Sci-Fi & Fantasy Erotica: Volume 2 (Sci-Fi & Fantasy Erotica Series)

by Charlie Buxton

  "He was the man that broke down the civilian shells we lived in and carved us out into soldiers."

  "I see..." Mila mumbled. "And what of your hair?"

  She moved closer, getting right beside him as she ran her hand over his scalp, her soft fur making the hairs on his neck stand on end as a warm sensation rippled down his back. Their eyes caught each other for a moment, putting them both at a loss for words. As Michael's cheeks gained a red tint to accompany his grin, Mila timidly glanced aside and back again.

  "You do not armor your head like Galen does, and your hair is cut into one hedge down the middle. Why?" she asked, restarting the conversation again.

  Michael stroked a hand through his Mohawk, brushing her hand away but taking it within his own and giving it a gentle squeeze. Much to his delight, she squeezed his hand in return.

  His tone softened as he explained, "the mother of my mother was one of the Blackfoot. A human tribe that roamed the plains many years ago in my world. And the father of my father descended from the Mohawk tribe, whose warriors cut their hair like this. Both of my parents spoke of ancestors and warriors of the past, and when I was a kid going into basic, I dreamed of becoming one of those warriors. To go into enemy lines, hacking them to death with my tomahawk."

  "So you are a born fighter. A warrior by choice and profession."

  "Exactly."

  This did not surprise Mila. There were many in her tribe who grew up with a thirst for battle. Human bands of raiders and bandits, the odd troll, and the few rogue packs of Lycans scouring through the woods always gave warriors a chance to go to fight. Others, if they found these trivial fights too simple, went east to join the pan-racial army of Galaeus and fight his glorious battles against the demon hordes known to harass the borders of their mortal realm.

  "You haven't told me of your people, Mila," Michael said.

  "My people as the Neko? Or people as the tribe of Willher?"

  "Your tribe. It sounds interesting."

  "There is not much I could tell you, I am no keeper of age, but I can tell you we are a large tribe. We have a village two hills yonder; it is only forty zetra away if walking."

  "I'm sorry, zetra? What is that?"

  "It is how we keep time. There are a hundred zets in a zetra, a hundred zetras in a zetran, and fourteen zetrans in a day. It is also how we speak of distance."

  The talk of time made Michael checked his watch. It was off the hour; he seriously doubted that is was five in the afternoon. "Well, I guess we can't share everything. I'm surprised we share a language across worlds."

  "I don't always speak human," Mila chimed, "but I've been studying your kind and speaking with the emissaries and ambassadors since I was a child. I hope to one day become ambassador to the human city in the rock lands to the west."

  "There's a city?" Michael asked, now fully interested.

  "Oh yes, the city of Redding. With stone walls a hundred feet high. A large... 'castle' as the emissaries called, and a vast market place with goods from across Raska. Though, I am not sure if they have made peace with the dark elf city yet. They have been at war for quite some time..."

  "Wait, how many kinds of elves are there?" Michael asked. His eye brows rose as she began counting with her fingers.

  "Tree elves, high elves, dark elves, night elves, sun elves, feral elves... so many kinds that I cannot tell them all. But it is no different from the humans, though. There are a dozen kinds of your race."

  He had to admire how knowledgeable Mila was, and her openness to his own race. Although, he couldn't help but wonder about her own people. Were they as accepting as she was?

  "Let's get back to your tribe, what are they like?"

  Mila leaned back, propping herself on her elbows as she gazed up to the stars above, unconsciously giving Michael a full view of her body bathed in both the moon and firelight. Her slim yet powerful legs coming up to those smooth thighs and ample hips. A light patch of soft fur that covered her belly rising up to her shapely chest and those admirable breasts wrapped in cloth. It made more than just Michael's smile grow.

  "The Willher are a peaceful tribe, even if we do raise our share of bold and vicious warriors. We tend to stick to our own territory, though we do occasionally leave to trade."

  "How do they treat humans there?"

  "Humans are tolerated, though the troublesome ones are run off. You would have to be wary of some of the elders though. They had fought in a war we waged with humans many years ago and still have not given up their hate."

  The Sergeant paused a moment as he stared at the beautiful Nekonian before him. She didn't notice as her gaze remained fixed upon the moon and stars above. His father always told him to never let the best ones pass him by, to pounce on her when you know the time is right. Right now the time seemed perfect.

  "And what about you?" he asked.

  "What?" Mila asked, her tail lashing down as Michael leaned in toward her.

  "What do you think of humans?" he asked, a bit more softly.

  "They... they're not usually as brave as you have shown. They prove themselves in battle, yet distinguish themselves in trade. You find humans so vulgar, yet there are some who are as kind as the summer breeze. Humans intrigue me, fascinate me. You fascinate me."

  For a second, Mila froze at the words that had just passed her lips. A new look had come over Michael's face as his the lower half of his jaw glowed in the fire light, the flames dancing in his eyes. This man had threatened her life, and now he dares to look at her in such a way? She saw in his eyes that he was an animal. An animal in so many ways. Maybe even, her kind of animal.

  Michael was taking a moment to study Mila completely. The lush curves of her hips, the rounded peaks of her shapely breasts. She had the darling face of a bombshell, and her sparkling green eyes, they entrapped him in their luminous moonlight glow. They reminded him of an oak leaf bathed in the summer sun. With one each of these thoughts passing through his mind, he couldn't help but admire this woman even more. Truth was, he hadn't stop admiring her the second she landed at his feet to pull him away from those Ra'zorlichs.

  "You know, I didn't say thank you for saving my life," he began.

  She turned away, trying to suppress the smile on her lips.

  "I couldn't let such fascinating creatures be lost to the Ra'zorlichs," she countered, turning back toward him as his face drew closer.

  "Then let me thank you."

  Perhaps it was his savage nature, stimulating the inner beast that prowled within her body; when his hand came up to her face, gently pressing against her cheek while his lips drew so close to hers, she couldn't resist. All instinct brought her forward to finally bring their lips together. It gave a spark. A single spark that ignited a fire in her chest that burned away all her urges to say the word, 'stop'. Nothing in her life readied her for it, and she didn't even understand what was happening within the confines of her own body. It was too fast, too sudden.

  No explanations could work their way through Michael mind as his hand reached around and wrapped itself in the back of her hair. This Neko woman stirred that primal part of him that he had been feeding for so long. Everything about her attracted him: her lush scent ripe in his nose, her soft fur comforting against his skin, that warming purr soothing his ears as his hand glided down her back.

  "We shouldn't... we shouldn't go further," she whispered, her hands pushing him away.

  "Why not?"

  "We have not known each other a day, it is... too soon. We Willhers have rituals, and there is a presence among us." She whispered, her eyes glancing over to the sleeping Galen. Nervousness became a twitch in her nose, a twitch soon settled as Michael took her hands within his own.

  "We are in your world, under your guidance. I will respect your wish," he said, touching his lips to her fingers.

  "Thank you," Mila mumbled, her cheeks flushing red under her fur.

  With that, Michael laid back and settled his head onto his pack. The woman beside him lo
oked nervously aside, tenderly touching the back of her hand to her still tingling lips. She was debating something inside her head, something important as she shifted her gaze back to Michael, staring at him as he got comfortable.

  Oh, Necela and sweet Calia, please guide me...

  To Michael's surprise, Mila slowly moved in, laying her body against his own and nestling her head against his neck.

  "I thought there were rituals?" he whispered.

  "There are several rituals before a male can take a female, yes. This is one of them. A night spent in sleep under the eyes of the moon, so our spirits may decide if the match is true."

  If the match was true, he repeated in his head. Michael pondered those words a moment, thinking about the weight they carried. Mila wouldn't settle for anything casual; if she wanted something, she wanted it for life.

  He'd had his share of girls, that series of one-night stands or simple, month-long relationships. As he came closer to the start of his first tour, however, he began facing his reality, and he wanted something more. He had begun to search for someone to write to, for someone to look forward to...a woman to anchor him home...

  "How do our spirits do that, decide the match?"

  "The goddess Necela watches all who sleep under her moon. If a couple's spirit decide the match is true, they receive her in the form of her charm."

  "I see..." Michael responded, looking up at the moon above him. He had no idea what she said, or what it meant. But everything in him yearned for this girl. If she wished for a goddess's blessing before she could fully lo...

  All processes stopped in Michael's mind as the word 'love' threw a wrench into his gears. Was it really love? Or just a simple attraction? Or did he really love this... beast of a woman? This Neko?

  He had been here less than twelve hours, and he was already head-over-heels for one of the women in this strange world? The Sergeant looked down at the soft face pressed against his collar, her warm purrs vibrating against his chest. She wasn't his kind, but that didn't seem to matter. The layers of doubt were stripped away as the few simple words rang through his mind.

  This. Is. Real.

  ......................................................................

  Black boots marched down a hallway behind the fine-cut suits worn by two official-looking men. These figures stuck out amid the olive drab uniforms of the Army soldiers that walked past them, drawing many curious looks from soldiers who quickly returned to the tasks at hand.

  The two suits neared the end of the long hall and approached two MP's standing guard over a pair of double doors. The soldiers snapped to attention and saluted as the black-suited men went through the door. Five men occupied the tight room; they were standing over an operational map of North Vietnam but immediately stood up to address the new arrivals.

  "Major Linton?" one of the men said.

  The aged soldier stood up a little straighter and pulled down the sides of his dress uniform. He had salt-and-pepper hair and a single Major leaf on his helmet. The medals on his chest jingled against one another as he crossed his arms and inspected the two new arrivals. Both men had short, military-style haircuts and a hard look in their eye, though their clean suits and pressed ties showed that these men were fresh into the Jungle Hells of Vietnam.

  "Yes, I am Major Linton," the aged man responded, curling his black, bushy mustache.

  "I'm Robert Smith. This is my partner, John Smith; no relation. We've come to talk about the plane you lost this morning."

  A cross look came over the Major's face. "Boys, I need you to leave the room."

  The officers that had been with the Major nodded and headed for the door, silently filing past the two agents and giving them suspicious glares.

  As the last man left, Agent Robert Smith turned to the MP outside the door and said, "Nobody enters until we leave."

  The MP gave a prompt, "Yes, sir," and shut the door. When the bolt clicked shut, the two Agents took a seat at the map table.

  "You boys are late," Linton commented.

  "Plane troubles, Major. Please, have a seat and brief us on what you know."

  Linton pulled up a chair and leaned in on the table, clearing his throat. "At oh-six hundred, we launched a surprise attack into a city in North Vietnam with elements of the 101st Airborne. The focus of the mission was to secure several HVI's in the area while pushing the North Vietnamese out of the city entirely. However, just as the planes entered the drop zone, pilots reported lightning storms filling the sky. This was deemed impossible, as cloud cover was minimal with no signs of rain or sudden change in weather. When C-Company's craft was hit with flak fire, it started to go down. However, soldiers claimed that the craft was struck by several bolts of lightning at once, causing the craft to vanish.""Vanish?" Robert repeated.

  "It's what was written in the eyewitness report. After the plane went down, I sent in the armor divisions and our reserve force so I could recall as much of C-Company as possible for their reports on this... event."

  "I see. Major, we need you to confine the primary witnesses to their barracks and order your men to keep this incident under wraps. We also need your forces to secure the area around the craft's last known location so we can send our teams in to investigate."

  "Reports say that the NVA are already beginning to pull out. When they go into full retreat, I'll send a few B52s to mop up and an additional force to keep the area on lock down," Linton stated, pointing to the plastic figures standing on the map. "But tell me, Agent Smith, are we dealing with Bermuda Triangle shit?"

  Agent John looked over to Agent Robert and went back to writing something down on his sheet of paper.

  "It's what we are trying to find out, Major. You keep your men quiet and secure that area. We will handle the rest."

  ..........................................................

  The sun had not yet risen when Michael stirred once again. His watch said oh-four hundred, but he figured it closer to seven as the first hints of sunlight broke the horizon. Very casually, his left arm tightened up on the warm body beside him, bringing it closer against his own. A smile crept on his lips as her leg lifted, crossing over his knee and her arms hugging onto his bicep. Several curses passed through Michael's head as he suddenly felt the rising need to pee.

  He began to wiggle his way out of her grasp but his upper-right thigh sparked up in a rich pain as her knee came up and touched his wounds. It took most of his strength alone to hold in his wails as he glanced down at his red-soaked bandages. The wrappings around his gash needed to be changed. That, and he really needed new pants.

  "Something wrong?" Mila whispered as she began to wake up.

  "I need to relieve myself."

  She sighed as her claws poked out slightly from her fingers, "Alright, let's get you up."

  She pulled herself away and rose up to her feet, grabbing onto Michael's hand and hauling him up onto his good leg. With a few trips and close calls, the two managed to stumble over to the nearest bush. Mila respectfully turned away as Michael undid his fly.

  "So how does this, 'Necela' give her blessing?"

  Mila was silent as his fluids started hitting the leaves.

  "She will let us know. Necela alwa-" Mila went quiet.

  Michael shook himself out and sealed the cave of his one-eyed snake.

  "What's the matter, Mil-"

  He stopped mid-sentence; total awe struck him as a butterfly came fluttering through the trees, its wings glowing a bright, luminescent green. The soft beats of its wings carried the large bug through the air until it hovered in front of him and Mila. The Neko woman instinctively held out her hand, the mystical creature coming to land in her palm.

  "Hold out your hand," Mila whispered.

  "Huh?"

  "Hold out your hand next to mine."

  Without missing another beat, Michael raised his palm beside Mila's, holding it open as the butterfly crawled from her palm into his. Its feelers touched his skin, probing the roug
h calluses carefully before it wandered over to his wrist. There the bug sat for a moment, adjusting its foot positions as its wings moved in tune with his pulse.

  With an unexpected beat of its wings, it flew up and landed on his nose. From this close up, Michael could see that not only did the butterfly's wings glow, but its body and head as well. For such a small insect, the soldier could feel its compound eyes staring deep into his own. He blinked, and the butterfly gave a beat of its wings, casting a sparkling powder across his face before fluttering off back into the woods.

  "What was that all about? Was that some-"

  He couldn't finish his sentence before Mila took hold of his collar and pulled his lips onto hers. She held him there for a good minute, letting each other savor their shared taste before she finally reeled back, soft smile cast upon her lips.