Her Alien Savior

by Presley Hall

  We talk as we eat, and although heavy tension hangs between us, there’s an openness that wasn’t there before—not even after the challenges we faced together getting out of the river canyon. It’s as if the mate bond has freed us both from the armor we usually wrap ourselves so tightly in.

  My gaze drifts over to Sadie often, and when it does, I always find her looking back at me. But unlike the suspicious glances we cast at each other back at the ship, now it feels as if we’re sharing a secret between us. Something no one else on this planet could understand.

  The flush that rises in my cheeks and the feeling of blood rushing to my cock every time our eyes meet makes me feel like I’m a boy again.

  Akhi. Even as a child, I can’t remember feeling this kind of excitement.

  I was stolen from my family and sold into slavery when I was barely twelve, forced to mature beyond my years quickly and to face the worst that the universe has to offer. So I never had time for love or even flirtations. My entire existence was dedicated to a single purpose—survival.

  It’s been a long and arduous day, and I can tell it’s beginning to weigh on Sadie. As she finishes her second tari, her eyelids begin to droop, and her head jerks up quickly after she almost falls asleep. A tender smile spreads across my face, and I reach over to pluck the core from her hand.

  “Sleep, my kira. You need rest.”

  She opens her mouth like she might be about to argue, but a large yawn escapes instead. I chuckle as I toss the remnants of our meal out of the makeshift shelter. When I return to her, she’s already curled up on her side, so exhausted that she’s nearly asleep already.

  I lie down next to her, wrapping my body around hers and drawing her against me with one arm. She makes a noise in her throat, a sleepy and contented sound, and burrows deeper into my embrace.

  Her golden hair brushes my nose, the scent of her filling my nostrils. I can still smell the lingering musk of her arousal, and the memory of putting my mouth on her, of hearing her ragged cries, makes my cock harden instantly.

  Slanch.

  I was able to master myself as we ate, my cock finally softening as I focused on keeping my mate happy and fed. But now all of the desire in me rages back to the surface again, demanding release. Sadie fits into my arms so perfectly, her body molding against mine as if it was always meant to be there, and I marvel at the fact that I didn’t realize it last night.

  Even then, I felt a response to her that surprised me, a pull toward her that I couldn’t account for. But I was too blinded by my own prejudices and suspicions to see the truth that was right before my eyes.

  Sadie shifts in her sleep, her rounded backside rubbing against my cock, and my vision goes white at the edges as I struggle not to release. My breath is coming faster, and even though I remain perfectly still, the slightest movement from her sends torturous pleasure spiraling through my veins.

  I swallow, gritting my teeth. I’ll never make it through the night like this. But I refuse to claim my mate until I’m certain she’s ready, and I won’t rut against her like an animal while she sleeps.

  Releasing her from my hold, I stand up silently and slip out between the hanging branches of the tree. I don’t go far, staying close enough that I’ll be able to reach her quickly if any predators attack. When I’m several paces away from our small shelter, I stop and brace one hand against a tree’s rough trunk. My other hand yanks my loincloth out of the way, and as I wrap my fist around my cock, I let out a relieved groan.

  There’s no finesse to my movements, no slow buildup or grace. There’s only the blinding need to come, to release some of the aching pressure inside me. My hand moves in sharp motions as I slide it up and down my cock, using the beads of liquid that spill from the tip to slick my entire length. As I touch myself, a rush of images flood my head, each one more vivid than the last.

  I remember the way Sadie looked down at me as I kneeled before her, the way she gripped my hair as her entire body shuddered with pleasure. I remember her head tipping back as I devoured her sweetness, my tongue tasting and exploring her. And then I imagine her on her knees in front of me, those perfect lips wrapped around my cock. In my vision, she looks up at me through her long lashes, her face flushed and her cheeks hollowed out as she draws me even deeper into her mouth.

  “Akhi,” I grunt, my balls drawing up as I come hard.

  My release explodes from me, and I keep stroking myself through it, lost in images of my beautiful mate. Even after I finish, my cock remains rock hard, throbbing insistently. My hand stays wrapped around it, and I stroke myself to a second release as I imagine sliding inside Sadie, her warm channel stretching to accommodate me.

  The second orgasm is nearly as intense as the first, and as I drop my head, panting breathlessly, my erection finally begins to recede.

  Thank the gods for that.

  I take a moment to compose myself and clean up, then return to the shelter Sadie and I found under the tree. As I push the branches aside, dim starlight spills across her face, and I feel an aching pull in my chest.

  She is so small and delicate, but housed within that fragile frame is a warrior’s spirit.

  Letting the branches fall into place behind me, I stride quietly over and settle back onto the ground beside her. As I draw her into my embrace, the pulsing thrum of desire rises up in me again.

  My body has been sated for the moment, but that doesn’t stop my heart, my soul, my entire essence, from yearning for her.

  In the morning, we rise with the sun. The feel of my mate slowly coming awake in my arms, stirring softly against me before rolling onto her back to gaze up at me, is enough to make me long for this for the rest of my life.

  “Morning,” she murmurs, her lips curving up into a smile. “I haven’t slept that well in a long time.”

  “Neither have I.” And I mean it, despite the insistent ache of unfulfilled desire that has my cock hardening again.

  After emerging from our shelter, we drink from the stream and eat more tari fruit before setting out on the path I believe will take us back to my village. Sleep seems to have done my mate a world of good. Her eyes are bright, her cheeks bloom with color, and her steps are light as we make our way across the landscape. I keep a careful eye out for any more predators, determined not to be caught unawares like we were yesterday.

  But for many hours, we don’t come across anything more threatening than a chadrapada, a small woodland creature with a hairless tail and spotted fur.

  Around midday, I hunt for our next meal, and I take the risk of building a small fire to cook the meat. We rest for a bit while we eat and then resume walking, eager to get closer to our destination.

  I thought that perhaps the openness I saw in my mate’s eyes yesterday would fade today, that she would retreat back into herself. But the experiences we’ve shared, coupled with the bond that hums between us, seems to have convinced her fully that she can trust me.

  She’s eager and talkative, and as the day passes, she inundates me with questions about my likes and dislikes, my interests, and my past experiences.

  “I mean, if we’re really mates, we ought to know these things about each other, right?” she asks.

  She lingers on the word “mates,” as if she’s still trying to understand how it can possibly be real.

  I have no explanation for her. The mate bond is not something that can be defined by science or logic. My people have always considered it a blessing from the gods, a pull that draws you toward your perfect match. It can be ignored or dismissed, although it rarely is—denying the mate bond is painful, like tearing out a part of your soul.

  “I want to know everything about you,” I tell her honestly. Even before I knew why, that was always what I wanted.

  Some of her questions are truly strange, such as when she asks me which color is my favorite.

  “Favorite?” I frown, shifting a branch out of her way as we walk through a dense patch of trees. “Why would I have a favorite?”


  She purses her lips, shrugging. “I don’t know. Not for any reason, I guess. Just the one you like best.”

  I’ve never considered this before, but as I gaze down into her warm, wide eyes, I suddenly know my answer.

  “Blue.”

  She blushes slightly, and I’m sure she’s guessed where my response came from.

  “What’s your favorite color?” I ask.

  Her blush deepens. “Well, it used to be purple, but now I think it’s green.”

  Pride and satisfaction swell inside me, and I bite back my grin. We continue walking, our arms occasionally brushing as we make our way through the lush forest side-by-side. She asks me several more questions and answers happily when I turn the questions back on her.

  “Oh, this should be an easy one for you.” She glances up at me, cocking an eyebrow. “What’s your favorite weapon to fight with?”

  I smile. “That is an easy one. I prefer to fight with a sword. Many Voxerans use spears as their main weapon, but a spear is only better for long-range fighting or for hunting. For close combat, a sword is more advantageous.”

  “That makes sense.” She grimaces. “I don’t know how you could’ve fought that river monster with a spear.”

  I chuckle, although the memory of the fight makes me tense slightly—it’s a reminder of the dangers we could still face before we reach the relative safety of my village. “True. It would’ve been difficult, but I would have found a way if it was the only weapon available to me. When I was fighting in the arena on Ybretti, I didn’t always get to choose my weapon. Sometimes they would make the slaves fight with unfamiliar weapons, or make us fight hand-to-hand to stir up the crowd.”

  Sadie’s footsteps stop, and I look back to see that she’s gone completely still and is staring at me with wide eyes.

  Too late, I realize what I’ve just said. I almost never discuss my time as a slave, the years I spent fighting in the arena for the glory and gain of my master. But I’ve begun to grow so comfortable with my mate that the words slipped past my lips without thought.

  And now she knows.

  The pain and shame that I’ve done my best to bury, to leave in the past where they belong, are laid bare before the only woman on this planet whose opinion of me matters.

  Gritting my teeth, I meet her gaze, preparing myself for the revulsion, disgust, or pity that I expect to see on her face.

  But as I look into her soft blue eyes, the color of a stormy sky that I’ve come to love so much, I don’t see any of those things. Instead, I see anger. Her lips press into a line, and liquid gathers in her eyes as two spots of color appear on her cheeks. When she speaks, her voice is full of horror and fury.

  “Who did that to you?”

  15

  Sadie

  I’m shaking. My hands are curled into fists, and even though I’ve never been a violent person and have no fighting skills to speak of, I have a sudden desperate urge to hit something.

  Someone.

  Whoever the hell it was that enslaved Jaro and forced him to fight in an arena, I want to find them and tear them limb from limb.

  So much of what I know about him makes sense now. Why he came to live on this prison planet separately from all of the other Voxerans. Why he seemed so distrustful and standoffish when I first met him. Why he’s such a brutal and skilled fighter.

  He learned in an arena, probably fighting for his life for the entertainment of whatever scum of the universe could watch and enjoy that kind of thing.

  My stomach clenches, and I blink back the tears welling in my eyes. My chest feels tight, as if there’s a hundred-pound weight pressing on my sternum. Jaro is watching me carefully, his gaze shuttered as if he’s wary of revealing too much.

  Swallowing hard, I try to relax my taut muscles. He doesn’t need me freaking out on him, and that won’t make any of this better. But I can’t just let it go, can’t just drop the subject and move on.

  “You… you were a slave?” I ask. My voice is hoarse.

  “Yes.”

  “For how long?”

  “From the age of twelve until I was imprisoned on Nuthora. Thirteen years.”

  The breath catches in my throat. Thirteen years. Nearly half his life.

  My heart feels like it’s cracking open, and I take a step toward him. I want to throw my arms around him, to wrap him up in my embrace and keep anything from hurting him ever again. The thought of my small body being able to protect this massive, muscled alien warrior is so ridiculous it’s almost comical, but it doesn’t change the protective impulse that rises up inside me.

  “What happened?” I whisper. “How did you end up enslaved?”

  Jaro hesitates for a moment, and I get the feeling he doesn’t want to answer. He probably hates talking about this, and I’m about to tell him he doesn’t have to say anything when he gives a decisive nod. Striding back to meet me, he stops less than a foot away, gazing down at me with serious, intense eyes.

  “My parents were traders. Vox is somewhat isolated, but the planet still relies on trade for many off-world goods. Most trading is done with nearby planets that have well-established peace treaties with ours, but not always. Traveling outside of designated trade routes can be dangerous, but the rewards can be plentiful as well. My parents were attempting to reach a remote planet known for its textiles when our ship was attacked. We were boarded, and both my mother and father were killed. Because I was young and healthy, I was drugged and taken alive, sold in a slave auction a few days later. My master took me to Ybretti, and I spent a year in training before I was forced to compete in the arena against other slaves.”

  He speaks matter-of-factly, as if he’s reporting events that happened to someone else, not things that he experienced himself. I recognize the tone. It’s a coping mechanism my therapist taught me as I was grappling with the fallout from my own trauma. I doubt Jaro has ever had professional counseling, but it must be an instinctual impulse on some level to keep from being overwhelmed by past pain.

  “I fought for many years,” he continues. “I almost died more than once, and there were times when I almost wished I would die. But the will to remain alive is strong, even in the worst of circumstances.” His jaw tightens, anger burning in his emerald eyes. “But I swore an oath to myself. I vowed that if the chance ever arose to kill my master, I would take it. No matter what the consequences. No matter what the cost to me.”

  His expression turns hard, and I know what he’s going to say before he even speaks.

  “That chance came. And I took it.”

  I bite my lip, trying to imagine what he’s been through—everything in his life that has led him here. Even though he just told me the story, it’s hard for me to comprehend the true awfulness of it all. My mind rebels at the thought.

  “And that’s why you got sent here, isn’t it?” I murmur. “As punishment for killing him.”

  “Yes.” Jaro nods once. His eyes turn thoughtful for a moment, as if he’s revisiting some particular memory. “I expected them to kill me outright. Murdering one’s master is a crime usually punishable by public execution on Ybretti. But there had been unrest among the slaves for weeks. They did what they could to keep us separate from each other, to make it more difficult for us to organize or rebel, but we had found ways around that. Ways to communicate in secret.” He snorts. “I think they believed that executing me might incite a riot. That it would make a martyr of me and fan the spark of rebellion into an open flame. So they quietly shipped me off-planet instead.”

  Silence falls between us as he finishes speaking, and for a moment, all I can do is gaze up at him.

  I feel like I’m seeing him with new eyes, a different version of him than the one I knew yesterday. And when I step forward and slide my palms down his muscled arms before catching his hands in mine, I don’t know if it’s the pull of the mate bond that’s urging me on or something else.

  All I know is that I want to be connected to him. I want to remind him that he�
��s not alone—that he’ll never be alone again if I have anything to say about it. I want to remind him that there is some good left in the universe, even if it’s so hard to see it sometimes. I want to share his pain, to bear some of his burden.

  I want to touch him.

  He’s so much taller than me that I have to go all the way up on my tiptoes to kiss him, and I still don’t quite make it. But Jaro’s hands tighten around mine as he drops his head, and when our lips meet, it feels like something in my chest loosens.

  “I’m sorry,” I murmur against his lips. I know the words won’t fix anything, but I have to say them. “I’m so fucking sorry, Jaro. You shouldn’t have had to go through that.”

  He doesn’t respond with words, just makes a low growling sound in his throat as he releases my hands to wrap his arms around me, pinning me against him. Our kiss deepens, sending a rush of heat and longing through me.

  I can hardly believe the first time I kissed this man was yesterday. The feeling of our lips moving together, our breath mingling as our tongues dance, is so familiar already. It’s as if we’ve been doing it our whole lives. As if we were born to do it.

  All I meant to do when I stepped into his embrace was offer my comfort and support. But the longer we kiss, the more something else builds alongside those feelings. I can feel the throbbing pulse of Jaro’s cock against my belly, and his lips move against mine so fiercely that it nearly bows me backward, my body arching against his.

  I gasp into his mouth as his hands skate down my back and over my ass, and when he lifts me into his arms, my legs wrap around him automatically. He starts walking, and I don’t know where he’s going—but I don’t really care, as long as he keeps kissing me.