Risdaverse Tales: Four Risdaverse Novellas

by Dixon, Ruby

  “You have real food in your kitchen, not just bags of processed ingredients. That’s not that cheap. And I don’t spend much money, I promise. I have my own allowance that Leandra gave me.” Her growing smile shows that little dent in her cheek again. Does she ever stop smiling, I wonder? “And I don’t mind stubborn. And I don’t think you’re ugly at all.”

  Now I can feel my skin growing hot and uncomfortable. I want to hide my face away, but I resist. “Scarred up from the war,” is all I say.

  “Which is a perfectly noble sort of thing, and I think you look just fine,” she tells me again. “Besides, I know humans aren’t exactly attractive to your people.” She shrugs those dainty shoulders. “Lord knows why they keep kidnapping us for sex.”

  Looking at her move, I know why. It’s the small, plush bow of her mouth. It’s the delicacy of her wrists under the sleeves of her tunic. It’s the fragility of her form and the pronounced thrust of her breasts that are twice the size of any mesakkah female’s. There’s something about her that speaks to a male’s baser nature. Of course a man would want to fuck a female like this. Even I’m starting to get uncomfortably hard at the thought. What would she look like underneath me, with her golden-brown hair tumbling over those slim shoulders?

  I grunt as the image hits me with force. No, Emvor. You’re not keeping her.

  When I look up, she’s watching me, a curious look on her face. “Everything okay?”

  I nod curtly and point at the chair I left vacant for her. “Sit. Eat.”

  She does, and when she sits down next to me, I see she’s wearing trou, just like I am. Except they cling to her slender hips and thighs and outline a bottom that has no tail and seems far bouncier and rounder than any mesakkah female’s bottom would be.

  Maybe it’s the spices in the food, but I feel sweaty. Need to bathe after this.

  Quiet falls. She eats. I eat. The room is still. I’m silent, but I can’t stop thinking about her. “What did you say your name was again?”

  The human pauses in her eating. “It’s Nicola. Leandra didn’t like the way it sounded on her tongue, so she made me change it to something that sounded more mesakkah. We picked Shiarii.” She shrugs. “Seemed as good a name as any, and reminded me a bit of Scheherazade.”

  “Who?”

  She shakes her head. “Just an old human legend about a woman who had to tell stories and entertain to save her life.”

  The food grows tasteless in my mouth. A woman who had to tell stories and entertain to save her life. The parallel to her own fate doesn’t escape me. I don’t want to hear more. I’m learning too much about her already, and it’s making the knot of frustrated anger and guilt in my stomach grow. I shouldn’t feel guilty over not keeping her, I remind myself.

  I’m the injured party here.

  * * *

  I finish cleaning up around the barn and fixing some of my tools after dinner. I’m not avoiding her, I tell myself. I’m just giving her space. And I sure don’t feel guilty.

  I figure if I keep telling myself that, it’ll eventually ring true.

  When I go inside, the house is cleaned up, the floors shiny and swept. I’m not a slob, but I don’t care much about doing chores. Even so, I can appreciate when the place is sparkling clean. I know she’s trying to prove herself, and I feel another twinge of guilt. There are fresh baked goods on the kitchen counter and it smells nice inside, like she’s baking other things. I think about what she said earlier, about cooking when she feels stressed.

  There must be a lot of stress. I guess I can’t blame her for that.

  I hear the hum of the clothing steamer in the background, and the sound of running water. My place is small, but I don’t see her in the living area or the kitchen. What else is she cleaning, I wonder? Curious, I head toward the bedroom. I’m not sure how I’ll feel if I find her knee-deep in my underclothing, scrubbing it.

  Instead, I turn the corner and find her…naked. She has her back to me, standing in the small nook that serves as bathing facilities for my private bedroom. I can see her in the mirror, and the pale color of her skin is blinding against the gray of my walls. It’s clear that she hasn’t heard me enter over the sound of the running water. I should say something. Clear my throat.

  Something.

  But it’s impossible not to look. Not to stare at that expanse of naked, gleaming skin. Her teats are exposed, and as I watch, she drags a wet cloth over her skin, over the pink tips and rounded swells. My cock stiffens painfully in my trou, and I immediately turn away, heading out of the bedroom, out of the living area, and out the front door. I sit down on my front step and put my head in my hands, trying to calm my racing heart.

  Instead, all I can see is all that naked, wet skin. When I close my eyes, I see the dreamy expression on her face as she presses the cloth to her breasts. I see the tendrils of golden hair brushing against her shoulders, and the gentle curving flare of her hips. I think of the rounded swell of her buttocks, and how pale and plump they were, and how seemingly lewd the cleft of her ass was without a tail to cover it.

  My cock feels like stone in my trou. Kef. It’s been far too long since I’ve looked at a woman, even longer since I touched one.

  I don’t think you’re ugly.

  No, I remind myself. No matter how much you might be fascinated with her, it’s because she’s the only female you’ve been around for longer than a moment in the last several years. It’s not because you find her attractive or likable. It’s not because of her smile or the jiggle of her bottom when she walks.

  She’s not strong enough to be a partner in this life. And that’s what I need—a tall, strapping partner that can help me with the fields. That’s all I want.

  It takes me a while to compose myself. Every time I stand up, convinced that I’m fine, my cock stiffens and I imagine her naked and washing herself. I end up walking circles around the house for an hour, thinking about which of my meat-stock I’ll breed to the bull this season and which I’ll hold back for next season. Thinking about bovines and meat is enough to kill whatever eagerness my cock has left in it, and I’m able to go inside with a loud, deliberate slam of the front door.

  Nicola’s back in the kitchen, pulling something that looks suspiciously like homemade bread out of my wood-burning stove. Her hair is wet, twisted in a knot high on her head and a few tendrils curl around her face. Her clothes are different, but I can still see the swell of her breasts through the material. She beams at me, all smiles as I come in. “Hello again.”

  My cock immediately responds to her voice and I shift on my feet. “Gonna sleep outside,” I bark at her. “You get the bed.”

  She holds the bread for a moment longer, a curious expression on her face. “I don’t want to take your bed, Emvor—”

  Kef, now she’s saying my name and my cock’s responding. This is unbearable. I ignore her, storming toward my room. I snatch the extra blanket off of the lid of my trunk and head back out, mumbling something about how it’s a nice night. Sure, let her think that.

  Just don’t let her notice the front of my trou.

  4

  NICOLA

  Emvor’s quiet over breakfast. He scarfs his food down quickly, if neatly, and doesn’t talk. He told me he’s not much of a talker, so I’m fine with that. It’s the fact that he won’t look at me at all that bothers me. I think about last night, and how he practically raced out of the house to avoid me, and I worry. I didn’t sleep much last night, and I know I’m going to bake up every bit of food in this kitchen with panic if he doesn’t speak to me, just a little.

  So I wait for him to take a big bite of food, one that’ll take a moment for him to chew, and I clasp my hands. “Can I talk to you for a moment?”

  He has a startled look, like a deer in headlights. It’s kind of cute. I don’t know why he thinks he’s so hideous. There’s something so appealing about the way the mesakkah look with their strong faces, and he’s got lovely features. His horns are big and arching, his should
ers broad and his neck thick. It doesn’t matter to me that one side of his face is a little torn up from scars and the corner of his mouth is twisted down a bit. It means he’s got a story behind that, a past that he’s fought through. He’s a survivor.

  I can appreciate that. I like that a lot, actually. I just wish he liked me.

  “What is it?” he says, and his voice is gruff and unyielding. It makes me want to twist my hands or run away and hide.

  “I know you’re angry at me.” I resist the urge to grab the nearest bowl and start throwing ingredients in it. “I realize that what I did was unfair to you. I wasn’t thinking about how you’d feel at being deceived. I was only thinking about how to save myself. It’s much easier when you don’t know the person on the other side of the problem. Now that I do, I know that what I did was wrong and I really do apologize—”

  “Stop,” he says, and I flinch. That makes him scowl all the more. “I may not be the friendliest man,” he begins. “But I’m also not a heartless ass. You did what you had to do. Don’t apologize to me.” Emvor pauses, then continues. “I can’t keep you, though. I need a pa—”

  “A partner, I know.”

  “Someone else is gonna want a bride.” His tone is gruff but kind. He meets my eyes and his gaze is steady. “I’m not sending you back. You don’t have to be scared.”

  “I’m not scared,” I bluff.

  “No? Must’ve been me that was crying last night.” His tone is mild with rebuke, and he takes another bite of his breakfast.

  Did he hear that? Oh great. Now he’s really going to think I’m a wimp. “I’m fine. Just emotional. It’s all the hormones I’ve been on recently.”

  “Hormones?” he asks, shoving another mouthful of breakfast into his mouth. I’ll say one thing for him—he’s got a strong appetite, or he loves my food. Makes me feel good about that, at least.

  “Yes, hormones. So I can get pregnant.”

  He freezes, mid-chew. His gaze flicks to my body and then he flushes, his cheeks becoming nearly purple with color. “Right.” His voice is strangled and he shoves one last big bite of food in his mouth and gets up from the table, then heads out the door.

  I watch him go, curious. That’s an interesting sort of reaction. Is he a virgin, I wonder? This place is very remote, which is precisely why it’s perfect to hide out. But Emvor can’t be attracted to me…can he? Maybe because I’m the only female around. I feel a stab of guilt. He’s lonely and I stomped on his dreams of having a bride by showing up and lying to him.

  No wonder he hates me. I’m lucky he’s tolerating my presence at all. I feel a surge of gratitude for him and swipe at my eyes. I know he’s frustrated, but I’ve got to find a way to make it up to him. I may not be the strong, strapping wife he wants, but I have some skills at least. If I can’t be what he needs, I can at least be a good houseguest until he gets rid of me.

  I tap on the kitchen’s datapad built into the counter and consider the list of foods, trying to think of something that would please him. I noticed when I woke up this morning that several of the fresh rolls I’d made and almost all of the cookies were gone. He likes baked goods, then. That’s perfect, because I love baking. I pull up a list of traditional mesakkah recipes and get to work.

  * * *

  Emvor’s out for most of the day, popping in occasionally for a drink of fresh water and a quick snack. I notice that he snags the rest of the cookies and it makes me feel good. Between baking, I clean his house from top to bottom, organizing his storage and sweeping the dust off of everything. He’s not a dirty guy and the house isn’t a pigpen, but it’s clear he isn’t much interested in making it a home versus just a place to sleep. There are things stacked in random corners of the living area that make it seem a little more cluttered than it is, so I organize them on shelves and straighten closets. I find an old shirt tossed over a chair in the bedroom that needs mending, and so I do it, too. All the while, baked treats come out of the oven regularly.

  It’s interesting, being here. Leandra’s home was full of servant mechs, always crawling all over the place and working to keep her enormous mansion clean and tidy. There are no mechs here, and I know it’s not that he can’t afford them. He must not like them. I don’t blame him; I’ve always found them a bit creepy and dead-eyed. I much prefer doing things by hand. It keeps me sharp and it reminds me, weirdly enough, of being on Earth.

  As I clean, I uncover a half-buried box full of decorative little sticks. Each one is covered with markings and cleverly painted. I know what this is—Leandra was a big fan of the mesakkah game of “sticks” and taught me how to play. I wonder if Emvor would be interested? I put it aside to ask him.

  By the time dinner is simmering on the stove and the rugs I found stored in one of the closets are neatly arranged on the floor, I’m tired from the day’s work, but the house is tidy and charming. I’d be happy here, I think wistfully. It’s not a big place, but it’s cozy.

  Not that I get to stay, and that’s my own fault. I can’t even be mad at Emvor for feeling betrayed. It was a hell of a lie. A necessary one, but still a lie. I contemplate that even as I give myself a quick bath in the bedroom.

  I’ve barely pulled a fresh tunic over my head when someone knocks at the front door and the proximity alert chimes. I stiffen, smoothing my hair back in surprise. It can’t be Emvor. It’s his house; there’s no need to knock. It has to be one of his neighbors. I swallow hard, hovering behind the doorframe to the bedroom. I don’t know what to do. He said he’d introduce me to others on the planet, but I’m not sure how he wants to announce my human-ness to the others…or how they’ll take it.

  Unless I’ve read Emvor all wrong and he’s called the authorities on me.

  My mouth goes dry. My trembling returns, shaking me so hard that I can practically hear my teeth rattling in my head. I peek toward the front, and the window next to the door shows that there’s a big blue form waiting on the doorstep.

  Oh god. What do I do? What if it’s an enemy? What if—

  “Sanjurel,” I hear Emvor call out, perhaps a little too loudly to be accidental. “What’re you doing here?”

  I press my back against the wall of the bedroom, hiding as I hear the front door open. My heart’s pounding so hard in my chest that I’m almost positive they can hear it in the next room.

  “I thought I’d come by and see if you anticipate showing up to our little gathering.” The stranger’s tone is friendly, almost a little too friendly. “And I wanted to see if you’d be bringing your visitor with you. Thought I’d come over and introduce myself. You know it’s so rare that we get company out in these parts.”

  Emvor grunts, and I’m perversely pleased to see that he’s as short—if not shorter—with this guy as he is with me. “I’ll be at the gathering.”

  “Wonderful! And your friend?”

  “Her decision,” Emvor says flatly, clearly trying to shut the conversation down.

  “Is she here? Can I meet her?”

  I bite my lip so hard it sends a sharp pain through me. I’m terrified at the thought of being shoved in front of someone who deliberately showed up to stare at me. Does he know what I am? Did someone see through my disguise back at the spaceport? I feel dizzy and realize that I’m holding my breath.

  “She’s asleep,” Emvor tells him in that same flat, you’re-bothering-me tone. “You can meet her at the gathering.”

  “Ah.” The newcomer hesitates. “I suppose I could stick around for a bit. Do you need help with your chores while I’m here? I’d be happy to assist.”

  “Nope.”

  “You sure? I know you’re very anti-mech. I don’t mind—”

  “I said no.” After a moment, I hear the creak of the front door opening. “I’ll see you at the gathering. I’ll bring some food.”

  “See you then,” the man says, his voice growing fainter, as if he’s leaving. There’s no denying the disappointment in his tone. I hear him start to say something else, but then the door
slams shut and it’s silent.

  Emvor grunts, as if he’s pleased at the quiet.

  I hesitate in the bedroom, unsure of what to do. He has to know that I’m in here. There are only so many places to hide in this snug house. But he’s not saying anything, and that just makes me more nervous. Eventually, I shore up my courage and peek through the doorway into the kitchen.

  Emvor leans against the counter, expression calm, eating one of my fresh-made cookies. He glances over at me and lifts his chin. “He’s gone now.”

  I step out slowly, unsure what to think. “Your neighbor?”

  He snorts and shakes his head. “Couple of farms away, but he’s the one that likes to stick his nose into everyone else’s business.” He studies me for a moment and then moves forward, pushing off the counter. “You’re shaking.”

  “Am I?” I hug my arms against my chest. “I’m sure it’s fine.”

  Emvor frowns at my response and then puts a hand on my shoulder, letting it slide to my back as he guides me forward. “Come sit in the chair. I don’t like seeing you like that.”

  “I’m fine, really. It’s just a nervous reaction.” But I let him lead me over to the chair, and when he continues to hover after I sit down, I offer him a smile. “You don’t think he came after me because he heard I’m human?”

  He shakes his head. “He’s interested in gossip, but he’s harmless. He won’t sell you out for a reward, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

  That’s exactly what I was wondering. I offer him a relieved look, clasping my hands in my lap to hide their quivering. “I guess it’s something I’ve got to get used to if I’m going to be looking for a new husband at the gathering.”

  “Mmm.” Emvor turns away from me and heads toward the cookie plate, grabbing another. I think he’s going to eat it himself but to my surprise, he offers it to me. “Eat something. It’ll help your nerves.”