The Uncertain Scientist (The Lost Planet 4)

“It’s hard to be angry with you when you talk rationally,” she huffs.

“I’m the linguistics specialist. It’s sort of my expertise,” I tease lightly with a small smile.

“You are the master,” Uvie chirps.

Grace snorts. “Ummm, what?”

“That’s Uvie,” I explain. “She’s my creation.”

“What does she do besides spy on conversations?”

“She’s great with algorithms. Right now, she’s running a series of complicated calculations trying to triangulate Molly’s daughter’s location.”

“I saw Molly briefly but haven’t officially met her,” Grace says. “She talks a lot.” She says this as though she’s annoyed, but a smile touches her lips.

“Molly is wonderful, as are Aria and Emery. We are incredibly thankful to have you all here. Hope thrives in a place that was once losing a battle to loneliness and despair.”

“You seem happy,” she retorts. “Everyone else seems anxious or nervous around me, but you seem content. Is it because you got what you wanted?” Her palms press to her stomach, indicating her pregnancy.

“I was one of the few who were happy before we ever procured any females,” I admit, my eyes darting to the doorway.

Grace narrows her eyes at me. “How did you find the key to happiness while everyone else was stuck outside of that door? Or with whom should I say?”

“Sayer and—” Uvie starts, but I cut her off.

“Offline, Uvie.”

Grace lifts a brow in question. “Hit a nerve, did I?”

My eyes flit to the doorway once more and I lean in toward her. “It’s not something I talk about.”

She opens her mouth like she might ask more questions, but then she gasps. “Oh, God, it feels so damn weird. Like aliens have taken over my body.” She rolls her eyes. “That’s right. They have.”

I tilt my head to the side in confusion. “Are you not well? Do I need to take you to see Avrell?”

Her nostrils flare as though she wants to keep in her words, but with a heavy sigh, she reaches over to grasp my wrist. “Here. Feel this.” She draws my hand to her stomach, letting my palm settle over the swell.

Something nudges my hand and I jerk my stare to hers, my heart racing in my chest. “It’s moving.”

“Your son or daughter. It’s not an it.”

“You just called it an it, too.”

“To tell you it wasn’t an it!”

I grin at her. “What do you think? Male or female?”

“This one is fussy. Kind of reminds me of someone. I’m going with a girl.”

The mortling nudges my hand again. I let out a small laugh. “This is amazing.”

Her smile falls and she pushes my hand away. “Good. So happy you feel that way. Once I push her out, she’s all yours. I never wanted children. I was married to my career.”

“Grace,” I growl, shocked at her words. “You don’t mean that.”

I’ve seen how Aria is with Sokko. She loves him. And Emery seems thrilled about her mortling’s coming.

She glowers at me. “I mean exactly that. I’ll deliver this child, but then I don’t want anything to do with her. This pregnancy was a decision forced on me. Giving her to you is my decision. You can deal with the repercussions alone.”

It wounds me that she’d so easily hand over our mortling as though it means nothing to her. I’ve barely felt its life pressing against my hand, and I’m smitten.

“Stop looking at me like I’m the worst human you’ve ever met,” she snarls, tears filling her silvery eyes.

She is the worst human I’ve ever met.

“A mortling needs a mother,” I whisper. “Grace…”

“A baby needs someone to love it,” she chokes out. “I can’t do that. I’m not a mother. I’ll never be mother material.”

My hand shakes as I tentatively reach for her stomach. “May I?”

She gives me a clipped nod.

I hold her stomach and make a silent promise to my mortling.

I’ll love you enough for both of us.

And where I’ll lack, Jareth will fill in those holes.

I won’t give up on you, little one.

“You’re not my mate,” I say stiffly. “But I will provide for you, Grace. If you need anything, you tell me. Call out for Uvie and make your demands. My seed has put you into this position, and I’m responsible for both of you. If you’ll allow me, I’d love to bond with the little one since…”

Since you don’t want to.

Tears well in her eyes and she bites on her bottom lip, trying and failing to look fierce.

“Since I can’t love it. Call a spade a spade, Sayer.” Her bitter words send the tears falling silently down her cheeks.

Gently, I reach up to her cheek and swipe away the tearstain on one side. She flinches at my touch but doesn’t pull away. “I want to be your friend,” I tell her. “If you’ll have me. For this to work, give me that. I know you hate me and our people, but do this one thing and I’ll be forever in your debt.”