Page 3 of The Pregnancy Pact

I had to block the train of thought before it drove me insane.

Bracing myself, I took another sip of the blitza.

Seven months ago, I had discovered Charlie’s—my ex’s—unfaithfulness, due to a pair of panties that had been forgotten in his coat pocket. A souvenir, I guess. The idiot had apparently been getting away with his infidelities for so long that he’d gotten careless. Either that, or he simply didn’t care anymore if I found out. Or he figured I was a dumb, plodding cow, so happy to have a human husband to keep a roof over her head that I wouldn’t react. Unfortunately for him, his long string of lies had been uncovered, and I’d reacted.

Oh! I’d reacted.

Our twin sons, Joell and Isak, were eighteen and had already joined the Interstellar Coalition’s Unified Forces—a new military branch comprised of species from all twelve planets in the Coalition, including humans. They were off among the stars, on tours of duty that could last anywhere from twelve to eighteen months at a time. They weren’t at home. They didn’t need me to be their caretaker anymore.

Was I the sort of woman to blindly accept her spouse’s infidelities, to be so grateful that I had a husband during these somewhat tumultuous times that I would receive whatever he dished out, crushing the pain and continuing to present a smiling face to the world?

Some women did that. I knew them. To be a human woman was a difficult thing in our society, at this point in Earth’s history. We either accepted whatever our husbands did and clung to them for refuge and stability for our children—or we forged a new path, whatever that might look like, including becoming a sex worker at the Citadel in exchange for provisions, shelter, and money from the Asterion Overlords. Even that was about to change, however, with the swirling rumors of a damn breeder’s list. Who knew how that might impact women having charge of themselves and their own sexuality if they were going to be bound to whichever Overlord asked for them?

Breeder’s list, I snorted, the tip of my tongue tracing the rim of my glass, tasting the blitza, trying to decide if I wanted to consume more liquid fire.

Twenty years ago, I might have been on the breeder’s list. Now, at thirty-nine, it seemed highly unlikely.

I snorted and tossed back another sip.

The hell with it. My own husband hadn’t wanted me. Why would an alien?

Charlie hadn’t fought the divorce very hard. Initially, he’d been surprised. I guess in his mind having a wife to stay home and cook, clean, and fold his socks while he screwed every pretty girl in town who’d have him was ideal. I’d disrupted those plans by announcing I was getting a divorce.

“Where will you go?” he’d inquired, genuinely curious. “What will you do? You haven’t worked in years. You don’t have any marketable skills. You—”

“Thanks, Charlie, for reminding me that while I’ve been here raising our kids and taking care of you, I let my career slide,” I’d grumbled. “You know what? What does it matter? Obviously, you don’t care. If you’d care about me you wouldn’t have—”

I’d stopped, drawing a deep breath to stem the anger, the rage, the pain. Shoving it down deep where he couldn’t see it, I'd said, “Never mind. I’ll figure something out.”

That something had landed me here, on the pleasure planet, Drixus.

Oh, I wasn’t here for that. Selling myself at the brothels or seeking an alien pimp. After the way Charlie had ripped out my heart and stomped all over my self-esteem, I sincerely doubted anyone would be willing to pay me for sex.

Huh. Yeah, right.

I snorted bitterly, imbibing another careful sip.

Nope. I was here because, while my work experience was limited, attending functions and the occasional dinner inside the Citadel had netted me a few contacts. I’d had to visit the Overlords, one of the Officials, when I’d sought my divorce. He’d been vaguely familiar—probably from some formal function. When I’d stated my reason for visiting and requested the divorce, he’d raised his eyebrows in surprise.

Naturally, he knew who my husband was. I was expecting that. I was even half-expecting him to try and talk me out of leaving the dirtbag.

Nope.

Instead, he’d laid down his screenpad and steepled his silver fingertips, eyeing me with…pity, I’d thought.

“If you go through with this,” he’d warned, “you realize you will be adrift in a harsh world and a society that little favors human females.”

I’d gulped down my rising fear, nodding. I knew that. But my hatred of Charlie was so deep, my pain so raw and bitter, that I’d sworn to myself I’d get by even if meant selling myself to the Asterions in order to eat and have a roof over my head.

“I may be able to help,” he’d said, swiping his forefinger across the screenpad a few times.

I’d steeled my spine, fearing he might proposition me himself. Judging by the picture of him and the gorgeous Asterion woman on the cabinet behind him, I was afraid he was married. And I would not be the other woman who risked ripping the heart out of his wife.

Even as I’d worked up my courage, bringing a denial to my lips, he said,

“You were an administrative assistant before marrying your husband and giving birth to your two sons, were you not?”

“How did you know that?” I’d started to ask, leaning forward to see what the Asterion Official was studying on his screenpad. To my shock, I saw my own face in a picture, at its current age and its former age, before I’d married Charlie, twenty years ago. Columns of Asterion words sprawled beneath the pictures. Clearly, it was a profile of some sort, which Official Drayke had confirmed, saying, “By checking your vital records, of course.”