Challa

by Linda Mooney

  Challa checked the street to make sure no cars where coming, then stepped down and crossed over to where he remained standing in open-mouthed awe. The closer she got, the more he couldn’t believe that a woman as radiantly beautiful as her would have given him a third or even fourth glance.

  “Hello, Compton.”

  It was her. There was that accent again. He’d heard it last night, but never really paid much attention to it. He’d been too preoccupied over her sudden appearance and the sensation of the unexplainable bulge growing in his pants.

  “Ch-Challa?” He continued to stare at her face, at the creamy smooth complexion and dark pink lips. And those eyes with their blueish-purple color.

  She laughed softly, revealing perfect, pearly teeth, not the needlelike teeth she wore when she was in costume. “Did I surprise you?”

  “Boy! I’d say you did.” He grinned back. “Have you been in town long?” He noticed she wasn’t carrying anything. A small black handbag was slung diagonally over her shoulder, leaving her hands free.

  “Not quite an hour. I was hoping I hadn’t missed you,” she confessed.

  “Same here. I should have suggested a time to meet.” Compton tried to suppress his growing nervousness, but he couldn’t help it. He could count on one hand how many serious relationships he’d had in his life, none of which amounted to anything more than a few kisses and gropes.

  The blast from a passing car made him jump. Tom McVicar waved as he headed out of town. Compton waved back at his closest neighbor before turning back to her.

  “Look, have you had lunch yet?”

  Challa shook her head. A length of fiery hair slid down past one breast, and the tip curled seductively where Compton figured her nipple would be. At the thought of her nipple, he could feel a part of himself begin to awaken as if it had been lying comatose for many long years.

  Best get your butt parked in a booth somewhere quick, Compton, before you embarrass yourself.

  He threw a thumb over his shoulder. “I haven’t had breakfast, and I’m starved. Would you like to join me for a bite over at the Grille?”

  “I was hoping you’d invite me,” Challa admitted.

  “Great!” Grinning, Compton pointed in the direction of Sammy’s, and they walked back across the street side-by-side.

  Half of the people in Sammy’s knew Compton. They glanced up as he passed them by, guiding Challa in front of them. Compton greeted them in return, knowing he would get the third degree the next time they saw him alone. Seeing Compton with a woman was news. Seeing him with a woman as mysterious and lovely as Challa was probably newsy enough to make the weekly newspaper’s gossip column.

  They found a booth in the back. It was near the kitchen, but it was as close as they could get to having any privacy. Besides, the other side of the grill was closer to the bar and restrooms—not a particularly pleasant area to be in no matter what time of day it was. An old Jimmy Dean song was playing. Compton’s ears picked up on it, having grown up hearing the same tune being played on his grandmother’s antique eight-track player. Challa sat with her back to the crowd; Compton took his seat facing her. Almost immediately Patty was there with two glasses of water and two menus.

  “Hey, Compton. Glad to see you decided to come out of hiding,” the older woman teased him. “What can I get you two to drink?”

  “Water’s fine,” Challa told her.

  “Same here,” Compton said.

  Patty gave him a wide-eyed look. “What’s with you, Comp? Gone on the wagon?”

  Compton felt the muscles in his face go rigid. Maybe bringing Challa to Sammy’s wasn’t such a good idea after all. “It’s noon, Patty,” he told the waitress.

  “Yeah, and it wasn’t too long ago—”

  “Patty?” Compton gave her a half-pleading, half-irritated look. Fortunately the woman took the hint.

  “I’ll be back in a few to get your order.” She tucked her pad and pen back into her apron pocket and walked away. Compton watched the woman leave when Challa spoke up.

  “You’ve lived here all your life?”

  The softly spoken question quickly redirected his attention. She had her hands curled around her glass of water, and in the iridescent lighting she had an almost ethereal glow about her. The purplish sparkles in her eyes seemed to shimmer, or maybe it was his imagination.

  “Yeah. Except for my tours of duty overseas, this has been my only home.” He opened his menu and tried to concentrate without much luck. He wished he’d sat next to her, sharing the same seat. But then he would have gotten a crick in his neck staring sideways at her.

  Challa lowered her head over her menu and seemed to repeat part of what he’d said, but he couldn’t be sure. He got the impression she was melancholy, and he remembered her unusual accent.

  “I take it you’re not from around here,” he said, trying to sound like he was teasing. The truth was he was dying to learn as much about her as he could without appearing to be too nosey.

  Pretty sad, Comp. Almost twenty-seven years old, and you haven’t the foggiest idea what to say on a date, or how to go about saying it.

  Worse, his pants were starting to grow tighter about the groin. The faint scent of honeysuckle was lingering in the air between them, enticing his dick with its irresistible siren’s call. Compton fought the urge to sniff it aloud.

  “I’ve only been here for a little more than seven years.”

  “Oh! Well, guess that explains the accent,” Compton chuckled. “Can I ask what country you’re from?”

  Challa shrugged. “You’ve never heard of it. Barandat.”

  “Barandat? Is that in Europe?” His mind searched for any reference to a country by that name, but came up empty. From her accent, it sounded faintly middle-European, maybe Slavic. He was disappointed when Challa shrugged again.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know anything about it, other than I was born after my parents left there.”

  “But you just said you’d only been in the States for seven years.”

  “I have.” She nodded and took a sip of her water. “My parents moved around a lot when I was growing up.”

  A flash of sadness crossed her face. Seeing it, Compton wondered if her folks were still alive. He started to ask her when Patty returned to take their order. Once the waitress left a second time, Compton crossed his arms on the table and leaned forward slightly, for no other reason than to hopefully catch that honeysuckle scent he was quickly becoming addicted to. Too bad the smell of fried foods and burgers was starting to mask it.

  “Where do your folks live now, Challa?”

  Another veil of sadness fell over her face, and this time Compton already knew what she was going to say.

  “They’re dead. They…died…before I got here.”

  Without thinking, Compton reached over and took her hand with one of his, squeezing it gently in sympathy. “I’m sorry, Challa. I didn’t mean to bring up sad memories.”

  She shook her head once and wiped away the tears with her free hand. “Don’t apologize, Compton. Comp.” She smiled at him. “Why do some people call you Comp?”

  “It’s a nickname.”

  “But it’s not your real name.” She pointed out the fact as if she couldn’t understand why people would call him something that wasn’t his full name.

  “No, but I’d rather they call me Comp instead of some of the other names that used to be thrown at me when I was in school.” He watched as a very puzzled expression came over her flawless face.

  “What other names?”

  All right. Now they were smack in the middle of uncomfortable territory again, and Compton found himself wondering how he was going to ease out of it. Giving a nonchalant wave of his other hand, he said, “It doesn’t matter. That was years ago.”

  The hand he was holding was cool, the skin as silky soft as he thought it would be. But he also detected strength.

  “You know, you’ve never told me your full name,” he countered.

&nbs
p; “Challa Heela Doon.”

  “Challa Heela Doon. Challa Doon. How unusual.”

  Doon? As in D-O-O-N-E? Scotch-Irish, and the red hair, and it would start to make some sense. Too bad the accent wasn’t from that region. The mystery around her continued to grow.

  “Challa, how long have you been working at the carnival?”

  “Almost two years,” she admitted.

  “Wow. And all that time as an alien girl?”

  Again, that strange, sad expression darkened her face. He tried to change the subject. “How did you land a job at the carnival, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  This time when the shadow darkened further, Compton realized a very real and shaky truth. Challa had a past that was as painful, if not more painful, than his own. Maybe that’s what had drawn him to her. Maybe his soul recognized a like soul who had suffered in ways that left permanent scars on the psyche.

  Easy, Comp. Take it easy. Quick, back off from grilling her about her past and her family, and change the topic to something less offensive before you blow it. Compton agreed with the voice this time.

  Good idea, but change the topic to what?

  Blank and tongue-tied, he tried to find a safer conversational road to travel when Patty arrived with their order. Giving the waitress a smile of gratitude, Compton made a mental note to leave a nice tip when they left.

  Chapter 8

  Lessons

  Challa had been watching him since he pulled into the parking space and exited the truck. Her eyes remained glued on the man, studying him, spotting the little nuances and gestures that defined him as he glanced around before entering the hardware store.

  He had a definite limp in his right leg, which meant he’d suffered an injury of some sort. Other than that, Compton didn’t appear to be any different from all the other men she’d come across.

  Seeing him in full daylight, she felt that hard little knot in the pit of her stomach begin to loosen. In the time she’d been traveling with the carnival, she had seen a lot of men. A lot of men. Most of them remained at arm’s length, ogling her, throwing words at her meant to degrade or denigrate her. Or sexually excite her, if she was to believe what Marlene told her. It didn’t work. Those men didn’t bother her, nor did she ever think twice about what they said about her. Besides, if any of those men tried to climb onto the stage to accost her, Lawson had people to protect her…as if she needed anyone to protect her. They all thought her talons were fake. Everyone except Lawson. He knew better, but she’d promised not to use them unless she had no other choice.

  She was downwind from him where she could catch the faintest wisps of his piquant scent. She breathed them in, locking them inside her lungs. The little knot grew warmer and uncurled a bit more.

  He was her life mate. He had to be. Every sign she’d been told to watch for was there. She’d swear on it.

  * * * *

  “How will I know I’ve found my life mate?”

  Kreesi glanced around at the seven of them. They were still younglings, not yet men and women. But Vodoro was beginning to come into her fertility period. Her breasts were budding, and her body was taking on the definite curves that came with her new status.

  Challa looked down at her flat chest. One of these days she would become a woman. And when she did, she would look for her life mate to complete her. Until then, she had to learn all she could about her world and her people from one of the few Ruinos left alive.

  Kreesi was an oldling, and the oldest woman left among them. The Arra had tortured her to the point where one arm was completely useless. Her wings had been ripped from her body, and she had been singled out to be sold for food the next time they landed. Despite her age, Kreesi’s mind was sharp. Most of the refugees already looked to her for guidance. Even Jebaral and Simolif, the two men who had helped lead the revolt on the Arran ship, which enabled them to escape in the tiny rescue pod, often approached her for advice.

  Once a day, Kreesi would gather the younglings and tell them of their culture. Of what their world had been like, since so many of them had vague if any memories left of Barandat Vor. Once she was finished with the lesson, Kreesi would allow them to ask whatever questions they had. Today, it was Breftu who asked the question Challa had been too shy to ask.

  “How will you know when you’ve found your life mate?” Kreesi repeated. “There are several signs you must look for. Ultimately, trust your body. Trust what you smell and what you feel.”

  “Smell?” The word popped out of Challa’s mouth before she knew it. Immediately, she blushed and tried to hide behind Amfinn.

  Several others laughed, but Kreesi waved them silent and smiled at Challa. Her black eyes with their light blue flecks reminded Challa of the view of the stars shining outside the viewports of the ship.

  “Yes, smell. You asked a very good question, Challa, for it will be his smell that will be your first clue. Always your first clue.” The oldling eyed the rest of them to make sure they heard and understood. It was imperative that they learn. Normally the parents passed along this knowledge to their offspring. They taught their children what they needed to know to prepare them for their own futures, for the time when they would become adult Ruinos. And for the time when they would be ready to take a life mate and begin their own families.

  The Arra had torn families apart. As a species, the Ruinos were nearly extinct. Only a few hundred were left alive, or so the thirty-one escapees believed. They prayed they were not the last of their kind. They prayed that the others on the ship had escaped as well.

  Kreesi had taken it upon herself to become a surrogate mother to those who had been orphaned. And like all Ruinos mothers, her responsibilities included ensuring their education was complete in all ways of the Ruinos.

  “It won’t be any one particular smell that will alert you. It could be any kind of scent. But when you detect it, your body will respond to it, and that’s how you will know.” She smiled again at Challa, who had ventured out from behind her friend. “What your life mate smells like won’t be the same as, say, Amfinn’s life mate. She may detect the scent of gorocci wood on him. Yours may be the same as falalohi fruit.”

  “If I smell him, can Amfinn smell him, too?” Challa nearly whispered.

  Kreesi shook her head. “No. Your life mate’s scent is unique between you. If you smell him as falalohi fruit, only you will sense it. No one else. The same goes for how he senses you.”

  “You mean he will smell me, too?” This time Challa didn’t mind it when others laughed at her.

  Again, Kreesi smiled. “Yes, Challa. You will have a unique scent that only he will detect from you.”

  Vodoro spoke up. “I get it. I have a scent, and my life mate has a scent. You said our bodies will let us know that the scent is that of our life mate?”

  “Yes,” Kreesi said. “But it won’t be until after you take each other’s bodies, and you experience your first true release, that you will be certain.”

  “And we get our blood lines!” Amfinn piped up excitedly.

  This time, Kreesi laughed with the rest of them. “Yes. And you get your blood lines.”

  * * * *

  Challa watched as her miracle disappeared into the hardware store. Yes, he was her miracle because she never expected her life mate to be among the humans living on this world. When they had crashed on Earth, out of food, water, fuel, and almost hope, she had just come into her budding. The others had fled the crash site, dispersed through the woods, leaving her and Amfinn alone to face their new world.

  It wasn’t long before he exited the store, glancing around for what she hoped was the sight of her as he returned to his truck to dump his purchases. Challa stepped out of the shadows, into the sunlight.

  The moment they locked eyes that knot inside her loosened, unfurled itself from its bindings, and stretched. She felt its tendrils slide through her veins like rivers of warmth, until her fingertips and toes tingled.

  His face brightened to see her. Chal
la felt her heart jump, knowing he indeed had been searching for her. When she crossed the street to join him, she trembled with anticipation. She needed his touch and his scent to caress her again. She needed more of what she’d felt too briefly back in the sideshow tent.

  He was upwind from her. She was less than a dozen feet away when his scent greeted her like a wall of pure happiness. Walking through it was the most beautiful thing she had ever encountered. The second most beautiful thing was the light shining from his golden brown eyes.

  “Ch-Challa?”

  She loved his deep voice. It suited him. Compton was not tall, but he had a strong build. His chest and arms spoke of hours in training, making Challa wonder what kind of training he’d faced. There was an air of power about him. Of facing obstacles with his mind and two hands, and defeating whatever threatened him. He would have been a worthy and intimidating Ruinos.

  In the sunlight she could see tints of red in his brown hair. Everything about him pleased her and surprised her. But he didn’t touch her. Not yet, but he would. She could sense him wanting to, but he was hesitant. Cautious, but not fearful. Like a Ruinos male, he would never force himself upon her.

  Someone passed by them and honked a horn. Compton acknowledged the driver with a shout and a wave. He’s well known here. He has friends…family…and a history here. The knowledge suddenly saddened her. She had no true friends or family left, and certainly no home, unless she wanted to call the carnival her home. She and Amfinn had accidentally parted company years ago. Since then, she had wandered alone, taking odd little jobs to survive, and always praying that some day she would meet up again with one of the other escapees. If nothing more than to have that contact with one of her own kind again. Someone she could be her true self with, and not worry about the consequences.

  They walked side-by-side to a grill. His scent was tangy, filling her head with its sweet tartness. She realized now the lemonade smell she’d detected earlier was the scent of him caring about her. His real odor was more orangey. Tangerine.