Pretty Human (Rags to Riches 4)

Her nose is tiny, her eyes are brown, and her mouth is a rosy pink.

I want her.

“What is she?”

“That thing? It’s a human.” Ahiri sounds very pleased with herself. “Have you never run into one?”

I shrug, but I can’t take my eyes off of her. I’ve seen humans in vids before, and I’ve heard that the black markets peddle flesh of such creatures, but this is my first experience with one up close. I had no idea she would be so…perfect.

“I want it,” I say to Lady dra’Niiron.

She looks at me, aghast. “You do?”

I nod. “Have her transferred to my rooms. I will take her as my gift.”

Ahiri sputters. “What am I supposed to give to As’bro?”

I take the scroll out of my robes and offer it back to her. “Perhaps he’d like a project.”

She makes another unhappy noise. “I don’t like this.”

“Because now I have a penchant for alien flesh?”

“Varrik—”

“You don’t have the right to use my name,” I correct her again, my tone quiet but firm.

Ahiri snaps her mouth shut. “Of course not, Lord va’Rin. If you want the human…thing, she is yours.”

2

MILLY

I scratch at the itchy fabric of my dress and wonder exactly how long I’m going to be left alone in here waiting for my new master. My stomach rumbles, proving that I can be hungry as hell even while I’m terrified. Even though I’m human and these people think I’m some sort of lesser life form, I can put two and two together. I was bought from the slavemaster that kidnapped me from Earth, dragged out of the cage I shared with twenty other human girls, washed up and put in this dress.

I’ve got a good idea of what’s waiting for me, and it’s not pretty.

Absently, I tug at the low neckline of the gown, ignoring the insistent growl of my stomach. Maybe this new owner believes in feeding his slaves three meals a day instead of just one. That’d be a nice change. Whoever—whatever—he is, I hope he’s kind.

I hope he’s not gross. I think of some of the aliens I’ve seen in my short time in outer space and swallow hard.

Pleaaaase don’t be gross.

The doors open and I jump to my feet, my heart hammering. I’m so scared I think I might throw up, but I clasp my sweaty hands together and try not to freak out. The blue-skinned man that enters is in a pale yellow tunic and pants and gives me a rather dismissive look.

“Are you my new owner?” I ask, unable to stand it any longer.

He gives me an imperious look. “I am the keeper of the upstairs chambers. You will follow me and do not touch anything.”

Oh. I guess that’s kind of like a butler. I shiver and quickly follow after him as he turns to leave. In a way, I’m glad he’s not my owner. He looks mean and stares at me like I’m a big turd he found on one of the expensive carpets here.

The guy in yellow leads me down the hall, toward an enormous set of ornate double doors. He knocks, pushes them open, and then bows. “Lord va’Rin, your present has arrived.”

I hesitate in the doorway, then crane my neck, trying to peer inside.

“Go in,” the butler hisses at me.

Right. Okay. I scurry inside, nearly tripping on my voluminous skirts that drag behind me. It’s clear they’ve been made for someone at least a foot taller than me, and they spill onto the carpet around my feet. I pause again, uncertain, and look for the “lord” that I might be given to. There’s a figure by the door, bathed in the light of the setting orange sun, so I hesitantly move toward him. I notice he’s wearing dark blue robes instead of the yellow that the others wear, and his symbols on the hem of his robes look slightly different. His hands are clasped behind his back and there’s a flicking under the back of his robe, and I see the tufted end of a tail next to enormous booted feet. From behind, he’s got the same long, dark hair that the other guy did, pulled into a simple tail that’s tied mid-back, and a massive set of sweeping horns. Same race.

I don’t know if this guy is my master or if it’s another servant. I’m almost afraid to ask.

He doesn’t turn to look at me or acknowledge me in any way, so I move to his side and peer out the window, in case my master’s out there on the balcony and I’m somehow missing the obvious. When I don’t see anyone, I look over at him. “Who are you?”

The man glances over at me. His expression is neutral, his face almost austere. He looks like a man that doesn’t smile often, and for some reason, that makes me sad. His face is sculpted and his cheekbones could be chiseled from rock. He’d be pretty if he didn’t look so bored. “You’re not supposed to ask me that.”