“You have no clue what the women in this room are feeling,” I say. “And I hope you never do.”
Blake leans forward. “I know it blows,” he says.
I snort at the understatement.
“But the chances of being called are miniscule. There are so few of them and so many of us.”
“For now,” I say. “What happens when more of them start arriving?”
The familiar tinkling bell sound announces that the viewing is starting, and everyone in the diner turns their attention to the TVs.
The Arcav male is the same one who appears for every viewing. He’s obviously their PR guy, and I roll my eyes as I realize the Arcav are trying to make him look as human as possible.
“Have they filed down his weird fangs?” I ask.
Blake shoots me a warning look, and I sigh, focusing on the screen again.
The Arcav holds up the tablet in his hand. It’s disconcerting how these guys are so similar yet so different to us. They’re much larger, usually at least seven feet tall. Their skin is golden, with silver tattoo-like markings along their wrists and forearms denoting rank and status. Their eyes range in color like ours, only theirs seem to glow, in shades that are completely inhuman. The most distinct difference is their horns, which jut straight out from their heads, smooth and lethal.
The viewings were originally pitched to us as a way to keep humans updated about everything we needed to know—almost like the news. But it wasn’t long before their true purpose became clear.
The Arcav are extremely long-lived. From the rumors I’ve heard, the male who caused this invasion is still alive, although I hope he’s rotting somewhere in a dark hole.
For whatever reason, that Arcav poisoned the water on their planet. Female babies were no longer born, so the Arcav males had no way to find their mates.
Unlike us, they don’t shack up with someone who gives them warm fuzzies but also occasionally loads the dishwasher. They don’t carefully select their partners based on parameters like age, religion, or political affiliation.
Instead, they’re biologically programmed to find their mates—women with the DNA that perfectly complements their own.
When the Arcav invaded, all human females were instructed to give a blood sample so we could be tested for compatibility. We’re called based on our birthdays, and I gave my sample a few weeks ago.
The scariest part? When the Arcav find their mates, those women have little choice—they’re forcibly taken by the Arcav, or worse, given up by their family and friends who are either scared of the consequences or lured by the money.
Blake was right. The chances of being picked are small. So far, around one million women have been taken out of approximately four billion of us. But many of those women had families of their own. And not all of them were happy to be picked.
This viewing will be like all the others. The Arcav will read from the list, and photos of the women found to be matches will show on the screen. Those women will come forward or else face the consequences.
I swallow back bile as the Arcav’s eyes seem to glow with excitement.
“Today we have a very special announcement,” he growls. I wish I could pull the translator out of my ear, but it was developed to stay in unless the host is dead. Pulling it out could mean losing my hearing.
“Thanks to the most recent analysis of blood samples, our king has found a mate. This female will join him as his queen, creating peace between humans and Arcav for the rest of time.”
I roll my eyes. “Sure, buddy. One helping of peace coming right up,” I mutter.
A blonde woman with earrings the size of snow globes glares at me, and I stare back. From the weird tension in her face as she turns back to the screen, I’d say she’s an Arc—an Arcav groupie. I bet she’s crossing all her fingers and toes that her name will be called one day.
The Arcav pauses, and the diner goes silent as we wait to see which poor woman will be losing her freedom.
“Harlow Black,” he says. My picture flashes up on the screen, and the hair on the back of my neck rises as I stare into my own eyes.
I widen my eyes at Blake. “Don’t react,” he whispers. “They might not notice.”
I nod, pick up my coffee, and nonchalantly take a sip.
My gaze meets the blonde woman’s, and my stomach sinks as her head swings wildly