Sticks and Stones

by Tamsin Ley

  As the darkness of night passed into the gray light of morning, the front door opened and Angie darted out, once more dressed only in panties and tank top. He hardened his skin to keep his erection in check. What was she thinking? Was she trying to make this as painful as possible?

  She headed straight for him, bare feet crushing the golden flowers surrounding him and filling the air with peppery perfume. Her pheromones intermingled with the flowers, musky and earthy, and his mating gland surged to life, filling his mouth and making his teeth ache.

  He unfroze his lips enough to say, “Go away before I do something you regret.”

  She smiled at him and put both hands over his cheeks, eyes sparkling with excitement. “I want to be with you.” Her words slammed into him like a meteor. “I have a plan, but need to get some things in order. I’ll talk to you again after dark.”

  Then she darted away, gone again as fast as she’d arrived, the front door closing solidly behind her. Soon, the loud rumble of Mae’s truck came to a stop at the gate behind him. Angie emerged from the house, pausing only long enough to kiss him before jumping into the truck.

  Mae’s voice floated from the open window. “I half expected you to have eloped last night.”

  As Angie closed the truck’s door, he heard her say, “I need to borrow your truck.”

  They pulled away, making Mae’s response unintelligible. Sten remained frozen in place, lips tingling from Angie’s kiss. The Prime Directive forbade revealing oneself to species with lesser technology, and he’d become known not only to Angie, but to Mae. Yet they were taking his existence remarkably well. Had Earthians progressed enough to allow aliens to live among them? They might not yet be up to par with Khargal technology, but they might be ready for limited interaction. A pang of loss for Graj swept through him. The science officer would have been ecstatic to see the evolutionary changes in Earthian culture.

  The mailman came and left, and the sun rounded its zenith while Sten maintained his watch. He allowed himself small adjustments of his head and eyes, taking note of details that would not register while in his duramna; the red globes of tomatoes hanging from their vines, the upturned faces of yellow sunflowers, the cherished pot of some herb he didn’t know the name of on the corner of the porch. Angie’s horticultural skills would be revered on Duras, where plant life struggled to survive even in the most temperate zones.

  But that was not an option. This was her home. He saw her in every leaf and stem, in the peeling paint and the repaired roof. If he wanted her, he needed to make this his home, too, even if it meant cutting off his horns and tail to live among Earthians. Hopefully, it wouldn’t come to that; he knew of at least two Khargals who owned perception filters that could disguise them to look like Earthians. He would reach out to them and see if they could help.

  Angie returned that afternoon, arms loaded with brown paper bags. She leaned close to him and said, “Fried chicken tonight,” before sashaying into the house.

  Soon the mouth-watering scent of frying meat and spices reached him. He waited impatiently for darkness to conceal his absence, then drew himself up and headed inside.

  Angie was on her hands and knees in the parlor, hands covered in pink rubber gloves and hair pulled back into her usual, messy bun. She looked over her shoulder at his entrance, then sat back on her heels. “The blood is never going to come out of the hardwood floor, let alone the carpet.”

  He took a step forward. “I will assist you.”

  She pulled the gloves off and stood. “We have more important things to do.” She picked up a folded stack of clothing from the base of the stairs and held it out to him. “I didn’t know if gargoyles wear clothes, but I pulled some of Dad’s clothes out of the attic just in case you’d like something to wear.”

  “Thank you.” It had been many centuries since he’d bothered with clothing. His crewman’s uniform, designed to alter itself to accommodate his physical changes, had deteriorated long ago, and he’d found it easier to simply strike a modest pose during his years in his duramna. He retracted his wings and reached for a plaid button-down shirt.

  Angie gasped. “Your wings! How did you do that?”

  He smiled at her, turning to show her the slit along his shoulder blade. He forgot she hadn’t seen him without his wings. “They retract.”

  She stepped closer and ran her fingertips along the slit. A shiver ran through him at her touch. Shaking her head, she said, “Well, this is going to make hiding you a lot easier.”

  “It is still impossible for me to hide this.” He gestured to his face.

  “Oh, I don’t know. The right hat, maybe a pair of sunglasses…” she teased.

  “I do not believe that is possible.”

  “Spoilsport.”

  He sorted through the denim jeans and plaid shirts he’d been accustomed to seeing William wear for so many years. The man had been large, but not as large as Sten. Selecting a pair of jeans, he discovered a hole had already been cut for his tail. He shot a questioning look at Angie, who only grinned and shrugged. “Not like my Dad needs them any more. You might as well be comfortable.”

  “Thank you.” He pulled them on. His ankles and clawed feet stuck out a little too far, but at least he was covered. Angie licked her bottom lip as she regarded him and his cock surged against the denim. His voice thickened as he asked, “Is this acceptable?”

  “Um, yeah.” The glazed look vanished from her face, and she turned away to lead him into the kitchen. The smell of meat and potatoes permeated the air, making his stomach growl. The table had already been set with dishes, so he sat while she brought over several serving platters. “I wanted to show you that I can cook—when I have food around.”

  “It smells delicious.” He picked up a perfectly browned chicken thigh and bit into it, crunching through bone and all.

  Her mouth dropped open in surprise, then she laughed. “Is there anything you won’t eat?”

  He regarded the juicy meat, realizing how very un-human he must appear to her. Not the best way to attract an Earthian mate. He set the meat down. “You said you wished to talk.”

  “I have a plan to get you out of the garden without raising too many questions.”

  He held very still. This wasn’t exactly what he had hoped to hear, but it was a start. “Go on.”

  She grinned. “I’m going to sell you.”

  He stiffened. “Did York approach you again?”

  “No, but he gave me the idea.” She picked up an ear of corn and rubbed butter on it. “I’ll create a fake receipt and borrow Mae’s truck to haul you off. I’ll make sure to drive you through town so everyone sees.”

  He nodded. The plan made sense, and would work whether she wanted him to stay and be her mate or he retreated to the rocky hills. “That is good. Once the town knows I am gone, they will not continue asking questions.”

  “Mrs. Hendricks will pitch a fit, but at least she won’t call the police again, thinking you’re stolen or something.” She set down her cob. “But that’s only half of my plan. I don’t think we can disguise you as a human, not under close scrutiny. But we could change our schedule around so we sleep during the day and spend time together at night. It’s not ideal, but it would let us be together.”

  His throat tightened. He needed to hear her actually say it. “Are you asking me to be your mate?”

  She flushed. “Only if you think you can live that way.”

  Now wasn’t the time to tell her of the perception filter. Now was the time to make her his, now and for always. Every cell in his body surged with anticipation. “I would do anything to be with you.”

  Her smile seemed to light up the room. “Then I think we have some unfinished business.”

  They barely made it to the bedroom before he’d ripped the clothing from her body. Burying his face between her breasts, he inhaled her scent—his Hondassa’s scent—and wrapped both arms around her to clutch her backside. She threaded her fingers into his hair and sighed. His co
ck was painfully hard, trapped against the fly of his jeans. His instinct told him to take her, hard and fast, to claim her as his now, before she changed her mind. But his heart wanted to take this slow. To savor her. To make his claiming a night she would cherish for the rest of her days.

  He lay her back on the bed and slid his pants from his hips, struggling for a moment to free his tail. He got them off to find Angie watching with a hunger that rivaled any Khargal’s. “This taste in my mouth. Salty and sweet. That’s my dassa?” she asked.

  He nodded, allowing her a moment to think about it. She ran her tongue along her front teeth as if savoring the flavor. Then she gestured to him. “Come here. I want to see what you taste like.”

  He stepped closer, and she leaned in to take his shaft into her mouth. The exquisite sensation of her lips enveloping him made him groan. His wings sprouted from his back, flexing to help him balance. His hands found their way to the back of her head, claws extending out of instinct as he encouraged her to take him deeper. Somehow, she opened to him, taking all of him then pulling back, her tongue circling his head before plunging forward once more. He flexed his hips, taking shallow breaths as she drew his erection to an almost painful hardness.

  “Lar, you’re killing me,” he groaned.

  She made a noise with her mouth still on him, the vibration an exquisite sensation. She slid her hands beneath her chin to fondle his balls, coaxing them from their usual place hidden tight against his body. One hand circled the base of his shaft, squeezing in rhythm to her sucking. His climax rose inside him while his dassa flooded his mouth. Suddenly, she sucked hard, and his orgasm surged from him in a wave.

  He may have shouted. He didn’t remember. All he knew was ecstasy.

  Angie pulled away with a satisfied smile, wiping the corners of her mouth while Sten swayed at the edge of the bed, one hand on the corner post for support. His breathing couldn’t catch up. She patted the mattress beside her. “Lie down.”

  Grateful to comply, he retracted his wings and flopped down on his back next to her. She leaned over and kissed him—he was becoming quite fond of this Earthian thing—and his hand found the softness of her breast. Her nipple hardened under his palm, and his cock twitched back to life. “How do you do this to me?” he asked, flipping her onto her back so he could stare down into her face.

  “Must be the Khargal in me.”

  “I’ll show you a Khargal in you.” He thrust one knee between her legs, parting her so he could caress her lower lips. She was swollen and slick with need, and his finger found the sensitive bud between her folds. Working in circles, he flicked the sensitive area until she squirmed. Then he latched his mouth onto a nipple. She cried out, and he rubbed faster over her clit. He kept going as the rolling spasms of her orgasm subsided, then he brought his other knee in line with his first, positioning his cock at her opening.

  She tilted upward, taking the head of his cock inside. He teased her with it, entering partially while he flicked her clit. Her opening tightened and her breath came in tiny, mewling pants. “Please.”

  “I would like to share my dassa.” He knew it wasn’t fair to ask now, when she was on the verge of climax, but he didn’t think he could resist claiming her while giving her what she wanted.

  “Yes, please. Just do it.”

  With a hard thrust, he entered her. Her heat coated him and she screamed in pleasure, bucking upward to meet him. His dassa filled his mouth, coated his teeth. He barely had time to remember a human’s skin was more fragile than his own as he bit down on her shoulder.

  The action seemed to spur her orgasm, her inner walls tightening rhythmically around him and driving him to his own climax. Spent and breathless, he collapsed, rolling to lie beside her, his mind an empty void except for one thing. He turned his gaze to Angie’s flushed and glowing face. “Hondassa.”

  9

  From her spot on the porch, Angie strained her eyes across the dark garden to where Sten was lifting a rock that no man should have the strength to move alone, at least not without causing a hernia. Thunder clouds had rolled in that afternoon, and while no rain had fallen, the air smelled like ozone, and a stiff breeze was kicking across the ground. She was surprised Sten could see without a flashlight. “Be careful, there are daffodils planted around there. Are you sure you don’t need a flashlight? ”

  “I will be cautious.” He scratched at something in the dirt. “Ah, here it is.” He glanced around the dark neighborhood and moved toward the house carrying a dirt-crusted box in both hands. He’d hidden his sigil inside who knew how many ages ago, and he expected it somehow to still work.

  She wrinkled her nose, eyeing the box as he ascended the porch steps. “Burying it may not have been the best idea.”

  “Our sigils are designed to withstand time and elements.” He passed her, entering the house.

  She followed him and closed the door, securing the lock. Ever since the break in, she couldn’t shake the creepy feeling she was being watched. “You have all this technological advancement, so why didn’t you all come with disguise technology when you landed here in the first place?”

  He furrowed his brows. “We did not land, we crashed. And perception filters were reserved for personnel who needed to infiltrate other cultures.”

  “And you think one of the other Khargals will give you theirs?”

  Sten moved toward the kitchen. “I would not ask such a thing. But Felinray created a modified version using Earthian parts. My hope is he can duplicate another one for me.”

  “You said Grandpa Graj had one.” She’d taken to calling her ancestor that as they talked about her history and the other Khargals. The way it rolled off her tongue made her smile, although Sten was not nearly as impressed. “What happened to it?”

  “Destroyed in the fire along with his body.” He set the small chest on her kitchen counter, face grim. “A preferable option to allowing Earthians to possess technology beyond what they have earned the right to wield.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “You hid your sigil under a rock. I don’t think that’s a very sure way to keep it out of human hands.”

  He smiled. “It is more secure than wearing it around your neck.”

  She touched her mother’s pendant at her throat. “So, why didn’t you take this one and hide it, too?”

  “The sigils are linked. I can use one to track the location of another, which has been useful over the generations when your family moved and I needed to follow them.”

  That reminded her of how much she still had to learn from and about him. He broke the box’s seal with a claw, sending a scattering of dirt across the counter, and withdrew a ruby-colored sigil that matched the one she wore around her neck. Her gaze was drawn to the glint of gold in the bottom of the box.

  She sucked in a breath. “Is that real gold?”

  He jiggled the box, and she realized it held more than a handful of coins. “When your great grandfather began mining here, another human attempted to kill him. I was forced to exterminate the man.” He picked up a coin and held it out to her. “These were on his body.”

  The twenty-dollar coin was date stamped 1895. It had to be worth a lot more than twenty dollars now. “That’s been hidden under that rock since the house was built?”

  “Yes. They are not edible. You may have them if you like.”

  “Really?” She grinned. “If I can get my broken window fixed, Mrs. Hendricks might forgive me for selling my statue.”

  Sten pressed a facet on the sigil’s ruby surface, and a hologram appeared above its surface, bathing the kitchen in red light. Alien scribbles scrolled across the surface. “Once I locate their signals, I will place a call to Felinray and Alkor.”

  She leaned against his shoulder as he flipped through several screens. He showed her a few key symbols, explaining what they meant. “These sigils once allowed us to access the ship’s databanks. Now they are little more than communication devices. But if a rescue ship ever arrives, our sigils are the
only means for it to contact us.” Sten tapped a few emblems and another screen appeared with several dots on what looked like a map. He spent a few minutes interacting with the screen, then spoke into the sigil in a guttural yet sibilant language. When he put the sigil down, his face was solemn. “My signal doesn’t have the same urgency as one from a ship. If they are in duramna, they will not answer right away. Perhaps for decades.”

  Angie felt her shoulders slump. “Decades?”

  “It is not so long.” He stroked her hair. “Remember, as my Hondassa, you are likely to live longer than a normal human.”

  She sighed, picking up the red gem. Even with an extended lifespan, decades felt like forever. “Should we make it into a necklace like mine? So you can keep it close?”

  He smiled at her and shook his head. “Much as I like keeping it close, it would be unwise of me to wear this in the open. I must hide it once more.”

  “But what if someone calls back?”

  He tapped his temple. “I will receive an alert.”

  “Huh. You’ve got mail, alien style. Okay. We need to hide it and the gold, too, at least until I can get the coins appraised and sell them.” She grinned at him. “My four-poster bed has a hollow post where I used to hide my allowance.”

  She led him upstairs and unscrewed the upper half of the bed post. She dropped the coins inside, and he placed the sigil on top. As she aligned the post back into position, he said, “This is an excellent location.”

  How many times had she squirreled things away there as a child? “I found this hiding spot when I was jumping on my bed and thought I’d broken it. I was sure I was going to get in so much trouble. But then I found a rolled-up dollar inside and asked my dad about it. He laughed so hard. He’d found it the same way as a kid.”

  Sten nodded. “I see why you love your items. Each thing has history for you.”

  She grinned, loving that he understood. Mae sometimes gave her a hard time for not throwing things out. A yawn gripped her, and she glanced at her bedside clock. “I’m going to be useless at work again tomorrow.”