by Ruby Dixon
The Alien’s Mail-Order Bride
Ruby Dixon
Ruby Dixon
Copyright © 2017 by Ruby Dixon
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover Design: Kati Wilde
Editing: Aquila Editing
Created with Vellum
Contents
THE ALIEN’S MAIL-ORDER BRIDE
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
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RUBY DIXON READING LIST
THE ALIEN’S MAIL-ORDER BRIDE
Though still carrying the scars of his past as an intergalactic soldier, Emvor doesn’t mind the quiet of his chosen life as a farmer. He doesn’t even mind that most nights are lonely on remote Cassa, but he does need help around his farm. A mail-order bride from his homeworld seems like the perfect solution. She’ll be a tall, sturdy female to help with the chores and bear his children.
Unfortunately, the person that arrives is Nicola. She’s small, delicate…and human. She also knows nothing about farming, and she's lied and deceived her way across the galaxy to get to Cassa so she can hide from those that would capture her. She's a problem, and also the most enticing thing he's ever seen.
Now Emvor has to decide…can he keep the woman who’s nothing like what he asked for but is everything he needs?
(standalone novella)
1
EMVOR
If there was one person I didn’t want to meet at the spaceport, it was Sanjurel. Cassa II was a small planet, with a very small population, but people like Sanjurel made it seem even smaller. There wasn’t a bit of local news he didn’t like, from whose crops were failing this season, whose meat-stock animals were running loose on the neighbor’s farm, to who was beating his mate.
I’m not the type to care about any of that. I keep my head down, keep my business to myself. After years of service in the wars, all I want is a nice quiet farm and a clear sky. Crops to grow. Stock animals to raise. A few credits in my stash. That’s all I need. Because it’s a small community on Cassa, people tend to get friendly and into each other’s business. Happens on all farm community planets. Unavoidable. So I keep to myself. Instead of going to community gatherings, I send along some extra food with a drone. Figure as long as I make a show of being neighborly, no one’s going to bother me too much.
But there’s no getting away from Sanjurel once he spots you. You’re in for a nice long conversation.
And since I walk with a heavy limp and my face is scarred up, I’m kinda hard to miss.
“Emvor!” he calls out, waving a hand. He’s spotted me before I could find a nice stack of freight to hide behind. Figures. I don’t alter my route, just tip the brim of my hat to him and hope he gets the message.
’Course, this being Sanjurel, he doesn’t get the message. The older man—a mesakkah like me—trots over to my side, his tail waving with eagerness. “Good to see you, son. Been forever since you’ve shown your head around these parts.”
“Yep,” I say quietly, continuing into the station, my datapad clutched tightly in my sweaty hand. I don’t want him to wonder why I’m here. Don’t keffing ask, old man—
“So what brings you down to Cassa’s little spaceport today?” he asks, all eagerness. “Getting some new stock in? Shipment from home? What?”
I grit my teeth, trying to figure out the best thing to say that won’t bring too much gossip my way. If I say stock, he’ll want to know what strain of seed or breed of meat-stock and if we can crossbreed it with local stock, and that will end up being a long conversation I won’t be able to get out of. Talking about home is out, too, because then he’ll want to tell me about the wars he went through as a young mesakkah, and that could take all damn day and I want to get in and get out quickly. “Visitor,” I say finally.
His eyes light up and I realize that was the wrong thing to say.
Kef it all. Now the whole planet’s gonna know that I’m bringing home a bride.
It’s something I’ve tried to avoid people knowing about. Not because I’m ashamed, but because it means talking and socializing, and I’m not much for that. I moved out to Cassa to get away from it all, and everyone keeps trying to bring it all back to me. I like my silence. I like my quiet house. I like my peace and not having to wake up in a barracks crammed full of other bodies, rushing to the facilities at the same time you are, sharing your space, breathing your air, talking all at once and interrupting your peace.
I’m not lonely for company, that’s for sure.
Well…okay, I might be a little lonely for a particular kind of company. That’s why I’m getting a bride, after all. I keep shuffling forward, wishing that my limp would let me move faster. Sanjurel moves slow, but I can’t seem to speed up fast enough to pass him. He’s too eager to hear more.
Gonna have a field day when he hears I’ve got a bride coming. Her name’s Shiarii and she’s mesakkah. Forty-five years old. Fit. Never mated. Is interested in children and farming. Understands that emotional connections aren’t a big priority.
Basically, she’s just what I paid for.
Been years since I’ve been around women. Too many since the war, and long before half my face was shot off and reconstructed. Same with the leg. Both of those things make me uglier than most, so I like to keep to myself. After war and a soldier’s brutal life, farming is a quiet joy. I never minded being alone until this last winter, when I fell off of the roof of my barn trying to repair it. Broke my hand and my leg. With no one around—not even a helper mech, since I don’t trust mechs after the war—it was tricky getting myself back into the safety of my home and binding my wounds. I know that injury happens in the field. But since it was winter and there were no crops to be harvested and the meat-stock was on an auto-feeder cycle, all I had to do was lie in my bunk and try to heal up.
Gave me a lot of time to think.
While I don’t mind being alone, it’d be good to have another pair of hands around the farm. Wouldn’t mind another warm body in the bed on winter nights, or someone to share the occasional thought with.
Wouldn’t mind a nice snug cunt to fuck, either.
I don’t need much, and because I know I’m not much company, I’m not a prize for any female. So I do some research and find a service that gets males in touch with females who need a spouse. Many of the females that apply for these sorts of things are criminals or looking to hide from something. I’m not interested in that. I just want a nice, quiet female that won’t mind the farming life. Figured I could afford to be picky and said I didn’t want anyone with problems.
Means she’s probably going to be ugly as one of the stock-beasts, but I don’t care about that. And I figured it’d take a while for my request to get any interest. Cassa’s on the edges of the known universe and there’s only one settlement. It’s a very, very quiet life, and I know from the way that others settle down for a few years only to leave again that it’s not for most people.
Surprised me that I got a response within a month. Shiarii sounds perfect, even if she didn’t send a holo of what she looks l
ike. I don’t care. I’m not marrying her for looks. I’m marrying her so that next time I fall off the roof, I won’t have to stitch my own leg, splint it, and then go back out to finish the roofing job all on my own.
My needs are practical, even if I wouldn’t mind a partner with an interest in mating.
But I’m not saying any of that to Sanjurel. He looks too excited as it is. “Visitor,” I say again, making my tone hard and unfriendly. I push ahead of him
He finally gets the hint, letting me surge into the small crowd at the station. “Very well,” he calls after me, his voice cheery despite my attitude. “If you’re so inclined, we’re having a gathering at Week’s End. Bring your visitor!”
“I’ll send something along,” I say, not caring if he hears me or not. There’s a spacecraft pulling into the station, which means my female—my mate—will be arriving soon. Despite the chill in the open air, I’m sweating. I’m not nervous, I scoff to myself. I’m just distracted because of the run-in with Sanjurel. Before the end of the day, everyone on this side of Cassa is going to know that remote, unfriendly Emvor Vas Kilasen has a female visitor.
The station hub hums with the low throb of technology. Everywhere I look, there are ships being unloaded, the whirling hiss of mechs as they service engines and move crates. The ship landing roars as it turns its thrusters on and slows, proceeding gently to the marked spot. There are a few people here, but overall the crowd is entirely mechanized. I step out of the way of a freight-runner and move to the side, limping toward where the others seem to be waiting on passengers. A few familiar faces turn to give me curious looks, but I ignore them. For all they know, I’m here to pick up supplies. I steer clear of the mechs, though. Don’t like those things. Never have.
A few people—mesakkah and ooli, szzt and kravingian—mix as they move off of the ship. I see a lovely blue face, and my heart stutters for a moment. But she moves on and goes to hug an old male and his mate. A daughter, then, returning to visit family. I watch the others, trying to decipher which of these will be my bride.
Then, of course, I see her. She stands at the back of the group, as if she’s waited until all the others have disembarked before getting off the ship. She moves slowly, a small bag clutched in her gloved hands. She wears a long, long robe that drags on the dusty soil of Cassa as she steps off of the freight escalator and onto the ground. Her head is hooded, but I catch a glimpse of blue skin as she glances around. She’s looking for someone.
I almost raise a hand in the air like an unschooled, eager boy, and then catch myself. This isn’t about love or affection, and I don’t want to send the wrong message. If she thinks I’m excited to see her, it might hurt her feelings later when she realizes all I wanted was the barest amount of company. I cross my arms over my chest. The others will clear out, and then I’ll be the only one left. I don’t move forward, mostly because I want to see her reaction.
She sees the small cluster of people amongst the mechs and begins to walk toward them, her steps small and her gait strange, as if she’s choosing to walk in far too precise of a manner. It seems odd, but her clothing is also an odd choice. It’s a hot day, and the season won’t get cool for a few months yet. But perhaps she came from a cold place and didn’t change? Or perhaps she just likes covering up?
I don’t know, and I guess it’s not my business to care. I didn’t ask for a photo, after all. I try to get a good look at her face, but it’s hidden by the hood. All I can see is a bit of blue chin. As she moves forward, though, she looks over at me. I expect to feel something at the sight of her but…it’s odd. I don’t feel much at all. She’s very bland, and I can’t pick out a single discerning feature. I would have liked her to have a big nose or strange teeth or heavy brows. Something to give her a bit of uniqueness. But she’s just…there. Her gaze meets mine and there’s something odd about it, though I don’t know what.
“Emvor?” she asks, stepping toward me. Doesn’t lower her hood, doesn’t smile. Just meets me with that curiously dead expression. “I’m Shiarii, your bride.”
And I guess I’ve got myself a mate.
2
EMVOR
She doesn’t talk much. Shiarii says nothing as we get in the air-sled and speed toward my farm. We pass by Sanjurel’s sled, because I’m unlucky. The other male cranes his neck, trying to get a good look at my passenger, but she’s not putting her hood down. I know he’s expecting to meet her at the gathering, but I have no plans on going.
Unless she wants to. I guess.
I haven’t really thought much about what she might or might not want. Thought I’d have more time to think the whole ‘bride’ thing through, but I guess not. I glance over at her, but she’s still quiet, her gaze on the fields as they glide past. Her not being much of a talker is fine, but there’s something about her silence that unnerves me. I look over as I drive through the valleys and over the dusty trails of Cassa’s rolling landscape and notice that her gloved hands are trembling. Something seems odd about her hands, too. They’re very small.
She notices my attention and tucks them tight under her satchel, and then I feel guilty for thinking she’s odd.
She’s just nervous. Maybe she doesn’t like what she sees when she looks at me. I said I was ex-military, though. Can’t imagine she expected me to be pretty. Most that survived the war didn’t come back whole.
We make it back to my house in silence. I study it, trying to see it through her eyes. Most farmers have the same sort of set-up, a geo-pod home that insulates well against both heat and cold and can withstand strong breezes, earthquakes, or anything else that the world might throw at us. “What do you think?” I ask, breaking my own silence.
She doesn’t look over at me, her gaze fixed on my house. “It looks like an egg,” she says after a moment, and her voice is smooth and sweet and the nicest thing about her, I decide. There’s a hint of an accent I can’t place, but the rest of it sounds good.
Real good. I can feel my cock stiffening in my trou at the thought of the marriage bed. Her contract with me did say that children were an option.
Maybe I can get her to talk while I’m inside her. My skin prickles with pleasure at the thought. Can’t get over how much I like that. I steel myself away from such thoughts and offer her a hand to get down from the air-sled.
“I’ve got it,” she tells me, and avoids my touch. She takes a moment and then steps down, landing heavily in a swirl of thick skirts, and straightens her hood before she stands upright.
I glance up at the sun, beating down overhead. I’m used to the weather here, but it’s hot and a little muggy due to the mechanized misting sprays that keeps the soil near the farm moist. “You should probably change,” I tell her. Kef, I’m just yapping all over the place, aren’t I?
“Why?” She clutches her bag tightly to her chest.
I tilt my head at the sun overhead. “Kind of warm. Plus, that’s a nice dress. Probably want to save it for travel and wear something a little cooler and more comfortable around the house.”
Her stiff body relaxes after a moment. “Very well.”
When she looks at me expectantly, I can’t help but notice that her eyes seem so…dead. It’s strange. I get all flustered and break eye contact, limping forward. “Let me show you the bedroom.” She might be sleeping there alone tonight, because as much as I like her voice, I’m not sure I can get past those strange blank eyes.
I show her inside and she barely looks around before moving into the bedroom. She frowns a little at the realization that there’s no door on the jamb, but since I live alone, I never needed one. Gonna make it hard for her to change, though. “I’ll get you a drink from the kitchen. You like tea?”
“Tea is fine,” she tells me, and her accent stands out even more. She clutches her bag to her chest and watches me until I leave. It’s damn odd.
Actually, all of this is odd, I think to myself as I lope toward the kitchen area of my home. I pause at the end of the short hallway and wonder if
I need to talk to her instead. Say something to put her at ease. Get that dead look out of her eyes. If she’s disappointed in her partner and wants to break our marriage contract, I guess it’s better to know about it sooner than later.
I turn and head back down the hall, toward the bedroom. Maybe it’s me being ornery, but I slow my steps until I’m completely silent. I want to surprise her. Not because I want to see her naked—not sure how I feel about that right now—but because seeing a startled look on her face would at least tell me that there’s some sort of spark inside her. I make it to the doorway and pause, because she’s not looking in my direction.
She’s seated with her back to me, and as I watch, she reaches under her skirts and pulls off the tallest shoe I’ve ever seen. Has to be as long as my arm. I can’t imagine how a female walks in something like that, and then I remember her curious, shuffling, over-careful gait at the spaceport. But why wear such large shoes?
She sighs with pleasure, the sound as sweet and enticing as anything I’ve ever heard. Then, she tosses the second shoe aside and rolls her shoulders. I should say something, but I’m too curious about what’s going on. Instead, I watch as she reaches into the cowl neck of her dress and pulls a thick, wedge-shaped thing out of her dress and drops it on the floor as well. Her shoulder now looks half the size of the other.
What is this?
She pulls out the second shoulder pad, sniffs it, and then makes an unpleasant noise of disapproval before casting it aside.
Without the shoulder pads inside her gown, she looks…tiny. Something about this is all wrong, and I realize she’s much, much smaller in stature than any adult mesakkah would be. The elegant dress that fit her perfectly a few moments ago now pools around her.