by Viki Storm
“Did you find a necklace around here?” Orlon says.
The alien looks up from his plate. He’s eating a haunch of meat, but where I would expect one leg bone to be sticking up, there are three. He smiles at Orlon, large meat fibers sticking between his yellow teeth. “You mean this one?” he taunts.
He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out my locket.
But instead of feeling relief, my dread multiplies. He is not graciously offering my locket back to me. He’s inviting a fight. He’s daring Orlon to take it back.
I know Orlon isn’t one to refuse a dare. I know that he’ll get my locket back… but I dread the fight that is guaranteed to ensue.
The barkeeper is watching now, one hand on the bartop but the other one reaching underneath—probably reaching for a weapon.
“It’s fine,” I tell Orlon. “Let’s go.” I want my damned locket, but not if it’s going to cost Orlon’s blood.
“It is not fine,” Orlon says. His eyes are still locked on the alien’s. “That chain belongs around your neck, not wrapped around this lowly lifeform’s greasy claws. I’ll give him one chance to hand it back to its rightful owner. What do you say?” Orlon puts his hand out, waiting for the alien to deposit the necklace into his outstretched palm.
“Okay,” the alien says. The alien leans forward and for a split-second, I think I was wrong, he will just hand it over. He might try to demand a reward payment, but he’s going to give it up.
Then he spits into Orlon’s hand, a wad of brown phlegm flecked with bits of chewed food.
“I gave you a chance,” Orlon says more calmly than I would have expected. “So you don’t have anyone to blame but yourself.”
Without even bothering to take the time to wipe his hand, Orlon reaches out and takes the alien by the neck and pulls him out of his chair. He’s gasping and trying to kick his legs, but the pain is too much, and he only gives a few weak twitches, like a dying insect.
“Suse,” Orlon says. “Go ahead and reclaim your property.” I want to get the hell out of here, so I bend down and pick up my locket.
The knot of tension in my stomach loosens as I feel the familiar weight of the locket in my hand. Orlon is still holding the alien by the neck, effortlessly pinning him to the floor. “That’s yours?” he asks me.
“Yes,” I say. I would recognize it anywhere. I slide my thumbnail into the seam to pop the latch. The two pictures of my parents, the only two left in existence, are inside, and I want to see them.
I open the locket up and it’s empty, the two little frames blank.
“No,” I quickly correct.
“That’s not it?” Orlon asks, confused.
“I mean, it is the locket,” I say. “But the pictures inside are gone.”
“Where are the lady’s pictures?” Orlon asks the alien. Suddenly, I’ve been upgraded from human and female to lady. I’ll take it.
“Up your ass,” the alien chokes. Orlon really puts the lean on it, and the alien lets out a high-pitched squeal and then goes silent.
“Don’t kill him,” I say. Two old photographs aren’t worth someone’s life, even if he is a jerk.
“I’m not going to kill him,” Orlon says, “I’m just going to hurt him.” He lets up the pressure, and the alien takes in a fervent breath of air. “Where are the pictures?” Orlon asks again.
“Waste can,” he says and jerks his hand in the direction of the waste bin near the radiant heat element. “Where pictures of human scum like that belong.”
Orlon is crouched down, holding the alien to the ground by the neck, but he manages to cock his arm and give the bastard a good slug in the nose. Purple fluid trickles out.
I go to the can, and right on top are the pictures, little ovals cut out to the size of the locket’s frame, my mother and me in one picture. My father astride a horse in the other. Both of them younger, carefree, unaware of the looming specter of tragedy that would strike in only a short time, destroying our family.
“They there?” Orlon asks.
“Yes,” I say. I’m lucky; the pictures are undamaged. I try not to think about how they were in the waste basket and with a more fastidious barkeep, they might have been lost.
I’m overwhelmed by all of this, thinking of how close I was to losing my locket. It’s literally the only personal possession that I have. Most of my things we left on our home planet after my father decided to join the Three-Star Rebels, then I had to keep everything I owned in a small traveling trunk. But during my time with the Rulmek and Trogii, I didn’t even have that. Just the filthy clothes on my back and this locket.
And this asshole was going to throw away the pictures of my parents and then what? Sell the locket second-hand for, what, eight or ten coin? The monetary value of this is practically worthless.
“Then take your whimpering bitch away from me,” he says. “You’re ruining my appetite.”
Orlon is cocking his arm again for another punch, but before he can strike, I take two quick steps and plant my boot into the alien’s stomach. He tries to grunt, but Orlon’s hand around his neck muffles the noise.
“Let’s go,” Orlon says. He’s trying to maintain a scowl, but I can tell that he’s amused at my kicking the alien.
“Gladly,” I say.
We leave the tavern, and I’ve never needed a bracing, cold wind more in my life. Now that it’s over, I realize how hot and sweaty I am.
Once we’re far enough down the street, I stop to get my bearings. The spent adrenaline has left my limbs shaky and untrustworthy.
I take the pictures and try to slide them into the locket’s inner frames, but my hands are trembling.
“Here,” Orlon says. He takes the pictures and the locket from my hands. I let him. It doesn’t go unnoticed that this is the first time I’ve let someone handle my locket before, let alone look at the inner photographs.
He slides the first picture in effortlessly but pauses before inserting the second one. “What’s this?” he asks. On the backside of my mother’s photo is a number.
“I don’t know,” I say. “I never took the pictures out. I’ve never seen that before. Let me look.” He hands it to me, and it’s an eight-digit number, handwritten in what could be my father’s handwriting, but I can’t be sure.
“Probably a comm IP address,” I say. “We can try to contact it when we get back to the room.”
“Maybe later,” Orlon says. “Because right now, there’s only one thing that we’re going to do when we get to the room. And it doesn’t involve a comm-panel.”
I feel my mouth go dry, that now-familiar (and not unwelcome) wave of gooseflesh rippling through my body that doesn’t have anything to do with the cold weather. “What does it involve?” I ask.
“Just the bed,” he says. “And I might not even make it to the bed.”
My hand throbs the entire walk back to our room. It’s been a while since I’ve been in hand-to-hand combat. And here I am, throwing wild punches in an ice planet tavern, no regard for proper fighting technique. Then again, I’m not surprised. I’ve lost my warrior instincts, my battle savvy. Suse has made me forget all that, made me single-minded in my focus. All I could think about was easing her worry, being the one to solve her problem, seeing the look of happiness light up her eyes when she slipped the necklace over her head.
But it’s worth it.
I do not need to be a warrior, but her warrior.
Back in our room, there is a red light blinking in the corner of my comm-panel. A message, probably from Vano or the High King Xalax himself, wondering where in the unholy Void I’ve been. I don’t know how I’m going to explain myself; the only hope I have is that Vano and Xalax will understand the duty I have to my mate. The compulsion I have to keep her safe and out of harm’s way. The absolute physical incapability of bringing her to Lekyo Prime when I know that battle will soon be raging all over that planet.
“Oh my God,” Suse says. My battle instincts flare; I scan the room, looking for t
he threat, ready to neutralize it and keep her safe.
But I see nothing. Moreover, I sense nothing.
“What is it?” I ask. “Is someone here?”
“No,” she says, almost indignantly. “Your hand!” I look down at my throbbing right fist and see what she’s talking about. There’s a thick runner of blood dripping onto the floor—not a few drops but a steady trickling flow. I must have nicked a vein on that bastard’s tooth when I punched him.
“That’s fine,” I say. “I have the derma-spray.”
“That’s going to need a little more than derma-spray,” she says. Her hands are cool as they slip around my wrist. It’s electrifying. Maddening.
Damn my hand, I want to throw her on the bed and stake my claim. Coat her tight inner walls with my thick seed so every male within a hundred kilometers will be able to smell me on her and know that she belongs to me.
She leads me to the bed, and I feel that electric surge again, but this time it’s pinpointed right in my cock. I stiffen when she sits on the edge of the bed and pulls me down so I’m sitting next to her. Our legs touch and every single atom in every single molecule of my body is seeking out every atom in hers.
They want to bond. Ionic, covalent—actual, physical bonding. My valence electrons want to pair with her valence electrons to create a more stable element. One that will last forever.
Her hand on my chest. Pushing me down, and I surrender to this tiny human female. Her will be done. I am powerless to resist. Whatever her wish, it’s my command.
I realize that my eyes are shut, that for all my training with my anankah, every hour I spend in the training yard trading blows, the kilometers I marched in battle formation, it’s all been erased in a heartbeat by a puny human slave.
“Zalaryn conqueror I am not,” I say. “Not right now.”
“No?” she asks. She swings one leg over my waist, straddling me. I can feel the warmth of her sex as she presses it against me, her legs squeezing my sides. My cock is rock hard, and it presses between her legs. Despite our clothing, she must feel it. I push my hips upwards and—Void take me—she grinds against it. I smell her essence as it drips out from between her legs. It’s a waste, soaking into her panties when it should be smeared all over my mouth.
“Not at all,” I say. “You’re the victor. And your prize is my heart.” She’s so close to me, her chest against mine, my lips a hair’s breadth away from hers as I speak the words.
“Then I’d better take care of it,” she whispers, and this time our lips do touch for a split second. Hers are soft and inviting and I lean forward for the kiss that’s rightfully mine, but she pulls backwards, sitting up again. “And make sure that you don’t bleed out all over the place. Hearts need something to pump, don’t they? That’s how Zalaryn biology works, right? Now hold still for the damned derma-spray.”
“You’re cruel,” I say. “You wiggle your little pussy against my cock and talk of derma-spray?”
“I wiggle nothing,” she says, but her face goes an adorable shade of pink as the arousal and embarrassment color her cheeks.
She takes my hand in hers and turns it this way and that, looking for debris. “Spray it and be done, female,” I growl. I am not going to be able to wait much longer if she continues to straddle me like this. I will push down my breeches, rip her pants apart at the seams, lower her onto my shaft and finally exchange genetic material with my mate—finally bond with her and melt our spirits into one.
“You could probably use that light thing, what was it? The ultraviolet thing? That sleazy creep’s mouth was probably crawling with more bacteria than The Blade at the Corva coil factory.”
“I need no such precautions,” I say. “Spray the wound and be prepared to finish what you’ve started.” I push my hips up again, feeling her receptive warmth as she writhes back, swaying her hips back and forward, getting into a pleasurable rhythm as she rubs herself against me. “It feels good to rub yourself, doesn’t it?” I ask. “It will feel even better after I strip you nude and your slippery cunt is gliding over my hard cock. I’m going to make you come all over it before I put it inside you.” I feel my chest flush with heat, and I don’t need to look down to know it’s purple, the physical sign Zalaryn males display when they are ready to properly claim their mates.
She moans, and the canister of derma-spray falls from her fingers and makes a terrible sound as it clanks on the floor.
The bleeding from my hand has stopped, and I reach for her waist, gripping her hips like they were made out of a reverse-mold of my hands. I slide them up her waist, inside her shirt and tear off that foolish muslin wrapping she uses to bind her breasts. Then, I tear off her shirt, not having the patience to slip it over her shoulders. She lets out a surprised little gasp, but if she’s startled by that, then she’s got a lot more in store.
Her breasts bounce free as I pull the tattered remnants of her shirt away; they are full and heavy, and I pull her close to me so I can take one into my mouth. My tongue swirls around her nipple, changing it from a soft pink dot to a wrinkled knot between my lips. I pull on it, sucking it into my mouth, swiping my tongue across its surface. Suse throws her head back and moans, a high-pitched cry of delight and yearning that lights the fire in my own loins. That’s a sound I want—that I need—to hear over and over again.
I take the other breast into my mouth, but this nipple is already hard and awaiting my attention. I do not disappoint her, as she’s soon pushing her hips against me, one hand frantically fumbling with the buttons on her trousers. I take her tight in my arms and roll us over, propping myself up on one elbow while I flick the button loose and pull down her pants. She lifts her hips, allowing me to slide her panties off as well.
The energy is building inside me, the sense of urgency at a fever pitch—but I stop cold for a moment and admire her nude body. She’s smooth and pale, too thin from her captivity, but the most beautiful and desirous thing I’ve ever laid eyes on. And her scent is invading my nostrils—invading my brain. The sensory pads on my tongue are firing nonstop as I breathe in the air around her. But it’s not enough. I need more.
I slide down until I’m at the patch of hair between her legs. I slide my uninjured hand between her thighs, unbelieving at how soft her skin is. I part her legs and she unfolds her sex, presenting her pink, wet lips for me. She is swollen with desire; her pleasure appendage is sticking out like it needs some attention. I take a long, slow lick from her entrance, where I savor her fluids on my tongue, to her clit, and she gasps and bucks her hips in response. I take it into my mouth slowly, giving her long strokes with my tongue. I can sense that her pleasure is already starting to peak. Her heart is racing and her blood vessels are dilating.
“Are you going to come on my mouth?” I ask her.
“I think so,” she says.
“Good,” I say. “Come on my mouth, and then get ready to come on my cock. If you’re good and do what I say, then I’ll put it inside you.”
But she’s not listening; my little human is pushing her sex against my face, eager for more. I lick her faster, and it doesn’t take long before she explodes, pushing her hips and riding my face with every wave of pleasure that wracks her body. Her cries send another urgent bolt of heat to my cock, and I need to release myself into her soon or waste my seed inside my breeches like a novice lad.
“Are you ready?” I ask her as I take down my breeches and position myself between her legs.
“I’ve never…” she says. She’s shy all of a sudden, her eyes downcast, as if I wasn’t just eating her cunt while she screamed her orgasm so loud the other occupants of the building could hear.
“I know that you are a virgin,” I say. “I couldn’t sense another male’s genetic material on you.”
“I’m not sure if…” she says. “I mean…”
“It’s okay,” I say. I fist my cock and press it lightly against her entrance. “We can wait for that if you need to. But we must exchange genetic material. You’re m
y proper mate, and I cannot forestall the bonding process. It is our fate.”
I start to pump my cock, rubbing my tip against her clit. She arches her back and pushes back against me. “That feels good,” she says. She lifts herself up on her elbows and looks down. “But I think it’s too big.”
“Then just relax and come on my cock like you promised.” She’s so damned wet; my cock glides up and down against her hard little clit. I want to sink it into her all the way, knowing how hot and tight she’ll be, but I can sense her hesitation. Our first coitus will be completely unreserved, with her begging me for it—and that is not going to happen today.
I stroke myself as I rub against her clit, and the warm, slippery sensation is too much for the both of us. Suse starts to pant more heavily, her little gasps and moans getting more and more high pitched. I recognize the noises as the sign of her impending orgasm. “Be good and come for me,” I say. “You’re so fucking sexy right now with my cock between your legs, sliding up and down over your hard little clit.”
She screams out, jerking her hips and going rigid as she’s overtaken by another orgasm. Her essence floods out, coating my cock, and I feel my own orgasm speeding towards me. I press my tip against her opening, pressing but not pushing it into her just yet. I release my seed into her opening, not deeply coating her walls as I’d wished, but still giving her my genetic material.
And with that carnal act, I have claimed my mate.
She’s mine now, marked with my seed.
I collapse next to her on the bed. She puts her head on my chest and slides next to me, our bodies bare and touching, legs intertwined. And I feel it—the bonding. The molecular changes happening, prompted by the exchange of genetic material. The physical act of bonding causing our souls to merge irrevocably.
“We are mated,” I tell her. I know humans are not attuned to the bonding process, but I hope that this act will have made her more aware of the newly forged bond.