Shalia's Diary by Tracy St. John Read Free Book Online Page A

anybody.  For every insult she hurled at the Kalquorians that crossed her path, they only seemed to get nicer.  Let me tell you, my mom can sling some mean in her natural state.  I thought for sure the guy who keeps an eye on her during mornings and early afternoons would punch her right in the mouth.  But no, Imdiko Weln only cocked an eyebrow at me.  I swear the guy was on the brink of hysterical laughter.  He bit his lips during her outburst, but I could still see them lifting at the corners as Mom told him the various things he could shove up his own backside.
     
    “Bipolar disorder,” I told him.  “It’s either this or she’s crying and looking for a noose to wear around her neck.”
     
    The young, cute Weln looked like he would respond, but that little salvo re-directed my mother’s fury at me.  “I am not ill!  Shut up telling these murdering aliens our private business!”
     
    All the yelling brought in Nayun.  He sedated her, quite against her wishes but completely in line with mine.  When Mom woke she was once more in happy, if dim, Dementia Land again.
     
    Anyway, I was going to talk about Dusa.  He’s a young one, it turns out, a little younger than me.  I was writing my latest entry when he walked in yesterday.  As he entered, his smile was tentative, as if he just knew I was going to toss him right out of the room.  Or more likely, order him out.  Yours truly is not going to be literally tossing a 200-plus pound example of pure brawn anywhere.
     
    “Hello, Matara Shalia.  You are looking much better.”
     
    Ha.  I haven’t seen a comb in days.  I’m wearing no makeup, I’m starved, and I’m completely hagged out from being sick.  If I’m looking much better now, I can only imagine how gorgon-ish I was when he found me passed out in the middle of someone’s flowerbed.
     
    He, in comparison, was wonderful to look at.  I know, I know, the enemy, the monster Kalquorians, the rapists looking to damn our souls.  Whatever.  Dusa is a very handsome version of his kind.  Of anybody’s kind.  So take me out and shoot me for appreciating it.
     
    I smiled and self-consciously raked my fingers through my hair.  I really need to ask for a brush.  “Hello, Dramok Dusa.  I’m starting to feel more like myself.”
     
    “May I visit with you for a few minutes?”
     
    “Sure,” I said, wishing mascara and lipstick would fall from the heavens like manna.  Okay, I know I’m being stupid here.  But he is that handsome and I felt really unattractive. 
     
    He stood at my bedside.  His long hair hung loose.  Black and sleek, it lay down his back in a sheet.  He has high cheekbones.  I almost want to characterize them as ‘arrogant’.  If he didn’t wear such an open, innocent expression, those cheekbones would make him appear haughty. 
     
    Dusa also has a nice strong jawline and an almost pointed chin.  His lips are a bit thin but when he smiles, which is a lot, I don’t really notice that small imperfection.  And of course he has those funny purple cat eyes.  I’m starting to get used to those, so they didn’t freak me out too much.  And his fangs were folded away, so that also helped.
     
    “I owe you thanks for giving us food and rescuing me,” I said after a few moments of uneasy silence.
     
    “Not at all.”  He looked pleased just the same.  “I am happy we were able to find you in time.”
     
    “I guess I didn’t make it easy on you.”  I felt a little pride in that.  I’ve been hearing what great trackers Kalquorians are, so slipping away from Dusa was something of an accomplishment.
     
    He reddened.  “I was assigned to monitor five other Mataras we’ve been trying to get to come in.  You left the first house while I was checking on some of those.  I lost your scent.”
     
    Lost my scent.  Like he’s part bloodhound or something.  Then I remembered the first time I saw him, coming down the street with two other