Ice Planet Barbarians: The Complete Series: A SciFi Alien Serial Romance

by Ruby Dixon

  “That is one of the functions of this unit,” it says in an amicable tone. “Would you like to learn the sakh dialect he is speaking?”

  “You . . . you can teach me?”

  “I can perform a one-time linguistic upload. Would you like to do this?”

  “God, yes.” I want to be able to hold a real, honest-to-goodness conversation with Vektal. “Please.”

  A small red circle appears in midair. “Please step closer to the marked location.” When I do, it gives me additional instructions. “I will perform a retinal scan. When I do, please do not blink or attempt to move. This can interfere with the transfer of information. It will be connected in three . . . two . . . one . . .”

  A low hum starts. I freeze in place, trying not to blink as a red laser shines into my eyes.

  “You may experience some discomfort as your brain processes the information,” the computer tells me, just before a rush of symbols crashes through my brain and my head feels like it explodes.

  VEKTAL

  My mate collapses, and my khui slams against my chest in protest. I grab her before she can sink to the ground. “Georgie!”

  “Please allow several minutes for recovery,” the strange voice coming from the walls intones.

  I snarl at it, at the air. I don’t know where this faceless voice is coming from, but if it’s hurt my Georgie, I will tear this place down to its strange-looking rocks and scatter the pieces to the icy seas. I cradle my mate against my chest, unable to breathe out of fear. I place a hand over her heart, where she has no protective plating. She’s too soft and vulnerable, my poor human.

  But it thumps steadily in her breast, and I exhale in relief. I press my lips to her strange, smooth forehead and hold her against me as the room becomes uncomfortably warm.

  The disembodied voice speaks again. “Standby. Please indicate if you have questions for this unit. Otherwise, I will return to hibernation mode.”

  I hold Georgie against me, stroking her hair, her face, her cool skin that cannot retain enough warmth for her to be comfortable. I ignore the strange voice, even though it’s now speaking my language. When Georgie jabbered at it in her tongue, it sent a red beam through her head and knocked her unconscious. I do not want it to do the same to me, so I narrow my eyes at the flashing lights and wait.

  Georgie’s sleeping face turns to my chest and she nuzzles me. “Mmm.”

  “Georgie?” I ask, touching her cheek. “Are you well?”

  Her eyes blink open, and the pale, ugly white with a weak blue circle in the middle is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. “Oh. I hear you,” she says in my language. “Your words. They’re . . .” she thinks for a minute, and then a smile breaks across her face. “Wondrous.”

  “How did you learn my language?” I ask her, shocked.

  She tilts her head, her nose scrunching adorably for a moment. It’s as if she’s considering something. Then she smiles again. “The words are a bit different than the ones in my head. Maybe it’s the die-ha-lekt that the kom-pu-tohr has.” Some of her words aren’t mine. They make no sense.

  “Kom-pu-tohr?” I ask.

  Georgie gestures at the air. “The voice. The ship. It taught me.”

  “Magic?” I ask dubiously. The only magic I know of is khui-magic, and it does not teach languages.

  She giggles, the sound bright and glorious. Then her eyes grow a bit dull again, and she rubs her forehead. “Not magic,” she says. “Learning. I probably do not explain it right.” Her eyes close again, and she curls against my chest. “My head hurts. Will you hold me for a bit longer?”

  “Always,” I tell her and cradle her close. My khui throbs in my chest, and for the moment, I am content. Full of questions and wonder, but content.

  • • •

  “Eat,” I urge my mate, offering her my rations.

  Georgie makes a gagging noise and shakes her head. “That stuff burns my tongue. Even now, it’s making my eyes water.”

  I peer at her small face, and she’s right; her pale eyes are weeping and glossy. Curious, I sniff the travel rations. They have a slightly spicy taste to them, but it’s meant to be pleasant, not choking. “Humans have weak tongues.”

  “Gah!” She gives me an exasperated look. “We do not.”

  “Weak tongues, weak eyes, weak bodies,” I murmur, enjoying the look of irritation on Georgie’s face. It’s such a pleasure to be able to speak to her—really speak to her—and to tease her. “Weak in many, many places . . . but a delicious cunt.”

  Her face goes bright red, and she bats my arm with her good hand. A hint of a smile curves her mouth. “You are always thinking about sex, aren’t you?”

  “It is difficult not to when my mate is so soft and beautiful.” I brush a finger down the curve of her cheek.

  She looks sober at my words. “Vektal . . . I’m not your mate.”

  “Yes, you are. My khui has chosen you. When you receive a khui, it will thrum for mine. Wait and see.”

  She shakes her head. “Humans choose their mates. I haven’t chosen anyone. Not that you aren’t nice,” she tells me, giving me another soothing pat to the arm. “And not that I don’t care about you. It’s just that . . . mating should be a mutual decision.”

  A mutual decision? Is she mad? Are humans mad? “It is not a decision. The khui chooses. It always knows.”

  “But I don’t have a khui.”

  “We will remedy this soon enough,” I tell her. “Once we return to my tribe, we will organize a hunt to take down one of the great sa-kohtsk. They carry many khui in them. We shall provide enough for you and your tribeswomen.”

  “Vektal,” she says, her face unhappy. “You’re not listening to me. I . . . I don’t even know that I want a khui.”

  My heart turns to ice at her words. “You must. It is a death sentence—”

  “Only if I stay,” she says softly. “I’m not sure. If there’s a chance I can go home . . .” Georgie drops her gaze and looks away. “I just haven’t decided yet, all right?”

  “And where is your home, if it is not here?” My heart starts to pound a slow, unhappy beat. Georgie talks of leaving me as if she does not feel as I do. As if her heart is not torn apart at the very thought of being separated. My khui brought us together, but I am proud to have her as my mate. I want no other. Not now, not ever. It is unthinkable.

  She lifts a hand, points at the cave ceiling. “In the sky. A really really long way away from here.”

  My eyes narrow at her. I do not understand.

  “Like in this ship,” she continues. “Your ancestors came here in this thing from another place.”

  “This is the cave my ancestors came from,” I agree slowly. “But it does not fly.” I imagine a flying cave, moving through the skies like a bird. The thought is ludicrous.

  Georgie makes a frustrated sound. “It’s a ship. Do you know what a ship is?” When I remain blank, she drums her fingers on her lip, thinking. “It’s a craft that floats through the stars, Vektal. You know I’m not from here, right? I don’t have a khui. So I can’t be.”

  I nod because I know this to be true. But the thought of her coming from . . . the stars . . . is strange and bizarre. Unfathomable. But there are things I cannot answer. Her strange language. Her clothing. Her lack of khui. “You . . . wish to go back to the stars?”

  Her expression softens into something sad. Her pale eyes gleam for a moment, wet with unshed tears. “I don’t know. I think I hate not having a choice more than anything.”

  So it is not me she hates. My khui begins to thrum in my breast again. I press a hand to it. “Then I will go with you.”

  Her tears vanish, and she gives a soft chuckle. Then she moves close and squeezes my arm with her good one. She lays her cheek on it and sighs. “I wish that you could.”

  I trace my fingers down her soft cheek. Does she not realize? Anywhere she goes, I will gladly follow. She is my heart, my resonance, my soul. My mate. It grieves me she is so miserable he
re, with me.

  “Even if I wanted to stay,” she says softly, “I cannot make that decision for the others. If there’s a chance we can go home, I have to let them decide that for themselves.”

  My mate is noble. I grunt my understanding, though the animal side of me wants to drag her back to a hunting cave and keep her there, naked and pink, until it is out of the question.

  But then my Georgie might die, because she has no khui. And the other girls will certainly die with no rescue. And all of my tribesmen who have no mates—Dagesh and Raahosh and Haeden and so many others—will never know this pleasure. Like Georgie, I cannot be cruel.

  “We must go and rescue your friends,” I tell her. “If we travel swiftly, we will make it to my tribal caves tonight. We can collect the best hunters and return after them in the morning.”

  “Let’s do it, then,” she says, determination steeling her voice. “Every moment that passes is another moment I feel guilty.”

  “Guilty?” I ask her, cupping her small face up so she can look me in the eye. “Why guilty?” Why does my mate carry such burdens?

  Her cheeks pink again. “Because I’m here with you, and I’m warm and happy and fed, and they’re not.”

  Ah. My thumb strokes over her full mouth. “And because my cock makes you cry out with such pleasure?”

  The pink deepens, and she ducks her head. “Ohjeez,” she says in her language. Then in mine, “Let us keep such talk between us.”

  I am amused. Is my mate shy? Is this what the pink of her cheeks means? A sa-khui woman gets a flush at the base of her horns when she is embarrassed, but Georgie has no horns. “It is but talk between mates, my resonance.”

  She tilts her head. “Resonance? What is that?”

  I take her small hand, her good one, and press it over my chest. My khui responds, thrumming a content beat inside my chest. “It is this. Only you call to it. Only you make my khui hum in my breast with happiness. It is a sign that one’s mate has been found.”

  Her lips part, and she looks up at me, startled. “I thought you were purring.”

  “Prr-ing?” I am not familiar with this word.

  “Like a cat.”

  “Cat? A snow cat?” I think of the ugly creatures with whiskers and tufts of fur all over. I don’t recall them ever purring. They are tasty eating, though.

  Georgie giggles. “You know what? Never mind. We should get going.”

  She gets to her feet and straightens her clothing. We have eaten, and all is ready to go, except I find myself strangely reluctant to continue on. If I do, I am acknowledging that I might not get to keep my Georgie.

  The thought staggers me with misery. I press my face to her stomach and hold her against me, seeking a measure of peace. To think that I might lose my sweet resonance so soon after finding her. I cannot bear it.

  “Oh, Vektal,” she says softly. Her hands stroke over my horns, a tender caress. “I wish it was just me that I had to think for. Then this would be easier.”

  “It is easy,” I tell her, pressing my face to her leather-covered body. Even through her coverings, I can smell her wonderful scent. I long to taste her again. “Accept the khui. Accept me.”

  She’s silent, but her hands continue to touch me and smooth over my skin and horns stroke over my horns in what feels like a loving embrace. She must care something for me. She must. But she only says, “Something has to be my choice,” she says softly. “So many things have been taken from me. I need to claim something for myself. For now. Grant me that.”

  I look up at her, at her sad face. “You know I can refuse you nothing.”

  Her smile is sweet. Sad. “I know.”

  GEORGIE

  I ponder my choices all day as Vektal plods relentlessly through snow drift after snow drift, carrying me on his back.

  Even though I am doing my best to deny it, it’s entirely possible that we’re never going to be able to get home. If Vektal’s ancestors were stranded here, then we probably can’t get home, no matter how hard we try. Our other option is to wait for the little green men to come back and try to hijack their ship and force them to take us home.

  Or we can leave the ice planet when they return, taking our chances as cattle.

  Or we can get the parasite—excuse me, symbiont—and make the best of things here with Vektal and his people.

  I feel like if I were making an individual choice, it would probably be an easy one. Though the thought of leaving Earth and friends and family behind hurts me, a life with Vektal could be sweet and full of pleasure. I already am starting to look forward to the sight of his smiles, the feel of his skin against my own. I love the rumble of his laugh.

  I love knowing what he’s saying now.

  If it were just me? I’d definitely be Team Vektal.

  But I feel like the humans have to make a decision together. I don’t want to influence the others. I lucked out and got Vektal, but if we stay here, we might be condemning ourselves to a life of hardship and snow, and who’s to say that the others in Vektal’s tribe—the sa-khui, as he calls them—will treat everyone as wonderfully as he has me?

  And who’s to say that the little green men wouldn’t sell us to someone on a nice Tahiti-like planet full of sexy men who want nothing more than company while drinking Mai Tai cocktails? No one can say for sure. The odds are likely against that . . . but it’s another reason not to influence the others. Whatever we decide, we’ll decide as a group. We’ll be making decisions not just for the six of us remaining but the six still tucked away in the wall, slumbering.

  Before anyone decides anything, we need to talk it out.

  If they want to stay, we’ll figure stuff out together. If they want to fight the aliens for control of the returning ship, we’ll need weapons and a plan.

  My bad wrist aches and throbs, reminding me that we’re all battered and wounded from the crash. Taking over anything seems like a horrible idea. Maybe that’s just me being negative. I shake the thought away. I’m with my girls. If Liz, Megan, Tiffany, Kira, and Josie want to fight for our freedom, the least I can do is join the cause. Staying back and rolling in the furs with my big sexy alien seems disloyal after everything we’ve been through together.

  “There,” Vektal says, rousing me out of my dark thoughts. “Home is just ahead.”

  My arms tighten around his neck, and I peer through the drifting snowfall. There’s nothing ahead but another rocky cliff, this one barely peeking out of a deep thicket of the eyelash-like pink trees. “In there?”

  “The entrance is hidden and guarded to prevent metlaks and other predators from entering. Do not worry. We will be safe and warm there.” He pats my arm. “No one would dare harm you.”

  Am I tense? I must be tense for him to throw out a comment like that. It’s just that for so long, it’s only been Vektal to have to worry about. Now I’m about to be dropped in to meet thirty-odd others. My arms tighten around his neck. What if they all hate me? What if they all think I’m gross looking? What if—

  “Ho,” a deep, sonorous voice calls out.

  Vektal raises a hand high into the air in response. I cling to his back, worry thudding through my body as another big body appears in the distance.

  “That is Raahosh,” Vektal tells me in a low voice. “He must be back from his hunting treks.”

  The other male jogs through the snow toward us, churning a path through the drifts. The pink, flimsy trees wave overhead, and the entire scene looks ludicrous. I try not to stare at Raahosh as he approaches, but, well . . . I’m staring. Where Vektal’s horns are big and thick but sleek, Raahosh’s horn-crown is a busted mess. He has one that juts out and then arches back, jutting high above his head. The second is broken off, a mere jagged stump. As he gets closer I see scars covering one side of Raahosh’s broad face. His skin, er, pelt, er, whatever is a deeper gray than Vektal’s…like dark smoke. And if I thought Vektal was fearsome looking, Raahosh takes things to a new level.

  He grins and raises a hand
as he jogs out to meet us, and then his steps slow as he sees me. “I thought you were burdened with the hunt, brother. I was about to come and relieve you.”

  “I have much to tell,” Vektal says, and I can hear the pride in his voice as he gently lowers me to the ground. His chest starts to vibrate with a loud, incessant purr.

  Raahosh’s eyes go wide, and he looks at Vektal then at me. “Her?” He gazes at me up and down. “What . . . what is she?”

  “She is Georgie, a human and my mate.” Vektal’s arm goes around my shoulders, and he tugs me against him. I can feel the purr moving through his body, so strong that he’s practically vibrating. Resonating, as he calls it.

  Raahosh stares at me for so long that I feel uncomfortable. He considers my face, my hair—no doubt looking for horns—and then the rest of my smaller, shivering form. I’m wearing someone else’s jumper, and I haven’t had a comb in weeks, and I probably look like hell. This is the first time I’ve felt it, though. Vektal always makes me feel . . . pretty. Like I’m the sexiest thing to ever grace his presence and he can barely keep his hands off me. I’ve been taking for granted how wonderful it feels to be special to someone.

  My hand goes to Vektal’s waist, and I slide it down his back until I encounter the bump of his tail base. I circle it and caress it absently.

  At my side, Vektal stiffens and the thrumming takes on an even more urgent beat. He reaches back and gently removes my hand, then nuzzles my ear. “Wait until we are in private, my sweet resonance. I know you are not comfortable with public displays.”

  Oops. Did I just give him the sa-khui equivalent of a public handy? A hot flush covers my cheeks, and I nod. I don’t look at Raahosh, though, because then I will be completely and utterly embarrassed.

  “Hu-man?” Raahosh says after a moment, the word swallowed and thick in his throat. “Her eyes—”

  “She has no khui,” Vektal says. His hand goes to my hair, and he combs through it with his big, thick fingers. I feel pretty once more. He still can’t stand to take his hands off me, and, okay, I kinda adore that. “We will fix that problem soon.”