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Accidentally Abducted

Book One of the Nereidan Compatibility Program Series

Copyright © 2025 by Caitlin Ricci

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Content Notice

This book contains explicit sexual content and is intended for mature audiences (18+). It features consensual intimate relationships between adult characters, including size difference dynamics and empathic bonding elements.

Series Information

Accidentally Abducted is the first book in the Nereidan Compatibility Program series. Each book can be read as a standalone with its own complete romantic arc, though characters from previous books may appear in future installments.

Accidentally Abducted

Book 1 of the Nereidan Compatibility Program Series

Jake Morrison's Tuesday night was supposed to be boring. Pizza, Netflix, and maybe texting his fitness influencer ex-boyfriend to turn down the volume on his upstairs workout routine.

What he didn't expect was to be yanked off his couch by a blue light and deposited in front of a very naked, very confused alien who was definitely expecting someone else.

Meet Zeph'hai, Nereidan researcher and owner of the galaxy's worst pickup technique. His people need compatible partners to survive, and their extensive research indicated that Derek Cross (Jake's Instagram-famous ex) was the perfect candidate. Unfortunately, alien intel gathered from Instagram and "educational videos" isn't exactly reliable.

Now Jake's stuck on an alien ship for 72 hours with a gorgeous blue alien who glows when he's turned on, thinks pancakes are construction material, and has clearly never heard of personal boundaries. The empathic connection forming between them is just a bonus side effect. Right?

But when Jake discovers this isn't just alien speed dating but a one-shot chance at permanent interspecies partnership, everything changes. Because falling for your accidental abductor is complicated enough without adding species survival, cultural exchange, and the fact that Derek's still getting his own alien assessment.

Some mistakes are worth making. Some accidents change everything. And some connections are worth risking everything for.

A steamy sci-fi romance featuring mistaken identity, bioluminescent aliens, size differences, empathic bonding, and the revolutionary concept that food should taste good. Low angst, high heat, with a guaranteed HEA and series setup.

Tropes: Alien abduction • Mistaken identity • Forced proximity • Size difference • Bioluminescent alien • Empathic bond • Fish out of water • Only one chance at love • Domestic intimacy

Chapter One

Jake

The thing about Tuesday nights is they're supposed to be boring. Like, aggressively boring. The kind of boring where your biggest decision is whether to reheat leftover pizza or just eat it cold while binge-watching cooking shows you'll never have the motivation to actually follow.

I'm three episodes deep into some British guy making elaborate pastries when my apartment fills with this weird blue light that definitely isn't coming from my ancient TV. My first thought,and I'm not proud of this,is that maybe my upstairs neighbor Derek finally managed to electrocute himself with whatever the hell he's been building up there for the past six months. Which would be ironic, considering he just moved in after our breakup and immediately started some kind of home gym renovation project that sounds like he's training for American Ninja Warrior.

My second thought, as I'm yanked off my couch by some invisible force, is that I really should have worn better underwear today.

The blue light gets brighter, and suddenly I'm not in my living room anymore. I'm not anywhere I recognize, actually, which is concerning for a variety of reasons. The main one being that I'm now standing in what looks like the world's most aggressively white waiting room, if waiting rooms were designed by aliens with a serious minimalism fetish and absolutely zero understanding of human comfort.

"Well," I say to the empty room, because talking to myself is basically my brand at this point, "this is either the weirdest lucid dream I've ever had, or I'm about to become a really embarrassing statistic."

A door slides open with the kind of whoosh that screams 'expensive sci-fi budget,' and in walks... okay, definitely an alien. I mean, I was kind of hoping for the lucid dream option, but apparently my Tuesday night just got a lot more complicated.

The alien is tall,like, uncomfortably tall,with blue-tinted skin and these ridiculously broad shoulders that taper down to a narrow waist in a way that suggests either really good genetics or a personal trainer who takes their job very seriously. His face is humanoid enough that my brain doesn't immediately blue-screen, but there are differences. Sharper cheekbones, eyes that are a little too large and way too golden, and what might be gills on his neck? It's hard to tell from this angle.

He's also completely naked, which is information my brain decides to file under 'deal with later' while it's still processing the whole alien situation.

"Greetings," he says, and his voice has this weird harmonic quality that makes my spine tingle in a way that's definitely not fear. "I am Zeph'hai of the Nereidans Research Collective. You have been selected for our human compatibility program."

I blink at him. "I'm sorry, I've been what now?"

He tilts his head, and the movement is oddly bird-like. "Selected. For compatibility assessment. Our research indicates you are an ideal candidate for genetic... partnership."

"Okay, couple of issues with that," I say, holding up a finger. "First, I'm pretty sure you've got the wrong guy. I can barely keep a houseplant alive, let alone partner with anything genetic. Second, I'm gay, so if this is some kind of weird breeding program situation, you might want to recalibrate your research. And third—" I gesture at him, trying not to let my eyes linger on the really impressive parts, "—you're naked. Like, aggressively naked. Is that a cultural thing, or...?"

Zeph'hai's golden eyes widen, and he looks down at himself like he's just noticing his lack of clothing. When he looks back up, there's a faint blue flush across his cheekbones that I'm going to assume is the alien equivalent of blushing.

"Clothing is unnecessary during the initial compatibility assessment," he says, but he sounds less certain now. "Our research indicated human males prefer immediate visual confirmation of genetic viability."

"Your research needs better sources," I tell him. "What exactly did you guys use? Because it sounds like someone's been getting their human intel from porn sites and Instagram."

The blue flush deepens. "Instagram was... mentioned in our cultural preparation materials, yes. Along with several... educational video platforms."

I stare at him. "Oh my god. You guys actually did use porn and Instagram. That's... wow. That explains literally everything." I run a hand through my hair, which is probably sticking up at weird angles but honestly feels like the least of my problems right now. "Look, Zeph, can I call you Zeph? Zeph'hai feels like a mouthful, and I'm pretty sure I'm butchering the pronunciation."

"Zeph is acceptable," he says, and there's something almost shy about the way he says it.

"Great. So, Zeph, I'm going to go out on a limb here and guess that whoever you were supposed to pick up was Derek Cross from apartment 5A, not Jake Morrison from 4A. Because I'm definitely not anyone's idea of ideal genetic material. I work at a coffee shop, I have a psychology degree I'm not using, and my last relationship ended because apparently I'm 'emotionally unavailable and overly sarcastic.' Which, fair enough, but still."

Zeph's expression shifts to something I can only describe as concerned confusion. "You are not Derek Cross, fitness instructor and nutritional influencer?"

"Nope. That would be my ex-boyfriend, and honestly, the fact that you guys picked him for a compatibility program makes way more sense than picking me. Derek's got the abs, the Instagram followers, and the kind of genetic material that probably photographs well." I pause. "Also, we broke up three months ago and he moved to the apartment upstairs, so you might want to update your intel on that front too."

The silence that follows is the kind of awkward that makes you want to crawl under a rock and stay there until everyone forgets you exist. Zeph stares at me like I've just told him his entire worldview is built on a lie, which, to be fair, might actually be the case.

"This is..." he starts, then stops. "This is very problematic."

"Yeah, I figured." I look around the aggressively white room. "So, uh, what happens now? Do you just... beam me back? Drop me off at the nearest Starbucks? Because I've got to be honest, this whole situation is weird enough that I'm probably going to need some really good coffee to process it."

Zeph'hai, Zeph, runs a hand through his hair, which is darker blue than his skin and looks ridiculously soft. It's an oddly human gesture, and it makes something in my chest do a weird little flutter that I'm absolutely not going to examine too closely right now.

"The transportation cycle cannot be reversed for seventy-two of your hours," he says. "And I have been... assigned to you. For the duration of your stay."

I process this information. "So I'm stuck here for three days, and you're stuck with me."

"That is... an accurate assessment, yes."

"With you. Who is naked. And was expecting to spend three days doing genetic compatibility tests with my Instagram-famous ex-boyfriend."

"Also accurate."

I look at him, really look at him. He's still naked, still impossibly tall and broad and alien, but there's something almost vulnerable about the way he's standing now. Like he's waiting for me to start screaming or demand to speak to his manager or something.

Instead, I start laughing.

"Oh, this is perfect," I say, wiping tears from my eyes. "This is absolutely perfect. Derek's going to be so pissed that he missed out on being abducted by aliens. He's probably upstairs right now doing his evening workout routine, completely oblivious to the fact that his genetic material was deemed worthy of intergalactic attention."

Zeph stares at me like I've lost my mind, which is probably fair. "You are... not distressed by this situation?"

"Oh, I'm definitely distressed," I tell him. "But I'm also kind of impressed by the sheer cosmic irony of it all. I mean, what are the odds?" I grin at him. "Besides, it's not like my Tuesday night was going anywhere exciting. At least this is interesting."

For the first time since he walked in, Zeph smiles. It's a small smile, barely there, but it transforms his entire face. Makes him look less like an intimidating alien researcher and more like... well, still an intimidating alien, but one who might actually have a sense of humor buried under all that confused professionalism.

"So," I say, clapping my hands together. "What exactly does a genetic compatibility assessment involve? Because I'm thinking we might need to make some adjustments to your research protocols."

Chapter Two

Zeph

Jake Morrison is staring at me with an expression that I am beginning to recognize as his default state of amused skepticism, and I realize that everything I thought I knew about this moment is wrong.

"So," he says, clapping his hands together in a gesture that our research materials failed to mention, "what exactly does a genetic compatibility assessment involve? Because I'm thinking we might need to make some adjustments to your research protocols."

The casual way he says "adjustments" makes something twist uncomfortably in my stomach. Our research protocols represent three cycles of intensive preparation. Teams of scientists analyzed thousands of hours of human behavioral data. And this human, this wrong human who was never supposed to be here, has identified their fundamental flaws within the first few minutes of our interaction.

"The assessment," I begin carefully, "involves a structured series of activities designed to determine optimal pair bonding potential."

Jake raises one eyebrow. "Structured series of activities. That sounds... romantic."

I am beginning to understand that when Jake uses that particular tone, he is employing what humans call sarcasm. Our research materials mentioned sarcasm but failed to adequately convey how it would feel to be on the receiving end of it, like being gently mocked and challenged simultaneously.

"Perhaps," I say, "it would be more efficient to show you to your quarters first. The assessment can be... explained in more detail once you are settled."

"My quarters," Jake repeats. "Singular or plural?"

The question confuses me. "I do not understand."

"Am I getting my own room, or are we bunking together? Because I feel like that's kind of important information to have upfront."

The heat rises in my face again. "The quarters are... shared. Adjacent sleeping areas with common living space. The program is designed to encourage natural bonding through proximity."

"Natural bonding through proximity," Jake says slowly. "Did you guys get that from a nature documentary?"

"Our research sources were quite varied," I say, which is not technically a lie, though I am beginning to suspect that the variety of our sources may have been part of the problem.

Jake is quiet for a moment, studying my face with an intensity that makes my skin feel warm. There's something calculating about the way he looks at me, but not unkind, more like he's trying to solve a puzzle. "Okay," he finally says. "Lead the way. I'm curious to see what alien interior decorating looks like when it's been influenced by... varied research sources."

The walk to the quarters is both too long and too short. Jake moves beside me with an easy confidence that I find oddly fascinating, occasionally making observations about the ship's design that are both insightful and completely devastating to our architectural assumptions.

"Very sterile," he says, running a hand along the corridor wall. "Very... medical facility meets luxury hotel. Did your research indicate that humans prefer environments that remind them of hospitals?"

"Clean, uncluttered spaces were identified as optimal for reducing stress and promoting calm mental states," I recite from our briefing materials.

"Huh." Jake nods thoughtfully. "And the color scheme? All white, all the time?"

"White was indicated to be universally calming across human cultures."

"Right." Jake stops walking and turns to look at me directly. "Zeph, can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Did anyone on your research team actually talk to a human? Like, an actual conversation with a real person?"

The question hits me with unexpected force. "We... consulted extensive digital archives. Social media platforms, educational videos, cultural documentation..."

"But no actual conversations."

"No," I admit. "Direct contact was deemed unnecessary given the comprehensive nature of our digital research."

Jake stares at me for a moment, then starts laughing. Not the cruel laughter I might have expected, but something warm and oddly fond. "Oh, you guys are in for such a surprise."

"A surprise?"

"Humans are terrible at documenting what we actually want or need. Half the stuff we post online is aspirational bullshit, and the other half is us complaining about things we can't change." He starts walking again, and I find myself matching his pace automatically. "If you wanted to understand humans, you should have just asked one."

"We are asking one now," I point out.

"Yeah, but you got the wrong one. I'm not exactly representative of optimal human behavior."

There is something in the way he says this that suggests he genuinely believes it to be true, and I find that troubling for reasons I cannot quite identify. "What would make you non-optimal?"

Jake glances at me, surprised by the question. "I don't know. I'm sarcastic, I have trust issues, I use humor to avoid emotional intimacy, and I apparently have terrible taste in boyfriends." He pauses. "Plus, I'm the guy who got left behind when the aliens came calling. That's got to count against me somehow."

"You were not left behind," I say, stopping in front of the quarters' entrance. "You were selected."

"I was selected by mistake."

"Perhaps," I say, pressing the panel to open the door. "But you are here now."

The quarters reveal themselves with their soft lighting and carefully researched furniture arrangements, and I watch Jake's face as he takes it all in. His expression cycles through several phases, surprise, assessment, and something that might be amusement.

"Wow," he says, walking over to examine one of the seating units. "This is... this is really something."

"The design was optimized for human comfort and social interaction," I say, though I am beginning to suspect that our definition of optimization may have been flawed.

"It looks like someone took a really expensive furniture showroom and bleached it," Jake says, but he settles into one of the chairs and seems genuinely surprised by its comfort. "Although I have to admit, this is actually pretty nice to sit on."

Relief floods through me. "The seating was designed to accommodate a variety of human body types while providing optimal support."

"Okay, you got that part right." Jake looks around the space again. "So this is where we're going to be conducting our compatibility assessment?"

"Yes." I remain standing, suddenly uncertain about everything from the lighting levels to the air temperature. "Though given the... change in circumstances, the assessment parameters may require modification."

"What were the original parameters?"

I hesitate, knowing that our planned assessment schedule is going to sound even more ridiculous when spoken aloud to an actual human. "Days one through three were structured around progressive intimacy building. Shared meals, recreational activities, personal information exchange, and... physical compatibility evaluation."

"Physical compatibility evaluation," Jake repeats. "You mean sex."

The directness of human communication continues to catch me off-guard. "Sexual compatibility assessment, yes. Though only if both participants were willing and genuinely interested."

"And this was all planned out in advance? Like, day one: small talk, day two: heavy petting, day three: full compatibility testing?"

The way he phrases it makes the entire program sound both mechanical and slightly ridiculous. Which, I am beginning to realize, it may actually be. "The progression was designed to be... organic. Natural development of attraction and comfort."

Jake is quiet for a moment, and I find myself studying his face, trying to determine his thoughts. When he speaks again, his voice is gentler than before.

"Zeph, can I ask you something personal?"

"Yes."

"Is this your first time doing this? The compatibility program?"

Heat spreads across my face, and I know my expression has given me away before I speak. "Yes. This is my first assignment."

"Your first assignment," Jake repeats, and something in his expression softens. "So you're basically as nervous about this as I am confused about it."

"I would not characterize my emotional state as nervous," I say, though this is not entirely truthful.

"What would you characterize it as?"

I consider this question seriously. "Uncertain. The situation has deviated significantly from expected parameters, and I am... unsure of the appropriate response."

"Well," Jake says, leaning back in his chair, "here's a thought. What if we just... figure it out as we go? Forget the parameters and the research and the structured assessments. What if we just try to get to know each other and see what happens?"

The suggestion is both terrifying and oddly appealing. "That would be highly irregular."

"Yeah, but regular doesn't seem to be working out so well for your research team." Jake grins at me. "Besides, I'm already irregular. Might as well lean into it."

I look at this human, this wrong, sarcastic, unexpectedly insightful human, and realize that he may be correct. Our research prepared me for Derek Cross, fitness instructor and nutritional influencer. It did not prepare me for Jake Morrison, who finds humor in confusion and asks questions that make me reconsider everything I thought I understood about this program.

It certainly did not prepare me for the way my pulse quickens when he looks at me directly, or the way his smile seems to illuminate something in my chest that I did not know existed.

"Very well," I say, settling into the chair across from him. "Where would you suggest we begin?"

"How about with something simple?" Jake says. "Tell me about yourself. Not the official Nereidans researcher stuff, tell me about you. What do you like? What makes you laugh? What are you afraid of?"

The questions are so direct, so personal, that I am momentarily speechless. Our training focused extensively on human psychology and behavior, but no one prepared me for the possibility that a human might be genuinely interested in understanding my psychology and behavior in return.

"I..." I begin, then stop. "I am not certain how to answer those questions."

"Start with something easy," Jake suggests. "What's your favorite thing about being a Nereidan?"

I think about this seriously. "I like the way our technology responds to intent rather than just command. The ship adjusts to our needs and moods without requiring specific instructions. It feels like... partnership rather than operation."

"That's actually really cool," Jake says, and he sounds genuinely interested. "So the ship knows how you're feeling?"

"To some extent, yes. It can sense stress, fatigue, emotional state. It adjusts environmental factors accordingly."

"What's it sensing from you right now?"

The question catches me off-guard, and I realize I have not been monitoring my own emotional output. "Uncertainty," I admit. "Elevated stress levels. But also..." I pause, trying to identify the other signals. "Interest. Curiosity."

"About what?"

"About you," I say honestly. "About how different you are from what I expected. About whether our research was wrong about everything, or just... incomplete."

Jake's expression softens into something I cannot quite identify. "For what it's worth," he says, "I think your research was probably wrong about most things, but not necessarily in a bad way."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean maybe the fact that you guys don't really understand humans yet is actually an advantage. Maybe it means you're going into this without a bunch of preconceived notions about how it's supposed to work."

I consider this perspective. "You believe our ignorance is beneficial?"

"I think your ignorance might be more honest than most humans' supposed expertise." Jake grins. "Besides, figuring things out together sounds a lot more interesting than following some predetermined compatibility checklist."

Looking at him, really looking at him, I realize that Jake Morrison might be completely correct. And for the first time since this assignment began, I find myself genuinely curious about what the next three days might bring.

"Very well," I say. "Let us figure it out together."

Chapter Three

Jake

I wake up to the sound of something crashing in the main room, followed by what I can only assume is alien cursing.

"Zeph?" I call out, squinting at the ceiling that's somehow shifted to a soft sunrise orange overnight. Either the ship really does respond to moods, or it has a better sense of interior design than most humans I know.

"I am... experiencing technical difficulties," comes Zeph's voice, strained with what sounds like embarrassment.

I roll out of bed, pull on yesterday's jeans, and wander into the main room to find Zeph standing in front of what I think is supposed to be a kitchen counter, staring at a pile of what looks like metallic sludge with the expression of someone whose entire worldview has just been challenged.

"Let me guess," I say, rubbing sleep out of my eyes. "You tried to make breakfast using your extensive human research?"

"The food synthesizer was programmed with optimal human nutritional requirements," Zeph says, poking at the sludge with something that might charitably be called a spoon. "This should be... pancakes."

I look at the gray, vaguely pancake-shaped disaster on his plate. "Okay, I have several questions. First, where did you get the pancake recipe? Second, why does it look like industrial paste? And third, please tell me you have a backup plan."

Zeph's face does that blue flush thing that I'm starting to find ridiculously endearing. "The recipe was sourced from a popular human cooking platform. The synthesizer interpreted the ingredients according to their chemical compositions. And... no. No backup plan."

"Right." I walk over to examine the alleged pancakes more closely. They smell like nothing, which is somehow worse than if they smelled bad. "Zeph, buddy, I think your synthesizer might be a little too literal. Pancakes aren't supposed to be nutritionally optimized. They're supposed to be delicious and terrible for you."

"But surely optimal nutrition would be preferable?"

"Not for breakfast foods. Breakfast foods are supposed to make you happy, not healthy." I grin at him. "Although points for effort. These look very... structural."

Zeph stares at the pancakes like they've personally betrayed him. "I wanted to provide you with familiar foods. To make your stay more comfortable."

And there it is, that earnest thoughtfulness that keeps catching me off-guard. Here's this guy who was supposed to be conducting compatibility tests with my ex-boyfriend, and instead he's trying to make me pancakes at what I'm guessing is probably the crack of dawn, ship time.

"That's actually really sweet," I tell him, and watch his expression brighten slightly. "But maybe next time we could tackle breakfast together? I mean, assuming your synthesizer can handle basic ingredients."

"You would... teach me to prepare human food?"

"I would teach you to prepare food that humans actually want to eat, as opposed to food that's theoretically good for them." I lean against the counter next to him, close enough that I can smell whatever it is he uses that makes him smell like clean laundry and something vaguely spicy. "Trust me, there's a big difference."

"I would like that," Zeph says, and there's something almost shy about the way he says it. "Though I should warn you that my people do not typically engage in food preparation. Most of our nutrition is synthesized according to individual metabolic requirements."

"So you guys don't cook?"

"We do not... cook recreationally, no."

I stare at him. "Recreationally. You think cooking is recreational?"

"Is it not?"

"I mean, it can be, but mostly it's just... what you do when you want to eat something that doesn't taste like cardboard." I pause, processing this new information about alien culture. "Wait, do you guys ever eat for pleasure? Like, just because something tastes good?"

Zeph considers this seriously. "Pleasure-based consumption is not... discouraged, but it is not emphasized in our culture. Food is primarily viewed as fuel."

"Oh my god." I turn to face him fully. "Zeph, you've never had a really good meal, have you? Like, something that makes you close your eyes and make involuntary noises of appreciation?"

The blue flush returns, deeper this time. "Involuntary noises?"

"You know, like... mmm, or oh god, that's so good, or..." I trail off, realizing that my examples are starting to sound less like food appreciation and more like something else entirely. "Never mind. The point is, food can be an experience, not just nutrition."

"An experience," he repeats, like this is a revolutionary concept.

"Yeah. And if we're going to be figuring each other out for the next couple days, food seems like a good place to start." I gesture at the pancake disaster. "Can your synthesizer make individual ingredients? Like, flour, eggs, milk, that kind of thing?"

"I believe so, yes."

"Perfect. Cooking lesson number one: how to make pancakes that don't look like they could be used to patch hull breaches."

The next hour is... educational. For both of us.

It turns out that Zeph approaches cooking the same way he probably approaches everything else: methodically, precisely, and with a level of focus that's both admirable and slightly intense. He measures ingredients to the exact gram, follows my instructions with scientific precision, and asks more questions about the chemical reactions involved in cooking than I ever thought to ask myself.

It also turns out that watching him concentrate, the way his tongue darts out slightly when he's focusing, the way his ridiculously long fingers handle the mixing spoon with surprising delicacy, is doing things to my brain that are definitely not appropriate for a cooking lesson.

"The consistency appears adequate," he says, holding up the spoon to examine the pancake batter. "Though I am uncertain about the... lumps."

"Lumps are good. Lumps mean you didn't overmix it." I'm standing behind him, probably closer than strictly necessary for cooking instruction, and I can feel the warmth radiating off his skin. "Here, let me show you."

I reach around him to adjust his grip on the spoon, and the contact makes him go very still. "Like this," I say, guiding his hand through the proper mixing motion, trying to ignore the way his breath catches slightly when my chest brushes against his back.

"I see," he says, and his voice is a little rougher than usual. "The technique is more... intuitive than precise."

"Exactly." I step back, mostly because if I don't, I'm going to do something stupid like press my face against the space between his shoulder blades and see if he tastes as good as he smells. "Cooking is more art than science."

"Art," he repeats, turning to look at me. "You consider food preparation to be artistic expression?"

"Among other things, yeah." I take the spoon from him and pour the first pancake onto the heated surface of what I think is supposed to be a griddle. "Food is culture, memory, comfort, pleasure. It's how we take care of each other."

Zeph watches the pancake bubble and set with the kind of fascination most people reserve for fireworks. "How we take care of each other," he says softly.

"Yeah. I mean, think about it, when someone's sick, we make them soup. When we're celebrating, we bake cakes. When we want to show someone we care about them, we cook their favorite meal." I flip the pancake, pleased when it comes out golden brown instead of gray. "Food is love, basically."

"Food is love," Zeph repeats, and there's something almost wondering in his voice.

"Metaphorically speaking." I glance at him, suddenly feeling a little exposed. "I mean, it doesn't have to be romantic love. It's just... caring about someone enough to put effort into making them happy."

"And you are doing this for me."

It's not a question, but I answer anyway. "I'm teaching you to do it for yourself. And for future humans who might appreciate pancakes that don't double as construction materials."

"Future humans," Zeph says, and something shifts in his expression that I can't quite read.

"Yeah, I mean..." I flip the pancake onto a plate and pour another one. "This whole compatibility program thing. You'll probably get matched with someone eventually, right? Someone who actually signed up for this."

The silence that follows is heavy enough that I look up from the griddle to find Zeph staring at me with an expression I definitely can't read.

"Jake," he says carefully, "are you under the impression that this program involves multiple human partners?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, this is basically alien dating, right? You try out different humans until you find one that works?"

"No," Zeph says, and there's something almost urgent in his voice. "No, that is not how the program works."

I set down the spatula and turn to face him fully. "Okay, then how does it work?"

"Each Nereidan is matched with one human, based on compatibility algorithms. The assessment period determines whether the match is viable for long-term partnership."

"Long-term partnership," I repeat slowly. "As in..."

"As in permanent. Life partnership. What humans might call marriage."

The pancake on the griddle starts to burn, but neither of us moves to flip it. I'm too busy processing the fact that this isn't casual alien dating, this is alien engagement.

"So you and Derek..." I start.

"Were potentially going to bond permanently, yes. If the assessment had been successful."

"And now you and I..."

"Are in the same situation," Zeph finishes quietly.

I stare at him, my brain struggling to catch up with this new information. "Zeph, are you telling me that this three-day compatibility assessment is basically a trial marriage?"

"That is... an accurate characterization, yes."

"And if we're compatible..."

"We would be offered the opportunity to formalize the bond. You would be welcome to remain here, or I could relocate to Earth, depending on our mutual preferences."

The pancake is definitely burning now, filling the air with the smell of charred batter, but I can't seem to move. "And if we're not compatible?"

"Then you return to Earth, and I..." Zeph hesitates. "I do not receive another match. The program matches each participant only once."

"Once," I echo. "As in, this is your only shot at finding a life partner through this program."

"Yes."

I finally turn off the griddle, scraping the burnt pancake into what I hope is a disposal unit. "So no pressure or anything."

"I did not mean to add pressure to the situation," Zeph says quickly. "I simply wanted you to understand the full scope of what we are assessing."

"The full scope being whether we want to get alien married after knowing each other for less than twenty-four hours."

"When you phrase it that way, it does sound rather... accelerated."

I laugh, short and sharp. "Accelerated. That's one word for it." I run my hands through my hair, trying to process this. "Jesus, Zeph. Derek really dodged a bullet, didn't he? Can you imagine if he'd said yes? He'd probably be planning the wedding and updating his Instagram bio to 'Intergalactic Influencer' by now."

"And you?" Zeph asks quietly. "Do you feel that you have... dodged a bullet as well?"

I look at him, really look at him. He's standing there in his fitted alien clothes, holding a mixing spoon like it might contain the secrets of the universe, and there's something vulnerable in his golden eyes that makes my chest tight.

Twenty-four hours ago, the most complicated thing in my life was deciding whether to text my ex about his loud upstairs renovations. Now I'm standing in an alien kitchen, having burned pancakes while discussing the possibility of permanent relocation to another planet with someone who thinks food preparation is artistic expression.

It should be terrifying. It should be completely insane.

Instead, it's the most interesting my life has been in years.

"Ask me again tomorrow," I tell him, echoing his words from yesterday. "But for the record? I'm pretty sure Derek would have been a terrible alien husband. He would have tried to optimize your food synthesizer for maximum protein efficiency."

That gets me one of Zeph's small smiles, the kind that transforms his whole face. "And you would not?"

"I would teach you to make grilled cheese sandwiches and chocolate chip cookies and all the foods that are absolutely terrible for you but make you happy anyway." I grin at him. "Because that's what partners do. They make each other happy, not optimal."

"Happy, not optimal," Zeph repeats, like he's memorizing the phrase.

"Exactly." I reach for the pancake batter. "Now, how about we try this again? Without the existential relationship discussions this time."

"I would like that," Zeph says, moving to stand beside me at the griddle. "Though I should warn you, I may have more questions about the artistic expression aspects of food preparation."

"I'd be disappointed if you didn't," I tell him, and realize that I actually mean it.

Because if I'm going to accidentally audition for alien marriage, I might as well do it with someone who asks good questions.

Chapter Four

Zeph

I am experiencing what humans might call a "situation."

Jake is sitting across from me at the small table we moved to the common area, working his way through the pancakes we successfully created together, and making small sounds of appreciation that are doing very specific things to my nervous system. Every "mmm" of enjoyment sends heat cascading through my chest, and I am becoming increasingly concerned that he might notice the way my skin seems to be... reacting.

"These are actually really good," Jake says, cutting another bite with what appears to be genuine enthusiasm. "I mean, they're not going to win any awards, but they taste like actual food instead of nutritional paste."

"I am gratified that they meet with your approval," I say, though I am having difficulty concentrating on the conversation. The warmth in my chest is spreading, and I can feel the telltale tingle that precedes... complications.

Jake pauses with his fork halfway to his mouth. "Are you okay? You look a little flushed."

I feel heat rise in my face, which only exacerbates the problem. "I am fine. Perhaps the ambient temperature requires adjustment."

"Huh." Jake sets down his fork and studies me with that direct gaze that seems to see more than I am comfortable revealing. "You know, I was wondering about something."

"Oh?" I attempt to sound casual while simultaneously trying to suppress the growing luminescence I can feel building beneath my skin.

"Earlier, when you were embarrassed about the pancake disaster, I could have sworn I saw..." He tilts his head, clearly trying to work something out. "Do Nereidans change color when they're emotional? Because I thought I saw a kind of... glow."

My entire nervous system freezes. "Glow?"

"Yeah, like... just for a second, there was this golden light under your skin." Jake leans forward slightly, and his proximity makes the sensation in my chest intensify. "It was actually really beautiful."

Beautiful. He thinks my involuntary bioluminescent responses are beautiful, which is both deeply gratifying and absolutely mortifying, because now the glow is definitely becoming visible and there is nothing I can do to stop it.

"That is..." I begin, then realize that lying about basic Nereidan physiology is both pointless and potentially problematic for future interactions. "Yes. Nereidans do exhibit bioluminescent responses during periods of emotional intensity."

"Emotional intensity," Jake repeats, and there is something in his voice that suggests he understands exactly what kind of emotional intensity we are discussing. "So right now, when you're glowing like a very attractive night light, that means...?"

The warmth spreads from my chest down through my abdomen, and I know without looking that the golden luminescence is becoming increasingly obvious. "It means that I am experiencing... significant emotional stimulus."

"Emotional stimulus," Jake says slowly, his eyes fixed on what I can only assume is the growing glow emanating from my skin. "And what, specifically, is stimulating you emotionally right now?"

The directness of the question catches me completely off-guard. In Nereidans culture, one does not simply ask about another's bioluminescent responses. It is considered deeply personal, intimate information.

But Jake is not Nereidan, and his expression suggests genuine curiosity rather than prurient interest.

"You," I admit, because apparently honesty has become my default response to this human who asks impossible questions. "You are... stimulating me emotionally."

"Me," Jake says, and his voice has dropped to something lower and more intense. "Specifically what about me?"

I look at him, really look at him. His hair is still slightly messy from sleep, he has a small amount of pancake syrup on his lower lip, and he is watching me with an expression that suggests he knows exactly how he is affecting me and finds it fascinating rather than off-putting.

"The sounds you make when you eat," I say, my voice rougher than intended. "The way you concentrate when you are learning something new. The way you look at me like you are trying to solve a puzzle, but not because you want to fix me, because you want to understand me."

Jake's eyes widen slightly, and I notice that his breathing has changed. "Zeph..."

"The way you say my name," I continue, because apparently I have lost all capacity for appropriate social restraint. "The way you stand close to me when you are teaching me something, close enough that I can feel the heat from your skin. The way you make me want to be worthy of your attention, not because of compatibility algorithms or research protocols, but because I want to see you smile."

The glow is definitely visible now, I can see it reflecting in Jake's eyes, casting soft golden light across his features. He is staring at me with an expression I cannot fully decode, but it does not appear to be revulsion or fear.

"Jesus, Zeph," Jake says softly. "You can't just say things like that."

"Why not?"

"Because..." Jake runs a hand through his hair, and I notice that his hand is not entirely steady. "Because it makes me want to do things that might be moving too fast for a fake compatibility assessment."

"What kinds of things?"

Jake is quiet for a moment, and I can see him weighing his response. When he speaks, his voice is careful but honest. "Things like finding out if you glow everywhere when you're aroused, or if it's just your face and chest."

The bluntness of the statement sends heat racing through my entire nervous system, and I feel the luminescence flare brighter. "Jake..."

"And things like finding out if you make those little surprised sounds when someone touches you the way you do when you taste something you like."

I am quite certain that I have stopped breathing entirely. "That would be... highly irregular."

"Yeah, well, this whole situation is pretty irregular." Jake leans back in his chair, but his eyes never leave mine. "Question is, are you interested in finding out the answers to those questions, or would you prefer to stick to the structured compatibility assessment schedule?"

I consider this question seriously, though my capacity for rational thought is somewhat compromised by the way Jake is looking at me and the increasingly urgent signals my body is sending.

"The scheduled assessment parameters," I say slowly, "did not account for the possibility of genuine mutual attraction developing within the first twenty-four hours."

"No, I bet they didn't." Jake grins, and the expression is both amused and heated. "So what do you want to do about that?"

What do I want to do? I want to discover whether Jake's skin is as warm as it appears. I want to learn whether the sounds he makes when he is pleased with food are similar to the sounds he might make under other circumstances. I want to explore whether the careful way he touches things when he is being gentle extends to how he might touch me.

I want to abandon every protocol I have ever learned and follow the growing luminescence under my skin to whatever conclusion it might lead.

"I want," I say carefully, "to deviate from the established parameters."

"Deviate how?"

I meet his eyes directly, letting him see the full extent of the golden glow that I can no longer suppress. "I want to kiss you. I want to discover whether your skin tastes as good as it smells. I want to learn what makes you make those small sounds of pleasure, and I want to find out whether you truly find my... responses beautiful, or whether you were simply being kind."

Jake is very still for a moment, and I begin to worry that I have overstepped some crucial boundary. Then he stands up from his chair and walks around the table to where I am sitting.

"Stand up," he says quietly.

I comply, rising to my full height, which means I am looking down at Jake from several inches above. He tips his head back to maintain eye contact, and the movement exposes the line of his throat in a way that makes the glow under my skin pulse stronger.

"For the record," Jake says, reaching up to touch my face with careful fingers, "I wasn't being kind. You're absolutely gorgeous when you glow. Like having my own personal aurora."

His touch sends sparks of sensation across my skin, and I feel the luminescence respond, brightening where his fingers make contact. "Jake..."

"And for the record," he continues, his thumb tracing along my cheekbone, "I'm very interested in deviating from the established parameters. But I need you to understand something first."

"What?"

"This isn't just curiosity or physical attraction," Jake says, his voice serious despite the heat in his eyes. "I mean, it definitely is those things, but it's not only those things. I like you, Zeph. I like the way your brain works and the way you ask questions and the way you care about getting things right. I like that you tried to make me pancakes because you wanted me to be comfortable."

My chest feels tight in a way that has nothing to do with bioluminescence and everything to do with the careful sincerity in Jake's voice.

"So if we're going to do this," Jake continues, "if we're going to explore whatever this is between us, I need to know that you understand it's not just a compatibility test anymore. At least not for me."

I look down at this human who has somehow managed to turn my entire understanding of this assignment upside down in less than twenty-four hours. Who makes me want to abandon protocols not because they are inconvenient, but because they seem irrelevant in the face of what I am feeling.

"It is not a compatibility test for me either," I tell him honestly. "It has not been since you started laughing at our research failures and making observations that are more insightful than three cycles of scientific analysis."

"Good," Jake says, and his smile is soft and real and makes my entire nervous system light up like a star. "In that case, I think we should definitely find out if you glow everywhere."

"That," I manage to say, despite the fact that my higher brain functions appear to have temporarily shut down, "would be acceptable research methodology."

Jake laughs, the sound warm and delighted. "God, I love the way you talk. Come here."

And then he is pulling me down toward him, and I am learning that Jake's skin does indeed taste as good as it smells, and that the sounds he makes when I kiss him are even better than the ones he makes when he eats pancakes.

I am also learning that when Jake runs his hands through my hair and makes small, appreciative noises against my mouth, the bioluminescent response spreads considerably beyond my face and chest.

Research, as it turns out, can be deeply rewarding when conducted with the right methodology.

And the right research partner.

Chapter Five

Jake

I'm learning several very important things about Nereidans, and specifically about Zeph.

First: when he said he glows during emotional intensity, he vastly understated the situation. Right now, with his mouth on mine and his hands tangled in my hair, he's practically incandescent. Golden light is emanating from every inch of exposed skin, pulsing brighter when I do something he particularly likes, such as biting gently at his lower lip, which makes him make a sound that goes straight to my dick.

Second: Nereidans apparently run several degrees warmer than humans, because Zeph's skin feels like touching a perfectly heated blanket, and I'm starting to understand why he didn't seem bothered by the ship's cool temperature.

Third, and most importantly: Zeph is significantly larger than I initially estimated, in several very relevant ways.

"Jesus," I gasp against his mouth as his hands slide under my shirt, his glowing fingertips leaving trails of warmth across my skin. "You're like a fucking space heater."

"Is that... problematic?" Zeph asks, and I can hear the uncertainty in his voice even as his thumbs trace along my hipbones in a way that makes my brain short-circuit.

"Problematic? Zeph, it's perfect. I'm always cold." I pull back enough to look at him, and the sight makes my breath catch. His face is beautiful in the normal lighting, but glowing like this, with his pupils dilated and his lips slightly swollen from kissing, he looks like something out of a fantasy. "God, you're gorgeous. Like, stupidly gorgeous."

The glow flares brighter at the compliment, and I grin. "I'm going to have so much fun figuring out what makes you light up."

"Jake," Zeph says, his voice rougher than I've heard it, "I should warn you—"

"About what?" I'm working on the fastenings of his shirt-thing, desperate to see more of that golden glow.

"Nereidan anatomy is... somewhat different from human anatomy, when we are aroused."

I pause in my attempts to undress him. "Different how? Like, extra parts? Fewer parts? Parts in unexpected places?"

"Not... extra parts, precisely. But proportionally different. And there are certain... adaptations that might be unfamiliar."

"Proportionally different," I repeat slowly. "You mean..."

"I mean that I am concerned about physical compatibility," Zeph says, and there's something almost vulnerable in his admission. "Our research indicated that size differences can be... challenging for successful intimate relations."

I stare at him for a moment, processing this. "Zeph, are you telling me you're worried your dick is too big now that you're turned on?"

The blunt question makes him flush deeper, the glow spreading down his neck. "That is... a crude but accurate assessment of my primary concern, yes."

"Okay, first of all, that's exactly the kind of problem I want to have," I tell him, finally getting his shirt open and pushing it off his shoulders. "Second of all, humans are surprisingly adaptable. And third, holy shit, okay that's... that's significantly more than I was mentally prepared for."

Because Zeph up close without a shirt is a revelation. His chest and arms are glowing with soft golden light, highlighting muscles that I want to spend several hours exploring with my mouth. But more than that, I can see the outline of what he's concerned about through his pants, and... yeah. I understand the worry.

"That is... quite a bit bigger than human average," I manage to say, trying to sound casual while internally recalibrating my expectations about alien anatomy.

"Significantly so," Zeph agrees, and he's watching my face carefully for my reaction.

I look up at him, this beautiful, glowing alien who's worried about being too much for me, and feel something warm unfurl in my chest that has nothing to do with arousal and everything to do with the fact that he cares about my comfort more than his own pleasure.

"Well," I say, running my hands over his chest and enjoying the way the glow follows my touch, "I guess we'll just have to take our time and figure it out. I'm very motivated to make this work, even if it means my jaw's going to be sore tomorrow."

"You are?"

"Zeph, I've wanted to get my hands on you since approximately five minutes after we met. A little size difference isn't going to scare me off." I lean up to kiss him again, slower this time, deeper. "Besides, I'm curious about something."

"What?"

"Those adaptations you mentioned. What exactly am I working with here?"

Zeph hesitates for a moment, then steps back and finishes removing his pants with movements that are somehow both efficient and incredibly graceful. When he straightens up, completely naked and glowing like a golden god, I have to remind myself to breathe.

"Fuck," I whisper, because there really aren't adequate words for what I'm looking at.

Zeph is... impressive. In every possible way. His cock is proportional to the rest of him, which means it's significantly larger than anything I've encountered before, and it's glowing with the same golden light as the rest of his skin. There are subtle ridges along the shaft that definitely weren't mentioned in any alien anatomy textbook, and as I watch, fascinated, there's a faint sheen appearing along the length, something that looks almost like oil, but cleaner somehow.

"That's..." I start, then stop, trying to find words that aren't just incoherent appreciation.

"Too much?" Zeph asks, and there's genuine worry in his voice.

"Too much? Zeph, that's the most beautiful cock I've ever seen, and also possibly the most intimidating." I reach out to touch him, then pause. "Can I? Or should I like, sign a waiver first?"

He nods, not trusting his voice, and I wrap my hand around him, or try to. My fingers don't quite meet around his girth, which should probably be intimidating but instead just makes me more determined to figure out the logistics.

The moment I touch him, Zeph makes a sound that's somewhere between a moan and a gasp, and the glow under his skin flares so bright I can see it even in the ship's ambient lighting. The slick coating on his cock transfers to my palm, warm and slightly sweet-smelling, with a consistency that's definitely not human.

"What is this?" I ask, stroking him slowly and marveling at how the substance makes my hand glide effortlessly.

"Natural lubrication," Zeph manages to say, his voice strained. "Nereidans produce it when... when we are sufficiently aroused."

"It's sweet," I observe, bringing my hand up to examine the clear, slightly iridescent fluid.

"It is meant to ease... intimate contact," Zeph explains, watching my face carefully for my reaction. "Does it disturb you?"

"Disturb me? Zeph, this is the most considerate anatomy I've ever encountered. It's like you came with your own built-in lube dispenser." I grin at him, continuing my exploration. "I'm starting to think your people have figured out some things humans are still working on."

"In a sense, we are," Zeph admits, the glow flaring brighter at my obvious appreciation. "Nereidans believe that intimate bonding should be... mutually satisfying."

"Well, you're definitely succeeding on that front. Although I have to say, if this is what evolution looks like when you actually try, humans got seriously shortchanged." I run my thumb over the head of his cock, spreading the slick fluid and watching his eyes flutter closed. "This is going to make things much easier, and also probably ruin me for human partners forever."

"You approve?"

"I more than approve. I'm starting to think your people have the right idea about a lot of things."

As I continue touching him, learning the texture of those ridges and the way the natural lubrication responds to his arousal, I notice something else, a faint echo of sensation that's not quite my own. Nothing overwhelming, just a shadow of what he's experiencing that makes the whole encounter more intense.

"Can you feel what I'm feeling?" I ask, fascinated by the way his breath catches when I stroke him just right.

"To some extent, yes," Zeph admits. "Nereidanss are... sensitive to our partner's responses. It helps us learn what brings pleasure."

"That's incredibly hot," I tell him, and mean it. "It means you'll know exactly what I want."

"And it means I will know when you are... when you are ready for more."

I look up at him, this glowing alien who's watching me with an expression of wonder and desire, and realize that we've definitely moved past casual hookup territory. There's something about the way he looks at me, like I'm exactly what he's been searching for without knowing it.

"More," I agree, dropping to my knees in front of him. "Definitely more."

I take a moment to look up at him, this gorgeous, glowing alien whose cock is right at eye level now, impressive and intimidating and absolutely beautiful. The golden light pulses stronger under my gaze, and I can see more of that slick lubrication beading at the tip.

"Jake," Zeph says, his voice rough with want, "you do not have to—"

"I want to," I interrupt, running my hands up his thighs and marveling at the way the golden light follows my touch. "I want to taste you. I want to see if you're as sweet as you smell."

The sound Zeph makes when I lean forward and lick the head of his cock is unlike anything I've ever heard, a deep, resonant moan that seems to come from his chest. The taste of him is even better than I expected, sweet and clean, with that slick natural lubrication coating my tongue. My own cock throbs in response, straining against my jeans.

"Jake," Zeph breathes, and I feel his hand settle carefully in my hair, fingers threading through the strands but not pushing. "You don't have to—"

"I want to," I tell him, looking up at his glowing face from my knees. "But you're going to have to be patient with me. You're... a lot."

I wrap my lips around just the head, working my tongue around the ridge while my hands stroke the rest of his length. Even just this much is stretching my mouth, and I can feel the way Zeph's whole body tenses as he fights not to thrust forward. The taste of him and the sounds he's making have me achingly hard, and I press the heel of my palm against my erection for some relief.

"Is this okay?" I ask, pulling back to catch my breath, a string of precum and saliva connecting my lips to his cock.

"More than okay," Zeph manages, his voice strained. "But Jake, you don't need to take all of me. Just... whatever feels comfortable."

"Comfortable is boring," I tell him with a grin, then take him deeper, relaxing my throat and using the slick coating he's producing to ease the way. I can only manage about half of him before I have to pull back, gasping, but the sound Zeph makes tells me it's more than enough.

His hand tightens slightly in my hair, not controlling, just holding on, and through that faint empathic connection, I can feel the edge of his pleasure mixing with my own desperate arousal.

"Fuck, Jake," he groans, and hearing him curse in that formal accent of his is unexpectedly hot. "Your mouth... you're so good at this. Such a good boy."

The words wash over me, and I moan around his cock, my hips jerking involuntarily. I've never been into praise before, at least, I didn't think I was, but something about the way Zeph says it, the genuine appreciation mixed with that hint of command, makes my cock throb almost painfully.

"You like that," Zeph observes, his voice rough with arousal and something that might be wonder. "You like being told how good you are."

I pull off him long enough to gasp, "I had no fucking idea," before taking him back into my mouth, deeper this time, desperate to earn more of those words.

"Take yourself out," Zeph commands softly, his hand tightening slightly in my hair. "I want to see how hard you are from pleasuring me."

I fumble with my jeans, never taking my mouth off him, and manage to free my cock. It springs out, already leaking and painfully hard, and Zeph makes a sound of pure appreciation.

"So beautiful," he murmurs, watching me work him with my mouth while my own cock throbs untouched. "So eager to be good for me."

The praise makes me moan around him again, and I hum around him, which makes his hips jerk involuntarily. I have to brace my hands on his thighs to keep steady. The natural lubrication is flowing more freely now, sweet and slick, making it easier each time I take him deeper. My own cock is throbbing and leaking where it juts out from my open jeans, and every moan from Zeph makes me harder. Through the empathic echo, I can feel how close he's getting, which just makes me want to push him over the edge.

His breathing becomes ragged, his grip in my hair tighter, and the golden glow spreads down his entire body.

"Jake," he warns, his voice strained, "I'm going to—"

I look up at him, making it clear I want this, want all of it, and that's what sends him over the edge. He comes with a shout that echoes through the quarters, his whole body lighting up like a star as he spills into my mouth. The taste of him is even sweeter than before, and through the empathic connection, I feel the waves of his climax crashing through both of us.

I swallow everything he gives me, working him through it until he's shaking and gently pulling me off with trembling hands.

We're definitely not in compatibility testing territory anymore.

We're in something much more intense and infinitely more rewarding.

Chapter Six

Zeph

I am experiencing what I can only describe as complete system failure.

The climax Jake just gave me has left my entire nervous system firing in chaotic patterns, the bioluminescence under my skin still pulsing in fading waves as I struggle to remember basic functions like breathing. My hands are trembling as I gently guide Jake's mouth away from my oversensitive flesh, and when I look down at him, still on his knees, lips swollen and glistening, looking thoroughly pleased with himself, something fundamental shifts in my chest.

"That was..." I begin, then realize that no Nereidan vocabulary exists for what just occurred.

Jake slowly gets to his feet, using my thighs for support, and I have to steady him when he sways slightly. "Incredible?" he suggests, wiping the corner of his mouth with his thumb in a gesture that makes my spent cock twitch with renewed interest. "Mind-blowing? Life-altering?"

"Unprecedented," I manage, reaching up to touch his face with hands that are still not entirely steady.

"Unprecedented, huh?" Jake grins as he stands, and I notice immediately that he is still aroused, his cock jutting out from his open jeans, flushed and leaking. "I'll take that as a compliment."

The sight of his arousal sends a new wave of heat through me, different from before but no less intense. Through the empathic connection that seems to have strengthened considerably during our intimate contact, I can feel the edge of his desire, the way his body is thrumming with unfulfilled need.

"Jake," I say, my voice rougher than intended, "you are still..."

"Yeah, well, turns out giving head to a gorgeous glowing alien is pretty arousing," Jake says with that casual directness that I am learning to both expect and treasure. "Who knew?"

I study his face, searching for any sign of discomfort or expectation. In Nereidan culture, intimate encounters are typically reciprocal, pleasure given and received in equal measure. But Jake seems genuinely unconcerned with his own state, as if his satisfaction came entirely from my response.

"Do you not require... attention?" I ask carefully.

"Require? No. But would I like it? Absolutely." Jake's grin turns slightly wicked. "Though I should probably warn you, I'm pretty worked up. Might not take much."

The honesty in his admission makes the glow under my skin pulse brighter. "I would very much like to touch you," I tell him. "If you will permit it."

"Permit it? Zeph, I've been fantasizing about your hands on me since approximately ten minutes after we met."

"Ten minutes?" I am genuinely curious about this timeline.

"Yeah, right around the time you did that head-tilt thing when you were confused about human dating customs." Jake reaches up to touch my face, his fingers tracing along the fading luminescence on my cheekbone. "You have very attractive hands. And arms. And... well, everything, really."

The casual compliment makes warmth spread through my chest in a way that has nothing to do with arousal and everything to do with the growing certainty that Jake Morrison is unlike any being I have ever encountered.

"Your responsiveness is..." I pause, trying to find adequate words. "I could feel what you were feeling. Your pleasure in giving me pleasure. It was..."

"Intense?" Jake supplies.

"Revelatory," I correct. "In Nereidan intimate encounters, the empathic connection allows us to sense our partner's physical responses, but with you, it was more than that. I could feel your emotional satisfaction, your genuine enjoyment of my reactions."

Jake's expression grows thoughtful. "Is that unusual?"

"Extremely. Most intimate connections focus on physical sensation and immediate pleasure. But you..." I touch his face, marveling at the warmth of his skin. "You derive genuine happiness from giving pleasure. It is not merely a means to an end for you."

"No, it's not," Jake agrees quietly. "I like making people feel good. I like being the reason someone loses control."

"You certainly succeeded in that objective," I tell him, and his answering smile makes the glow under my skin flare again.

"Good." Jake glances down at himself, then back up at me with raised eyebrows. "So, about that touching you mentioned..."

I follow his gaze to his arousal, then look back at his face. "How would you prefer to be touched?"

"However you want to touch me," Jake says immediately. "I'm not picky. I'm just..." He gestures vaguely at his erection. "Pretty desperate at this point."

The blunt admission sends heat racing through my system. "Jake, may I ask you something?"

"Anything."

"Earlier, when I called you a good boy, your response was... significant. Was that your first experience with that particular form of praise?"

Jake's cheeks flush pink, which is fascinating given his general lack of embarrassment about most topics. "Yeah, that was... unexpected. I had no idea I was into that."

"And how do you feel about the discovery?"

"How do I feel about learning that my gorgeous alien roommate calling me a good boy makes me harder than I've ever been in my life?" Jake grins. "I feel like I want to explore that discovery very thoroughly."

The frankness of his response makes my cock, which had barely begun to soften, take renewed interest in the proceedings. "In that case," I say, wrapping my hand around his erection and enjoying the way his breath catches, "let me show you how good you have been."

Jake's response is immediate and gratifying, his head falls back, his hands grip my shoulders for support, and through the empathic connection, I feel the spike of his pleasure as clearly as if it were my own.

"Fuck," he breathes, his hips jerking into my touch. "Your hands are..."

"Are what?"

"Perfect," Jake manages. "Hot and perfect and... oh god, right there."

I file away this information for future reference, adjusting my grip and rhythm based on both his verbal feedback and the emotional echoes I am receiving through our connection. His arousal tastes different in my mind than my own, brighter somehow, more immediate and uncomplicated.

The natural lubrication that coats my skin when I am aroused has transferred to my hands, making my strokes smooth and slick. Jake seems fascinated by this, looking down to watch the way my hands glide over him with an expression of wonder and desperate arousal.

"Is that...?" he starts to ask, then loses the words as I twist my wrist in a particular way that makes him gasp.

"From before," I explain, maintaining the rhythm that seems to drive him highest. "We produce more than enough for... extended activities."

"Extended activities," Jake repeats with a breathless laugh. "I love the way you talk about sex like it's a research project."

"Is it not a form of research?" I ask, genuinely curious, and the question makes him moan.

"God, you're going to kill me," he says, his hips bucking into my grip. "Only you could make dirty talk sound like an academic inquiry."

I lean closer, speaking directly into his ear while maintaining the steady rhythm of my hand. "Then perhaps I should conduct a more thorough investigation. Test various hypotheses about what brings you the most pleasure."

Jake shudders against me. "What kind of hypotheses?"

"For instance," I murmur, changing my grip slightly and watching his reaction, "I hypothesize that you respond particularly well to pressure here." I focus my attention on the head of his cock, using my thumb to trace patterns that make him gasp and shake.

"Fuck, yes," Jake confirms breathlessly.

"And I believe," I continue, using my other hand to trace along his hip bone, "that you enjoy multiple points of stimulation simultaneously."

"You believe correctly," Jake manages, his voice strained with pleasure.

"You are remarkably responsive," I tell him, fascinated by the way his face changes as pleasure builds. "So honest about what you want. I can feel through our connection how much you enjoy this, not just the physical sensation, but the way I am learning you."

"Keep talking," Jake gasps, his grip on my shoulders tightening. "Your voice... I love your voice."

"Do you?" I lean closer, speaking directly into his ear while my hands continue their work. "Do you like the way I sound when I tell you how beautiful you are like this? How much I enjoy watching you come apart under my hands?"

Jake makes a sound that is somewhere between a moan and a whimper, and I feel his pleasure spike higher through the connection.

"I can feel what you feel," I continue, my voice low and intimate. "The way your entire body responds to my touch. The way your mind goes quiet when I do this." I increase the pressure slightly, and his back arches.

"Yes," he breathes. "Fuck, yes."

"Such a good boy," I murmur, and his entire body shudders. "Taking everything I give you, asking for more. So eager to please."

Through the empathic connection, I can sense that he is close, his pleasure building to a crescendo that threatens to overwhelm us both. I adjust my rhythm, using everything I have learned about his responses to drive him higher.

"That's it," I encourage, my own arousal building again from the feedback loop of his pleasure. "Let me feel how good this is for you."

Jake's breathing becomes ragged, his movements less coordinated as he chases his climax. "Zeph, I'm going to, I can't—"

"Then come," I tell him simply. "Come for me. Show me how good I make you feel."

And he does, with a cry that echoes off the walls, his release coating my hand and his stomach as his whole body trembles through the climax. Through the empathic connection, I experience every wave of his pleasure, and it is almost enough to bring me to climax again just from the intensity of his response.

The aftershocks seem to go on forever, small tremors of pleasure that I feel as clearly as he does, until finally he goes limp against me, breathing hard and looking thoroughly debauched.

I look down at my hand, coated with his release, and without really thinking about it, I bring my fingers to my mouth and lick them clean. The taste is uniquely Jake;slightly salty, but with an underlying sweetness that is quite pleasant.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Jake says, his voice strangled.

I pause, suddenly concerned. "Is there a problem?"

"Problem?" Jake stares at me with an expression I cannot quite identify. "Zeph, that's the hottest thing I've ever seen in my life."

"Cleaning my hands?"

"Licking my come off your fingers like it's the most natural thing in the world," Jake clarifies, and his breathing has picked up again despite having just climaxed. "Do you have any idea what that shit does to me?"

I study his face, noting the renewed flush across his cheekbones and the way his pupils have dilated again. "I am beginning to understand that you have many previously undiscovered preferences."

"You think?" Jake laughs, shaky and breathless. "First the praise thing, now this. I'm starting to wonder what other kinks you're going to accidentally unlock."

"I was not attempting to unlock anything," I say honestly. "I simply did not wish to waste anything of you."

His eyes flutter closed and he makes a small, desperate sound. "You're going to be the death of me."

"I certainly hope not," I tell him seriously. "I am finding you far too interesting to lose."

"Wow," Jake says eventually, his voice rough. "That was..."

"Unprecedented?" I suggest with a small smile.

"Yeah," he agrees, looking up at me with an expression that seems somehow softer than before. "Definitely unprecedented."

I help him clean up, then guide him to the seating area where we settle together, Jake curled against my side in a way that feels remarkably natural. The bioluminescence has faded to a gentle glow, and the quarters feel peaceful in a way they never have before.

"Zeph?" Jake says quietly.

"Yes?"

"I think we might be past the compatibility testing phase."

I consider this observation seriously. "I believe you may be correct."

"So what happens now?"

It is an excellent question, and one that I find I am eager to explore. "Now," I say, tightening my arms around him, "we figure out what comes next. Together."

"Together," Jake repeats, and through the lingering empathic connection, I feel his contentment mix with something that might be hope.

"Together," I confirm, and realize that I have never meant anything more in my life.

Chapter Seven

Jake

I wake up sticky, sweaty, and thoroughly debauched, with Zeph's arm draped across my chest and his face buried against my neck. The golden glow has faded to barely visible, but I can still feel the warm contentment radiating from him through our empathic connection.

It's been about six hours since our... educational encounter, and while I don't regret a single second of it, I'm becoming increasingly aware that I desperately need a shower.

"Zeph," I murmur, running my fingers through his hair. "Hey, gorgeous."

He makes a sleepy sound against my neck, something between a purr and a hum that vibrates against my skin. "Mmm?"

"I need to ask you something, and please don't take this the wrong way."

That gets his attention. Zeph lifts his head to look at me, golden eyes still soft with sleep but alert. "What is it?"

"Do Nereidans... bathe? Like, regularly?"

Zeph blinks at me, clearly not expecting that question. "Bathe?"

"Yeah, you know, wash, clean ourselves, basic hygiene maintenance." I gesture vaguely at my own sticky state. "Because right now I feel like I've been marinating in my own bad decisions, and I'm starting to think maybe your people have evolved past the need for daily scrubbing."

"Oh." Zeph's expression shifts to something that might be embarrassment. "You require cleansing facilities."

"I require cleansing facilities," I confirm. "Preferably ones that involve hot water and soap, or whatever the alien equivalent is. Please tell me you guys didn't solve the hygiene problem with some kind of sonic vibration thing that's going to rearrange my internal organs."

"You should have mentioned this sooner," Zeph says, sitting up with a look of genuine concern. "Of course you need to bathe. I simply... it did not occur to me that you would be uncomfortable."

"It's not uncomfortable, exactly. More like... gross. Humans typically bathe daily, sometimes more if we've been engaging in particularly vigorous physical activity." I give him a pointed look. "Which we definitely have."

The blue flush spreads across Zeph's cheekbones. "I apologize. I should have considered your hygiene requirements."

"Hey, no apology necessary. I just need to know if there's a sonic shower or a cleansing beam or some other sci-fi bathing solution that's going to make me question everything I thought I knew about personal hygiene."

"We do have bathing facilities," Zeph says, and there's something almost shy in his expression. "Though they may be... different from what you are accustomed to."

"Different how?"

"Perhaps it would be easier to show you."

Zeph climbs out of bed with that fluid grace that I'm becoming addicted to watching, and pulls on a loose robe that somehow makes him look even more attractive. I grab yesterday's clothes, which feel disgusting against my skin, and follow him out of the sleeping area.

Instead of heading toward what I assumed would be a bathroom, Zeph leads me through a section of the quarters I haven't explored yet, down a short corridor that ends at a door I hadn't noticed before.

"The cleansing facilities," Zeph says, pressing his palm to the access panel.

The door slides open, and I stop dead in my tracks.

"Holy shit."

What I'm looking at isn't a bathroom. It's not even really a pool, although there's definitely water involved. It's more like someone took the concept of a natural hot spring and redesigned it using alien technology, unlimited resources, and possibly a team of designers who really wanted to show off.

The space is larger than I expected, with smooth walls that curve organically toward a ceiling that's been designed to look like an underwater cave. The lighting is soft and blue-green, giving everything an aquatic feel, and the air is warm and humid in a way that makes me immediately want to dive in.

But the centerpiece is the water itself;a series of connected pools at different levels, with what looks like a gentle current flowing between them. The water glows faintly with the same golden light as Zeph's skin, and steam rises from the surface in lazy spirals.

"This is your bathroom?" I ask, still trying to process what I'm seeing. "Jesus, Zeph, my entire apartment could fit in here. Hell, Derek's entire upstairs setup could probably fit in here too."

"Among other things," Zeph says, and I notice he's watching my reaction carefully. "Nereidans have certain... aquatic requirements."

"Aquatic requirements," I repeat, then remember the gills I've noticed on his neck. "Right. You're part fish. I should have guessed from the whole 'glowing like a bioluminescent sea creature' thing."

"Not fish, precisely. But we are... amphibious, in a sense. We require regular immersion for optimal health."

I walk to the edge of the nearest pool, mesmerized by the way the water seems to pulse with gentle light. "And you didn't mention this because...?"

"Because our research indicated that humans find water immersion recreational rather than necessary," Zeph says. "I did not wish to make you feel obligated to participate in activities that might be uncomfortable for you."

I turn to look at him, this alien who's apparently been hiding his own personal water paradise while I've been complaining about being sticky. "Zeph, this is amazing. Why would I be uncomfortable? This place makes every spa I've ever been to look like a kiddie pool at a run-down motel."

"Many species find aquatic environments... threatening."

"Well, this human finds aquatic environments relaxing as hell, especially when they look like they were designed by someone with unlimited resources and a serious commitment to making me feel inadequate about my own living situation." I start pulling off my clothes, suddenly desperate to get into that glowing water. "Seriously, after seeing this, I'm never going to be able to look at my shower the same way again."

"You wish to join me?"

"I wish to get clean, and if that involves sharing what is essentially an alien resort spa with my alien... whatever the hell we're calling this situation... then I'm definitely on board."

Zeph's smile is so bright it makes the glow under his skin flare visibly. "I would like that very much."

I finish stripping and step to the edge of the pool, testing the water temperature with my toe. It's perfect;hot enough to be relaxing without being scalding. "How deep is it?"

"The main pool is approximately two meters at its deepest point, but there are shallower areas for... different activities."

"Different activities," I repeat with a grin. "I like the sound of that."

I slide into the water and immediately understand why Zeph spends time here. It's not just warm,it's alive somehow, with a gentle current that seems to massage tired muscles and skin that feels softer than regular water. The glow is more pronounced now that I'm surrounded by it, and I realize it's reacting to our presence.

"This is incredible," I breathe, sinking deeper until the water reaches my chest. "It's like a full-body hug from someone with really excellent taste in water temperature and possibly magical healing properties."

"The water contains minerals that promote healing and relaxation," Zeph explains, dropping his robe and sliding into the pool with a grace that suggests he's completely in his element here. "And the temperature and current are adjustable based on individual preferences."

"Of course they are." I watch, fascinated, as Zeph moves through the water like he was born to it. His movements are different here,more fluid, more natural. And when he dips his head back to wet his hair, I catch a glimpse of the gills on his neck fluttering slightly. "You know what? This is deeply unfair. You're basically a gorgeous water god and I'm just some guy who gets excited about adjustable shower heads."

"Like what?"

"In your element. You move differently in the water."

Zeph glides closer, and I notice that the glow under his skin is brighter now, more vibrant. "Water is... soothing for my people. Essential, even."

"How often do you need to do this?"

"Daily, ideally. Though I can manage longer periods without immersion if necessary."

I think about this, about Zeph quietly managing his physiological needs without mentioning them, and feel a pang of guilt. "Have you been skipping this because of me?"

"Not skipping," Zeph says quickly. "But perhaps... abbreviating my usual routine."

"Zeph." I move closer to him, reaching up to touch his face. "You don't have to abbreviate anything for me. This is part of who you are."

"I did not want you to feel excluded."

"Excluded? From this?" I gesture at the glowing pools around us. "Are you kidding? This is like having access to a private resort that probably costs more than I make in a year. I don't feel excluded, I feel like I've accidentally stumbled into some kind of alien luxury lifestyle that I'm definitely not qualified for."

That gets me a laugh, warm and delighted, and Zeph's hands settle on my waist under the water. "You are not what I expected, Jake Morrison."

"Good unexpected or bad unexpected?"

"The best kind of unexpected," he says, pulling me closer until we're pressed together in the warm, glowing water. "The kind that makes me reconsider everything I thought I knew about what I wanted."

The words hit me harder than they should, carrying implications that we're both probably not ready to examine too closely. Instead, I focus on the immediate,the feel of his skin against mine, the way the water makes everything more sensitive, the golden light that pulses brighter when we touch.

"So," I say, desperately needing to lighten the mood before I do something stupid like have feelings, "are you going to show me how this whole aquatic cleansing process works, or are we just going to float here having a moment?"

"I can show you," Zeph says, and there's something in his voice that suggests cleansing might not be the only thing on his mind.

"Lead the way."

What follows is the most thorough and sensual bathing experience of my life. Zeph produces some kind of cleansing gel that smells like ocean air and feels like silk, and proceeds to wash every inch of my body with a attention to detail that's both practical and incredibly arousing.

"Your skin is very responsive to temperature changes," he observes, running his hands over my shoulders and noting the way I shiver despite the warm water.

"Your skin is literally glowing," I point out, trying not to think about how good his hands feel. "Like, actually glowing. It's very distracting."

The glow flares brighter at the comment, and I realize I'm never going to get tired of that response. "It is involuntary," Zeph says, almost apologetically.

"I figured that, otherwise you'd probably have better control over your mood lighting." I grin at him. "Though I have to say, it's convenient. I always know when I'm doing something right."

"You truly find it attractive?"

"Zeph, you literally light up when you're happy or turned on. It's like having my own personal mood ring, except significantly more attractive and probably more accurate."

He's quiet for a moment, processing this, and I can feel something warm and pleased radiating through our empathic connection. "I have never had a partner who... appreciated that aspect of my physiology."

"Well, their loss is my gain," I tell him, then immediately want to take it back because that sounded way more possessive than I intended. "I mean, you know what I mean."

"As are you," Zeph murmurs, his hands skimming over my skin in patterns that are becoming less about cleansing and more about exploration. "So beautiful in the water. So responsive to touch."

The combination of warm water, glowing light, and Zeph's hands on my body is rapidly becoming overwhelming in the best possible way. When he guides me to one of the shallower areas and lifts me easily onto a smooth ledge at the water's edge, I don't protest.

"Is this one of those different activities you mentioned?" I ask, breathless as he positions himself between my legs in the water.

"Perhaps," Zeph says with that small smile that makes my heart race. "Are you interested in expanding your research parameters?"

"Fuck, yes."

When Zeph takes my cock in his mouth while the warm current swirls around us both, I nearly lose my fucking mind. The dual sensations of his mouth and the heated water are almost too much to process, and when he does something with his tongue that definitely wasn't in any human anatomy textbook, I have to grip the edge of the pool to keep from sliding back into the water.

"Jesus fucking Christ," I gasp, looking down at him. The sight of Zeph's golden hair fanned out in the water while he sucks my cock is probably going to be burned into my memory forever. "How are you so good at this?"

Through the empathic connection, I can feel his satisfaction at my reaction, the way my pleasure feeds back to him and makes him even more enthusiastic. It's like being caught in a feedback loop of heat and want and fucking incredible sensation.

"More," I demand, because apparently being in an alien spa has made me shameless. "Fuck, Zeph, play with my balls too."

He complies immediately, one hand cupping and rolling my balls while his mouth works my cock, and the combination of sensations while I'm half-submerged in glowing water is unlike anything I've ever experienced. When I finally come, it's with a shout that echoes off the cave-like walls, my release spilling into his mouth as Zeph works me through it.

"That was..." I start, then stop because my brain hasn't quite reconnected to my mouth yet.

"Educational?" Zeph suggests, surfacing from the water with a grin that makes him look absolutely predatory.

"That was fucking incredible," I tell him honestly. "But now I need to return the favor before I lose what's left of my mind."

"You do not need to—"

"I want to," I interrupt, sliding back into the water with clear intent. "And I want to try something."

"What?"

"I want to see how much of you I can take underwater."

The sound Zeph makes is somewhere between a groan and a growl, and his glow flares so bright it illuminates the entire pool. "Jake..."

"Trust me," I tell him, moving closer with a grin that's probably borderline feral. "I'm very motivated to make this work."

What follows is definitely the most adventurous oral sex of my life. Taking Zeph's cock in my mouth while partially submerged in warm, glowing water creates sensations I didn't know were possible. The buoyancy lets me move in ways that wouldn't work on dry land, and when I take him deeper than I've managed before, working my tongue along those ridges while I cup his balls with my free hand, the sound he makes is so fucking hot that I nearly come again just from hearing it.

"Fuck, Jake," Zeph gasps, his hands tangling in my wet hair. "Your mouth... the water... I cannot..."

I pull off his cock just long enough to say, "Then don't. Just let go."

When he finally comes, it's with a shout that rivals mine, his whole body lighting up like a fucking star while he spills into my mouth. The taste of him mixed with the sweet mineral water is something I'm definitely going to be craving later, and I swallow every drop while working him through the aftershocks.

Through the empathic connection, I feel every wave of his climax crashing through both of us, and it's almost enough to make me come again just from the intensity of shared sensation.

By the time we're both sated and floating together in the gentle current, I'm pretty sure I've discovered a new favorite place in the universe.

"We should probably do this more often," I murmur against Zeph's shoulder, enjoying the way the water supports both our weight effortlessly and trying not to think about the fact that "more often" implies a future we definitely haven't figured out yet.

"Daily," Zeph agrees, his arms tightening around me. "For health reasons."

"Definitely for health reasons," I agree, grateful for the excuse. "Very important to maintain proper hygiene standards. Especially when those standards involve floating around in what is essentially a five-star alien spa."

"Essential," Zeph says, pressing a soft kiss to my temple.

And as we float together in the glowing water, I find myself thinking that maybe alien technology isn't just superior in the practical ways, maybe it's superior in all the ways that actually matter. Which is a dangerous thought to have about someone I've known for approximately thirty-six hours, but apparently that's where my life is now.

Chapter Eight

Zeph

Jake is settled in bed, looking thoroughly content and slightly drowsy in a way that makes something warm and possessive stir in my chest. We spent the better part of an hour in the cleansing pools, and while the experience was... educational, I can see that Jake is beginning to feel the effects of our extended activities.

"You sure you're comfortable?" I ask, adjusting the environmental controls to ensure optimal sleeping temperature. "The bed can be modified for human preferences."

"It's perfect," Jake says, though I notice he's watching me with that calculating expression he gets when he's working something out. "Are you going to bed soon?"

"In a while," I tell him honestly. "I have some... administrative tasks to complete."

"Administrative tasks," Jake repeats, and there's something in his tone that suggests he finds this amusing. "Right. Are you going swimming again? Because I have to say, watching you in your element was pretty impressive."

"Perhaps later. I have work to complete first."

Jake is quiet for a moment, then grins in a way that suggests he's about to say something that will make me reconsider my life choices. "Oh yeah, I forgot. This isn't just a vacation where you get to have sex with confused humans and teach them about glow-in-the-dark alien anatomy. This is actually your job."

The casual way he says it hits me harder than I expect. Because he is correct, this is my job. My first assignment, in fact, and one that I have been preparing for extensively. The fact that it has deviated so dramatically from expected parameters does not change my professional responsibilities.

"Yes," I say simply. "It is."

Something shifts in Jake's expression, not hurt, exactly, but a kind of recognition that seems to settle something in his mind. "Well, don't let me keep you from your very important alien paperwork. I'll just be here, being a research subject. Should I fill out a satisfaction survey when you're done? Rate my abduction experience one to ten stars?"

"Jake—"

"Good night, Zeph," he says, rolling over in a way that clearly indicates the conversation is finished.

I stand there for a moment, feeling oddly dismissed, before activating the privacy field around his sleeping area and retreating to the main quarters.

The next hour is spent in the mundane tasks of maintaining our shared space, organizing the kitchen area where we attempted to create various human foods, ensuring the environmental systems are optimized, reviewing the ship's status reports. It is routine work, the kind I normally find soothing, but tonight it feels hollow somehow.

When I am certain Jake is asleep, I activate the communication array and request a connection to the Research Collective.

The holographic interface materializes in the center of the room, and within moments, a familiar face appears, sharp cheekbones, golden eyes identical to my own, but with a hardened edge that mine lack. His expression suggests he has been waiting for this communication, and not patiently.

"Zeph'hai," my brother says, his formal tone carrying an undercurrent of displeasure that makes my spine straighten automatically. "Status report. You're late."

"Kav'eth," I respond, matching his formality while trying to ignore the reprimand. "The human has been successfully retrieved and is currently undergoing compatibility assessment."

"Assessment parameters are proceeding according to schedule?" His eyes narrow slightly, and I can see him analyzing my physiological responses through the neural interface.

I hesitate, knowing that honesty is required but uncertain how to explain the... complications. "The assessment has required modification due to procurement error. The human retrieved was not the intended target."

Kav'eth's expression hardens into something that makes me grateful we are separated by vast distances. "Explain. Now."

"Research error resulted in retrieval of Jake Morrison rather than Derek Cross. The humans are..." I pause, realizing how this will sound. "The intended target was a resident of the dwelling above the retrieved human."

"Their former mate," Kav'eth adds immediately, proving he has already pulled the records. "They terminated their pair bond three of their months ago. The human Derek Cross now occupies the dwelling above Jake Morrison's."

"Yes. That is correct."

"And you did not think to verify the identity before proceeding with the assessment?" Kav'eth's voice has taken on the dangerous calm that indicates he is furious. "You have spent over forty-eight hours with the wrong human, Zeph'hai."

"I am aware of the error."

"Are you?" Kav'eth leans forward, his bioluminescence flaring briefly with suppressed anger. "This program represents our species' best chance at survival. The Council authorized significant resources based on my personal recommendation of your capabilities. And your first action is to abduct the wrong human."

The accusation stings, particularly because it is accurate. "The research team provided incorrect location data. The human Jake Morrison was in the exact coordinates designated for retrieval."

"A mistake that should have been identified and corrected immediately." Kav'eth's hand slams down on something off-screen, his frustration finally breaking through his composure. "Instead, you proceeded with the assessment. With a human who was never vetted for compatibility."

"Preliminary results with the alternative subject are... promising," I say, trying to sound objective despite the defensive heat rising in my chest.

"Promising," Kav'eth repeats, studying my face with the kind of scrutiny that always made me uncomfortable as a child. "Your vital signs suggest elevated emotional investment well beyond normal research parameters. Your bioluminescence patterns indicate attachment. You are compromised, Zeph'hai."

"I am conducting the assessment according to protocol," I insist, though I can feel the telltale warmth beneath my skin that will betray me.

"Protocol would have been to terminate the assessment immediately upon discovering the error." Kav'eth's voice drops to a dangerous quiet. "Instead, you have spent two days engaging in... what, exactly? Because your reports have been minimal at best."

I do not respond immediately, unsure how to explain what has transpired without revealing the extent of my attachment to Jake. The silence stretches between us, and I can see my brother coming to his own conclusions.

"You've engaged in physical intimacy with the human," he says flatly. It is not a question.

"Physical compatibility is part of the assessment protocol," I respond stiffly.

"With an approved candidate, yes. Not with a random human you accidentally transported." Kav'eth rubs his temples, a gesture I recognize from our childhood when I had particularly tried his patience. "This is worse than I thought. I should come there myself, extract the human, and reset the assignment with the correct target."

Something cold and fierce surges through me at the suggestion. The thought of Kav'eth, or anyone, taking Jake away triggers a protective response I did not know I was capable of feeling.

"That would be inadvisable," I say, my voice dropping to a register I barely recognize.

Kav'eth stills, his eyes narrowing at my tone. "Excuse me?"

"Jake Morrison is under my protection for the duration of the assessment period," I state, the words emerging with a certainty that surprises even me. "The transportation cycle cannot be reversed for another twenty-four hours. Any attempt to extract him prematurely would violate our own protocols and potentially traumatize a subject who has been nothing but cooperative."

"Cooperative," Kav'eth repeats, his expression calculating. "Or manipulative? Humans are known for their adaptability, Zeph'hai. How certain are you that this human is not simply telling you what you want to hear? Playing to your obvious inexperience to ensure his own comfort and safety?"

The suggestion that Jake might be manipulating me is so absurd that I almost laugh. The Jake Morrison who called my research "aspirational bullshit" and critiqued every aspect of our protocols would hardly be concerned with manipulating me for comfort.

"And yet you claim promising results."

"Yes."

"Explain."

I choose my words carefully, knowing that whatever I say will be scrutinized for signs of inappropriate attachment. "The human demonstrates exceptional adaptability to unfamiliar environments. He has shown curiosity about Nereidan culture and technology without fear or prejudice. His problem-solving abilities are creative and effective. Physical compatibility is..." I hesitate, then settle for, "Well within acceptable parameters."

"Acceptable parameters," Kav'eth repeats, and there's something knowing in his expression that makes me uncomfortable. "Zeph'hai, your own bioluminescence is visible even through the neural interface. Whatever is happening between you and this human goes beyond 'acceptable parameters.'"

I do not respond, unwilling to confirm or deny his suspicion.

Kav'eth sighs, a sound of deep frustration. "Listen to me carefully, Zeph'hai. I understand this is your first assignment, and I know the pressure you feel to succeed. But you cannot allow personal attachment to compromise your objectivity. This human, Jake Morrison, he is a research subject. One individual among billions of his species. Your responsibility is to assess his people's compatibility with ours, not to form emotional bonds with him personally."

"And if I determine that humans are compatible? What then?" I ask, already knowing the answer but needing to hear it spoken aloud.

"Then we expand the program. We bring more humans to our world, establish cultural exchange protocols, begin the process of integration." Kav'eth's expression softens slightly, perhaps sensing my internal conflict. "But Zeph'hai—" His voice grows stern again. "—your role is as a researcher, not as a potential mate. You are evaluating his entire species, not selecting a personal partner. Not with this one, not since he is not Derek Cross."

The words hit me like cold water. Because the truth is, I have been thinking of Jake not as a representative of humanity, but as... Jake. Unique, irreplaceable, fascinating Jake who makes me laugh and challenges my assumptions and responds to my touch like he was created specifically for my hands.

"I understand," I say, though my voice sounds hollow even to my own ears.

"I hope you do. Because if this assignment fails, there may not be another opportunity. The Council is watching this program carefully, and they need to see results, not personal complications." Kav'eth leans forward again, his expression deadly serious. "I say this not just as your commanding officer, but as your brother: do not jeopardize everything we have worked for because of one human."

"The assessment will be completed according to protocol," I assure him, though the words taste bitter.

"See that it is." Kav'eth studies me for a moment longer, then adds, "I will not come there as I suggested, this time. But Zeph'hai, if I see any further indication that your judgment is compromised, I will take over this assignment personally. And I assure you, I will handle the human with strict adherence to protocol, regardless of any... attachments you may have formed."

The thinly veiled threat makes something fierce and protective rise within me. "Jake Morrison is under my protection until the assessment period concludes," I repeat, my voice carrying a quiet intensity that seems to surprise my brother. "Any attempt to interfere with that will be considered a breach of protocol."

Kav'eth stares at me, clearly startled by this display of defiance. For a moment, I think he might escalate the confrontation, but instead his expression shifts to something more calculating.

"Twenty-four hours, Zeph'hai. Then the human returns to Earth, and you make your recommendation to the Council. Whatever is happening between you ends at that point. Am I understood?"

"Perfectly," I say, my voice steady despite the hollow ache spreading through my chest.

"And Zeph'hai? Remember why we are doing this. Our people need a future. Do not let attachment to one human compromise the potential for our entire species."

The connection terminates, leaving me alone in the suddenly too-quiet quarters. I stand there for several minutes, processing my brother's words and the weight of expectation behind them.

He is correct, of course. I am here to assess human compatibility with Nereidan culture, not to pursue personal relationships. The fact that Jake Morrison has exceeded every parameter for compatibility should be viewed as a positive research outcome, not as a source of personal attachment.

But as I complete my official report, carefully documenting Jake's adaptability, intelligence, cultural curiosity, and physical compatibility while omitting the emotional connection developing between us, I find myself struggling to maintain professional objectivity.

When the reports are filed and my duties completed, I should retire to my sleeping alcove. Instead, I find myself drawn to the cleansing pools, needing the comfort of water around me to process the turmoil inside.

I dim the ambient lighting until the space feels more like a natural grotto than a technological marvel, and slip into the warm water. The familiar embrace of the pools usually brings clarity, but tonight my thoughts remain turbulent.

The truth is that my brother's warning comes too late. I am already attached to Jake Morrison in ways that extend far beyond research parameters. The thought of completing this assessment and then... what? Returning him to Earth while we begin negotiations with human governments? Bringing other humans to our world while Jake returns to his life making coffee and living in the shadow of his ex-boyfriend's success?

The water supports my weight as I float on my back, staring at the ceiling that has been designed to mimic an underwater cave. In just twenty-four hours, the transportation cycle will be reversible. I will have to make my recommendation about human compatibility to the Council.

And then I will have to let him go.

The question creates a hollow sensation in the pit of my stomach that has nothing to do with my professional responsibilities and everything to do with the way Jake looked at me tonight when he said "this is actually your job" and joked about rating his abduction experience. As if he understood, perhaps for the first time, that our time together has an expiration date built into its very foundation.

But there was something else in that moment too, a flicker of hurt that I failed to address. Jake has been honest with me from the beginning, challenging me and pushing me to see beyond my preconceived notions. And I have been...what? A researcher maintaining professional distance? That was never true, not from the moment he laughed at my nakedness and pointed out the flaws in our research.

My brother's threat to intervene lingers in my mind, making my protective instincts flare again. The thought of Kav'eth, or anyone, treating Jake as merely a research subject makes something fierce and possessive rise within me.

Jake is not just a subject. He is not just a human. He is... mine. The intensity of that feeling should alarm me, but instead it brings clarity. Whatever happens when our time is up, I will not allow Jake to be treated as anything less than the extraordinary individual he is.

I close my eyes and let the warm water ease the tension from my muscles, but it cannot ease the growing certainty that whatever happens at the end of these seventy-two hours, I will not emerge from this assignment unchanged.

The question is whether I will emerge from it at all, or whether I will choose to abandon everything I have ever known for the possibility of something I never knew I wanted.

When I finally return to the sleeping quarters, Jake is deep in slumber, his breathing even and peaceful. I stand in the doorway for longer than necessary, memorizing the sight of him surrounded by the soft glow of Nereidan technology that has adapted to his presence.

I should go to my own sleeping alcove. I should maintain the professional distance that my brother warned me about. But as I turn to leave, my still-damp skin catches the ambient light sensors, causing a brief flare of illumination.

"Zeph?" Jake's voice is soft and drowsy, but alert. "Everything okay?"

I freeze, knowing I should simply apologize for disturbing him and retreat. "Yes. I was just... checking that you were comfortable. I apologize for waking you."

Jake shifts in the bed, propping himself up on one elbow. Even in the dim lighting, I can see him studying my face with that perception that continues to catch me off-guard. "You look tense. The alien bureaucracy keeping you up?"

"Work was... as expected," I say carefully.

"Which means it sucked," Jake translates, his perception still uncomfortably accurate. "Let me guess, your superiors aren't thrilled about the whole 'oops, wrong human' situation."

I hesitate, then decide there is little point in denying what he has already intuited. "The error in subject acquisition was not... well received."

Jake snorts. "I bet. For what it's worth, you would've hated spending three days with Derek. He would've spent the whole time complaining about the lack of protein powder and documenting his 'alien abduction fitness journey' for his followers." His tone is light, but there's something almost kind beneath the sarcasm. "At least I only complain about the food synthesizer and your terrible research methods."

The unexpected defense catches me off-guard, sending a wave of warmth through me that momentarily brightens my bioluminescence. "You have been... surprisingly adaptable."

"That's me. Adaptability Man. My superpower is rolling with weird alien shit." Jake is quiet for a moment, then shifts over in the bed. "Want to stay? Plenty of room, and you look like you could use some actual sleep instead of whatever alien existential crisis you're having over there."

The offer catches me completely unprepared. We have been intimate, yes, but sleeping together, actually sleeping, feels like crossing a different kind of threshold. One that has nothing to do with physical compatibility and everything to do with trust and emotional intimacy.

"I do not wish to intrude—"

"Zeph." Jake's voice is patient but firm. "You're not intruding. I'm asking."

I look at him, this human who somehow sees through my careful composure to whatever emotional turmoil I'm trying to hide, and realize that maintaining professional distance is already impossible. The damage, as humans might say, is done.

"Thank you," I say quietly, moving toward the bed.

Jake doesn't say anything as I settle beside him, just shifts to make room and then curls against my side with a naturalness that constricts my throat with unexpected emotion. The warmth of his body and the steady rhythm of his breathing should be comforting, but instead it makes the weight of tomorrow's deadline feel heavier.

In less than twenty-four hours, I will have to make my recommendation to the Council. And lying here with Jake's sleeping form pressed against me, I realize I have no idea how I'm going to choose between my duty to my people and the human who has somehow become essential to my happiness.

Tomorrow we will have less than a day remaining. And I still have no idea how I am going to let him go.

Chapter Nine

Jake

I wake up alone, the empty space beside me still holding a faint warmth that suggests Zeph hasn't been gone long. For a moment, I stare at the ceiling, which has shifted to a soft morning blue, and try not to think about how quickly I've gotten used to alien technology that responds to my moods.

Or how quickly I've gotten used to Zeph.

I stretch, feeling surprisingly well-rested despite how late we stayed up talking. After he returned from whatever "administrative tasks" kept him away, something had shifted between us. The fact that he chose to stay, curled around me like he couldn't bear to let go even after he'd fallen asleep, that feels more significant than anything else we've done so far.

The smell of something cooking draws me out of my thoughts. I pull myself out of bed, realizing I'd gone to sleep completely naked. Looking around, I grab the sheet and wrap it around my waist before padding toward the kitchen area.

"Zeph?" I call out, following the surprisingly appetizing aroma.

When I reach the kitchen, I find not Zeph but the food synthesizer humming quietly, a plate of something that looks suspiciously like pancakes sitting on the counter beside it. There's a glowing interface floating above the device with a message that reads: "Scheduled preparation complete. Recipe: 'Human Breakfast - Pancakes (Revised).'"

"Huh," I say to the empty room, poking at the pancakes with a fork. They look... edible? Which is a significant improvement over yesterday's gray construction material.

I'm about to take a bite when I hear the whoosh of a door opening, and turn to see Zeph entering from what I'm pretty sure is the direction of the cleansing pools. His hair is damp, his skin has that extra glow it gets after water immersion, and he's wearing a loose robe that clings to his still-wet skin in ways that make my mouth go dry.

"Good morning," he says, and there's a formality to his tone that wasn't there yesterday. "I see the automated preparation was successful."

"You programmed the synthesizer to make me breakfast?" I ask, oddly touched by the gesture despite the formal greeting.

"After our previous attempt, I spent some time refining the recipe parameters while you were sleeping. The synthesizer has been calibrated to produce what should be an acceptable approximation of pancakes." He pauses, then adds with a touch of uncertainty, "Are they... adequate?"

I take a bite, fully prepared to fake enthusiasm, but am surprised to find they're actually pretty good. "They're great," I tell him honestly. "Not as good as the ones we made together, but definitely not construction material this time."

That gets me a small smile, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "I am pleased they meet with your approval."

There's something off about his manner this morning, a careful distance that wasn't there yesterday. I wonder if it has something to do with whatever kept him up last night, those "administrative tasks" that had him looking so tense when he came back to the bedroom.

"You okay?" I ask, studying his face. "You seem... I don't know, formal. Like you're hosting a diplomatic dinner instead of having breakfast with the guy you spent half the night getting very informal with."

Zeph's skin flushes that lovely blue, and the glow beneath it brightens momentarily. "I apologize. I have been... preoccupied."

"With work stuff?" I guess, remembering the tension in his body when he crawled into bed beside me. "Those administrative tasks you mentioned?"

He looks surprised that I've picked up on it. "Yes. Among other things."

"Look, Zeph, I know our time is running out. I can do basic math, seventy-two hours means I'm going home today, right?"

He nods, looking uncomfortable. "The transportation cycle becomes reversible in approximately sixteen of your hours."

"Sixteen hours," I repeat, and the number settles in my stomach like a stone. "Well, that doesn't leave us much time for whatever else is on your alien assessment checklist, does it?"

"The remaining assessments are primarily administrative," Zeph says, his voice carefully neutral. "Documentation, final evaluations, recommendation protocols."

"Recommendation protocols," I echo. "And what exactly will you be recommending? That humans make good pets? That we're worth keeping around for our entertainment value and oral skills?"

It's a deflection, using humor to mask the sudden anxiety coiling in my gut, and from the way Zeph's expression softens, I think he knows it.

"Jake," he says, moving closer until he's standing directly in front of me. "The recommendations are far more significant than that. They will determine whether my people pursue further contact with humans, whether we seek formal diplomatic relations, whether we..." He hesitates. "Whether we offer partnership opportunities to your species."

"Partnership opportunities," I repeat, trying to parse what that might mean. "Like... more abductions? Because I have to tell you, the selection process could use some work."

That gets me a genuine smile, brief but real. "The selection process will indeed require refinement."

I study his face, searching for clues about what he's not saying. "This is really important to you, isn't it? Not just as a job, but... personally."

Zeph is quiet for a moment, and I can see him weighing how much to tell me. "My people are... few," he says finally. "Our population has been declining for generations. The compatibility program represents our best hope for a future that includes more than mere survival."

The admission stuns me into momentary silence. Suddenly Zeph's dedication to his "job" takes on a whole new meaning. This isn't just some alien research project, it's about the survival of his entire species.

"Jesus, Zeph," I say softly. "That's... that's a hell of a burden to carry. Especially when things went sideways with the whole 'wrong human' situation."

"It was not your error," Zeph says immediately, protective even now. "The research team provided incorrect coordinates."

"Still." I reach out, resting my hand on his arm and feeling the warmth of his skin through the thin fabric. "No wonder you've been stressed about this whole thing. You're basically responsible for deciding if humans are worth... what, an alliance? Integration? Interspecies dating?"

"All of those," he confirms, and I can feel through our strengthening empathic connection that the weight of responsibility is exactly as heavy as I've imagined. "The Council will make the final determinations, but my recommendations will carry significant influence."

"And what will you recommend?" I ask, not sure if I want to know the answer. "About humans, I mean."

Zeph meets my eyes directly. "That remains to be determined."

It's not the answer I was hoping for, but it's honest. I can feel the conflict in him, the duty to his people warring with whatever this is between us.

"Well," I say, letting my sheet slip a little lower on my hips in a deliberate tease, "maybe I can help influence your recommendation. I still have sixteen hours to make a good impression, right?"

The glow under Zeph's skin brightens at the suggestion, and I can feel the shift in his attention, from distant and formal to intensely focused.

"You have already made quite an impression," he says, his voice dropping to that lower register that sends heat straight to my groin.

"Hmm, but first impressions can be misleading." I move closer, letting the sheet fall away completely. "Maybe you need more... data."

Zeph's eyes darken to molten gold, and the glow beneath his skin spreads down his neck and chest. "Additional research would be... thorough."

"Very thorough," I agree, stepping into his space until we're almost touching. "And I believe there was a specific area of inquiry we hadn't fully explored yet."

"There was?" Zeph's voice is rough now, his formality crumbling under the weight of desire that's flowing through our empathic connection.

"Mmmm," I murmur, reaching up to trace the line of his jaw. "I've been thinking about something. About us. About what it might feel like to have you inside me. Fully."

The sound Zeph makes is closer to a growl than anything human, and the next thing I know, I'm being lifted off my feet and carried back toward the bedroom with a strength that makes my breath catch.

"Data collection begins now," Zeph says against my ear, and despite everything, the countdown, the uncertainty, the knowledge that in sixteen hours I'll be back on Earth and all of this will be over, I find myself laughing.

Because if these are our last hours together, I'm damn well going to make them count.

Zeph lays me down on the bed with a gentleness that contrasts with the hunger I can feel radiating through our empathic connection. He follows me down, his larger body covering mine as he captures my mouth in a kiss that starts gentle but quickly turns desperate.

"I want to memorize you," he murmurs against my lips, his hands sliding down my sides. "Every inch, every response, every sound you make."

"You could just take notes," I tease, but my breath catches as his fingers find sensitive spots I didn't even know I had.

"This kind of research requires a more... hands-on approach."

And hands-on he is. Zeph seems determined to touch every part of me, his large hands warm and increasingly slick as that natural lubricant begins to seep from his skin. It glistens on his fingers, slightly iridescent and smelling faintly sweet, as he traces patterns down my chest, my stomach, between my thighs.

"That's so convenient," I breathe as I watch the slickness spread across his fingertips. "Do all Nereidans come with built-in lube dispensers, or are you just happy to see me?"

"We all can produce it when aroused," Zeph explains, his formal tone at odds with the way he's currently spreading my thighs apart. "Though I find my response to you is... unusually abundant."

"Abundant," I echo with a grin. "That's one way to put it."

My teasing turns to gasps as he begins to stroke me, his slick hand making everything more intense. The natural lubricant seems to warm on contact, creating a tingling sensation that borders on overwhelming.

"Is this acceptable?" he asks, watching my face closely as he works me with careful attention.

"More than acceptable," I manage, hips lifting involuntarily into his touch. "But I want more than just your hand."

Zeph's eyes darken, the glow beneath his skin intensifying. "What do you want, Jake?"

"I want to feel you. All of you." I reach between us, finding him already hard and slick with that natural lubricant. I wrap my hand around him, my fingers not quite meeting around his girth, and give him a slow stroke that makes his bioluminescence flare brighter. "I want your cock inside me. I want to feel what it's like to be completely filled by you."

A visible shudder runs through him, the luminescence rippling across his skin in waves. His cock throbs in my hand, more of that sweet-smelling lubricant seeping from the tip. "That will require significant preparation. I will not risk injuring you."

"Then prepare me," I say, spreading my legs wider in invitation, making my intentions unmistakable. "I want to feel every inch of you. I want to know what it's like when you lose control inside me."

Zeph's breathing becomes heavier, his golden eyes darkening to amber. "You have no idea what you're asking for."

"Show me," I challenge him, squeezing his cock for emphasis. "Show me exactly what I'm asking for."

Zeph moves down my body, pressing kisses along my chest and stomach as he goes. His fingers, now dripping with that sweet-smelling natural lubricant, trace gentle circles before one fingertip presses against me.

"Breathe," he instructs, his golden eyes locked on mine as the first finger breaches me.

I gasp at the intrusion, not painful but strange and intense. The slickness of his natural lubricant makes it easier than I expected, the warmth spreading inside me as his finger works deeper.

"Okay?" he asks, stilling his movement.

"Yeah," I nod, relaxing into the sensation. "It's... different. Good different."

"The lubrication contains mild muscle relaxants," Zeph explains, beginning to move his finger in slow, careful thrusts. "It will make this easier."

"Of course it does," I laugh breathlessly. "Evolved for compatibility, right?"

"Indeed." There's a hint of amusement in his voice as he crooks his finger slightly, searching, and—

"Holy shit!" I arch off the bed as he finds exactly the right spot, sending sparks of pleasure up my spine. "Do that again."

He does, repeatedly, until I'm pushing back against his hand, silently begging for more. The single finger becomes two, stretching me with careful precision, the natural lubricant making everything slick and easy. Through our empathic connection, I can feel his arousal building alongside mine, his control fraying at the edges as he watches me respond to his touch.

"You're beautiful like this," Zeph murmurs, his voice rougher than I've ever heard it. "So responsive, so open for me."

I can't even form a coherent response, reduced to moans and gasps as he works a third finger inside me, stretching me further. The sensation hovers on the edge of too much, but the natural lubricant keeps everything just on the right side of pleasure.

"I'm not going to break," I tell him, pushing back against his hand to take his fingers deeper. "You can go faster."

"I will not risk hurting you," Zeph says firmly, though I can feel his control fraying. "This requires patience."

"Patience isn't exactly my strong suit right now," I admit, reaching down to stroke myself, already achingly hard from the dual stimulation of his fingers inside me and the empathic echo of his own arousal. "Not when I can feel how much you want this too."

Zeph's free hand catches my wrist, stopping my movement. "I want to feel you come apart around me," he says, his voice dropping to that commanding tone that does things to my insides. "Not from your own hand."

"Fuck," I breathe, because the combination of his fingers working me open and that authoritative tone is almost enough to push me over the edge already. "You can't just say things like that."

"Can I not?" There's a hint of amusement in his voice as he twists his fingers inside me, making me gasp. "Would you prefer I remain silent?"

"Don't you dare," I warn, because his voice, that formal accent roughened with desire, is half the turn-on. "I want to hear exactly what you're planning to do to me."

Zeph leans closer, his lips brushing my ear. "I am planning to take you slowly," he murmurs, his voice dropping to that register that makes my whole body shiver. "First, I will continue stretching you until you are begging for more. Then I will position you exactly as I want you, with your legs wrapped around my waist and your body completely open to me."

His fingers twist inside me as he speaks, punctuating each word with a deliberate stroke against my prostate that has me gasping.

"I will enter you inch by inch," he continues, his breath hot against my ear. "Watching your face as you take all of me. I will remain still when I am fully seated inside you, allowing you to feel every ridge, every pulse, every throb of my cock stretching you open."

My cock twitches against my stomach at his words, leaking pre-come onto my skin.

"Then," Zeph says, adding more of that slick lubricant as he works a third finger deeper, "I will begin slowly. But I will not remain gentle, Jake." His voice takes on an edge I've never heard before. "I will hold you down with my full strength. I will grip your hips hard enough to leave marks. I will fuck you with a force that reminds you I am not human."

"Fuck," I whisper, my entire body shuddering at the promise of that controlled violence.

"I will take what I want from you," he growls, his bioluminescence flaring with intensity. "I will use your body for my pleasure while ensuring you receive even more. I will pound into you until the bed breaks beneath us, until you cannot tell where your pleasure ends and mine begins."

"Zeph," I gasp, already halfway to coming just from his words and fingers.

"I will fuck you until your body can take no more pleasure," he continues, and there's something almost predatory in his tone now. "Until you come around my cock without being touched, clenching and pulsing. And then I will continue fucking you through your orgasm, harder and deeper, prolonging it, intensifying it, until you are completely undone beneath me."

"Oh god," I moan, my hips rocking desperately against his hand.

"And only then," he whispers, "only when you are utterly satisfied and begging for mercy, will I allow myself release. I will come deep inside you, marking you with my essence, establishing an empathic bond that you will feel for days afterward. So that even when you return to Earth, you will still feel me inside you."

By the time he deems me ready, I'm a sweaty, desperate mess, my cock achingly hard and leaking, my entire body trembling with need. I'm begging him for more in ways that would be embarrassing if I could feel anything beyond the overwhelming need for him to fill me.

"Please," I gasp as he finally positions himself between my legs, the head of his cock pressing against me, slick with his natural lubrication. "Please, Zeph, I need..."

"What do you need?" he asks, holding perfectly still as he waits for my answer.

"You," I tell him honestly, reaching up to touch his face. "All of you. I need to feel you inside me."

The sound Zeph makes is somewhere between a groan and a growl, and the glow under his skin flares so bright it illuminates the entire bed. "Are you certain?"

"I've never been more certain of anything in my life."

When he finally pushes inside, slowly, carefully, with constant check-ins that would be annoying if they weren't so sweet, it's everything I imagined and nothing like I expected. The size of him is overwhelming at first, but the natural lubrication and his patient preparation make it feel incredible rather than painful.

True to his word, he enters me inch by inch, his golden eyes never leaving my face as he watches my reactions. When he's fully seated inside me, he remains perfectly still, allowing me to feel every ridge, every pulse, every throb of his cock stretching me open. The sensation is exquisite, being so completely filled, feeling the alien textures of his anatomy stimulating places inside me I never knew could feel pleasure.

"You have taken all of me," Zeph says, voice tight with the effort of his restraint. "Are you well?"

"Better than well," I gasp, shifting my hips experimentally and watching his bioluminescence flare in response. "You feel... god, I can't even describe it. Incredible."

But more than the physical sensation is the empathic connection, which explodes into something I can barely comprehend. Suddenly I can feel everything he's feeling, the tight heat of my body around him, the emotional intensity of the connection, the overwhelming tenderness mixed with raw desire.

"Oh fuck," I gasp, because the dual sensation is almost too much. "Zeph, I can feel... everything."

"As can I," he breathes, still holding perfectly still to let me adjust. "Jake, you feel... this is..."

"Incredible," I finish, because there really aren't words for what it's like to experience this from both perspectives simultaneously.

When he finally starts to move, it's with a careful rhythm that builds slowly, both of us adjusting to the overwhelming sensation of shared pleasure. Each thrust sends waves of sensation through the empathic connection, creating a feedback loop that has us both gasping and clinging to each other.

"Good boy," Zeph murmurs against my ear when I start meeting his thrusts, and the praise sends an unexpected jolt of pleasure straight to my core. "So perfect for me. Taking my cock so beautifully. You're doing so well."

The words affect me almost as much as the physical sensation, making me moan and arch against him. I'd never realized how much I needed to hear those words until Zeph started saying them.

"You like that," Zeph observes, his voice a mix of wonder and satisfaction. "You respond so beautifully to praise."

"Don't stop," I gasp, because the combination of his voice and his cock hitting exactly the right spot is driving me wild. "Please, tell me, tell me I'm good."

"You are perfect," Zeph says without hesitation, his thrusts becoming deeper, more purposeful. "So good for me, so responsive, so beautifully made for this. For me."

Every word of praise pushes me closer to the edge, the praise kink I never knew I had now fully exposed and exploited by this alien who somehow knows exactly what I need.

"More," I beg, clinging to him as the pleasure builds to almost unbearable levels. "Please, Zeph, I can take it. I want to be good for you."

That seems to break something in him, something that's been held tightly in check. His rhythm changes, becoming harder, more demanding, each thrust driving deeper than the last. The careful control he's maintained since the moment we met starts to fracture, and I can see it in the way his bioluminescence pulses erratically across his skin, no longer the steady glow but flashing in time with his increasingly forceful movements.

"Yes," I encourage him, wrapping my legs tighter around his waist, pulling him deeper. "That's it. Don't hold back. Show me what you really want."

Just as he promised, he holds me down with his full strength, one large hand pinning both of my wrists above my head while the other grips my hip hard enough to leave marks. The display of power should be intimidating, but instead it's thrilling, this controlled, methodical alien finally letting go because of me.

His hips snap forward with inhuman force, driving his cock so deep I swear I can feel him in my throat. The bed frame creaks ominously beneath us, just as he'd promised it would. Each powerful thrust feels like he's claiming me, marking me as his in the most primal way possible.

"Jake," he growls, and his voice has dropped to a register that makes my entire body shudder. "Mine."

"Yours," I agree without hesitation, because in this moment, it feels like the most fundamental truth in the universe.

He shifts his grip, using his strength to reposition me exactly as he wants, angling my hips to allow him to drive even deeper. When he slams back in, he hits my prostate with perfect accuracy, making me cry out so loudly the sound echoes off the walls of our quarters.

"That's it," he says, his formal accent roughened with desire as he pounds into me relentlessly. "Let me hear how much you enjoy this. Let me hear what I do to you."

Through our empathic connection, I can feel the moment he stops thinking and surrenders to pure sensation. It's like a dam breaking, a flood of pleasure and need and something deeper washing over me. I can feel what he feels, the tight heat of my body around him, the friction of each thrust, the mounting pressure of approaching orgasm. But more than that, I can feel his wonder, his growing attachment, his disbelief that something this intense could exist.

The bed creaks ominously beneath us as he drives into me with a force that should hurt but somehow doesn't, the sweet-smelling lubricant and Zeph's meticulous preparation making even this savage pace feel like ecstasy. His cock feels impossibly large inside me, the ridges along its length stimulating nerves I didn't know I had, each thrust sending electric currents of pleasure through me.

"So good," I babble, beyond coherent thought now. "So fucking good. Don't stop, please don't stop."

"I could not stop if the ship were burning around us," Zeph growls, and the raw need in his voice sends another jolt of pleasure through me.

Just as he promised, he fucks me until I forget my own name, until the only word I can remember is his, until I'm reduced to incoherent pleas and desperate moans. His hand moves between us, wrapping around my cock, still slick with that natural lubricant. The dual stimulation, his cock inside me, his hand around me, the empathic feedback loop amplifying everything, pushes me rapidly toward the edge.

"I'm close," I warn him, my voice breaking as he simultaneously strokes my cock and pounds into me. "Zeph, I'm going to—"

"Look at me," he commands, his golden eyes intense as they lock with mine. "I want to see your face when you come apart for me."

That does it. The combination of his words, his cock hitting exactly the right spot, his hand working me in perfect rhythm, and the overwhelming sensations flowing through our empathic connection pushes me over the edge. My orgasm hits with a force that steals my breath, my body clenching around him as pleasure explodes through every nerve ending.

Through the connection, I feel the exact moment when my climax triggers his. The empathic feedback loop creates a cascade effect, my pleasure amplifying his, which in turn intensifies mine. I can feel him throbbing inside me, pulsing as he comes, and the sensation of his release, both physical and emotional, prolongs my own orgasm until I'm shaking and incoherent beneath him.

The bioluminescence beneath his skin reaches a blinding intensity as he comes, bathing the entire room in golden light. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, this powerful alien completely undone, glowing like a supernova, all because of me.

As we both come down from the high, trembling and gasping, I can still feel him through the empathic bond, his satisfaction, his wonder, and something else, something deeper that neither of us is ready to name. He collapses beside me rather than on top of me, thoughtful even in his exhaustion, but keeps our bodies connected, one arm wrapped possessively around my waist as if he can't bear to let me go.

Just as he promised, I can feel the empathic bond strengthening, a connection that I somehow know will linger even after we're physically separated. The realization that I'll still feel him even after I return to Earth sends contradictory emotions through me, comfort that I'll carry a piece of him with me, and a hollow ache knowing that might be all I have left in just a few hours.

Afterwards, we lie tangled together in the afterglow, both literally glowing in Zeph's case, and I find myself thinking that this is what intimacy is supposed to feel like. Not just physical compatibility, but emotional connection so deep it feels like finding a missing piece of yourself.

"That was..." I start, then trail off because words feel inadequate.

"Educational?" Zeph suggests with a tired smile, and I laugh despite myself.

"Definitely educational," I agree. "Though I think we might need more research to draw any real conclusions."

"Much more research," Zeph agrees seriously. "Extensive field testing will be required."

"I love the way your brain works," I tell him, and immediately freeze as the words hang in the air between us.

It's not quite a declaration of love, but it's close enough that we both feel the weight of it. Through the empathic connection, I can sense Zeph processing the implications, the same thoughts I'm having about what this means and what happens next.

But instead of addressing it directly, Zeph just pulls me closer and presses a soft kiss to my temple.

"I love the way your brain works too," he says quietly, and for now, that feels like enough.

Chapter Ten

Zeph

I wake before Jake, my internal chronometer indicating just over fourteen hours remain before the transportation cycle becomes reversible. Fourteen hours before I must return him to Earth and submit my final report to the Council.

He sleeps peacefully beside me, one arm thrown carelessly across my chest, his breathing deep and even. In sleep, his features lose that guarded quality he maintains when awake, the slight tension around his eyes, the ready smirk that serves as both weapon and shield. Now, he looks younger, more vulnerable. More precious.

I should not be thinking of him as precious. I should be thinking of him as a research subject. A representative sample of humanity. Data.

But as I watch the gentle rise and fall of his chest, I cannot make myself believe that lie any longer. Jake Morrison is not data. He is... essential. And in less than fifteen hours, I must let him go.

My brother's warning echoes in my mind: Do not jeopardize everything we have worked for because of one human.

But he is not just one human. He is Jake. The human who laughed at my nakedness and questioned our research protocols. Who taught me to cook eggs and told me that food is love. Who looks at me with those eyes that see too much and somehow find me worthy anyway.

I carefully extricate myself from his embrace, needing distance to organize my thoughts. He stirs slightly but doesn't wake, simply curling into the warm spot I've left behind. The gesture sends an unexpected pang through me.

I should maintain professional distance. I should remember my duty to my people. I should focus on completing the assessment and preparing my recommendations.

I should not be memorizing the curve of his spine or the way his hair falls across his forehead or how his lips part slightly in sleep.

I retreat to the common area to prepare sustenance. The synthesizer hums to life, producing the bitter stimulant Jake has indicated preference for, "coffee." The aroma fills the air, rich and complex, and I find myself appreciating it simply because it reminds me of him.

This is... problematic.

I am preparing to check the mission parameters again when I hear movement from the sleeping area. Jake appears in the doorway, dressed only in the loose sleeping garments I provided, his hair disheveled in a way that makes my bioluminescence threaten to activate.

"Hey," he says, voice still rough with sleep. "I woke up and you were gone."

There's a vulnerability in the statement that catches me off-guard. "I did not wish to disturb your rest."

"I would have preferred being disturbed," he says with a small smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Especially since we're on a countdown."

So he is aware of our diminishing time as well. "Fourteen hours," I confirm, and immediately regret the precision when I see his expression falter.

"That's... specific." He moves toward the synthesizer, investigating the coffee I've prepared. "You made this for me?"

"You have expressed preference for it upon waking."

"I have expressed preference," Jake repeats, mimicking my formal tone before breaking into a genuine smile. "You're kind of adorable when you go all clinical, you know that?"

I do not know how to respond to this. Adorable is not a word typically used to describe Nereidan researchers. And clinical is not how I wish to be with Jake, especially not now, with our remaining time rapidly diminishing.

Jake takes a sip of the coffee, closing his eyes briefly in apparent satisfaction. "Not bad. Definitely better than the pancakes, version one."

The reference to our earlier cooking experiment creates a warmth in my chest that I should not indulge. I should maintain emotional distance. I should begin the day's assessment protocols. I should—

"Want to go for a swim?" Jake asks, interrupting my thoughts. "I've been thinking about those pools since we were in them yesterday."

The suggestion sends contradictory signals through my system. The prospect of sharing the cleansing pools with Jake again is deeply appealing. But it also represents another shared experience, another memory that will become painful once he is gone.

"If you wish," I say, my voice more formal than intended.

Jake's eyes narrow slightly. "I do wish. But do you? You seem... different this morning."

"Different how?" I attempt to sound casual, though I suspect I am not succeeding.

"More distant." Jake sets down his coffee cup and approaches me, stopping close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body. "Like you're already saying goodbye."

His perception is uncomfortably accurate. "I am simply... preparing for the inevitable conclusion of our assessment period."

"Right. The assessment." Jake studies my face for a moment. "Well, I still want to swim with you. For research purposes, of course. Gotta make sure humans and Nereidans are compatible in aquatic environments, right?"

Despite myself, I feel my expression softening. "That would be a prudent area of investigation."

"Prudent," Jake repeats with a small smile. "Lead the way, then. For science."

The walk to the cleansing pools is quiet, filled with a tension I don't know how to address. Jake walks beside me, occasionally brushing against my arm in a way that seems deliberate rather than accidental. Each contact sends a small surge of warmth through our empathic connection, which has grown stronger since our intimate activities.

When we reach the pools, I activate the lighting sequence, illuminating the space with the soft blue-green glow that mimics our home oceans. Jake's eyes widen as he takes in the sight.

"It's so beautiful, I don't think I'll ever get tired of looking at it," he says, moving to the edge of the main pool. "The way the light plays on the water... it's like something out of a dream."

"It is designed to approximate the coastal waters of our homeworld," I explain, finding comfort in factual information. "The mineral composition is similar as well, though modified for human safety.  Though, even without that modification, you would only feel a slight tingle after prolonged exposure."

Jake turns to look at me, something unreadable in his expression. "You really thought of everything, didn't you? Even before you knew which human you'd end up with."

"Preparation is valued in Nereidan culture."

"And what about adaptation?" Jake asks, beginning to remove his sleeping garments with casual confidence. "How does your culture feel about that?"

I watch as he undresses, unable to look away despite knowing I should maintain professional demeanor. His body is now familiar to me, yet the sight of it still creates a response I cannot fully control. The faint glow begins beneath my skin, betraying my reaction.

"Adaptation is... necessary," I manage to say, my voice rougher than intended. "Though often challenging."

Jake steps into the water, sighing with pleasure as it envelops him. "Challenging how?"

I remove my own garments and join him in the pool, feeling the immediate comfort of submersion. For a moment, I allow myself to simply enjoy the sensation of being partially in my natural element, feeling the gentle current against my skin and the subtle vibration of the minerals in the water.

"Zeph?" Jake prompts, moving closer to me in the water. "Challenging how?"

"Change requires us to... reevaluate our understanding of what is essential," I say carefully. "What we can retain, and what we must let go."

Jake's expression shifts, a flash of something like hurt crossing his features before he masks it. "And I'm something you have to let go, is that it?"

The direct question catches me unprepared. "Jake..."

"No, it's fine. I get it." He moves away, floating on his back, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. "This was always temporary. A mistake that turned into a... what, a pleasant diversion? An interesting research anomaly?"

"You know that is not true," I say, unable to maintain distance when I can feel his hurt through our connection.

"Do I?" Jake rights himself in the water, facing me fully now. "Because it feels like you've been pulling away since I woke up. Like you've already decided this is over."

"It has to be over," I say, the words painful to speak aloud. "In fourteen hours, you return to Earth. I submit my recommendation to the Council. That is the protocol."

"Protocol," Jake repeats, the word heavy with something like disappointment. "Always back to protocol."

I do not know how to respond to this. He is not wrong, I have been retreating behind formality and duty because the alternative is to acknowledge the growing ache at the thought of his departure.

Jake moves closer again, the water rippling around him. Through our empathic bond, I can feel a complex mixture of emotions, frustration, sadness, longing, and something deeper that neither of us has named aloud.

"I can feel you," he says quietly. "Through this bond we've formed. I can sense your sadness underneath all that Nereidan composure."

I look away, unable to meet his gaze. "The empathic bond was unexpected. It typically requires more time to develop this level of sensitivity."

"But it is. And it's telling me that you don't want me to go any more than I want to leave."

His admission hits me with unexpected force. I had not allowed myself to consider that Jake might be equally reluctant to end our time together. "You... do not wish to return to Earth?"

Jake laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Return to what, exactly? My crappy apartment? My job making coffee for ungrateful customers? My ex-boyfriend renovating the apartment upstairs? There's not exactly a lot pulling me back."

"But your life is there," I insist, even as something hopeful and dangerous begins to unfurl in my chest. "Your species. Your home."

"Home is relative," Jake says, moving so close that our bodies nearly touch in the water. "I've felt more at home in the last three days than I have in years."

The glow beneath my skin brightens at his words, betraying the surge of emotion they provoke. "Jake, I cannot—"

"Cannot what?" He reaches out, trailing his fingers along my arm, leaving trails of brighter luminescence in their wake. "Cannot admit that you'd keep me if you could?"

"That is not my decision to make," I say, though the words feel hollow even to me.

"But if it was?" Jake presses, his hand moving to rest on my chest, directly over the brightest point of my bioluminescence. "If it was just up to you, no Council, no protocol, no duty. Would you want me to stay?"

I should lie. I should maintain professional distance. I should remember my responsibility to my people.

But with his hand on my skin and his eyes holding mine and the empathic bond thrumming between us, I cannot bring myself to speak anything but truth.

"If the choice were mine alone," I admit, my voice barely above a whisper, "I would keep you with me always."

The admission hangs between us, as tangible as the water surrounding our bodies. Jake's expression softens, and through our connection, I feel a surge of something warm and bright.

"That's all I needed to hear," he says, and then he's kissing me, his body pressing against mine in the warm water.

I should resist. I should remember the countdown. I should focus on the assessment.

Instead, I pull him closer, one hand tangling in his hair while the other traces the curve of his spine. The kiss deepens, and I taste the coffee on his tongue, bitter and sweet at once, like this moment between us.

When we finally part, both breathing harder, Jake rests his forehead against mine. "We still have fourteen hours," he says. "Let's not waste them by pretending we don't care."

"What happens when the fourteen hours are over?" I ask, the question that has been haunting me since I woke.

Jake is quiet for a moment, his fingers tracing patterns on my skin that make my bioluminescence flare and pulse. "I don't know," he admits finally. "I just know I'm not ready to say goodbye."

The admission both soothes and sharpens the ache in my chest. "Nor am I."

We float together in silence, the gentle current of the pool swirling around us. Jake's head rests on my shoulder, his body partially supported by mine, our empathic connection humming with emotions too complex to name.

"Tell me about your world," Jake says suddenly. "Not the official research stuff. Tell me what you love about it."

The request surprises me. No one has ever asked what I love about my homeworld. It is simply... home. But as I consider the question, I find myself wanting to share these things with Jake.

"The sky," I begin. "It differs from Earth's. The atmospheric composition creates sunset colors that have no equivalent in your language. Purples deeper than your oceans, golds more vibrant than flame."

Jake makes a small sound of appreciation. "I'd like to see that someday."

The casual statement sends a ripple of longing through me. The image of Jake witnessing our sunset, standing beside me as the twin moons rise over the western sea, it creates a vision so perfect it almost hurts to contemplate.

"The cities are built both above and below the water," I continue, allowing myself to indulge in the fantasy that he might someday see them. "Some structures rise from the ocean floor to break the surface, while others float on massive platforms that can be submerged during storms."

"Do you live underwater or above it?" Jake asks, his fingers still tracing idle patterns on my skin.

"Both. My dwelling has chambers in both environments. Most Nereidans prefer to sleep underwater, though."

"Is that why you were so comfortable in my bed? Because it's not your usual sleeping arrangement anyway?"

The question contains a level of perception that continues to surprise me. "Perhaps. Though I found I... enjoyed the weight and warmth of you beside me."

Jake smiles against my shoulder. "Good to know. Do you have family there?"

The question seems innocent enough, but it leads to territory I have been avoiding. "Yes. My parent-creators still live in the city of my emergence. Both are researchers, though in different fields. And I have a younger sibling who specializes in environmental restoration."

"What about siblings closer to your age? Anyone who would threaten to beat me up for messing with their brother?" Jake's tone is light, but I sense genuine curiosity beneath the humor.

"I have one older brother," I admit. "Kav'eth. He is... my superior in the Research Collective."

Jake's eyebrows rise. "Your brother is your boss? That sounds complicated."

"It is not uncommon in Nereidan society for family units to work within the same field. But yes, our relationship is... complex."

"Complex how?" Jake shifts to face me more directly in the water.

"We were never particularly close, even as juveniles. Kav'eth has always been exceptionally devoted to protocol and duty. He was considered exemplary by our instructors, while I was often criticized for asking too many questions."

"Shocking," Jake says with a small smile. "You, questioning things? I can't imagine."

His teasing lightens something in my chest. "My tendency to seek understanding beyond established parameters was not always appreciated."

"And now this questioning brother reports to the rule-following one. That must be fun at family gatherings."

"We rarely attend the same social functions," I admit. "Kav'eth considers it important to maintain professional boundaries."

"So he's basically the opposite of me," Jake observes. "Mr. Protocol and Proper Procedures."

The assessment is more accurate than Jake could possibly know. I recall Kav'eth's stern warnings about maintaining emotional distance, about remembering my duty to our people, about not compromising the mission for one human.

"He would find you... challenging," I say carefully.

Jake grins. "I tend to have that effect on authority figures. So what would your brother say about this?" He gestures between us. "About us?"

"He would disapprove," I say honestly. "He has already expressed concern about my... objectivity regarding this assignment."

"Wait, you've talked to him about me?" Jake looks surprised. "When?"

"Last night, after you were asleep. All field researchers are required to submit regular reports to their supervisors."

"And you told him about us?"

"No," I clarify quickly. "But Kav'eth is perceptive. He sensed my... attachment through our neural interface."

Jake processes this information, his expression thoughtful. "And he warned you to keep your distance."

"Yes."

"But you didn't."

I look at Jake, at the human who has somehow become essential to me in just over two days. "No. I did not."

"Parent-creators," Jake repeats thoughtfully, changing the subject. "Not mother and father?"

"Our reproductive biology is... different from yours. Two individuals can contribute genetic material, but the resulting offspring develops in an external environment rather than within a parent's body."

"Huh. So no pregnancy, no childbirth?"

"No. Though the bond between creators and offspring remains strong."

Jake is quiet for a moment, contemplating this. "Would they like me? Your parent-creators?"

The question catches me unprepared. The thought of Jake meeting my family, being introduced as my... what? Partner? Mate? The concept is simultaneously terrifying and appealing.

"They would find you fascinating," I say honestly. "Your adaptability, your humor, your willingness to question established frameworks, these are qualities valued in Nereidan society, though we do not always demonstrate them as readily as humans do."

"As readily as I do, you mean," Jake says with a small laugh. "I'm not exactly a typical human specimen, Zeph. Most people aren't as... mouthy as I am."

"Then most humans are less interesting than you," I reply without hesitation.

Jake lifts his head to look at me, surprise evident in his expression. "That might be the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me."

"It is merely factual."

"Still nice." He shifts in the water, moving to float on his back again, but keeps one hand connected to my arm. "So what happens now? With your recommendation, I mean. If you tell your Council that humans are compatible, what comes next?"

The question returns us to reality, to the countdown, to our imminent separation. "If the Council accepts my recommendation, formal diplomatic contact would be established with Earth governments. A larger delegation would be sent to begin official discussions about cultural exchange, potential migration programs, resource sharing."

"Sounds very official," Jake says, his tone carefully neutral. "Would you be part of that delegation?"

"I do not know. It would depend on the Council's assessment of my performance in this mission."

Jake is quiet for a long moment, floating beside me, his fingers still tracing patterns on my skin. "And what about us? This connection we have? Does that factor into your report at all?"

"It should not," I admit. "The assessment is meant to evaluate overall species compatibility, not individual pairings."

"But?"

"But I find it... difficult to separate the two." I reach out, drawing him back to a vertical position so I can see his face. "You have affected me, Jake Morrison. In ways I did not anticipate and cannot fully explain."

Through our empathic bond, I feel his response, a complex mixture of pleasure, sadness, and something deeper that makes my bioluminescence pulse in response.

"You've affected me too," he says quietly. "And I'm not ready for that to end."

"Nor am I," I admit, the truth slipping out before I can contain it. "But I do not see an alternative that does not involve one of us abandoning our world."

Jake looks at me for a long moment, sadness evident in his expression. "I wish there was a third option. Something that didn't mean saying goodbye forever."

"As do I." The admission costs me nothing now; we are beyond pretense. "But my duty is clear."

"And that's it? Duty wins?" Jake's voice carries a mixture of resignation and frustration. "We just... walk away from whatever this is between us?"

I have no adequate response. The conflict between what I want and what I must do has no resolution I can see. "I do not know how to reconcile my responsibility to my people with my... feelings for you."

Jake sighs, his breath warm against my skin. "So we've got fourteen hours left, and then... it's over."

The finality in his voice makes my bioluminescence dim noticeably. "Yes."

"Then let's not waste what time we have left," he says, moving closer until our bodies are pressed together in the water. "If fourteen hours is all we get, I want to remember every minute."

I should focus on my report. I should maintain professional boundaries. I should prepare for our inevitable separation.

Instead, I draw him closer, letting the water support our bodies as our lips meet. His hands slide along my back, and the empathic bond intensifies between us, amplifying every sensation until I struggle to distinguish his feelings from my own.

In this moment, with fourteen hours remaining until the transport cycle reactivates, I allow myself to hope. To imagine a future where duty does not require me to let him go. Where this unprecedented connection we've formed continues beyond our allotted time.

It contradicts my training. It defies professional protocols. It challenges everything I've been taught about my responsibilities.

But as Jake moves against me in the luminescent water, as our bond resonates with shared emotion, rationality seems far less important than what I feel for this human who was never meant to be mine.

Chapter Eleven

Jake

We spend hours in the cleansing pools, talking and not talking, touching and simply being. The countdown in my head keeps ticking, twelve hours, eleven hours, but I try to push it away, to live in each moment as if it might not be one of our last.

By the time we finally emerge, our skin wrinkled and the water slightly dimmer from absorbing some of Zeph's bioluminescence, we're both pretending that time isn't running out. It's a polite fiction, but it's the only thing keeping me from completely falling apart.

"You must be hungry," Zeph says as we dry off, his eyes lingering on me in a way that suggests he's memorizing me. "I could prepare something for our evening meal. What would you prefer?"

The question is simple enough, but I can see what he's really offering, one last normal moment, one last shared experience before everything ends. And suddenly I want more than just a meal. I want to know him, all of him, even the parts I can't keep.

"Actually," I say, "I'd like to try something from your world."

Zeph stops, a towel half-raised to his hair, his expression one of genuine surprise. "You wish to experience Nereidan cuisine?"

"Yeah, I mean, why not? Might be my only chance to try alien food that isn't synthesized to appeal to human tastes." I shrug, aiming for casual and probably missing by a mile. "Unless it's going to poison me or something."

"It will not poison you." Zeph seems oddly touched by the request, a faint glow brightening beneath his skin. "Though I should warn you that most species find our food... unusual."

"Hey, I've eaten gas station sushi at 3 AM. My stomach is basically indestructible." I finish drying off and wrap the towel around my waist. "Besides, I want to know what you eat when you're not pretending to enjoy pancakes for my benefit."

That gets me a small smile. "I was not pretending. Your pancakes were quite acceptable."

"'Quite acceptable.' Wow. With praise like that, I should open a restaurant." I bump my shoulder against his arm, enjoying the now-familiar warmth of his skin. "Come on, show me what passes for comfort food in the big blue beyond."

The kitchen area, or what passes for one on the ship, transforms under Zeph's hands. He moves with a confidence I haven't seen before, manipulating the synthesizer controls with quick, precise movements, occasionally mumbling what sounds like corrections to the machine's settings.

"I thought you said Nereidans don't cook," I observe, leaning against the counter to watch him work.

"We do not cook recreationally," Zeph clarifies. "But all juveniles are taught basic nutritional preparation as part of our educational processes."

"So this is... what, the equivalent of alien home ec class?"

"Home... ec?" Zeph looks confused for a moment.

"Home economics. It's a class where they teach kids how to cook and sew and balance a checkbook, which, let's be honest, is way more useful than calculus for most people."

"Ah. Yes, this would be similar, though with a stronger emphasis on optimal nutritional balance."

"Of course it was," I mutter. "Heaven forbid alien children just learn to make cookies."

Zeph continues working as we talk, and soon the synthesizer produces several containers of what look like various plants, some leafy, some root-like, all in colors that range from deep purple to pale blue-green. He arranges them on the counter and begins processing them with tools I don't recognize.

"Those are... vegetables?" I ask, fascinated despite myself.

"Plant matter, yes, though not technically vegetables as you would define them. These are hydrophytic flora native to our ocean shelves."

"Seaweed. Got it."

Zeph gives me a look that clearly says 'that is not remotely what I said,' but continues his preparation. He combines several of the plant materials in a heating unit, adding what appear to be spices from small containers he retrieves from a storage compartment.

"Nereidans are primarily herbivorous," he explains as he works. "Our digestive systems evolved to process the abundant plant life of our oceans."

"So no alien calamari, then?"

"We do consume some animal protein, but it is not a dietary staple." Zeph adjusts something on the heating unit, and a rich, spicy aroma begins to fill the air. "This dish is considered... comforting in our culture. It is often prepared for important life transitions."

The implication that this is a goodbye meal hangs between us, unspoken but understood. I push away the tightness in my throat and focus on watching his hands, the careful precision of his movements.

"Smells good," I say, meaning it. The aroma reminds me of curry, but with something else underneath, something almost floral but not quite, like nothing I've ever smelled before. "Kind of makes synthesized pancakes seem pretty lame in comparison."

"Pancakes serve a different cultural function," Zeph says seriously. "They represent care and shared experience."

"When did you get so wise about pancake philosophy?" I ask, but the teasing comes out fonder than intended.

"I had an excellent teacher."

Before I can respond to that surprisingly sweet comment, Zeph turns his attention to another part of the synthesizer, which is now producing a flat, bread-like substance that he transfers to a warming plate.

"This is nev'lath," he explains. "A starch base used to consume the miran." He gestures to the creamy, spiced plant mixture that's now simmering gently.

"So basically alien naan bread for alien saag paneer," I translate. "I can work with that."

Zeph gives me a puzzled look. "I do not understand the reference."

"It's an Earth dish that looks kind of similar. Creamy spiced spinach with Indian flatbread." I inhale deeply, appreciating the complex aroma. "Though this smells way more interesting."

Within minutes, Zeph has arranged the meal on plates that seem designed specifically for this food, shallow bowls with an attached flat surface for the bread. He carries them to the small table in the common area, and I follow, suddenly aware of how hungry I actually am.

"This is traditionally eaten by tearing pieces of nev'lath and using them to scoop portions of miran," Zeph demonstrates, tearing a small piece of the flatbread and dipping it into the creamy mixture.

I follow his example, tearing off a piece of the bread, which has an interesting elasticity, somewhere between naan and a tortilla, and scooping up some of the green-blue mixture. I hesitate for just a second before putting it in my mouth.

"Holy shit," I say around my first bite, genuinely surprised. "That's... that's actually amazing."

And it is. The bread has a subtle sweetness that balances perfectly with the creamy plant mixture, which is spicy but not in a way I can easily identify, not hot like chili peppers, but warming and complex, with hints of something almost like cardamom but sharper. The texture is silky and substantial at once, and the whole thing just... works.

Through our empathic bond, I can feel Zeph's pleasure at my reaction, a warm glow of satisfaction that makes the food taste even better somehow.

"This is a traditional preparation," he says, watching me take another bite. "The spices are cultivated in specialized hydroponic facilities on our homeworld."

"Well, your people got something right," I say, reaching for more bread. "This beats pancakes any day, even the non-construction-material version."

We eat in companionable silence for a while, the food filling a hunger I hadn't fully acknowledged. But more than that, it feels meaningful, sharing this piece of his world, this thing that's normal for him but completely new to me. It's intimate in a way that's different from sex, different even from the empathic bond. It's him letting me in.

"So this is what you grew up eating?" I ask, using the last of my bread to wipe up the remaining sauce on my plate.

"This is a celebratory version," Zeph clarifies. "Our daily sustenance is less complex. But yes, these are flavors from my youth."

I try to imagine Zeph as a child, eating this food with his family, growing up in a world with purple skies and underwater cities. It seems impossible and yet completely real at the same time, and the thought that I'll never see that world, never fully know that part of him, creates an ache that's hard to ignore.

"Thank you," I say, meeting his eyes. "For sharing this with me."

"It was my pleasure." Zeph sets down his utensil, his plate nearly empty as well. "Though I must admit, I was... surprised by your request. Most visitors prefer familiar foods, especially in situations of stress."

"Yeah, well, I'm not most visitors." I lean back in my chair, studying him. "Besides, I figured if I only get one chance to try alien cuisine, I might as well go for the real thing, not some human-friendly approximation."

Something shifts in Zeph's expression, a subtle tightening around his eyes, a dimming of the glow beneath his skin. "Jake, there is something I must discuss with you."

The sudden formality makes my stomach clench. "That sounds ominous."

"It is a practical matter." Zeph rises and retrieves something from a storage compartment, returning with a small, metallic container about the size of a pill bottle. "I realize your unexpected absence from Earth will have professional consequences."

It takes me a second to process what he's saying. "Wait, are you worried about my job?"

"Your employment as a... barista, correct? A three-day unexplained absence would likely result in termination."

I can't help it, I laugh. It's absurd, sitting here nine hours from saying goodbye forever to the most incredible person I've ever met, and he's worried about my crappy coffee shop job.

"Zeph, I really don't care about getting fired. Trust me, there are plenty of other places that will pay me minimum wage to make overpriced coffee for grumpy people."

"Nevertheless." He places the container on the table between us. "This is standard protocol for any human participant in our program."

I eye the container suspiciously. "What is it?"

"Compensation." Zeph slides it toward me. "These are minerals that have negligible value on our world but are considered precious on Earth."

I open the container and nearly drop it when I see what's inside, a collection of what appear to be uncut gemstones, mostly blue and purple, glittering even in the ship's ambient lighting.

"Holy shit, Zeph. Are these... are these actually sapphires?" I pick one up, holding it to the light. It's rough but unmistakably valuable, probably worth more than I'd make in several years at the coffee shop.

"And similar mineral formations, yes. They are abundant in our oceanic mining operations but rare on Earth. It should be sufficient to compensate for any employment difficulties."

"Sufficient? Zeph, this is—" I stop, not sure whether to laugh or cry. "This is enough to buy a house. Or pay off my student loans. Or both."

"You are not obligated to accept it," he says formally, though I can tell through our bond that he wants me to take it. "But given the... unexpected nature of your experience with us, it seemed appropriate to provide substantial compensation."

"Substantial is one way of putting it." I close the container and slip it into my pocket, trying to process the fact that I'm suddenly holding what must be hundreds of thousands of dollars in alien gemstones. "Though I kind of feel like I should be the one compensating you, considering you got stuck with the wrong human and all."

"I did not 'get stuck' with you, Jake Morrison." Zeph's voice is suddenly intense. "While your presence was unexpected, it has been... illuminating."

"Illuminating," I repeat, unable to help myself. "Nice choice of words for someone who lights up like a Christmas tree when they're turned on."

The blue flush that spreads across Zeph's cheeks is absolutely worth the terrible joke. "That was not the intended reference."

"I know." I reach across the table, taking his hand. "I'm just being an ass because it's easier than thinking about the fact that we don't have much time left."

He turns his hand to intertwine his fingers with mine, and the casual intimacy of the gesture makes my throat tight. "I find I am also avoiding that particular calculation."

"So let's keep avoiding it," I suggest, standing and tugging him gently toward me. "At least for a little while longer."

Zeph rises, letting me pull him close, his body warm against mine. Through our empathic bond, I can feel his conflicted emotions, desire and sadness, longing and resignation.

"I believe that would be... acceptable," he says, his voice dropping to that lower register that never fails to make my skin tingle.

"Just acceptable?" I tease, sliding my hands up his chest. "I was hoping for a more enthusiastic review."

"Highly recommended," Zeph amends, his own hands settling on my hips. "Essential, even."

"That's more like it." I rise on my toes to kiss him, and for a little while, the countdown stops.

*****

Later, much later, we lie tangled together in the bed that now feels like it's ours instead of just his, my head on his chest, his fingers trailing lazy patterns along my spine. The gentle glow of his skin provides just enough light to see by, pulsing softly with each beat of his heart.

"Can I ask you something?" I say, my voice quiet in the dim room.

"Of course."

"What happens if you fail? If you tell your Council that humans aren't compatible?" It's a question I've been avoiding, partly out of fear of the answer.

Zeph is silent for a moment, his hand stilling on my back. "That outcome would be... problematic for my people."

"Problematic how?"

"Our population continues to decline. We require genetic diversity and cultural adaptation to survive as a species." He sighs, the sound vibrating through his chest beneath my ear. "If humans are deemed incompatible, we must continue searching for other viable partners. But our resources are limited, and time is not in our favor."

The weight of his words settles over me. This isn't just about us, it's about the survival of his entire species. "So no pressure or anything."

"The pressure is not on you, Jake." His arms tighten around me slightly. "You have already provided all the data needed for my recommendation."

"And what will that recommendation be?" I lift my head to look at him. "Are humans compatible or not?"

"Based on our interactions, I will be reporting that humans demonstrate exceptional compatibility potential." His golden eyes meet mine. "Our physiological differences are offset by remarkable adaptive capacity. Our cultural disparities provide opportunities for mutual growth rather than conflict."

"So this wasn't all for nothing," I say, trying to find some comfort in that.

"No. It was not for nothing." Zeph reaches up to trace my jawline with one finger. "Though I find myself wishing the outcome could be different."

"You and me both." I lower my head back to his chest, listening to the strange rhythm of his heartbeat, slightly faster than a human's, with an occasional double-beat that I've come to find soothing.

I don't want to waste our remaining hours talking about councils and compatibility reports. I want to be with him, to create memories that will have to last a lifetime.

Instead, I shift position, moving to straddle his hips. His cock is already hardening beneath me, the bioluminescence spreading across his skin in waves that follow my touch. In the soft glow, he looks otherworldly and yet completely familiar, like someone I've known far longer than three days.

"I don't want to talk about councils and compatibility anymore," I tell him, grinding slowly against his growing erection. "I just want to be with you while I still can."

Zeph sits up, keeping me in his lap, his hands sliding up my thighs to grip my hips. "What do you need, Jake?"

What I need is more time. What I need is to not say goodbye. What I need is impossible.

"I need to ride you," I say instead, reaching between us to wrap my hand around his cock. "I need to feel you inside me, see your face while you come. I need to remember this."

His eyes darken to amber, the glow beneath his skin intensifying. "I do not believe I could forget if I tried."

"Show me," I whisper, positioning myself above him. "Show me how to make this last."

I reach between us to stroke him, watching in fascination as his cock responds to my touch, the natural lubricant beginning to seep from his skin, making my hand glide effortlessly. Within moments, his shaft is glistening with the slick substance, and my fingers are coated with it.

"Let me prepare you," he says, his voice dropping to that register that never fails to make my cock throb.

"Yes," I breathe, rising up on my knees to give him better access.

His fingers are gentle but thorough as they work me open, one at first, then two, then three, the natural lubricant making everything slick and easy. I rock back against his hand, already desperate for more, but Zeph maintains his methodical pace.

"So beautiful," he murmurs, his free hand stroking my cock in time with the movement of his fingers. "The way you respond to my touch. The sounds you make."

"Zeph," I gasp as his fingers brush against my prostate. "Please. I'm ready."

"Are you certain?" His concern is touching, but right now I just need him inside me.

"I've never been more certain of anything." I lift myself up, positioning his cock at my entrance. "I want to feel all of you."

Slowly, carefully, I sink down onto him, taking him inch by inch. The stretch is intense but not painful, his natural lubricant and careful preparation making it easier than it should be. Still, he's big enough that I have to pause halfway, breathing deeply, adjusting to the fullness.

"Are you well?" Zeph asks, his hands on my hips, steadying me.

"More than well," I assure him, sinking down further until I've taken him completely. "Fuck, you feel amazing."

And he does, the ridges along his cock stimulate nerves I didn't know I had, creating sensations that make my thighs tremble. When I'm fully seated, I lean forward to press my forehead against his, breathing the same air, our bodies connected as intimately as possible.

"I want to feel everything," I tell him, rolling my hips slowly. "Through the bond. Show me what you feel."

Zeph's eyes widen slightly, then close in concentration. Suddenly, the empathic connection between us expands, deepens, until I can feel not just echoes of his physical pleasure but the emotions beneath, wonder and desire, yes, but also an aching tenderness that makes my own chest tighten in response.

"Like that?" he asks, his voice rough.

"Yes," I breathe, overwhelmed by the dual sensations, my own pleasure and his, physical and emotional, layered and intertwined until I can barely tell where I end and he begins. "God, Zeph, I can feel how tight I am around you, how good it feels when I—"

I rock my hips, creating a delicious friction that sends pleasure spiraling through both of us, amplified by the bond until it's almost too much. Zeph's hands tighten on my hips, guiding my movements, helping me find a rhythm that works for both of us.

"Jake," he groans, his bioluminescence pulsing with each thrust. "You are... exquisite."

I ride him slowly, savoring every sensation, watching his face as pleasure transforms his features. His usual composure is gone, replaced by raw need and vulnerability that's somehow even more beautiful. Through the bond, I can feel his rising pleasure, the way each movement of my hips sends waves of sensation through him.

"Touch me," I gasp, and his hand wraps around my cock immediately, slick with that natural lubricant that makes everything better.

We move together, finding a perfect rhythm, the empathic bond creating a feedback loop of sensation that builds with each thrust. I can feel what he feels, the tight heat of my body around him, the way my inner muscles clench when he hits just the right spot, and he can feel what I feel, the perfect pressure of his cock against my prostate, the dual stimulation of his hand stroking me in time with our movements.

It's sex, yes, but it's also something else, a conversation without words, a promise without hope, a goodbye neither of us is ready to say.

"I'm close," I warn him, my thighs beginning to tremble as heat builds at the base of my spine. "So close, Zeph, I can feel you—"

"Let go," he urges, his thumb sliding over the head of my cock in a way that makes stars explode behind my eyelids. "Let me feel you come apart."

When release finally hits, it's less like an explosion and more like a wave, washing through both of us simultaneously, amplified by the empathic bond until it's almost too much to bear. I cry out his name as I come across his chest and stomach, and he responds with mine, his cock pulsing inside me as his own orgasm crashes through him.

For a moment, just a moment, it feels like we might actually merge into one being, never to be separated. The empathic bond flares so bright, so intense, that I can't tell where my pleasure ends and his begins, can't distinguish between my emotions and his, can't remember why we're supposed to be two separate people at all.

But then reality reasserts itself, and we're just two bodies, two separate individuals, clinging to each other as if we could somehow prevent the inevitable.

"I don't want to let you go," I admit, my face pressed against his neck, his cock still inside me, my come cooling between our bodies.

His arms tighten around me. "I know."

"What if—" I start, then stop myself. There is no 'what if.' There's only what is, and the knowledge that our time is running out.

We stay like that for a long time, neither of us willing to be the first to pull away. Finally, Zeph shifts beneath me, his hands sliding to support my thighs.

"Hold on to me," he says, his voice low. "I want to take you somewhere."

I wrap my legs tighter around his waist, keeping him inside me, my fingers tangling in his hair as he rises from the bed with seemingly effortless strength. The movement causes his cock to shift inside me, sending a shiver through me.

"Where are we going?" I whisper, still joined with him as intimately as possible.

"To the water," he answers simply. "It helps... clarify thoughts."

He carries me through the ship like that, still connected, my legs around his waist, his hands supporting my weight, his cock buried deep inside me. It should be awkward or uncomfortable, but it's not. It's intimate in a way that transcends the physical, as if neither of us can bear the thought of separation, even for a moment.

The cleansing pools are still illuminated with that soft blue-green light, the water gently rippling as if welcoming us back. Zeph carries me directly into the water, descending the steps without hesitation, until we're both submerged to our shoulders. The warm water swirls around us as he settles on an underwater ledge, our bodies still joined, my fingers still tangled in his hair.

For a while, we just float there, the gentle current of the pool supporting our weight, the soft glow of the water mingling with Zeph's bioluminescence. I open my mouth to say something, then close it again, not knowing what words could possibly be adequate.

"Tell me about your world," I say finally, my voice barely audible over the soft lapping of the water. "Something I don't know yet. Something I'll never see."

Zeph is quiet for a moment, his golden eyes studying my face as if memorizing it. His hands never still on my body, one palm sliding up my back to rest between my shoulder blades, the other tracing idle patterns on my thigh beneath the water. When he speaks, his voice is gentle, almost hypnotic.

"There are creatures in our deepest waters," he begins, pulling me fractionally closer, as if even the slightest distance between us is too much to bear, "that glow more brilliantly than I ever could. They live where sunlight cannot reach, where the water grows cold and still, and they create their own constellations beneath the waves."

I close my eyes, trying to picture it, while his fingers continue their gentle exploration of my skin, trailing across my shoulders, down my arms, back up to brush through my hair with reverent care. "What do they look like?"

"Some are small, no larger than your hand, with tendrils that trail behind them like living silk," Zeph murmurs, his fingers tracing delicate patterns along my spine as he speaks, each touch leaving trails of warmth that mirror the creatures he's describing. "Others are massive, ancient beings that have lived in the depths for centuries, their bodies transparent except for the patterns of light that pulse along their flanks."

His hand drifts up to cradle the back of my head, fingers threading through my hair with gentle reverence, as if memorizing its texture. I lean into his touch, desperate for the connection, my own hands clutching at his shoulders, unwilling to let go even for a moment.

His voice washes over me, and I can almost see these creatures, can almost feel the cold, dark water and the unexpected beauty of living light. The gentle current swirls around us as Zeph's other hand traces the curve of my hip, his thumb making small, soothing circles against my skin.

"When I was very young," Zeph continues, drawing me impossibly closer, our foreheads touching as his words vibrate between us, "my creator-parent took me to the Deep Reaches, a canyon in our ocean floor that stretches for hundreds of kilometers."

I shift slightly in his lap, causing his breath to catch. His hands tighten reflexively, one at my waist, one still tangled in my hair, before resuming their restless exploration of my skin.

"We swam down until the pressure made our ears ache and the water turned so cold it burned," he whispers against my temple, his lips brushing my skin between words. "And there, in that darkness, we witnessed the Great Migration, thousands upon thousands of luminous beings, all moving together in patterns so complex they seemed orchestrated."

I cling to him, my fingers digging into the solid muscle of his shoulders, my face pressed against his neck where I can feel his pulse, that strange, slightly faster rhythm that I've somehow come to find as comforting as my own heartbeat. His hands never stop moving, tracing my collarbone, brushing back a strand of wet hair from my forehead, skimming down my sides, as if he's trying to map every inch of me before time runs out.

I can feel the rumble of his voice through our connected bodies, can sense the reverence in his tone. This isn't just a story, it's a treasured memory, something precious he's sharing with me.

"Sometimes I still dream of it," he says softly, his fingers now trailing along my jawline with exquisite tenderness. "The cold and the dark and the unexpected wonder. The feeling of being very small in the presence of something ancient and beautiful."

I swallow hard against the lump in my throat, trying not to cry. This is a world I'll never see, experiences I'll never share, a part of him I can only know through stories. I press myself closer to him, trying to absorb his warmth, his essence, through my skin.

"Thank you," I whisper, not trusting my voice with more.

Zeph seems to understand what I'm not saying. His arms tighten around me, one hand spanning nearly my entire back while the other cups the nape of my neck, and through our empathic bond, I feel a surge of emotion too complex to name, regret and tenderness and something deeper that makes my chest ache.

We stay in the water for what feels like hours, Zeph telling me about his world in that quiet, steady voice while his hands maintain constant contact with my skin. His fingers trace the line of my spine, brush through my hair, slide along my arms to intertwine with mine. I respond in kind, mapping the broad planes of his shoulders, the curve of his neck, the sharp angles of his face, committing every detail to memory.

He describes the twin moons that create complex tidal patterns, his palm warm against my cheek as he speaks. He tells me about the floating cities that rise and fall with the seasons, his fingers trailing down my sides as if counting ribs. He explains the annual gathering where thousands of Nereidans come together to synchronize their bioluminescence in patterns that can be seen from space, his hands cradling my face as if I'm something precious.

I listen, memorizing every detail, trying to build a picture of his home in my mind while absorbing the sensation of his touch. A place I'll never visit, but that I want to be able to imagine when I'm back on Earth, alone in my apartment with nothing but memories.

Eventually, the ship's announcement breaks the spell, its mechanical voice reminding us that the transportation cycle will be ready soon. Too soon.

Zeph carries me out of the water, our bodies finally separating as he sets me gently on my feet. The loss of connection feels symbolic somehow, a foretaste of the greater separation to come. His hand lingers on the small of my back, unwilling to break contact completely, even as we dry off.

We dry off in silence, both avoiding each other's eyes, as if looking directly at our pain might make it unbearable. Zeph becomes busy suddenly, checking readings, preparing equipment, explaining the process to me in technical terms I only half understand.

"—and the molecular reconstitution occurs at the exact point of origin, ensuring spatial integrity," he's saying, his voice so formal he sounds like a different person entirely.

"Zeph," I interrupt, placing a hand on his arm. "It's okay. You don't have to do this."

He stills, not looking at me. "Do what?"

"Pretend this is just another day at the office. Pretend you're not feeling exactly what I'm feeling right now."

Through our bond, I can sense his struggle, the conflict between his training and his emotions, between duty and desire. Finally, he turns to face me, and the naked pain in his expression makes my breath catch.

"I do not know how to say goodbye to you, Jake Morrison," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Then don't," I say, reaching for him. "Not yet."

He pulls me close, and for a few precious minutes, we just hold each other, his face buried in my hair, my arms wrapped around his waist. His hands move across my back in slow, deliberate motions, as if he's creating a tactile map of me to take with him when I'm gone. I do the same, my fingers tracing the lines of his shoulders, the curve of his spine, the texture of his skin, committing everything to memory. I try to memorize everything, the warmth of his skin, the strange rhythm of his heartbeat, the way he smells like ocean and something spicy I can't name.

"I need to remember this," I whisper against his chest, and he responds by framing my face with his hands, thumbs stroking over my cheekbones as his golden eyes lock with mine.

"As do I," he murmurs, his gaze moving over my features with such intensity I can almost feel it as a physical touch.

Too soon, the ship announces that the transportation cycle will activate in thirty minutes.

Zeph pulls back reluctantly, his hands lingering on my arms. "You should prepare. The process can be... disorienting."

"Right. Wouldn't want to arrive back on Earth inside-out or something." I attempt a smile that probably looks more like a grimace. "That would be a hell of a conversation starter at parties."

Zeph doesn't laugh. Instead, he turns abruptly and moves to a panel on the wall, pressing his hand against it. A hidden compartment slides open, revealing a small device that looks something like a metallic river stone, smooth and flat with faint blue markings.

"This is against every protocol we have," he says, his voice tight. "I could lose my position for this."

"What is it?" I ask as he presses the device into my palm.

"A neural communicator." Zeph closes my fingers around it. "For emergencies only. It can transmit a single signal across interstellar distances."

I stare at him, not quite believing what I'm hearing. "You're giving me a way to call you?"

"It is extremely limited," he cautions. "It cannot transmit actual messages, only a simple distress signal. And it is meant solely for true emergencies, not... casual communication."

The unspoken message is clear, he's breaking rules for me, risking his career to make sure I'm not completely cut off. "How would I know if you received it? Or if you respond?"

"You would feel it," Zeph says, tapping my chest lightly. "Through our bond."

"I thought the bond would fade once we're separated." The thought has been haunting me, losing not just his physical presence but that deeper connection we've formed.

"It will diminish with distance," he acknowledges. "But not disappear entirely. Not if what we have experienced is... as significant as I believe it to be."

The ship announces twenty minutes remaining, and my heart rate kicks up a notch.

"Thank you," I say, closing my hand around the communicator. "Though I have to say, your definition of 'emergency' better be pretty broad."

That gets me a ghost of a smile. "I trust your judgment."

"That might be the first mistake you've made since we met," I joke, but it falls flat.

"You should position yourself in the center of the room," Zeph says, guiding me to the spot where I first arrived. "The transport coordinates are locked to your original location on Earth."

I stand where he indicates, suddenly feeling very small and very human. "So this is it, huh?"

"Yes." Zeph's professional mask is slipping again, pain showing through the cracks. "Jake, I—"

"No," I interrupt. "Don't say it. Not if this is goodbye."

He nods, understanding without me having to explain. Some words shouldn't be said unless there's hope of a future to back them up.

Ten minutes.

"I'm going to miss you," I say instead, because that much is safe to admit. "More than I thought possible after three days."

"And I you," Zeph replies, his voice rough with emotion. "More than I thought possible in a lifetime."

Five minutes.

The room begins to fill with the same blue light that brought me here, and I feel a familiar tingling sensation starting in my extremities.

"Zeph—" I start, suddenly desperate to say everything I've been holding back.

But it's too late. The blue light intensifies, and the last thing I see is Zeph's face, golden eyes wide and filled with an emotion that mirrors the one tearing my own chest apart.

Then there's nothing but blue light and the bizarre sensation of being everywhere and nowhere at once.

When reality reasserts itself, I'm standing in my living room, exactly where I was when this all started, same apartment, but everything's slightly off. The TV is showing some reality show I don't recognize instead of that British baking program. The pizza I left on the coffee table has a suspicious greenish tint to it now. And there's a stack of missed calls and texts on my phone that's been charging on the side table.

The air hits me immediately, stale, slightly musty, with that faint hint of microwave popcorn that always lingers in my apartment building's hallways. After three days of breathing the ship's perfectly regulated atmosphere, the ordinariness of Earth air feels like an assault on my senses.

Three days have definitely passed. The experiment was real. All of it was real.

The evidence is in the small communicator clutched in my palm. And the container of gemstones in my pocket. And the hollow ache in my chest where our empathic bond is already beginning to fade.

I stand there for a long moment, the silence of my apartment crushing after days of Zeph's presence, his voice, his movements, the subtle hum of the ship that I hadn't even realized I'd gotten used to.

"Well," I say to the empty room, because talking to myself is still my brand, apparently. "That just happened."

My own voice sounds wrong somehow, too flat, too ordinary after days of Zeph's formal, melodic speech patterns. I move to sit on the couch, but my legs give out halfway there, and I end up on the floor, staring at the communicator in my hand.

For emergencies only, he said. Not casual communication.

But what constitutes an emergency, really? Is having your heart torn out of your chest and left in another star system an emergency? Is realizing that your crappy apartment and meaningless job and empty life are unbearable now that you know what else exists an emergency?

I close my fingers around the communicator, tempted to activate it immediately, to send a signal that says I need you, come back, this isn't right.

Instead, I carefully place it on my coffee table and check my phone. According to the display, it's Friday night, exactly three days since I was abducted. The screen is filled with increasingly concerned text messages and missed calls from my coworkers and even a couple friends who noticed I'd completely vanished.

There's a particularly angry text from my manager that makes it clear I no longer have a job at the coffee shop. Three days of no-shows with zero communication was apparently the final straw after my "consistently mediocre attitude toward customer satisfaction."

The crushing reality of it all makes me want to scream. Or cry. Or both. Three days that changed my entire life, and all I have to show for it is an alien communicator, a pocket full of gemstones, and an empty apartment that feels even smaller and more pathetic than it did before.

Instead, I pick up the communicator again, running my thumb over its smooth surface, feeling the faint vibration that suggests it's more than just a stone. With my other hand, I touch my chest, searching for that empathic connection that was so vivid just minutes ago.

It's there, but faint, a ghost of what it was, a bare impression rather than the vivid link we shared. And it's fading even as I focus on it, like a dream slipping away upon waking. I close my eyes, trying desperately to hold onto it, to reach through whatever vast distance now separates us. For a moment, I think I feel something, a flicker of warmth, an echo of that golden glow, but it slips through my mental fingers like water, leaving nothing but the cold emptiness of its absence.

"Come back," I whisper, though I know he can't hear me. "Please come back."

There's no response, of course. Just the quiet of my apartment and the dull ache of loss that feels too big for my body to contain.

I curl up on the floor, clutching the communicator to my chest, and finally let the tears come.

Chapter Twelve

Zeph

The blue light fades, leaving nothing but empty space where Jake stood moments ago. I remain frozen, hand still outstretched toward the void he occupied, as if by sheer force of will I might call him back. The transportation cycle has completed. He is gone.

The ship's environmental systems, still calibrated to accommodate a human occupant, maintain a temperature several degrees warmer than Nereidan standard. A temperature that now serves no purpose but to remind me of his absence.

"Transport cycle complete. Human subject successfully returned to origin coordinates," the ship announces, its toneless voice echoing in the suddenly too-large room.

Subject. As if Jake Morrison could ever be reduced to such a clinical term.

I lower my hand slowly, aware of the uncharacteristic tremor in my fingers. My bioluminescence has dimmed to almost nothing, a physical manifestation of the hollow sensation spreading through my chest. The empathic bond still exists, I can feel it, a gossamer thread stretched to breaking, but the distance renders it a pale echo of what we shared.

Protocol dictates immediate documentation following subject departure. A comprehensive summary of all observations, metrics, and conclusions. I should be at my workstation, compiling data, preparing my recommendation for the Council.

Instead, I find myself standing in the exact spot where Jake vanished, unable to move, unable to process the simple fact of his absence.

Three days. Three days that have somehow reconfigured my entire perception of existence.

"Researcher Zeph'hai," the ship prompts after what must be several minutes of my inaction. "Departure documentation sequence has not been initiated. Do you require assistance?"

"No," I say, the word coming out rougher than intended. "Override standard protocol. Documentation sequence will begin in... one hour."

The ship acknowledges with a soft tone, and I finally force myself to move. My body feels wrong somehow, heavier, as if the artificial gravity has increased. I know it has not. This is merely the weight of separation.

I move through the quarters that now feel cavernous despite being exactly the same size as before. In the sleeping area, the bed remains disheveled, the sheets bearing the imprint of two bodies rather than one. Without conscious thought, I find myself reaching for the pillow where Jake's head rested. I bring it to my face, inhaling deeply.

His scent lingers, that distinctive human mixture of biochemicals that initially seemed so foreign but now registers as essential. Already it's fading, molecules dispersing into the ship's carefully filtered air. Soon there will be no trace of him here, just as there was never meant to be.

On the floor beside the bed, I notice something small and pale against the dark surface. A strand of hair. Jake's hair. I pick it up with careful fingers, holding it to the light. Such a simple thing, a protein filament, meaningless in any scientific context. Yet I find myself cradling it as if it were infinitely precious.

"Preserve," I say aloud, and a small specimen container materializes from a compartment in the wall. I place the strand inside, watching as the preservation field activates. A completely irrational action with no scientific purpose. I do it anyway.

The kitchen area is next, and here the evidence of Jake is even more pronounced. The synthesizer still displays our last programmed meal, the traditional Nereidan dish I prepared for him. The plates remain on the table, residue of miran dried on their surfaces. I should clean this, reset the space to standard configuration.

I leave it exactly as it is.

In the cleansing pools, the water glows with the same blue-green light as always, but it seems dimmer somehow. The memory of Jake here is so vivid that for a moment I almost see him, floating in the gentle current, his face alight with curiosity as I told him about my world. The pools were my sanctuary before his arrival. Now they are simply another space haunted by his absence.

A soft alert tone interrupts my thoughts. "Incoming communication request from Commander Kav'eth. Priority alpha."

My brother. Of course. The report.

I consider ignoring it. The thought is so aberrant, so contrary to everything I have been trained to do, that it momentarily startles me out of my emotional fugue. I have never ignored a communication from a superior officer, let alone my brother. The very idea would have been unthinkable three days ago.

But I am not the same Nereidan I was three days ago.

Nevertheless, I straighten my posture, smooth my facial expression, and activate the communication array. "Accept incoming communication."

The holographic interface shimmers to life, and Kav'eth's face materializes before me. His expression is stern, golden eyes narrowed with what might be concern or suspicion.

"Zeph'hai," he says, using my full name in the formal manner that indicates this is an official communication rather than a familial one. "The transportation cycle completed seventeen minutes ago. Why have you not submitted your preliminary report?"

I force my voice to remain steady, professional. "I am compiling the final data points, Commander. The assessment yielded... unexpected results that require careful documentation."

Kav'eth studies me, and I know he is analyzing every aspect of my appearance, my dimmed bioluminescence, the tension in my facial muscles, the slight alteration in my vocal patterns. He has always been perceptive, even for a Nereidan.

"Your physiological readings are concerning," he says after a moment. "Your bioluminescence patterns indicate severe stress and possible emotional compromise."

"The assessment was... intensive," I reply, choosing my words with utmost care. "I require minor recuperation before completing documentation."

"Recuperation." Kav'eth repeats the word as if it's foreign to him. Perhaps it is. My brother has never required recovery time from any assignment. "The Council is convening in two cycles to review your findings. They expect a comprehensive report on human compatibility."

"They will have it."

Kav'eth's eyes narrow further. "Zeph'hai, I must remind you that this program represents our species' best hope for survival. Your personal... experiences with the human subject must not cloud your objective assessment."

The way he says "experiences" makes something cold and defensive rise within me. "My assessment will be thorough and accurate, Commander."

"See that it is." He pauses, and for a moment his formal demeanor slips, revealing something that might almost be compassion. "Zeph, I understand that first assignments can create... attachments. It is not uncommon for researchers to develop a certain fondness for their subjects. But you must remember that this human was never meant to be your subject at all. He was an error, a mishap that must not derail our greater purpose."

An error. A mishap. As if Jake Morrison were nothing more than a clerical mistake to be noted and corrected.

"The mishap," I say, unable to keep a slight edge from my voice, "provided valuable insights that may not have been possible with the intended subject."

"Perhaps," Kav'eth concedes. "But that does not change the fact that we must now proceed with properly selected candidates. The Council is particularly interested in the human Derek Cross, your original target. Given his social influence metrics and physical attributes, he represents an ideal first official contact."

The thought of Derek Cross, the human Jake spoke of with such complicated emotions, being brought aboard another Nereidan vessel, experiencing the same assessment protocols, perhaps even meeting another researcher like me... the idea creates a sensation so viscerally unpleasant that I must suppress a visible reaction.

"I will include a comparative analysis of both potential subjects in my report," I say stiffly.

"Good." Kav'eth nods, apparently satisfied. "And Zeph'hai? I expect you to report to medical for evaluation after submitting your documentation. Your physiological readings are outside acceptable parameters."

"Understood."

The communication ends, the holographic projection dissolving into nothing. I stand motionless, staring at the empty space where my brother's face had been.

The thought of Derek Cross experiencing the same protocols... of another Nereidan learning about human pancakes and the way Earth food is meant to bring happiness rather than mere sustenance... of someone else discovering the remarkable adaptability and insight that Jake demonstrated...

I find myself moving without conscious intent to the area where we cooked together. The synthesizer still holds the instructions for the pancakes we prepared. I activate it, watching as it produces the ingredients in exactly the quantities Jake specified. The flour, white and fine. The eggs, with their delicate shells. The milk, in its precise measure.

My hands move through the preparation sequence, following the patterns Jake taught me. Not the precise, efficient movements of a Nereidan researcher, but the more organic, intuitive motions he showed me. When the first pancake begins to bubble on the heating surface, I find myself watching for the exact moment to flip it, just as he instructed.

The result is a perfect golden circle, nothing like the gray construction material of my first attempt. I place it on a plate, staring at this simple human food as if it might contain answers to questions I haven't even formulated.

What am I doing? This serves no purpose. Jake is not here to eat this. I am not hungry. This is irrational behavior, a waste of resources, a violation of efficiency protocols.

I make three more pancakes anyway.

When they are done, I sit at the table where we shared meals, staring at the plate of cooling food. I should begin the report. I should compile the data. I should fulfill my duty to my people, to my brother, to the program that represents our best hope for survival.

Instead, I close my eyes and reach for the empathic bond.

It's there, but attenuated, stretched thin across whatever vast distance now separates us. I focus on it, pouring my consciousness into that fragile connection, trying to sense anything, a feeling, an echo, the faintest impression of Jake's presence. For a moment, I think I detect something... a whisper of emotion, a flicker of warmth.

Then nothing.

The silence in my mind is deafening.

Without allowing myself to consider the implications, I move to the storage compartment where the emergency protocols are kept. The neural communicators are secured behind a biometric lock, a safeguard to prevent unauthorized use. My hand presses against the panel, and the compartment slides open, revealing the array of devices meant for true emergencies only.

I should not do this. It violates at least seven security protocols. It risks contaminating the assessment results. It could compromise the entire program.

I activate a communicator anyway, sending a brief pulse, not a true emergency signal, but a ghost of one, a whisper through the void.

The moment it's done, regret and shame flood through me. What am I doing? This is precisely the kind of emotional compromise that Kav'eth warned against. I am betraying my training, my duty, my species, all for the comfort of feeling connected to a human who was never supposed to be here in the first place.

I deactivate the communicator immediately, but it's too late. The signal has been sent. There is no calling it back.

Disgusted with my own weakness, I move to the workstation and force myself to begin the documentation sequence. The familiar routine of data entry and analysis should be comforting, a return to the ordered, logical world I have always inhabited. Instead, each clinical observation feels like a betrayal of the connection Jake and I formed.

How do I quantify the way his laughter changed the molecular composition of the air? How do I measure the impact of his insights on my understanding of not just humans, but my own species? What metric captures the significance of teaching someone to make pancakes that are "happy, not optimal"?

I work mechanically, inputting the objective data while struggling to maintain professional distance in my subjective assessments. The ship's systems record my findings, compiling them into the standard format for Council review. The process should take approximately forty minutes. It takes me nearly three hours.

When it's finally complete, I transmit the report to the secure Council server, knowing that Kav'eth will review it immediately. I have included everything required: physiological compatibility metrics, cultural adaptation potential, genetic diversity benefits, resource-sharing possibilities. By every objective measure, humans represent an ideal partner species for Nereidans.

What I have not included, what cannot be quantified in any meaningful way, is the simple truth that I would trade our entire species' future for just one more day with Jake Morrison.

The realization is so treasonous, so fundamentally opposed to everything I have been trained to believe, that it leaves me physically shaken. This is not who I am. I am Zeph'hai of the Nereidan Research Collective. I am a scientist, a researcher, a servant of my people's greater good. I do not place individual desires above collective survival.

Except, it seems, I do.

I should report to medical as ordered. My physiological readings are indeed outside acceptable parameters. But the thought of being examined, of having my emotional state documented and analyzed, is unbearable. Instead, I move to the cleansing pools, dimming the lights until the space is nearly dark.

I slide into the water, feeling the familiar embrace of the mineral-rich liquid against my skin. This should be comforting. The water has always been my sanctuary, the place where thoughts clarify and emotions settle into proper perspective.

Now it only reminds me of Jake's wonder as he experienced it for the first time. His delight at the buoyancy, his fascination with the bioluminescent properties, his unexpected skill at adapting to the aquatic environment. The memory of his body pressed against mine in this very pool, his legs wrapped around my waist, his fingers tangled in my hair as I told him about the deep-sea creatures of my homeworld.

I submerge completely, letting the water close over my head. In the darkness, I open my eyes, staring up at the surface rippling above me. My own bioluminescence is dimmed to almost nothing, barely illuminating the water around me. Another physiological anomaly to add to my growing list of concerning symptoms.

I think of Jake, alone on Earth, clutching the communicator I should never have given him. I wonder if he has used it yet. I wonder if he feels the same hollow ache that has taken residence in my chest. I wonder if the empathic bond will fade completely with time and distance, leaving not even a ghost of our connection.

The thought is unbearable.

I stay submerged until my secondary respiratory system engages, my gills filtering oxygen from the water. The sensation is usually pleasant, a reminder of my species' evolutionary heritage. Now it feels like yet another difference between Jake and me, another barrier to the impossible future I cannot stop imagining.

When I finally surface, the ship has dimmed all lighting to simulate night cycle. I should sleep. Tomorrow brings a new set of duties, preparations for the Council presentation, perhaps even the beginning of the next phase of the program.

Instead, I float in the darkness, watching the faint reflection of my own diminished glow on the ceiling above, and allow myself to acknowledge what I have been avoiding since the moment the blue light took Jake away.

I am in love with a human who was never meant to be mine.

And I have absolutely no idea what to do about it.

Chapter Thirteen

Jake

Three days since I returned to Earth. Three days of staring at the communicator, willing it to do something, feeling the empathic bond grow fainter with each passing hour. Three days of trying to pretend I wasn't fundamentally changed by my time with Zeph.

I should be looking for a new job. I should be apologizing to friends who texted worried messages while I was gone. I should be doing anything other than sitting on my couch, scrolling through real estate listings I have no intention of pursuing, the container of alien gemstones open on the coffee table beside me.

"Four bedroom, three bath, private pool, only $650,000," I read aloud to my empty apartment. "What a steal."

My voice sounds hollow even to my own ears. It's become a bizarre ritual, looking at houses I could theoretically buy with my newfound alien wealth, imagining a life I have no desire to live. As if material possessions could somehow fill the Zeph-shaped hole in my chest.

I scroll to the next listing. A sleek downtown condo with floor-to-ceiling windows and a rooftop garden. "You could grow herbs," I tell myself without enthusiasm. "Maybe some tomatoes."

The truth is, I don't want a mansion or a condo or even a modest starter home. I don't want to be anywhere that Zeph couldn't find me if... if what? If he comes back? If he abandons his people, his duty, his entire world for someone he knew for three days?

The reasonable part of my brain knows how absurd that hope is. The rest of me doesn't care.

I've kept my phone charged but silent, responding to texts with vague excuses about food poisoning and a broken phone. I've ventured out only for necessities, unable to bear the thought of small talk with baristas or cashiers. How do you make conversation when you've seen the stars from an alien ship? How do you care about the weather when you've floated in bioluminescent pools with someone who glows when they're turned on?

I close the real estate app and pick up one of the gemstones, turning it in the light. It catches the afternoon sun streaming through my window, fracturing it into prismatic shards that dance across the wall. Beautiful, valuable, and completely meaningless.

A knock at the door startles me so badly I nearly drop the stone. I shove it and the others back into the container and tuck it under a couch cushion, heart racing with irrational panic. No one knows about the gemstones. No one knows about any of it.

The knock comes again, more insistent this time.

"Jake? You in there? It's Derek."

Of course it's Derek. The universe apparently hasn't finished with its cosmic joke.

I consider not answering, but knowing Derek, he'll just keep knocking. With a sigh, I haul myself off the couch and open the door, coming face to face with the man the aliens actually wanted.

"Hey," I say, aiming for casual and missing by a mile. "What's up?"

Derek looks exactly the same as he did three months ago when we broke up, annoyingly fit, perfectly groomed, and radiating that particular blend of confidence and cluelessness that I once found charming and now find exhausting.

"Dude, where have you been?" he asks, leaning against my doorframe. "I knocked on your door yesterday, and your neighbor said she hadn't seen you since Tuesday."

"I was out of town," I lie, keeping a firm grip on the door. "Friend emergency."

Derek raises an eyebrow. "Must have been some emergency. You look like shit."

"Thanks. Always nice to get your professional fitness assessment."

He shrugs, unperturbed by my sarcasm as always. "Just saying, you might want to hydrate. Your skin's got that dull thing going on."

I resist the urge to tell him that three days ago I was radiant, glowing with the aftereffects of alien sex and empathic bonding. Instead, I cross my arms and get to the point. "Did you need something, or is this just a wellness check?"

"Oh, right." He gestures vaguely with one hand. "I left a couple shirts here when I moved out. Realized it when I was packing for a fitness retreat coming up. Though I'd grab them on my way to the gym."

Of course. Derek and his endless supply of identical athletic wear. I'd packed up his remaining things weeks ago, tired of finding reminders of him in my drawers. He just hadn't been home whenever I'd gone to give the box back to him.

"Wait here," I say, not bothering to invite him in. His surprised expression as I close the door in his face gives me a small, petty satisfaction.

I head to the closet where I'd stashed the last traces of our relationship, hyperaware of how small my apartment suddenly feels. Three days ago I was in space, floating in bioluminescent pools, making pancakes in a kitchen that responded to thought. Now I'm digging through a cardboard box of my ex's forgotten belongings.

When I return to the door, Derek is scrolling through his phone, probably checking his Instagram likes. Some things never change.

"Here," I say, thrusting the box at him. "Should be everything. Two shirts, a protein shaker, those weird compression socks, and that book about optimizing your sleep or whatever."

Derek takes the box, rifling through it with a pleased expression. "Awesome, thanks. I've been looking for this shaker everywhere." He holds up the neon green monstrosity like it's a lost treasure. "It's the perfect size for my post-workout blend."

"Fascinating."

Either he doesn't notice the sarcasm or he chooses to ignore it. "So, what have you been up to? Besides your mysterious friend emergency, I mean."

"Oh, you know. The usual. Making coffee. Getting fired for unexplained absences. Being abducted by aliens. The standard stuff."

Derek laughs, and the sound grates on my nerves in a way it never did before. "Wait, you got fired? That sucks, man."

"It's fine. I was due for a change anyway."

He nods sagely. "Sometimes the universe forces these transitions on us when we're resistant to growth. I always say—"

"Please don't tell me what you always say," I interrupt, unable to bear another one of his Instagram-ready platitudes. "I'm really not in the mood."

Derek frowns, finally registering my tone. "Jeez, sorry. Just trying to help."

I sigh, rubbing a hand over my face. "I know. Sorry. I'm just... it's been a weird few days."

"No kidding. You sure you're okay? You seem really off."

The concern in his voice is genuine, and for a bizarre moment, I consider telling him the truth. Hey, Derek, funny story, aliens tried to abduct you for their compatibility program, but they got me by mistake. You were supposed to be experiencing empathic bonding and bioluminescent sex, not me. Isn't that hilarious?

"I'm fine," I say instead. "Just tired. Job hunting is draining."

"I bet. Hey, if you need a recommendation, the juice bar next to my gym is hiring. The owner's a client of mine."

"Thanks, but I think I'm looking for something... different."

Derek shifts the box to his hip, studying me with uncharacteristic attention. "Different how?"

"I don't know yet. Just... different."

A week ago, this conversation would have been excruciating, Derek offering unsolicited advice while I struggled not to roll my eyes. Now it's just empty. Nothing he says can touch me, because he exists in a world that suddenly seems impossibly small. He will never know what I know. He will never feel what I've felt.

"Well, if you change your mind about the juice bar, let me know." He takes a step back, then hesitates. "Hey, I'm heading to that new brewery tonight with some friends from the gym. You should come. Might do you good to get out."

"Thanks, but I'm not really up for socializing."

"Come on, Jake." Derek's voice softens, taking on that concerned tone he used to use when he thought I was being self-destructive. "You can't just hide in your apartment forever. Whatever's going on with you, isolation isn't going to help."

"I'm not isolating. I'm... processing."

"Processing what?"

"Life. The universe. Everything." I attempt a smile that feels more like a grimace. "The answer isn't forty-two, by the way."

Derek doesn't get the reference, just looks at me with increasing concern. "Look, I know things ended... not great between us. And I never really apologized for how I handled it."

"Derek—"

"No, let me say this." He sets the box down and takes a step closer, his expression serious in a way that would have meant something to me three months ago. "I'm sorry for how things ended. I wasn't fair to you. I made it sound like all the problems were on your side, and that wasn't true."

Three months ago, this apology would have meant everything. Now it feels like a message from another timeline, one where I never experienced the blue light, never met Zeph, never felt what it was like to truly connect with someone.

"It's fine," I say, and I mean it. "Really. That feels like a lifetime ago."

Derek studies my face, clearly thrown by my lack of reaction. "Are you sure? Because you seemed pretty torn up about it for a while."

"I'm sure. We weren't right for each other. You were right about that part."

He seems relieved but still confused by my easy acceptance. "Well, good. I'm glad we can be... you know, friends."

"Sure."

"So, brewery tonight? I could pick you up around eight."

"I really can't, Derek. But thanks."

He sighs, then reaches out and squeezes my shoulder in that familiar way he used to when he thought I was being difficult. "Alright, but the offer stands. I worry about you, you know."

The moment his hand touches me, I flinch so hard I nearly hit my head against the doorframe. It's not that his touch is unpleasant, it's that it's the first human contact I've had since Zeph, and the difference is staggering. Derek's hand is cool, impersonal, carrying none of the empathic resonance I've grown accustomed to. The absence of that connection is like a physical pain, a reminder of what I've lost.

Derek pulls his hand back quickly, startled by my reaction. "Whoa, sorry. Didn't mean to—"

"It's fine," I say, wrapping my arms around myself. "Just... jumpy, I guess."

He stares at me with growing concern. "Jake, are you sure you're okay? This seems like more than just losing your job."

"I'm fine. Just tired." I take a deliberate step back, creating more distance between us. "I should get back to... job hunting."

"Oh, almost forgot." He picks up his box again. "Did you notice anything weird Tuesday night? Like, three days ago?"

My heart skips a beat. "Weird how?"

"I don't know. There was this blue light coming from somewhere. I was heading down the stairs for my evening run and saw it flashing under your door." He shrugs. "Probably nothing. Just caught my eye."

The blue light. The transportation beam. Derek saw it.

"Must have been the TV," I manage to say, my mouth suddenly dry. "I fall asleep with it on sometimes."

"Yeah, probably." He hoists the box higher. "Anyway, thanks for keeping my stuff. And seriously, take care of yourself. You look like you haven't slept in days."

"I'm working on it."

Derek gives me one last concerned look, then heads toward the stairs. I close the door and lean against it, heart pounding. He saw the light. He was literally walking down the stairs, passing my door, when the aliens meant to take him. If he'd been inside my apartment instead of in the hallway, if they'd gotten the location right...

I slide down until I'm sitting on the floor, back against the door, trying to process the narrowness of the miss. Derek Cross, in Zeph's quarters. Derek Cross, learning about Nereidan culture. Derek, experiencing what I experienced.

Derek, with Zeph.

The thought makes my stomach twist with a jealousy so intense it's almost a physical pain. Not because I still have feelings for Derek, god, no, but because the idea of Zeph sharing that connection with someone else, with anyone else, is unbearable. Those gentle hands, that careful attention, that beautiful luminescence responding to another's touch... I can't stand it.

Which is ridiculous. Zeph isn't mine. We had three days together. Three impossible, perfect days that ended too soon.

And now I'm sitting on my apartment floor, jealous of a relationship that never happened between my ex-boyfriend and an alien from another world.

My life has become truly bizarre.

The thought makes me physically ill.

I crawl back to the couch and retrieve the communicator from where I'd stashed it alongside the gemstones. The smooth surface is cool against my palm, its faint vibration the only indication that it's more than just a stone. I cradle it in both hands, closing my eyes, trying to reach through whatever cosmic distance separates me from Zeph.

The empathic bond is so faint now, I can barely sense it. Just a whisper of connection, a ghost of the vivid link we shared. I focus on it anyway, pouring everything I am into that tenuous thread, willing Zeph to feel me across the stars.

I'm here. I miss you. I can't stop thinking about you.

For a moment, just a moment, I think I feel something. A flicker of response, a pulse that might be an echo of Zeph's bioluminescence. My heart leaps, and I press the communicator closer, straining to sense anything more definite.

Then it's gone, and I'm alone again, clutching a piece of alien technology and trying not to cry.

With shaking hands, I place the communicator back on the coffee table and open my laptop again. But instead of real estate listings, I pull up a job search site. Not because I'm ready to move on, but because I need to survive in the meantime. Because if, when, Zeph comes back, I want to have a life worth sharing with him.

I type "psychology jobs" into the search bar, staring at the results. Three days with Zeph taught me more about connection and understanding than three years of college classes. Maybe it's time to use that knowledge for something other than making lattes.

My phone buzzes with a text, and I glance at it, expecting another concerned message from a friend or a final passive-aggressive note from my former boss. Instead, it's from Derek.

Forgot to mention - got selected for some international fitness ambassador program. Flying out next week for initial meetings. Pretty mysterious but they mentioned "compatibility testing" which sounds like genetic stuff. Could be big! Just wanted to share good news with someone. Take care man.

I stare at the message, blood turning to ice in my veins. International fitness ambassador program. Compatibility testing. It can't be a coincidence.

They're still coming for Derek.

The aliens, the Nereidans, are moving forward with their program. With their original target.

I grab the communicator again, no longer caring about protocols or emergencies or whatever rules Zeph said it had. This is an emergency. They're going to take Derek, put him through the same assessment Zeph and I experienced. Create another connection like ours.

The thought of Zeph with Derek, Zeph showing Derek the cleansing pools, teaching him about Nereidan culture, his beautiful bioluminescence responding to Derek's touch, it's physically painful. Not because I have any lingering feelings for Derek, but because what Zeph and I shared felt so singular, so perfect. The idea that it could be replicated, that Zeph might form that bond with someone else...

My thumb finds the activation spot, pressing down hard. I don't know how it works, don't know if there are codes or procedures. I just pour everything I'm feeling into it, panic, jealousy, desperation, love.

Don't take him. Come back for me instead. It's supposed to be me. Please.

The stone warms in my hand, vibrating more intensely, and for a breathless moment I think it's working. I think Zeph is answering. I think the universe is finally giving us a break.

Then the communicator goes dark and silent, a useless lump of alien metal in my palm.

I curl around it, drawing my knees to my chest, and let the tears come. Not just for the lost connection, but for the reality I can no longer escape.

Whatever Zeph and I shared, whatever we built in those three days, it wasn't enough to change the course of events. The program continues. The assessments continue.

Life continues, relentlessly, without even the courtesy of a pause to acknowledge that everything is different now.

I should text Derek back. I should warn him, tell him not to go, make up some excuse about these programs being scams. But what would I say? How would I explain what I know without sounding completely insane?

Besides, who am I to deny him the experience that changed my life? Maybe he'll form his own connection. Maybe he'll find his own version of what Zeph and I had.

The thought hollows me out, leaving nothing but a shell of who I was before the blue light came.

Three days. Three days that rewrote everything I thought I knew about the universe, about connection, about love.

Three days that ended far too soon.

With numb fingers, I type a response to Derek.

Congrats. Sounds like an amazing opportunity. Hope it gives you everything you're looking for.

I hit send, then toss my phone aside, unable to bear the thought of his enthusiastic reply. I pick up the communicator instead, holding it against my chest like a talisman.

"Come back," I whisper to the empty room, to the fading empathic bond, to the vast distance between worlds. "I'm still here waiting for you."

The silence that answers is deafening.

Chapter Fourteen

Zeph

The Council Chamber's architecture has always been designed to inspire humility. Soaring ceilings that capture and amplify sound. Walls embedded with bioluminescent coral that pulses in synchronization with the collective emotional state of those present. The seven curved seats arranged in a perfect arc, elevated just enough to require speakers to look upward.

I have presented research findings in this chamber seventeen times over my career. I have never before struggled to maintain professional composure.

"Your bioluminescence patterns remain irregular," my attendant observes as she adjusts the formal attire required for Council presentations. Her tone is clinical, but I detect the faintest note of concern. "Shall I request a metabolic stabilizer?"

"That will not be necessary," I reply, though the evidence suggests otherwise. My skin's natural glow has remained dimmed since Jake's departure, pulsing erratically whenever my thoughts drift to him. A metabolic stabilizer would create artificial luminescence patterns, masking my compromised state.

The Council would see through such deception immediately. My brother certainly would.

"As you wish." The attendant steps back, giving me a final assessment. "The Council has convened. They await your presentation."

I check my appearance one last time in the reflective surface before me. My formal attire, deep blue with silver detailing that normally complements my bioluminescence, seems to emphasize the unnatural dullness of my skin. Even my posture, despite conscious correction, reveals tension in my shoulders and neck.

I look exactly like what I am: a Nereidan in emotional distress.

"Proceed," I instruct the attendant, and the doors to the Council Chamber slide open.

The seven Council members are already seated as I enter, their own bioluminescence regulated to the precise formal intensity expected of their station. My brother Kav'eth sits third from the right, his expression revealing nothing as I approach the center of the chamber.

At the center sits Elder Va'ril, the most senior Council member, her silver-blue skin bearing the distinctive patterns of age and wisdom. Her eyes track my movement with the keen assessment that has made her legendary among our people.

"Researcher Zeph'hai," she intones, her voice carrying the harmonic resonance of authority. "You come before the Council to present findings on human compatibility assessment. We acknowledge your service and await your report."

I bow in the formal manner, straightening to my full height before beginning the prepared presentation.

"Esteemed Council, I present the comprehensive findings of the initial human compatibility assessment. As requested, I have compiled physiological metrics, cultural adaptation indicators, psychological stability factors, and genetic diversity potential." My voice emerges steadier than expected, the familiar rhythm of scientific reporting providing structure I desperately need.

The holographic display activates at my gesture, projecting detailed charts and analysis into the center of the chamber.

"Human physiology demonstrates 87% compatibility with Nereidan biological systems, exceeding our threshold for viable partnership. Respiratory, circulatory, and neural systems show significant potential for adaptation."

I move through the technical portions of the report with methodical precision, detailing genetic diversity benefits, resource-sharing potential, and cultural exchange opportunities. The Council listens attentively, occasionally making notations on their individual interfaces.

Only when I reach the section on psychological compatibility does my voice falter slightly.

"Human emotional processing exhibits remarkable similarities to our own, with several notable differences that appear complementary rather than contradictory." I pause, fighting to maintain professional distance. "They demonstrate exceptional adaptability to unfamiliar environments and concepts, often incorporating new information into their existing frameworks with minimal resistance."

I can feel Kav'eth's gaze intensify at this claim. He shifts forward in his seat, a subtle movement, but one I recognize from childhood as preceding skepticism.

"This adaptability extends to interpersonal dynamics," I continue. "The subject demonstrated rapid acceptance of physiological differences and was able to establish meaningful communication despite significant cultural barriers."

"You speak of the human Jake Morrison," Elder Va'ril interjects, her voice cutting through my presentation. "The incorrect acquisition."

It is not a question, but I answer anyway. "Yes, Elder. While the subject was not the intended target, the assessment provided valid data nonetheless."

"Yet your report contains no reference to the intended subject, Derek Cross," says Councilor Eth'nor, whose specialty in cultural anthropology makes him particularly interested in selection criteria. "What comparison metrics can you provide between the intended target and the accidental subject?"

"I have none, Councilor," I admit. "The assessment was conducted exclusively with Jake Morrison."

"A fundamental deviation from protocol," Kav'eth states, speaking for the first time. His voice carries the precise balance of professional criticism and personal disappointment that only a brother could achieve. "One that raises questions about the validity of your conclusions."

I meet his gaze directly. "The deviation was unavoidable once the transportation error occurred. I made the determination that conducting a thorough assessment with the available subject would provide more valuable data than none at all."

"Yet you exhibit signs of significant physiological distress following this assessment," Councilor Lyr'tha observes, her medical expertise evident in the precision of her analysis. "Your bioluminescence patterns are irregular, your stress indicators elevated, your cortical activity shows atypical patterns."

"I am functional," I state, though the evidence suggests otherwise.

"You are compromised," Kav'eth counters, leaning forward in his seat. "After merely three days of contact with this human, you return to us... diminished. Is this not itself evidence that humans may have deleterious effects on Nereidan physiology?"

The accusation sends a pulse of anger through me so intense that several Council members recoil slightly as my bioluminescence flares in response.

"With respect, Councilor," I say, forcing my voice to remain measured, "my current physiological state is not the result of any harmful human influence. It is the natural response to separation following intense empathic bonding."

A ripple of surprise moves through the Council. Empathic bonding between species is theoretically possible but exceedingly rare.

"You formed an empathic bond with this human?" Elder Va'ril asks, her tone sharpening with interest. "In three days?"

"Yes, Elder. An unexpected outcome, but one that suggests unprecedented compatibility potential."

"Or unprecedented vulnerability," Kav'eth counters. "If humans can so quickly establish emotional influence over Nereidans, perhaps they represent a psychological risk rather than an opportunity. Your current state could be evidence of manipulation rather than compatibility."

The suggestion that Jake somehow manipulated me, that what we shared was anything other than genuine, ignites something in me I can no longer contain.

"The human did not manipulate me," I state, my voice carrying an intensity that would have horrified me days ago. "He adapted to our customs, learned our food preparation methods, showed genuine interest in our culture and physiology. He demonstrated care, insight, and respect that exceeded every parameter in our compatibility metrics."

I can see the Council members exchanging glances at my uncharacteristic display of emotion. Kav'eth's expression has hardened into concern mixed with disapproval.

"Researcher Zeph'hai," Elder Va'ril says carefully, "your emotional involvement appears to be affecting your scientific objectivity."

"My emotional involvement is scientific data," I counter. "The capacity for cross-species empathic connection represents the most significant compatibility indicator possible. Rather than dismissing it as a liability, the Council should recognize it as the very outcome this program was designed to discover."

Silence falls over the chamber. I have violated protocol by challenging the Council directly, but I cannot bring myself to regret it.

Elder Va'ril studies me for a long moment, her ancient eyes seeming to see beyond my exterior to the conflict raging within. Then she does something unexpected.

"Approach, Researcher," she says, gesturing to the space directly before her seat.

I move forward, aware of the tension emanating from the other Council members, particularly Kav'eth.

"You claim an empathic bond formed," the Elder says quietly when I stand before her. "Would you be willing to share the experience?"

The request is unprecedented. Empathic sharing is reserved for family units or scientific demonstrations under strictly controlled conditions. To share such experiences with a Council Elder, in a formal assessment...

"It would be considered irregular," I say, echoing Jake's words from days ago.

"These are irregular circumstances," Elder Va'ril replies. "If humans truly offer the connection you claim, I would experience it directly."

I look to Kav'eth, whose expression has shifted from disapproval to alarm. Empathic sharing is intimate, revealing not just memories but the emotions attached to them. There would be no hiding the true nature of my connection with Jake.

"I am willing," I say, making my decision. "Though I must warn that the experiences are... intense."

"I have lived through the Great Cataclysm and three species wars, Researcher," the Elder says with the faintest hint of amusement. "I believe I can manage your three days with a human."

I bow my head in acknowledgment, then extend my hands, palms upward in the traditional position for empathic sharing. Elder Va'ril places her weathered hands over mine, her bioluminescence shifting to the receptive pattern needed for connection.

I close my eyes, focusing on the memories I wish to share. Not the intimate moments, those remain private, but the ones that reveal Jake's true nature, his adaptability, his insight, his capacity for connection.

As the empathic link forms between us, I feel the Elder's ancient consciousness merge partially with mine, a presence both weightless and immensely powerful. The sensation is like floating in the deepest waters, surrounded by currents of thought and emotion that have flowed for centuries.

I guide her first to the kitchen area of my quarters, the memory of the first pancakes, gray and inedible. Jake laughing not at me but with me, turning failure into a shared experience rather than a judgment. "Heaven forbid alien children just learn to make cookies." Through the link, I share not just the visual memory but the warmth it carried, the absence of judgment, the immediate comfort in his presence.

The Elder's consciousness absorbs this, curious, probing deeper than I anticipated into the emotional texture of the moment.

I shift to the cleansing pools, Jake's wonder at the bioluminescent water, his immediate adaptation to an environment that many species find threatening. The memory ripples with his delight, his complete lack of fear as he immersed himself in an alien element. His questions about my world, genuine curiosity rather than mere politeness. "Tell me about your world. Something I don't know yet. Something I'll never see." The poignancy of that moment flows through the link, carrying the bittersweetness of our shared knowledge that our time was limited.

The Elder's presence stills, absorbing the depth of connection in that moment.

Next comes Jake's observation about food as love, as care. "When someone's sick, we make them soup. When we're celebrating, we bake cakes. When we want to show someone we care about them, we cook their favorite meal." The simple insight that transformed my understanding of human culture, revealing layers of meaning in what our research had dismissed as inefficient nutrient delivery.

Finally, I share his perception about our ship's design flaws, insights that our research team had missed despite cycles of analysis. His ability to see beauty in physiological differences that many would find alienating, his immediate acceptance of my bioluminescence, his wonder at the empathic connection that formed between us.

Throughout it all, the emotional texture of these moments flows between us, the warmth, the connection, the sense of being truly seen and understood for the first time.

I feel the Elder's consciousness absorbing these experiences, her ancient awareness analyzing and integrating them with a depth I cannot fathom. Her presence in my mind is careful, respectful, but thorough, examining the memories from angles I had not considered, finding layers of meaning I had not fully processed.

When I finally withdraw from the connection, Elder Va'ril's eyes remain closed, her bioluminescence pulsing with patterns I have never seen before, complex whorls of light that speak of deep emotional processing. The chamber is utterly silent, the other Council members watching with varying degrees of concern and curiosity.

After what feels like an eternity, Elder Va'ril opens her eyes. Her gaze meets mine with an intensity that makes my breath catch.

"This is... not what we expected," she says, her voice carrying a weight that silences even the whispers among the Council. "There is more here than our research indicated."

She turns to address the full Council, her bioluminescence gradually returning to its formal pattern. "I have experienced the human Jake Morrison through Researcher Zeph'hai's empathic connection. The depth of adaptive capacity, emotional intelligence, and connection potential exceeds our theoretical models."

"With respect, Elder," Kav'eth interjects, his voice tight with concern, "a single subject, incorrectly acquired, at that, cannot provide sufficient data for species-wide conclusions."

"Agreed," Elder Va'ril says with a nod. "Which is why the assessment of the intended subject, Derek Cross, must proceed as planned."

My heart sinks at this confirmation. The program continues. Derek will be brought to a Nereidan vessel, subjected to the same protocols, perhaps forming his own connection with another researcher.

"However," the Elder continues, "this preliminary experience suggests significant potential that merits further exploration." She turns her gaze back to me. "Researcher Zeph'hai, your unique connection with this human represents a valuable opportunity. I propose that you be assigned as official emissary to return to Earth and approach Jake Morrison regarding a formal role as cultural liaison for the integration program."

I stare at her, struggling to process her words. Return to Earth. Return to Jake. With official sanction.

"This is unprecedented," Councilor Eth'nor protests. "We have no protocols for such an assignment."

"We have no protocols for strong empathic bonds with other species, yet here we are," Elder Va'ril counters. "Our survival requires adaptation. This program was established to find compatible partners for our people. We appear to have found one, however accidentally."

"The population projections grow more concerning each cycle," adds Councilor Myr'esh, whose specialization in demographics has made her one of the program's strongest advocates. "At current rates, our sustainable population threshold will be breached within three generations. We cannot afford to dismiss viable compatibility indicators due to procedural irregularities."

"A cultural liaison," Elder Va'ril continues, "would provide invaluable guidance as we prepare for wider human contact. If this Jake Morrison has already formed an empathic bond and demonstrated such remarkable adaptability, he represents an ideal candidate for facilitating integration."

"And the Derek Cross assessment?" Kav'eth asks, his voice carefully neutral despite the tension visible in his posture.

Elder Va'ril turns to him, and I detect something in her expression that might almost be amusement. "That shall be your responsibility, Councilor Kav'eth."

A shocked murmur runs through the chamber. Kav'eth's bioluminescence flares with surprise and dismay.

"Elder, I am a Council member, not a field researcher," he protests. "I have no interest in direct contact with humans."

"That is precisely why you must do this," Elder Va'ril says firmly. "You remain skeptical. Experience this for yourself, bring your perspective back to the Council. If two such different brothers find value in humans, perhaps there truly is compatibility."

"I must concur with the Elder's wisdom," says Councilor Lyr'tha, though her bioluminescence betrays her surprise at this unconventional assignment. "A Council perspective on direct human interaction would provide valuable balance to our assessment."

Kav'eth opens his mouth to object further, then closes it, recognizing the futility of arguing with an Elder's decision. His gaze shifts to me, and I see the complex mixture of emotions behind his carefully controlled expression.

"The Council will recess to prepare the necessary protocols for both assignments," Elder Va'ril announces. "Researcher Zeph'hai, you are to depart for Earth in seven days. This will allow sufficient time for preparation and for initial notification to our people regarding the potential integration of the first human into our society. Councilor Kav'eth, remain for briefing on your temporary assignment to the Research Collective."

The formal dismissal tone sounds, and I bow deeply before turning to leave the chamber. As I walk toward the exit, I feel the weight of multiple gazes on my back, particularly my brother's.

The doors slide closed behind me, and I stand motionless in the antechamber, struggling to process what has just occurred. I am returning to Earth. To Jake. With the Council's blessing.

I am still standing there when the doors open again and Kav'eth emerges, his bioluminescence pulsing with barely contained agitation.

"What did you do?" he demands without preamble. "What did you share with the Elder?"

"The truth," I reply simply. "Nothing more, nothing less."

"You have manipulated this situation from the beginning," Kav'eth says, his voice low to avoid being overheard by the chamber attendants. "First by continuing the assessment with the wrong human, then by forming an inappropriate attachment, and now by influencing the Elder with emotionally charged memories."

"I shared what happened," I counter. "The Elder drew her own conclusions."

"And now I am to be sent to Earth like some novice researcher, to conduct an assessment that should have been completed days ago."

"Perhaps you will find the experience educational," I suggest, unable to resist.

Kav'eth steps closer, his voice dropping further. "This is not a game, Zeph'hai. Our people's future hangs in the balance. Whatever connection you believe you have formed with this human—"

"Jake," I interrupt. "His name is Jake."

"—with Jake Morrison," Kav'eth continues, the human name sounding strange in his formal cadence, "it cannot take precedence over the greater purpose of this program. You are being sent back to Earth as an emissary, not a mate-seeker."

"I understand my assignment."

"Do you?" Kav'eth studies me with the penetrating gaze that intimidated me as a juvenile. "Because from what I observed in that chamber, you have lost all perspective. You challenged the Council. You engaged in unauthorized empathic sharing. You exhibited emotional responses that would disqualify a junior researcher from field work."

"And yet I am being sent back to Earth," I point out.

Kav'eth's bioluminescence dims slightly. "Yes. Against my recommendation."

We stand in silence for a moment, the gulf between us wider than it has ever been. Finally, Kav'eth speaks again, his tone shifting to something that reminds me of our childhood.

"Be careful, brother," he says quietly. "Humans are an unproven quantity. Whatever connection you believe you have formed, remember that three days is nothing in the span of a lifetime."

"Some connections transcend time," I reply, thinking of Jake's words about food and care and love. About the empathic bond that persists even across interstellar distances.

Kav'eth shakes his head slightly. "I hope, for your sake and for our people's, that you are right." He straightens, his formal demeanor returning. "I depart for Earth in two cycles. The Derek Cross assessment will proceed according to original protocols."

"I understand." I hesitate, then add, "Try the pancakes. They're quite illuminating."

Kav'eth gives me a look of utter incomprehension before turning and walking away, his posture rigid with the burden of an assignment he never wanted.

I remain in the antechamber for several minutes after he leaves, processing the implications of the Council's decision. I am returning to Earth with official sanction. But so is my brother, to assess Derek, the human who was always supposed to be part of this program.

A week. Seven days until I can return to Jake. The time frame is both frustratingly long and surprisingly brief for such a momentous shift in policy. Already, notifications will be spreading through our communication networks, the first human will potentially be joining our society. Jake Morrison, cultural liaison.

How will he react to this offer? To being asked to leave his world behind, to become not just my partner but a representative of his entire species? It is an enormous responsibility, one he never signed up for.

I consider whether I should attempt to contact Jake through the emergency communicator, to warn him about Kav'eth's imminent arrival, about Derek's involvement, about the position being prepared for him. But the communicators are meant for true emergencies only, and any unauthorized usage would be detected immediately, potentially jeopardizing my newly granted permission.

No, I will tell him everything in person. I will explain the program fully, offer him the role of cultural liaison, and... what? Ask him to leave his world for mine? Offer to stay on Earth with him? The logistics are overwhelming when examined in detail.

What if he refuses? What if three days was enough for me to develop lifelong attachment, but insufficient for a human? What if his feelings have already begun to fade with distance and time?

The doubts circle like predators in deep water, but beneath them runs a current of certainty that I cannot explain rationally. I know what we shared. I felt it through the empathic bond. Whatever his answer may be, I owe him the chance to make that choice with full information and agency.

As I make my way toward the preparation chambers, where I will be briefed on my official emissary duties, I find that the details matter less than the simple fact that I am returning to Jake.

For the first time since the blue light took him away, my bioluminescence begins to brighten, pulsing with a rhythm that feels right again.

I am going back to Earth.

I am going back to Jake.

And this time, I do not have to say goodbye.

Chapter Fifteen

Jake

I've been staring at the same job application for forty minutes, the words blurring together in a meaningless jumble. Something about "implementing evidence-based therapeutic interventions in a client-centered environment." Two beers in and it sounds like corporate bullshit designed to make glorified listening seem revolutionary.

The clock on my laptop says 1:47 AM. Another night of not sleeping, of staring at walls and screens and the ceiling, all while clutching a piece of alien technology that refuses to work.

Ten days. Ten days since I came back. Ten days of trying to reach Zeph through the communicator, of straining to feel something, anything, through our empathic bond. Ten days of absolutely nothing.

I take another swig of beer. Not enough to get drunk, just enough to dull the hollow ache in my chest that never seems to go away. Sleep deprivation is doing the rest, blurring the edges of reality into something almost dreamlike. If I close my eyes, I can almost feel the gentle current of the cleansing pools, almost smell that spicy-sweet scent that clung to Zeph's skin.

Almost, but not quite.

The communicator sits on the coffee table, silent and useless. I've tried everything, holding it different ways, whispering to it, shouting at it, sleeping with it under my pillow. Nothing works. Either it's broken, or Zeph isn't listening.

Or he's forgotten me already.

I close the laptop, giving up on the job application. What's the point? Even if I get an interview, I'll just be going through the motions. Nothing feels real anymore. Nothing feels important.

"Fuck this," I mutter, picking up the communicator again. "One more try, and then I'm done."

I don't know why I'm still trying. Hope, probably. That most persistent and annoying of human emotions.

I close my fingers around the smooth stone, focusing on the faint vibration that tells me it's still active. I close my eyes, trying to reach through the void, trying to find that connection that felt so vivid just days ago.

I'm still here. I'm still waiting. Please, just give me something. Anything.

Nothing. Not even the faintest echo.

"Fine," I say to the empty room, tossing the communicator back onto the coffee table. "Message received. Or not received. Whatever."

I lean back on the couch, exhaustion dragging at my limbs. Maybe tonight I'll finally sleep. Maybe exhaustion and beer will do what willpower couldn't. I let my eyes close, just for a moment.

I don't know how long I've been dozing when a familiar blue light begins to seep under my eyelids.

Great. Now I'm dreaming about the abduction. My subconscious isn't exactly subtle.

The light intensifies, and I squeeze my eyes shut tighter, not wanting to wake up. Dream-Zeph is better than no Zeph at all. But the light only grows brighter, pulsing in a pattern I recognize from that first night. Not a dream-light. A real light.

I force my eyes open, sitting up so fast my head spins.

The blue light is filling my living room, emanating from a central point that's beginning to take shape. A form coalescing out of pure energy, tall and broad-shouldered and achingly familiar.

Zeph.

For a moment, I can't move, can't breathe, can't do anything but stare as he materializes fully in my living room. He's wearing what looks like formal attire, deep blue with silver accents that make his skin look even more otherworldly. His golden eyes find mine immediately, and even across the room, I can see the emotion in them.

"Jake," he says, my name carrying a weight that breaks whatever paralysis was holding me in place.

I don't speak. I don't think. I just move, launching myself across the room and into him with enough force that he actually takes a step back. My hands find his face, his shoulders, his chest, making sure he's real, that he's actually here, before I crush my mouth against his in a kiss that's as much anger as it is relief.

He responds immediately, arms wrapping around me with that inhuman strength, lifting me slightly off the floor as he returns the kiss with equal desperation. The moment our lips touch, the empathic bond flares back to life, a burst of sensation so intense it makes my knees buckle. All those emotions I couldn't feel across the void suddenly rushing back, his relief, his joy, his hunger.

"You're here," I manage to gasp against his mouth. "You're actually fucking here."

"I am here," Zeph confirms, his voice rougher than I've ever heard it. His hands are everywhere, as desperate as mine to confirm this is real. "Jake, I—"

"No," I interrupt, already tugging at the fastenings of his formal clothes. "No talking. Not yet."

I don't want explanations or apologies or whatever diplomatic speech he's prepared. I want him. Now. After ten days of nothing, of emptiness, I need to feel him.

I grab his hand and pull him toward my bedroom, my fingers working frantically at the complicated closures of his formal attire. By the time we cross the threshold, I've managed to get his jacket off and his shirt open. The sight of his blue-tinged skin glowing beneath my touch sends a surge of possessiveness through me so intense it's almost frightening.

"On the bed," I command, pushing him backward until his legs hit the mattress. "Now."

Zeph complies immediately, his golden eyes never leaving mine as he sits, then reclines on my rumpled sheets. The contrast is striking, this formal, otherworldly being sprawled across my Target bedding, his chest already glowing with arousal, his expression a mixture of desire and surprise at my sudden dominance.

I strip off my t-shirt and climb onto the bed, straddling him. My hands push his shirt the rest of the way open, exposing more of that beautiful skin that lights up golden wherever I touch. When I lean down to kiss him again, it's less frantic but no less intense, a claiming, a reestablishing of connection.

"I missed you," I breathe against his mouth, my hands exploring every inch of exposed skin. "I tried to reach you. Every fucking day."

"I know," Zeph says, his hands sliding up my bare back. "I felt it. I could not respond—"

"Later," I insist, moving my mouth to his neck, tasting the salt-sweet flavor of his skin. "Explanations later."

I work my way down his chest, my tongue tracing patterns that make his bioluminescence flare brighter. When I reach the waistband of his formal pants, I look up to find him watching me with an intensity that steals my breath.

"Let me," I say, and it's not quite a question but not quite a demand either.

Zeph nods, understanding immediately what I'm asking. "Yes," he says simply.

My hands work at the fastenings of his pants, pulling them down his long legs along with whatever serves as Nereidan underwear. When he's finally naked beneath me, I take a moment just to look at him, the lean strength of his body, the blue-tinted skin now glowing golden with arousal, the impressive length of his cock already glistening with that natural lubricant that makes everything so much better.

"You're beautiful," I tell him, and I mean it. He's alien and strange and the most gorgeous thing I've ever seen.

I kick off my sweatpants and settle between his legs, running my hands along his inner thighs. The glow beneath his skin follows my touch, creating trails of light that pulse in time with his breathing. When I lean down to take him in my mouth, the sound he makes is somewhere between a gasp and a moan, his back arching off the bed.

The taste of him is exactly as I remember, sweet and clean, with that strange alien tang that's become so familiar. His natural lubricant makes it easy to take him deeper than I normally could, and I collect some of the slick substance that's coating his shaft on my fingers.

Without breaking rhythm, I slide my slick fingers lower, circling his entrance while I continue working him with my mouth. Zeph makes a startled sound of pleasure, his hips jerking slightly at the dual sensation.

"Jake," he gasps, one hand tangling in my hair as I press the first finger inside him. "Oh—"

I hum around his cock, the vibration making him writhe beneath me as I slowly work my finger deeper. His body is hot and tight around the intrusion, but the natural lubricant makes the glide easy. When I feel him relaxing, I add a second finger, curling them to search for the spots that make his bioluminescence flare brighter.

The glow beneath his skin pulses in waves now, synchronized with my movements as I work him open while continuing to suck him. His thighs tremble on either side of my head, and through our empathic bond, I can feel the overwhelming pleasure of the dual stimulation.

"Please," he begs, his formal speech patterns breaking down completely. "Jake, I need—I need you inside me. I never stopped wanting you. Never stopped feeling for you."

I pull back, my lips releasing him with an obscene pop, but instead of immediately crawling up his body, I take my time, dragging my tongue up his abdomen, stopping to bite at his ribs. His skin tastes faintly of salt and something alien I can't name, and every place my mouth touches leaves a brighter trail of golden light.

Zeph's hands find my hair, fingers tangling in the strands with desperate need as I work my way higher. When I reach his chest, I let my teeth graze one nipple, then bite down just hard enough to make him arch off the bed. The sound he makes, halfway between a gasp and a growl, sends heat straight to my cock.

"Jake," he hisses, nails digging into my scalp. "Don't tease—"

"Not teasing," I murmur against his skin, moving to the other nipple while maintaining the rhythm of my fingers inside him. "Just making up for lost time."

I work him methodically, mercilessly, mouth on his nipples, fingers stretching him open, my free hand pinning one of his wrists above his head. His bioluminescence flares with each touch, turning his blue skin into a canvas of shifting golden light. Through our bond, I can feel his desperate need building, threatening to overwhelm both of us.

"I dreamed about this," I tell him, adding a third finger, watching his eyes flutter closed as I stretch him wider. "Every night. Waking up alone, reaching for you, finding nothing."

Zeph's free hand rakes down my back, nails leaving trails of fire I'll feel for days. "No more waiting," he demands, voice ragged with need. "I need you now. Need all of you."

When he's ready, when I can feel through our bond that he's desperate for more, I position myself between his legs, the head of my cock pressing against his entrance. His thighs tremble as they wrap around my waist, pulling me closer with inhuman strength.

Our eyes lock as I begin to push forward, entering him inch by inch. His body accepts me readily, that natural lubrication making everything easier, but I still go slowly, savoring the moment, watching his face contort with pleasure as we reconnect completely. His nails dig deeper into my back, urging me on, demanding more.

"Fuck," I gasp when I'm fully seated inside him, feeling his body clench around me, those strange internal muscles rippling in ways no human could manage. "God, I missed you."

Zeph's hands grip my arms, his bioluminescence flaring so bright it casts golden shadows across the walls of my bedroom. "Jake," he breathes, his voice reverent. "My Jake."

"Yours," I agree, beginning to move, pulling back and thrusting forward in a rhythm that has us both gasping. "All yours."

His legs wrap around my waist, pulling me deeper with each thrust, but he lets me set the pace, lets me take what I need. And what I need right now is hard and fast and desperate, a physical affirmation that he's really here, that this connection is real.

"More," he demands, his nails digging into my back. "Harder. Make me feel you."

Something breaks loose inside me, a primal hunger I didn't know I possessed. I grab his hips, angling them to drive myself deeper with each thrust. The change in position has me hitting something inside him that makes his entire body light up, golden luminescence pulsing with each movement.

"Yes," he gasps, his head falling back against the pillows, exposing the long line of his throat. "Like that. Just like that."

Through our empathic bond, I can feel exactly how much he's enjoying this, the sensation of me moving inside him, the weight of my body over his, the emotional resonance of our reconnection. It creates a feedback loop of sensation that's almost overwhelming, each of us feeling the other's pleasure alongside our own.

"I need to see you," I say, my voice rough with desire. "Need to watch you come apart for me."

I reach between us, wrapping my hand around his cock, still slick with his natural lubricant. His back arches at my touch, a sound somewhere between a moan and a growl escaping his throat. I lean down, wanting to be closer to him, needing to see his face as we both approach climax.

"Kiss me," he demands, and I comply immediately, my mouth crashing against his in a kiss that's all heat and desperation and love.

The room fills with the sounds of our reunion, skin against skin, harsh breathing, the occasional creak of my cheap bed frame protesting our vigor. Zeph's bioluminescence has spread to cover his entire body, bathing the room in golden light that pulses brighter with each thrust.

"I missed you," I tell him again, the words spilling out between kisses. "Every day. Every night. Wondering if you'd forgotten me."

"Never," Zeph gasps, his hands gripping my shoulders so hard I'll have bruises tomorrow. "I could never forget you. Never stop wanting you."

Through the bond, his emotions crash over me, love and longing and regret and relief, all tangled together in a complexity that no words could capture. I let myself be swept away in it, in him, as we move together toward release.

"Close," he warns, his body tightening around me, internal muscles rippling in ways that make my vision blur. "Jake, I'm going to—"

"Yes," I urge, stroking him faster, my hips driving forward with increasing urgency. "Let me see you. Let me feel you."

When he comes, it's with a shout of my name, his entire body lighting up like a supernova. His release coats both our stomachs, hot and strangely iridescent in the golden light. Through the bond, I feel the waves of his pleasure crashing through me, and it's enough to send me over the edge. I drive into him one final time, coming with a shout as his body pulses around me.

The empathic feedback loop amplifies everything, my pleasure feeding his, his feeding mine, creating a cascade of sensation that seems to go on forever. My vision whites out for a moment, the intensity of shared release overwhelming every sense.

Finally, I collapse onto his chest, both of us trembling with aftershocks, his arms wrapping around me to hold me close. We lie like that for long moments, hearts racing in tandem, breathing gradually slowing, neither willing to break the connection.

Eventually, I pull out gently, rolling to lie beside him, my head on his shoulder, one leg thrown over his. His skin is still glowing, though the intensity has dimmed to a soft radiance that bathes us both in golden light.

"Jake," he says softly, one hand tracing patterns on my back. There's wonder in his voice, as if he still can't quite believe I'm real.

I feel the same way. My hands can't stop touching him—his face, his chest, the curve of his hip. "You're here," I say, my voice rough. "You're actually here."

"I am," he confirms, turning to face me, his forehead pressing against mine. "And I am not leaving again."

The words send a jolt through me, equal parts hope and suspicion. I pull back slightly, studying his face. "Okay," I say, finally ready for explanations. "Now tell me why I haven't heard from you for ten fucking days, Zeph, because seriously, that silence was bullshit. Don't ever do that to me again."

Zeph's expression turns solemn, though his hand continues its gentle exploration of my skin. "After returning to my world, I was required to present my findings to the Council. Seven members who determine the future of our species' integration programs."

"And they didn't want you talking to me," I guess, the pieces starting to fit together.

"It was more complex than that." Zeph's fingers trace my collarbone, leaving trails of fading luminescence. "The communicator was meant for true emergencies only. Any unauthorized usage would have been detected immediately and viewed as a breach of protocol. Such a breach could have resulted in my removal from the program."

"And that would have meant..."

"That I would never have been permitted to return to Earth. To you."

The implications sink in. He wasn't ignoring me. He was ensuring he could come back.

"So what changed?" I ask, leaning into his touch despite my lingering frustration. "Why are you here now?"

"The Council determined that our... connection represents an unprecedented opportunity." Zeph's formal tone slips in, the researcher briefly overtaking the lover. "I have been appointed as official emissary to Earth, tasked with offering you a formal position as cultural liaison for the integration program."

I blink at him, trying to process this. "Cultural liaison? What does that even mean?"

"It means," Zeph says, his voice softening again, "that you would be officially recognized as a representative of human culture to the Nereidan people. You would help facilitate understanding between our species as we begin wider contact."

"And where would this liaison work happen? On your world or mine?"

"Initially on my world," Zeph admits. "Though there would be regular returns to Earth as the program develops."

The enormity of what he's suggesting hits me. Leave Earth. Go to an alien world. Become some kind of interspecies diplomat.

"That's... a lot," I say, understatement of the century. "I mean, a week ago I was applying for barista jobs."

"I understand the magnitude of what I am asking," Zeph says quietly. "It is not a decision to be made lightly. But Jake..." His hand comes up to frame my face, golden eyes boring into mine with an intensity that steals my breath. "The Council has authorized me to tell you that you would not be going alone."

"You'd be coming with me," I say, not quite a question.

"I would be your guide, your partner in this endeavor. In all endeavors, if you wish it."

The formal language doesn't hide the emotion behind his words. Through our empathic bond, I can feel the depth of what he's offering; not just a job, not just a trip to another world, but a life together.

"And if I say no?" I have to ask. "If I'm not ready to leave Earth?"

Zeph's glow dims slightly, but his gaze remains steady. "Then I will respect your decision. The position would remain open should you change your mind. And I..." He hesitates. "I would request reassignment to Earth to continue my research. It would not be the same as what I am offering, but I would not abandon our connection again."

The fact that he's considered this, that he's prepared to stay on Earth if that's what I want, makes something warm unfurl in my chest.

"There is more you should know," Zeph continues. "My brother, Kav'eth, has been assigned to assess Derek. They have arranged for him to be in a specified location for the retrieval this time. The Council was quite insistent there be no... mix-ups."

"Derek?" The mention of my ex jolts me. "Wait, your brother is going to abduct Derek?"

"Yes," Zeph admits without hesitation. "The Council wants to verify my findings with their originally selected subject. They've assigned a different research vessel to Kav'eth for this purpose."

"Holy shit," I say, remembering Derek's text about the mysterious "international fitness ambassador program." So it wasn't just paranoia. They really are coming for him. "Derek has no idea what's about to happen."

"My brother is not..." Zeph pauses, searching for the right words. "He is not like me. Kav'eth believes in strict adherence to protocols. He will conduct the assessment with scientific precision, but without any consideration for human emotional needs."

"Your brother," I say slowly. "Is he that opposed to the whole compatibility program?"

Zeph's mouth quirks in what might almost be amusement. "No. Kav'eth is a Council member, not a researcher. He views humans as inferior and potentially dangerous. This assignment is his punishment for opposing the compatibility program. He will be clinical, methodical, and completely unsympathetic to whatever discomfort Derek experiences."

"Poor Derek," I say, though I can't help a slight smirk at the thought of my fitness-obsessed ex being subjected to alien tests by someone who has zero interest in his Instagram following. "So your stick-in-the-mud brother gets Derek, and you get... me."

"I get you," Zeph agrees, his arm tightening around me. "If you will have me."

The possessive note in his voice sends a shiver through me, reawakening desire despite our recent activities. Through the bond, I can feel his uncertainty, his hope, his absolute commitment to whatever choice I make.

"When do we leave?" I ask, surprising both of us with how quickly the decision comes.

Zeph's bioluminescence brightens with sudden hope. "You... you would come? Just like that?"

I laugh softly, stroking his cheek. "What exactly am I staying for, Zeph? A crappy apartment? A job I don't have anymore? Ex-boyfriends getting abducted?" I shake my head. "The only thing that's felt real to me in the past ten days is missing you. The only thing that feels right is being with you."

"The Council has authorized a fourteen-day period for you to consider the offer," Zeph says carefully, though I can feel his excitement building through our bond. "You need not decide immediately."

"Fourteen days," I repeat, leaning in to kiss him softly. "So we have two weeks to ourselves before heading to your world?"

"Yes. I will not leave your side," Zeph promises, his bioluminescence brightening with happiness. "Unless you wish for privacy, of course."

"Privacy is overrated," I tell him, pressing closer against his warm, glowing skin. "Especially when there are more important things to do."

"Such as?" Zeph asks, though the way his pupils dilate suggests he knows exactly what I'm thinking.

"Such as making up for ten days of separation," I say, feeling him already hardening against my thigh. Through the bond, I feel his immediate response, desire flaring hot and bright between us. "And maybe seeing how many different ways we can fuck each other."

Zeph's hands slide to my hips, fingers flexing against my skin. "I believe that can be arranged," he says, his voice dropping to that lower register that never fails to make my entire body respond. "For scientific purposes, of course."

"Of course," I agree, leaning down to kiss him. "Very important research."

As his arms wrap around me, pulling me flush against his chest, I find kissing him again. Fourteen days is just a formality. The moment he appeared in my living room, the decision was already made.

Wherever Zeph goes, I'm going too. Earth, alien worlds, the far side of the universe, it doesn't matter. After feeling what it's like to be without him, I'm never letting him go again.

But I've got fourteen days to make him prove just how much he wants me to come with him. And I intend to make every second count.

Chapter Sixteen

Zeph

"Hold still," I say, adjusting the ceremonial collar of Jake's formal attire for the third time in as many minutes. "The Council is particularly attentive to proper presentation."

The deep blue fabric shimmers against his skin, the silver accents catching the light with each movement. The colors complement his human coloring in a way I find unexpectedly striking, the blue bringing out the warmth in his complexion, the silver highlighting his eyes.

"How do the garments feel?" I ask, smoothing a barely perceptible wrinkle from his shoulder. "They were synthesized to accommodate human physiological requirements, but if there is any discomfort—"

"They're incredible," Jake interrupts, running his hands along the sleeves with evident wonder. "I expected them to be heavier, but they're so light. It's like wearing nothing at all, but somehow still warm." He moves his arms experimentally. "And they move with me, no restriction at all."

"The fabric responds to body temperature and motion," I explain, pleased by his appreciation. "It will adjust to maintain optimal comfort regardless of environmental conditions."

Jake catches my hands, stilling their nervous movement with a gentle but firm grip. "Zeph. It's fine. I'm fine. The clothes are fine." His eyes meet mine with that particular mixture of amusement and affection that has become achingly familiar over the past fourteen days. "You're fussing."

"I am not fussing," I protest, though I know he is correct. "I am ensuring compliance with cultural protocols."

"You're fussing," he repeats, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "And it's adorable, but unnecessary. We've gone over everything at least a dozen times."

He is right, of course. In the past two weeks, we have discussed every aspect of Nereidan culture, Council etiquette, and formal presentation protocols. Jake has proven to be an exceptionally quick study, absorbing information with a capacity that would impress even the most skeptical members of the Research Collective.

Still, I can't help feeling a certain tension as the ship prepares for atmospheric entry. This is not merely another assignment or research excursion. This is Jake's first time on my world, his introduction to my people. More importantly, it is the beginning of our official life together.

"The Elder will extend her hand palm-up if she wishes physical contact," I remind him, unable to stop myself. "And remember, Councilor Eth'nor tends to—"

"—ask deliberately provocative questions to gauge emotional stability," Jake finishes for me. "And Councilor Myr'esh values direct eye contact as a sign of sincerity, while your brother will likely maintain formal distance throughout the proceedings." He gives me a look that manages to be both exasperated and fond. "Zeph, I've got this. I've memorized the Council profiles, the greeting protocols, and the cultural taboos. I'm as prepared as I'm going to be."

The ship's gentle vibration shifts in frequency, indicating our descent into Nereidan atmosphere. Through the viewing portal, the deep blue of our oceans is becoming visible, interspersed with the crystalline structures of our floating cities. In moments, Jake will have his first real view of my world, no longer just stories and descriptions, but reality.

I watch his face as he turns toward the portal, his expression shifting from reassurance to wonder. The sight strikes me with unexpected force, this human, dressed in the formal blue and silver attire of my people, his face illuminated by the light of my home world.

"It's beautiful," he breathes, moving closer to the portal. "Those structures rising from the water, are those the cities you told me about? The ones that float during calm weather and submerge during storms?"

"Yes." I move to stand beside him, following his gaze. "That largest formation to the north is Mer'athis, the Central Council city. The crystalline towers house our research facilities and governance chambers."

Jake's hand finds mine, fingers intertwining in a gesture that has become as natural as breathing. "And where is your home? Where you grew up?"

"There." I point to a smaller cluster of structures to the east, partially submerged in the deeper waters. "Vir'athel. My family dwelling is in the underwater section."

Through our empathic bond, I can feel the complex mixture of emotions flowing through him, excitement, nervousness, wonder, and beneath it all, a steady current of certainty that surprises me with its strength.

"Are you... apprehensive?" I ask carefully.

Jake turns to me, his expression thoughtful. "About meeting the Council? A little. About being on an alien planet? Definitely. About being here with you?" His hand tightens around mine. "Not even slightly."

The ship's communication system activates with a soft tone. "Atmospheric entry complete. Landing sequence initiating at Central Council Docking Port. Arrival in approximately seven minutes."

Seven minutes until Jake officially sets foot on Nereidan soil, or more accurately, onto a Nereidan docking platform. Seven minutes until we face the Council together. Seven minutes until our shared life truly begins.

"I should review the formal greeting one more time," I say, reaching for the data tablet, but Jake gently pulls it from my grasp.

"No more reviews," he says firmly. "If I don't know it by now, I'm not going to learn it in the next few minutes. Besides..." He steps closer, his free hand coming up to rest on my chest, directly over the brightest point of my bioluminescence. "I think there are better ways to spend our last few minutes of privacy."

The gentle pressure of his hand sends waves of warmth through my skin. "Such as?"

"Such as you telling me what you're really worried about." His eyes hold mine, and as always, I find I cannot dissemble beneath that direct gaze. "This isn't about the Council protocols, is it?"

I hesitate, searching for the right words. "I want them to see you as I do," I admit finally. "I want them to understand why you are... essential."

Jake's expression softens. "You're worried they won't think I'm good enough."

"No," I correct him immediately. "I am worried they will fail to recognize how exceptional you are. The Council thinks in terms of species compatibility and genetic diversity. They cannot possibly comprehend what exists between us."

"And what does exist between us, Zeph?" Jake asks, his voice quieter now. He knows the answer, I can feel that he knows through our bond, but he wants to hear it spoken aloud.

The ship begins its final descent sequence, the gentle pressure change making my ears tingle slightly. In moments, we will be surrounded by officials, by formality, by protocol. This is our last moment of true privacy before stepping into our new life.

"Love," I say simply, the word both foreign and perfect on my tongue. "I love you, Jake Morrison."

His smile is brighter than any bioluminescence. "I love you too, Zeph'hai of the Nereidan Research Collective. Even when you're fussing about my collar."

"I was not—" I begin, but he silences me with a kiss, soft and sweet and lingering.

"We're going to be great," he whispers against my lips. "The Council is going to love me almost as much as you do. And if they don't, well... it's their loss."

The ship settles with the gentlest of impacts, indicating we have docked. Outside the viewing portal, I can see the reception committee forming, Council representatives, research staff, and at the center, the unmistakable figure of Elder Va'ril, her ancient face turned expectantly toward our ship.

"Ready?" Jake asks, straightening his collar one last time.

I take a moment to truly look at him, this human who was never supposed to be mine, dressed in the formal attire of my people, standing on the threshold of a new life neither of us could have imagined two weeks ago. His presence here defies every protocol, every prediction, every logical outcome.

And yet, nothing has ever felt more right.

"Ready," I confirm, reaching for his hand one last time before we must adopt the formal postures required for the reception.

As the ship's exit portal begins to open, Jake gives my hand a final squeeze before releasing it. He stands tall beside me, his posture perfect, his expression composed yet open. Through our bond, I can feel his determination, his excitement, and beneath it all, that steady, unwavering love that still astonishes me with its certainty.

The portal completes its opening sequence, revealing the formal reception party. A breeze carries the distinctive scent of the Nereidan atmosphere, salt and minerals and something uniquely home. Jake takes a deep breath, his eyes briefly closing as he processes this first sensory experience of my world.

When he opens them again, there is only certainty in his gaze. He glances at me once, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth, then steps forward to meet his new life.

I follow, my heart fuller than I ever imagined possible, ready to begin our extraordinary journey together.

And to think, it all began with an accidental abduction.

Author's Note

Dear Readers,

Thank you so much for joining Jake and Zeph on their unexpected journey! I hope you enjoyed this tale of accidental abduction turning into something much more meaningful.

I'm excited to announce that the next book in the Nereidan Compatibility Program series is coming soon! In Deliberately Abducted, we'll follow Derek and Kav'eth's very different experience with the program. What happens when a by-the-book Council member is forced to assess a fitness-obsessed human influencer? Sparks will fly, and not necessarily the romantic kind... at least not at first!

Here's an exclusive sneak peek at the first chapter of Deliberately Abducted. I can't wait to share the full story with you soon!

Happy reading,

Caitlin Ricci

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Deliberately Abducted

Chapter One Preview

Kav'eth

This is, without question, the most humiliating assignment of my diplomatic career.

I stand in the preparation chamber, staring at the formal documentation outlining the human acquisition protocols with growing disdain. The data tablet's soft glow illuminates what can only be described as the most inefficient research methodology I have encountered in my three decades of Council service.

"The human must be made comfortable at all times," I read aloud, my voice carrying the precise measure of contempt the directive deserves. "Immediate attention should be paid to emotional responses indicating distress or confusion."

Emotional responses. As if the temporary discomfort of one human specimen should take precedence over the survival of an entire species. This is what happens when researchers become emotionally compromised, when my own brother allows himself to become attached to a research subject.

The memory of Zeph'hai standing before the Council, his bioluminescence betraying his completely inappropriate emotional investment in the human Jake Morrison, still fills me with a mixture of embarrassment and concern. That the Council not only tolerated this breach of protocol but rewarded it by appointing him as official emissary is beyond comprehension.

And now, as if to complete my humiliation, I have been assigned to retrieve the human who was originally targeted, this "Derek Cross", and conduct my own assessment. A Council member, reduced to the role of field researcher. The indignity is almost unbearable.

"Councilor Kav'eth," the ship's navigation officer says from the doorway, interrupting my thoughts. "We have reached Earth orbit. Acquisition coordinates are locked and verified. The human Derek Cross is at the designated location."

"At least something in this absurd mission is proceeding according to protocol," I mutter. "Prepare the acquisition beam. I want this completed with minimum deviation from the established timeline."

"Yes, Councilor." The officer hesitates, then adds, "The human appears to be... documenting himself. He is holding a small device and speaking to it while displaying various items of clothing."

"Documenting himself?" I move to the observation screen, tapping to bring up the visual feed from Earth.

The human comes into focus, and I immediately understand why my brother's assignment went so disastrously wrong. The physical similarities between this Derek Cross and the mistakenly acquired Jake Morrison are significant enough that the initial error becomes, if not excusable, at least comprehensible.

But where Jake Morrison's file indicated an individual of moderate physical conditioning, this Derek Cross appears to have devoted considerable resources to muscular development. He stands in what appears to be a small dwelling, holding a device toward his face while speaking with unwarranted enthusiasm.

"—super excited to be selected for this exclusive international ambassador program!" His voice comes through the ship's audio system, unnecessarily loud and strangely performative. "I'll be documenting the entire experience for you guys, so make sure you're following for all the behind-the-scenes content! This is going to be epic for my fitness journey!"

I feel my bioluminescence dim with displeasure. This is the human deemed ideally compatible with Nereidan culture? This excessively enthusiastic specimen whose speech patterns seem deliberately designed to aggravate?

"Councilor?" The navigation officer is still waiting for confirmation.

"Proceed with acquisition," I say, my voice flat. "And prepare a sensory dampening field. I suspect this human will be... excessively vocal upon arrival."

As the acquisition beam initializes, I mentally review the assessment protocols. Three days. I am required to spend three days in close proximity to this human, evaluating his compatibility with our species, our culture, our very survival.

The blue light of the transportation beam illuminates the preparation chamber, signaling the imminent arrival of my assigned human. I straighten my formal attire, ensuring every element is precisely aligned according to Council regulation. Unlike my brother, I will not appear before a human in a state of undress, regardless of what the "research" supposedly indicates about human preferences.

The light intensifies, coalescing into the shape of a human form. Derek Cross materializes in the chamber, still clutching his recording device, his expression shifting from performance enthusiasm to genuine shock as he registers his new surroundings.

For one blessed moment, he is silent, frozen in place as his primitive nervous system attempts to process what has occurred. I take advantage of this brief reprieve to deliver the formal greeting.

"Derek Cross of Earth," I say, my voice carrying the full authority of my Council position. "I am Councilor Kav'eth of the Nereidan Research Collective. You have been selected for compatibility assessment under the interspecies integration program."

The human stares at me, his mouth opening and closing several times before he manages to produce words. "What the actual fu—"

I raise my hand, cutting off what I suspect is an inappropriate expletive. "Your cooperation is appreciated but not required. The assessment will proceed according to established protocols regardless of your initial response."

"Dude," Derek says, looking around frantically. "Where am I? Is this some kind of prank? Did my followers set this up?"

"This is not a 'prank,' human Derek Cross. This is a scientific assessment of critical importance to both our species." I gesture toward the formal attire laid out on the preparation table. "You will change into these garments, after which I will explain the parameters of your stay."

"Change? Here? In front of you?" The human clutches his recording device closer to his chest, as if it might offer protection. "Look, I don't know what kind of weird cosplay scenario this is, but I'm not into it. I need to get back to my apartment. I have an Instagram Live scheduled in an hour."

I feel a headache building behind my eyes, a rare occurrence for a Nereidan. Three days. Three long, protocol-filled days with this human.

My brother's final words before I departed for this mission echo in my mind: "Try the pancakes. They're quite illuminating."

Whatever that means.

"Human Derek Cross," I say, summoning every last reserve of diplomatic training. "I assure you this is not a 'cosplay scenario.' This is a formal assessment of your compatibility for potential integration into Nereidan society. Your cooperation would simplify matters considerably, but as I stated, it is not required."

I step closer, noting with some satisfaction the way he shrinks back slightly. "Now, you may change into the provided attire willingly, or I can have the ship's systems remove your current garments and replace them. The choice, as you humans are so fond of saying, is yours."

Derek looks from me to the formal attire and back again, his expression cycling through confusion, fear, and then, most concerning of all, a calculating interest.

"Wait. Is this the international ambassador program?" he asks, his voice shifting from panic to something approaching excitement. "Is this like... an extreme immersion experience? Because if it is, that's actually kind of genius marketing."

I stare at him, genuinely baffled by the workings of the human mind. "This is not marketing. This is an interspecies compatibility assessment."

"Right, right," Derek says, nodding as if I've confirmed his bizarre theory. "Interspecies. Got it. Very committed to the role. I respect that." He holds up his recording device again. "Can I document this for my followers? This kind of exclusive content would be amazing for my brand."

The headache intensifies. Three days. Seventy-two human hours.

The things I do for the survival of my species.

"No recording devices," I say firmly, plucking the device from his hand with speed that leaves him blinking in surprise. "The assessment begins now, Derek Cross. And I suggest you prepare yourself. It will not be what you are expecting."

As I secure his device in a containment field, I find myself wondering, for the first time in my distinguished career, if perhaps the survival of our species is not worth quite this level of personal sacrifice.

Three days with Derek Cross.

May the ancient waters give me strength.

I hope you loved this sneak peak of Derek and Kav. I can't wait to share them with you soon.