by Amanda Milo
It IS different!
That's what I'm thinking - more like cartwheeling I'm so excited - but outwardly, I assure her. Her shoulders relax - and so do her wings. The plop to the ground on either side of her and I boom a laugh at her obvious relief.
The sound actually startles me, and I’m reminded of the times my mother has said, “I opened my mouth and my mom came out!”
I just laughed and my father came out. His is strong, and loud, and cheerful - at home, not noticeably outside of our den, but still.
It makes my chest puff out in pride to claim his laugh.
She colors again and this time, her eyes let me catch her gaze.
Her lips make a soft, deprecating curve. “Sorry. I’ve been trying to work up the nerve for weeks. All I managed to do was work up to getting nervous.”
She has wanted to Choose me!
For weeks!
I wish I could trumpet like my father. I feel a buildup in my chest - not like internal bleeding from a Morning Star Mace; while it does feel like my chest cavity has been filled to the brim - not with liquid, not with air, something in between - it’s a happy thing, a fierce thing, whatever this is.
“You just did the hardest part,” I try to assure her - only half telling the truth, because I know it’s really the next part that is scaring her the most.
She’s never kissed before.
She’s never attempted on any hobs before - always too shy, she says.
I’ve always stayed at her side, willing her to turn to me.
I’d always hoped she wanted to.
Now to hear her say she has wanted!
She is flushed so dark I’m afraid she’s going to hurt something.
I grin.
And when she catches that, she manages to go a shade darker.
“Hey,” I whisper. “It’s alright. Want me to do my part first?”
She slumps in relief. “Yes. That’d be great. Please.”
With a chuckle, I bring my closed fist to the top of her thigh. I turn it over - and the strongest case of nerves I’ve ever felt suddenly seizes me.
Ridiculous!
I’ve faced the probability of having my bones broken in front of hundreds of people - I’ve had my bones broken in front of hundreds of people - but now I’m feeling… is this what my mom calls ‘butterflies’?
I grimace. She says it like she likes the feeling. And she says she still gets them with father.
Why would anyone want to get these?
I feel the gemstone shift, which means I’m sweating, which means I’ve got to do this fast before I lose my nerve - and if I choke, I know Tika will.
Just my moment of introspection has frozen her - she’s rethinking this, I screwed up, she’s going to bolt-
“Are you scared?” she whispers.
The sound of her voice snaps me out of it. I release my breath in a quiet puff. “It’s stupid, but I was. I’ve wanted you to Choose me for forever, and now that you… now that you- I’m wigging out,” I admit.
Oddly, this makes her eyes connect with mine and hold. “You’re so confident all the time. This makes you seem more…”
And that’s always a strange point in conversation, even with each other. Our dams, when talking to each other about each other, would finish that phrase with ‘human’. Respectively, they’d label each species appropriately to the one being discussed. Hob. Gryfala. Rakhii.
What am I? What is she? What are we?
At least if we don’t belong, we ‘don’t belong’ together.
But… she actually does have others like her. She’s half human, and has a hob sire. She’s neither full Gryfala nor is she full human, but she has full siblings, and there are many human-hob hybrids here.
There is no other like me.
Luckily, Tika doesn’t care.
And as long as I have Tika, my identity doesn’t plague me. I’m Tika’s. That’s all my system cares to know.
I don’t think she realizes that.
Maybe if I’d told her this years ago, she wouldn’t have built up this selection process to be such a daunting thing in her mind.
And on that note.
I open my fist.
Tika gasps.
Through her father, she inherited some strong Gryfala traits.
One of them is gem gazing.
She loves gemstones.
If she doesn’t shield her view with her wings, I’ve had to block her line of sight with my hand to get her to stop fixating if she catches sight of particularly colorful or shiny precious stone on say a building, or a ship - or sometimes on her own Granddam’s clothes.
Gryfala that are prone to gem gazing will experience a reduction in their fixation once they begin receiving their own hoard.
I understand the human phrase ‘heart in your throat’ now. I’m the one she is Choosing to start her hoard with.
Her fingers are trembling as she reaches down.
And it’s like time slows.
She’s going to accept it.
She lifts it out of my hand, making my breath stop.
“A sapphire!” she breathes.
I cracked two ribs in the match that paid for this stone.
Worth it.
I let her stare her fill at it.
Because I myself am enjoying major fixating.
I can’t take my eyes off of her.
When she can finally break her eyes away, and meets mine; she notices who I’m staring at and bites her lip before darting her eyes down to my lips.
This is the next part.
This is the part that is freaking her out.
“On three?” she says.
I chuff a laugh. “One. Two…”
I’m slowly leaning in.
It’s like she experiences an electric prod of courage - she slams forward to meet me.
I can feel her breath on my face.
It smells so sweet.
Her brows pinch. “Do we close our eyes?”
I breathe my answer. “I don’t know.”
I don’t want to.
I want to see this.
I want to see her.
She exhales another nervous breath.
SO! SWEET!
My mouth pools with saliva.
Embarrassed, I pull back a little and swallow.
Only to feel a slight burn.
I lean in again, smiling with what feels like sunburn on my cheeks, only to have more saliva dribble out of my mouth.
Her eyes dart down and she’s instantly apologizing. “Sorry!” Like she was caught watching something private.
I hiss a laugh and swipe at my mouth with the back of my arm. “I should be the one apologizing. You’ve got me so excited, I’m drooling.”
At that, all the color she’d lost to nerves hits her in a flood.
Speaking of flood… I have to mop at my face again. This is… I’m about to stutter an apology - what is wrong with me? - when she laughs.
“Thank you, Bask.”
Then she lunges towards me and covers my lips with hers.
I don’t know why she thanked me, and I Don’t Care. I find her hands, and bring them to my shoulders instinctively, just like I’ve seen my father do with my mother.
I know why he does that now.
Her hands kneading on me feels incredible.
Then she moves even more into my space, her hands adding weight, guiding me down to my back.
Yes please.
“Tika,” I moan against her mouth.
She takes advantage by darting her tongue between my lips.
It feels like a double set of hasta spears are thrust through the roof of my upper palate.
“Ow!” I jerk upward and howl as I clap a hand over my mouth.
She rears off me. “Bask? What is it? What’d I do wrong?”
“Noffing,” I quickly reassure her. “It wasf goof!”
Her lips quirk. “It was a goof kiss? My first kiss was goof?”
Fierce pleasure socks me at the knowledge tha
t we are our first kisses.
If I have my way, my shy, shy friend will be the only kiss I’ll ever know.
Just as I hope my kiss will be the only one she will ever desire; she is the female my heart pines for.
Has always pined for.
She reaches a hand towards my face - but drops it, averting her eyes a moment. “Seriously. What’s wrong with your mouth?”
My embarrassment is beginning to turn into worry. I’m drooling again - and my mouth really hurts. “I don’t know.”
But the trepidation twisting my gut tells me I have a good idea.
Solars ago, my parents sat me down and told me how I came to be. The full story - I’d always known I was different from my father. Different from the other half humans too, which mostly have hobs or Rakhii for sires.
But when I was very young, my parents had kept their answer simple and reassuring to a toddler; my donor had died, but my dad was my father, and he loved me like I was his very own because I was his.
Donor. That was too kind a word.
Shame bubbled up in me whenever I thought back on what my mother and father revealed later, when I was old enough to handle more information.
They shared how relieved they were that I never produced venom or grew in fangs.
Key components for the propagation of my donor’s people.
They didn’t know how it would impact my future, if I’d ever be able to sire offspring of my own. I was crushed the day I learned that my donor’s kind required something so savage in order to procreate.
I swallowed again and tasted my saliva.
A spicy flavored burn.
“You taste like cinnamon.”
I let my hand fall. “What?”
Hesitantly, she catches my fingers, making my whole body tingle from the contact. “When we kissed. You taste sweet and- and like cinnamon,” she meets my eyes, and I see her pupils are expanded.
From pleasure?
“It’s an herb my mom loves to grow. One she brought from her home world.”
“Oh,” is all I can think to say. My brain is scrambling.
With a glimmer of beautiful confidence, her eyes holding my gaze now - Teek presses closer. “Can we try again?”
She puts one hand on my shoulder, testing.
I slap her other hand on my other shoulder, making her snicker.
She doesn’t crawl over me this time. She simply leans in, and we meet mouths.
As she tests her tongue; against my lips, against my tongue - more fluid fills my mouth. I start to jerk back, but her hand grabs the back of my neck, holding me in place.
The pain is back; but this time, I feel the scrape of two things unfolding in my mouth that don’t belong.
Something I haven’t had for all my solars.
Or, I didn’t know I had.
Tika makes a purring sound as she starts to change her angle.
I rip away from her.
She looks almost as alarmed as I feel. “Bask? You look… scared? What’s wrong?”
I’m not scared.
I’m teveking terrified.
Because just now…
I wanted to bite Tika.
ARCs, Newsletter, Notes: All that Jazz!
THAT WAS FUN, RIGHT?
*rubs hands together*
Okay, let’s cover some things.
Want to be notified of upcoming releases? Join my Newsletter: http://eepurl.com/cR_CNf
Want to be included on the ARC team? You’ve been asking, and I’m putting one together hopefully for the next release. To join, email me a link to or a screenshot of your Amazon review for either Stolen or Rescued and title the email “ARC Team”
(If you send me an email - and this goes for anything, not just ARCs - if you don’t get a reply within three days, RESEND. I try really, really, really hard to respond to everyone, and as fast as possible. If I missed you, I’m sorry - please try again.)
Some of you really get a kick out of behind-the-scene peeks, and trivia, and have shown interest in even deleted scenes. There is a Facebook Group link at the end of this for you where that is happening.
I’m ending this with my sincerest THANK YOU.
I hope you loved Zadeon & Callie, (and if you read Baskian’s snippet, I hope you’re as excited as I am over him) and I want to tell you your support means the world to me.
If you get the chance to leave a review on Amazon (the big, big, big make-or-break for indie authors. Like myself. Holy crap! I’m an indie author! Thanks to YOU, I’m getting to share all these stories, wow!) you will have my love and gratitude.
If you get the chance to leave a review on Goodreads (the second big, big, big BOOSTER for indie authors) you will have my sincerest appreciation and warmest feelings.
If you went on reader groups, chatted on Facebook, posted on discussion boards, blogged, told your book clubs, and told your friends about this crazy little book you enjoyed called Stolen by an Alien - guys, YOU SOLD MY BOOKS. I need to send Kristen Ashley a thank you because her readers were a HUGE force in getting the word out. I’d say they are the best, but Ruby Dixon’s Blue Barbarian Babes Group ROCKED MY WORLD as did Amazon Discussions “Aliens that Look Like Aliens” posters and author Bethany Aan made me cry happy tears when I saw that she’d found my book and recommended it to her readers so I’m not making this a competition: I’m just thanking all. I really am. I’m so, so grateful. (Mini note inside a note: If you don’t know the authors I mentioned Check. Them. Out.)
Thanks for making Zadeon’s book happen ♥
Amanda
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