The Alien's Virgin: An Alien SciFi Romance (Chief of Kurah)

by Morgan Rae

  Survival instinct takes over and, even though I’m exhausted, I push myself up from the ground and scramble to the trees. They’re thick like wild oaks and as soon as I dash inside the cover of the forest, everything grows darker, the thick foliage blocking out the sun. I run, as the low branches nick my calves and arms. A root trips me up and I yelp as I fall forward and eat dirt. I groan and push up to my feet when I see a small flower underneath me. I’ve squashed it, like a clumsy giant, and its lily-white petals look wilted. As I’m watching it, the petals flutter crookedly like butterfly wings. Without thinking, I use my finger to straighten its stem and coax it back to up. Its petals beat quickly, tickling my palm, until it’s comfortably erect again, with only a slight awkward bend to it, hording a rare puddle of sunlight in the dark forest.

  It hits me like a ton of bricks. I’m not in North Carolina anymore.

  It wasn’t the glowing portal that gave it away, or the strange horned beasts they ride, or the otherworldly men rife with barbaric tension. It’s this flower. I pluck flowers at home all the time and carry them home for reference so I can sketch them, but this. This isn’t something native to North Carolina. This is more like something I’d find in the pages of my own notebook, a fantasy.

  I’m not in North Carolina. I’m not even on Earth. An overwhelming, chest-tightening panic takes over completely and I go rigid and start to hyperventilate. I don’t know where I am. I don’t know when I am. There are no doors to lock, no bed to hide in. The tree that I, apparently, fell out of is now burned to the ground and there’s no way to go back. Nothing is safe here.

  I want to be back home. I want my warm bed with my heavy down blankets. I want to sprawl out on the living room couch and browse through Amazon items that are very, very out of my price range. I do the math in my head. It’s been about three or four hours since I got off work. It’s Wednesday. Dr. Phil is on my DVR. I crave his walrus-like features and nuggets of wisdom.

  I feel so, so incredibly alone. My eyes begin to burn and I squeeze them shut to slow the dizzying tilt of the world around me. I’m breathing too fast and getting lightheaded. I’ve had enough panic attacks to know the signs like the back of my hand, but that doesn’t make them any easier. I choke back tears. I wish I had gone to Ireland with my roommates. I wish I’d kept an eye on T-Bone. I wish Maya were here. I can almost feel her hand on my shoulder, squeezing, as she looks me in the eyes. Girl, take a breath. You’ve got this.

  I breathe in, breathe out and dig my fingers into the dirt to try to ground myself. Okay. Step one. I need to find a safe place. I don’t know anything about these woods or this world and I have no idea what I’m going to find if I keep moving forward. Which leaves me with only one other option.

  Garock may be confusing and unpredictable, but right now, he’s the only one that seems intent on protecting me, for whatever reason. The giant beast of a man is my best shot at staying alive.

  I wait until the panic has left my chest and, once I feel strong again, I get to my feet and start retracing my steps back to the clearing. It takes me a moment to find the clearing, the trees seem to go on forever, but eventually I see strips of sunlight through the trees. There’s a babbling brook that winds through and I find a big enough leaf to use as a bowl and cup some of the water. I’m not averse to river water and take a couple sips. It tastes clear and incredibly refreshing, I don’t realize how parched I am until I start to swallow it down. I fill it up again, I figure I should have a peace offering of some sort, and I start back out.

  Garock is awake. He’s slowly starting to sit up and it looks like it takes some effort. Fear pinches my heart again at the sight of him, but I reason with myself that he’s dazed, at least, and I can run if he decides to hulk out on me.

  “I brought you some water,” I say cheerily, trying to start us off on the right foot. I realize that I’ve put on my waitress voice, bright and bubbly.

  He blinks at me, then nods, and takes the leaf carefully before slurping it down. Drops of water cling to his black beard and he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He’s quiet, staring off, and I crouch down beside him.

  “What’s the plan?” I ask. I’m trying not to sound impatient, but his silence puts me on edge.

  “We need to get to my Tribe,” he says. “Warn them Faron will be coming.”

  “Faron,” I repeat the word and try to memorize it. Names I’m good at, at least. It helps to memorize the names of my repeat customers. I decide I need a little more information on this Faron guy, so I ask, “Why did he burn the tree?”

  “The Spirit Tree has been in my Tribe for thousands of years. It is the place we go to speak with the Goddess.”

  “My door out was in that tree,” I say helplessly. I’m trying not to make this all about me, but I could really use some ideas on how to get me back home right about now.

  “The power isn’t in the tree.” Garock’s eyes meet mine, the intensity almost makes me turn away. I hold his gaze. If waitressing has taught me anything, it’s that eye contact is always good. “The Goddess is not confined to a single tree. When you came, I knew. The Goddess lives in you now.”

  I blink. He speaks with such careless conviction and I’m having a hard time wrapping myself around his words. “You think I’m a…what? An incarnation of your Goddess?”

  “I know,” he says. There it is again, that stubborn, firm confidence. If I had just an inch of that confidence, maybe things would’ve been different. Maybe I would be on a plane to Ireland with my friends by now. But I’m not. I’m gaping at this sun-tanned, fierce, tattooed warrior of a man who is ready to lay his life and limb at my feet.

  “I think you’re mistaken. This is all a mistake. It’s silly, really. You’re going to laugh. I mean if laughing is something your people do…ever. The thing is, I’m not even supposed to be here, I was supposed to be on a trip with my friends, but instead I stayed back with her stupid dog and…um. Speaking of dog.” I tear my gaze away from his chest and start to frantically scan the clearing. I see rocks, and a trickling river. No dog. I murmur the words, “T-Bone…I saw him run to the trees. I have to find him.”

  “Your Goddess gift?” he asks.

  “T-Bone. Please, don’t give him a big head with that goddess gift stuff, he’s already a diva. T-Bone!” I start to call out to him and run towards the bushes I last saw him dash through. I do a circle around a tree, check behind a stone, and when I come back around I nearly run straight into Garock’s hard body.

  Tears prickle my eyes and I hate myself for it. I hate myself for feeling so weak. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I just…I wish I was home right now. I wish my friends were here. They’d know what to do.”

  I expect him to ignore my outburst, or maybe just throw me over his shoulder and whisk me away as he seems to like to do, but instead his features soften. He looks incredibly human then, minus the hulking body and the otherworldly markings that lace his skin.

  “You are my Goddess,” he says firmly. “You can accomplish anything.”

  In a twisted way, his words are strangely comforting. It’s like a blanket around my nerves and, thankfully, I stop shivering. I believe he believes what he’s saying. Maybe that’s not perfect, but it’s the closest I’ve gotten to a shred of self-confidence in a long time. If he can believe it, why can’t I? Not the Goddess part. Obviously. I don’t have that big of a head. I kind of like the thought that I can accomplish anything. It’s a notion that felt so far away before, when the act of leaving my house was a monstrous undertaking. But I’ve seen wooly beasts with horns that spiral out of their head and men with scarred faces torching ancient trees while a beast of a man tossed me on his shoulder like I weighed nothing at all. This is the place where anything can happen.

  His fingertips leave my shoulder and I feel lighter when they do.

  “We will find your T-Bone,” he says, his eyes never leaving mind. I have to stifle back laughter when I hear him recite the ridiculous name with
utmost sincerity. “I swear to it.”

  “Okay,” I say. It’s a lame response, but as much as I’d like to say something more, any good words of gratitude are stuck in my throat. So I just come out with: “Thanks.”

  His eyes flicker up towards the sky. “It’s getting late. Faron will return to his castle for supplies tonight and gather his army in the morning. If we follow the cliff, we can make it to my Tribe in time to warn them.”

  Every verb in Garock’s language is definite. Can. Will. My vocabulary is full of maybes and mights. My head is foggy now, I’m exhausted, and all I want to do is lean on his sturdy confidence.

  “Come,” he says.

  He grabs my arm and lifts me to my feet like a doll. I want to say something about it, it’s weird, the way he throws me around so carelessly, but I’m so, so tired. “Can we rest a little bit?” I ask. “You took a big fall. You might be concussed or something.”

  “We do not want to spend the night in Lowlands,” he states, as though that’s something I should know. It doesn’t seem so bad to me. So far, the most troubling thing I’ve encountered down here is a flower with wings.

  My eyes crinkle. “Please.” I know I might not be the prettiest, or the smartest, or the bravest person in the world, but I’ve always had this one trick up my sleeve. I was born with these big, wide doe eyes and, when I knit my eyebrows just right, I’ve been known to get my way with a couple foster parents.

  Apparently, it works on ox-sized men, too. He yields, the corners of his mouth softening, and he nods. “We’ll start at sunrise,” he says. “I will find a place to make camp for the night.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN: KENNEDY

  I settle down to sleep. Garock made me a bed of leafy green foliage, stuffed with dried leaves to give it a crunchy cushioning. Just an hour or two ago, I just got home from work and was about to curl up with a good book and sleep. Now, instead, I’m enjoying the view of the night sky from a canopy made out of giant leaves.

  I’ve lost my mind, I think as I close my eyes.

  That’s just it. I’ve finally snapped. The pressure of losing my parents, of the foster homes, of all this Ireland trip mess, it was too much and I snapped.

  The thought depresses me and sits heavily in my chest, so I shake it off and try on a different stream of consciousness instead.

  Just sleep, I think to myself. Just sleep and everything will be better in the morning.

  It usually is. And even when it isn’t, at least I can face my problems head on with a full night’s rest. That’s what I tell myself. Truthfully, there is part of me that craves sleep. There is a part of me that loves that for eight to ten hours a night, I don’t have to make choices. I don’t have responsibility. My only job is to lie there and go unconscious. There’s a real art to it and, over time, I think I’ve developed the ability to sleep in any situation, anywhere. Like a defense mechanism. If something is going on that I don’t like, I just shut down, turn off, tune out. Sleep.

  I peak my eyes open for a second just to glance out the slit of my tent. There’s Garock. He’s the one thing I can’t tune out. Try as I might want to, it’s hard to un-imagine such a physical person. Especially one that’s so utterly confusing. On one hand, he’s hard to get a read on. He’s built like a bull, with muscles that could literally rip me limb from limb without really trying. He has tattoos etched up all and down his body in deep, black ink, which, occasionally, flash like white lightening across his skin, like they did when he jumped off the cliff or threw his axe at Blondie.

  The axe. That’s really, above all, the most terrifying part of him. I’ve been taught to never trust a man with a weapon, and his just hangs there, openly, from the loop on his belt or attached to his back. It’s as though he’s trying to goad someone into a fight. How many people have met the wrong end of his axe? If I tried to run right now, would I feel it pinch my back?

  Bad things happen to people who go outside, I remind myself. I squeeze my eyes shut and try not to think too hard about it. I take deep, calming breaths.

  On the other hand, he did save me. On the other hand, he did shield me with his body to keep the rocks from hitting me. On the other hand, he does call me his Goddess.

  On the other hand, my subconscious chastises me. There is a lingering curiosity. In the harsh light of day, he looked so alien, so foreign, so unlike anything I’d ever seen. When the sunlight dims, shadows strike him in a way that softens his features and makes him look more, well, human.

  My imagination is starting to take a dangerous turn. His strong shoulders jut out, muscles haloed by the waning light, and I wonder how his sun tanned skin would feel under my lips. If I pressed a kiss there, right in the divot between his shoulder and his throat, what would he do? In my imagination, he turns around and catches me in his deep, hazel brown eyes. His scruffy beard tickles my cheek when he leans in and closes his mouth over mine passionately. He presses me down against my bed of leaves, undresses me, and pins my wrists above my head. I lose any will to resist as he plunges his manhood deep, deep inside of me.

  Garock turns to glance over his shoulder at me and I shut my eyes quickly to feign sleep. I don’t know if it’s convincing at all; my chest rises and falls far too rapidly. This is why I need to control my imagination. I’m slick between my thighs and my pulse is thrumming, but I remain impossibly still.

  When I gather up the courage to squint open an eye, he has his back to me again. I exhale deeply. Control yourself, Kennedy. I’m leaking desperation like a horny teenager. I need to get it together.

  I turn off my thoughts, one by one, like nightlights, and slowly, darkness takes over my mind. I rest my eyes, deepen my breathing, and try to let this strange, twisted day fall away from me.

  CHAPTER EIGHT: GAROCK

  The kir’kirs chirp their farewells to the suns as darkness falls in the Lowlands. I keep watch outside my Goddess’s tent. Night brings a chill and I glance behind me to make sure she isn’t uncomfortable.

  Her eyes are closed with sleep. I’m glad she’s resting, even though if it means spending the night in the Lowlands. It has been many generations since a member of the Kurah Tribe has been to the Lowlands. No one comes down here anymore because of the rumors of what lives in the Lowlands. Rumors of creatures with fangs the size of a Kurah arm and spiders that spit venom from a mile away.

  People never return from the Lowlands.

  The Lowlands, unfortunately, are not the worst of our worries. I know that once we got back to the Highlands we will have Faron to deal with. He is a force to be reckoned with, but so am I.

  My Goddess’s chest rises and falls with each breath. She is beautiful in sleep. Her hair is as red as the sun-kissed sky and it fans out behind her round face. Her lips are parted, just slightly, red and delicate. I’m tempted to bite them. She is unlike any Kurah woman I have known. The Kurah are hard people, strong, and our women are just as tough and proud as our men. They are warriors first and take pride in their skills with the dagger. My Goddess is different. Her features are gentle and breakable like glass. The lace at the front of her frock has loosened and it flutters in the wind. The skin of her chest is pale and looks soft to the touch. I hunger to feel her warmth. My fingers twitch and my manhood swells with longing.

  No. This isn’t just any she. This is my Goddess and she deserves to be worshipped, not chewed on like a bone. I am her protector. I am not a hound.

  I turn my eyes back on the tall trees. The night is falling quickly and when I exhale now, I can see the white frost of my breath. The chill settles on my skin and cools the heat rushing through my blood.

  There’s a rustle in the trees above me. I glance up, squint, and try to make out the figure. Another rustle, this time from the tree beside it. That’s no bird. I grip the handle of my axe and charge my Kaul, readying for a fight. My senses sharpen, my Kaul burns white, and my knuckles tighten around Swing.

  The hair on the back of my neck raises and I turn around quickly
, my axe raised. A small pair of beady eyes stares back at me. The creature has long arms, a white, furry body, and a tiny snout.

  It trills and I narrow my eyes at it.

  “This is the terrifying beast of the Lowlands?” I ask.

  It tilts its head, its ears flop.

  “Away,” I tell it and I swipe my arm out at it. It is nearly weightless and it gives a shrill shriek as it goes flying away into the bushes.

  I look back at my Goddess still asleep in her tent. Her eyes are closed and her chest rises and falls steadily.

  When I turn back to continue to look out, I see the small, furry creature again. This time, it is perched in a branch in front of me, its black nails digging into the wood of the tree. It does not move; it simply watches me.

  My jaw sets. My patience is waning. I am in no mood to play games with the small creature. “Haven’t you learned your lesson?”

  I hear a trilled response behind me. When I turn around, there’s a second small creature. It stares at me with the same unaffected large black eyes.

  . Something is not right. I reach for Swing and wrap my fingers around the handle. I unsheathe her, her blade shimmers in the moonlight.

  The sight of the blade sets off the Lowland creature. It puffs up twice its size as it bares its pointy teeth and growls. The creature in the tree jumps on me and digs its nails into my shoulder. Something stabs me, sharply. I rip the creature from my shoulder and notice a pointy stinger at the end of its tail, glistening with venom. I growl and forcefully throw it far just as the second leaps on my side. They start to come at me from all sides, beady eyes shimmering from the trees, small bodies leaping up at me from the ground. One, two, even five, I can handle. There must be twenty of them now, covering my body, stabbing at me with their stingers. I swing my axe viciously but they are quick and it meets nothing but empty air. A tail curls around my ankle and trips me and I hit the dirt heavily.