilities.

We worked in perfect coordination as the twins’ umbilical cords were carefully severed and the afterbirth delivered. Cyro monitored both foals’ vital signs with careful attention, calling out readings that Kalith recorded with equal precision. Vantor brought fresh water and clean towels, moving with that particular efficiency that had once been reserved for high risk operations but now extended to every aspect of our shared life.

And through it all, Sassafras watched with the particular pride unique to new mothers—exhausted but radiant, her body still recovering from the miracle it had performed.

It wasn’t until nearly an hour later, when both foals had made their first wobbly attempts to stand—the filly managing it on her third try, her brother taking two attempts before his long, spindly legs found their balance—that the full impact of the moment hit me.

I stood in the doorway of the stall, watching as the twins nuzzled their mother with blind, instinctive trust. Behind me, my three aliens had regrouped—tentacles carefully sheathed beneath human disguises once more, though occasional ripples of color still betrayed their emotional states. We had done it. Against impossible odds, against the vast differences that separated our species, against my own desperate fears that I would lose everything—we had created this moment, this perfect new beginning.

“Sunflower Hills Premium Breeding,” I said softly, testing the name we’d chosen for our operation. “We’re really doing it.”

Cyro moved to stand beside me, one hand—currently fully human—reaching to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear with careful precision. “The statistical probability of a successful twin equine birth with zero complications is approximately four percent on your planet,” he said, his scientific mind unable to resist quantifying our triumph. “Factoring in Sassafras’s first-time maternal status, which you said can come with separate risks, even with our technology and careful management, this outcome is… miraculous.”

In human terms: we’d beaten the odds. Spectacularly. “Miraculous,” I breathed out. “I’ve never asked before, but does your species believe in miracles?” I did. I always had. Only now, I felt like my belief was founded. Maybe my mention of hope in a bucket and praying to deaf ears, while always wishing for a miracle, had rubbed off on them.

“We do now.” This from Vantor, in a low, thoughtful voice.

“I’ve been thinking,” Cyro said suddenly, his voice taking on that careful, measured tone he used when presenting controversial scientific hypotheses. I shifted position so I could face him, just as a tentacle emerged from his human arm, extending toward my face with careful precision. The tip brushed against my lips, making me shiver. “About our own reproductive compatibility.”

The words hung in the scented, stable air between us, weighted with implication. I felt my breath catch, Sassafras and her miracle foals fading into the back of my mind.

“What are you saying?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

A flush of deeper lavender spread across his cheeks, his human disguise momentarily slipping to reveal the true iridescence beneath. “I’ve been running simulations,” he said, each word carefully chosen. “Our physiologies are surprisingly compatible. Young ones are possible.”

“We’ve—” I stopped, my brain cycling through steamy images of all the times each of them had locked inside of me, spilling alien seed, my body never catching— “if I was going to get pregnant, wouldn’t I have already?”

Vantor shifted beside me, his body suddenly tense. I looked from Cyro’s hopeful expression to Kalith’s wide eyes, then to Vantor’s carefully controlled features.

“We did not risk fertilizing our spermatophores,” Cyro explained, the lilac of his cheeks deepening to nearly a royal purple.

“So… you’ve been purposefully shooting blanks?” I finally managed, my pulse still tripping over itself.

Cyro nodded, a tentacle reaching to take my free hand. “We would have to proceed with caution. The children of our world are born into the waters, and they stay water-bound until the age they can surface. But we do not know what our offspring here will require.”

“Half-human, half-cephalopod children,” Kalith murmured, his eyes lighting up with that particular gleam that meant he was calculating a hundred and one possibilities.

Vantor’s deep voice cut through Kalith’s excited rambling. “Would you want that?” he asked, his hazel eyes fixed on my face with unusual intensity. “Children with us? A family?”

The question wrapped around me like their tentacles had that first night we were together in the stables—overwhelming, wonderful, slightly terrifying. I reached for them all with hands that weren’t quite steady. My fingers grazed over Vantor’s hand, Cyro’s tentacle, Kalith’s shoulder. I touched them all. Small, intimate caresses.

“Yes,” I said, the word carrying certainty.

I felt sure of them, of us, just as I’d felt sure when I signed the buyer’s paperwork for Sunflower Hills. Had I been scared to death? Yes. Had it all been worth it in the end? Also, without any doubts, yes.

“More than anything, I want us to be a real pack in every way. I want our bond marks to never fade.” I held up my hands, showing off the bracelets of sucker scars. “I want to never be apart. I want to hold our babies in my arms. I want to grow old. My hair gray. Your beautiful skin hues dulled with time. I want everything that’s possible.”

Their scents surrounded me—ocean depths and forest floors, sweet marshland and clean rain—mingling with hay and the miracle of birth. The tapestry of smells surrounding us threaded together so perfectly that I couldn’t tell where one ended and another began. Just like us, unlikely lovers becoming something greater than our separate parts.

Outside, impending sunrise lightened the dark sky with unspoken promises.

Of a love that transcended the stars.

Of a future so achingly wonderful that I could scarce breathe around the bloating of my happy, happy heart.

MEET THE AUTHOR

Author Zoe Nash has been obsessed with aliens—being in love with aliens, to be exact—ever since her first watch of the 1988 classic Earth Girls Are Easy. Her obsession only grew with movies like Date with an Angel (yes, not strictly alien, but it's still about unusual, out of this world love), Jupiter Ascending, Fifth Element, and shows like Roswell. The idea of being whisked away from a less-than-stellar life to love beyond the stars is something she’s never been able to shake.

So, The UFOmegaverse came into being, merging Zoe's desire for passionate, intergalactic romance and another of her favorite things: the Omegaverse. The aliens of the UFOmegaverse don't know that they're Alphas and they don't know what it means to find their scent mate, but boy, when that chemistry hits, the truth is undeniable. And the human Omegas they fall in love with finally realize that they've been single or heartbroken for so long, only because their true mates hadn't landed on Earth yet.

Zoe wishes you all the amazing books to read, all the love to find in unexpected places, and a lifetime of never growing too old to believe in impossible possibilities.

FUELING HER ALIEN FIREFIGHTERS

One busty baker who can’t stop burning her muffins. Three Milky Way Firefighters on a two-month Earth rotation.

Misty McTavish is about ready to call quits on her lifetime dream of making the world’s best hybrid pastries. Cranberry Cruffins. Bacon Brookies. Coconut Croffles. Turducken-inspired cheesecake stuffed with red velvet, milk chocolate truffles.

She just can’t seem to bake without burning everything these days. Heck, she almost burned down Whisky Business trying to Frankenstein mash-up a Sicilian cannoli with her great-grandmother's Cranachan recipe!

Before she throws in the towel, Misty decides to get back to basics. Scones. Not overly complex. At culinary school, she could make them in her sleep. Somehow, she still ends up with scorched ceilings and an out-of-control flame. To make matters worse—both of her fire extinguishers are inoperable, the overhead sprinklers don’t activate, and the kitchen is quickly filling with smoke.

As she desperately tries to save her bakery, three large figures burst into the kitchen. Her vision is blurry. Her head hurts. She's totally confused. Her saviors can’t really be walking, talking rocks, right?

Brox. Sagan. Zaphod.

They drew the intergalactic short stick and ended up monitoring Earth’s wildfires. It’s a hazard duty, but someone has to do it. The concealed outpost is bare bones, with dehydrated meals and zero entertainment. When their scanner pings a small nearby fire, they’re bored enough to go observe their Terra counterparts in action. Only... no humans come to help.

Thirty minutes later, the three alien firemen stand in front of an Omega human that smells smoky, yet fracking divine. This is exactly why it’s against protocol to mix with the locals. Human scents can weaken the strongest off-worlder...

The bakery fire might be doused, but hotter flames are about to ignite.

With the help of extraterrestrial ever-flame, endless alien appetites, and three baking assistants that can’t be burned, Misty just might make an out-of-this-world dessert and a whole lot of sweet, sweet love.

Check out Fueling Her Alien Firefighters!

TEASER CHAPTER

I bake, because men make you cry, and donuts usually don’t.

Five-thirty in the morning. I felt like death warmed up. Smelled like it too. I mean, I had showered, but the scent of burnt hair stuck around like a bad egg. At least I hadn’t scorched off my eyebrows this time, just seared the tip of my ponytail.

I stumbled downstairs from my cutesy apartment and made my way past the back kitchen, through the sales area, and to Whisky Business’s front door. The deadbolt stuck terribly, despite the full can of lubricant I’d applied yesterday, so I wriggled it violently until it gave. When I pushed the door open and stepped outside, I took a deep breath. Spring air flooded into my body. Crisp. Pollen-laced. A little sweet from the honeysuckle trailing up the adjacent building. I loved this time of year, second only to autumn.

The street outside was that deep shade of blue that only exists at five-thirty in the morning. A bird sang softly in one of the sparse trees planted next to the sidewalk. The tweeted tune was a little smug, like the bird knew something I didn’t, and I wouldn’t know it until it was too late.

Everything around me felt right on brand, since nothing had gone my way lately. Nowadays my customers, my confidence, and my sense of humor were all in the trash—rotting next to every burnt bakery item.

Yeah. My glass was decidedly half empty, not half full. Hell, maybe the damn thing was just empty.

Believe it or not, I used to be an optimist.

When I shouldered back inside the building, I threw the deadbolt and flicked on the lights. The bakery didn’t open until eight a.m. (well, when I was actually open for business, that is). I’d never be open for business again if I kept burning all my hot cross buns (and my scones and my muffins and my pies).

Warm glows from the pot lights and pendants poured over the cream and dusty rose walls. When dawn hit, and sunlight joined the fray, the whole place would look like the inside of a strawberry milkshake. For about a second each day—and right now happened to be today’s second—I could imagine the bakery as it used to be. Full of customers, scented with delicious pastries, and a bright future ahead. The mosaic tiles running across the wall behind the sales counter caught light too. Dozens of tiny rose shapes pieced together in pinks and creams and one stubborn teal tile that never quite matched but that I refused to replace because it was special to me. I loved it. I’d painstakingly created it with my own two hands. My eyes landed on the glass display case running below the length of the counter. It was clean as a whistle. And absolutely empty.

The momentary warmness—that strawberry milkshake feeling that made me want to take on the day and create the most delectable treats in the world—evaporated right along with my will to be a functioning adult. Adulting before six in the morning should be illegal anyways.

Still. Bank accounts didn’t care about an existential crisis or a closed business sign.

I mean, I wasn’t destitute. I had an emergency fund and even a contingency plan. But I really didn’t want to sell everything and go back to Oklahoma. I loved my childhood pack, but a handful of video calls each year was more than enough interaction. They were homegrown, comfort meals, and I was fusion cuisine. If my grandmother was still around, I might feel differently. She was a prolific baker, taught me everything I know.

Grabbing the wide-bristled broom from the utility closet in the back, I started my daily cleaning routine. I swept the smooth kitchen floor, cleaning up where I’d spilled flour yesterday and been too pissed to deal with it. That was the only real mess though. Everywhere else was pristine. This was just one way that I coped. I moved out to the sales area, sweeping the intentionally weathered wood with long, even strokes.

I had swept yesterday, and the day before that, and every single morning since the “Temporarily Closed” sign had gone up in the window. That damn sign felt like a tombstone. I kept saying to myself that, “today I’ll take it down; today I’ll bake the most delicious thing ever and reopen for business.”

Yet, every day I’d turn off the lights, trudge back upstairs to my apartment, and that damn sign would stay right where it was. All night. Into the next morning. All the next day. Hanging there and mocking me. It felt like a permanent fixture now, and I was just lying to myself about it being temporary.

But the floor got swept anyway, because if I stopped doing the things a real, functioning, open-for-business bakery did, I was scared I’d truly stop believing I still ran one.

Maybe I was just delusional.

Still sweeping in lazy back and forth motions, I walked behind the sales counter to target more invisible dust. It brought me past the mosaic tiles, and my free hand trailed along them the way it always did, fingertips bumping over the grout lines until they found the three roses I was looking for. Tap, tap, tap, top to bottom, left to right, the same sequence I’d done every single day since I opened this place, back when I had ribbon-cutting scissors and a sheet cake and dreams roughly the size of a hot air balloon. The roses with the teal tile. I paused, closing my eyes as my fingertips pressed against the coolness.

I didn’t know if it counted as superstition or prayer at this point. Probably both. Great Aunt Something-or-other on my mama’s pack side used to say you had to give luck a little tap on the shoulder every morning, or it’d wander off and forget where you lived. I figured my luck had wandered pretty far away already, but there was no harm in reminding it of my address. And that teal tile was the luckiest spot in this whole bakery. The fragment came from my grandmother Nancy’s teal teacup, the one I’d chipped as a child.

I stopped in front of the chalkboard wall next, hands on my hips like I’d turn superhero any moment now and fix all my own problems. Funny how that never worked. It was easier waiting for an outside hero. This one stupid song that I listened to repeatedly said so, which meant it must be true. If I needed a hero, I should hold out for a hero. A strong. Hot. Fast. Fresh. Well-endowed hero. I may have added a few things to that list…

My eyes narrowed, homing in on the board. My own looping handwriting stared back at me.

Cranberry Cruffins.

Bacon Brookies.

Coconut Croffles.

All the specials I’d written out full of hearts over the i’s and little sun doodles in the margins. Childish excitement flowing through every painstakingly formed letter.

“Nobody’s ordering off you today either,” I told the chalkboard, the way you’d tell a friend who kept canceling brunch that it was fine, really, no big deal, you totally understood they were busy. The menu board, unsurprisingly, did not apologize. It just sat there being cheerfully, obliviously optimistic about coconut croffles nobody was going to eat.

I abandoned the broom against the counter and ducked into the kitchen, where the air still smelled faintly like burnt sugar from a disaster three days prior that I’d prefer to forget (if the lingering smell would let me). I tied my frilly apron over my white top and pink skirt, looping the strings twice around my waist because I was five foot one and built like an hourglass that had been rounded at both ends like the maker was obsessed with funhouse mirrors. My shape meant the apron material barely covered across my upper body and hips, but the ties were comically long if I only did them behind my back instead of wrapping them twice.

“Morning, Gerald,” I said, because that was next on the list, and I patted the head of the stuffed bear sitting on the shelf above the flour bins.

Gerald wore a tiny shirt with the bakery’s logo stitched onto it, the same gold-leaf script from the window sign shrunk down to plushie size, and he had one ear that had gone permanently floppy from a run-in with a sink full of soapy dishes. Yes, he was a little worse for wear, but he was my mascot. I’d clean him up, and stitch his seams, and keep him in his rightful place until this building rotted around us. Or, more than likely, burned down to ashes thanks to my bullshit bakery skills.

“Anything happen last night?” I asked. He stared out at me with the placid, unbothered expression of a creature who had never once had to worry about payroll. Because… well… he was a stuffed bear.

“Big day today,” I told him, tugging my apron straight. “Well. Same as every day, but I’ve decided to be an optimist about it, so it’s a big day. I’m going to conquer scones, and after that I might really go hog wild and reorganize the spice shelf.” I reached past him for the flour bin, brought it down to the counter, popped it open, and kept talking, because talking to Gerald was cheaper than therapy, and he never once told me I was being unreasonable, even when I absolutely was.