Barbarian's Touch: A SciFi Alien Romance (Ice Planet Barbarians Book 8)

by Ruby Dixon

  It’s on day three that I get through the letter Z. There’s not that many ‘z’ words that apply to our situation - zip, maybe. Zoom? Probably not. Zero. Sure. Zoo? Nah. I pick through the list of words and then, suddenly, there’s no more words to go through.

  Wow. I’m done.

  I sit back, rubbing my neck, and stare up at the screen, trying to think if I missed anything. I got the alphabet. I got numbers. I even added some slang as I remembered it. Is it…is it time?

  It almost feels like it’s my birthday.

  I bolt from my seat and rush to the doors that lead outside. I fling them open and step out onto the snow-covered ramp, looking for my mate. Sure enough, he’s heading back toward the ship with a large kill slung over one shoulder. It’s amazing that he always seems to know just when I’m ready to take a break, because whenever I look for him, he’s right there. It’s like he knows.

  I wave for him to come, and when his gaze lands on me, a smile crosses his face. He’s breathtaking when he grins, and I feel my purring rev up as he jogs a little faster toward me. I’m practically bouncing with excitement when he gets to the door. It’s ready, I sign, and then point at the computer terminal on the wall.

  His brow furrows until I point, and then he lights up. With a broad grin, he dumps his kill by the door. Clearly it’s not as important as the language stuff. He takes my hand and we dash to the computer like children, excited. I’m practically shaking with anticipation, which is silly, but it’s suddenly become super important to me that we be able to communicate at every level.

  He speaks, and I watch his mouth move, holding his hand tightly. He waits a moment, and then speaks again, and then squeezes my fingers. A red dot lights up on the floor and I look at it curiously before glancing up at Rokan. He gestures at the spot on the ground and then points at his eye, then does the talk sign. Okay, I remember the computer saying something about ocular download or something, so that must be why he’s gesturing at his eye. I’m a little confused by the sleep gesture he makes next, but maybe he’ll need a nap afterward? The thought makes me antsy - I’m eager to let all the words I’ve been storing spill out of me - but he knows this system better than I do.

  Rokan lifts my hand to his mouth and kisses my knuckles, then gestures I should stay in place. He moves to the red glowing dot on the floor and says something to the computer. A mechanical arm emerges from the ceiling, and I’m so busy staring at it in surprise that I don’t realize what it’s doing until a laser-beam shoots right into Rokan’s face and he collapses.

  “Rokan!” I don’t realize I’m screaming his name until my throat aches with the force of my cry. I fling myself at him, cradling his head in my lap and patting his cheek. “Rokan?” I say again, trying to wake him. He’s out cold, his big alien body sprawled on the floor. His poor, crooked tail is limp, and I feel like bursting into tears. “I really hope this is what you meant by ‘sleep’,” I tell him, stroking his velvety cheek. I look over at the computer screen set into the wall but there doesn’t seem to be anything out of the ordinary going on. Meanwhile, the mechanical laser arm tucks itself neatly into the ceiling and disappears as if it were never there.

  I pat Rokan’s cheek again, but he’s still out. Worried, I chew on my lip, thinking. I should get up and ask the computer a question, but I don’t want to leave my man’s side. “Computer,” I call out, and hope it can hear me. “Rokan is unconscious. If this is normal after the procedure you just did, please flash the screen green.” It’s the only thing that I can think of, my head spinning with frantic thoughts.

  A moment later, the screen flashes green.

  I exhale with relief and stroke Rokan’s cheek again. Thank God. “Computer, can you flash blue on the screen if he’s going to be unconscious for less than an hour, and red if he’s going to be out for more than an hour?”

  Red flashes on the screen.

  Drat. I gaze down at Rokan’s gorgeous, sleeping face. I want to curl up next to him and put my head on his chest and just wait. But the fire is nothing but coals, and there’s a big limp carcass of a hairy pony-looking thing by the door that will go bad if the meat isn’t smoked, and we’re low on water. Rokan’s been teaching me how to take care of myself. I guess now’s a good time to start doing so.

  I gently set his head on the floor, mindful of his horns, and retrieve one of the pillows and a fur blanket. I carry them over to him and fix him up as best I can, tucking the pillow under his head and making him comfortable. Then, I straighten and look over at the dead animal by the entrance.

  Yum, yum, dinner.

  In a way, it’s comforting that there’s so much work to do, because then I can’t obsess over Rokan. There’s the fire to be constantly nurtured - not too low to give off no heat, but not too high and burn the meat that’s smoking on the stones. There’s water to be melted, and since I just butchered an animal about the size of myself, lots and lots of hand-washing, which means more snow to melt. I’m careful not to put too much fuel on the fire, because I’m not entirely sure how long Rokan will be out. I close the doors to the ship just in case of predators, because I won’t be able to hear them. I scrape the big, bloody, sticky hide until I’ve gotten the worst bits off of it, then roll it up like Rokan has shown me, tie it with leather cords, and put it off in a corner for more processing later. I’m sticky and gross with both sweat and blood by the time that’s done, so I bathe and then it’s time to melt more water.

  All of this keeps my mind off of worrying over my alien boyfriend. For a while, anyhow. By the time I can relax enough to bathe, I worry that he’s been asleep for far too long. Maybe we fried his brain instead of teaching him a language? Maybe he gave the computer the wrong command? Maybe he’s never going to wake up?

  The thought fills me with so much grief that the breath escapes my lungs. I clench my nails into my palms to center myself, then shake the horrible idea off. That’s not going to happen. Rokan, he…well, he’s mine.

  I’m not the least bit ashamed to be possessive over him. He’s handsome, sexy, fit, smart, funny, and a really good kisser now that he’s gotten the hang of it. I’ll happily claw out the eyes of any alien chick that tries to take him from me, too. My chest purrs in agreement.

  Something touches my foot, and I yelp, stumbling backward.

  Strong arms go around me before I can fall into the fire, and a crouching Rokan is grinning up at me, his arms locked around my waist. His tail flicks against my foot again.

  He’s awake!

  I fling my arms around him and pull him close, which means I’m hugging a lot of horn and the back of his head. That’s all right, though. I don’t care as long as he’s fine. His hands smooth along my back and he nuzzles against my breast, sending jittery little shocks of pleasure through my body. He’s always a little amorous when he wakes up, and I’m tempted to shuck my tunic and fling him down onto the floor and have a little bit of playtime, myself.

  But I have to know.

  I step backward, mindful of the nearby fire, and study his face. “Are you okay?”

  My head hurts, he signs, a sheepish grin on his face.

  My heart stops in my chest. The casual way he made those gestures, without pausing to think…it’s too much. I burst into tears.

  Rokan pulls me against him, stroking my hair.

  “Sorry,” I mumble. Then I realize I don’t have to speak out into the silence to be heard. I pull back and look up at him, then gesture. You learned the language? Everything is all right?

  He nods, and begins to do a series of signs that are so beautiful it makes me want to weep. I am still a little slow, but I see your hand words and know them now. I am glad.

  We can really talk now. I can’t stop smiling. Now we can say all the things we have been wanting to say for days and didn’t have the words.

  You worked very hard for this. I am glad for your efforts.

  It’s weird - I’ve been waiting forever to blab at him and now I’m feeling all shy and awkward. I can te
ll from the expression on his face that he is, too. It’s like we’ve been communicating, but not as well as we could. Now we have the chance to say whatever we want, and I’m a little intimidated about where to start. Well, anything you want to get off your chest?

  He thinks for a long moment, his face solemn. Then, he looks at me and begins to sign again. You are perfect. I would change nothing about you. And I am glad that you are mine. I have waited many days to say that to you. He stops for a moment, thinking, and then continues. I want to say it again. You are perfect.

  I burst into tears again. He thinks I’m perfect? Even after having to get his head lasered just to talk to me? I feel so loved. I throw my arms around his neck and tackle him, sending us both tumbling to the floor. I press kisses to his face, my purring breast matched against his. Rokan tenderly cups my jaw and kisses me back, and I feel more cherished and adored than I ever have.

  I’m dangerously close to falling for this guy - if I haven’t already. I mean, I’ve never met a man that makes me purr. He’s so thoughtful, and wonderful, and he’s never made me feel like I’m less because I can’t hear him. He acts like it’s been his problem that he can’t hear me, and not the other way around. Maybe that’s why he makes me purr.

  I break the kiss and stroke his cheek, fascinated by him all over again. I love the way he looks at me when we kiss, those glowing eyes all sleepy and sexy and yet utterly focused on me. Like he’s waiting for me to tell him what I want to do next.

  Or like he’s waiting for me to give him permission to do whatever he wants. I shiver, thinking of the times he’s woken me up from half-sleep by tugging down my pants and then licking me until I’m writhing in the furs. He’s never taken it further than that, though, and I wonder if he’s waiting for me.

  Has he been waiting for me to say something to him?

  There’s so many things I haven’t even cracked the surface of. Now, I can get some answers. And right now, answers are more important than kissing. Well, sort of. I force myself to ignore the hungry looks he’s giving me. Answers first, then kissing. What are your people called?

  He thinks for a moment. I do not have the hand words for this.

  Can you sound it out for me? With the alphabet?

  He nods and then starts to spell. S-A-C-W-E-E.

  “Sakwee?” I say aloud.

  He makes a kinda gesture with his hand. Very close.

  What does it mean?

  It means people of the cwee.

  And your people? They come from here?

  This cave, he agrees. Like you came from a cave.

  The ship had mentioned an emergency landing. All right, so Rokan’s people aren’t natives any more than me and Maddie are. They had a crash landing and never left. That’s rather depressing. Just another gaping hole in the ‘rescue’ plan, not that I really expected there to be a rescue. I see. And you are the people of the cwee. What is a cwee?

  He taps his chest. It is the thing that lives inside you.

  The glowing thing? The parasite?

  He pauses over the word ‘parasite’. It is helpful. It makes you strong.

  And makes me purr, I guess?

  Purr? I do not know this word.

  The rumble in my chest.

  Recognition dawns on his face and he grins, the sexy, heated look returning to his face. It is because of me that you rumble. That is resonate.

  Resonate? I ponder this. That can’t be the right sign. Or maybe he is mistaking it for something else? I sign to him, I don’t understand. You are making me purr?

  You resonate to me. I resonate to you. There’s pride and hunger in his face as he signs the words to me. You are my mate.

  Whoa. What? He just made the joined finger sign indicating we’re mated as in a married couple? Could you repeat that?

  He does. You are my mate. We resonate. Now that we have hand-words, I can teach you about resonate. He leans forward and taps my breast. Your cwee chooses a mate for you. It finds you the male that is perfect for you, and you resonate to him. I resonate to you, you resonate to me. We are mates.

  My eyes widen. This entire time, I’ve thought he was my boyfriend and I’m his wife? So it’s decided? Just like that?

  Just like that, he agrees, a pleased expression on his face. I have been waiting for you to understand so we can mate — this time he uses the sex version of the ‘mate’ sign - and then we will return to the tribe cave and start our family.

  I am stunned into silence at this. For a long moment, I can think of nothing to say. Then, I have to ask. Family? Babies?

  Yes. Resonate always brings babies. It is the reason for resonate. Mate and baby.

  Okay, so my parasite has decided that I get a husband and kids and I get no say in this? I’m not sure I’m ready to take care of a baby or be a mom - I’m still learning to take care of myself on this planet. What about birth control?

  I do not understand.

  Oh God. I rub my forehead, trying to think. I keep circling back to the resonate part. The parasite chooses a mate for me? Is that why Hassen stole me? He was trying to get me to choose him? I think back to all the expectant looks he constantly shot me. No wonder he was so hands off when we saw him again. I thought it was baffling - but welcome - at the time. Now I know the truth - he didn’t look at me because I was off the market.

  And all this affection for Rokan? This lust? This need for him?

  It’s not mine at all. It belongs to the parasite. None of what we have is real.

  None of it.

  That really hurts.

  16

  ROKAN

  The look on my Li-lah’s face is alarming. She looks broken. Like Asha did when her kit died in her arms. Her expression looks as if she has lost something that means much to her. I go through our conversation, trying to follow why it would upset her so. We spoke of resonance and kits. Do you not wish to resonate to me? I ask her, my own heart hurting.

  Does it matter? She signs back rapidly. It does not sound like I have a choice.

  Resonance always picks the right mate, the best mate. We will be happy together.

  Because it’s forcing us, she signs, and then begins to cry. None of this is real.

  Her sorrow hurts me. I hate that she weeps. I hate that this pains her. I would give anything to make it go away. It is real. Why do you say it is not?

  Because you wouldn’t like me if this thing weren’t forcing you to. She taps her breast. It’s pulling our strings like we’re puppets. What we feel between us isn’t real if it’s pushing us together. She swipes angrily at her cheeks. I should have known it was too good to be true. That you were too good to be true.

  I reach out and capture her hands to get her attention. The words she is saying are upsetting and make no sense. When she glares up at me, I sign to her. You and I are mates. Just because resonance is what brings us together does not change what I feel for you. You have always been mine.

  She shakes her head. That’s a lie. You only wanted me after you started purring.

  I came for you even before that happened.

  Her brows go down and she looks frustrated. I thought everyone was out looking for me.

  No, I sign. I sent the others back. I knew I would find you.

  Now she looks even more confused. What do you mean, you knew?

  I shrug. I knew. I just knew. I always know.

  What do you mean, you always know? Why are you not making any sense? She puts her hands to her face and speaks in a low voice. “Why is it that now that we can sign, you make even less sense than before?”

  I ignore her frustration. She is misunderstanding. It happens with the humans, who choose their mates differently than we do. Patiently, I keep signing. I know things. I sense things before they happen.

  She gives a little moan of frustration. So now you’re psychic in addition to my fated mate?

  I do not know if psychic is good or bad. Or even what it is. I have always known things. And I knew when I saw you that you were t
o be my mate. It is why I feel so strongly for you.

  Li-lah signs back angrily. No, you feel strongly for me because I am your mate. If there was no cwee, you would feel nothing for me. How would you feel if we hadn’t resonated?

  That does not make sense.

  How does it not make sense?

  Because you are mine. Of course we resonated.

  She throws her hands up in the air, then signs, I give up. I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I need time to think.

  Are you angry that you are my mate?

  I am angry that it’s making me care for you!

  Why?

  Because I can’t tell if what I feel is real or if it’s all pretend because it wants us to sleep together.

  It does not want us to sleep. It wants us to mate. Afterward, we can sleep.

  Her eyes narrow at me. Conversation done. I’m not talking to you anymore.

  Why not?

  I need time to figure out my feelings. She gestures in a ‘done’ motion and then storms to her feet, moving to the fireside.

  I watch her go, confused by her reaction. What did I say that was so bad? Is being my mate and having my kits such a terrible thing? She has enjoyed my kisses and my mouth until now. Now, she acts as if this is upsetting.

  I do not understand. Li-lah has always been soft and welcoming in my arms before. Why would she think anything has changed? She has and will always be my mate. It does not matter if we resonated or not.

  She is mine.

  Li-lah does not want me in her furs that night. I ignore the stab of betrayal I feel and make my own bed. My anger at being pushed out gives way to helpless frustration when I hear her quiet crying in the dark. She is clearly upset by whatever she has learned. My attempts to hand-talk to her are ignored and she will not look at me.

  She is being stubborn, my mate. And until she will talk to me, I can do nothing about it.

  I do not sleep at all that night. My body aches for hers, and my heart aches to comfort her and make her tears stop. She will not let me, so I wait in quiet agony for her to fall asleep. When her breathing finally evens out, I still cannot rest. I spend the evening keeping the fire burning, because she does not have my warm body to curl up against, and she will be cold.