Alien Warlord's Miracle

by Nancey Cummings

  Reven couldn’t find a way out of the trap Michael proposed, both scenarios were demeaning, so he deflected. “Mara should be ashamed of her father, behaving in such a childish manner.”

  Michael’s shoulder nudged his. “Seriously, man. I was worried. One minute you were under attack, the next there was a hole in space. Then five minutes later we got a distress signal from your shuttle, which was buried under two feet of moon dust, at the bottom of the crater.”

  “I apologize for your distress.”

  “You have no idea. I didn’t see you vanish, but I was working the comms and received the signal. We had to wait until the attack finished before sending a rescue team. Ten hours.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Longest ten hours of my life. I don’t think I’ve ever been so nervous. Which is bullshit, by the way, because I didn’t even worry that badly when Mara had her surgery.”

  “That was different,” Reven said. Mara had been born with a small defect in her heart. The condition had been detected early and reparative surgery planned after her birth. Michael handled the situation with calm confidence but Reven did not doubt that his friend worried for his newborn daughter. He felt honored that Michael worried about him with the same intensity. “You knew what to expect.”

  “Yeah, well, don’t do it again. No more trips to the past,” Michael said.

  “I could not recreate the necessary circumstances.” As part of his initial debriefing, he met with other engineers and physicists to try to figure out exactly what Reven had done by accident. So far none of the computer models could recreate his time travel. It appeared to be one-time fluke.

  “So, she’s your heart?”

  “I feel as if I can not breath while she is in the stasis chamber,” Reven admitted.

  “She must be something to make you go all poetic.”

  Elizabeth

  “Can she understand you?” a woman asked.

  “Yes. A translation chip was installed,” a familiar male voice said.

  Elizabeth drifted into awareness. She felt disconnected from her body, like a kite tethered to a heavy weight, which was probably a good thing. She suspected she would feel a great deal of pain if she could feel her body. Feeling nothing was acceptable.

  “You installed advanced tech in a primitive person? What was your plan when you left? Rip it out of her skull? Or just leave it and hope no one dug her up and noticed?” Annoyance colored the woman’s voice.

  “The computer installed it without authorization. It tried to connect to the chip, found nothing, and replaced what it assumed to be a defective part,” Reven explained. Elizabeth stirred, excited to put a name to the voice.

  “You should have canceled the order,” the woman said.

  “I am not a medic and have received minimal training on the equipment. I can turn it on and turn it off.”

  The woman muttered under her breath, which might have been as close as she ever came to admitting another person was correct. “Did it work with her dialect?”

  “Translation was rough in the beginning, but it smoothed itself out,” Reven said.

  “What does she even speak? Middle English?”

  The room had an overly clean and bland decor that reminded Elizabeth of a hospital. She spent her fair share of hours sitting at David’s bedside while he convalesced in special facilities under the doctor’s watchful eye. Everything was white and coated in white enamel, so it felt cold, even at the height of summer. This room had the same cold and sterile feeling.

  The two people talking seemed to have forgotten about her.

  Elizabeth licked her lips, mouth parched and lips chapped. “Whan that Aprille with his shoures soote, the droght of Marche hath perced to the roote,” she recited, her voice hoarse.

  “What was that?” the woman asked.

  “Middle English. I speak the Queen’s English.” Elizabeth struggled to open her eyes, still heavy with sleep.

  A damp cloth was pressed to her lips. Grateful for the moisture, Elizabeth sucked on the cloth. An ice chip replaced the cloth. Cold, luscious water flooded her mouth but wasn’t enough to satisfy her thirst.

  “More,” she croaked.

  “I’ll hook up a saline drip to get you hydrated. You,” the woman said with authority, “be useful and give her ice chips.”

  Elizabeth tried to turn her head to discover who the woman ordered about, but her body would not respond. She heard Reven’s voice. That wasn’t a half-asleep dream. She needed to see him, but her silly body failed to comply. Her eyes watered in frustration.

  Reven leaned over her and smiled, wiping away her tears. “Do not cry.”

  Bright, perfect joy expanded in her chest. He woke up. She supposed she also woke up, meaning his insane plan actually worked. They Rip Van Winkled themselves into the future.

  She cried harder, and she never cried. Not when her parents died. When her first husband died, yes, but only in private and with soft, controlled sobs. She couldn’t explain it. Her happiness was too much. All she could do was cry.

  “I almost suspect you’re not happy to see me,” he said, knuckles brushing the side of her face.

  “No. Happy. Too happy,” she managed to say between sobs.

  “I gave you one job,” the woman said in a sharp tone, “and all you’ve done is upset my patient.”

  “Yes, Doctor,” Reven said placidly and gave Elizabeth a wink. He placed another cold ice chip in her mouth. It melted too fast and only made her thirstier.

  “Water,” she said.

  “Not just yet,” the doctor said. “Waking out of stasis for the first time tends to make people vomit, so we’re going to give you saline first before we put too much in your stomach.” The woman took her arm and turned it over, exposing a blue nozzle embedded into her flesh.

  “What is that?” She didn’t feel panic. She felt nothing more than a mild curiosity.

  “This is a PICC line, for the IV.” She cleaned the nozzle with a swab, then screwed on another fixture, this one attached to tubing, leading to a bag hanging on a pole near the bedside. The woman worked with skilled precision. She knew what she was about.

  “You’re a doctor?”

  The woman smiled bitterly and gave Elizabeth a pat on the hand. “My, aren’t you charmingly quaint? Yes, honey, I’m Doctor Garcia.”

  “They let women be doctors in the future,” Elizabeth said, the information slow to pierce in the fog in her head.

  “They even let us vote.”

  “The Suffragettes won,” Elizabeth said with lightheaded wonder. “In my lifetime?”

  Doctor Garcia stood in front of her and took her hands. “Why, yes. I suppose so. Squeeze my hands, please.” Elizabeth gave a weak squeeze. “You were in the stasis for longer than we like, so you have a very high concentration of the drugs in your system. You’ll have headaches, nausea, and muscle weakness for a few days.”

  “Delightful,” Elizabeth said dryly. She did not enjoy being an invalid and understood David’s consternation when she fussed over him in his sick bed.

  “Can you tell me your name?”

  “Elizabeth Halpine.”

  “And who is big, purple, and frowning over there in the corner?” The doctor gestured with her head towards Reven. He suddenly stood straighter and his frown intensified.

  “Reven Perra,” Elizabeth said.

  “Asking you the date is out,” Doctor Garcia said.

  “It was 1894 when I left Earth.”

  “I don’t suppose you know where you are?”

  “The moon?” It had to be the moon, but nothing in the room suggested it was anything other than a hospital room.

  “And how did you get to the moon?”

  “Big, purple, and frowning brought me.”

  A brief smile flickered across Doctor Garcia’s face. “How long do you think you were asleep?”

  “Longer than Rip Van Winkle.”

  Garcia raised her eyebrows. “Nothing wrong with that brain of yours, but you were in stasis f
or longer than recommended by a century.”

  “Is that bad?”

  “Let’s just say they brought a specialist up from Earth just to see you. Now, look at the light, please.” She held up a small device that glowed at the end. “Follow my finger. Now the other finger.” She put the device away. “Your responses seem normal.”

  “Then I will take her to our home,” Reven said.

  “You most certainly will not,” the doctor snapped. “Elizabeth’s vitals need to be monitored. She will require extensive physical therapy and orientation to the modern world. Did you just think you could waltz out of here and everything would be hunky-dory?”

  Reven squared his shoulders. “I did not intend to dance.”

  Garcia pinched the bridge of her nose. “Aliens. Give me patience.” She sighed and smoothed down the front of her white coat. She turned her attention back to Elizabeth. “Any pain?”

  “My head,” Elizabeth said. “I feel fuzzy. Here.” She pressed a finger to her temples and then her cheekbones.

  “While unpleasant, that’s not unusual. Try to rest.”

  “I’ve done nothing but sleep.”

  “Ironic, isn’t it? The cure for stasis sickness is more sleep. I’ll have the kitchen send over some broth. We’ll see how you tolerate that before we go to solid foods.” She looked towards Reven. “You can stay if you swear not to interfere with the nurses.”

  “On my honor,” Reven said.

  “Have you claimed her?” Doctor Garcia asked.

  “I will.”

  “Well, hold off. No sex until I say so.”

  Elizabeth felt a blush rise in her cheeks. “I hardly think—”

  “What happens between my mate and me is none of your concern,” Reven said.

  “Wrong. It’s completely my concern,” Doctor Garcia replied. “Her body is recovering. A pregnancy now would endanger her, so keep it in your pants. Understood?”

  The color drained from Reven’s face, but he gave a short nod. “Understood.”

  “Excellent.” A bright smile broke across Doctor Garcia’s face. “Welcome to Shackleton Crater Lunar Base. I’m sorry I didn’t lead with that. Try to drink a little broth and then try to get some sleep. Yes?” Elizabeth gave a short nod which placated the doctor. As the woman left, she gave Reven a stern look and gestured with her fingers from her eyes to Reven and back again.

  He nodded as if he understood what that meant.

  The broth arrived on a tray with a small container of apple juice and two saltine crackers. “A feast,” she said.

  “For now. You will gain no benefit from sustenance if it refuses to stay down.”

  Charming.

  Reven patiently fed her spoonfuls of a salty yet otherwise bland broth. Eventually, she held up her hand, more fatigued than hungry. “No more, please.”

  “Does your stomach pain you?” He reached for a pan at the side of the bed.

  “No. I’m full at the moment.” She leaned back into the pillows on the bed. “What happens now?”

  Reven took away the tray and squeezed himself into a spot beside her on the bed.

  “I don’t think there’s space.”

  “There’s space,” he said, adjusting himself so her back was to his chest. One arm went under her, the other over, and she felt warm for the first time since waking. He pressed his face into her hair and breathed deep. “I never stopped worrying, my mate.”

  “Why aren’t they keeping you for observation?” she asked.

  “They did, for a week. It was agony, but they would not revive you until they knew more.”

  Like what she was even doing on the ship.

  “They were very surprised to find you,” Reven said. “They did not want to attempt the revival until they found a specialist.”

  “I suppose I was technically a stowaway. Did you get in trouble?”

  His arms tightened around her, which answered that question. Yes, but not enough for him to care.

  “The Warlord was never fond of me to begin with,” he admitted.

  “So, what do we do now?” She repeated her question.

  “You live your long life, and I get to be the male lucky enough to share it.”

  Reven

  The days bled into weeks. He spent every available moment at Elizabeth’s side. Before she was roused from stasis, the wait had been unbearable. He paced and growled and threatened everyone for both standing too near her slumbering form and not waking her. Being awake while she slept was every terrible thing he feared. He had been completely powerless to help her and had to be patient.

  Despite the fact that she was now awake and recovering, his patience was tested daily. She was his mate, his miracle beacon, but he was not allowed to so much as hold her hand. Bad enough that the medical staff frowned their disapproval every time he so much as touched his mate, questions arose about the legality of their mating and if Elizabeth did, in fact, volunteer.

  He had never been a popular warrior in the clan but he conducted himself with honor and had been tolerated. Now warriors with too much time on their hands suggested that Reven abducted Elizabeth or that she was primitive and could not have possibly understood what she’d agreed to when returning with him. Gossip painted him as a thief or Elizabeth as a simpleton. No one had the courage to speak it his face, so no bones had been broken.

  So far. He would not hesitate. Lesser warriors could flap their gullets about him all the like. Their words had no effect on his honor. But the moment they questioned Elizabeth’s intelligence because she came from a world that did not have the same technologies…

  He clenched his hands into a fist.

  “Reven,” she called to him in the darkened room. Light spilled in from the cracked door and the lights of the monitoring equipment.

  He shifted in his seat next to the bed. “I am here.”

  “Come join me.”

  “The medics will complain.” Loudly. Vehemently.

  “I sleep better when you’re in bed with me,” she said.

  He could not argue with her logic. Careful not to jostle her, he arranged himself on the bed. They had slept in such a configuration before, chastely sharing her medical bed. Doctor Garcia glowered at him, but the other medics gave him an approving nod.

  Her body relaxed as her back pressed into his chest. “I can’t sleep,” she confessed.

  “You must rest.” He pressed his lips to the back of her neck. She smelled of antiseptic cleaning wipes, which tickled his nose. He missed her ever-present scent of pencil shavings and heather. She would not be released for some weeks, but he would bring her art supplies tomorrow.

  “It’s just… could you… I know the doctor said no relations while I’m convalescing,” she whispered.

  His arms tightened around her. “Emphatically. Many times.”

  “But that was just to avoid pregnancy. Physically, I’m well enough for,” she paused, as if summoning the courage to be bold, “you know, sex.”

  Desire rumbled in his throat. “To make love. To claim.” His hand loosely gripped her throat, and he pushed her head to one side, exposing where her neck met her shoulder. That was where he would place his claiming mark when the time came.

  He licked the delicate skin, pushing past the chemical taste of the medical bay and finding the rich flavor of her underneath. Her body shuddered at his touch, responding with such sensitivity.

  “Yes. Your body is recovering.” He understood the risk, even if Elizabeth did not.

  “There are… practices we could do without the risk of pregnancy,” she said, wiggling her ass against him.

  He could think of a few. “Elizabeth—”

  “I feel fine, honestly, but I ache. I can’t sleep feeling this way.” She rolled to face him. She wore an old tunic of his and the excess fabric pushed up around her hips.

  His hands skimmed up her thigh, appreciating the subtle curves of her form. “You tempt me, my mate.”

  She sat up and removed the tunic, tossing i
t to the floor. “Then don’t resist. I’m ready.”

  She was the finest thing he had ever seen, this timeline or another. Lushness returned to her curves, and good health glowed in her skin. No longer the pale, thin female he carried out of the stasis pod, she emerged more vibrant than before.

  “You’re beautiful,” he said.

  She reached for his trousers, already tented by his hard cock. He stopped her, and she gave him a confused look. “There are many activities we can explore together, but if my trousers come off, I will not be able to hold back.”

  “Next time then. I want to see you—to taste you,” she said, and he nearly came at the confidence in her voice.

  “I love that you know your mind,” he said.

  Her eyes gleamed. “What else do you love?”

  “Your mind. Your art. Your breasts. You.” He stroked her abdomen, admiring the softness. “And I’m almost positive I’ll love the taste of you.”

  “Almost?” She tilted her head to one side. “Seems like you need to be certain.”

  He nodded. He rolled onto his back and patted his chest, indicating the place for her to climb onto him. “We must be quiet,” he cautioned as she straddled him.

  “Quiet as church mice,” she promised.

  Impatient, he pulled her to his eager mouth. Her curls were wet with need and thick with her scent. Here. He breathed her in, savoring the musk uniquely hers.

  Her taste exploded against his tongue. She bucked with a gasp, almost shocked at the sensation. She leaned back on one hand, planted firmly on his abdomen, and arched her back. A low, almost keening moan escaped her.

  He flattened his tongue against her sensitive clit, and she bucked again, biting her lip to muffle her cry. His hands ran from the round fullness of her ass, up her back, and then cupped her breasts. Perfectly sized, they fit his hands like the creator made her for him.

  She rode his face, biting her bottom lip, lost to her pleasure. Her body tensed, nearing her peak, but he did not stop. His tongue swirled around her clit before darting into her tight, hot channel.