Forbidden Alien Prince: Celestial Mates (The Alva)

by Miranda Martin

  There's a lot of mosaics and carving. The structures themselves are almost light and airy, perforated in unexpected places to allow air to circulate. It's lovely. I pass what appears to be a public bathing house. Interesting. Don't know if I'm up for that, but good to know it's here.

  As I make it to the more active marketplace, I realize I'm at about chest level among the Alvan. I'm not used to being so short in a crowd, though I appreciate that it helps me blend in better. I let the flow of people dictate where I'm going, stopping and looking at the wares in each stall. Exotic food, clothes, there’s even a stall that has only bells.

  I want to visit everything but one stall catches my eye. It's selling what looks like a variety of swords and knives with different shapes and grips. Interesting. I make my way toward it, wondering how I could go about buying one, when there’s a distinct sound of a scuffle. Frowning, I stop in front of the narrow alleyway where the sounds are coming from.

  There’s a younger woman being surrounded by four guys around the same age, but much bigger than her. She has more of a willowy build, though like everyone here, she's tall. I'm guessing the scuffling sound was from them pushing her deeper into the narrow space. I can't move on and do nothing, even if I'll probably get my ass kicked.

  Stepping into the alley, I stalk towards them. I don't care what the cultural differences are, there’s no good reason for these guys to be doing what they're doing. All the young men are in bright colored robes like Rathorin's, and the girl is in a plain brown, modest dress constructed of a heavier cloth. The difference sets off alarm bells in my head.

  It looks like class snobbery. One man says something and makes a crude gesture. The others chuckle as the woman backs up until she meets the wall. Her frightened eyes and body language are defensive.

  Nope, not on my watch.

  One of them reaches for her, but I push his hand aside roughly. He frowns, his lip curling.

  He says something that I don't understand at all with a sneer. I'm guessing it's not very flattering, whatever it is. I look at the woman who I can now tell is much taller, but she's meek, unused to confrontation. She won’t be any help.

  "Go," I say.

  At least I won't have to worry about protecting her if she leaves. She looks at me, her eyes wide.

  One of the bullies says something with a smirk, his eyes scanning my body. He says another word I don't understand and the others chuckle.

  I wish I could translate Alvan swearwords. That will go on my to-do list.

  I watch as he reaches and grabs for my wrist. Lifting my arm, I grip under his thumb with one hand and on his knuckles with the other, then twist his arm. He cries out, dropping to his knees, twisting his body to take the pressure off his wrist.

  "Bad," I say, the only thing I can think of with the rush of adrenaline and my limited Alvan.

  I shake my head as he snarls. The others are laughing at him, and ugly darkness rises in his eyes as rage takes over. Now I've done it. I twist further until he has no choice but to roll over to avoid breaking his wrist. As soon as he's down, I drive a swift punch into his temple. I don't have the leeway to mess around. Pulling back, I get ready to deal with the others.

  This will not be pretty and I'm going to lose. I'm outnumbered and they're all bigger than I am. I get ready for the pain.

  A deep voice resounds down the alleyway and everyone turns.

  "My Prince!" the young woman behind me exclaims.

  Hey, prince, I know that word! But this isn’t Rathorin.

  The newcomer says something to her in rapid Alvan and she scurries out of the alley. Sure, she'll listen to him. I take a split second to look the new guy over and there’s a stir of interest.

  Tall, even taller than Rathorin, he has periwinkle blue skin and rich navy hair he has tied back from his face. His eyes stand out even from this distance, a gleaming amethyst purple. It's clear he isn't a local, his tall, muscled body is covered in heavy brown leather that looks like it could take a beating and still protect him. The young men look like boys in comparison.

  As he strides down the alley, the whisper of his sword leaving the scabbard is damn loud. The others look frightened as he closes the distance with a feral look.

  They square their shoulders and puff out their chests as they try to show each other they're not afraid. As the bigger Alvan closes in, he frowns at me and jerks his head in the direction the other woman fled.

  "Go," he orders, spinning his sword to loosen his wrist.

  I've never liked taking orders, especially from someone I don't even know.

  "No."

  He narrows his violet eyes but doesn't have time to make me do anything as the three men attack at once. And then the guy I put down on the ground growls as he lunges at me.

  Chapter Six

  Drevakin

  News of the next attack comes while I am in the House Mansion. Furious, I step out into the courtyard to meet the waiting group. They look far worse than they did last time, with obvious cuts and bruises.

  "Was it the same people?" I ask after I have a better hold on my emotions.

  They nod.

  "They said we were obviously too stupid to understand the message the first time, so they wanted to ensure we understood it this time," the man in charge says, his voice grim.

  "I see," I say, turning toward the stable master and asking him to bring out my juntta and carriage. "I'm going to do something about this," I tell them, turning back to the group. "I'm sorry this has happened once again."

  "We know it is not your fault, my Prince," one of the serious-faced women says.

  "Nevertheless," I say, climbing onto the carriage. "I will make this right. Please speak to my stable master and leave another list."

  With a nod I flick the reins, clicking at the fresh juntta to coax it into moving. Prince Rathorin will see me today. I will make sure of it. As I drive through our marketplace, the concerned glances of my people is worrying. Everyone has heard of this second attack, it is unacceptable. I don't want my people to feel unsafe.

  As I leave through the brightly lit tunnel and enter the dimmer connecting caverns, I attempt to calm myself. Arriving full of rage will not be productive. It doesn't matter how much I want to break something, I have a responsibility to my people, which means I need to do what will be most effective, not what would be the most satisfying.

  By I time I arrive at House Ti'ana, I have a modicum of control, though it’s a thin veneer that may crack under pressure. Still, it’s an improvement. I stop my carriage and leave it at the border wall this time, needing to make the rest of the journey on foot to spend some of this angry energy.

  I am not as courteous as I could be as I push through the crowd in the marketplace, my less than pleasant mood obvious. People part in front of me, giving me uneasy looks. Good. Let them see that we of the Minor Houses are not victims. I focus on reaching the Ti’ana House Mansion, but I catch a flash of gray from the corner of my eye and it draws my attention, standing out in the colorful throng.

  I recognize the young female as one of my people. A group of four young males shove her into a narrow alley, their jeers and chuckles underscoring their intent. My eyes narrow as I change course, pushing people aside as they get in my way. Those males chose the worst day for their ugly sport. They will regret their decision.

  I move quickly, but it is difficult to push through the crowd. Walking past the alley is a small female who has a strange skin tone. As I move closer, I realize she is a human woman, like Margot, Elorshin's Pari. Her skin is an unusual warm gold, her dark yellow hair is streaked with lighter sections, and the long wavy strands reach the middle of her back. Perhaps she is not small for a human, but she is most definitely small for an Alvan.

  She hesitates as if she hears something, then looks into the alley. A moment later she disappears into it. Why is she going down that same alley? Is she working with those males? I make it to the opening and the human's strong, accented voice is fending off the m
ales from the young female.

  What idiocy is this? There are four of them and the female of my House is not a fighter. She is putting herself in real danger. I frown as my eyes focus on the scene. The human has one of the males on his knees in front of her, holding his wrist.

  I watch as she somehow forces him onto his back and then lands a blow on his temple, rendering him more than dazed but not unconscious. I shake my head, wondering at what just occurred.

  "What is going on here?" I ask as I stride down the alley, pulling out my sword.

  Everyone looks at me, including both of the females. Good. If the males are looking at me, they are not looking at the females.

  "My Prince!" the female from House Lo'ara exclaims.

  "Go find who you came with. I will take care of this," I order.

  She nods and runs past, disappearing into the crowd. I frown as the other female doesn't run.

  "Go," I growl at her, not wanting to worry about protecting her while I fight.

  As her eyes meet mine, I realize they are an unusual shade of green, with a golden hue at the center. They are arresting.

  "No," she says in that same, strong voice.

  Anger flushes my face but I don't have time to argue as three of the idiots attack. Focused, I cross swords with one while I kick another in the chest, pushing him stumbling straight into the third. The male I crossed swords with is a bad swordsman, I disarm him with ease. There is fear in his eyes, but he refuses to back down in front of his friends. Snarling, he rushes, leaving himself open to any attack.

  Stupid.

  I move my head to the side, but he lands a glancing blow to my cheek. He must have something sharp held between his fingers because a trickle of blood slides down my face. I ignore it and swing my sword away, the quarters too close now. I punch him in the gut instead.

  Killing the buffoon will cause too much political fallout, so using my hands is wiser. He's not worth it. As he falls to the ground with a groan, curled around his midsection, another runs at me with a glinting knife. I dodge the wild stab and grab him by the hair, swinging him around to slam his head against the wall, stunning him.

  The third male steps back with his hands in the air. I keep an eye on him as I turn to help the female, hoping she isn't hurt.

  I stop and stare. The man who attacked her is unconscious on the ground and she is holding what I am assuming was his blade. As I stare, I sense a flicker to the side.

  "Watch out!" I shout as the third man lunges toward her.

  I'm too far to intercept the attack. Stepping closer, my heart leaps into my throat. She is so small. His blow lands on her side, but she doesn't make a sound as she brings her leg up in a hard kick. Right where every male dreads. Despite myself, I wince in sympathy as the male freezes, his hands flying to his groin, his breath coming out in a pained wheeze.

  Footsteps pound and when I look back, two of the males have disappeared. The other two are unconscious on the ground.

  "Done," the female says, stepping around the groaning man.

  I suppose that is accurate. She stops in front of me and looks up curiously, scanning my face with pretty eyes.

  "Come," she urges, holding out her hand.

  I stare down at her hand in fascination, the smooth warm skin and the smallness of it draws my attention. This human female is odd in every sense of the word and I find myself drawn to her, wanting to learn more about her. But the fact that she is here means she is paired to someone. Even if there is no visible mark on her, it would be unwise to touch her.

  "Come," she repeats impatiently, waving her hand.

  I may well come to regret this, but there is something about her I cannot refuse.

  Or, at least, I don't want to.

  I take her hand.

  Chapter Seven

  Clara

  I lead Mr. Hero down the alley and through the crowded fairway, heading for the bathhouse because it seems like a logical place to help him clean up. Perfumed soap wafts out to meet us as we go down the steps leading in. A large pool of water takes up most of the space. It looks like a natural formation complete with rising steam in the faint green light of the sieni covered walls.

  It must be a natural spring and the crystal clear water is inviting. Luckily, the place is empty as I motion him on to the low, mosaic decorated bench near the edge of the water. I spot a stack of clean cloths nearby and grab one, crouching down by the edge of the pool to dip it then wring it out. When I turn back, he's watching with guarded eyes.

  I'm struck again by the clean planes and angles of his face, sharp and defined but also open and honest. He has a face I want to believe and also find distractingly hot. Double whammy. His is not at all like Rathorin's, but that's neither here nor there. Once he’s sitting down, I can also more clearly see the pretty purple of his eyes and the thick fan of framing lashes. Hmm, so that’s what people mean by a pitter patter of the heart.

  "I am Clara," I say, pressing my hand against my chest in case I'm butchering the words.

  "Drevakin," he murmurs in a deep, slightly husky voice.

  Instant wetness, his voice alone conjures all kinds of dirty thoughts. Jeez.

  "Clean?" I ask, raising the cloth up to his face so he can refuse if he wants to.

  He hesitates but then nods, gazing at me the entire time I clean drying blood off his face. I slide the cloth down to his strong neck, a trickle of water drips lower and I watch it disappear into his clothes. I can tell from his neck alone that he's built, and it affects me more than it should. His shoulders are broad and he's obviously large and muscled. I can admire a man's form, but I don't know if I've ever admired it to this degree.

  Part of it is how petite I am in comparison, which I'm not used to, not being the wilting flower type. Rinsing out the washcloth I step between his spread thighs and pick up his hand, inspecting the scraped knuckles.

  "You.. not need," I say, trying to get my point across with my limited vocabulary. "I... win."

  He raises an eyebrow, giving me a classic skeptical look.

  "You must be more careful," he says. "Four males against one small female is not a fair match," he observes.

  I think he said that anyway, judging by the fingers he holds up to make the numbers clear.

  "I take care… myself," I respond archly.

  Relaying emotion in an unfamiliar language is damn difficult. He hums, somehow making that sound skeptical too.

  "They hit your ribs too," he says, gesturing to my side. I fill in the gaps of the words I don't know based on context, hoping I'm right.

  "I fine," I say, waving his concern away but he frowns.

  "Let me see," he says, grabbing my arm.

  His grip is strong as he turns me effortlessly to one side. I'm tempted to believe this is a ploy to get my clothes off, but his face is so sincere I'm sure it isn't. I could be giving him the benefit of the doubt because he's downright hot. It might affect my judgment. Just a tad.

  Figuring it's fair enough after I've made a point of cleaning him up, I take off the cover up and unlace my dress, pushing it down to my waist, baring my torso. There's no mistaking the heat rising in Drevakin's eyes as he takes in my almost bare chest, the bra-like band not covering much. The hard points of my nipples poke out, screaming for attention. He licks his lips, obviously trying hard to keep his attention on my ribs.

  Looking down myself, a bruise is already forming. He frowns as he skims his fingertips over my rib cage, his touch light and delicate. I take a deep breath. He’s affecting me much more than is appropriate. They're just my ribs, but somehow the touch seems more intimate. I'm very aware that we're alone in the steamy room. My pulse throbs between my legs, a deep aching need I know he could satisfy, if I let him.

  I remind myself I'm matched with Rathorin, but it's clear I don't have the same attraction for him as I do for Drevakin. He looks up at me, his other hand curling around my hip. He isn't unaffected either.

  Bringing him here was a mistake.


  Chapter Eight

  Drevakin

  When Clara pulls her dress down to her waist, I have a moment where I cannot do anything but stare. Her body is stunning. She is most definitely a woman; her curves obvious and enticing. But she is also strong, the gentle definition of her arms and stomach allude to that fact.

  I swallow as I take in the warmth of her skin, a healthy sheen giving it a luminous appearance, especially over the curves of her breasts. The tops of the full curves peek over the band she is wearing, the bright yellow of it setting off her exotic complexion. I want to touch her everywhere, but I force myself to focus on why she is standing in front of me half dressed.

  Scanning down her side, I frown, there is already the beginnings of an impressive bruise over her delicate ribs. Reaching out, I skim my fingers over the mark, trying to be gentle as I ensure no bones are broken. She takes in a sharp breath and I look up, the same heat boiling my blood is clear in her eyes.

  This is wrong. She is meant for someone else.

  My desire for her is like nothing I have felt before and I find myself without defense.

  Tentatively, I curl my free hand around her other hip, keeping my eyes on hers to see if she will object. She does not.

  I am weak, unable to resist the urge. Guiding her towards me, waiting for her to resist but she allows it, placing her knees on either side of me on the bench, straddling my body as she lowers herself. Doubt is in her eyes, we both know this isn't the right thing to do but but neither of us stops.

  Sliding my fingers into her soft hair, I cup the back of her head as I lean in close. I want to taste her. Her eyes flutter shut as my lips cover her soft, plump ones. I kiss her softly, enjoying the cushion of her lips against mine, her delicate flavor as I slowly deepen the kiss. She makes a sound, her hand sliding up to curl around the back of my neck as she pushes in closer. The clear sign of her desire changes the soft kiss to something else.