It’s a plaintive wail, a soul-piercing sound that seems to hit him right in the heart. Without saying a word, he bends down and scoops me into his arms. Despite wanting to stay callous toward him and not allow him any leeway into my heart, I can’t help but snuggle deep into the strong shelter of his arms. He feels so warm, so safe.

He hugs me close for a moment, shoring me up. Maybe all I needed was some contact, something to remind me I’m not completely alone in this hellish, alien land. I push against him, to give him a signal to let me down, but even that is weak and ineffectual.

With a soft chuckle, he hoists me into his arms and turns toward the vehicle. But instead of taking me into the back, he goes along the side and climbs into the front. Antroli stays behind to get Fiona situated and close up the rear.

We sit there for several moments, neither of us talking. It should be a comfortable silence, especially with his arms wrapped so snuggly around me. But it’s not. I wish there was something to shatter this oppressive blanket of silence threatening to smother me.

Groaning, I burrow my head in his chest. I just feel so sick. The problem is, I have nothing to compare this to. There’s nothing that’s happened to me back on Earth that prepares me for how I feel.

The closest might be the flu, but only the weak part. And even then, I was able to move on my own. I was never in such a state where someone had to carry me.

Fear seizes my insides as I remember my mother in her last months. Weak, unable to really eat, unable to do much of anything. Once she was in hospice care, she couldn’t do anything for herself.

Am I dying? I try to grab onto rational things, such as the fact that I crawled on my own after getting a shot from Nagán. Even with the potent medicines my mom was on, she never got better. She either stayed the same or got worse gradually.

Since moving home, I’ve been avoiding any sort of self-reflection. I didn’t want to look too closely into the face of death. It seems as if I have no choice. Cancer. Death with a capital C.

Do they even have means of taking care of humans with such an illness? Frantically, I sit up, the top of my head nearly smacking into his chin. He jerks back just in time, but there’s an air of unease around him.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Am I squeezing too hard?” The concern in his voice seems genuine, and my heart can’t help but flutter in response.

“It’s not too hard,” I murmur, half wishing he’d squeeze even tighter.

Perhaps if he held me hard enough, it would smoosh all my jagged and broken edges together and make me feel whole. I stare up into his eyes, noting the flicker of worry as he looks me over, but I don’t understand it.

I’m nothing to him but a portable milk bar, a thing to be bartered and sold at his whim. He’s kind, but that doesn’t change my place in his world. Would he even miss me if I were gone?

“Jessica,” he grumbles, his deep voice washing over me.

Despite how ill I feel, I cannot deny the sexual spell he weaves around me. It washes over my body, easing the pain, even if it’s just a little bit. In a bold move, I take my gloved hand and press it against his, pushing it down toward my breast.

Maybe if he touches me, I’ll feel better. Perhaps if he can distract my brain, I can finally think of something other than death. As much as I still feel the need to mourn both my mother and my potential condition, it’s all too much.

As if hearing my silent plea, he cups my tender breasts and squeezes, his eyes boring into mine. They darken as he gazes into my soul. Lust flares between us, threatening to drown me in its heat.

Opening the truck door, he takes me back out, almost smacking into Antroli. “I’ll be taking her back on foot. I wish to show her the wonders of her new home.”

The other Rancher winks, as if he knows exactly which pleasures he’ll be showing me. Heat tinges my cheeks, but I don’t have too long to dwell on it before he nods and goes around to the other side. Vrokjan holds me close as we watch them drive away, his thumb drawing an abstract design on my arm.

Each swipe against my skin makes me throb with need. My pussy spasms as he carries me over to the field and lays me down. All I can see is his handsome face and a sea of blue around me.

Ovibrosia really is such a pretty plant. Lifting my hand, I go to brush through it, but frown at the stupid hooved glove keeping me from touching the delicate leaves and stems.

Vrokjan looks about for a moment before giving me a conspiratorial smile. Placing his finger over his lips for a moment, he winks at me before taking the glove off of my right hand. Freedom.

At least for part of me. With a soft sigh, I run my fingers along the stiff blades, stifling a chuckle as I skim up to touch the softer, somewhat fluffy tip. It’s almost unexpected, and certainly not like the spongy kernels of wheat that grew on my grandparents’ farm.

In fact, almost every bit of this plant feels far different from what I expected. The blades, though a touch unyielding, aren’t rough or tactilely off-putting. They feel almost like the softest of silks with a stronger core running through it. The stem doesn’t feel at all like rough rope, but instead, it feels like delicate glass.

Wonderment fills me as I practically fondle the strange plant. Vrokjan gazes down at me, his lips quirked in a soft smile. He seems to enjoy the pleasure I find in learning about his planet.

It’s as if I’m in a haze, lulled by the softness of the earth and lazy clouds drifting above. It doesn’t matter that they’re purple. I can still find shapes in them easily enough. Dropping my hand down to the ground, I dig my fingers into the dirt.

Even that feels different somehow. Nothing is rough or jagged. In fact, I have to look to see if I’m actually touching it. I scoop it up and let it fall from between my fingers, marveling at how it sparkles in the waning sun.

Somehow too much and not enough all at once. I don’t want to think about my mom, or cancer, or dying. I want to stay in this moment with Vrokjan. His massive body looms over me, sheltering me from everything, including the errant thoughts threatening to intrude on this lovely scene.

Reaching over me, he snaps a stalk in half and drags the tip over my lips. “Open.”

Without any fight, I do as he commands. My mouth drops, earning me a growl of satisfaction rumbling from his chest. Prying open my thighs with his free hand, he spreads me open as he slides the tip of the plant past my lips.

His knees wedge in between my legs, forcing me to open for him even wider. But I feel no pain or discomfort. My brain buzzes with pleasure as I lift my tongue to taste the offering he gives me.

The Ovibrosia has an almost nutty flavor. Hazelnut. It’s the closest I can come to describe it. It’s comforting, bringing memories of chocolate hazelnut spread over bread.

How many times did I try to convince Mom it was a healthy breakfast choice because it was practically peanut butter? Never mind the chocolate part. She indulged me on the weekends, but that was it.

I can still hear her firm, “That’s not enough fuel for a school day,” as I’d playfully whine, trying to get her to see reason. So many memories flood my brain, threatening to overwhelm me. Closing my lips around the stem, I smile as Vrokjan tugs on it, depositing the hazelnut goodness into my mouth.

I take tentative chews, not sure how the texture will feel, but I find I’m pleasantly surprised. The soft, fluffy exterior gives way, almost like cotton candy disappearing on my tongue. Inside, it crunches a bit more like a nut, giving it that peanut feel.

So many things about this planet feel close to what I’m used to on Earth, but it’s still different enough to make my head spin. I have no words for anything I see, taste, touch, or feel. The words I do have feel paltry somehow, dim in comparison.