Challa

by Linda Mooney

  Once they reached the restaurant and went inside, Compton was again greeted by people he knew. He led her to a little booth in the back, and they sat, facing each other across the table.

  Almost immediately his orangey scent was swallowed up by the dull, penetrating smell of frying food. The first twinges of a headache echoed between her eyes. Thankfully a waitress followed them to the table to get their drink order. There seemed to be a communication problem when Compton ordered. Neither did he look happy once the woman left. Something about a wagon…

  To redirect his attention, Challa smiled around her growing headache. “You’ve lived here all your life?”

  Her plan worked. The frown between his eyebrows disappeared and he smiled back at her. “Yeah. Except for my tours of duty overseas, this has been my only home.”

  Before she could answer, he ducked behind his menu.

  It took a moment for her to realize she was sitting there, staring at him with her mouth slightly agape. She had read him. She had read him!

  Holiest of stars! He hadn’t touched her, but she had read him!

  * * * *

  “Kreesi, how is it different having a life mate?”

  No matter what the topic, no matter what the oldling had to tell them, Vodoro always brought the subject around to life mates at some point during their lessons. Fortunately Kreesi never berated her for her inquisitiveness, and always gave her a straight answer.

  “It’s very different. It is nothing like your life is now, changeling.”

  Now Challa’s curiosity burned. “How is it different?”

  Kreesi crossed her withered legs in front of her and prepared herself for a longer lesson than usual. “For one thing, you will read each other.”

  The comment brought about a round of giggles. “That’s silly.” Breftu laughed.

  “No, it’s not silly,” Kreesi rebuked the child without hurting her feelings. “You will know how your life mate feels, and maybe you will be able to tell what he is thinking.”

  Instead of laughter, there was the sound of everyone, “Oohing,” in awe.

  * * * *

  For some reason, when Compton mentioned “tours of duty”, Challa saw scenes of carnage float through her mind. Bloody scenes of people getting shot. Of weapons shredding things, people, and animals.

  A black, depressing sadness enveloped all of it. Thick, oppressive sadness, as well as depression and loneliness. It clogged her throat and chest to the point where she had to bow her head and pray for it to go away.

  Compton was not a happy man. The smiles and laughter he had shared with her so far had been a disguise, the same way she used her human self to disguise her true self. Challa fought back the tears.

  “I take it you’re not from around here.”

  She glanced up. Small talk. He was trying to have a conversation with her. Find some common ground where they could become comfortable with each other because comfortable led to being open and honest. Honesty led to confessions, and her biggest confession still lay in the distance. Shaking her head, she said, “I’ve only been here for a little more than seven years.”

  Touch me, Compton.

  She sent it as a wish. A prayer. A fervent but silent request.

  Touch me, Compton. Can you read me?

  Even if all he relayed to her was sadness and depression, she wanted that connection with him. One step at a time, one revelation at a time. It was all she wanted. And everything she needed.

  Touch me, Compton. Please.

  His hand reached over and clasped one of hers. Challa felt her body react to his touch and his warmth. Sweet, pungent oranges burst in the air around her like bubbles. She sniffed, afraid to move for fear of losing any one of the thousand sensations rushing through her.

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

  “Challa Heela Doon.” It was a small confession, but it was a start. She was grateful she could say anything sensible at this moment.

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

  She loved the way he said her name, the way he tried to copy her accent. After all this time on Earth, she hadn’t been able to get rid of it although she’d tried.

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

  “Almost two years.”

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

  As an alien girl. Challa felt her emotions rollercoastering. Like everyone else, with the exception of Lawson, he believed her true self was a costume. To the rest of the world, that was what she wanted them to believe. But not her life mate. He had to know the truth. She had to tell him that the green skin and talons and wings were not a costume. But would he accept her once he found out? In every circumstance, Challa had believed her true life mate would be Ruinos. Compton Scott was not Ruinos. He knew nothing about being Ruinos.

  Would he accept me?

  “How did you land a job at the carnival, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  More questions. Should she tell him everything now, or wait?

  There’s no time to wait, Challa. In two days’ time, the carnival will be gone, and you with it. And Compton will remain here.

  But what will happen if I tell him? What happens then? Will he remain here? Or will he come with me, with the carnival?

  What if he doesn’t want to come with the carnival?

  Oh, dearest heavens, what will Lawson say? What would he do if I try to leave the carnival again?

  Challa fought the memories of past attempts she’d made to escape Lawson’s hold. In too many ways, being in the sideshow was just like being enslaved by the Arra. Yes, she no longer feared being eaten, or tortured, or repeatedly raped like some Ruinos she’d seen. But her freedom was no longer hers. Her future was measured in miles, from one town to another, and in days, from one show to the next.

  Unable to answer, she kept her face averted from him. Suddenly Compton released her hand, and her lunch was slid in front her. Challa grabbed her sandwich with relief and began cramming it into her mouth.

  Chapter 9

  Promise

  He watched Challa dig into her grilled cheese sandwich as if she hadn’t eaten in a week. Compton took it as a positive sign. Like an idiot, he had been asking her about her past, and he had hit a brick wall for his efforts.

  Stupid, Compton. Real stupid. You don’t even know the woman that well and there you go asking her personal questions when you should know better.

  Thank goodness their food arrived when it did. Trying to find some sort of neutral ground, Compton heaped a few of his fried onion rings onto his hamburger and took a huge bite. When he looked up, Challa was staring at him in surprise.

  “What?”

  “I’ve never seen a person do that before.”

  “Do what? Eat their burgers with onion rings? It’s good. You ought to try it,” he suggested. Food was safe ground. It wasn’t like trying to discuss politics, or religion, or each other’s past history.

  “Not today. Maybe later.” She picked up a french fry and stuffed it into her mouth. An expression of contentment came over her face. “Mmm. These are the way I love them. Crunchy on the outside and soft on the inside.”

  “A french fry fanatic, eh?” Compton teased.

  “They’re my most favorite food on this world,” she admitted before taking another bite of her sandwich.

  Compton stared at her. “In the world,” he automatically corrected her, and grinned.

  Challa blinked. “What?”

  “You mean they’re your most favorite food in the world, not on it.”

  It took her a moment to comprehend what he was saying. “Oh!” Challa gave a quick nod. “That’s right. In the world.” She bowed her head as her face reddened. Compton laughed sympathetically.

  “Boy, you really get into your character, don’t you?”

  For a second time the look she gave him was of unconcealed confusion. It was then another explanation broadsided him, and when it did
, it became Compton’s time to be embarrassed. Fuck! You did it again!

  “I’m sorry. I was being glib, when I shouldn’t have… Damn. I’m sorry.”

  “About what?”

  “For saying what I did. I forgot you haven’t been on U.S. soil for very long, so your grasp of our colloquialisms may be sketchy. I’m sorry, Challa. It was thoughtless of me.”

  Frowning slightly, Challa dropped her sandwich on her plate and leaned back in the booth. “I’m having a very hard time trying to connect with you, Compton. I want to get to know you better. I really do, but…” She paused, upper teeth pressed into her lower lip.

  He couldn’t stop staring at her mouth. He wondered how it would feel to kiss her. To hold her in his arms. To have her arms around him. Somehow he found the breath to respond. “But what, Challa?”

  “I don’t know,” she honestly admitted. “What kind of man are you, Compton Scott? Why do you…” She paused again, turned away, and for a stretch of time Compton wondered what she was thinking.

  Before he was aware of her actions, Challa was out of her seat and heading for the door. It took him several precious seconds to get his butt in gear and go after her, yelling back at Patty and the rest that he’d be back later to pay the tab.

  She was halfway down the sidewalk and almost to the square when Compton spotted her. Not hesitating, he broke into a run to catch up with her, amazed at how quick she was.

  Challa had reached the green when he finally caught up with her. Grabbing her arm, he stopped her. “Hey! Wait up! What’s wrong? What did I say?”

  She stared up at him, her face wet with tears. “That’s just it, Compton. You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s me. I’m…I…This isn’t…this isn’t the way I thought it would be. It’s not…” She tried to jerk her arm out of his grasp and keep walking, but his grip on her arm was solid.

  She was frightened, confused, and not thinking straight, and Compton had no idea why. He scoured his brain for something he might have said or done to make her bolt the way she did, but nothing was making itself clear. Still, he knew it had to be because of him. Damn him for not having the foggiest idea what to do or say to make the situation any better!

  “Challa, talk to me, damn it! Tell me what I did wrong! Don’t go! Don’t leave me, please!”

  She ceased struggling and looked up at him with those deep blue eyes with the purplish flecks swirling around in their depths. They were pleading with him. Begging him to say something. To do something. Compton cursed himself for not knowing what she needed.

  Suddenly, it was there. What he’d been missing. Her honeysuckle scent floated around him, sweeter than cotton candy. Faint, but unmistakable. Without being aware of what he was doing, Compton leaned toward her and sniffed.

  Challa stopped struggling. He dropped his face closer to her red waterfall of hair where the fragrance was stronger. He felt her hand press against his chest, and he would swear he felt the heat from it soak through the skin.

  “I love the way you smell, Challa.” It was a tiny confession, when the truth was he wanted to also tell her how soft her hair was against his cheek. Softer than a kitten’s fur. Warm. Begging to be caressed.

  “How do I smell to you?” she whispered.

  “Like honeysuckle.”

  “Honeysuckle?”

  The question took him by surprise. Leaning back, he looked into her puzzled gaze. “You don’t know what honeysuckle smells like?” Challa shook her head, and Compton forced himself to keep from smiling, afraid she would take his response the wrong way. “There’s a vine of honeysuckle growing in my backyard. Come with me and I’ll show it to you.”

  The invitation felt natural. Another step in the order of the way their relationship should advance. Hello. Let’s have lunch. Care to go with me to a movie? Come over to my place.

  Oops. Skipped step three. At the same time he realized he could count on less than one finger how many women he had invited to his home.

  He no longer wondered why this woman managed to have such a hold on him. She did, and that’s all there was to it. She had him in the palm of her hand, and he was right back to being the overweight, zit-faced nerd from high school.

  “Compton?”

  Compton started. He had happily started to drown in the pool that was her scent and her silky hair. Opening his eyes, he saw the tiny smile curling the edges of her lips. If they hadn’t been standing in the middle of town square in broad daylight in the middle of the day, he would have chanced a kiss.

  “Compton?” she repeated, searching his face.

  “Yes?”

  “I-I need to go. I have a show tonight.”

  He straightened and reluctantly released his hold on her arm. Oddly, he felt disconnected doing it, as though a switch had been flipped.

  “Will you be there?” Challa asked almost timidly.

  “Be there?”

  “Yes. Please? Come to the show tonight.” She seemed to be pleading with him. Compton started to assure her he would come whenever she wanted him to. In fact, she didn’t have to ask. She could take his attendance as a given. Unaware of his thoughts, she hurried to add, “I’ll be doing show number two.”

  Compton frowned. “Show number two?”

  She nodded. “Last night was what we call show number one.”

  “The one where you try to intimidate everyone?” He grinned back.

  This time Challa giggled, and Compton knew he was head over heels in love. “If you think that was intimidating, just you wait until tonight!”

  “Then count on it, Challa. I’ll be there. Promise.”

  “I’ll be searching the crowds for you!” She backed away another step, gave him a little wave, turned, and started walking away, when Compton realized she didn’t have any sort of transportation.

  “Challa! Wait up! Don’t tell me you’re planning on walking all the way back to the carnival, are you?”

  “It’s not far. How do you think I got here in the first place?”

  “Let me drive you back,” he offered, hoping she’d say yes. It would mean maybe ten more minutes together, but it would be ten minutes they wouldn’t have otherwise. And, who knows? Alone together in the cab, they would have a small measure of privacy.

  She paused for a second then accepted. “All right.”

  “Great!” He held out his hand, which she took, fingers lacing between his. Together they went to get Compton’s truck where it was parked near the hardware store.

  Chapter 10

  Intimidation

  “Compton, please stop here and let me out.”

  He gave her a questioning look but went ahead and slowed down. Pulling over to the side of the road, he took care to avoid sinking into the ditch and stopped. Challa got out and closed the door, and waited for Compton to lower the window.

  He could see the carnival another quarter of a mile down the road. It stood out like a sore thumb, bordered on three sides by fields of low-lying soybean and cotton, making it easy as pie for people to spot it as soon as they left town. Come sundown when the tents and rides lit up, even a blind man could find it.

  “Challa, let me take you the rest of the way.”

  He could see the wind kicking up dirt on the road and in the fields. Little dust devils whirled past. In a matter of minutes, gray clouds like balls of dirty lint had rolled in from the west. Challa leaned in the window.

  “This is fine. I can walk the rest of the way.” Her hair lifted and swirled about her shoulders like a live animal. Her tone told him she didn’t want him to drive her all the way back to the carnival. For some reason she either didn’t want to be seen with him, or she didn’t want someone to see them together.

  He started to say something when a couple of fat raindrops splattered on the windshield. Compton shook his head. “Storm’s coming in. Get back inside, Challa, or you’ll get drenched.”

  “It’s okay, Compton. I need to—”

  The rest of her reply was drowned out by an ear-splittin
g crack of thunder. At the same moment, a wall of water fell from the sky and Challa gave a little shriek of surprise as she was drenched from head to toe.

  Compton leaned across the cab and shoved open the door. Challa scrambled back inside as another peal exploded directly overhead, followed by an increasing deluge. Quickly, he raised the window before pulling her against him. As the storm surged around them, they watched from within the warmth and safety of the cab.

  She was shivering in his arms, but his body heat was providing her with some measure of comfort. Her red hair, now the color of wilted rose petals, hung in thick, ropey strands. Her thin sundress clung to her body, revealing the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra, and only the tiniest slip of a thong. The realization raised his libido to an uncomfortable level. Even so, there was no way he was letting go of her. Not when she had willingly come into his arms and was happy to remain there while the roaring rain beat incessantly on the truck.

  He felt her move slightly. A pale, cold hand reached up and found the neckline of his shirt, which was now as wet as she was. In fact, he was just as soaked to the skin as she was. None of it mattered. His arms were all the way around her slender body, and it would take a crowbar to pry him away from her.

  Challa moved slightly, adjusting her position where she was nearly sitting in his lap. Her fingers touched his throat, their tips like small ice cubes. “I love the way you smell, too,” she whispered.

  The confession surprised him. Lowering his face, Compton found her staring up at him. This close he could see the purple flecks moving in her irises, floating like tiny specks of ice in a glass of sapphire-colored water. Mild shock went through him as he wondered how that could be possible. However, his mind was still reeling from her simple statement.

  “My smell?”

  “Yeah. Like oranges,” she softly confessed.

  Oranges? Not like Old Spice?

  She shifted again in his lap, and nothing mattered anymore except for her buttocks grinding down his erection. There was no thought prior to what he did next. It was merely the right thing to do, and he did it without regret.

  Her lips were cold and trembling when he kissed her. Challa reacted, pulling back slightly, but only slightly.