Alien's Beauty (Galactic Fairytales Book 1)

by V. K. Ludwig

He made his way across the engine room without so much as acknowledging her existence as her face pressed against hard muscle.

  Her stomach clenched.

  Of course he wouldn’t.

  This was nothing but another move in a game she didn’t understand, played by those who did — she was just the game piece. Push. Pull. Place her here. Put her there. Smile.

  Tears burned behind her eyes and, at the very next blink, mixed with the fine layer of sweat covering the prince’s back. She wanted to wail and sob and rub her snotty nose against his spine, but that wouldn’t get her out of this mess.

  If anything, it might piss him off, and she needed to establish a good rapport with him for when he found out that she was fucking worthless. Her stomach hardened further, until a cramp rippled through her guts. Perhaps he would kill her then. Unless she found a way to get him what he wanted…

  Ada took a deep breath, frames of her training flicking through her mind. Resistance might result in harm. Escape attempts might bring down harsh retaliation. All she could do was stay calm and cooperate.

  She swallowed, hard. “Am I your captive now?”

  “No, heiress,” he replied with a scoff. “You will be my guest.”

  Two

  Kerien tightened his grip around the woman’s legs, bracing for futile kicks against his chest, or her laughable excuse for claws scratching along his back once more. Why did she offer neither?

  Flared nostrils confirmed she reeked of fear, and yet the heiress remained unmoving where he’d hoped she would provoke him to do his worst. He needed to do his worst. Damned be honor and the way the scent of her terror roused the protector in him.

  Sharp claws digging into his empty palm, the idea of dragging them over her delicate human skin was tempting. Draw enough blood to show the heiress and her deceitful kind that his threats held substance. He needed her voice frail, her body shaking, and her nose dripping with snot — by Drana, he would make it so.

  He jutted his chin toward port. “Have Aura Station deploy another battle cruiser in case they’re planning an ambush.”

  Thuran, his juketar, his advisor, wiped a blood-streaked hand over his sweaty forehead. “Yes, my Varac.”

  Kerien had only lost two warriors when his army seized temporary control over the luxury cruiser. Two too many, but he would take a quick escape over the joy of slaughtering more human and Klaxian scum.

  He made his way across the engine room with not as much as a shift of the heiress’ weight tugging on his balance. “She fainted, didn’t she?”

  Thuran let himself fall behind by a step, then caught up again only to shake his head. “Eyes wide open, scanning the area.”

  A knot formed from his guts.

  Why didn’t she struggle?

  Why didn’t she scream?

  Dress ripped high enough her female scent wafted around Kerien — too intense for his liking — her breasts expanded against his chest at each inhale, warm, and full, and too even in pacing.

  “She’s probably in shock.”

  Yes, that had to be it.

  Cargo bay was empty indeed. Not a single soul wandering about. Nobody cowered, hid, or begged for their life. Nobody came to claim the heiress, either.

  “This is way too easy,” he mumbled to himself, but Thuran confirmed as much with an uneasy glance around the vessel. “We have to get back to Aura Station and disappear into the nebulae before the UFG changes its mind and sends in heavy weaponry.”

  Kerien jumped into the vessel alongside his warriors. Eight of them carried the bodies of their fallen brothers, so that they may be reunited with their ancestors at the bottom of Yelkut mountain, if the goddess ever willed it.

  The fusion panels vibrated underneath the thinning soles of his leather boots, and Kerien steadied himself on one of the overhead handles as they lifted off and away. He tossed the heiress up to shift her balance, and did so roughly, but she offered no reaction beyond a small gasp.

  “She’s filthy,” he announced, bringing cunning smirks to the lips of his warriors. “Have them prepare clean water so she may bathe.”

  “My Varac,” Thuran urged, “Activating stealth and drawing water from the nebulae at the same time —”

  “The core will not fail,” Kerien cut him off with narrowed eyes, inviting no further objections. The core would not abandon them. Not yet. Not when the salvation to their suffering rested on his shoulder. “Drana is smiling upon us. She will see to the core and guide us through this in her wisdom.”

  His juketar offered a grunt at first but was wise enough to follow it up with a curt nod. “Yes, my Varac.”

  Thuran kneeled beside one of the dead warriors, tracing the sign of the afterworld in intertwined circles over the blood-drained face. “May Drana make your spirit become one with the soils of Xaleon, so you may nourish those who stay behind.”

  The words clenched Kerien’s stomach. A soil his feet hadn’t touched in almost a decade. A soil those dead warriors might never find rest underneath.

  Throughout the flight back to their mothership, Kerien found silence where he had planned for shouts. Sensed motionless curves pressed against him where he had prepared for fight. Perhaps he had overestimated this female?

  “See to the proper burning of the bodies.” The moment their vessel navigated into the airlock, he opened the ramp and jumped into the access tunnel. “If their mates are with child, they will receive the warrior’s rations until birth. Have my officers assemble on the bridge in half an hour.”

  Strong steps powered by determination carried him through narrow hallways, the vines growing along the bolts and metal rafters dry and brittle. But not for much longer. Aura Station would bloom as it once had, and the heiress would be the one to water the roots with her tears.

  The guards, positioned on each side of the massive double doors leading to his old private chamber, dipped their heads at his approach. “Varac.”

  One of them pushed the doors open, only to close them behind him with a rusty squeak as soon as he’d entered.

  He lowered the heiress off his shoulder with more care than he’d intended, coldness clasping his skin where her small body had warmed him. The moment he draped her over his arms, green eyes locked with his, with Drana, the goddess, sitting at their saturated depths.

  Kerien’s chest tightened. How could she have created something so stunning on the outside, only to stuff it full of deception, dishonor, and disloyalty?

  Curious pupils darted over his features, her painted lips parting enough he smelled the sweetness of wine on her breath. The longer she scanned him, took him all in, the more the scent of her fear diluted with the staleness of the chamber.

  That couldn’t happen.

  “What kind of trickery is this?” He tossed her onto the furs lining the bed with enough roughness they puffed out a billow of dust. “Why didn’t you scream for help?”

  The heiress sat up, pressing half-naked thighs shut while holding his gaze. “The other warrior said the cargo bay was clear, so what would have been the point?”

  What a reasonable observation.

  Too reasonable for a hostage he needed at the brink of panic so negotiations would swing in his favor. He’d ripped her out of hiding. He’d stolen her away to his ship. He could have put her in the armchair in the corner but had instead tossed her on a bed. Just what did it take to make this woman tremble?

  Manicured fingertips scouted for the edge of a fur, which they slowly draped over her thighs in a poor attempt at covering her panties. “What do you want from me, Varac?”

  The woman’s question came in perfect Auran and appropriate address, the lack of an accent roiling Kerien’s guts. Over-educated, over-entitled, and so utterly undeserving of the privileged life she lived.

  “I ask the questions.” With a grunt, he dug his fingers into the fur stiff from lack of use, and ripped it off her lap, flinging it against the gold-plated wall with a slap. “How many tons of mineral did Osacore mine in the past two Ea
rth years?”

  She sucked in a sharp breath, hands frantically searching for another fur to cover herself. “I don’t know.”

  “Lie!” He ripped that fur from her as well, relishing the way her next breath caught in her throat. “Your father struck a deal with the Klaxian senator, granting his kind access to ten percent of the mined osanium. Are they conspiring to attack this ship?”

  “W-what?” Full lips finally trembled, and the heiress pressed her elbows tightly against her body, her spine rounding. “I’m sorry but… I don’t know anything about an attack. Or a deal. I’ve got nothing to do with that. I swear I’m innocent.”

  “Innocent?” As if her beauty didn’t betray her guilt. “You might never have slaughtered an Aurani child, heiress, but your hands are tinted with their blood through the sins of your father.”

  Something dark came over her features. “I have nothing to do with Osacore!”

  The blood turned heated inside Kerien’s veins. How dare she snarl at him like that? Telling him tales of her innocence, her ignorance? Nothing but lies and deceit, coursing through her veins, nourishing her corrupted soul, powering that inherited greed of humankind.

  He punched his fists into the furs and leaned in close enough he took in a whiff of fresh fear. “Your father might have deceived mine, but you will not make a fool of me.”

  “I’m not trying to fool anybody,” she whimpered, her voice cracking like the brittle hide underneath his knuckles. “I just… just… I’m sorry but I know nothing about that stuff.” A swallow visibly trailed down her throat as if she was about to choke on her own lies. “Do you want money?”

  “Money,” he scoffed, his pulse pounding harder and harder with each shift of balance toward her, his knees slowly creeping up on her. “What I want cannot be bought because it rightfully belongs to me already, but human indulgence stole it from me.”

  The more her warmth drew him in, the more her eyes glistened. Her teeth clattered, and her next exhale came like chopped, little puffs. She gave one final attempt at pulling a fur over her legs, head tilted, neck exposed as if to feign submission.

  Where Kerien’s skin was thick and with a grayish tint, hers was thin and pale enough he could trace every blood vessel along her neck back to their arteries.

  Fur bunched in his fist, he slowly pulled it away from her, exposing legs he could have forced apart with one claw. And while humans called his kind beasts, and rightfully so, he wasn’t that kind of beast.

  “How much osanium did you mine in the last two years?”

  Tremors ransacked her body with such force, the vibrations coming off her tingled every cell of his body. She clenched her eyes shut, and big, beautiful tears rolled down her oil-smudged cheeks. One tear. Two. Three!

  A satisfied smirk came over lips scarred by her father’s betrayal, tugging higher the lower her tears wandered.

  Defeated, she released the dry edge of the fur from her fingers. “Please, don’t…”

  “It’s terrible, isn’t it?” He trailed the back of his claw over her leg, skin that would be soft against the pad of his fingers but rip the moment he accidentally grazed her with the tip of his claw. “To be left so vulnerable, so… exposed. I know the feeling well. How much? How much did you mine? How much did you allow my planet to replenish?”

  “Your planet?” Eyes the color of rain-sprinkled leaves locked with his, narrowing around the edges before frowns formed between them. “I don’t know.”

  A tick drummed above his temple, and blood rushed upward into his horns. “Liar!”

  She jerked at his shout and let out a scream, silver heels kicking frantically, wiggling her away from him. Reaching for the edge of the mattress, she rolled herself off the bed and hit the ground with a thump.

  The moment she scrambled to her feet, Kerien jumped up and darted toward her. Stiff fingers wrapped around her arm. One hard tug, and she clashed against his chest.

  She screamed.

  A high-pitched wail curling the toes in Kerien’s worn-out boots.

  Traces of iron crept into his nostrils.

  Coldness struck him at the core.

  Blood.

  It trailed down her arm in small rivulets, welling from three puncture wounds, coloring the tips of his claws crimson. He’d dug them into her flesh.

  Kerien released her arm and pulled back his hand as if on instinct, his legs going distressingly weak underneath him. He’d wanted her scared, not injured. Should he care?

  He pressed a palm against his sternum, his chest going tight at that battle raging underneath ribs. A good Varac would dig his claws deeper. A decent male would lick her wound and ease her distress. It bothered him that he suddenly wanted to do the latter.

  The ground shook.

  Another scream.

  Kerien’s chest tightened further. The core!

  Overloaded with stealth mode, drawing water, and sustaining a steady oxygen supply, Aura Station threatened another shutdown.

  The heiress pressed her arm against her chest, wide eyes darting around the chamber while the walls trembled. Underneath them, tiles cracked and chipped.

  The heiress swayed, legs buckling underneath her. In one swift move, Kerien caught her in his arms and waited until the ship calmed.

  “Only the vessel entering the nebulae,” he lied, cursing himself for how he held her against him. He should let her tumble.

  While there was no need to see her injured — for now —, this protectiveness over her was as unexpected as it was inappropriate. He’d better cramp it back into whatever dark recess it had come from.

  Kerien lowered her back to the ground and took a step away. “Trying to run is futile.”

  She eyed him warily, surveyed him, and for reasons he couldn’t explain, Kerien found himself stand taller. “Do you always treat your guests like this?”

  Hand wrapped around the wound, she pressed her arm against her chest where blood soon stained the fabric.

  His stomach turned at the sight. Why had he reacted so strongly to something so inconsequential? Those three small puncture marks would hardly cause her to bleed to death. She shouldn’t have run. Simple as that.

  “I only said you would be my guest,” he grunted and turned toward the door, desperate to get away from this woman before he did something stupid. Like lapping up her blood. “Not once did I make promises about my qualities as a host. You will remain in here. Bathe. Dress. I will send for you later.”

  Three

  Ada sat on the cold stone floor and stared at the puncture marks, three circles in a row with the one in the middle slightly offset. The gaping holes seared, but the blood glistening within already clotted to a darker shade of red.

  With each breath, her pulse slowly calmed.

  Somehow, she’d only made this worse.

  Green eyes burned. Not from lack of moisture, but because she’d forgotten to blink. No matter how she tried to remain calm and cooperative, that Varac was having none of it, almost as if he got more pissed with each of her apologies. And what did she have to apologize for anyway?

  She squeezed her eyes shut, wiping them over her exposed shoulders until the room around her came into clear perception.

  Gray linens decorated the gold-plated walls, hanging from elaborately carved frames which must have covered portraits or works of art. Each calming breath contained nothing but depleted air, the dust floating through the dim room tickling her nose.

  The door screeched open, and Ada’s heart gave another whomp against her ribcage. If that was this beast of a prince again, she would crawl underneath the bed. But it wasn’t.

  Instead, an Aurani girl entered the room, barely older than eight from the looks of it. When the door closed behind her, she stopped and bowed slightly. “My name is Vohri. Our Varac sent me to wash you.”

  “Oh, um…” Ada stood up straight. What was she supposed to do with this girl? “I can wash myself if you show me where.”

  Vohri’s gaze dropped and her head right
along with it, revealing a set of horns barely bigger than nubs hiding underneath auburn hair. “Many ureshi fought to wash you. I only won because I promised I would share my first meal rations with them for an entire moon cycle.”

  Silence stretched between them, and Ada’s heart sunk with each droop of Vohri’s shoulders. This girl might have been Aurani, but she was as guilty in her kidnapping as Ada was in the Varac’s baseless accusations. And about one thing he’d been right: she was filthy.

  Ada gazed around the room until her pupils caught on a round tub sitting in the corner, standing on elaborately tooled legs, though a thick layer of dust hid most of their beauty.

  “How about you help me out where I can’t reach?” Ada pointed toward the tub, her chest becoming lighter the moment the girl smiled, her fangs not nearly as sharp as the one of the Varac. “Over there, right?”

  “Uh-huh.” Dirty, naked feet flap-flap-flapped over the stone and toward the tub, where she pounded her fist against one of the golden panels. “Our Varac requested fresh, clean water for you. Not the green stuff that stinks like flutefly droppings. Eew!”

  She squeezed her nose between her fingers and scrunched up her face, extending a faucet from a compartment which had hidden behind the drop-panel. “What do they call you, human?”

  Ada hesitated for a moment, then fumbled for the zipper on her dress and slipped out of what was left of it. This wasn’t the time for modesty. “Ada.”

  “Ada,” Vohri repeated with a giggle, letting her thin claw splash through the stream of water filling the tub. “Our Varac says humans are ugly, but I think you’re beautiful.” The girl lifted a brow as if assessing her once more, but quickly nodded her approval. “You don’t have horns for your hair to catch on. One time, my aunt’s hair got all tangled up around her horn because it’s, like, twirly, and father had to cut it.”

  Ada gave a playful frown. “He had to cut the horn?”

  “No! The hair,” Vohri said with a laugh that brightened the room before she lifted both arms over her head, tapping fingers against her own nubs. “Father says ureshi horns don’t grow very big. Imiel doesn’t have any horns at all, and she is almost old enough to choose a mate.”