Surviving Skarr

“Ugh! You are revolting!” I fling my hands into the air in disgust and stomp away again. “And I am not your mate!”

“And here you said there were no battles to be won,” he calls out after me.

Chapter Eight

VIVI

Since I don’t have anywhere else to go, I stomp my way back to camp.

I’m tempted to leave, though. To just keep on heading out and see how far I make it. I know the answer to that already, though: not far. I don’t know enough about this planet (or even myself) to make that a viable option. So I head back to the encampment where the other clones are waiting by the fire. What other choice do I have?

Skarr is standing with a cluster of the men—the other splices—and they all give me fascinated looks when I return. Except for Skarr. There’s a hint of a

I resist the urge to snarl at him, but only because he’d probably like it.

Pretending nonchalance, I warm my hands by the fire. I can’t help but notice that all conversation died when I approached. No one’s talking, and it makes me feel more shy and vulnerable than ever. Like I’m a problem. Like I’m contagious with something all because my khui decided that the worst guy on the planet is my forever man.

It’s not as if I chose him. It’s not as if resonance is catching. I can’t even be mad at them for avoiding me, though. If there’s even slightly a chance that my resonance would affect theirs, I’d avoid me, too. No one wants to be stuck with one of these guys. I flex my fingers, waiting for someone to say something to me. Anything. I glance over and Colleen averts her gaze. Natalie chews her nails anxiously and watches me, saying nothing. Dawn and April whisper when they think I’m not looking. It’s not malicious. We just don’t know the rules of this new place and I’ve been tapped by the unluckiest hand there is.

Sabrina—the sweetest and most outgoing—fusses over Kyth, tucking a blanket around him and I notice his eyes are dull again, the light of his khui gone. Flor would talk to me, I think. Reassure me that all is well. But she’s not around. Maybe she’s catching a few moments with her mate, the guy she eats up with her eyes when she thinks no one’s watching.

If I were a braver soul, I’d sit in one of the vacant spots near the fire and start a conversation. Tell everyone how awkward I’m feeling. Heck, if I were braver, I’d approach the cluster of men near Skarr and give them my version of what it’s like to resonate. I suspect Skarr’s version is more enthusiastic than mine. I should probably be flattered instead of wanting to run away screaming.

Too bad I’m not a braver soul. Because I can’t take another minute of everyone staring at me. It’s too much of a reminder of when I was in high school, when I was the weird kid at the back of the class that wore all black and never spoke and…

Oh my god. I just had a high school memory.

It’s a tantalizing glimpse of who I was, and far more important than anything out here by the fire. I need to concentrate. Frantic, I turn and race away from the group, looking for a quiet spot. The tent we’ll be sleeping in looks empty and I head straight for it. Let them think I’m sulking over resonance. I need to get my head back—my me back—and they can think whatever they want.

I crawl into the tent, flopping onto my back in the tumbled sea of furs that we’ve all been sharing. Someone joked last night that the tent was like a big slumber party. It was probably Sabrina trying to cheer us all up, actually. But if it was a slumber party, that still makes me the weird kid at the back of the class. I press my hands to my brow, trying to force memories free from my foggy brain. I picture…boots. Not cowboy boots, but black leather boots. Boots with lots of shiny silver buckles and thick rubber tire-tread soles.

Another memory flashes through my mind. Of picking mud out of those huge treads with a stick and cursing the entire time.

“If you weren’t such a stubborn ass, you’d wear the proper footwear to go camping.” The words are harsh but there’s amusement threading through his voice.

“When you’re me, this is the proper footwear for camping, Dad.”

I remember him laughing. Dimpling. Oh my god, do I have dimples? Frantically, I smile to myself, feeling my cheeks to see if there’s an indent there. When I don’t find one, I want to cry. I play that same tiny tidbit of memory through my mind over and over again, hoping that my name will pop up. Hoping that his face will be more than just a blur and a memory of dimples. There’s sandy-brown hair and a red and black checkered fla

So me and my dad went camping? Despite me being a goth-girl, I was into that sort of thing? Was it because Dad was? I’m hungry for more memories, and at the same time I’m hit with bitter loss, mourning a person I never met and wouldn’t want to meet me. I’m a clone of his real daughter, and I don’t know what happened to her.

I just know I’m not her, and these memories, however much I might want them, are as borrowed as the clothing I wear. A frustrated tear escapes my eye and slides down my cheek, and I angrily dash it away.

“Knock knock,” calls out a voice. Flor. The petite woman has been nothing but friendly since I first met her, doing her best to be the voice of knowledge for us. I’m not surprised that she’s come to seek me out. “Thought I’d check on you. Want some di

“I’m not hungry.” And then because that statement makes me sound like a petulant child, I add, “Truly. I don’t think I could eat.”

Flor sits down on the furs near the entrance of the tent, giving me space. She crosses her legs and makes herself comfortable. “Look. I get it. I know what you’re going through. Resonance can be difficult.”

That makes me sit up in surprise, because she and I’rec are clearly in love. They’re a strong, unified team together. For all that he’s all cranky and alpha male, when Flor barks an order, I’rec doesn’t argue. He just gets to work. It’s clear he respects and adores her, and she does the same for him. I can’t imagine them ever being at odds like myself and Skarr. I study her face. “You and I’rec…it was like this?”

She blinks in surprise and then bites her lip. “Well no, actually. We’ve been all over each other since we resonated. But we’ve been friends for years so we knew we liked each other’s personalities. My point was that I’ve seen a lot of resonances happen over the last while, and there have been several that weren’t happy campers. Everyone—even the ones that don’t dislike each other—seems to struggle with it at first.”

“Everyone except you two.”

She grins, her expression downright impish. “Everyone except us, yeah.”

That doesn’t help me much. “So how did the others turn out? The ones that didn’t like each other? Did they figure out how to turn it off?”

Her grin turns into a grimace. “Actually you can’t turn it off. But if it makes you feel better, everyone else fell in love with their partner and they’ve all been extremely happy.”

“All of them?” I’m suspicious.

She nods. “Every single one.”

“Was anyone’s personality like Skarr’s?” When she hesitates, that tells me everything I need to know. “So I’m just the lucky one, then. It figures that I’d end up with the guy that was spliced with a lizard and a…a…peacock!” The moment I blurt it out, I know it fits. Skarr is exactly like a peacock—all strutting and prancing and wanting everyone to look at him. He’s absolutely a peacock. I snort at my own imagination, picturing him with a fan of feathers for a tail instead of his gator-like one. “He’s a peacock,” I state again, proud of myself.