Alien Survivor: (Stranded on Galatea) An Alien SciFi Romance

by Juniper Leigh

  The sun was beginning to set as we finished our meal, and the strangest thing started to happen: plants began to close up into themselves. The little flowers hugged their petals in tight, looking like fresh buds; the grass, once tall and stiff, was sucked back down into the earth; the fronds of the trees hugged in close to the trunk, making the landscape look oddly barren where once it was overlush with vegetation. “What’s going on?” I asked Odrik.

  “Vetrnott,” he said, plucking the knife from my hands and rising to his feet. He hugged his arms and pretended to be shivering, then closed his eyes and rested his head on his own shoulder, making an exaggerated snoring sound.

  “Cold sleep?” I guessed, but he could neither confirm nor deny it. Instead he went about stoking the fire, and the longer I lingered outside of the dwelling, the more I could feel the temperature dropping. By the time the twilight had set in, the air was somewhere just above freezing. So much for stealing away in the night.

  Odrik and I settled in to sit on the furs by the fire, warmed by the flames, and by his gentle proximity. He said something and shook his head, and I furrowed my brow, trying to understand.

  He pointed at me; he shook his head no; he cowered. In this elaborate game of charades, I could only guess that he was trying to tell me he would not harm me. I searched his face, then lifted my hand to brush my fingertips across the elegant slope of his cheek. “I am not afraid of you,” I said. He turned his head into my hand, and I could feel his breath, hot against my palm. My heart fluttered, and I pulled away.

  He said something else then, and I recognized the word for “cold sleep” in there among a bevy of other utterly indecipherable words.

  “What…?” I asked, watching his gestures. He took the front of my pilfered tunic and tugged at it, shaking his head. “You want this back…?” I asked, somewhat confused. “Can’t I just wear it so I’m not, like… totally naked…?”

  Odrik heaved a long-suffering sigh and stood up, sliding the straps of his leather overalls off of his shoulders and shimmying out of the shorts themselves. I couldn’t help but stare as his very sizable member became visible. I was stunned by the sheer length and girth of it — and he wasn’t even erect. He folded his clothing neatly and set it aside, then gestured for me to do the same. I gave a very stern and insistent shake of my head. He spoke to me again, and I caught none of the words, except for a very exasperated use of my name.

  He put his hands on me and stilled his movements when he felt me jerk away, my response almost automatic. But he was gentle, if insistent, and he slid his hands up my outer thighs, pushing the tunic up until it was caught under my bum. Then, he moved forward and wrapped one arm around me, lifting me with ease as he freed the fabric, and tugged it up over my head. He folded the tunic and set it on top of his shorts, and I moved to cover my breasts with my arms. Maybe this was when everything would turn violent, I thought. Maybe this was when he would reveal his true colors, when his monstrous nature would make itself known.

  He pushed me gently back onto the furs and pried my legs apart. Then he began unwrapping the bandages. No, silly Novalyn, he was just re-dressing my wounds. He was just being the good and kind and decent creature he’d always been. Though I wasn’t entirely certain as to why we both had to be naked to change some bandages. I watched him closely as he worked, and try as I might, I could see no monster in him at all.

  Chapter 5: ODRIK

  Before my lady, I did not know what it meant to want. Not truly. The only females I had ever laid eyes on were my own mother and the apprentice of our last Qulari priest. That poor female had been denied the priesthood and had been mated over and over again. She died bearing a stillborn girl the same year my mother finally passed. That was a dark day for the Qet.

  The Qulari cannot tell us why the women of the Qet cannot survive. We only know that if we do not mate, our kind will die out. And though I am considered a grown Hunter Warrior in my clan, I have never taken a mate, never known the sweet, forgiving embrace of a female’s full form. And I hunger for it.

  Novalyn allowed me to spread her legs so that I might care for her. I cleaned her wounds and wrapped them up with fresh cloth, then did the same to her injured ankle. But I did not cover her right away. I could not: some baser part of me was stirring, and I felt my shaft rise to rigidity as I peered down at her delicate entrance. I had to touch her.

  I swallowed hard and looked up at her face. She had turned away and was staring at the shadows on the tensile leather that was our wall, and I could have touched her. I could have slid my fingers into her, to feel what it might be like to one day slide something else inside of her. And I wanted it more than I had ever wanted anything in the whole of my life, but I did not want to frighten her or make her run away from me again, and so I closed her legs and covered her with a fur and lay down beside her.

  And when we slept, with her pressed up against me, I knew it would be the warmest winternight I had ever known.

  I awoke to her shivering violently against me in the darkest part of evening, the coldest moment, before the starshine began to rise slowly up again. I got out of the warm bubble of our body heat and stoked the fire at the mouth of the dwelling, until it roared and cast us both in dancing orange light. I sat down again and leaned back against the wooden trunk at the head of the straw mattress and gathered her to me. She sat between my legs, leaning her back against my chest, and I tugged the fur blankets up around us and encircled her with my arms so that only her lovely face was exposed to the air. Her trembling subsided even as I felt my desires make me hard against her body. I wished only that I had the words to tell her I was sorry, to explain that I didn’t mean to make her uncomfortable, to apologize. But she fell asleep, and I had no more need for words.

  ***

  We awakened with the onset of starshine, just as the day began to warm, when the sky was fading, black to blue. Novalyn tossed off the heavy furs and fanned herself, sweating. She spoke: I needed none of her words to ascertain that she was remarking upon the extreme weather conditions of this planet and I smiled at her and nodded my head even as I stretched my arms high to crack the stiffness of slumber.

  “Food?” I asked, and in response she lifted up one of her arms, turned her head and sniffed at her body. Then, she wrinkled her nose and stuck out her tongue and I couldn’t help but laugh at her, and when I laughed, she laughed with me.

  She made a gesture like she was rubbing something in small circles all over her body and she kept repeating a word over and over again. I narrowed my eyes at her, giving a slow shake of my head, and finally, exasperated, she struggled to get to her feet. I rose up myself to help her and she pointed forward, so I helped her forward. When I tried to lift her she brushed me off so I simply held her gently by the elbow as she struggled to walk.

  When we were out of the dwelling, she pointed at the still pond and her meaning dawned on me: she wanted to wash.

  “Stay here a moment,” I said and darted back inside to rifle through my trunk. I found a crude block of soap, created from the lye of a funeral pyre, and a small bottle of scented oil made from a lotishe flower and Panyan bark, and headed back out to Novalyn. She had not, of course, stayed where I told her to, but was already at the bank of the pond, balancing herself against a small tree that grew nearby.

  I moved to stand in front of her and allowed myself to steal a glimpse of her breasts, round and rare as golden fruit, before I began to gently pull away her bandages. The flesh of her thigh was healing nicely, though she would have strings of long, silver scars running up the length of her. I unwrapped her ankle as well and swept her into my arms to lower her into the water.

  Which was quite cold, and Novalyn gave a yelp when I submerged her up to her chin. She splashed me in protest, and I couldn’t help but laugh. I set her down gently, the water’s buoyancy allowing her to stand easily on her good foot, before I untied my hair from the thong that held it in place and dipped my head under the water. Emerging
again, I wiped the droplets from my face and rubbed the block of soap between my hands until it bubbled with suds.

  Novalyn mimicked my movement and disappeared for the length of a few breaths under the water before popping up again, and I handed her the bar of soap before I placed my hands, covered in suds, tenderly on the crown of her head. I worked my fingers against her scalp until her wet curls were thick with lather. A tiny little moan escaped her lips as I washed her, and I was pleased to find that I could bring her some modicum of pleasure. With a finger under her chin, I tilted her head back and scooped great handfuls of water up to rinse her hair. She turned around to face me, angling her wide blue eyes up at me and I was just smiling, smiling down into her beautiful face. Then she handed me the soap again, walked a few paces away so that her upper body was no longer under the water, and held her arms out. I blinked, advancing slowly forward, hoping I did not misconstrue the invitation when I soaped up my hands and placed them on her body.

  She closed her eyes and let me touch her, and I touched every inch of her. I reveled in the feeling of her soft breasts against my palms; her arms, long and graceful; her thighs, smooth and strong; her backside, round and plump. And when I’d finished with her, she took the soap from me and paid me the same attention, washing at least as much of me as she could reach. I had not been touched in that manner since I was a child and my mother bathed me in a basin. There was something undeniably comforting about the feel of her hands on my body.

  I grew rock hard when she ran the bar of soap over my thighs; I let out a bated breath when her small fist curled around that hardness and tugged me forward. My breathing was ragged as I looked down into her face, wanting to warn her that if she didn’t stop stroking me, I would not be able to keep myself from taking her.

  I searched her face, and she had her pretty, pink lips parted as she breathed, her face shining with drops of water. She seemed unsure of herself, drawn to me for reasons inexplicable, but just as I was about to touch her back, she froze, her gaze locked on something over my shoulder.

  “What is it?” I asked, and she said, Shhhh. Her eyes were wide with panic, so I turned slowly to see what my lady was seeing: a jungle cat in mottled brown and orange and black, two large, tusklike teeth protruding from its powerful jaws. It was growling low, frozen in place as it stared at us. Of course, how stupid I had been. The great beasts of this world emerged in the morning to hunt. And there I was, without a single weapon within arm’s reach.

  The cat was large enough to take off one of my limbs in a single bite, so it could probably have swallowed down half of Novalyn whole; she went ashen at the sight of it.

  “When I move, run back to the dwelling,” I murmured. But of course, she did not understand. So I simply pointed, and watched her until she gave a frantic nod of her head.

  I took in a deep breath and locked eyes with the creature, which crept along the banks of the water, trying to gauge whether or not diving in would be a wise course of action. In an instant, I sprang into motion, swimming to the deepest section of the water and thrashing my arms about to focus its attention on me. I spared a brief glance back over my shoulder and saw that Novalyn was headed back at a hobbled pace toward the dwelling.

  Mine is a harsh world. Few beasts roam far from their packs, but this cat — likely female — was probably a new mother and desperate for hearty meat for her kits. I, to be sure, was hearty meat. I saw her clever eyes as she tried to weigh the risks against the rewards. And I smiled a bit as she dove into the water to paddle over to me, confident she could kill me, skewered on her tusk or crushed between her mighty teeth.

  But I am a hunter; I am strong, and I have killed and skinned her kind before. The cat was an adept swimmer, closing the gap between us in moments. I waited, still, until she was close enough to strike, and just as she did, I closed my fists around her tusks and forced her head under the water.

  She thrashed, her claws catching my knee, and I sent out a cry to the stars as the water around me was stained red with my blood. The beast caught me again and I let go of one of her tusks so that I might shield my body with my left arm, scaled with tiny pieces of black armor. She swiped again and hit the scales, staggering me with the force of her blow, but otherwise leaving me unharmed. With only one hand on her, she was able to draw some air, and I was barely controlling her. It was likely, I thought, that the beast would be sated with me and would not go after Novalyn, who was tucked safely away in the dwelling. She would be all right there, I thought. She would survive.

  And perhaps the beast would have taken me, if Novalyn had not appeared there in the water with me, a knife in each of her hands. She pressed one into my free palm, nearing the beast enough to be in danger herself, so I moved fast and slit the cat’s throat. She thrashed there for several moments more before she finally, finally stilled.

  I was panting, my lungs were burning, my body was stinging where the cat had marred my flesh, but I could not help my smile. She had come back for me, my lady. She had saved my life.

  Catching my breath, we smiled at one another. “Food,” I said, and she nodded her head, recognizing the word.

  I dragged the beast out of the water and hoisted it over my head so as not to muddy its furs, which would make my lady the clothes she clearly wanted. No part of the cat would go unused: the teeth would make her a necklace, the claws and tusks could be tools and knives. The meat, we would feast upon for days if I cured it with salt. I would dry the skull and display it proudly, and the bones I would bury in thanks.

  The task of skinning and gutting the creature took the better part of the day, and by the end of it, Novalyn was covered in its blood, ruining another garment and needing another bath in the pond. It was quick, perfunctory, and she returned with the tunic, cleaned and ready to hang near the fire. She finally plucked the jewels from her nipples and abandoned them on the log near the dwelling’s opening, and we sat together and ate the stringy meat cooked over the open fire. We sipped Panyan liquor, and I laughed as she winced as it burned its way down her throat.

  I tried to take the wineskin back from her, but she shook her head and took another drink, making a sort of high-pitched woo sound after, and I laughed. We settled into a companionable silence, which she broke by tapping my arm and pointing in the distance.

  I followed her arm, and peered at the horizon. She was pointing in the direction of the other fallen egg, where we had seen Fegar and Yorn take another Hunter Warrior’s mate. Then, she gestured between us — you and me — and pointed once more toward the egg.

  “You would like us to go to the egg,” I said, and she latched onto the word for egg and repeated it back to me.

  “Odrik. Novalyn. Egg,” she said.

  “Yes,” I confirmed, nodding my head, and she all but sprang to her feet. She was still a little wobbly standing up, but she was regaining some strength, or perhaps she was simply stubborn enough to largely ignore her injury. Either way, she was ready to go right that moment, naked and wounded, in the middle of the day.

  I smiled and shook my head. “Tomorrow,” I said. She had not heard that word before, and pointed toward the egg. I searched my brain for words she had already begun to understand, then said, “After the winternight.”

  Her eyes lighted with understanding and she gave a slow nod of her head, sitting down again on the log and looking absent around, suddenly self-conscious about her nudity. I went into the dwelling and fished through my trunk, donning my standard daily wear and bringing out another tunic for her. I also brought out an intricately woven band, with beads in brilliant shades of turquoise, red, and yellow. The belt had been my mother’s, and it was very dear to me. It was too small for me to wear, but Novalyn could make use of it.

  I returned to her where she sat on the log, her arms crossed in front of her breasts, and handed her the tunic. “Tunic,” I said, and she repeated the word back to me as she tugged it over her head. Standing, she smiled up at me, and I handed her the belt. “
Belt,” I said.

  “Belt,” she said back. I hesitated before I handed it to her. “This was my mother’s,” I said, but she shook her head. I held it over my heart, and she nodded her understanding. Handing it to her, I watched her fasten it around her waist, and I thought it looked lovely. She looked lovely. How she could make an oversized tunic and old beaded belt look beautiful, I will never know, but her hair had dried and was a mass of unruly curls, and the starshine had given color to her pale cheeks, and she was beautiful.

  “Beautiful,” I said, and she repeated the word back to me. “Beautiful.” I did not know how my lady came to be on my world. But I knew that I had to make her mine.

  Chapter 6: NOVALYN

  He would take me! He would take me to the pod, and he would help me. I had been going about things all the wrong way — the best thing to do was to enlist Odrik’s help. He seemed to dote on me; he would certainly not stand in the way of my attempts to get home.

  And, truth be told, I was growing rather fond of him as well. Very fond, in fact. The lust I felt boiling in my belly was a powerful force, and I didn’t know how long I could keep it at bay. My cheeks colored with shame as we sat together side by side, sipping strong liquor from a wineskin. That other girl had been violently raped by one of Odrik’s kinsmen. And here I was, ready to spread my legs willingly.

  After our interruption in the pond, Odrik had made no advances on me, despite my obvious invitation. He remained the perfect gentleman when, truly, part of me wanted him to throw me down onto the packed dirt floor and have his way with me. My ache for him pulsed between my legs, and I was chagrined when he returned from the dwelling wearing his leather shorts, with a tunic for me.