“Thank you so much,” I say to Baba, smiling. I grab at my purse awkwardly. “Um, I can pay you—”

  “No problem,” the old woman says, waving her hands at me. “Favor for Max’s friend.”

  “Thank you,” I say again, thinking of the wad of cash Max took for this so-called favor. “I really appreciate it.”

  I find Navur back at the hotel, studying something on his tablet, as he usually seems to be doing when I’m not around. He rises up to meet me when I enter the suite, giving me a quick peck on the lips and eying the sushi tray in my hand.

  “All that for Max’s sushi?” he asks, as I lead him back to the small dining nook. “Why all the smoke and mirrors? I would have gone with you.”

  “Just try it,” I say, bouncing a little giddily as I peel the top off the tray and slide the pair of cheap chopsticks across the table.

  Nav raises his eyebrows at me, but obeys, breaking the chopsticks apart and delicately taking a roll, popping the whole thing in his mouth easily. It takes a second, but suddenly his eyes widen, and his chewing slows.

  “You did it,” he says, finally swallowing and eagerly reaching for a second. “How?”

  “I have my ways,” I tease, fluttering my eyelashes coyly. “Can I try one?”

  “Of course,” Navur says, and I open my mouth, letting him pop a roll onto my tongue. He was right. The flavor of the Krinar mushroom is sharp but sweet, almost like ginger, but with a distinct umami edge not quite like anything I’ve ever had before.

  “This is amazing,” I say through a full mouth, savoring the bite for as long as possible.

  “Yes, it is,” the K says, holding my eyes until I blush and lower my gaze.

  That night, Navur refrains from his usual roughness, instead lapping gently at my folds until my eyes roll back and my legs turn to jelly. He fucks me slowly, drawing the pleasure out endlessly, the orgasms washing over me like steady rain. Even when he’s giving me what he thinks I want, it’s new, and unfamiliar, and unforgettable. Fast or slow, rough or gentle, my K is true to his word. He can do me like no one ever has before, and no one ever will again. My fingernails curl into his back, and I bite into his shoulder, muffling a loud cry as we come together, bodies melting into one.

  After we clean off, Nav pulls me into his embrace, and I readily curl deeper into his arms. I never sleep better than when I’m safe in his bed. Tonight, everything feels different. Today wasn’t a fight, wasn’t a power struggle, wasn’t a transaction. Today, something soft and warm was cemented between us, something that I know I should be fighting, instead of provoking. Ari was right, I realize, allowing myself to accept what I’ve known all along. I can’t handle this. I’m not equipped for a casual fling, I don’t have what it takes to be a K’s plaything. I want too much, and too desperately. Still, knowing full well that I can’t have this, I can’t help but do my best to dig my hole deeper.

  “Why haven’t you ever bitten me?” I ask, in a near whisper. I feel Navur inhale sharply, feel his body tense beside me. “Don’t you want to taste my blood?”

  “You don’t understand, do you, little one?” Navur replies at last, in a voice nearly as quiet as mine, but still deep enough to rumble through my body. “I’m already addicted to your body. One taste of your sweet blood, and I’ll never be able to let you go. The thought is unbearable enough as it is. Don’t tempt me, Noelle.”

  He locks me tighter in his arms, pulling my naked body flush against his. I breathe shallowly, nerves fully awakened even as my tired brain teeters on the edge of sleep, and try to remind myself of all the reasons why letting him keep me would be such a bad idea.

  I can’t stop jinxing myself. It’s like I’m begging for shit to keep hitting the fan.

  The next day begins pleasantly enough, with a fun romp in bed—which winds up with us on the floor, then continues into the shower. We go out for a late brunch, then spend the afternoon at MoMA, perusing a new exhibition of abstract glass sculptures that are supposed to represent the advances in human culture since K-Day. To be frank, I really don’t get it, but Nav seems to find it all very fascinating.

  After, we go for dinner at Beso, an old favorite of mine that I’m thrilled to be assigned to again. The first course goes swimmingly enough, with the two of us sharing a bruschetta platter and flirting over expensive wine, and then it all crashes apart rather splendidly.

  “Noelle?” a familiar voice asks behind me, accompanied by an all-too-comfortable hand on my shoulder. It takes me a second to place the voice, which I know I should recognize, but it’s so unexpected in this particular moment and setting, it’s not until I turn to face the intruder that the cold chill of recognition runs through me.

  “Robbie,” I say, not quite as a greeting, not quite as a warning. I smile politely at my ex-boyfriend and his date, a pretty woman with a sleek ebony bob and perfectly bronzed skin. She smiles back, looking just as uncomfortable as I feel.

  “So you’re a xeno slut now,” Robbie says, cutting to the brutal chase. I can smell the bourbon on his breath now, the only explanation for anyone to be so brazenly antagonistic to a K in such a setting. Navur straightens in his chair, and Robbie’s poor date tugs at his elbow, eyes widening. When Robbie doesn’t budge, she flees the restaurant, and I can’t blame her. I wish I could follow suit.

  “Navur, this is my ex, Robbie,” I say, as if everything is fine, trying to glare both men into submission.

  “I know who this is,” Navur says coldly, looking like he might spring across the table at any moment. I can feel the tension in the air, feel the uneasy eyes on our table. Yes, people are used to dining among Ks at places like this, but at the first sign of trouble, the glamour of it all quickly wears off.

  “Is this why you won’t pick up my calls anymore?” Robbie slurs, eyes narrowed at me, almost as if he can’t see the trigger-happy K he’s madly gesturing at. “Too busy spreading your legs for this monster, addicted to the blood high? I thought you were better than this, Noe.”

  “I am,” I hiss, setting a desperate hand on Navur’s tensed arm. “This is just business, Robbie. Not that you have any right to ask. And I don’t answer your calls because we’re broken up, and I don’t want to talk to you anymore. Now stop being a drunk idiot and leave us alone.”

  “You always acted like you were so much better than me, but now you’re just a modern day crack whore,” Robbie says, eying me blearily. My face burns red, adrenaline pumping through me so fast I can barely breathe. “Guess I should feel lucky I dodged this bullet, huh?”

  “Walk away while you still can,” Navur growls. He’s on his feet now, knuckles white as they grip the table for control. I can’t breathe. “You’re lucky I don’t feel like causing more of a scene tonight, you pathetic drunkard.”

  Robbie contemplates the big K for a moment, as if he’s bizarrely just now realizing that his opponent could snap him in half without breaking a sweat. “Whatever. She’s not worth it. Just remember, every time you kiss her, you’re kissing my—”

  Crack.

  Before I can even register the movement, Navur’s leapt over the table, and Robbie is prone on the floor. Everyone is screaming. Am I screaming? Yes, a shrill shriek is pouring through my lips, and I’m tripping over my own feet as I stumble back out of my chair, away from the two men. Is Robbie dead? I can see a bit of blood dripping from his mouth, and his left arm is twisted at an unnatural angle. But no, he’s still breathing, a gasping moan of pain leaking out of him, his booze-blurred eyes darting wildly.

  Our fellow patrons are standing, backing away toward the exits, but Navur raises a hand, instantly making everyone freeze.

  “No need to flee, we’ll leave you to your delicious meals,” Navur booms out to the room. “I do apologize for the fireworks, but I think we can all agree I was provoked. Someone should call for medical assistance, not that this asshole deserves it. Oh, just one more thing before we go.”

  Navur steps closer to Robbie, and presses the toe of his shoe into the fallen man’s twisted arm. Robbie wails thinly, and I instinctively flinch and try to back further away.

  “Apologize,” Navur demands, reaching over and grabbing my arm, pulling me roughly to him. “Apologize to Miss Keene for the hideous things you said to her.”

  Robbie just moans, and Navur shifts more weight onto the foot that is on the wounded arm. At the same time, he tightens his grip on me, as if he’s punishing me at the same time that he’s demanding retribution for the insults hurled against me.

  “I’m sorry,” Robbie says at last, through tears. “I’m sorry, Noe.”

  “Don’t call her that,” Navur says, but lifts his foot. “In fact, don’t ever try to speak to her again.”

  Navur apologizes politely to the dining room one more time, then pulls me out of the restaurant.

  We don’t go home. When Navur’s towncar pulls up, he waves the driver off, dragging me down the street instead. I can feel people watching us, worried eyes on the scene, but they all just rush past us as fast as possible. Classic New York, I think spitefully, glaring at anyone who dares to meet my eyes as they fail to help me.

  At the end of the block, Navur turns the corner and pulls me into the dark alley behind the restaurant. Out of sight from the street, Navur shoves me against the brick wall. I flinch as I hit it, my arm already feeling bruised from the K’s death grip. This is it, I realize, feeling oddly peaceful, if only because I know stronger emotions won’t do me any good. This is how I die, murdered by my K lover, the violent man I was stupid enough to think I was starting to fall for, for no better reason than my drunk ex calling me a whore. What the fuck? I don’t deserve this.

  “Why did you say that?”

  “What?” I ask, still bracing myself for some kind of death blow. I roll back through the few things I said during the disastrous conversation. “I didn’t say anything wrong.”

  “Why did you tell him that you were better than this?” Navur growls, lifting me easily up the wall, forcing me to wrap my legs around his waist for balance. “Why were you so quick to insist you’re too good to spread your legs for a K?”

  “What?” I stammer, still totally dazed from the violence in the restaurant, terrified from the K’s rough handling, and now utterly confused by the big hands tearing at the buttons of my blouse. “What are you doing? Navur—”

  “Why did you say that?” he insists, his hand closing around my throat, preventing me from twisting away from him.

  The move only makes me panic more, my body’s fight-or-flight response kicking in of its own accord, my hands clawing at my tormentor.

  “Robbie knows my parents,” I try to explain, eyes wide and wild. “I didn’t want him to get the wrong idea and try to tell them about us.”

  The grip around my throat tightens, and I gasp for breath.

  “The wrong idea?” Navur repeats, his voice dangerously low and raspy. “You mean, that we’re together?”

  “Yes!” I exclaim, heart beating so fast I’m sure it will burst. I’m going to die tonight after all. “Because we’re not, not really, you know that. Our time is almost up, and then we’re over, forever. You promised, Navur!”

  His grip on my throat loosens, and his hands return to my clothing, pushing my skirt up to my waist, and ripping my panties aside. My blood is still pumping fast, breath all tied up in knots now, a tangle of life-threatening terror and the nearly Pavlovian reaction to Navur’s touch on my thighs.

  “Our time isn’t up yet,” Navur hisses in my ear, and his fingers thrust into my pussy, with no prelude. I gasp, back arching against the brick wall, hands grabbing at his shoulders. “What is this, Noelle?”

  I don’t know what to say, don’t know what to feel. It’s insane that the hands that just broke a man into pieces are now inside me, curling against my G-spot in a way I can’t fight. I moan, despite the violence, despite the rough possessiveness. Maybe because of it.

  “What is this?” Navur grabs my pussy tighter, and suddenly I know what he’s asking.

  “Yours,” I gasp, biting back a confused moan. “All yours.”

  His other hand reaches for my throat again, cutting off my breath easily, making black spots dance in front of my eyes even as my inner walls clench around his fingers.

  “And what are you, Noelle?”

  “I’m all yours, Navur,” I exhale, and then, inexplicably, I come all over his fingers. I come with his hand closed tightly around my throat, and the dark bruises of his grip stinging my body, and the siren of the arriving ambulance drowning out my screams.

  The Fourth of July is always a huge event in Buffalo Creek. When Jo and I were kids, it was the best day of the summer, with tri-colored popsicles, rides in the fire truck, and then running up and down the street with sparklers at night. Every few years, our parents would drive us out to Huntington, and we’d compete to sit on Daddy’s shoulders to watch the parades, always ending with a big firework display in the park. After K-Day, and the mine shut-down, people got even crazier about it, to a desperate degree. The farther we get from a genuine feeling of freedom and independence, the more loudly crowds will pretend to feel it.

  Nevertheless, I try to fake patriotism as best I can, splitting popsicles with little Gavin and taking selfies with Jo in matching star-shaped shades. When my family is distracted, my smile slips, and I anxiously search the crowds on Broad Street for Navur. Is there anyone less free than me on this Independence Day?

  After a venison burger, two veggie hot dogs, and four Bud Lights, I’m feeling a bit cheerier. The block party on Broad Street comes to an official close by mid afternoon, with folks splitting up and heading home for their own celebration. As kids, this is when Jo and I would rampage with fireworks until one of us had to run home crying, and as teens, we’d hit up whatever local party had managed to snag a keg. Today, however, we wind up at the old playground between my sister’s house and ours. Brett and Daddy toss around a football, Mom, Jo, and I sit on a park bench sipping rosé (or pink lemonade, in Jo’s case), and Gavin climbs up the big toy. It’s a snapshot from a time long gone, when the concept of aliens on Earth was fascinatingly fictitious.

  I take a long sip of my rosé and smile as Gavin giggles the whole way down the twisty slide, immediately jumping up and running back up the stairs, stumbling a little in his haste. When I reach the bottom of this solo cup, I’ll be ready to join him in the revelry, tossing my inhibitions to the wind and taking a damn moment to pretend my life isn’t a tightening noose.

  “Gavin, slow down baby,” Jo calls out, as the little boy takes the stairs too fast again. He obeys, stopping at the top to turn and wave at us cheerily.

  The next moment happens so fast, Jo is screaming before I even register movement. The floor of the big toy, which has been old and rusty since my twin and I were kids, collapses, sending Gavin falling to the ground with a sickening thud.

  I rise to my feet and freeze, caught in a nightmare for the second time this week. Jo is still screaming, kneeling beside her child, whose little leg is gushing blood way too fast. The broken metal must have cut him as he fell, I realize slowly, paralyzed as Brett runs up and bends beside them, one arm reaching out to comfort his wife, the other going straight for his wounded son. Jo finally stops shrieking, but now Gavin is wailing, a broken sound too loud for his tiny body. Dad is on the phone, while Mom wraps her arms around my sister, and I’m still just standing here like a fucking idiot.

  When I’m sure the moment couldn’t possibly get any worse than this, a new figure enters the scene. My mouth goes dry as Navur runs up to my family with unnatural speed, bending down next to the fallen child in one fluid motion. No. No, no, no, no. My brain splits itself in half, with the logical side ecstatic that Navur is here to save Gavin, and the realistic, perhaps selfish side, horrified at what I know is about to happen. My two worlds, the two slices of my life that were never supposed to meet, are now colliding in the worst way.

  “Get the fuck away from my grandson, you monster,” my father shouts, the first to react to the newcomer. Moved by idiocy, paternal instinct, or perhaps a mix of both, he lunges at Navur, who easily shrugs him off. Mom cries out as Dad tumbles into the grass, and Brett tenses anxiously, but Navur holds up his hand, again instantly silencing the tiny crowd.

  “The child’s femoral artery is cut,” Navur says, simply but sternly. He fishes a thin silver tube out of his pocket, and holds it up demonstratively. “I can heal him instantly, if you let me. Otherwise, Gavin will bleed out before the ambulance arrives. The choice is yours.”

  “Heal him!” Jo shrieks before Navur even finishes his statement, voice wobbly with the same weight of panic and relief that is currently bottled up within me. “Please, please just heal him.”

  “Joelle,” Dad begins, rising back to his feet with a dark look.

  “Daddy, it’s my baby,” my sister sobs, clutching her swollen belly. “Please let him heal my baby.”

  Dad stands down, hands in fists by his sides, as Navur slowly guides the thin tube (a jansha, I think), over the gash in Gavin’s leg. We all watch in paralyzed awe as a dim light pours over the wound, and the flesh stitches itself back together before our very eyes. The damage is fixed just as fast as it was inflicted, and Navur rises back to his feet, looking unbearably tall beside my suddenly very old father.

  “He lost a lot of blood,” Navur says, pocketing the jansha. “He’ll need a lot of rest and fluids over the next few days, and you’ll want to take him to his pediatrician for a second opinion, but he will live.”

 

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