by Dixon, Ruby
When She's Married
A SciFi Alien Romance Novella
Ruby Dixon
Copyright © 2020 by Ruby Dixon
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover Art by: Mayhem Creations
Edits by: Aquila Editing
Created with Vellum
Contents
WHEN SHE’S MARRIED
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Need More Ruby Dixon?
WHEN SHE’S MARRIED
Escaped convict Vordigar has been hiding out on Risda III. When he’s scooped up by law enforcement, he has two choices - he can be shipped back to the Haven prison system, or he can marry one of the locals. Piper is from an alien race called ‘humans’ and she needs a mate to help her protect her farm from aggressive neighbors.
Vordigar’s not interested in forever. Or marrying. Or settling down. He’ll go along with Piper’s plans just until he can get off planet…or so he thinks.
Because one night in Piper’s bed changes everything.
1
VORDIGAR
The jail on Risda III is an insult.
It’s not a real jail, just like this isn’t a legit civilized planet. There’s no climate control, because the local peace officers like the open air. All they do is open windows—windows!—and let in a breeze. It means it’s hotter than a sun flare in my cell, and my tunic is wet with sweat. There’s four of us prisoners in one cell, and the next cell over houses some very smelly, horned meat-stock that chew on hay and shit everywhere. Peppy cantina music plays in the next room and I can hear the two peace officers on duty talking about a high-stakes sticks game.
Keffing backwater farm planet on the outskirts of nowhere.
I flick a piece of hay off my sleeve and eye my surroundings with distaste as one of the meat-stock flicks its tail against the bars and lets out a stream of messy crap. The least they could do is get me a cell that doesn’t feel like I’m sleeping in a barn. I don’t even mind sharing it. Just…not with meat-stock. Or any other farm animal.
I hate this planet.
Or rather, I hate it now. I didn’t mind it so much, when, fresh out of prison, I thought I’d be able to blend in with the locals, hide out and just live my life. I didn’t mind that it was quiet and pastoral….but I’ve learned that the authorities here are much the same as the authorities on any other planet. They’re easily swayed and corrupt. The lords that oversee this place don’t pay them enough, so they do odd jobs on the side.
Things like…bounties.
That’s what got me. It’s what always gets a man in the end. You escape one prison hellhole on the sly and for some reason, you get a bounty put on your head. It’s perfectly unreasonable. They should be thanking me and Tassen for showing them the weaknesses in their security, not demanding our return. Unfortunately, I’m the only one being returned. Tassen married a local woman and got amnesty for himself through a marriage law. I had the opportunity, but when I heard she was human, I withdrew my name.
There are certain things in the universe that are too much trouble—an asteroid belt in a shortcut, an easy bounty, and a human woman. I avoid all those things. Life’s too short to give yourself more trouble. Now I’m thinking I should have been smarter and said yes to the whole “marriage” thing. I could have agreed to it and kept out of this jail. Marriage doesn’t work with my plans, but neither does being recaptured as an escaped convict and being dropped back to Haven II. This time, there won’t be an escape. I’ll be kept in lockdown. Probably won’t ever breathe fresh air again.
One of the meat-stock grunts and lets out a torrent of fresh stink and I wave a hand in front of my face. The fresh air thing might not be so bad after all. Right now I’d welcome the scent of canned, recycled Haven air if it meant getting away from these damned meat-stock.
“They’re shitting again,” the prisoner next to me protests, rubbing a hand over his brow. “Can’t you get them out of here?”
“Pipe down,” one of the peace officers calls back from the next room. He makes no effort to get up. “Farmer az Itiria will be by to pick them up in a day or two. Until then, you’re just going to have to share space.”
The man—a szzt from the look of his hard, pebbled skin—just groans and mutters a curse in his own language. We’re sharing a cell, but unlike me, he’s not an escaped convict. I heard he killed his neighbor over a property dispute, so we’re heading to the same place more or less—an off world prison. Across from us sits a big praxiian, his massive frame entirely covered in fur. He absently licks his paw and watches us with slitted eyes, and I suspect he’s not one of the local drunks, himself. They wouldn’t put him in with us if he was. There’s a lizard type in the corner whose race escapes my mind at the moment, but we haven’t spoken. Not many friendly types waiting for a ride off this planet. Everyone’s here because they’re genuinely farming or they’re looking to hide out. It makes for a mixed local population…and a dangerous one.
Which, again, I was fine with until it backfired in my face.
So to speak.
The door opens in the other room and I hear the peace officers jump to their feet, chairs scraping. I tense, wondering if the prison shuttle is here already.
“Hello again,” says a breathless female voice. “My name is Piper. I…I spoke with someone earlier about my situation? You said you’d help me.”
“So you’re the one.” The guard’s practically smirking in her direction. I can hear it from here, and I can’t even see his face. “What’s with the tray?”
“Oh,” the human says, and then I hear the sound of something unwrapping. “Where I’m from, it’s custom to bring baked goods as a way of saying thank you. Back home, we call these ‘cookies.’ I made them for you both. Here, please.” Her voice is achingly sweet and uncertain, shy and sugary all at once. “I thought you might enjoy them.”
“Very kind of you,” one of the peace officers says. “Might I say that…are you sure you want to do this?”
“I’m not left with very many choices,” she admits in that breathless, timid voice. “Unless one of you…?”
Both laugh, and I can tell her presence is feeding their egos. I’ve never heard such boisterous laughter from our captors, and the praxiian and I exchange a look.
“My mate would keffing kill me if I even entertained the thought,” one says. “Azi’s mate, too.”
The other just chuckles.
“Then this is how it has to be,” the human female says. At least, I assume she’s human. I can’t see her face, but there aren’t many that speak that weird tongue on this end of the galaxy unless they’re freed slaves or slave owners. And since she’s female—and on Risda III, which has been established as a sanctuary for a group of freed human slaves—I’m betting she really is human.
One of the peace officers comes around the corner and approaches our cell. “Hands on the bar,” he tells us. “We’ve got visitors.”
The praxiian hisses. The lizard-man groans. I’m silent, though I hate the keffing bar just as much as anyone else. I slowly get to my feet and move to the back of the cell. I put my hands on the back wall, on the magnetized bar that hums a few feet overhead, just within my grasp. The restraint cuffs on my hands lock onto the
magnetism and I’m stuck there, hands over my head, as the others line up next to me. Hate this. Makes me feel like a piece of meat-stock myself. Like I’m not a person anymore, just another animal being processed. First it was the war. Then it was prison. Now this backwater jail cell. It’s all the same and it makes me grit my teeth.
“I’m not sure that’s necessary, Captain,” the human says in the same breathless voice. “They look so uncomfortable.”
“Sweet of you, but I assure you, human, that it’s necessary. These are hardened criminals and it’s safer all around.” He talks around a mouthful. “You sure you want to do this?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
I hear steps as the creature enters our cell, and I try to glance over my shoulder to see what she looks like.
“Eyes forward,” one of the jailers snaps at me.
My tail flicks in irritation, but I do as he commands. I show him my scarred, ugly mug and grin, because I know it makes things worse. “If you don’t want us looking, don’t you think blindfolds would be better? Or maybe sacks over our heads?” I offer. “I’m starting to think the meat-stock gets treated with more respect around here.”
“The meat-stock hasn’t broken the law and you have,” the guard snaps, then takes another noisy bite. “Go on, human, uh, female.”
“Miss Evans is fine. Or Piper.” She gives the most charming, raspy chuckle that I swear I feel in my ball sack. I know it’s been a while since I’ve tasted a bit of cunt, but kef me. Suddenly all the stories I’ve heard about human females roar through my mind. That they’re relentless in bed. That their bodies are the hottest clasp a male’s ever felt. That they’ll do anything and everything. My cock stiffens in my trou.
Well, that’s going to be damned embarrassing if anyone notices. Maybe she won’t look past my keffed-up face to notice the hard-on.
I hear the female step forward, and there’s a swish of long skirts, the material rustling. She’s practically close enough for one of my tail flicks to touch her, and I’m tempted, but I also know I’ll probably get hit with a shock-stick if I try. Might be worth it, though. Haven’t even been close to a female since before prison…
“Um, I’m not really sure how to proceed,” she says. “Do I just…”
“You’re the one making the calls here,” one of the guards says, amused. “You do what you like. They’re prisoners. Their lives don’t mean a keffing lot.”
“Oh.” She sounds confused.
My mouth curls into a hard smile. “Depends on which side of the bar you’re on,” I call out to him.
“Shut your yap,” the guard calls back. “The human’s got some inspecting to do.”
“Well, in that case,” I say boldly and spread my thighs wide, as if inviting her to inspect all of me. I’d love to see her weird little human face scrunch up with revulsion at that. At least my cock’s still got a lot to offer a female.
It’s quiet for a long moment, and I look over at the szzt murderer to my left. A small, slim, pale hand with too many fingers rests on his back. She runs a hand over his shoulders and down his spine. “Are you strong?” Her voice wavers. “Physically fit?”
“Kef off, human,” he tells her in his own language, trying to shrug her hand free.
“He says no,” I lie baldly, glancing over as much as I can to get a look at her.
“I see.” The hand moves off of him and she manages to stay just out of my vision.
My curiosity is killing me, but I don’t show it. I remain still, my tail barely twitching as she pauses behind me. To my surprise, she reaches out and squeezes my side.
“You seem fit,” she says after a moment. “Any injuries I should know about? Everything working as it should?”
“I’ve had no complaints,” I drawl. “But if you want to test for yourself, I’m happy to perform…provided we get some privacy, of course.” Doesn’t matter how fit I am. Once she gets a look at my face, she’ll change her mind.
She’s quiet for a long moment. “I see.” She walks away, and I’m disappointed she didn’t rise to my bait. Little mite’s not as brave as I thought. Shame. I can’t help but pay attention as she heads farther down the line. She avoids the praxiian entirely and pauses at the lizard-man, then walks away. There’s a bit of hushed conversation between her and the peace officers, and then the sound of footsteps walking away.
I wait for the bar to stop its endless hard pull on the cuffs so I can sit down again, but a long moment passes, then another. Something taps my shoulder and I flinch—it’s the cool end of a shock-stick. “You’re our lucky winner,” the guard says. “Behave yourself and you’re coming with me.”
He reaches up and turns off my cuffs.
I’m surprised at this, but I’m not going to overlook the gift I’ve been handed. Either that female human paid a bribe to get me out of here, or she’s buying herself a slave. A female owner’s easy enough to escape, so I just rub my wrists and eye the flicking shock-stick that the guard holds. One wrong move and he’ll use it on me, I have no doubt. I do my best to look charming and trustworthy. “Do I get to find out what this is all about?”
The guard smirks. “No. Follow me.”
He leads me out of the stinking cell, away from the others, and locks the door behind him. I continue to rub my wrists absently, then look around. No one’s at the jail other than us, so that bodes well for me. Risda III can be pretty lax in certain ways, so if this female is buying herself a farm hand—because Risda III is nothing but farms—then I can play the part long enough to get out of here and escape.
I smile broadly as the guard leads me into the main office of the jail itself. His companion sits behind a desk, watching a few monitors, and the female human sits in a chair by herself, waiting. It’s my first chance to get a good look at her and I’m surprised.
She’s more fragile than I thought. There’s an air about her that speaks of delicate things, of birds and gossamer wings and crystal threads that would shatter at a rough touch. She gets to her feet and she only comes up to the middle of my chest, but she lifts her chin and gives me a cool, assessing stare as if she expected this and she’s not afraid. I like that. I like that she doesn’t flinch at my acid-scarred face, either. I know it’s hard to look at, all that too-smooth, shiny skin on one side and how my left eye droops, just a little. How my mouth is too tight in one corner and makes my smile look more like a grimace. She studies all of this and doesn’t seem to care.
I like her.
Even though she’s small and fragile, she seems calm around the much larger mesakkah. There’s no fear in her as she stands in front of me, her hands clasped at her waist. Her dress is simple—a pale beige with a long skirt that’s belted at the waist and shows off the impressive tits that most humans are graced with. Her hair is long and a pale brown color, but instead of pulling it back from her face, she wears a fringe of it completely over her brow and the rest seems to slide forward, as if she uses it to hide her expression. Beyond the hair, her face seems to be all eyes and dark lashes and smooth brow.
She gazes up at me with big brown eyes that are strangely dark and even more strangely appealing. “You’ll do.”
Such flattery.
The guard hovering around us snorts. “You sure this is what you want?”
“I’m sure,” she says in that calm, firm voice. Then she smiles, all sweetness as she looks at the guard. “You can’t know how much I appreciate this.”
“Oh, I know,” he says, and holds out his hand.
She nods and pulls out a series of metallic chips—untraceable credits—from a pouch at her waist. A fair amount of them, too. Well now. So she is buying herself a slave. “You sure I’m the right purchase?” I can’t help but tease, wondering if I can get her to smile at me like she smiled at him. “Want to check me over a bit more? Squeeze my biceps?” I flex one arm and lean over a little so she can reach it. “Should I strip? Everything I have to offer’s all covered up.”
“Stripping’s not necessa
ry,” she tells me in a surprisingly crisp voice. “I can see everything I need to see right now.” And she reaches forward and puts her small, human hand on my still-hard cock. “You’re showing everything already.”
I bark with laughter, shocked—and aroused—by her bold touch. “I stand corrected.”
“Hold still,” the guard says to me, and then a shock-bracelet goes around my wrist. I grit my teeth, trying to hide just how much I hate the damn thing. He hands her the small control to it and beams. “Pleasure doing business with you, human.”
“Miss Evans,” she corrects him again, then puts that too-sweet smile on her face again. “Thank you ever so much.” Then, she turns to me. “Come along, my friend.”
I follow, because what else can I do? The bracelet will go off if I wander too far from her side, but at least I’m out of that cell. I’m not entirely sure I’m still going to prison at this point, so this is definitely a step up. I can easily overpower one small human female, given the chance.
I can still make my off world rendezvous with the va Sithai brothers.
I follow the female out to her air-sled. It’s an older one, one that looks like it’s had many repairs. A piece of keffing junk, I’d call it, but it fires up all right and with the right hand, it could probably purr like a kitten. That’s my speciality—fixing up old machines, especially sleds. But I don’t show this. I keep my face neutral as we get into the air-sled and she taps on a button with an unfamiliar word on the screen. The air-sled speeds up and starts on its course, leaving Risda III’s sorry port behind and heading across the open fields and crops that make up most of the land here.
Neither of us says anything. I’m too busy mentally mapping out our location and eyeing the speeder. It shouldn’t be a problem to hotwire. A good override program, then a few tweaks here and there—