Nanny For The Alien Primal

Chapter 1

Evalie

If I stare at the screen long enough, can I will a message to show up?

If that were at all possible, I think a dozen messages would’ve come through on my Misiv just now. Instead, the device stays blank. Empty. My only contact on the entire thing is “Lord”, and he’s not answering.

I hear a grumble and the sound of movement, and instinctively I look up from the pearly sheen of the Misiv. I’ve been taking care of my kids long enough that I’m attuned to their every move. And, since they’re just getting over being two-year old hellions, I like to keep a close eye on them.

Yet Or and Tali are still sleeping, simply shifting in their dreams. They know I’m troubled these days, and they might even be a bit hungry. Neither of those things make for restful sleep, so I’m grateful they continue to slumber in the musty dark of our apartment.

My mind drifts to thinking of the first time I saw the twins, nearly three years ago now. They were such round, lumpy babies, especially in the muscular arms of the person I only know as Lord. 

The Drokan nobleman had come to our door completely unannounced, practically shocking me and Mar to death. He stood there, all tall and golden skinned, his wings elegantly furled behind him. The Drokan was handsome all right, but that was hardly noticeable. What I saw first wasn’t any of that — it was the deep sadness weighing on him.

He held the two squalling infants that I now know and love, and explained they were his children. His children — and my old friend’s Lani’s. She’d gone to the palace to work as a servant, never forgetting to send money home every ten-day. However, I hadn’t seen her in years.

Eagerly I’d asked where Lani was, shocked and delighted by the idea of a Drokan-human union. Were they getting married? Would she be coming home?

The nobleman’s silence told me no, even before he did. 

With sorrow, he told me Lani had died in childbirth. I’d barely had a chance to register the tears that prickled in my eyes, before he was begging me to care for his secret, half-human children. He promised to support them financially, as well as me and my mother.

I would’ve said yes if only for Lani’s sake. But with the added promise of an actual income, well… when you’re a human on Genesis, you learn to take what you can get, and not ask too many questions.

So what could I do but accept?

A whirlwind of information came at me then, in addition to the two heavy bundles of baby. They were introduced to me as Orelon and Talissa, and their father told me to call him simply ‘Lord.’ He gave me the Misiv I’m now sitting with, which at the time blew my mind. A crystal-powered personal communication device like this could fetch a steep price in my neighborhood. 

For nearly three years, the wealthy and mysterious Lord visited regularly — well, if you can call once every two months regular for a father — and responded swiftly to any of my communications. When Tali sliced open her foot, he had a quiet but incredible doctor to us in less than an hour.

Now, though… it’s been a month since I’ve heard from him. His last money order didn’t appear two weeks ago. I’m good at making things stretch, but at this point, I’m running out of money to take care of the kids. I can only feed them instead of me and Mar for so long.

Not to mention, as Or grows, he draws more and more attention. Thank the stars Tali remains entirely human-looking, but that doesn’t help how fast Or’s Drokan characteristics are rising to the surface these days. 

His skin, which I’d been able to pass off as tan, is gaining the shine that turns it to gold. His little horns are nudging through the skin of his head, and his wings are too big for me to hide under a human boy’s shirt.

Just last week, someone refused to serve us because they noticed Or’s gawky wings poking beneath the thin fabric of his jacket. I didn’t try to fight it, I only hustled us off before we could draw any more attention. The thing is… unwanted attention is coming for us, whether we like it or not.

Humans don’t like the Drokan much, given that the race controls most of the world’s money and we control none of it. I can’t blame my people for being angry about that. Constellations know, I’ve been infuriated by the horrible poverty of my neighbor almost every day since I was old enough to understand not everyone lives this way.

To take it out on a child, though? A boy not even three years old? That is a degree of rage I can’t comprehend. It scares me. Just like the thought of hearing Or and Tali cry from the pain of empty bellies scares me.

Get it together, Evalie. Fear never helped anyone solve a problem.

I jerk myself back to the Misiv. For what feels like the millionth time, I compose yet another message to Lord. There’s no reason not to, even as my hope that he’ll reply dwindles to nearly nothing.

Please, I write. Please answer me. We are still out of money for food. I can’t keep these children on my own, you know that. If you don’t send us some funds, your children are going to starve.

I stare at the message. It has a combative tone, which I don’t intend, but I leave it as it is. Being angry that Lord might have abandoned his children is a lot easier than considering the alternative. 

That he CAN’T respond.

Even the thought of that makes me feel nauseous. I can only pray that the guy went on a trip or something and neglected to set up care for us while he was away. 

That doesn’t ring true, though. No matter how ashamed of his half-human children, Lord has always provided for them. He wouldn’t disappear, which means the most likely answer is really, really bad.

Because if something has happened to the twins’ mysterious Drokan father… we’re in big, big trouble.