The Mammoth Book of Futuristic Romance (Mammoth Books)

by Trisha Telep

  It was an inevitable conflict. She didn’t have to like it.

  Her thoughts kept turning back to the sexy captain and that devastating kiss. Had he been as affected as her? Was he thinking of her while he ran the ship and did who knew what? She’d only spent a few hours in his company, but already she missed him.

  She almost . . . pined for him. Such an odd concept for a woman who’d thought she would live the rest of her life alone. She wanted to be with him, and she didn’t care that he was an alien or part of the enemy army. Lust – or could it actually be love, so quickly? – didn’t care about such things.

  All she knew was that she missed him and wanted to be with him. After only a single kiss it was like she’d become addicted to his presence, his touch, his taste.

  On the third day of her confinement, the captain sent a message with her silent server, along with some clothing for her. She’d been able to freshen her flight suit using the sanitary chamber’s cleansing unit, but she was getting a little tired of only having one set of clothes.

  The outfit he sent her was confusing at first, until she realized it was female attire in the Jit’suku style she’d seen in images on the computer. She wondered where it had come from. Had some warrior on this ship been tasked with making women’s clothes in her size? One thing was certain – she would never have fit in any spare Jit’suku uniforms.

  All in all, she was glad of the new clothes that didn’t make her look like a child playing dress up, even if the style was different from what she was used to. There were wide-legged pants in very soft fabric, covered by a tunic of sorts, and a jacket that tied at each hip, layered over with a wide sash. There weren’t any shoes to go with it, so she continued to wear her boots. It looked a bit strange, but she couldn’t very well go barefoot, and the long legs of the pants covered the tops of her boots, so just her feet showed.

  Not too bad, she thought, twirling in front of the mirror in the bedchamber. She looked better than she had in a long time. The soft fabric emphasized her figure and the curves her flight uniform had hidden. She didn’t look like an androgynous pilot anymore. No, now she was definitely revealed as a woman, with all the usual curves and bumps.

  She looked forward to seeing what the captain thought of her new look. She knew it was wrong, but she couldn’t help herself. She hadn’t been so impressed with a man since her first boyfriend back in high school. She felt as giddy as the teenager she had once been, though she knew she shouldn’t.

  The man was an alien. An enemy. She’d been blasted out of her fighter on his order.

  He was still the captain of an enemy craft engaged in the conquest of the Milky Way. She was sworn to prevent this conquest. The conflict made her heart hurt.

  Somehow, this strange man had wormed his way into her thoughts, though he hadn’t made any overt attempt to do so. One kiss and she was hooked. Addicted to him. She knew she was doing this to herself. Her fascination with the man was not normal. She’d tried repeatedly to stop thinking about him, but it was no use. Her heart seemed to be fixated.

  The note that accompanied the clothing asked her to be ready after lunch. It was worded politely, handwritten in a bold cursive that she had to believe was the captain’s own handwriting. Val. He’d told her to call him Val. She’d thought a lot about that in the past three days. His family name was Fedroval, so maybe Val was a nickname for that? Or could his given name be something that shortened to Val? She’d have to ask him, if she got the chance.

  She wanted to know every little intimate detail about him. She had it bad. She was downright obsessed. Any minute now she’d be drawing little hearts and doodling their names inside.

  Disgusted with herself, she checked her appearance one more time. It was about as good as it was going to get.

  Promptly after lunch, a chime sounded near the door, alerting her, as it had for the past three days, that someone had come to take the empty tray. She looked toward the door, but when it slid open, the silent guard was nowhere to be seen. Instead, Val filled the doorway, his gaze holding hers as he walked into the room.

  He stalked toward her, speaking not a word. His eyes took in her new outfit with obvious approval before returning to her face. He walked across the room and took her in his arms.

  There was no hesitation in his movement. No question but that he had a right to embrace her. His head dipped and his lips claimed hers. She didn’t protest. She wanted his kiss as much as he appeared to want hers. She’d thirsted for him for days, waiting for this. This moment, when he would kiss her again. Hold her as if he would never let her go. Make the two of them complete . . . together.

  The foreign thoughts raced through her mind. She’d never thought such things about a man before. She hadn’t known she had such a romantic imagination. Maybe this alien was bringing things out of her that had remained hidden with the other men she’d known. And maybe her fascination with him wasn’t all one-sided. Judging by the hard feel of him against her, it most definitely was not.

  Val reveled in the kiss of his true mate, glad to know the positive response to his nij’ta he had perceived three days ago had not been a desperate attempt at self-delusion. No. This was the real thing. This surprising human woman was his true mate.

  Now he only had to convince her of that fact.

  He’d spent the last three days pulling every string he knew how to pull. He’d contacted the High Priest of the Zenai Brotherhood. If anyone would know the legality and sanctity of mating outside his species, it would be the High Priest. What he had learned had given Val the first hope he’d had in years.

  Reluctantly, he broke the kiss, knowing the time had come to speak his heart to the woman of his dreams. Would she be as receptive to mating with him as she was to his kiss? The High Priest had reminded him that the Goddess worked in mysterious ways.

  Her faint protest as he pulled away from her luscious lips renewed his hope.

  “There are matters we must discuss,” he whispered against her lips, finding it hard to let her go completely.

  It was she who moved back, going to the couch and dropping onto it with her arms folded. She’d gone from receptive to combative in a flash and Val admitted to himself that he was worried.

  “What did I say to make you wary?” He moved over to the couch and seated himself sideways, facing her.

  “When someone says ‘we need to talk’ it usually means trouble.” She turned to him and he perceived hurt in the depths of her eyes. Hurt he had put there. Val couldn’t help but reach out and take her into his arms, holding her against him as he spoke. He couldn’t bear to see her pain.

  “You’re not in trouble. I might be, but you’re not, sweet one.” He kissed the crown of her head, loving the feel of her in his embrace. “I have kept away until I was certain we could be together.”

  She drew back, surprise replacing the hurt in her expression. “What?”

  “I realize you are not used to our ways, but you had to feel the magic in our first kiss. It was the nij’ta. Though I didn’t mean to kiss you, I couldn’t help myself. Your kiss proved we were meant to be.”

  “Is that what that was?” Her words were soft, as if she were unsure.

  “I’m not sure if it’s the same for humans as it is for us, but I knew the instant I kissed you that you were meant to be mine. You’re my perfect mate, Lisbet Duncan of Earth. Crazy as that may seem.” He knew he was smiling, but he still couldn’t quite believe it himself. “I’d given up ever finding my mate, the one woman destined to share my life. I sank my efforts into building this ship and dedicated myself to my people’s cause of conquest. Without a wife or a future, I had no other recourse. But now that I’ve found you, everything’s changed.”

  “Just like that?” She sounded as incredulous as he still felt.

  “Just like that,” he agreed, dipping in to place a quick kiss on her lips. Sparks seemed to fly whenever they touched, and he reveled in the response only she could evoke in him. “We’re out of the Milky Wa
y and on our way back to my home system, Solaris Delta. It is my right and duty as Liege of House Fedroval to quit the battle now that I have found my perfect mate.”

  “Wait a minute. You’re taking me home? To your home? Don’t I have any say in this?”

  Her anger set him back. He moved away, facing her as they sat on the couch. “Do you wish to part from me? Do you believe you can . . . what is that human word . . . divorce me so easily?”

  “We’re not married,” she said, causing pain to lance through his heart.

  “In the eyes of my people, you are already mine, Lisbet. I would have you come willingly, but if necessary, I will give you little freedom and no opportunity to desert me.”

  “I’m your prisoner?” Her beautiful green eyes went wide with dismay.

  “Only if you want to be. I’d rather have you as my bride. My loving wife. The mother of my children, if we are so blessed.”

  She sat back, air puffing out of her as if in shock. “This is a lot to take in.”

  “Don’t you want to be with me?” He knew he sounded desperate, but he couldn’t help the way he was feeling. He had to do everything in his power to convince her.

  She looked at him and he saw the uncertainty in her eyes. “This has all happened so fast.”

  He tried a different tack. “Do you believe in a power higher than our own? I believe most humans call it God.”

  “I believe God is female.” Her brows knitted, as she tried to follow his jump in conversation, no doubt.

  “You do?” He grinned again. This was a good sign. One might even say a sign from the divine. “Jit’suku believe in the Goddess. It was she who allowed us to find our destined mates by means of the nij’ta. It was she who guided me to you, I now believe. I have conferred with the High Priest of the Zenai Brotherhood, an order dedicated to her service, and I’ve learned there is some precedent for human women being the true mates of Jit’suku warriors. Now that our races have come into contact with each other, ours is not the first such pairing, though it is the highest ranking. Still, those who came before us will ease our way.”

  “Other human women have been taken to the Jit’suku galaxy as brides?”

  “Yes, and I will invite those who have had trouble with their mate’s clans to join ours. Such things have been done in the past, and since House Fedroval has suffered such great losses in the recent past, we are well able to support a few more families under our banner. It would also allow you to have friends from your home galaxy nearby.”

  “Is that why you’re doing this? Are you that hard up for a wife that you’ll take any foreigner who happens along? I remember what you told me about being the last of your line. You said no proper Jit’suku woman would have you. Is that why you picked me?” She looked angry, and he had to make her understand.

  “No, my love. If you were Jit’suku you would know, one cannot fake the nij’ta. I never expected to find a mate. I’d given up. And then there you were. Now I begin to understand why the Goddess led me on such a difficult path. She was leading me to you, Lisbet. Only to you. Always to you.”

  “I must be crazy,” she muttered as if to herself, but he heard her. She faced him squarely and spoke in a clear voice. “I can’t get you out of my mind, Val. I don’t know what you’ve done to me, but I’m crazy about you and if you think we can make a go of this, I’ll agree to be your wife.”

  “Thank the Goddess!” he whispered as he dragged her into his arms for their first kiss as declared mates.

  A kiss that would have led to so much more if he hadn’t had an interplanetary call standing by. He drew back and stood, holding out one hand to help her up. She accepted him eagerly, and he was amazed again by the blessing the Goddess had bestowed, finding him a mate when he’d thought all was lost.

  “We have a few formalities to take care of before we can celebrate in true mate style.”

  He led her out of her quarters and to the bridge, where they would stand together in front of the comm station. Their images and words would be broadcast to all within the ship, a special few on Solaris Prime, and everyone on Solaris Delta. There would be many witnesses as the Liege of House Fedroval – King of Solaris Delta – officially introduced his queen.

  Space Cowboy

  Donna Kauffman

  One

  Dani Beckett didn’t believe in aliens or UFOs. Sure, she’d cried when she’d watched E.T.: The Extra-Terrestrial, and she’d have taken the little guy home, too. But she’d been eight years old when she’d first seen that movie. It had been the feature flick at Lake Machapunga summer camp. She remembered lying in her bunk that night, clutching Beemer, the stuffed elephant she’d hidden under her pillow so the other campers wouldn’t think she was a baby, going over in her mind exactly how she might have hidden E.T. from Aunt Teddy and Uncle Deacon while nursing him back to health.

  Of course, given the three of them lived together on a hundred-acre dairy farm back then, how hard could it have been to sneak in one undersized alien dude? But the idea that she’d be the perfect care-taker, should some other poor, celestial creature lose his way and end up on her planet, had captivated her fertile little mind, and she’d spent the rest of the summer keeping a close eye on the woods around the camp. Just in case.

  Twenty-three years later, she still had a fertile imagination, but, being a decidedly practical businesswoman and shop owner these days, not to mention a grown adult, she channeled any and all whimsical thoughts into the unique floral designs she created. Unlike the impressionable eight-year-old dreamer she’d once been, adult Dani knew quite well that life only handed out the fantastical to those who went out and created it for themselves.

  So, when she watched – wide-eyed and slack-jawed – as a half-naked man slowly took form, particle-by-incredibly-delectable-and-not-remotely-alien-looking-particle, right smack in the middle of her little coastal Carolina florist shop, there was only one explanation, really. Brain tumor. Possibly a stroke. Probably both.

  The instant the man finished materializing, he quickly scanned his surroundings, then swore something unintelligible under his breath. If she hadn’t been frozen to the spot in shock, she’d have considered ducking as his gaze swung her way. Or screaming. As it was, she just stood there, staring. Okay, okay, ogling. But he looked like a Greek statue, come to life. Besides, it was her stroke, after all, and the least she could do was enjoy it before her brain went completely to mush.

  If he’d noticed her, he hadn’t so much as blinked in awareness, but before she could figure out whether she’d be dialing 911 to demand they send a SWAT team to capture an alien intruder . . . or an ambulance to transport her to the nearest hospital for a full neurological workup, he shifted his gaze directly to hers and demanded, “What year is this?”

  “What – year?” she repeated, though it came out as more of a squeak.

  He strode directly to the work table she was standing behind, his expression so . . . intense, it made her instinctively swing her hands up in front of her in defense, and back up until she banged hard into the shelving racks behind her. Vases and assorted stacked pots and trays wobbled, some crashed to the floor. She ducked, hoping to keep anything hard and heavy from conking her on the head. Which made little sense if the stroke was going to render her permanently senseless, anyway, but instincts were instincts.

  The fight or flee impulse was also kicking in, swaying heavily toward the flee side, but before she could put thought to action, in a move so fast it was more blur than clear motion, he leapt over the table in a single, Superman-like bound, knocked her hand to the side and pinned her wrist to the shelf rack.

  “What the hell,” he growled, flinging her hand away as he inspected the thick, clear ooze now dripping from the base of his palm. “What is this substance you tried to shoot me with? Is it toxic? Tell me!” he commanded, pushing his face close to hers.

  Her eyes were likely as big as saucers. His, on the other hand, were the most amazing mix of blue and green. “I – I didn�
��t shoot you with anything.”

  He pinned her to the shelving unit with his body, held his goo-covered hand to the side of her head. “Tell me,” he said again, the threat clear. Tell him or get slimed with the supposedly deadly toxic material.

  “Glue gun,” she managed, her throat dry from the sudden threat, and breathless because, well, because she had a big, mostly naked guy pressed up against her very defenseless body. “I – I forgot I had it in my hand. Not dangerous. Just . . . hot. And sticky.”

  Dear Lord, she knew all about hot at that moment. And sticky, come to think of it.

  His hair was dark, almost black, and clung damply to a forehead and neck flecked with some kind of dirt or grime. He was deeply tanned, which made his bared teeth flash even whiter. Those eerie, laser-like, teal-colored eyes topped features that looked like they’d been chiseled from granite, including a rather hard-looking mouth and jutting chin.

  He was a good half a foot taller than her taller-than-average self, with shoulders the size and width of your average Mack truck, and a chest and set of abs that looked like he modeled as a Greek god in his spare time. He was wearing dirty black cargo-like pants, sporting tears at the knees and thighs that she doubted were a design esthetic, tucked into equally worn, calf-high laced-up military-looking black leather boots. The loose fit of the pants did next to nothing to hide a powerful looking set of thighs that any NFL coach would’ve paid top dollar for on sight. And many women might pay a whole lot of individual dollars for, should he decide to become a stripper at any point in the near future.

  “Get it off,” he demanded.

  She gulped. Getting off was probably the very last thing she should be thinking about at the moment, given she was either about to be killed, or go into a permanent vegetative state when her obviously rapidly swelling brain tumor imploded. She squirmed, or tried to. “You’re . . . crushing my dahlia hybrids.”