by Ava Ross
This courtship stuff presented a challenge for a serious Vikir warrior like Kral. He’d forgotten how to laugh. He no longer knew what having fun felt like.
But he ached to have fun and laugh again, with Mila. He wanted to share everything with her.
He couldn’t forget the beauty of her lying in the water. Her creamy skin. Her lush hair spilling over her shoulders. And the dark patch of curls between her legs.
“Does the hair between your legs feel like the hair on the top of your head?” he asked.
She sputtered. “Excuse me?”
“Why would you need to be excused?”
“Slow down! You’re lobbing one steam bomb after another at me. Pretty soon, I’m going to explode.”
“I do apologize.” While his face could not show flames like Mila’s did, his embarrassment scorched his bones. “I am curious, and I…”
She lifted the ridges above her eyes. “Have no filter?”
He puzzled out her words. “Yes. That is right. I have no filter.”
“Welcome to the club.”
“It is not appropriate to ask an Earthling female about the hair between her legs.”
“Well, it’s not the usual thing to talk about on a date. Although, this isn’t exactly a date.”
“This date. It is like steps in a courtship?”
“Exactly.”
“If I was following ancient Vikir tradition, I would know how the hair between your legs felt as I would have already touched it.”
She fanned her face. “There you go again.”
“Where am I going again?”
“Into steamy territory.”
“And you do not like this?” He watched her face, wishing he could read her expression. Perhaps one day he would understand every crease and movement as if it was the landscape of his face.
“Um… Let’s escape the station, and we can add this to the list of things to talk about.” She started for the door.
“This is a wise idea.”
Turning, she grinned and tapped her temple. “That’s me. Wise.”
“Know one thing, my mate.”
She quirked up her brow ridge, something he found highly appealing.
“Know that I will court you. Propose and win you. And then make you explode with many orgasms. You will scream my name.” Arrogant of him, but Vikir males were known for their abilities beneath the furs.
She stomped over to him so fast, he took a step backward. “Know one thing.” Her voice deepened. “I will let you court me. Propose and maybe win me. And then you will explode with many orgasms. You will scream my name.”
“Males do not scream.”
“Moan. Groan. Whatever sounds more masculine, if that makes you feel better.” She poked his chest. “All I can say is game on.”
“This will not be a game. It will be serious.” He bared his fangs. “I look forward to shared orgasms and screaming.”
“I’m sure you do.”
He liked that she looked forward to claiming him as her own. This was how it should be between a matebonded pair.
She lifted her hand. “I’ll say one thing. You’re making my brain spin.”
“Good, because mine spins as well.”
Her hand dropped onto his arm. “So far, this courtship has been wild. When I traveled from Earth, I never imagined anything like this.” Sadness filled her gaze. “I also didn’t imagine getting kidnapped. I thought I’d land on Crakair, meet you, we’d court and then marry.” Her hand flicked out. “Nothing like this.”
“We have shared a rough start.”
“Seems like you’ve been able to turn it partway around.”
“I will turn it around.”
“Shit. I’m sure you will.”
“Shit?” His brow ridges drew together. His human female mate discussed defecation more than anyone he had met before.
She pouted. “You know what I mean.”
He did not, but he also believed it would be best to pretend he did, so he nodded.
“Anyway.” She heaved out a sigh. “I want you to wait here while I go look in the hall.”
Puffing his chest, he drew himself up. “I will not cower in your hole of hidey while you survey the battlefield.”
“That’s just it. It’s not a battlefield, and you’re in my territory now. I rule.”
He huffed, wanting to insist he should be in command. He was a leader, the one used to battle.
She was the one who’d survived here for daelas.
His chest deflated. “I will wait, but only for one minar.”
“Give me two.”
She left the room and returned before he could storm across the maintenance room. “They’re still there.”
“Good. I will kill them, we will transfer to my ship, and we will be on Crakair before you have time to blink your eyebashes.”
“Eyebashes…” Confusion filled her features before her face cleared. “Before you go out there and kill a bunch of blue-skinned aliens, can we talk about it? I mean, I think they deserve what they get. They kidnapped me and my friends and brought me here to auction me off to the highest bidder. But slicing and dicing them with your sword feels drastic.”
He leaned against the wall, frowning. “What would you have me do then?”
“How about we sneak through the halls until we reach the loading dock floor with the windows where we can see your ship. No slicing. No dicing.”
“No killing?” He’d looked forward to an honorable battle.
“You can kill in self-defense, but we should avoid putting ourselves in that kind of situation.”
“If you wish,” he said with a heavy groan. Truly, he did not understand Earthling females. Did she not wish to witness his prowess in battle? “Perhaps, while we wait, I could complete another courtship ritual.”
“Emulsion?”
“There are no boodlers in your hidey.”
“I’m not even sure what a boodler is.” She held up her hand. “Hold that thought. I’m also not sure I want to know.” Her head tilted. “What other courtship rituals can you do here in my little hidey-hole before you go Cujo in the hall? At this point, I’m not sure anything could surprise me.”
“I will perform an ancient courtship dance.” The Vikir used traditional Crakairian courtship rituals like the zither bath, but most still clung to the traditions used in his clan for generations, even courtship orgasms.
“A dance?” she said, her lips twitching. “This is gonna be good.”
“You will enjoy it,” he grated out, more nervous than he should be.
“That sounds like a command,” she said dryly.
“Am I not right?”
“Do it and I’ll let you know.”
He nodded.
He’d practiced this dance with his Aunt Riella cheering each time the moves became seamless, knowing that someday, he would perform it for his intended mate. Now the time had come. Would he miss some of the steps and make a complete fool of himself or do it as seamlessly as he had for yaros and impress her?
Like a trapped bird, his heart fluttered. What if she watched him dance and said it was not good enough? That he was not good enough? He could not let himself think this. He would do it. Then hope she smiled.
With renewed vigor, he pulled his sword, the blade hissing as it left the scabbard.
Her eyes widened, and she stepped backward. “Does your dance involve stabbing anything?”
“You are correct in this assumption.” He held the blade upright with both hands on the hilt and bowed toward his mate. “Long ago, two males would engage in the dance together. It was quite common for one of them to be impaled on the blade.”
She sat on her bed and scooted into the back corner, tucking her knees up to wrap her arms around them. “Just…uh, maybe watch out where you thrust that thing.”
“I would never cause you harm, Mila. You are my mate.”
“How long have you practiced with a sword?” she asked, staring at the blade.
“I started with a wooden sword when I was two yaros old, then graduated to steel at eight. This blade was my father’s.”
“It’s pretty.” She loosened her death grip on her legs and stretched them out on the mattress.
Pretty? His naanans flared in defense of his mighty weapon, but then he caught the twinkle in her beautiful eyes. She was teasing him.
He liked that he was starting to figure her out.
Baring his fangs, he felt laughter rise inside him, but he tamped it down. The dance must be serious.
“I just have to say, today has been much more entertaining than the past week.” She flicked her hand toward him. “Dance time. Show me what you’ve got.”
He held himself still, waiting for her to finish.
“I’m chattering, aren’t I?” she said. Sitting upright, she clasped her hands together and laid them on her lap. “You’re welcome to begin whenever you’re ready.”
“Thank you.” He gave her a bow.
He closed his eyes and composed himself. His hands should not be shaking. She would enjoy his dance or she wouldn’t. There wasn’t anything he could do about it now but put his heart into his every movement. Assuming the starting position, he held his sword in two hands again.
Mila sat forward, watching his every move.
He began slowly, his movements careful and precise, gliding his sword sideways across an invisible plain at eye level. He wove it through the air, creating the movements of the delicate jiera, a creature who bound through the woods on spindly legs, its mighty antlers thrusting up toward the sky.
A slash to the left was followed by one to the right. His muscles warmed up as he moved faster, spinning in place while the sword created seamless waves in the air.
Under normal circumstances, someone would beat a drum and a pipe would play, creating a melody that would weave through his dance.
Without a drummer or piper, Kral would have to improvise.
His low hum rang out in the room, a decent imitation of the song. He tossed the blade into the air and caught it behind his back. Flicking it to the front, he kept humming, carefully matching the song to his movements. The mournful cry of the piper universally made Crakairian females sigh. He stomped his feet, mimicking the beat of the drum.
Mila maintained a smile on her face, but when he imitated the piercing shriek of the flute, she winced.
This…wasn’t working out as he’d expected. Did the problem lie in the size of the room? He’d had to modify his dance to fit the tiny space.
The lack of piper had to be harming his case.
Why did his voice sound like metal dragging across stone? Perhaps volume was the answer.
When he hummed louder, Mila jumped.
Kral lost his rhythm while directing his blade in a mid-air, kliera curve. His injured leg spasmed, and he stumbled forward, driving his sword into the floor to stop him from falling.
“That was…”
Did he hear awe in her voice? He’d fumbled at the end of the dance. If he’d done this at home for a female, his friends would have teased him.
“It was unbelievable,” she said. “I’m not sure how to describe how it made me feel.” She tapped her temple. “I felt it here.” She pressed her fingers against her chest. “But mostly here.”
Stalking forward, he gave her a quick kiss.
As he straightened, she stared at him in wonder. Her fingers rose to trace along her lips. “That was our first.”
“Was I too bold?”
“You were too quick.”
Oh.
Before he could tug her off her mattress and give her a better kiss, she spoke.
“Do all the Crakairian men perform this dance during courtship?” she asked, blinking up at him.
“They do.” Holding his sword parallel to the floor, he bowed.
“Thank you. I don’t believe anyone has ever done something like this for me before.” Emotion clogged her voice.
He studied her face, trying to read the intent behind her words, but she gave nothing away. “You are suitably impressed?”
“Oh, I’m more than impressed. I’m completely bowled over. It was amazing.”
He re-sheathed his sword on his back and bowed again.
She smiled up at him. “What comes next in the courtship?”
“I will need to make a sacrifice.”
Nine
Mila
“Please tell me you don’t plan to…I don’t know, chop up a living pig or hunt down an endangered species to impress me.” She couldn’t get the idea of a sacrificial animal out of her mind. Except… Her fingers pressed against her lips. “You mean you’re going to sacrifice yourself. Well, guess what? No. You’re not doing it, dude.”
His eyes twinkled. “See? Dude is a pet name.”
She smirked. “That would be honey or sweetie or love chops.”
“I prefer dude.” The scowl he sent her shouted tease.
“Tell me what you mean about a sacrifice.” If she kept gnawing on her nails, she’d have none left.
He gave her a short bow. “I will do something heroic in your honor.”
“Look, you don’t have to do anything like that.” Talk about embarrassing. “You’ve already impressed me.” She flicked her hand in his direction. “That was an incredible dance.”
Truly, his sword dance had blown her away. The seamless way he’d swung the blade. The intensity on his face while he moved. And even the off-key humming had been sweet and cute.
It wasn’t every day a guy performed a dance solely for a girl.
He held out his hand to tug her off the floor. “It is time to see if the Al’kieern have left the hallway.”
“You’re right. Hold off on the sacrifice until we’re…on your ship.”
He scowled. “There will not be opportunities for sacrifice on the ship.”
“We’ll find one.” She scanned the room quickly, wondering if there was anything she wanted or needed to bring with her.
“You’ll have clothing for me on your ship?” she asked. “Otherwise, I…stole a few outfits from here and there, and I can bring them with me.” She lifted her cleaner shirts. A relative term. It hadn’t been easy finding places to wash her clothing.
“There is a 3D printer on board my ship,” he said. “We will be able to create clothing for you.”
She tapped her chin. No need to bring the mattress. And there would be food on board, so she didn’t need to bring what she’d recently raided from the kitchen. Funny how she wanted to stuff everything into the big cloth flour bag she’d dug out of the bin in the kitchen and load up her stuff. Each item represented a frightening trip to the kitchen, a nerve-wracking climb up or down the stairwell, and the bruises she’d earned escaping the Al’kieern.
Her eyes shouldn’t be stinging. She should be excited about saying goodbye to this tiny room forever.
“Are you ready?” he said softly, and his hand dropped on her shoulder as if he understood. But he couldn’t, could he?
With a sniff, she turned and pulled the board out from beneath the doorknob. “The same rules apply,” she said with a croak in her voice. “If you can, try to be quiet. If we’re separated…” How could she drag him through an obstacle course when he had an injury? She’d noticed his uneven gait, though he was good at pretending nothing was wrong. “We need to do whatever we can to keep from being separated.”
He tugged her into his arms and kissed the top of her head, which was sweet.
She could see herself falling for Kral.
Once they got off the space station, and she didn’t have to watch her back all the time, she could relax and get to know him better.
They could have a real Crakairian date, whatever that entailed. Odd foot rituals or unusual foods. Whatever he wanted to offer. And then they could proceed from there.
“Ready?” she asked him. Silly to ask, because she was the one with the shaky hands and uneven steps. At his soft grunt, she opened the door and
made sure there was no one in the storage room. Leaving her hidey-hole, they made their way to the door leading to the hall.
This time, there was no one there.
Just to be sure, Mila counted to one hundred before she eased out into the corridor and turned right. She pointed and leaned close to Kral, keeping her voice low. “We’ll take the stairwell at that end since it’s rarely used by the Al’kieern.” They often used the elevator which Mila avoided whenever possible.
Flaps on his shoulders lifted, but there was no time to ask him what they could be used for.
They crept down the hall, sticking close to the wall, and she jumped at every click or creak made by the metal structure surrounding her. It creeped her out to think about how fast things might be moving around her. The station held its position with thrusters, and the first time she’d heard them at night, she’d been afraid they were launching the vessel further into space. For some reason, as long as she could see the planet, she felt safe. It was only recently that she realized the sound was the weight of the galaxy pressing down on the outer surface of the structure, eager to crush the space station like a tin can when someone stomped on it with their foot.
It creeped her out.
Her heart galloped in her throat, and her breathing was ragged. At every corner, she expected to hear blue guys shrieking and feel the hiss of laser beams blasting past, close enough to graze her skin. Or the impact of a beam hitting her back.
Kral peered around feverishly, his grip tight on the hilt of his sword. While she’d been blown away by his dance that reminded her of Viking TV shows she used to watch back on Earth, she wondered if they’d be better off locating a more sophisticated weapon. Like a laser gun. A Taser. A cannon.
Yet look at her, planning to defend herself with the kitchen knife she held tight in her grip.
Reaching the stairwell, she bumped her hip against it, pushing it open an inch. Another moment listening told her no one else was using the stairs—so far. She tiptoed out onto the landing and pointed up to show where they need to go next. Five flights. Could they do it without being discovered?
More important, would Kral be able to do it with his wounded leg?
A bang below was followed by muffled voices.