Alien Bride (Love, Drugs, and Biopunk)

by McGill, Brie

  Orion seized her hips, rearing up on his knees, and impaled her. He heaved into her with increased speed, holding her hips above the mattress.

  Rocking her hips, she dug her fingers into the headboard and cleaved his neck between her legs.

  His balance faltered; hovering above her in mid-thrust, he shut his eyes, falling onto one arm, supporting himself.

  Ninkasi instantly sat up, untangling her legs, and reached to his face with one hand. “Orion?”

  Grunting, he fell on his side and covered his face with his hands.

  “Orion!” She crawled to him, pushing his hair from his face, leaning close to him. “What’s wrong? Orion!”

  He reached for her hand, clasping it against his chest; his head tipped forward, and he ceased to move.

  When he came to, it took him a moment to consider what had happened.

  Pushing his palms into his eyes, Orion rolled on his back, head spinning. Through his closed eyelids, through the thickness of his palms, where no light could reach, he saw the image of a woman’s body, a scintillating hot pink silhouette of pure energy.

  Ninkasi.

  Removing his hands, Orion opened one eye, and was immediately overwhelmed: everything in the room shimmered like a mirage, glowed like the sun. The faintest candle smeared his field of vision with comet tails of energy.

  Not even Aleister’s strongest cocktail of drugs made him this fucked up.

  He shut his eyes, unable to block the burning silhouette of Ninkasi’s body from his field of vision.

  She hovered over him, touching his face with a hand. Her voice was distorted, echoing like a swarm of faeries humming in another dimension.

  It was the blood. Against his better judgment, he had tasted her blood.

  Orion rolled onto his stomach, balling the blankets in his fist.

  He drank her fucking blood and he would go to hell for it.

  He made a point of avoiding women, especially bleeding women, wanting no reminder that he was damned. In the past, he learned the hard way that the slightest taste excited the senses; tonight he had gorged on a feast.

  Orion tried so hard to convince himself that he was human. He ascribed to honor, to virtue. He appreciated the arts and was a civilized, cultured man. All of this was intrinsic to humanity. It made him human, didn’t it?

  Didn’t it?

  Only a man could love a woman. Not an animal, not a monster.

  He didn’t know what he was; his head buzzed, and he wanted it to stop.

  Retrieving the pillows from the head of the bed, Ninkasi lifted Orion’s head, propping him up with a pillow. She moved another pillow beside him and lifted the blankets, so they lay nestled together at the foot of the bed. “Why don’t we rest for a while?”

  Pulling her close to him, he pushed her head into his chest.

  He wanted her in so many ways. He wanted again to make love to her, to hold her, and to devour her.

  For this, no matter how kindly he treated her, he was certain his soul would burn for eternity.

  Orion lay sleeping on her shoulder, head tucked into her chest, with one arm wrapped around her middle. He looked like a child; in the innocence of sleep, he reminded her of Noah, passed out from the exhaustion of a long day.

  He hadn't mentioned it, but Ninkasi suspected Orion didn’t sleep much during the days of her unconsciousness; the sex must have been too much for him.

  Ninkasi slipped from his grasp and grabbed her crumpled nightgown from the floor. She put her hands on her hips, surveying the room by the green light of the electric candle Orion kept for his vigil; her room was small, with a quaint trundle bed, a low bureau, and a simple, oval body-length mirror.

  Heavy curtains of a midnight blue obscured a single window; casting them aside, she gazed in wonder at the town below.

  Her room was on the third floor of a quaint house, overlooking a cobblestoned cul-de-sac; iron lamp posts illuminated the humbled town, casting eerie shadows across architecture Ninkasi recognized as centuries antiquated. The streets, the houses, were dark and quiet; curtains were drawn, shops were closed.

  Ninkasi tilted her head. It must be night—not that she had any readily available environmental cues to separate day from night in the center of the earth.

  A striking absence of technology riveted her: she saw no vehicles, computers, neon lights, or automation of any kind. What limited technology pervaded the environment eluded her: thick columns like telephone poles, crowned with donuts of coiled wire, generated a contained St. Elmo’s fire. The metal halos acted like wicks, consumed with neon electric flames of various colors, fuchsia, peacock blue, fiery orange.

  Shutting the curtains, she took the candle. Cautiously opening the door, Ninkasi tread to the end of an empty hallway, and tiptoed down a winding stair.

  The stairway emptied into an antique kitchen: winks of reflected light drew Ninkasi’s attention to a mantle dappled with copper and cast-iron cooking pots, soup ladles and sieves. Beneath the mantle towered an ancient wood-burning stove.

  She crept around hand-crafted chairs pulled askew from the table, marveling at an iron rack climbing from floor to ceiling, stacked with cumbrous oak barrels of wine.

  Ninkasi felt a lump in her throat: for Orion to sit beside her, when a full arsenal of wine was nearby. . .

  She tapped a finger against the barrel. His love was not a lie.

  There was no sign of Aleister, or the abstruse host who had taken her into his home.

  But how did anyone know when it was morning?

  The house groaned; Ninkasi glanced over her shoulder. Did someone hear her stirring? Were others awake?

  A part of her yearned to leave the house, to venture into the peculiar town—but to leave without the protection of Orion or Aleister would be suicide. She had no idea who or what populated the town, if she would be met with hostility.

  Sighing, Ninkasi tromped through the kitchen, into a sitting room, and flopped onto an enormous divan with dizzying patterns in the upholstery. Staring at the ceramic candy dish on a low coffee table, she felt like she had traveled time.

  She tilted her head against the frame of the sofa and shut her eyes: what would they serve for breakfast?

  How long would she have to stay?

  Was there even another way out of this place, back to the surface, back to her world? Her stomach twisted; she sincerely hoped the only way out wasn’t through Echidna’s facility.

  A terrible sense of loneliness swept over her: at this point, no one would believe what happened to her. If she dared to discuss her experiences, everyone would assume that she was kidnapped, and under the stress, had a mental breakdown. Or, that she was brainwashed, given drugs.

  She had taken drugs, but they failed to prepare her for the insanity of this moment.

  Her parents wouldn’t believe her. Would Noah believe her?

  Should she even tell her brother, or would it be wiser to let him live in blissful ignorance?

  She felt bound to Orion, in that moment; both shared a secret—the secret of this crazy world—and it couldn’t be shared with anyone else. He was the only person that could understand her, what she felt.

  She could make a secret screen name and post anonymously on internet forums run by the lunatic fringe. Even then, who would respond? Other abductees? Lunatics?

  How would she know the difference?

  The entire experience was so mind-blowing, so horrifying, it would be difficult to discuss objectively, difficult to mention to anyone without sounding crazy.

  She slumped on the sofa, lying on her side. She didn’t know what she was going to do about any of this, if she ever made it home. No idea at all.

  Hearing a metal latch lift, Ninkasi peered over her shoulder: was someone else awake?

  She remained still, silent. There were no footsteps; the old, creaking house was silent.

  It must have been her imagination.

  Noticing a stack of books on a shelf beneath the tabletop, she swiped the titl
e on top of the pile, hoping to learn something about this world.

  Ninkasi grabbed her electric candle and held it close. Did these people, deep inside the earth, read the same classics she knew and loved?

  She held the title up to the light and frowned: the book was printed in a language unintelligible.

  Maybe Aleister would read it to her.

  Right.

  She returned the book, disheartened to see the entire stack printed in a mystery language.

  Ninkasi rolled over and growled. It looked like she might have to wait in boredom until the morning. She covered her face with an arm.

  Really, she shouldn’t be so restless—she was fortunate to be alive, despite the unreal circumstances.

  She resisted the urge to pounce on Orion: he needed his sleep. She became quite bitchy when deprived of her own sleep; she’d hate to see him the same way.

  A mammoth hand reaching from out of nowhere clamped over her face, forcing Ninkasi’s head against the sofa.

  A damp cloth, pungent with the astringent odor of chemicals covered her nose, her mouth.

  Panicked, Ninkasi flailed her arms and kicked her legs, fighting against the hand. She gasped for breath against the cloth, growing dizzy.

  Her consciousness faded.

  Orion flopped onto his stomach on an empty bed. Eyes shut, he extended his arms, patting around to feel Ninkasi’s body.

  Disgruntled he felt no one there, he reached over his back, swatting the air; still feeling no one, he rolled over again, grasping, and tumbled off the bed.

  He crashed onto his side, cursing, and rubbed his head.

  Where was Ninkasi? He pushed himself into a seated position and glanced around the room, noticing the candle missing—this gave him an ominous feeling.

  Orion jumped into his clothes—a silk shirt and smart pants borrowed from Wolfram—and sped down the hall. He buckled his belt and raked fingers through his hair while thundering down the stair, smoothing away all signs of fornication.

  Something was amiss.

  Skidding to a halt in the kitchen, he spotted Aleister seated before a king’s breakfast—stacks of pancakes oozing with melted butter, a heap of waffles drowned in syrup, a mountain of toast smeared with preserves, and ham, bacon, sausage, eggs, potatoes, scones, fresh fruit, oatmeal. He gripped fork and knife in hand, wearing an embroidered handkerchief tucked into his collar like a bib.

  Orion rubbed his temples, baring his teeth in irritated disgust.

  Renwick silently tugged at Orion’s sleeve, offering a tray of muffins.

  Orion glanced around the room, suspiciously snatching a muffin to appease the boy, and patted him once on the head. “Why don’t you see if our friend Aleister would like a muffin?” He glanced at Aleister with murderous eyes.

  “Good morning, sunshine!” Aleister spoke with a mouth full of food, dumping a fat bottle of champagne upside down over his glass.

  Precious bubbly spilled over the glass in a frothy eruption, sullying Wolfram’s lace tablecloth.

  Orion’s eyebrow twitched. “You need to tilt the glass—”

  Wolfram sat at the head of the table, with his back to Orion. “Come, have a seat.”

  “I see you have humbly accepted the gracious offerings of our host.” Orion raised an eyebrow, and reluctantly pulled out the chair across from Aleister, beside Wolfram.

  “All the others have finished, but I’m pleased you woke in time to share the feast.” Wolfram turned and offered a generous smile, with his left eye swollen shut inside a smashed and purple eye socket.

  Orion narrowed his eyes. “What happened to you?”

  “Eat up.” Aleister pointed at Orion’s plate with his fork. “We have a lot of shit to do today, and if it ends badly, we may never eat again.”

  “What is this?” He pushed himself backward from the table, eyeing Aleister, Wolfram, and Aleister again. “Where is Ninkasi?”

  “It is important you eat to maintain your strength.” Wolfram nodded solemnly.

  “Oh, Ninkasi, that girl, she’s. . .” Aleister lifted his champagne glass and tilted his head back, downing half the glass in an awesome swig, the stem still dripping with spilt booze.

  Orion drummed his fingers on the table, eyes wide. He felt his head turning red with anger.

  Wolfram nodded. “It is best we all eat in order to think clearly.”

  Aleister slammed his glass on the table and sighed, swallowing. “She’s captured.”

  Orion buried his face in his hands. “I didn’t sense her struggle.”

  He rolled his eyes, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “You were sleeping.”

  “I should have noticed.” Orion shook his head fretfully. “She was right beside me.”

  “I think she went downstairs during the night.” Wolfram murmured, studying Orion. “I heard a loud crash in the sitting room, and flew to inspect the situation. There was a man twice my size—”

  Orion stood up from his chair and spun around, turning his back to the table. “Andrealphus.” He clawed fingers through his hair.

  “Yeah. . . That guy.” Aleister shook the room with a stomach-rumbling belch. “No matter how many times I shot him, he wouldn’t die.”

  Orion spun around. “You’ve seen him?!”

  Aleister shrugged. “A few times.” He stabbed his fork into a strip of bacon. “Persistent bastard. Terrible manners.” He lifted a finger. “Hideous taste in leisure suits.”

  Orion returned to his chair, pressing fingers into the bridge of his nose, his cheekbones. “I’m unsure of what Echidna did to him, but I can’t sense his presence. He could sneak up on us at any time.”

  Wolfram tilted his head. “How is this possible?”

  Orion shook his head. “I don’t know. Some components of his body must no longer be biological. He had some kind of surgical reanimation that—”

  Aleister slapped his hands on the table. “Reanimation?”

  He nodded grimly. “Oh, I’ve killed him a few times before.” Orion tsk-tsked. “You’re not the only one stumped by how to kill him so he dies.”

  “Andrealphus has served as a trusted advisor to Echidna for centuries.” Wolfram bowed his head.

  Orion placed his muffin on the table, unable to eat. “When did he take Ninkasi? Was she hurt?”

  “My boudoir is on the first floor.” Wolfram sipped a steaming cup of tea, holding it beneath his mustache. “I believe he made a blunderous exit, and I woke only because I heard someone smacking around. I rose to investigate the source of the noise, and there stood a giant in my doorway, carrying an unconscious Ninkasi in his arms.”

  Orion shut his eyes and tilted his head, regretfully fiddling with the muffin.

  “I immediately tried to apprehend him.” Wolfram’s eyes grew wide. “But I suffered a hard blow to the face, and by the time I recovered, he was gone.” He shook his head. “I ran into the street, searching, but my efforts were to no avail.”

  Orion crushed the muffin in his fist.

  “I was unable to discern his identity in the darkness, but you did mention Andrealphus was looking for you.” Wolfram set his mug on the table.

  Sensing distress, Renwick appeared at Wolfram’s side and made another offering of muffins.

  Wolfram smiled warmly, bowing graciously before accepting a muffin. “Incurring the wrath of Andrealphus is to invite a death sentence.” He sighed. “I could never fight him and win, not in my current state. I will not partake in the blood of sentient creatures to retard the degradation of my body.”

  Orion jerked his head away, feeling his stomach spasm. “I don’t expect you to fight him.”

  “The two of you may stand a chance.” He placed a hand on Orion’s shoulder. “The half-breed is sturdy, and—”

  Aleister stared at them, strips of bacon dangling from his mouth.

  “However you were created, you appear fascinatingly robust.” Wolfram stared at him with wonder. “And you bear an uncanny resemblance to the surface dwellers.”
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br />   “Do you have a plan?” Orion avoided eye contact, poking at the crumbled muffin with a finger.

  “I have a strong suspicion.” Wolfram topped up his mug of tea. “There is a place all new abductees are taken.”

  Orion glanced sideways. “All the abductees?”

  “Like the men who are taken to run inside those giant hamster wheels that power the elevator?” Aleister snatched two muffins from Renwick’s tray.

  Wolfram frowned. “It was true, the surface dwellers were temporarily exploited for physical labor while our kind technologically transformed the surface and established the power grid.”

  He chomped on the muffin.

  “But now, the fittest males are kept inside the wheels purely for entertainment.” Wolfram looked away. “If one misses a single step, all the men inside that wheel are crushed to death.”

  Orion wrinkled his nose. “What about Ninkasi?”

  “The surface dwellers are kept for many reasons.” Wolfram patted his mouth with a napkin. “Prior to distribution, they are always taken to the same place—to be tagged, to receive blood product, and to be ceremoniously sworn into service.”

  “Into service?” Aleister wiped a smear of jelly from his face.

  “They are sworn to serve whichever Tall One chooses them.” Wolfram nodded. “Being that Ninkasi is a young woman. . .” He took a sharp breath. “I suspect they have a specific kind of ceremony in mind.”

  Orion grabbed Wolfram by the lapel of his suit jacket. “Tell me, old man—”

  “Hey, hey!” Aleister slammed his fist on the table, toppling a glass of champagne.

  Orion’s shoulders tensed.

  Wolfram lifted a finger, leaning back. “The positive aspect of this predicament is that I know exactly where they’ve taken her—”

  Orion released him.

  “And I know that we have enough time to reach her before it’s too late.” Wolfram straightened his jacket, brushing himself off. “I can take you to her.”

  Tearing off his bib, Aleister mopped up spilled champagne from the table.

  “Understand, of course, I cannot help you once you are inside.” He glanced at Renwick. “I cannot endanger the lives I protect here. But I can equip you with all the knowledge you will need. . . and I can upgrade your weapons.”