by Aubrey Cara
“Some may see this blatant attachment as weakness.”
He’s not wrong. She is my weakness, but I am no stronger without her. “Our ways are changing, and so must we.”
“You are robbing me of my chance for ling of my own.” Bo’hob looks at Bombee with too much longing in his gaze for my comfort. It makes me want to pull her behind me.
“A new Gyhan breeding cycle will come around.” I wince just saying this. The next cycle is solars away. But had I not been offered Bombee by the Zapex, we would have not hoped for more. “Until then, we’ll keep searching for humans and other compatible species to breed.” We hadn’t even thought to look outside of our races here on Lehor until the Zapex offered us humans. “We’ve been limiting ourselves when the universe holds infinite possibilities.”
Bombee makes a sound of outrage at my suggestion, but my gaze stays locked to Bo’hob. The Alogorian has been more brother than friend. I hate the rage that took me seeing my Bombee in his arms. I hate even more that I cannot promise him Bombee as a breeder once she’s done carrying my ling.
I’m not even sure if I could hand her over to the Monrok. My stomach clenches knowing Niin is already halfway to Pacbar if we must be concerned about the Zapex. And if so he will open negotiations with the Monrok. There are too many unknown variables.
I mentally curse my father for ever suggesting we breed humans. Bo’hob and I have never before been at cross purposes.
“This your final word?” he asks.
As Yon Tor, I hold all the power, and I have never used it to my advantage until lately. I used it to purchase a human, and I use it now to deny my friend what I took for myself. I am the lowest saruka. “It is. And also, from here on out, any non-Gyhan breeders brought to Lehor must come of their own free will.”
Bo’hob’s eyes narrow; his calculating gaze searches mine. He’s silent so long, I wonder if our bond is completely broken, but then he nods his head, in acceptance or agreement, I’m unsure. The tension in his face and shoulders eases as he turns and holds up his hands. It’s then I realize we’ve amassed a crowd of gawkers. It seems all the village has crept out of their abodes. Sadly, this is the most excitement we’ve had in ages. I internally wince. They’ll be talking about our display for moons to come.
“The human, Bombee has been chosen by the ancestors to be the Yon Tor’s bynt ky’ab yhar,” Bo’hob announces. “She grows not one, but three of his ling inside her. She is blessed by Umph Kaka herself.”
There are gasps and a murmur of voices furiously whispering all at once.
Pride and elation races through me at his words. I am soon going to have three ling running about. I was too ill for it to penetrate when Bo’hob told me, and now that it does, my mind reels. I was so young when Vhars’s life began, I didn’t appreciate it. I did so much wrong. And now I will have three opportunities to do things differently.
My female has indeed been blessed by Umph Kaka. And so have I.
Bo’hob continues, his voice booming with censure. “I saw some of the contemptuous looks you gave the Yon Tor’s bynt ky’ab as we walked through town. You believe you know better than the ancestors?” Some Alogorians avert their gazes, while a few are abashed enough to hang their heads.
I glance down at Bombee. Her head is held high and proud, but her gaze fixed on a point above the crowd. My little warrior walked the entire village being stared at and unfairly judged by my people, yet she keeps her chin up and shoulders back.
I wrap my arm around her waist, and surprisingly enough, she leans against me, not fighting my hold. Pride in her pumps through my veins, along with something else. My root is thickening, but it’s not with my desire to keep my yhar fertilized and healthy. I have a need to move inside Bombee once again and rut her as humans rut. I want to bury my face between her round thighs and taste her.
Instead of carting Bombee to my domicile, however, I must stand and let my people show their respect and apologies to my breeder. Many of them have gone to their knees, heads bowed. Our head ne’dav farmer, Nhyl, comes forward with a fat baby ne’dav.
Bombee’s grip on my arm tightens, and she leans back as if she would like to get away from the creature. I reach past her and take the offering. It’s a beautiful blue and green ne’dav. It will be good eating and make nice leather. I hold it out for Bombee, and she recoils.
“It will not hurt you,” I assure her. “Go on. You can pet it.”
She begins patting it, and it slithers toward her as if she’s the sun. She squeals, juggling it in her arms before going still and letting the little beast settle against her.
My lips twitch at her horrified expression as she stares down at the ne’dav.
“It likes you.”
Bombee blows out a breath. “It’s kind of cute, for a snake.” I’m not sure what this snay-eke is. Must be an Earth creature. “I’m going to name him Fluffy,” she says, giving it a tentative pat.
“I think it not wise to name your food.”
She gasps, pulling the ne’dav into her chest. It turns bright green eyes up to her. “Don’t worry,” she tells it. “No one is eating you...or making you into a gorgeous purse.”
I shake my head. “What do you think to do with it?”
Her face scrunches as if she doesn’t understand and my words. “It’s my pet.” She shrugs a shoulder. “I’m going to keep it with me. Feed it...whatever it eats, and, umm, stuff like that.”
“You don’t know how to care for a ne’dav.”
“Pish-sha,” she exclaims. “Pot, kettle. Who went and picked up a human off the black market without knowing a thing about us? Hmm? Oh right. That was you. I think Fluffsters and I will be just fine.”
Others drop small offerings at our feet. Fruits and bundles of ashwana berries. Leather hides and furs. Relief that Bombee is being accepted courses through me, along with gratitude. I gaze over Bombee’s head at Bo’hob. I may be the ruler of Lehor, but his voice as Profound Healer holds sway like no other.
The expression on his face gives me pause. His mouth is draw down as if in thought. His eyes hold a sadness instead of the usual laughter. He has always been much lighter of spirit than I, and it pains me to be the one who caused the spark to dim. I didn’t realize how badly Bo’hob wanted a ling of his own. Normally, I wouldn’t deny my friend a thing, but I cannot share that which is not mine to give.
Bombee deserves to be free. Even if my spirit insists she is mine.
BAMBI
The suns are beginning to lower in the sky, and a nice breeze has kicked up. Beast Boy’s exotic scent wraps around me soothingly. Any tension left in me melts away. How can something so simple as a scent be so comforting?
For a guy who was just threatening to send me away, and insinuated he’s giving me my freedom, he’s rather possessive. Oathar’s hard-bodied front is pressed to my back. He keeps at least one hand on me at all times, as if I might disappear or be snatched away.
Right now, his long-fingered hands rest at my waist, and his big ole egg launcher is nestled in the crack of my ass. It’s all I can do not to wiggle back on him. His attention and outright relief to have me near him again is obliterating my resolve to be angry with him. That and the villagers coming forth and bowing as if I’m Guinevere and Oathar is my King Arthur. That, unfortunately, would make Bo’hob Lancelot. As big and sexy as he is, there is nothing about his touch that comforts or ignites me half as much as Oathar. Beast Boy’s simple hold on me has me wanting to turn and cuddle up to him.
I’m pathetic.
I tick through the list of reasons I’m peeved at him and remind myself I need to somehow gain the upper hand. It’s the only hope I have of getting off this planet and finding Brooklyn and Brianna. He’s said I may go wherever I want after I have the babies, but I was thinking of a little bit more immediate departure.
I try to subtly step out of his hold, but he tightens his grip. In a fit of spiteful indignation, I shove his hands off me. Having been jostled, Fluffy gazes up at me
with his big green snake eyes in accusation.
“Sorry,” I tell him, giving him a pat.
Most of the Alogorians who have come through the receiving line are still milling about, chatting and laughing with each other like it’s an impromptu block party. I guess, in a way, it is.
“Do your people play music?” I ask Oathar.
“Mewh-zac?” His brow creases as if he’s trying to decipher the word.
“You know…um.” Crap on a biscuit. I’m not exactly musical. I look around my immediate area and spot an earthenware-type jar. I turn it over then thump a beat while I make a “Boom, chicka chicka, chicka, boom,” rhythm with my mouth.
Beast Boy’s brow line goes up as he watches me. Getting into the rhythm, I start shimmying my hips in time with my beat. I know I probably look like an idiot, but I’m kind of digging how Oathar’s gaze is heating up and glazing over as he watches me groove out to my lame tune. It’s enough to inflate a girl’s ego. Something giddy bubbles up inside me that makes me want to tease and torment him.
My movements get slower, each sway of my hips, stripper-tease seductive. I brush my leather-clad breasts up against his chest, and he gives me a growl that causes a flash flood warning in ladytown junction.
That’s the great thing about highly advanced Amish aliens. They are easily entertained and always on the verge of being savage beasts.
My nipples are as hard as diamonds, and my body aches to be filled. It’s these damn baby hormones. After having Oathar be all touchy feely all afternoon, my little dance is sending signals out to the rest of my body that we’re ready to throw down. My grinding on him is becoming a less seductive and more desperate plea, but Beast Boy just runs his hands over my body as I shimmy against him.
I notice everyone has grown quiet and watches me. My jubilation in toying with Oathar dims a bit as I’m caught in the headlights of a street full of Alogorian stares. More than a few of their faces reflect the same heated interest as Oathar, while others just seem fascinated if not scandalized.
Out of nowhere, a beat starts, and I realize someone has grabbed a real drum of sorts. Others bring out crude rudimentary instruments, joining in. All around those without instruments clap their hands in time and look to me expectantly.
A giggle bubbles up out of me as I break out of Oathar’s hold and start hopping from foot to foot and swaying, wild and free. Fluffy slithers up my arm to drape over the back of my neck. I laugh, doing my best “I’m a Slave 4 U” interpretation, like a low-budget Brittney Spears, while singing a-weema-weh, from “The Lion Sleeps Tonight”.
I peek over my shoulder. Beast Boy’s arms are crossed over his naked chest, his feet planted wide. The muscles in his chest, forearms, and thighs gleam in the light of the lanterns and torches being lit. The ridges on his head cast a terrifying shadow on the wall behind him, yet he’s so beautiful, my mythical creature. His stance is stern and unyielding, but he wears a bemused expression, his golden eyes glowing. I love making his eyes glow.
I shimmy circles around him until I’m eventually once again rubbing and swaying against all his hard-naked muscles. I know I’m making a spectacle of myself and Oathar, but everyone goads me on with whistles and calls.
Suddenly Oathar snatches me up into his arms and swings me around. He tosses me over his shoulder, giving my rump a smack. Everyone cheers and claps louder as he makes his way down the village street with me.
I push my hair out my face and try to push myself up from where I drape over his shoulder, but fall as I have to catch Fluffy. “Hey, where we going?”
“To my domicile, temptress. You are in want of a good rutting.” He smacks my ass hard enough I squeal. His laugher rings out, and I realize I’ve never heard him sound so carefree. It’s warms me. Makes me feel things I shouldn’t. I like knowing I can make his normally stern veneer crack. Too much.
It could be addicting.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Elder’s Wisdom
Fill your being with that in which strengthens your spirit.
OATHAR
All day I’ve been weak and tired, but my lust for Bombee makes me strong again.
As soon as I get over the threshold of my domicile, I bend to set Bombee on her feet, letting every lush curve of her slide down my front. She lets out a pretty gasp, and I lean down to capture her lips, plundering her mouth as I wish to plunder her body.
Her needy moan is music to my ears. She presses her orbs against my chest; her leg wraps around my calf as if she’s trying to twine herself around me. This is her mating call. I was foolish for ever mistaking her rumblings of hunger for her need to rut.
Something slithers up my chest and onto my shoulder, and I jerk away, flinging it off me.
“Fluffy!” Bombee cries out in outrage, but her ne’dav squirms under a table and curls up.
I huff out a laugh. Already, her new pet is proving a nuisance. I pull Bombee to me, dipping my face to hers, but she tilts away, pushing on my chest. “Wait.” She’s panting, and I know she is in need, yet she asks me to wait?
“No waiting. You need me inside you.” I lower my face to the curve of her neck, licking a trail to her jaw. “And I need to feel your wet heat milking my root.” I stroke her nee-pals in the way that makes her moan.
But she whimpers as if in pain and pulls back again. “Oathar, I’m serious. Before we do anything, I have to know. Are you sending me away to the Monrok?”
My stomach fills with sick bile at just the thought. I have been out of communication with Niin and Jhyr. Logically, I know we need the Monrok’s protection if the Zapex come after us, so we need as many bargaining tools as possible. But there is nothing logical in my current dealings with Bombee. I want to pound my chest and rage with the agony that comes with the thought of handing her over. My spirit knows it is her right to be free, but how can I sacrifice all my people’s freedom for that of one human female?
She wrenches out of my hold as if it pains her. “Your silence is speaking volumes, Beast Boy.”
I do not appreciate when she calls me this, but let it pass since she is hurt and angry. “The dealings with the Monrok are not simple things.” Nothing has been simple since I brought her here.
“It is simple. You call up Jhyr or Niin and say, hey, you know how I said we can give the Monroks Bambi? Yeah, we’re not doing that anymore. End call.” She holds her hand up by her face, her pinky finger and thumb distended and then moves her hand as if to put it down as she says “end khaul.”
I’m not sure what khaul is but I think it’s an Earther version of a transmission. “What if my khaul doesn’t reach them?”
“You’re not even going to try?”
Yes, I want to try. I want to send a message right now telling Niin not to use Bombee in negotiations, but something holds me back. And I suddenly realize with cold clarity it’s fear. Fear for Lehor, and all my people. Fear that I’ll make the wrong choice and damn us all. We don’t know what the Monrok want, nor do we know if they have any sense of honor. Will they be happy with tash stones? Or will they be unreasonable and save us from the Zapex only to take Lehor for themselves? Mines and all. That is a sobering thought, and one I have not let myself contemplate too closely. The same beings who could save my people, could kill us all.
Bombee cups my cheek. I’m so lost in thought, I startle, but recover quickly and hold her hand to my face.
“Oathar, tell me what you’re thinking. What’s going on in that big head of yours?”
She peer up at me with her fathomless dark eyes, and I want to confide in her. I want to tell her all my worries, and sorrows, and then burrow in her warmth, but she is under my care. So much more vulnerable than I, yet continuously showing such strength. She deserves the same type of strength from her master and leader, as do all citizens of Lehor.
“I must trust that I am making the right decisions for my people. But the weight of wrong decisions I have made is growing heavy.” I take her hand, studying her tiny palm and fingers. It�
��s dwarfed in my grip, yet this delicate hand has thrown a spear. Killed a huzah. The people of Lehor are like that. Our numbers are small. Easy to underestimate. But we have strength and resilience. “I will send a transmission to Niin. I will not send you anywhere you do not want to go.”
“That’s all I ask. I just want to have a choice.”
Her words strike me. “Do you want to go to the Monrok?” I ask, holding my breath for the answer.
She quiet in contemplation too long before she answers. “Maybe-no, of course not, but…”
“But?”
“But, I may want to leave at some point,” is all she says, and it makes my heart ache.
I don’t know if it’s the right choice to keep her here on Lehor, but the thought of not having her here is unconscionable. Yet, would it be as sweet to hold her here if she’s continuously fighting to leave? “I will not keep you here. You have the choice you desire.”
Bombee’s breath hitches. “Do you mean that? Even if I wanted to leave now and go look for my friends?”
Something clenches tight in my chest, making it hard to breathe. I must fight my urge to outright deny her ever leaving. “You are growing ling inside you. Such a venture would be dangerous. You could be captured, killed—”
“You guys have mad technology here. Don’t you have some way that would allow us to freeze the fertilized eggs until I’m ready to have them? I’m pretty sure even we humans have that.”
“We have no angry technology that freezes budding ling. We only procreate every thirty years. Why would it be put it off any longer?”
She sighs. “Well...when you put it like that.”
Concern eats at me. “Would you really want to freeze my ling, even with a risk they may be damaged or die?”
She shrugs and cast her gaze to a spot on the floor she begins worrying with her biggest toe. “No. But this is new and happening fast. And you’re not exactly boyfriend material. Just a few minutes ago, you were ready to give me away.”