by Ava Ross
“Dreafillar,” the dude said gruffly. His lips curled back, revealing sizeable fangs, and he gave her a short, courtly bow that was oddly appealing despite his caveman outfit.
“I, um…” Damn, she was stuttering, but she couldn’t seem to force words out of her mouth. She should be screaming, though that would be stupid when she was in hiding. Or she should be jumping from the tub and grabbing one of her knives. In fact, she…
Wait.
Dreafillar—the Crakairian greeting from one mate to another.
“Since there is no protocol droid near to make the introductions,” he said, staggering to the side before righting himself. “I must do so…myself.” He bowed again. “I am Kral Leglette…” He frowned. “No. I am Kral Lilgat Adhoh…Shiel’qoin. I have come to rescue you, Mila Theresa Dunkirk.”
Her jaw remained ajar. “This is…“ Highly unusual. Wild and exciting.
Weirdly erotic.
Realizing he was still studying her naked body, she slapped her hands over her crotch then moved them up to her boobs. If only she had three hands to cover all the bases.
“How did you get here?” she asked, her voice coming out wispy.
“I have…” Blinking, he frowned, and his thick eyebrows wedged together. Large scales on his shoulders lifted and fell, fluttering in agitation. His deep black pupils encircled with Caribbean blue widened. “I have…”
What was happening?
“Are you okay?” she asked. Maybe he needed rescuing more than her.
“I am sorry, but…” His eyes rolled back in his head, and his arms collapsed at his sides. With a soft hiss, he keeled forward.
He landed on top of her, and water sloshed over the sides of the tub.
Six
Kral
Kral woke with his nose pressed between the mounds on Mila’s chest and his right hand buried between her thighs.
For a minar, he couldn’t remember what had happened or how he had ended up on top of her. Oh. The transfer. Losing consciousness. Falling forward. Of course he would be among the two percent.
Matebond blood surged through his veins, and his body heated in response to her sweet scent and soft flesh beneath him.
Heille.
Embarrassment clogged his veins for the first time in yaros.
“I am sorry,” he mumbled gruffly, his fangs grazing her skin. She smelled like jinjin fruit on a warm summer’s day. “I… I am not in full control of my actions.”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I…the transfer.”
After meeting Earth women and seeing their differences when compared to Crakairian females, he’d looked forward to discovering if hair felt like naanans. And if Earthlings were all as petite as Lily, Sadie, and Evie. He’d also teased himself with the possibility of viewing his future mate’s chest mounds.
He stared at her chest, and he discovered the cloaked transfer may have messed with his tongue in addition to his mind. “Crakairian females do not possess such unusual appendages. I have heard of the fleshy lumps. They are called…beasts? Yes, that is it. Beasts.” He was not sure why they would be called that, but what did he know? They could be beastly.
She snorted. “You’re kidding me, right?”
“Anyway,” he said. “I have heard they are for suckling an infant. So odd. Crakairian females feed their young through fleshy tubes that emerge from their abdomen after birth.”
“I see,” she said. She flicked her hand toward him. “You um…”
He’d also looked forward to touching her unscaled skin, but never like this.
“Hey, you’re not moving. Are you okay?” she asked. Her hands fluttered beside his head, but she didn’t touch. “You fell. You were unconscious there for a minute. I, um, couldn’t move.”
He grunted and, as he shifted on top of her, his fangs grazed the soft tissue on the top of her right beast. A small, pink nub pebbled in the center. Had he caused this possibly unwelcome action?
“Kral?” She squirmed beneath him.
He grunted again and shook his head, hoping to clear it. His naanans appeared to have a will of their own. They glided along her arms and neck, and one teased across her left beast, aiming for the pebble.
She moaned softly, and when he looked up, her pupils had widened.
“What…what…?” she said. “You… This can’t be happening.”
“Me?” He studied her flustered face, unsure why she appeared upset. Well, other than the fact he was lying on top of her.
“Yes, you.” Her hands dropped onto his shoulders and stroked. Perhaps realizing what she was doing, she lifted them quickly again, holding them aloft. “Is swan diving on top of a potential mate part of the courtship rituals?” Humor danced in her voice.
“No. I am terribly sorry.” Hands braced on the sides of the tub, he lifted himself, but he couldn’t stop staring down at her. “I introduced myself, did I not? I cannot remember.”
A smile twitched across her lips. “Yes, you did introduce yourself.”
“Good.” While the setting was unusual, he dipped his head forward to continue the first stage of courtship. “Dreafillar.”
Since Mila was lifting her head at the same time, their foreheads banged together.
“Ow,” she groaned, rubbing the circle of redness blooming on her pale skin.
“Again, I am terribly sorry.” Embarrassment crashed through him, and he broke out in a sweat.
He’d come here to rescue his mate, and now she would tell him she was not interested in being courted by a bumbling Vikir warrior. Heille, he could not unscramble his brain enough to get off her. The star cruiser droid had been right. “I am among the two percent who lose consciousness after a cloaked transfer and apparently, one who also loses his inhibitions.”
She blinked slowly. “Two percent, you say?”
He dipped his head, being careful to avoid impacting it with hers. “I am sure my inhibitions will return to full force soon.”
“I’ll…look forward to that.”
Did he hear laughter in her voice? He couldn’t tell, and it was best not to assume.
“Maybe you should…uh…” Her hand flicked between them. “Get off me?”
“Oh, yes.” He tried to shift sideways to climb out of the tub, but their feet tangled together. His wounded leg spasmed, sending his foot shooting along the bottom of the metal surface. His hands slid off the sides of the tub, and he flopped back down on top of her again.
The air whooshed out of her lungs.
“I do apologize,” he groaned. He pulled his fingers out from between her legs. As he lifted his hand to reach for the side of the tub again, it brushed the pebble on her beast. “I mean…” He frowned, trying to make his mind work.
“Kral,” she moaned. “This…This…”
While mortification had become his best friend, his cock had decided finding her lying beneath him meant he could bypass the courtship and marriage and get right to the fucking. He had a steel bar in his pants.
“Oh, shit.” Her cornling blue eyes widened. “Fuck. You’re turned on by this?”
“You are not?” No. He had not said that. Please.
“Um, probably not.” Her cheeks grew as red as the mark on her forehead.
A bloosh. That was what it was called. “You are blooshing. Human skin colors when the person is…embarrassed.”
“Okay, shit, maybe I’m a little turned on by all this? But it’s just…the moment. Me. You. All this wetness. Let alone that pipe in your pants.” Her eyes half-closed. “I’m dreaming, right? That’s what this is. I fell asleep in the tub and I’m having the most amazing dream about an alien dude who says he’s Kral. This isn’t real. You’re not real. It’s not real.”
“I am real. As is…it.” He slid his tongue along his lower lip, eager to taste her. He needed to stop this train of thought immediately.
“Your tongue,” she said. “Damn. It’s forked on the end. And long.”
“There are many u
ses for my tongue.”
“I bet there are.”
He swore he heard sarcasm in her voice, but he must be mistaken. He needed to get off her, rescue her, take her to his ship, and lie down until his brain cleared.
She squirmed beneath him. “Okay, dream alien. Time to get out of the tub.”
“You are right.” His black naanans were long, a few reaching nearly to his waist. While he reached for the sides of the tub again, two naanans drifted to her beasts. The pebbles, they intrigued him.
“Perhaps your beasts are for more than a youngling’s sucking,” he said before he could shut off his tongue.
“Honey, don’t you know it.” She rolled her eyes. “Talk about an introduction, dude.”
“I am Kral. Your mate. Not dude, though if you wish to use dude as a pet name for me, I will allow it.”
“You will, huh?” He did not miss the irony in her voice. “Dude isn’t a pet name.”
“You may call me whatever you wish. Even this…honey? That means sweet bee juices.”
She frowned before her face cleared, and she laughed. “That’s you for sure. Sweet bee juices.”
“I am happy to have given you a reason to smile,” he said. “Even if it means I am called bee juices.”
Her snort of laughter made her body shake. “I can’t say that I’ve ever had a first date like this before.”
“First date.” It came out as a statement, not a question. He liked that they were already proceeding with the courtship. He had greeted her correctly. Once they were back on his ship, he could proceed with the rest of the rituals.
Although… While there were no zithers in the water, this was very close to a zither bath.
“Soon, I must emulse your feet with the boodler,” he said, thinking of the next step in his courtship.
“I’ll…look forward to it.” She grinned, and he found the fang-less gesture enthralling.
He had made her smile, no one else.
Taking care, he climbed out of the tub, trying not to put too much pressure on his leg that throbbed dully. As he stood, water beaded on his furs and drizzled down his pants, pooling on the floor. Not the way he had intended to look when meeting his mate for the first time, but she had been kidnapped. They were on an enemy space station and needed to escape.
At least his head was clearing.
He bowed and swept out his arm. “As I said, I have come to rescue you, Mila Theresa Dunkirk.”
She held up a finger. “Hold that thought. I need to get dressed before we go any further.” Her gaze fell to his pants. “Jeez, I guess I wasn’t far off with the 3D printed dildos.” When her eyes met his, she smiled. “Is it purple?”
He did not know what a dildo was or what she was asking, but he was eager to please her, especially after messing things up by falling on top of her. “Yes, purple.”
“All the time or just when it’s…” Her gaze drilled his groin. “Enlarged.”
Oh… “Not purple.” He rubbed his arm. “I am a rich green all over my body.” He reached for the fastener of his pants. “Would you like to see?”
“Slow down,” she said with widened eyes. She fanned her face. He did not understand how she could be overheated when the room was cold. Especially for someone wet like him. “Hold the cock show for later, okay? If you’ll turn around, I’ll get out of the tub.”
“I have already seen—”
“Kral.” Warning rang out in her voice.
He spun to face the wall. Earthling females. Were all of them as complex as his mate?
Splashes were followed by rustling.
“Give me a sec to dry off and dress, and then we can move forward with your rescue,” she said.
Did he hear teasing in her voice? He gnashed his fangs, wishing he could interpret her current tone. In the ten yaros since his parents had died, he’d struggled to feel confident, respected, and in control.
Now one slip of an Earthling woman sent him spiraling in every direction. He’d enjoyed touching her, and he had enjoyed their playful conversation in the tub. But he didn’t like feeling this unsettled. His belly fluttered worse than an aspila tree in a stiff wind.
He heard more shifting of material. “I appreciate you showing up, by the way,” she said.
“You are my mate.” What else would he do?
“What if you’d popped into the room and found Taylor or Lily here instead of me?”
“Lily is with her mate, Jorg.”
“Really?” Mila shouted, and he read relief and happiness in her voice. “She is?”
“Yes. Really.”
“I am so glad. What about Tay?”
He assumed she meant Taylor, the third of the group kidnapped. “Wulf is seeking her at this minar.”
“Her Crakairian match. Cool. Things are suddenly looking up.”
“Wulf is my friend. He is very dedicated.” There was no one else Kral would ask to cover his back. “As we approached this station, a ship with a human female and one other life form flew toward Yarris, the planet beneath us. Wulf took a shuttle and followed. Assuming this is Taylor, he will locate her and bring her to Crakair.”
“Do you think it was her?”
“I do.”
“You don’t know how good hearing this makes me feel.” Her voice choked off. “I’ve been worried about them. I looked everywhere on the station but couldn’t find them.”
“Taylor will soon be safe.” He had to trust in this. Had Wulf located his mate already?
When Kral returned to his ship, he assumed there would be a message from Wulf waiting.
Her gasp rang out. “Whoa. That’s quite a sword you have there. I just noticed it.”
He tapped the handle sticking out from the sheath lying along his spine. “This is a titar sword, made of trinar steel.” Not many Vikir carried a weapon made for fighting a vengeance, but Kral had sworn to keep it with him after his parent’s death. It was one of the few things he’d found among the smoldering ruins of their home and had been his father’s.
Mila stepped closer and traced her finger along the sheath, making it shift subtly on his back. “And you wear this thing wherever you go?”
“It is a weapon, made to be worn. It is made to be used in battle.”
“Let’s hope things don’t come to that.” She paused. “You know how to use it, I assume.”
Did she think he would carry it with him at all times if he did not know how to use it? “Yes.”
“If we run into any Al’kieern, will you impale them for me?”
He sighed, still unsure about her tone. “Trust I will defend you to the death.”
“Good.”
“Are you finished dressing?”
“Almost.” She tapped the sheath again. “How do you sit with this thing riding on your back? You’re pretty much a scaly green Conan the Barbarian, from your leather pants to your fur shirt, to this sword.”
Conan? “I am Kral.”
She snorted. “Yup. One-hundred percent Kral.”
“You like this.” His voice deepened, and he held his breath while he waited for her answer. Would she share?
“Yes. I do.” The words came out raspy.
His cock twitched, and he was eager to feel her beneath him again. But she was right. Now was not the correct time. “The sheath accommodates movement, even when sitting.”
“That’s good.” She snickered. “I’d hate to think of you stabbing your ass.”
Truly? She had to be joking. “Are you finished?” he growled, biting back his impatience. He wanted to see her. He needed to read her face, assuming that was even possible.
“Almost. Hold your horses.”
“I do not have horses, whatever they are.”
“Nope, just a giant sword hanging down your back.”
He said nothing, though his hands flexed at his sides. How long did it take one slight woman to don clothing?
“Hold your horses means the same as don’t get your panties in a wad, though that’s a
bit more derogatory than the horse comment.”
“Panties…” To what did she refer? “What are panties?”
“I guess you could say they’re a bit like a garlong. Isn’t that what Crakairian men wear?”
“We wear them during courtship.” Sadly, he had not brought one with him. Could he improvise?
“I’ve read about garlongs,” she said.
Did she speak with anticipation or did the prospect now fill her with fear? She didn’t sound frightened, but he’d quickly come to believe that Earth women were complex. Highly appealing.
Fascinating.
“If you wish, I will wear the panties for you,” he vowed. “Soon.”
She sputtered.
“Are you ill?” he asked.
“Why would you as a question like that?” she asked through her laughter.
“You keep making a snorting sound.”
“Oh. Nope. I’m not ill. I’m just…enjoying myself. Never thought I’d say that while I’m trapped on a space station, but I am. Meeting you has been a lot of fun for me.”
After his parents died, he’d spent months wracked with pain, slowly healing. His Aunt Riella had done all she could to comfort him. She’d given him a place in her home, done what she could to help him heal, and even gone so far as to call him her substitute son. But the moment he’d recovered enough to get around—somewhat—he’d been asked to assume leadership of the clan, a role he’d inherited from his father. Although, his cousin would have inherited the role if he had perished with his father.
Kral’s parents had died while he’d lived, and he’d decided at that minar to take life seriously. There’d be no more running with the other younglings—he couldn’t run any longer, anyway—and no having fun.
But he liked that he could bring his mate joy.
“You can wear anything you want other than panties.” More laughter spilled into her voice. “Girls wear panties. Guys wear…boxers. Most of them that is.”
How did a box equate with panties or garlongs?
English was a confusing language.
“Okay,” she said brightly. “I’m dressed. You can turn around. Then we can get the hell out of here.”