by Amanda Milo
I cover my face and moan in horror. “Of all the aliens, I got stuck with you…”
The sound of air being displaced and the slap of his hand coming down on his thigh manages to give the impression of a lazy, only slightly baffled, concern. “Well you didn’t want any of the other aliens you were sold to today. You can’t say you haven’t had options.”
I drop my hands and let him see exactly what I think about that statement.
His smile does not match our circumstances. It’s charming and better suited to a shy choir boy asking a girl if she’d like to help him organize donations for food drives for the needy. I’m busy resisting the power of it, so I don’t expect him to swoop down and sweep me off my feet.
I gasp, my hands clutching at his big stupid arms. “You are nuts! Totally, absolutely nuts!” I shout at him.
Totally unworried, completely unconcerned, he performs his shoulder-roll alien shrug. “Do you often measure the suitability of your bedpartners by their sanity?”
I gape up at him. “YEAH, actually, YEAH, I do!”
“Huh,” he says, like he finds this kind of interesting. “I’ll have to get around that.”
“And we didn’t agree to be partners at anything, let alone in a bed,” I warn him, but he only grins, stepping over the bodies of the aliens who he technically saved me from—even after he also technically sold me to them.
I’m not sure if I should be in shock, or fuming, but I think I’m stuck somewhere in between the two.
“Beth?” he says when he makes it to the stairs.
“What?” I ask hotly. “What now? You sure you don’t want to stop and rifle through dead men’s pockets?”
He glances back over the downed guys. “Eh, we’ll be taking this ship and dismantling it for resale. We’re thorough; we’ll get anything they had worthwhile. But for now,” he boops his nose into mine. “I have more important treasure to play with.”
I cross my arms, which feels weird since one side of my body is smashed to his chest.
“Comfortable?” he asks, carefully but effortlessly taking the first step up the ship staircase.
“I’m great,” I answer.
“Then why the ‘I’d spit fire on you if you asked me for water’ face?”
I adjust my crossed arms. “Because, if you can imagine, I don’t like you very much.”
His smile is slow. It fills his eyes, and stretches his mouth, and curls through my insides like it’s enchanted with the power to bespell me. “Aw, Beth. But I like you.”
CHAPTER 8—OQUILION
OQUILION
Nebula’s hoard, I need a female in the worst way. My nose has decided to add to my torment, conjuring the scent of a female—sweet like ripe vytata, and too delicious to be real.
I groan and scrub a hand over my face. I grab my credit sticks, sweep my Comm into my pocket, and hit my door lock with the side of my fist. As my door slides open, the imaginary sweet female’s scent surrounds me, and frustration builds in my gut, knowing that just like all the times I’ve tried finding company lately, I won’t find what I’m looking for. This is what happens to Na’riths. It’s a teveking curse. We start to crave the scent and taste of one particular female above all others—our mate. But hells if you can find her. At first, no other female will quite do, and then we’re left hungering and hungering, not able to stomach much in the way of interactions of the intimate sort with anyone who isn’t her.
It could be solars before we stumble on the whereabouts of our mate, the female our crew will share one day.
It’d be a delight to have her join while we still have time to try for the blessing of children. To become koundreths—fathers—to her offspring… we’ll be proud of our children, whether they be ours by blood or by bond.
Some ships are lucky—in fact, my spawner made my koundreths very lucky men—she found them. They tell the tale that she captured other Na’rith ships for fun, boarding them, seeking the crew she wanted to take as mates. Na’riths are a peculiar race; females and males are capable of being with anyone, but for males, our reproductive biology will sync only for our true mate.
Our female could be of a bold sort. Right at this very click, she could be seeking and testing, trying to find her rightful mates.
But that thought is not the comfort I intended—in the scenario my mind outlined, the fact that she’s not on our ship means she’s trying out another crew, and the idea of her with others and not here, where we want her, where I need her, is enough to make me want to put my fist through a wall.
What if she gives up finding us, and settles for the wrong crew?
Why am I torturing myself with these thoughts?
The phantom scent wafts to me, seeming even stronger, mocking my yearning. Jaw locked, I step into the corridor, and right in front of me, as if the Creator handpicked an angel and set her on our ship, on this deck, before my room—here she is.
Disbelieving, I blink, hoping with everything I am that the apparition doesn’t disappear.
We stare at each other for five incredible breathes.
Her intensifying scent, the sound of her real, live breathing, her wide eyes and hunching shoulders all tells me... she’s no apparition.
I nearly drop to my knees. Instead, I settle for stopping a few paces in front of her. “Please, please if the Creator loves me, you’ll tell me one of these machaii gave you directions to my room, beauty.”
Her cheeks heat fetchingly. It fans the flames on a hard dose of my lust and I bite down on a groan.
She hooks a thumb over her shoulder. “Ekan sent me up here… he said—well, I think he was just kidding, but he—”
I catch her by her shoulders and draw her into me. And I can’t help it; I nose into her mane, inhaling the most beautiful, comforting scent, at once both relaxing and exciting, the best in all the worlds: my mate.
Into her mane, I murmur, “Ekan found you?”
Her voice sounds reedier than it did a click ago. “You could say that. He bought me.”
I huff a laugh into her hair. “Figures. He collects the best treasures.” I wrap my arms around her shoulders and give her a reassuring squeeze. She doesn’t hug me back, but I imagine she’s processing her own emotions. It’s overwhelming—and for her, it must be doubly so. Her life will be changing the most. A Na’rith female always boards her mates’ ship. She leaves everything she’s grown to love behind, to put her full attention on growing new relationships, new loves. A new home. I wonder what her family crew was like. If we’ll measure up to the care her koundreths paid her spawner—and if we’ll be able to match everything they’ve provided for and surrounded her with as she grew up. They must have doted on her.
We’ll dote on you too, female. We’ll give you everything you’ve ever wanted in your own males.
Slowly, I ease back enough that I can get a good look at her. My senses had momentarily gone into overflight, revved too far beyond reason to take in details about her, instead stuck on the shock that is her presence.
In response… she remains still. She doesn’t tip her head back to meet my eyes. I run my fingers through her mane, then catch loose strands that form a curtain at the sides of her eyes—her forelock, I realize—and press the mass of it behind her ears. “Are you shy?” I frown, noticing something about her ears.
They’re rounded at the tops.
Taking her by the shoulders again, I set her further back from me. And in doing so, it registers just how much smaller she is than other females I’ve spied.
Nebulas abound—how many orbits has she seen?
The heat of her stomach is still pressed up against me, and it occurs to me that I’ve never encountered a spawner with such a bellyful before. I wonder how soon she’ll release young. I take a moment to ease back more, and surreptitiously take it in. This won’t be the first Na’rith female that went into swell not of her crew if she found another race she tolerated. But flicking my gaze up to her ears again, I have to wonder if she herself is the
product of such a union. “Are you a hybrid?” I ask.
She finally gives me the full power of her eyes. She almost seems humored, or perhaps even taken aback by my question. I can’t decide. “I’m a human.”
I scratch a spot on my jaw with the backs of my fingers. “Huh. What species cross is that?” What other race looks similar to a Na’rith? Even if she took after her spawner, surely she’d show some traits of her sire; but she doesn’t have extra limbs, or wings, or webbing between her fingers—I’m at a loss to even start guessing.
She makes a choked sound before taking a slow inhale, reminding me of my own lifebearer when she was trying to explain a complicated concept that I just was not picking up. “It’s not one. Not a cross, I mean. A human isn’t a hybrid—I’m a different ‘kind’ than you.”
I look down at her stomach. “You… You’re not… You’re not Na’rith at all?”
“Yeah,” she says, bringing the thumb-side of her fist together with the flat of her other hand, making a popping noise. “Awkward, right? I don’t belong here.”
“Not true!” I stay her with a welcoming hug; a quick grab and release. “Never think that. Of course you belong here, with us.” I feel my eyes widen as a thought occurs to me, considering her unfamiliar parentage. “Unless you don’t sense us like we can sense you.” I stare into her eyes. “You can feel that we’re your mates, can’t you?”
It’s her turn for her eyes to widen. Or, make that, go wider. “EKAN!” she hollers so suddenly that I’m startled.
“EKAN!!!!” she shouts again, her voice roaring down the corridor. “GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE! RIGHT. NOW.”
Torn between amusement and concern, I try to hide my smile. “He’s needed a female that will get control of him.” I point in the direction she so stoutly shouted for him. “Sounds like you’re the lucky spawner for the job.”
She shoves a hand through her hair. “Are you kidding? That one couldn’t be controlled if you superglued him to the wall and horse whipped him until he stopped trying to sweet-talk you.”
At this, I laugh. “Wouldn’t lose sleep trying that method.”
She mutters, “Right—it’d probably just excite him.”
I resist the urge to double over and guffaw. “Ah, it’s good you already know one of your mates well! What’s your name?” I ask her.
She starts pacing. “Beth. I’m Beth. But…” She rubs her palms on her bare thighs.
Her muscled, round-curved thighs, somehow strong and soft at the same time. I want to bite them.
“I’m not your mate. I’m… look, can we cover this part when Ekan gets here?” She bares her teeth and glares in the direction I can only presume he flitted off to.
When she folds her arms, I notice something I previously missed. In an attempt to make interesting conversation, I address her outstanding feature. “Do all humans…” I test the name, but no, it still doesn’t sound the least bit familiar, “have bisected breasts?”
Beth makes a sputtering sound, and from her ribcage to her shoulders, exposed and visible to perfection thanks to her fetching costume, her upper half seems to inflate with an indrawn hiss that I haven’t heard since I accidentally insulted my lifebearer.
Horror fills me. “I think I need to apologize—was that rude to ask? Please forgive me if it was—I know nothing of humans, but you should know I find the state of your breasts more than pleasant—”
“Gosh where IS Ekan?” Beth cuts in, leaving me to conclude that she’s oddly sensitive about discussing her anatomical differences. Perhaps the state of her spread breast is not natural, but due instead to injury—a firefight, or some other unfortunate circumstance, and she’s not comfortable revisiting memories or the topic.
You’ve had your mate all of five clicks and you’ve upset her. Well done, Oquilion! I berate myself.
Her teeth take hold of her next words, making it sound as if she’s carefully biting out everything she says. “When Ekan shows up again, I’m going to kill him dead.” She’s so agitated, she tosses her head, flipping some of her mane. “You always hear them say that in the old movies—and it sounds ridiculous right up until you meet someone who makes you need to make damn sure you’ve done it right. He’s such an ass!”
I study her. “Are you nervous?”
Beth throws out her arms—then she slaps them akimbo, hands flying to hips. “What could possibly make me nervous? What about today would ever leave me feeling—”
I hold out my hand. “I just realized. You’ve been out and about with Ekan for some time, haven’t you? He’s been missing for at least a span.”
Looking very sorry for herself, she confirms, “I’ve been with him for what feels like weeks—maybe lifetimes, even—but it’s really only been maybe an hour or two. An awful, awful hour or two. He sold me.”
“Did he.” Damn, he’s good. That’s brilliant. I know him too well to fall for anything he tries to sell, yet I’d still agree to buying Beth from him in a heartbeat. “I’m sorry,” I offer my condolences along with my hand. “I can only imagine what a rotation with Ekan is like for the uninitiated. May I offer you refreshments and treats to make up for it?”
“Treats?” She locks eyes with me, and, taking a fortifying breath, she searches my gaze.
Then she takes my hand. I feel like cheering.
She’s decided to trust me. I reign in my elation. “You could say I’m out of my depth here. If you were a Na’rith female, I’d invite you to wait for Ekan in my room, where I promise you wouldn’t be bored. Neither of us would be—we could run wagers to keep ourselves entertained. I bet I could make you orgasm until you passed out, and for the first four, I’ll only use my tongue.”
Her step back in retreat, paired with her wild-eyed glance tells me she’s not ready for this—and I’ve gone too far. I don’t tighten my grip on her fingers, but I do lightly give her hand a tug, hoping to keep her anchored with me without making her feel trapped. “If you ever decide that’s a way you’d like to pass time, just let me know. Offer is always on the table,” I finish lightly.
When she relaxes and gives me a relieved smile, I playfully lick my lower lip. “Or against the wall. With your leg over my shoulder—”
“Stop!” A laugh bursts from her, a shocked one, before she holds up her hands. “Just…” she covers her face. “This is the weirdest day.” She points to her stomach. “I’m pregnant.”
My gaze bounces down to her belly, then back up to her eyes—before my vision sinks to her breasts again for about three clicks. With effort, I make it back to her face—her lovely face.
The shock of her scent being real, being here—it nearly bowls me over when I take in my next breath. “Yes, I’d noticed you were belly-swollen. Is the sire a human too, or another race?”
One of her eyes narrows, but I don’t know her enough to discern what this means.
But the mere thought that I will be getting to know her, learn her expressions, mannerisms, likes and dislikes—it’s thrilling. I catch both of her hands, noticing how she instantly stills at my touch.
I’m so excited to get to know her, to share everything with her. “I have to tell you—I’m hyperpsyched to finally have you here. I can’t begin to describe how momentous an occasion this rotation just became.” I look her up and down. “And you probably already know it’s best to starve Ekan’s ego as much as you’re able, but tevek…” Once I’ve glanced down, I can’t pull my eyes up or away from her shapely legs under her revealing skirt. “He really has a knack for hauling in the most incredible treasure. You’re worth thanking him for. I’m Oquilion, by the way.”
She breathes a sound that might be a laugh. “Hi—and thanks.” Then her eyes cut to the side, and she fidgets in place before taking a step back. Retreating.
This… this is not the behavior of a female excited to be wooed.
Something a little painful lodges in my chest as I wonder what event would make Beth not look forward to the beginning of the Na’rith mating dance.
Not wanting to make her more nervous, I tone down my attraction. Outwardly, as much as I’m able, at least. “Do you, ah... know where Ekan scampered off to? Did he offer any… window of time before he’d return?” The question exits my mouth already lamed, like a three legged yanak tasked to cartwork, because even if he had told her when he’d return, Ekan’s wide estimates of time are legendary and rarely adhered to.
But just then, from around the corner arrives Ekan, laden down with every cryo-dried, canned, bottled, bagged, and liquid food our top deck galley has to offer.
His gaze collides with mine, and he stops dead.
A few packages slide off his overflowing burden and drop to the floor, thanks to his shift in momentum. He ignores them, starting forward, his gait no longer easy. No longer a swagger.
In essence: no longer Ekan.
Well I’ll be rutted.
Ekan’s gaze is proprietary. Territorial. He wants Beth—not to share as our mate, but for his very own.
He’s looking at me like I’m competition.
He’s looking at me like he has every intention of getting rid of the competition.
A silent laugh rumbles in my chest. Well, well, well. Who’d have thought it possible? The great personality trait common to luck sources—the entire element that balances their insufferableness out really—happens to be their eternally good natures. Evidently it’s not hard to be anything but cheery if every game you play, you win, and all of your tevekups turn out all right.
Beth isn’t a game though. And if he tries to play with her, he might lose more than just a match—there are four other males on this ship she can always run to when she doesn’t like her odds.
Beth calls out a greeting. “My mentally unstable captor returns—hooray.”
Utterly taken with her, I smile.
Ekan growls at me. “Not your female. Mine.”
The accompanying scowl he sends me should probably feel more threatening than it does—but I only smile wider. Ekan, ruffled! This is glorious.