“That’s not the only thing that made me do it, though,” Yves mumbles, snapping me back to the present, or to whatever can be counted as the present in my current situation. A fresh reminder of his pain arrives in the form of his wince upon moving. He shuffles toward me on bent knees, closing the gap between us. Sympathy stabs me in the gut as I realize what he’s getting at. This was for you, something in the back of my head reminds me. His being here to meet me, despite his sister's suspicions. His pain. His sacrifice was for me.
“You’re hurt,” I say, unnecessarily, just so I don’t have to hear him explain. He only shakes his head as if to scold me for changing topic.
“No. Yes. It doesn’t matter,” he tells me, urgency making his voice deeper than usual. “I’m trying to tell you the reason I did this, Amy. The reason I risked everything—my sister’s acceptance, the power I’d finally earned, my own life—it was you.”
“Why?” My voice surfaces in a croak; humiliation rises in the form of a blush. His gaze drops to his own lap, at the blood pooling on the left thigh of his pants.
“It’s difficult to explain in human terms,” he whispers.
“Try me,” I manage, wishing more than anything that I could just run back to the machine and leave before his next words have a chance to extend their grip on me, before he finds another way to tug me back to him. As if the memory of him wasn’t enough.
“You… imprinted on me,” he says, slowly. The words are so bizarre they startle a laugh from my raw throat, but the look in his eyes is so earnest the laughter trails off quickly. When Yves continues, I’m deadly silent, so quiet I can hear our shared breaths. “That’s why my skin changes. Why I become so very Human when we’re together. Since that night in the woods, when you trusted me, when you opened up to me, you left a mark on my soul.”
It is fairytale bullshit, just another way to tie me to his schemes, the cynic in me thinks. But perhaps it isn’t. Perhaps the words spilling from him are the truth. Maybe that’s why his teeth are worrying his bottom lip, why his blinking has become more rapid, why I suddenly can’t breathe for wanting him.
“I haven’t stopped thinking about you,” I blurt, and the truth of it comes flooding back. The sleepless nights thinking about his lips on mine, the distractions at my workstation, the stilted conversations with my cellmate trailing off into nothing as my mind was overcome with the ghost of his breath on my skin.
“We’re soulmates, Amy,” Yves murmurs. He rises to his feet, hissing with the effort, his shirt slipping off one shoulder to reveal yet another raw mark. I rise on tiptoe to press my lips close to the damaged skin, feeling it melt beneath my lips. Healing him. Once the marble has bled into flesh the wound begins to knit itself back together before my very eyes. My touch is balm to his blistered flesh.
“It’s killed me, being away from you,” Yves breathes into my neck, his lips hovering just along my jawline. “Once one of our species imprints, it causes us physical pain to be away from our mate for too long.”
“That’s incredibly romantic,” I purr in my most seductive voice, only the hint of a giggle in my tone. I can’t help wondering if he understands what word. “But maybe save the science for after?”
7
It’s Yves’ turn to laugh this time—a delightful rumble that I can feel all the way down to my toes, before he asks with a smile in his voice. “After what, exactly?”
“Oh, you’ll see,” I grin, sliding my lips further down his shoulder. The shirt drops to the ground in a flurry of fabric, revealing a disarmingly chiseled Human-like torso. His muscles are so perfectly defined he doesn’t feel entirely real beneath my fingertips as he allows me to trace a reverent pattern into his skin.
When I reach his stomach his flesh twitches beneath my touch, ripples with ticklishness. His pants join the torn shirt on the ground, and all that’s left is the expanse of him, naked in front of me, all mine to tease and touch. His skin is flawless now, no trace of scorch marks, no pain as he moves to greet my lips with his.
There is a palpable buzz when our lips meet. Electric. As he presses closer still, I can feel every inch of his perfect body against my own. The smoldering carnage of the ruin around us fades. He pushes me to the wall of the time machine for better leverage. The breath that leaves my lungs in a whoosh is not just from the force of his passionate gesture. My every reaction is attuned to him. He draws the very breath from me with his lingering kisses; his exploring fingers trailing down my abdomen and ever lower drag a sigh from me. It’s exhilarating, the hold we have on each other, the connection. It goes right down to my bones, into my very being.
“You’re perfect,” he moans, lust flaring in those dark eyes as he reaches to cup the mounds of my breasts. I can’t even bring myself to reply. I’m delirious with the feeling of him, with the slow play of his fingers into the most intimate part of me. When his slender fingers are replaced by his firm manhood, a shuddering exhalation leaves me, my heart racing in time with his.
Yves eases inside me, slowly, as if afraid he will hurt me. He’s so gentle—how can someone so strong and so powerful handle my body so delicately? I grab his hips to let him know he has no reason to fear. I let my body pulse to match his even rhythm, my soul flowing into his as he increases the pace. I can’t catch my breath, torn between the sensation of his desperate thrusts and the cool press of his lips to my burning flesh. The world spins until we’re the only ones left, the only solid beings in a swirling vortex. So much like spinning through time, only now time falls away and we are not so much being ripped apart but fixed together.
His own pleasure is groaned into my ear as he nibbles the lobe, shifts downward to swirl his tongue around my nipples. Mine spikes in response; he pushes me all the way to the edge before bringing me back again. It is dizzying. Eventually we cry out in unison, caught in each other’s arms, swirling and twisting and falling. Together.
“That was amazing,” Yves whispers. We’re lying together in the dark, his strong arms clutching me to his chest, which rises and falls with his own languorous breaths. I can feel our connection even now, with his skin so Human underneath me and our hearts pumping an identical rhythm. It feels like we’ll never be apart. Now his skin doesn’t turn to marble when we grudgingly separate—it is living, breathing flesh, and it will stay that way until we’re apart again. Which isn't going to happen any time soon, I tell myself.
“Yeah,” I agree, “I almost don’t want to think about the rest of the plan.”
This prompts him to roll a little away from me, something gentle and close fading from his expression to be replaced with that steely concentration of before. “Ayla’s waiting for me.”
“Don’t go,” I find myself pleading. Something akin to shock registers on his face before he moves to reassure me. This small thing reminds me again of his bigger sacrifice; cold hands grasp at my heart as I picture the guards rounding on him with their flamethrowers while he waits for me to arrive…what if I hadn’t come in time?
“I need you with me,” he says. “If Ayla sent the guards, it’s only a matter of time before she comes looking. She’s expecting them to bring me back alive, so she can string me up at the gallows with the other traitors. We might still have the element of surprise.”
We dress quickly, in silence, allowing me to get a better look at the area I’ve landed in. I’ve been so distracted I barely noticed where the machine dropped me. We are just outside what looks like a rarely-used basement entrance. Not just any basement, however—it is the foundation for Ayla IX’s palace.
We hastily collect our clothes and enter. I find we are now in a small, clearly Axylan room, only a dim fluorescent light strip overhead serving to illuminate the space. It’s a storage space, filled with collapsed shelves and cardboard boxes, office supplies, and building materials scattered across the stone floor. If I had to guess, I’d say we’re a few floors beneath the main throne room. It should be easy to get to Ayla.
“Ayla’s upstairs,” Yves inform
s me, reading my mind, “If I were still in her good books, I’d dress in my robes and present you as my prisoner, but…” He flashes a grin at me, which I return.
“You’d have to catch me first,” I shoot back, reaching to grab my fallen weapons before jumping to my feet and darting for the door. He reaches out an arm to catch me, his fingers just connecting with my elbow before I throw myself up the small set of stairs in front. He brings up the rear, there to protect me. So much hope…
And then we’re pressed against the wall again like a couple of human teenagers of old. Carried away by the adrenaline, the possibility of this being our last moment. It’s so comfortable here with him that it’s difficult to imagine that we had just narrowly escaped death, or that we’re heading up to a battle. In his arms I feel more secure than I’ve felt in more than a decade; all the hiding and the fear and the degradation of being imprisoned falls away until there is only the two of us left.
“We should really get moving,” I mumble, reluctant to let him escape the circle of my arms, “Can’t keep the mighty Ayla waiting too long, can we?”
Yves, in a gesture so tender it breaks a little bit of my heart, kisses the tip of my nose before straightening up. “Moving. Yes. Onward.” A somber feeling hits us now that we’re faced with the heavy fire-door ahead. There is the slim possibility that Ayla might be standing on the other side of that door, waiting for her brother to arrive comatose in the arms of her guards. I shake off an uncomfortable chill down my spine.
We ascend silently. Yves clutches the door handle in two hands and looks to me for resolve before summoning the remaining strength in his arms, and pushes.
8
She is waiting for us.
She expected us. Of course she did.
Ayla is even more intimidating in person than she was on the huge television screens set up in the city centers. She is imposing, threatening—in attitude and demeanor, not height or size. I am shocked to see she is smaller than Yves. In fact, she’s barely taller than me, and that’s with the large platform heels. Power crazy, fueled by a childhood and adolescence of being pushed down and patronized by family members, she is the little sister, determined to get her own back. Hell hath no fury like an Axylan female scorned.
Her expression can only be described as “petty”. She pouts at us; sticks her bottom lip out so it protrudes like a spoiled child. Her arms are crossed over a fairly generous chest, and although her talons are indeed drawn back, they barely stretch the length of my index finger.
“Yves,” she says, in a voice so high-pitched that it takes me by surprise. “You’ve turned up just in time for your execution, I see. And with a little human friend in tow, how nice!”
“This needs to stop,” Yves says bravely, “You’ve gone mad.”
Ayla merely giggles. She gestures to two huge Axylan guards on either side of her to seize us, but we’re too quick with the flamethrowers and take aim just before they can follow through.
“Last chance, Ayla. I tried to make things right with you, I really did. This killing spree has gone too far. You’re delirious with the power, you’ve alienated everyone who ever loved or cared about you and you’ve become a…monster.” Yves sucks in a sharp breath after this admission, then gazes down at his bare, blistering feet while he continues, “I can’t blame myself anymore. I’ve given everything I can to get you back on track, I honestly have. I can’t live with the guilt of thinking I’ve failed you.”
“Oh, but you did fail me, dear Yves. Just like mother and father failed me, by going and dying without leaving me an ounce of their kingdom. Just like the rest of our brothers failed me, by taking and taking and always looking down on me! And you did, too, Yves. You might think you’re high and mighty for turning over a new leaf, but I see what you are deep down: a coward. Someone who was so desperate for his own power that he’d risk the people he loved!”
“He’s changed,” I say, courageously, stepping forward, “He risked everything for me. Your brother is a good man; he’s given up the power to start a life with me. To fight to take back Human rights and freedom.” Seeing that Yves would have given his life for the Human efforts changed everything. And if we survive this, if there’s a light at the end of the tunnel, I’m just as certain that we’ll spend the rest of our lives together.
“You’re…pathetic, Yves,” there’s a waver in her voice now. She recovers her composure and screams, “Guards, seize them!”
We tighten our grips on the flamethrowers and the guards refuse to move—they fear death by fire more than Ayla’s wrath. They stay frozen in place, prompting Ayla’s cheeks to flame.
“She isn’t going to relent, Yves,” I tell him, dropping my voice so only he can hear me. “We have to do this, now.”
Yves nods, then clears his throat to say, “I’ve forgiven myself, Ayla.”
And then he pulls the trigger, and flames erupt into the air.
Epilogue
I know now, a year later, that I’ll never be able to forget the scent of burning flesh, nor the screams of the Axylans as they died, as they wailed in mourning for loved ones. I’ll never erase the scorch marks seared into my flesh, never be able to erase the ticking sound of the bomb. But I know now I did what I had to do. Each small act of Human rebellion led to this moment—this moment in which I have everything.
Ayla was easy to take down, although for someone so small she put up one hell of a fight. The swipe of one of her talons caught Yves across the cheek; thankfully, Axylan poison is only lethal to Humans, so although his marbled skin is permanently marred by a scar that tears from just under his left eye, across his nose and down to his right jawline, he’s alive. That’s the one injury I couldn’t heal. I tell him it adds character.
The rest we’re getting around to, one day at a time. Emotional scars are more difficult to eliminate than physical ones, but we come closer to doing so every day we spend together. In spite of what Yves says, I doubt he’ll ever fully forgive himself for what happened with his sister, and that’s okay. We all have baggage, Human and Axylan. It just helps that we have someone to share it with, to spread the weight of it around.
Ayla’s empire collapsed after her death just as Yves had predicted. The others were much less intent on destroying and ruling the Earth without a crazy dictator driving them on. Gorges IV and V were slightly more difficult to tackle, but with the right number of reinforcements and, in V’s case, a large feast as compensation, we managed to settle things with a minimal amount of battle cries and weapon wielding. We feel a lot safer now.
Releasing the Humans from the bunkers was by far my favorite task. We travelled to my own present to witness the fruits of our labor and found most of the bunkers had been subjected to escape efforts already. We threw open the ones that hadn’t. I managed to make contact with Taylor and Briana, who begrudgingly forgave me for deserting the rebels in favor of saving the Earth, all over a nice hot cup of coffee. I haven’t seen Keith or Roxy yet, but maybe one day we’ll come across each other at a crowded intersection or at a job interview, and we’ll remember. Maybe we’ll share a smile, only briefly, a reminder of what’s passed between us, before moving on, back into our own lives. I’m not sure I could maintain regular contact with any of the other rebels—it’s too hard to think of the past.
We’ve destroyed the last of the time machines. Maybe the movies were right—meddling with time is too dangerous to consider in the long-term. We can’t risk someone traveling back to a time before the Human Revolution to uproot our efforts. We have an uneasy peace treaty with the Axylans, who remain in their now clean and beautiful settlements under the watchful supervision of Human police. That’ll get easier, too, as we learn to trust all over again.
And now society is building itself up from the charred remains. I always said Humans are resilient. We’ll build ourselves back up, and soon the city centers will bear no likeness to the state-controlled nightmares that existed under Ayla’s rule. Soon there’ll be busy coffee shops and Chi
nese restaurants and electronic billboards and book stores. There’ll be memorials, too, for the fallen, in place of the gallows.
As for right now, I’m happy. Something I never thought would be possible in this lifetime, and least of all with a member of the Axylan Tribe. Now Yves calls to me, slides a cool arm around my waist to edge me closer to him. He brings out a rosy color in my cheeks after nine years of being imprisoned without sunlight. He relaxes what used to be tense muscles, he comforts me through nightmares and panic attacks. When I wake screaming, he’s there, a soothing hand on my clammy forehead and soft kisses pressed to my collarbone. When he first noticed that I’d startle each time he entered a room behind me, a throwback to all the times an Axylan would approach from behind to jam the barrel of a gun into my neck, he apologized profusely, with kisses and the promise that from then on, he’d always make a noise to announce his presence, and that he’d never, ever hurt me.
And I believe him.
Our souls have a connection. I can feel that this is right, all the way down to my core, feel a part of him with every beat of my own heart. If I ever had any doubts, they were smoothed away that first time we made love, the gentleness of his caresses, the spark of that first connection as a part of him reached within me to fill me up to the brim with love and tenderness. He is everything I've ever wanted.
It doesn't matter how long it took to get here; how much suffering and fear came before. Now I am happy. I am loved. Finally, I am free.
Taken by the Alien Warrior: Scifi Romance Page 12