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

by Morgan Rae

  A yelp leaves my Goddess’s tent and my blood goes cold. “Leave her alone!” I holler as I struggle to push myself to my feet. They’ve already bound my ankles, twigs and stones scrape across my chest as I feel my body yanked across the forest floor.

  The venom is working its way into my body and I feel my limbs become sluggish and my mind hazy. My Goddess’s cries fuel me and I thrash across the forest floor. But they have us in their grasp and try as I might, I cannot stop myself from being pulled backwards, deep into the darkness of the Lowlands forest.

  CHAPTER NINE: KENNEDY

  One second, I’m fast asleep, getting some much needed shuteye. The next, I feel myself lifted out of bed. When I open my eyes, the trees pass above me. I’m still on my back, and I feel like I’m floating, but, how?

  Hands. Tiny little hands on my back. When I twist around to try to look down, I see little animals underneath me, they look like monkeys almost, fluffy, floppy-eyed monkeys, and they’re holding me up, carrying me into the trees. When I try to get up, one of them jumps up on my stomach, bares its teeth, and jabs its tail at my throat. I shriek in surprise and hold my neck; I can feel a bump forming where it stung me and it burns. They might seem like cute and fluffy, little monkey-things, but their bite is worse than their bark. I don’t even do well with bee stings, I’m not about to rile up a horde of stinging monkey-creatures. I hear Garock snarl at the creatures, not quite knowing when to give up. When I turn to look up at him, , he’s in no better shape than I am. They’ve got a vine around his legs and they’re literally dragging the hulking man across the floor.

  The trip is bumpy and their little arms rattle me around as they carry me through the forest. The trees grow thick and make everything dark, so I shut my eyes tightly, trying to adjust my vision to the dimming light. They drag us into a cave and, finally, the little hands drop me to the ground.

  There’s a hole in the top of the cave and a shaft of moonlight bleeds through. The monkey-things thrill lowly as they scatter away from Garock and I. All I can see of them is their blinking black eyes watching with anticipation from the cave walls. There are shards of white littering the floor, like seashells, and it takes a second for the sickening horror to sink in.These are not seashells, they’re bones.

  “Garock…” I whisper nervously.

  He sinks down beside me and blinks heavily. He’s covered in sting bumps and clearly starting to feel the effects of it. “Do not worry, my Goddess,” he says. “I will get us out of here.”

  His voice is syrupy thick and though I appreciate that he’s trying to keep my fear at bay, I’m not convinced. Especially when a roar shakes the very ground we’re sitting on and every bone in my body goes rigid. What have we gotten ourselves into?

  The white shards of bone tremble underneath me as a giant beast takes one step closer to us and then another. My heart cinches in my chest and I feel myself drawn towards Garock like a magnet, hoping he’ll be able to rally enough to slay whatever-the-hell it is coming at us.

  When the cave monster steps into the pool of light, I finally get a good look at him. He looks like a giant, hairless ape. His skin is dull and grey and splotched with wet looking dark spots. His eyes are wide as saucers, dark, and they’re staring straight at us. His mouth curls in a grimace, bottom teeth jutting out from a bad under bite, and when he speaks, it’s a low growl.

  “Intruder,” he says.

  Intruder. English! He speaks English! Quickly, I launch into an explanation. “This is all a huge misunderstanding,” I tell him quickly. “We’re not intruding on anything or anyway, we got lost, we were chased, really, into your territory and we were just passing through, on our way out—”

  He interrupts me with another roar, this one showing all of his teeth, which are as big as tusks and I shut up real fast. The beast grabs me by the wrist and yanks me closer. I whimper and I hear Garock shift behind me. The giant monster lifts my arm up high and then licks it, from elbow to wrist, with one long swipe of his huge, purple tongue.

  “Food!” he exclaims and the smaller monkeys break out into a cacophony of celebratory thrills and yaps, jumping up and down on the floors and the walls.

  When he drops me, I’m covered in giant monkey spit and I gasp as I feel the smaller ones grab at me and start to pull at my clothes. Oh no, no, no. This can’t be how I die, ripped apart by a horde of monkey-creatures. Yes, okay, maybe I had a pretty pathetic life back at home, locked up inside my own house, running away from everything and everyone, but I know enough to know that I deserve more than this, anyway.

  For some reasons, Sean’s voice clicks in my head as Garock roars beside me and the monkeys pull at me like a tug-of-war. Giiiirl, use your head. You’re more than monkey meat.

  Sean. An idea comes to me then. I can see him in my mind’s eye, clicking his tongue disapprovingly. No one in the eighteenth century has iPhones, darling Kennedy.

  I manage to shake a monkey off my arm just long enough to dig into my apron. “Wait! Wait!” I call out. The giant monkey locks eyes with me. He holds up a meaty palm and all the little monkeys come to a quick stop. They stare at me, their beady eyes curious.

  Great. Now I have the attention of about a hundred little creatures. Garock is watching me, too. I can see the confused furrow in his brow. I take in a deep breath. Well. Here goes nothing.

  “I am…the Goddess Why,” I announce, hoping the shake in my voice doesn’t give me away as a fake.

  Only a few of them blink. They chatter and twitter quietly amongst themselves. Even if I can’t understand their clicking noises, I can catch their tone. They don’t buy it.

  I look at Garock helplessly. His eyes, at least, are encouraging when he seems to realize my plan. “Wylah,” he murmurs under his breath.

  “I am the Goddess Wylah!” I shout, loudly this time. Firm, like a goddess should sound. “And I demand that you free us this instant or there will be consequences!”

  Now a few of the smaller ones back away from me. Their eyes dart from me to their leader, looking for guidance. He scratches a couple haggard hairs under his skin as he stares at me, perplexed. “Proof,” he says, the word guttural and raspy in his throat.

  I dig into the front pocket of my apron and find my iPhone. The screen, amazingly, hasn’t cracked. “Read it and weep,” I tell them. Which sounds silly, in retrospect. I need to remind myself I’m not in a Bruce Willis action film, I’m surrounded by a horde of venomous monkeys. I flip on the camera feature and a bright light pours out from the phone, illuminating the walls.

  “I am Goddess Wylah and I bring you the power of the sun,” I announce. The smaller monkeys screech and run into each other as they try to escape the beam of light. Even the monkey’s leader recoils and his eyes get larger. I sweep my arm around and they scatter wherever the beam of light touches. I’ve played my cards right; cave dwellers hate the sun with a fiery passion. It’s better than I could have asked for.

  “Give it to me!” The giant monkey bellows suddenly and extends his huge hand. “Give me the power of the sun!”

  He’s scarily close again and I fumble with the phone as I drop it into his palm. He draws it closer to his face, inspects the flat screen, and then jabs his finger against it.

  “Be careful,” I try to warn them. “It’s breakable and, to be honest, kind of expensive…”

  He must have hit the camera mode somehow because, in the next second, the light flashes brightly once and the chi-ching sound of a picture taken echoes across the cave walls. The giant monkey screeches wildly and throws the phone down as the other monkeys join him in an unholy chorus, jumping up and down and beating the ground with their hands.

  “Time for us to go,” Garock says under his breath.

  “Couldn’t agree with you more,” I murmur back as I quickly untangle the vines around his ankles. I wrap my arm around his shoulders and help him up the best I can as we rush out of the mouth of the cave, leaving the rumbling chaos behind us. I trip b
efore we make it to safety and swear as a dried bone fragment stabs my calf. Garock lifts me back to my feet and we continue on. We run as fast as we can away from the cave, and when I turn around, I don’t see anything following us. All I can hear are the incensed screeches as they beat my poor iPhone to pieces.

  CHAPTER TEN: KENNEDY

  We walk in silence for a long time. One sun rises and then a second sun follows, until the world is bright again. Finally, when I find my voice, I say, “I can’t believe that worked.”

  Garock glances at me from the corner of his eye. There’s almost an amusement there. “You are very convincing,” he says.

  “So,” I say, jokingly, “Still think I’m the Goddess you’re looking for?”

  He lapses into a deep silence. It stretches out almost too long. As much as I think the whole “Goddess Wylah” thing is hokey at best, I realize that, despite myself, I’m offended by the length of his pause. It’s selfish, but there was something nice about being the center of someone’s world for a change.

  You’re a shadow, Kennedy, I hear a voice in the back of my head remind me. Barely a full person. It was only a matter of time before even this thick-skulled hunk figures out that you’re nothing but smoke and mirrors. Nothing substantial there at all.

  “When I prayed to the Spirit Tree,” he says, breaking the silence and derailing my self-deprecating train of thought, “I thought She would send me a weapon.”

  “Sorry to disappoint,” I mumble. The adrenaline rush of my good mood is cracking and falling apart. Sure. Why not kick me while I’m down?

  Garock’s strong hand grips my shoulder. He pulls me to a stop and swings me like a door, weightless in his arms, to force me to turn to him. “Kennedy.” My name sounds incredibly jarring from his lips, rough and dark in his throat. I always hated my name, thought it sounded too masculine, too much like some long-gone president. But when I hear it trip off his tongue in that strange, smooth yet gruff voice of his…I’m hypnotized. His dark eyes lock on my own and he says, firmly, “Perhaps you are not a weapon, but you and you alone got us out of the Gorath nest. There is power in you. I am glad the Goddess brought you to me.”

  “That was nothing. A trick. A fluke.” I reach down and fumble with my shirt. “It’s just a stupid iPhone, honestly, I don’t do things like that. I hate being the center of attention.”

  “It is not the light box,” he says and gently covers my hand with his. Light box. It almost makes me giggle. But then Garock draws the neck of my shirt down my shoulder and sets his palm on the bare skin over my heart and my laughter dies in my throat. He enunciates, firmly, “You. You have great power in you, Kennedy of the North.”

  His hand is on my chest. I repeat, his hand is on my chest. This is not a drill. Half an inch down and he could easily rub my nipple to a hardened peak under his thumb. I’m certain he can feel my heart jack rabbiting against his hand. Nevertheless, his eyes never leave mine.

  Oh. Shit. What’s going on here? My mouth is dry, my breath quickens, and my knees buckle. There’s a shift in his expression, too. The sternness leaves his face, replaced by something else. There’s a fire in his eyes and he looks like he could devour me. He leans in close, so close. I can feel his breath beat softly against my lips.

  He’s going to kiss me. Oh holy hell. He’s going to kiss me.

  I gasp, sharply, and wince without meaning to as a jolt of pain shoots up my leg. Wrong leg to lean forward on. The film over Garock’s eyes clears immediately and concern sweeps over his expression instead. “You’re hurt,” he states.

  No, no, no. Kiss me. Go back to the part where you’re kissing me.

  “It’s nothing,” I stammer and try to laugh it off, but when I attempt to shift back to my good leg, I hobble like a drunken flamingo. Great. No points for grace.

  “Let me look at it,” he says. He crouches down and kneels in front of me. I turn my eyes to the sky and try not to think about how close his face is to my crotch. He carelessly lifts the frock of my skirt up my thighs to inspect my wound. There’s sticky, wet blood dripping down my leg, and I feel my sex quiver.

  What is wrong with me? I’ve never felt like this about anyone, always too afraid to put myself out there! But here he is, trying to help me, and all I can think about is grabbing a handful of his thick hair and guiding it between my legs. I am the worst kind of person, and a weird one at that.

  He presses a fingertip near the raw skin and the jolt of pain fries my bad intentions. I draw in a hissed breath as white-hot pain shoots up my side.

  “We need to clean this off before it gets infected,” he informs me.

  “Yeah,” I say, my tongue tripping over my words, “Clean is, you know, good. Hygienic.”

  I’m an idiot. I’m an idiot and I’m spitting out nonsense like bloody teeth. Truth be told, I’m out of my league. No one has ever even looked my way, too put off by the “stay away” vibe I give off. No one, let alone an attractive, hulk of a man who looks at me like the sun rises and sets with me. Attractive, prime, Grade A slabs of man meat are for boisterous, confident women like Maya. Women who know how to dress, what glass of wine to order when they go out, how to laugh at his jokes and flirt like 1940s Hollywood stars. Women who can handle their men.

  They’re not for me, who can’t even take a dream trip with her best friends out of fear of the unknown. I can’t even handle a four-pound dog. How am I supposed to handle all of this?

  Before I can come up with something witty to save face, the ground falls out from under me. I let out a yelp as I feel my body go horizontal in Garock’s arms.

  “This way to water,” he says.

  “Okay, just maybe a little warning next time. Would be nice.” I struggle to keep my skirt from riding up, suddenly shy. My attempts at chastity are useless. The monkeys have made mincemeat of my clothes and when I push down my skirt, my shirt falls haphazardly off my shoulder and partially bares my breast.

  He carries me to a bank with a clear, sparkling pond. A waterfall trickles down from the overhang above and lush greenery surrounds the bank. I gasp. For a second, I’ve died and gone to heaven.

  Garock keeps me in one hand while he reaches behind to unsnap his tunic. All it takes are a couple tugs and the leather fabric, which already left little to the imagination, falls in a pile on the bank. Holy hell. I look up at the sky and try not to think about the fact that he’s completely naked. It doesn’t seem to faze him, though, and he moves with unhurried purpose as his hand begins to work my shirt. I quickly smack his hand away and tug my shirt down. “I’ll leave this on,” I say. “Thanks.”

  “As you wish,” he tells me.

  Garock carries me into the pond, walking until the water is up to his waist, and unceremoniously lowers me into it. I expect it to be cold, but it’s not, it’s warm and I moan in approval as I let myself sink in to my neck. I didn’t realize quite how dirty I felt until just now, and the feeling of all that dust and dried blood falling away from me is just wonderful. Without thinking, I peel off my shirt so I’m down to my bra and skirt and toss my shirt on the bank. I rinse my arms, scrubbing, and watch the dirt come off to reveal pale, clean skin underneath. The lump on my neck still stings, so I cup some water to the side of my throat to ease the pain. It’s not a proper shower but it feels so divine, I might as well be washing off in the Queen of England’s personal tub.

  I notice too late that Garock’s eyes are on me. He isn’t just watching me to make sure some long-toothed shark doesn’t leap out of the pond and eat me whole. These aren’t protective eyes. These are predator eyes. He’s the shark and I’m a tiny guppy. A shiver runs through me. Yes, he has protected me this whole time, but I remember again why I was afraid of him the first place. Despite the fact that he has been nothing but sweet to me, there is something undeniably savage about the man in front of me.

  There is, of course, the other thing. A blush rises hot in my cheeks when I realize that, maybe, there is a part of me that likes
the way he’s looking at me. I’ve never had a man look at me like this, not with such raw, bare hunger.

  Despite myself, my eyes fall from his broad chest and drop down low. Poking out of the water, nestled beside the insanely defined muscles of his abdomen, is the round head of his manhood. Oh my god, he’s hard for me. He’s a rugged Adonis and he wants me.

  “Oh my god,” the words fall from my mouth and I shield my eyes. “Can you turn around or something?”

  “Is there something wrong?” The confusion in his voice is so innocent and I almost want to slap him for it.

  “Because I’m…because you’re…well.” I gesture sweepingly towards his groin while keeping my gaze well above eye level. “You’re in a man state.”

  “Does it make you shy that I find you attractive?” The way he says it makes it seem so simple. “You should not be shy. You are a beautiful woman.”

  “Okay, but in my culture, we say that with flowers and love poems. Not…that.”

  I hear the water shush as he steps forward. When I drop my hand, I see that he is close now. Too close. My heart is a tambourine in my chest.

  “I cannot pluck flowers,” he says. “They belong to the dirt.”

  “Oh.” I’m trying to put my eyes everywhere but below his waist and above his chin. His hardness is too tempting and his eyes are too piercing. I settle my gaze on a spot on his bare chest. That doesn’t help, either. I want to run my fingers through the curly hair on his chest and nibble the dark brown peak of his nipple.

  “You are sacred,” he says and his voice is low now. “Do not be. I would never defile my Goddess.”

  “Oh,” I repeat again. I’m a wordsmith, a Scrabble master. I’ve read Dostoevsky novels and only had to check the dictionary maybe once. But right now, all I can do is utter out variations of O and H sounds. My English teacher would be so disappointed.