Alien's Heart by Nancey Cummings

Author:Nancey Cummings [Cummings, Nancey]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Menura Press

PERRIGAUL

They spent hours searching the Sunken Palace. Just when one section was finished, they discovered a sublevel or a small addition that the printed plans did not include. All maps of the place were hopelessly outdated.

Tomorrow promised to be more of the same. His foot no longer ached, but it did itch from regrowing scales. All in all, sleeping on the floor in the same tiny cabin with the female whose scent he could not get out of his head was about what he could expect for the day: uncomfortable.

“Stop staring at me. I cannot sleep,” he grumbled.

Sharing a cabin was a mistake. The room was too small. There was no escaping Miriam’s scent, her noise, or her discarded clothing. He should have made a nest in the cargo hold.

“I’m thinking,” she said.

“Thinking time is over. Now is the time for sleeping.”

“Are you sure you want to sleep on the floor again? I don’t mind sharing the bed.”

“The floor is adequate.” He’d slept in worse places, but he was not as young as he once was. His back would be stiff in the morning.

She tossed and turned on the mattress, as if unable to get into a comfortable position. “I’m too wound up to sleep. Distract me. Tell me a story.”

Perrigaul rolled onto his back and crossed his arms behind his head. From his spot on the floor, he could see the outline of Miriam’s form on the bed.

“You would not enjoy my stories,” he said.

“I’ll be the judge of that.” The mattress creaked as she rolled over. “Come on. This is like a sleepover, which I never got to do, so let’s do sleepover stuff. It’ll be fun.”

He doubted that, but he found it difficult to deny Miriam anything that brought her pleasure. It was a character flaw.

“Define sleepover stuff,” he said.

“No biggies. We braid each other’s hair, tell ghost stories, gossip about the boys we want to kiss—”

He huffed, amused at her wheedling tone. “Your name has three syllables. Does it have significance?”

“It’s a traditional name and kind of old-fashioned. It means bitter or beloved.”

His tail twitched at that information. “It is a fitting name.”

“You calling me bitter?”

He focused on the shadowy ceiling above him. “The other one. That is what I’m saying.”

He did not have to look at her to feel her blush.

“You are such a flirt, Perrigaul.” She waited a moment, then said, “What about your name? Does it have significance?”

“Of course. I chose the most grandiose name I could think of. It means traveler.”

“What did your parents name you?”

He did not answer immediately. She moved, and the bedframe squeaked in protest.

“Sorry,” she said. “I should know better about deadnames. You chose your name, and it’s a good name. We have a similar name on Earth. Peregrine. It’s a falcon, like a bird of prey, but it also means pilgrim, I think. Maybe a wanderer.”

He found that information comforting but said nothing. She continued, “Fun fact. Peregrine White was the first pilgrim child born on the Mayflower… and you don’t know what I’m talking about.

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