Alien Warlord's Miracle

by Nancey Cummings

  He could watch her come undone for hours, days. His beacon shone for him, and he glowed alongside her, his tattoos burning with devotion.

  Her thighs trembled, and she gasped at her climax. He moved her to lie on the bed and pushed her legs back, her sweet cunt never leaving his mouth. She trembled and shifted to escape, but he had the taste of his prey now. He would never let her go. He folded her hands over his hips, holding her in place as her feet scrambled against the bed for purchased.

  She placed her own fist in her mouth, muffling her delicious moans.

  “If you can’t stay quiet, my mate,” he said, “I’ll stuff your mouth with my cock.”

  She nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, please.”

  “So proper.” He wanted to see that proper reserve dissolve into passion.

  He stretched out beside her and pulled down his trousers, freeing his cock. She sat up, waiting for direction. He pushed her head down to his cock and pulled her back over his chest. With her knees planted on either side of him, he spread her open. Her pretty pink pussy glistened, waiting to be filled.

  He pressed a finger into her tight cunt, the warmth of her surrounding him. She pushed back, that proper veneer already cracking.

  Fingers tangled in her hair, he pushed her head down to cock. If his size daunted her, she did not hesitate. She licked up his length and took the head in her warm, wet mouth.

  He pumped his fingers in and out of her until he felt her quiver around him. She moaned, his cock deep in her throat and he felt it in his bones. His release tightened at the base of his spine.

  Growling, he pulled her back to his mouth. He dived in, letting the taste of her flood his senses. She gasped, her breath drawing cool air along his shaft. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of her ass. No matter how she rocked her hips or bucked, she couldn’t escape him.

  His body tensed, ready to burst, and he reached under to rub her clit.

  She fell apart, crying and legs wobbling, just as he emptied down her throat. Her sweet release gushed on his tongue, and he lapped up every drop.

  Elizabeth’s arms gave out, and she collapsed with a satisfied sigh. Carefully, he rolled her over and arranged her next to him in the bed. She snuggled into his side.

  “The nurses are going to know,” she said.

  “I think everyone knows. You failed to be quiet, as you promised.”

  “I think the doctor knew I wouldn’t wait,” she confessed. “She gave me a medicine to prevent pregnancy.”

  His arms tightened around her, at once flattered by his mate’s impatience and the doctor’s doubt in his word. “I swore to wait to claim you. I will wait.”

  She yawned. “Until then, I can think of a few more things I’d like to try with you.”

  Stars. This female was nothing but temptation.

  He was a lucky male.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Elizabeth

  Above all else, it was the smell—or lack thereof—that reminded Elizabeth she was far from home. London had been a miasma of foul air compounded with people stacked on top of people: smoke from coal and wood burning fires, cooking smells, the sewers in the summer, the stink of the river, unwashed bodies, horseflesh, animal leavings in the streets. Only rain could scrub the air clean, but the stench returned in short order.

  The countryside was hardly better, just a different sort of stink: heather, yes, and freshly-tilled soil, but also manure, livestock, and all their bodily functions, wet wool, and more manure. Only poets and fools romanticized the fresh country air. Villages lacked the basic sanitation of the city, so they stank more in warm weather, and the water proved positively undrinkable.

  Here, though, nothing stank or smelled unpleasant. The cleaning products scented with artificial lemon or pine lingered on the floors and surfaces. At first, the unscented quality of the air delighted her but, ultimately, the lack of noxious odors also meant the absence of pleasing scents. The air was inoffensive and stale; no crisp, wintry bite or fresh tilled dirt and heather.

  So far, the worst criticism she could make of Reven’s moon city was that it was too clean and too orderly.

  The buildings were laid out in a grid pattern under the domes. Under the buildings were a system of corridors and tunnels, she had been told, but had never seen it. Each dome acted as a village and even had public green spaces and gardens. The green and growing vegetation there added life and odor to the air. She had grown fond of the green lawn in front of the medical facility. Patients and medical staff lounged on the grass at all hours.

  As part of her therapy, she and Reven took walks. They started small, just venturing to the green outside the building, but now ventured further afield. He took her to the Recreation Dome, which had several cafés and a theater. She saw her first motion picture, a tale about the American Civil War, and the lavish sets and costumes thrilled her. Curious, she wanted to see other films about how people viewed the era she was born in, but the small inaccuracies bothered her. Fashions mixed from different decades willy-nilly and no one seemed to care.

  The city had no night or day, she later learned. It functioned around the clock. The domes ensured there was no weather, either. It misted once in a great while, but it was not rain, and the temperature was neither too warm or too cold, but always pleasant.

  And scentless. And dull, were she to be honest.

  Who would have thought that a city on the moon could be dull? As a military base, it valued function over form, and it showed. It really did.

  The village green remained her favorite place. She enjoyed sitting on the bench and watching the moon’s residents go about their days. Some of the Mahdfel looked like Reven, with purple complexions and horns, but she soon discovered they came in a visually wide variety including tails, wings, scales, and some even possessed the ability to change their skin color as camouflage. These differences, she learned, were superficial. Underneath the horns and the tails, they were Mahdfel. They were all massive, solidly built with no body fat, superior senses and accelerated healing, and had that Mahdfel look.

  Even the Mahdfel born of human mothers had that Mahdfel look about them, despite no colorful flourish. Larger, stronger, and more dangerous, the difference between an Earth-born Mahdfel and a regular human was the difference between a wolf and a dog. She supposed that’s what her and Reven’s children would look like, and the thought pleased her.

  They all bore the tattoos. Every single one. She supposed they glowed, too, but she hadn’t asked. That seemed a rather intimate detail.

  She had so many interesting faces to sketch and never failed to find inspiration. She filled notebook after notebook. At first, she held the pencil awkwardly, and her lines were shaky. With time and practice, she regained her dexterity.

  So many schools of art theory came and went. She had much to learn and so many paintings to study. She did look her up brother. He had made a respectable career as a minor society portrait painter, ultimately overshadowed by Sargent. That was all he ever desired. The most noteworthy item in his biography was salvaging David Halpine’s paintings and arranging an exhibition in Paris. They were dismissed as derivative but later gained popularity in the twentieth century.

  Her own work hadn’t even warranted a mention. She wondered if Emmanuel recognized her notebooks and drawings as her work and boxed them up, or if they had been lumped together as David’s work.

  Water under the bridge. She couldn’t change any of that now.

  Elizabeth leaned into Reven, resting her head on his shoulder.

  “Are you tired?”

  “No,” she answered. Over the last two months, she had regained her strength and no longer grew short of breath from short walks. She almost felt back to her old—very old—self. “Just admiring the view.”

  She looked up to make her point. Earth hung above them, half shrouded in black and glowing blue and white swirls. Perhaps the city didn’t need to be aesthetically pleasing. It had a superior view.

  “I thought I’d
find you two here.” Michael flung himself down on the bench next to her.

  Mara, little more than a toddler, walked straight to Reven and presented a long, green cucumber-like plush toy to her uncle.

  “What is that?” he asked.

  “Ortho-my...orthmo—” the child stumbled.

  “Orthomyxovirus,” Michael supplied. He looked to Elizabeth and said, “Shauna’s in a phase where all her toys need to be educational.”

  “But it’s a stuffed doll,” Elizabeth said.

  “A stuffed flu virus.”

  Reven took the plush virus with all the solemnity the occasion demanded.

  “Up,” Mara commanded. With messy blonde hair and great dark eyes, she was the most endearing vision that Elizabeth had even seen. She totally understood why he was enamored with the child.

  “Say please,” Michael said.

  “Up, please.”

  Reven obeyed, lifting the small child onto his lap. Delighted, Mara pressed her tiny hands to either side of Reven’s mouth, who proceeded to make silly faces. Mara giggled and he chuckled.

  They could go on entertaining themselves for hours. Elizabeth turned to Michael. Nothing made her feel more at ease in this new world than when Reven finally introduced his friend since boyhood, simply because Michael treated her like a sister and not a living artifact.

  “I found the information you were looking for,” Michael said. He handed a tablet to Elizabeth. Part of her therapy was the gradual introduction of modern technologies and acclimatizing herself to life in the future. She had been given a tablet reader—an impressive feat on its own as the slim device contained a library’s worth of books—and other devices, bit by bit.

  “Thank you. It must have been difficult,” she said.

  “Actually, no. The newspapers were in this really old format and not digital. Basically, I just had to go there in person and pull the book off the shelf.”

  “Books are not a really old format,” she said. The tablet lit up as she unlocked the screen. As much as the city was orderly to the point of dull, technology followed the same pattern. Once she figured out how to operate it, one device worked the same as any other.

  She found the newspaper article and read with keen interest. The Stearne siblings had been arrested on suspicion of her murder.

  Good, she thought smugly. Mr. and Mrs. Baldry refused to believe that Elizabeth had wandered out onto the moors on her own and fallen into a bog. The villagers readily swallowed the story, but it didn’t sit right with the Baldrys. The local constable chalked it up to an accident and refused to look into the matter further, so they contacted her solicitor in London, who eventually called in Scotland Yard.

  Elizabeth couldn’t help feeling flattered that the Baldrys went to such an effort for her. She should find their great-great-however-many-greats-grandchildren and thank them.

  The next article covered the resulting trial in the most unflattering terms for the Stearnes. Felicity was portrayed as a hysterical, religious zealot, and Gilbert as a conniving land grabber. All true, mind you.

  They hanged.

  She set down the tablet, unsure of how she felt. She knew they died. Centuries had passed. Everyone she knew was long dead. But to be hanged involved a level of terror she wouldn’t wish on anyone, especially for a crime they did not commit.

  But they did attempt to murder her. It was planned and malicious. They would have succeeded if not for Reven’s intervention. Were their deaths just, then?

  The Crown thought so, but it sat uneasily with her.

  “Are you satisfied?” Reven asked. He knew the information Michael went to Earth to retrieve.

  “They hanged. I had hoped for imprisonment, but this is too much. I feel pity for their souls, I suppose,” she said. Reven gave her a one-armed embrace, and she leaned into him, drawing strength from his solid, physical presence.

  “Shauna wants to know if you’ll both come to dinner.” Michael looked towards Reven, who nodded. Mara bounced on his knee, pleading for his attendance.

  “I believe I have no schedule conflict,” he said.

  “Right, like you’re so busy,” Michael said.

  Elizabeth looked up from the tablet. “What do you mean? Reven has his shift, does he not?”

  “Our Reven is on probation,” Michael explained. “No trips off base. No tinkering with experimental teleportation devices.”

  “No fun allowed,” Reven added with a nod.

  “Probation? Are you in some sort of trouble?” she asked.

  Michael snorted. “Our boy violated first contact protocol half a dozen ways and abducted a primitive human.”

  “He didn’t abduct me,” she said, ignoring the primitive human comment. She’d fight anyone who suggested that she had been less than willing to accompany Reven.

  “I’m cleaning air filters until the Warlord is satisfied, which means I get to spend more time here, with you,” Reven said. He looked down at Mara and tapped her nose. “And you, sweet pea. Hardly a punishment at all.”

  “Oh. That’s all right then,” she mused.

  “So, that’s a yes on dinner? You have to come, because Shauna has already made a cake.” Michael gave her a friendly peck on the cheek before standing. Reven growled instantly, as though a reflex. “Oh, come off it. You know I’m not going to steal your mate,” he said as he untangled his daughter from Reven.

  “You are too friendly. I barely tolerate your presence,” Reven said.

  Elizabeth looked from Michael to Reven and back again. Michael’s friendly grin sharply contrasted with the genuine anger clouding Reven’s features. “I don’t understand,” she said. “It was a harmless gesture.”

  “The Mahdfel are very protective of their mates. Until our Reven claims you, he’s going to want to fight off other suitors.”

  “Threats, not other suitors,” Reven said.

  “Which I’m not, because I’m already mated, so you need to chill,” Michael said.

  “Yeah, chill,” Mara parroted. Elizabeth had the impression that it was something her parents said often.

  She turned to Reven and took his hand. “I assume that claiming me is your form of marriage?”

  Michael snorted. “Sure. Have fun explaining that one. I’ll expect you both in six hours.”

  Reven ignored his friend and focused on her. “It is a ceremony that marks you as my mate so that other males will not attempt to court you.”

  She couldn’t think of a single instance of any alien man getting too friendly with her. Then again, she didn’t interact with a lot of alien men. “Is that why all my doctors and nurses are women?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “So, let’s do it.”

  He paled. “Your physician specifically forbade—”

  “Don’t you want to claim me?” Claiming must be a euphemism for marital congress. Reven had been exceedingly chaste since she woke. They explored each other with their hands and their mouths but never crossed that line. It would be admirable if it weren’t so frustrating.

  They were engaged, technically, and he never formally asked for her hand. She just assumed. Her stomach fluttered nervously. Perhaps she assumed incorrectly, and that was why he turned from her kisses.

  Compatibility wasn’t the issue. Doctor Garcia took a sample of her saliva and reported back she was a 98.3% match with Reven, below the legal limit but safe enough to have children.

  She wanted that. She thought he wanted the same.

  “More than anything,” he said.

  “I wouldn’t want you to feel any obligation,” she muttered, hating the words as they left her lips.

  “Elizabeth.” His large hands cradled her face. Gently he tilted her head up to look at him. “More than anything. More than my Warlord’s displeasure. More than your doctor’s lectures. More than time and paradox.”

  “Then why do you wait?”

  “You are my beacon in the dark. I waited a lifetime to find you before you pulled me across the centuries.
What’s a few more weeks?”

  “So, are you going to ask me?”

  A slow grin spread across his face.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Reven

  He paced the length of the hall, since Doctor Garcia banished him from the small examination room. Elizabeth was well, he repeated to himself. This was standard procedure.

  As if anything about the situation between him and Elizabeth were standard.

  The Terran government granted Elizabeth citizenship—or rather, verified her citizenship—and as such, their mating would be treated as if Elizabeth volunteered, under the guidelines of the Mahdfel-Earth Treaty. Only paperwork and one obstinate doctor stood between them and being mated. Elizabeth had to read the forms and sign. They discussed this. They wanted this.

  At least, she said she wanted this.

  Reven would never force Elizabeth to do anything against her will. However, the longer the door remained closed, the more he began to fear that she changed her mind.

  The door opened. Elizabeth stepped through, a warm smile on her face. “It feels marvelous to be out of there. Being treated like an invalid is utter rubbish.”

  “Is it… Are we…”? He couldn’t find the words.

  “We’re legally married,” she said.

  He scooped her into a tight embrace, muffling her words. She wiggled but he refused to set her down. Everything about his mating happened backward, but he had no regrets. A Mahdfel warrior expected to be matched to a stranger, a female who was genetically compatible with him, but they had little else in common. He had no guarantee in complementary personalities or shared interests, or even mutual affection. A male would be dedicated to his mate, instinct demanded no less, but that dedication did not always blossom into a loving relationship.

  Reven knew his parents loved him but he doubted that they liked each other. They never smiled in each other’s company.

  He loved his mate. He loved her from the first moment he saw her likeness in that painting, a beacon of light calling to him. He defied fate and time to claim her as his.