Claimed by the Zandian (Zandian Brides 6)

Her brow furrows, but she shrugs. “Okay.”

I figure she’s just saying that to make the conversation go away. But that’s acceptable. Because I can never touch her that way again.

“It was—I wanted to—I just…” I don’t know what I want to say. “Make you feel good. But I didn’t want to give you expectations.”

“I did feel good.” Her voice holds a smile. But then it fades out on the next sentence. “But I don’t have expectations.” She pulls the flight pants closer and starts to put them on. She winces as her bad leg goes in.

“Are you in pain?” Despite the fact that I just promised myself I didn’t care about her, I immediately bend down to touch her leg, but stop when she pulls it away.

“I’m fine. It’s fine.” She quickly pulls up her pants. “Well, I have one expectation. Just one. That you Zandians let me keep taking care of Enya.” She fastens the pants at the waist. “I’m like... her mother, Tarek.” Her voice softens. “The only one she’s known. And you know what? That’s good enough for me. I’m happy taking care of her.” She touches my arm. “I want to keep doing that.”

A cold feeling starts to move through my chest. I already know that they’re planning to take Enya straight to med isolation and then to meet and bond with her biological mother. I don’t believe they’re keeping Zina with her during this. It kills me that I can’t tell her. “Well, I’m sure everything will be done to help you both recover,” I say, which is true.

My sensors catch a micro-expression, something of doubt, mistrust. The same face she made on the bridge when we didn’t answer her questions about why we were searching for Enya.

I speak quickly so she doesn’t ask me questions I can’t answer. “On Zandia, if you are granted asylum, you can… choose a mate. Have children of your own.” Why does that idea fill me with anger and sadness? I know I’m not able to mate. And I don’t even want the hassle of handling a human. I can barely handle my own blind idiot body. I know she can’t be mine, so why would I even care?

She shakes her head. “I’m damaged goods.” She touches her leg, through the breeches. And I’m sterilized.” She touches her belly. “I can’t have my own children.” She sticks up her chin. “But I’ve got Enya. I raised her, and she made living with this pain bearable for me.”

She looks me straight on and adds, “She’s my life. Without Enya…” she whispers. “Without Enya, I have no reason to live.”

A cold chill travels up my spine.

“Tarek, you’re needed at the bridge,” my comm crackles, saving me from the difficulty of formulating a reply.

I respond automatically. “Twenty seconds.” I turn to Zina, hoping that my stance conveys empathy, apology, whatever she needs to see.

Surely Zina will handle the future... just fine. Right? She’s a tough human. A fighter.

I raise my hand, a ridiculously sterile gesture, given the nature of what we just did. What I did to her. But I can’t give her more.

“Good luck,” I tell her, and then I turn my back and stride out of the bay.

Chapter 5

Zina

“Where’s Enya?” I sit up, my heart pounding, my head throbbing with pain.

I push off the unfamiliar cover—soft and airy, and struggle to my feet, eyes squinting as they adjust to the soft bright light. “Where am I?”

“You’re in the human barracks. Your new dormitory. Hi. I’m Abbi.” A human woman swims into focus as I blink and rub the stickiness from my eyes. “I’m here to help you acclimate and adjust. Make sure you’re okay.”

I don’t care about her. I turn my head abruptly, checking all around me—my child is gone. My stomach flutters with terror and my head turns to lead. “Please, Enya needs me.”

I sit back down as the room starts to tilt, just a little, but enough to throw me off balance.

“She’s fine. Take this,” Abbi encourages, darting forward with a fluid tube. “Give yourself a moment. You’ve been sleeping for over twenty-seven hours.”

“What? Why?” I put my hand to my head and rub, wishing the stabbing pain would subside. “My head is splitting apart.”

“Probably the adjustment to our atmosphere. It’s pretty much the same as you’re used to, but still, your body needs to adapt. Plus, you’re still healing.”

She touches my med pack, which flashes three greens and one yellow light. “See?”

“I don’t know what’s happening.”

She turns away and starts to bustle around, arranging some silver foil packets. “Are you hungry? I’ve been instructed to…”