by Dixon, Ruby
I growl as I stand in front of the automated door. The barkeep looks at me oddly and then goes back to wiping down the counter. There’s a familiar male at one of the few tables, but he’s not right for her. From what I know of his species, females are not equal. I don’t want anyone taking a single bit of Piper’s freedom away from her. The barkeep will know more, though. Maybe he’ll know someone that fits the bill and is willing to marry a human in a hurry. Even so, I can’t bring myself to go inside and ask. Not yet.
I turn and glance down the winding one-lane street of the port as an air-sled with a loud fan rumbles past. It blocks my view of the general store, but when it finally moves past, I see there’s a big, all-too-familiar form lurking outside the store. A praxiian, judging by the cheek tufts, pointed ears, and the enormous, slightly hunched shoulders. His tail flicks back and forth in a predatory way, and he stares inside at…something.
I know it’s Piper.
My Piper.
I growl again, louder, and even though I’m not close nearby, the praxiian looks up and glances in my direction. He walks away down the street, as if he’s just window-shopping, but I know he was watching her. I absolutely keffing know it and it makes my senses prickle. As I storm toward the store, he walks away, heading into a drone repair shop nearby. I pause in front of the store, cross my arms and glare menacingly, doing my best to look protective and fierce. Didn’t Piper say a praxiian was bothering her?
I glance inside the store. It’s got a few random customers inside, and Piper waits at one end of the counter as the shopkeeper talks to a mesakkah farmer. They both laugh as if sharing a joke, and then the farmer heads out. The shopkeeper looks over at Piper, who’s waiting patiently, and his lip curls. He avoids her and goes over to another customer instead, striking up a conversation.
I bristle. Does everyone on this planet treat her like garbage? It hits me then—she won’t leave because it’s not just this planet. It’s absolutely everywhere in the universe. No one respects humans. They’re playthings. Illegal playthings. I shouldn’t be surprised that he treats her like a stray beast, because in his eyes, she’s nothing. A nuisance.
I glare through the window as the shopkeeper checks in with all his other customers before heading toward Piper. He gives her a dismissive look, and when she speaks, his face is hard and unforgiving. He puts goods on the counter, but he practically slams them down as if he hates serving her.
His attitude goes all over me. I casually head inside, moving closer to where Piper stands near the counter. She gestures at the items she’s purchasing, her face obscured by her hood. “I think this is everything for me. What is my total?”
The shopkeeper doesn’t even glance up. He just packs things into a container. “Three hundred twenty standard credits.”
I look at the small pile of goods as Piper pulls out a credit chip, and I know suddenly that she’s being overcharged. She’s got noodles and a few other kitchen goods. Nothing that should be that expensive. I put my hand over hers before she can hand it over. “You want to tally that again, friend?” I say in a dangerous voice.
“It’s fine,” Piper says quietly.
The shopkeeper glares at me.
“It’s not fine. Tell me what here costs so much?” I prod.
“Special pricing for humans,” he says after a minute. “You understand.”
“I understand.” I take the chip from Piper and slam it down on the counter, then lean forward. “What’s the price if you’re selling to me?”
The male blusters for a moment, then mumbles a much lower price—fifty six credits—and finishes packaging things without a word. Piper’s silent, too, but I’m boiling inside. She’s being overcharged just because she’s human. Does this happen everywhere she goes? And this is where she wants to stay because she’s treated better here than anywhere else? It eats at me. It eats at me even more when I take the package from the shopkeeper and head out of the shop with Piper at my side.
I know that male. I’ve had drinks with him at the tavern. He seemed like a good guy. Now everyone’s suspect.
“You didn’t have to intercede,” Piper says when we get outside. “I know he overcharges me. It’s not worth the hassle.”
“It is to me,” I grumble. I scan the street as we head toward the air-sled to drop off her purchases. Sure enough, I see the praxiian lurking in the distance, still watching closely. Waiting. Is he waiting for me to leave Piper alone? A new kind of angry frustration blisters through me, and I vow that she’s staying glued to my side while we’re here. “Did you know you’re being followed?”
“A praxiian?” she asks, trying to keep her voice light. “Gray fur?”
“You’ve seen him?”
“No. But I know who it is.” She waits patiently by the sled while I fit the package of goods in the trunk. “He’s the one that’s been bothering me.”
I knew it. Somehow, I suspected it but just hearing the words from her, her voice casual, makes me furious. “You need to stay away from him. praxiians are dangerous.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Piper gives me an astonished look and then brushes her hair back from her brow. There, hidden underneath the heavy fringe of hair she always wears over her forehead, are old scars. Large slashes—made by praxiian claws—have marred the perfection of her skin, leaving deep, ugly gashes that disappear into her hairline.
Those came from a blow to the face, I realize suddenly, and it makes me even angrier. “He hit you?”
“Not that one,” she says quietly. “But I’m very familiar with praxiian tempers.” She releases her hair and finger-combs it back into place, hiding the evidence of her past, and then gives me a faint smile. “This is why I need a big, protective husband. Because I know praxiians have bad tempers and they’re not used to taking ‘no’ for an answer. Now, will you help me find one?”
I clench my jaw.
I’m just supposed to keffing help her find a husband? In this nest of criminals and lowlifes? Who think humans are one step above a walking, talking toy? It makes me angry, and the possessive side of me wants to snatch her away and take her home. To drag her into bed and not leave it for days. Weeks, even. These keffing idiots don’t deserve to look at her, much less touch her.
Or marry her.
But what other choice does she have? Piper’s made her situation clear.
5
PIPER
Vordigar’s angry with me.
Actually, I’m not sure if he’s angry with me or with my situation. It’s the same thing. He’s seen how I’m treated in port. He’s seen my praxiian stalker. He doesn’t know that the beast has been to my farm several times in the last month. That he broke my front door once looking for me and it was only because I was visiting Chloe and Jutari that I was spared a rape—or worse. He doesn’t know that I’ve come home to my farm reeking of praxiian piss from him trying to mark his “territory.” Nothing matters because Vordigar’s not staying.
I have to find a new answer, and a new husband.
It’s awful, though. I don’t want anyone else. I want Vordigar and his laughing, teasing face. Vordigar and the protective touch he puts to my back as he steers me through port. Vordigar and the way he treats me—like I’m a person and I matter. I thought I was hardened enough to my situation that I’d be able to pick up and carry on no matter what. That I could find another male to fill the role of my spouse and not be upset.
I am upset, though. I’m just better at hiding it than Vordigar is. I’m running out of choices, and all of them are not as appealing as he is. If only he wasn’t as kind to me, or as attentive, or as protective, this might be easier. Instead, I’m going to have to settle for someone new. Another stranger.
One that probably won’t touch me with kindness.
One that won’t make me smile.
One that, if I’m lucky, won’t abuse me or treat me like I’m less than him.
And I’m going to have a baby with this stranger…because that’s the
best option to keep my freedom.
It’s terrifying, but I’m out of options. My only other choice is to hope that the praxiian decides I’m not worth it and fucks off? That won’t happen. The more I fight against him, the more he wants me. That’s how praxiians are—contrary and stubborn and with a cruel streak a mile wide.
I need Vordigar’s help to find me a new mate. A husband. But I can tell he hates the role. We pass people on the street and he glares at them. We go to the tavern and he won’t introduce me to anyone. A friend of his comes up and starts to talk to him, and Vordigar immediately puts his arm around my shoulders and hauls me against him. When the man leaves, he says that he was all wrong for me. Nothing more.
I’m both loving it and utterly worried. I love his attentiveness and how he hovers over me so protectively, like I’m something delicate and precious that needs shielding. If he was going to be my mate, I’d be giddy with happiness. But he’s leaving…tomorrow. And I need a substitute.
When hanging out at the tavern yields no leads, I quietly suggest going back to the jail. There were three men there a few days ago. Surely one of them will be desperate enough to take me up on my offer, even though I shudder inside at the thought. My suggestion makes Vordigar jump to his feet, though, and we pay our tab and leave the tavern, heading back to the sled.
“We’ll figure something out,” he promises me as my air-sled lifts off, heading back toward my farm. And then he grabs me and pulls me into his lap, hiking up my skirts. I’m panting as I pull at his clothing, freeing his cock and then rocking against it.
“We can’t,” I remind him when he positions me to take him deep. “You’ll get me pregnant.” There’s no plas-film in the sled, no protection, and my fertility shot doesn’t lose its potency for a few more days.
Vordigar lets out a snarl of frustration, then buries his face against my neck. He holds me against him, thrusting against my folds until he comes, and then uses his fingers on me until I come, too. By the time we get back to my homestead, we’re both panting and needy and unfulfilled, and don’t come out of my bed until late that night. I get up for a drink of water while he sleeps, my heart aching. I can’t get my hopes up. I can’t get addicted to his touch. He’s not staying.
It’s while I sip my water that I notice there’s something…off about my doorframe.
I approach my front door, heart pounding, and when I touch the door itself, the old-fashioned deadbolt falls to the floor. I pick it up, and notice there are claw marks all over it. The outside of the door has been scratched with deep, furious gouges as well, as if someone—a praxiian someone—tried to claw his way in. The damage is recent, because I didn’t notice it when I got home…and the rest of the evening I’ve been too occupied by Vordigar to pay attention to anything but him.
That means my praxiian stalker came by tonight. I stare at the lock, and then out at the darkness. He could have come inside. He broke the door open. Instead…he must have heard Vordigar and me in the bedroom. He must have heard what we were doing and left.
My skin prickles and I feel extremely unsafe. I put a hand on the door to close it again, and when I do, my fingers brush against something wet on the outside. It’s a dry night. Uneasy, my throat works as I get a flashlight and shine it on the door.
Long, wet ropes of milky semen are splashed all over my door.
The praxiian broke into my house to get me, and heard me and Vordigar having sex. He didn’t leave. He jerked off against my door.
I should be glad we weren’t hurt but all I can think is…he doesn’t want me dead. This means he wants me alive.
I swallow hard, try to calm myself, and go to get a towel to clean things up. The old scars on my brow hurt. I wet the towel and return to the door, scrubbing the acrid, sticky alien jizz off my door. After this, I’ll have to replace the lock and hope that Vordigar doesn’t notice. It’s not his problem. It’s my problem alone.
Always alone.
I don’t realize I’m crying until I sniff, hard. It’s then I realize my face is wet and my nose is running, and I can’t seem to stop the sobs that threaten to choke out of me.
Most of the time, when life throws shit at me, I can handle it. I’ve handled my abduction and my enslavement. I’ve handled my freedom and the resulting loneliness. I’ve handled my farm even though I knew nothing about farming when I started and no one would help me. I handle—every day—being human in a universe that thinks we’re dogs. But sometimes it gets to me. I know I can handle this. I’ll figure a way out of things.
Right now, though, it feels good to cry.
So I let myself weep as I finish cleaning the door and toss the towel into the laundry. I keep weeping as I grab my tools and work on replacing the lock. I have no idea how it fits on the door, but I’ll figure it out.
I always figure something out.
“Piper?” Vordigar’s sleepy voice makes my skin prickle with awareness. “You coming back to bed?”
I swallow hard, trying to steady my voice as I swipe tears from my face. “Soon.” Please just stay in bed. I don’t want to have to answer questions about this. Please just—
The bedroom door opens wider and I hear Vordigar’s feet on the floor behind me. “What’s going on?”
I get up from the door and slide the lock behind my hand. “Nothing. I’m coming back. I promise.” It’s dark enough that I hope he doesn’t notice my red eyes or my faltering smile.
His gaze pierces right through me, though. He watches me with narrowed eyes and then approaches me, then pulls my hand back and I’m forced to show him the broken lock.
“It’s nothing—”
“Why does it smell like praxiian here?” His nostrils flare and he moves toward the door. Inwardly I wince as he sees the deep furrows and scratches around where the lock used to be. He looks at me in surprise. “He tried to break in?”
I shrug.
Vordigar looks at the lock in his hand, as if he’s just now realizing what I was doing. That I was quietly repairing it in the middle of the night. “You weren’t going to tell me?”
“I didn’t want to burden you with my problems,” I say in a small voice. “It’s fine. I can handle it.”
His jaw clenches. He tosses the lock down and moves to my side. When I try to duck my head, he puts a finger under my chin and gazes at my face, studying my swollen eyes and leaky nose. “It’s fine, is it?”
I pull away from him. “Once I get a new husband, it’ll stop. I just—”
I watch in confusion as Vordigar storms out of the room. Curious, I follow him toward the bedroom and watch from the doorway as he picks up his communicator. I can see it flashing with unread messages, and he dials someone with a grim look on his face. There’s no answer—it’s the middle of the night here—and so he leaves a short, terse message. “I can’t make it. Head on out without me.”
He hangs up before I can protest.
“Vordigar,” I begin, uncomfortable. “I don’t want you to feel pressured to stay. This isn’t your problem.”
“Isn’t my problem?” The big, horned alien looks at me as if I’ve grown another head. “You think I’m going to just walk away when some keffing praxiian is harassing you? When he’s making you feel unsafe? You think I could let that happen to you?” His jaw clenches as I take a step backward. “You don’t belong to him.”
On that, we agree. “I don’t belong to anyone,” I tell him in a shaky voice.
Vordigar just gazes down at me, an intense look in his eyes. “I want you to belong to me.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to say that I want that, too, but I can’t let my hopes get up. I shake my head, but he scoops me up in his arms and hauls me back to the bedroom. He kicks the door shut behind us and carries me to the bed, then gently lays me back. I watch as he moves over me, his big arms caging me underneath him on the mattress, but I don’t feel trapped or frightened. I feel safe.
“What do you mean?” I ask him in the barest of whispers.
&nb
sp; “I mean I’m staying.” His gaze meets mine. “I’m not leaving. I’ll be your husband. I’ll be the father of your kit.”
A knot of emotional hope forms in my throat. “Why?”
Vordigar frowns. “What do you mean, why? I’m staying to protect you. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
It was before I knew him. It was everything I wanted. But now it feels vaguely unfair. “I don’t want you to stay because you feel sorry for me. I don’t want you to feel like I’ve trapped you here.”
He shakes his head, then grabs my hands and brings them to his lips, pressing them to his mouth in the closest approximation to a kiss that he’s given me. “I’m not staying out of a sense of responsibility. Kef me, woman. I do feel responsible, but that’s not why I’m staying. I’m staying because I want to be with you. Because you deserve a home and I want to be the one to give it to you. Because you look at me like I created the stars instead of the nobody station trash that I am.” He rubs his jaw against my fingers, and for a moment, he looks as vulnerable and intensely needy as I feel. “The bounty hunting—it doesn’t feel right. Not after just being picked up by bounty hunters myself. Maybe others out there are just trying to start over. Maybe they’re tired of the price on their heads and just want to farm. Maybe they’ve settled down with a pretty human and want to make babies with her. How can I go and do that when everything I ever wanted is right here?”
I stare at his mouth, hardly able to believe the words. They’re too perfect, too beautiful. “But—”
“No buts, Piper. I haven’t had a good feeling about that job ever since I met you. I realized over the last few days that I don’t want to be a bounty hunter. I don’t want to wander the stars. I just want to be seen. I want to have someone that means something to me. And I want that to be you.”