“Why the hell are you smiling?” I say, shoving at him.
“I told you I’d not breed with you,” he says. “But there’s now a 50% chance.”
“What?” my eyes widen and I shake my head in disbelief. “Who said anything about breeding?”
“If it works and we enter the stealth orbit, then I can succeed in my mission.”
“And if we don’t, we both die. You understand that part, right?” I ask.
“Yes,” he says, his smile growing wider. “I cannot breed with you if there’s any chance we will survive. However, if we both will die, and if there is no chance of producing offspring, I can give you what you want.”
He looks down at his cock and my eyes follow. It’s hardening.
“Who said I wanted to have sex with you?” I say, redirecting my eyes to avoid looking at him or his big teal cock.
“You don’t have to say anything,” he says smugly. “I know it.”
“Hmm,” he says. “It seems there’s now a 70% chance I will know you from the inside.”
What? Fuck!
I grab the tablet from him and look at the screen in panic.
The margin of error has climbed faster than I expected, and we’re almost sure to die now if I don’t make the burn immediately. I’ve already mapped out the thrust vector, and without giving it a second thought, I shove Fenrir hard, propelling me toward the control console.
I input the thrust vector and slam down on the button.
The engines shake the ship and the slight acceleration throws me backward.
The back of the ship feels suddenly like it’s down—like the floor—and Fenrir is already waiting there for me.
I fall into him, and he catches me.
He holds me tightly against him as the engines burn. Again I feel his hard cock pressing into me, but this time it’s pressing right up against my ass.
“It cannot happen now, human Fiona,” he says. “For we both may survive. Do not tempt me with your large backside.”
I want to backhand him for that comment, but he lifts me and holds me up above him.
I grind my teeth and decide to just ignore him. It’s completely pointless arguing with him. I remember–before the Marauder fleet had been spotted–reading various speculations of first contact.
The first theory indicated that if we were to encounter an alien race, the most likely outcome would be that they would be so different from us that we could never understand them. They might be so far advanced that it would be comparable to an ant trying to understand a computer.
The other theory implied that evolution likely would produce similar outcomes across the galaxy, and that whomever we encountered would mirror us closely.
Seeing Fenrir in the flesh, my first reaction had been that aliens mirrored us quite closely. If anything, they had evolved better than us, as I’d never seen a human man who looked as gorgeous and perfect as Fenrir.
It seems now, though, that the truth lies somewhere in-between both theories: aliens evolved similarly to us, but we can never understand them. It’s not that they are too alien or too advanced from us, but simply that they are so fucking cocky and full of themselves that true, meaningful communication is impossible.
The engines cut off, and I start to float out of Fenrir’s hands.
I look over to him, and he’s holding the tablet.
“What’s it say?” I ask.
“We now have a 0% chance of mating with each other,” he says.
I breathe a sigh of relief. Yet I do feel a tinge of disappointment. To have sex with Fenrir would be...complicated. He wants to wipe out my entire species, so it would have to be the ultimate hate fuck. And the size of his ego already rivals the size of his cock; I could only imagine how much worse he’d be if I admitted that I actually am curious what it would be like to do it with him.
Whether it’s the Empire, the habitats, or Mars-Venus who gets their hands on me, my best case scenario is life in prison; the worst case is execution. To the Empire, I’m a traitor, to the habitats I’m surface scum, and to Mars-Venus I’m a war criminal.
Drifting off into oblivion, and fucking Fenrir until we ran out of air was–in some ways–the easiest and most comfortable outcome.
But it was the coward’s way out, and I’m not a coward.
The console starts to flash.
“We’re being hailed,” I say.
“This is New Copenhagen,” a voice crackles over the intercom. New Copenhagen is one of the orbitals. “A Martian frigate is on an intercept course with you. They’re saying you’re a war criminal.”
Fuck.
“Fenrir,” I say, “let me handle this.”
Fenrir grabs the tablet and jabs it with his finger. “Hello!” he says in greeting.
No. No!
“Fenrir! Give the tablet to me!”
He grins up at me. “I am ready to negotiate,” he says. “We have four large guns, and I am a powerful warrior. Bring us aboard your orbital or we will destroy you.”
I kick myself off the console as hard as I can, shouting into the tablet before they end the connection.
“Ignore him!” I say. “He’s...a Marauder. I have a captive Marauder on board. Get the Martian ship to stand down and grant us safe passage, and we can talk.”
There’s a brief pause, and then the voice says, “Jettison all your arms and make sure the Marauder is fully restrained. If you’re lying, we’ll hand you right over to the Martians.”
The channel cuts off.
“We had the upper hand,” Fenrir says, “and you surrendered it! Foolish Fiona!”
“You realize the orbital is out of range of our turrets? And you being a powerful warrior does nothing if you are hundreds of kilometers away from them and trapped on this ship.”
“I didn’t realize we were out of range,” he says. “But it’s never wise to avoid a show of force.”
“Yes,” I say. “It is wise. Now listen. I’m going to start jettisoning all of our primitive kinetic weapons and you need to let me tie you up.”
He grins at me. “You’d like that. If I’m fully restrained, you could finally have your way with me.”
“No,” I say, “I’m subhuman to the orbitals, and you’re…”
“Better than human,” he says.
I shake my head, but I realize he’s right.
“Yes, fine, you’re valuable to them. This was our only choice, okay?”
“You use me as a thing to be traded?” he asks.
There’s no malice in his voice, but I feel immediately ashamed. “I’ve...been shame-debted. But yes, using you was the only way to stop us both from getting blown up.”
“What do they want from me?” he asks. “Do their females want to breed with me?”
“The orbitals don’t want war,” I say, “and you want to destroy us all. If you care about saving yourself–at all–you might want to consider negotiating with them. And I mean giving something up, compromising, that kind of thing. If you are as stubborn with them as you are with me, you’re as good as dead.”
“I understand,” he says. “You are wise.”
My jaw drops open. It’s the first legitimate compliment he’s given me. I’m not fertile; I’m wise.
8 Fenrir
The woman wraps the chains around me. They feel cold against my skin, but when her hand brushes against me, it’s sinfully warm.
I close my eyes and try to fight the temptation, but I feel my cock rising and getting harder at her mere touch.
“Okay,” she says. “I got some extra pants. They’re pretty gross and dirty...but I don’t want you walking around naked on the orbital.”
“Another wise choice,” I say. “I don’t want to tempt their females and make their males feel jealousy toward me. Tell me about the dialect spoken on New Copenhagen. Do they say ‘female’ or ‘Fiona?’ What other terms should I know?”
“I’m just going to ignore you, okay?” she says. “Keep your legs straight, the pant
s are going on now. You’re too damn tall, so I had to rip the bottoms off each leg, and I tore out the elastic on the waistband...but they should fit.”
I straighten my legs, and I feel her pulling the cloth onto me.
“Shit,” she says. “I should have had you put these on before I chained you up.”
“I can break these chains,” I say. “Easily.”
“They don’t know that, just pretend you can’t.”
She tugs the pants up my legs; my arms are chained behind my back, but my bottom half is naked and unrestrained. My cock is hard and vibrating slightly, as the human Fiona’s sinful pheromones are flooding my nostrils and her soft and warm skin is constantly touching me as she chains and clothes me.
She gets the pants pulled all the way up to my waist, but my hard cock stands tall above my abdominal muscles, poking far out of the strange cloth confines.
“Jesus,” she snorts. “You have to be joking.”
She starts to pull and tug on the waistband, and the movement stimulates my penis.
“I can’t get it in,” she says, referring to fitting my cock into the pants.
I long for her to touch my cock, and I bite my lip until I draw blood. The pain does nothing to erase my temptation.
An alarm buzzes, and red lights begin flashing.
“Shit!” she yells in a panic. “They’re boarding now. If they see you popping a teal boner out of your pants, they’re going to think we were...they’re going to think I was…”
Without warning, her warm hand wraps tightly around my masculine rod, and I vibrate wildly beneath her hand.
My cock secretes lubricant immediately, coating the shaft, and causing her hand to slide down my length.
Her face burns red. She pulls the waistband out, and then swiftly shoves my throbbing penis down until it’s below the waistline.
She lets go, the pants snapping against my waist, but my cock presses against the pants. I can see every last bulging vein through the tight pants. As the lubricant begins to seep through, I can even make out some of the teal color of my cock.
“I think this will still tempt them,” I say.
She’s already turned her back to me, and I can see her hands shaking. I’ve had quite an effect on her, yet the need to breed with her has completely overtaken me.
I too begin to tremble, and I worry that sinful lust will utterly consume me. That it will bring me so deep into shame debt that no act could ever redeem me. This feeling toward the human Fiona–if left unchecked–could bring me to betray my race, I realize.
The humans truly must be destroyed.
The airlock hisses, and then it pops open. A tall human female with golden blonde hair pulls herself onboard. Her features more closely align to the Seraphic Form than those of the female who has just chained me up and touched my penis. Though this new blonde female’s features are supposedly more ideal...I’m less attracted to her than I am to the Fiona.
I find myself suddenly in a strange situation–there are two motherless females–and I don’t know their function. On our Marauder fleet, childless females–and among a Marauder invasion fleet, that meant all the females–were referred to by their duty among the fleet: Antimatter-containment engineer 6, maintenance worker 3, training room operator 12, and so on.
I consider briefly thinking of the female I am most tempted by as “The Fiona,” but using her special dialect in this way feels blasphemously close to giving a childless female a mother’s name.
Turret Woman, that’s what I’ll call her.
And this new one?
“What is your role on the habitat?” I shout the question to her.
She grips the handrail and looks down at me with wide eyes. Then her eyes stray farther down until she’s gaping at my bulging penis.
She looks back up, turning to look briefly at me, and then shifting her eye contact over to Turret Woman. I catch her glancing back at my hard penis, and then she shakes her head. Her long hair floats through the air like golden flames dancing in slow motion.
“I am Dr. Lisbeth Kristensen, Chair of the New Copenhagen University of Xenology, and I’ve been designated to–.”
“Jesus!” Turret Woman says. “You’re worse than an Imperial general with all of the titles and pomp–.”
“You are childless?” I ask her.
Xenology Woman pulls her blond hair back and tucks it into her collar. She’s wearing a high-collared shirt that looks almost shiny, and it clings tightly to her large breasts. Comparing it to Turret Woman’s dirty military uniform, I can see there is some kind of cultural or status difference between the two of them. And as they are females, this has made them immediately hate each other.
Xenology Woman shakes her head and says, “You’ve got nothing on your mind but knocking up as many of us as you can? How disappointing. I’d hoped the rumors were false and there’d be more to your culture than fucking.”
Xenology Woman sneers at Turret Woman and says, “He’s done with you already. He knocked you up, and he’s already asking me if I’m childless. I hope you were just into that alien cock and hadn’t felt anything for–.”
I growl and fight against my chains. They jangle, and my muscles flex. I kick off the wall and propel myself toward her in anger, but she dodges my advances. With my arms restrained, I simply ram ears first into the airlock door.
“Hmm,” Xenology Woman says. “Maybe he has decided you’re his lifemate? This could be interesting to study.”
My head and ears hurt, but I feel terror at this woman’s words. Why did I try to attack Xenology Woman for insulting Turret Woman? Is my temptation to breed with her developing into something more? Is it true blasphemy?
“I can’t say I don’t understand, why you’d let him fuck you,” Xenology Woman says. “He’s...a striking sight to behold. I’m going to examine him now.”
“What is your name?” Xenology Woman asks me.
I glare at her. She has no need to know my name.
“Let’s restrain his legs,” Xenology Woman snaps to Turret Woman. “I’m sure he can kick harder than a horse.”
“Just bring us onto New Copenhagen,” Turret Woman says. “We’ll negotiate then–”
Xenology Woman seizes Turret Woman around the neck, and my inner bear begins to roar.
The same genetic code that allows me to hibernate through the decades-long journey to Sol also allows me to transform into a bear at will, and at this moment, I allow the bear to take full control.
My body grows in size, tearing the clothes apart and ripping them from my body. The chains dig into my skin, but soon the tension is too much and they snap apart. Before I can shift fully to bear form, I force it back down and revert fully to my original form. I don’t want these humans from the habitat to know I can shift into a bear.
Unrestrained, I launch off the wall and slam Xenology Woman against the opposite wall. She releases Turret Woman so she can try to push me off her, but I grab her by the neck. Though she uses her full strength to hit me, I swat her blows away effortlessly.
I squeeze her neck with my bare hands, hoping to kill her.
“Fenrir!” the Fiona–no, Turret Woman–screams. “Don’t kill her, we need–.”
She keeps speaking, but through my blinding rage, I don’t even hear her. But then I feel her hand touch my back and my arm. She squeezes my arm, and her warm soft hand feels so gentle on my back. Her touch forces me to listen.
“She’s dying!” Turret Woman screams. “Please, Fenrir!”
I let go of her, and though the Xenology Woman gasps and chokes in agony, she’s not dead.
“Do not harm the Turret Female!” I warn. “Or I will kill you!”
9 Fiona
Fenrir shouts into Lisbeth’s face, but then the airlock doors fly open and two men with tasers float through and onto our ship.
“Stand down!” they order.
Fenrir spins toward them and raises his hands in front of him, not into fists, but his stance almost gi
ves the impression that he’s preparing to claw the men.
“Leave the Turret Woman unharmed!” he says, “and take us both aboard your habitat. Do this and I won’t kill all of you.”
I feel a rush in my chest in response to the way he defends me. Even if he’s calling me Turret Woman when he does it. I realize I should try help him with his “negotiation.”
“He’ll do it!” I caution. “He boarded our ship and killed five Imperial airmen, and they had guns!”
The men look at each other, and clutch their tasers more tightly.
Lisbeth nods to them, then says, “You promise to stand down?”
“We’re in zero gravity!” Fenrir says. “There is no down, and how could I possibly stand?”
“You won’t kill us,” Lisbeth repeats, enunciating each word clearly, in an exasperated tone. “That’s what I am asking.”
“If you lay a finger on Turret Woman again,” Fenrir says, “I will.”
Fenrir holds to his word, and Lisbeth and her security team bring us onboard their shuttle. It’s total luxury compared to Cygnus’s Bane, with plush faux-leather seats.
Fenrir watches me strap myself in to one of the empty seats, and the two men each position a hand on the tasers–which are now strapped to their belts–as Fenrir remains floating freely around the cabin.
“Everyone sit down,” Lisbeth says.
“Them first,” Fenrir says, glaring at them.
Lisbeth sighs, and turns back from her seat to look over her shoulder at the men. “Anders, Peter, sit down.”
The two men pull themselves into their seats and strap in.
“Sit down, Fenrir,” I say.
He pulls himself down next to me and straps himself in.
He’s close to me, close enough that I can smell him. I can’t let myself forget that he wants to kill all humans, but he’s protecting me. For now at least.
And then rich and luxurious smell of tanned animal hide hits my nose. “This is real leather?”
“What is leather?” Fenrir asks.
“Of course,” Lisbeth says. She’s facing the window–which is a 3-D screen rather than a primitive glass window–while the two guards face us.
Marauder Fenrir: Scifi Alien Invasion Romance (Mating Wars) Page 4