by Webster, K
One of them is leaned back in a chair with long hair tied up with a strip of cloth. There’s a devil-may-care glint to his gaze, even from all the way across the room. He reminds me of a cowboy I saw in a film once. He wiggles his eyebrows at me when he notices me staring.
“I could keep you company if you’re lonely,” he says, grinning and baring his double fangs.
The one beside him elbows him. “Leave her alone, Theron. You’re scaring her.”
“Maybe your ugly nog is scaring her, Hadrian,” Theron charges back, elbowing him.
Not wanting to let them think I can be so easily intimidated, I keep my expression carefully schooled as though seeing them doesn’t faze me in the slightest.
Next to the bickering boys, another alien has a tray of mangled metal he’s studying intently. He’s the only one of the group who hasn’t noticed me. His long hair is slightly unkempt and he’s got streaks of what I can only imagine to be grease along his high arching cheekbones. Despite the rising chatter from his companions, his attention is solely on the gadget in his hands. I’m drawn the most to him as I can relate to his laser-focus on his work. I’m the same way when I’m in the thick of an experiment. Sometimes the only thing that matters is getting the desired results.
“Oz. Oz. Ozzzz,” Hadrian barks out. “You gonna eat that?”
Oz absently pushes his plate toward Theron and Hadrian, all the while never looking up.
As I wonder what he’s working on, my train of thought shifts from the tinkerer to Avrell—the scientist who I hold most at fault for what’s happened to me. Had he been the same way? Had his desperation for his experiment to be a success combined with his need to help save his people caused him to forget I was a person instead of just a subject? There’s a certain amount of objectivity you have to have when your test subjects aren’t inanimate objects. I, more than anyone, should know that.
“Haven’t you figured out how to grow anything that don’t taste like rogshite?” Hadrian taunts the guy at the end.
He’s tense and thrumming with anger that he barely keeps a lid on. The two loudmouths—Hadrian and Theron—laugh good-naturedly while the angry one vibrates with fury.
“When’s the last time you killed us fresh meat?” Oz says absently, never looking up but directing his comment to Hadrian. “Oh, that’s right, you’re too busy pining over the females you can’t have.”
Theron snorts, slapping the table. The one on the end cracks a smile.
“What Galen grows in his lab has kept us fed on many hard solars,” Oz says, clearly the only levelheaded adult in the group. “Go mess with Breccan. I’m sure he’d love to take you to the mats and thump your nog in a few good times.”
At the mention of Breccan giving Hadrian an old-fashioned beat down, Hadrian scowls. This only amuses Theron more because he laughs so hard he nearly falls off his chair. Galen no longer seems irritated and leans in to ask Oz about what he’s working on.
Molly arrives with a big smile and a bowl spilling over with brightly-colored candy, saving me from going down the path of forgiveness and understanding. I’m still much too damn pissed off, confused, and in the throes of upheaval to consider either.
I study the bowl dubiously. “Are you sure about this?” I ask. “They aren’t poisonous, are they?”
Molly’s giggle is infectious, and I can’t help but smile. Which then makes me frown. Dammit, how does she do that?
“No, they taste kind of like caramel candies or butterscotch. Trust me, they’re so good. You’ll love them.”
Shrugging, I pop one into my mouth and moan around it as the sweetness explodes over my tongue. Meals here are somewhat sparse as the aliens can only cook whatever they can grow—which isn’t much. But it’s not only the rare treat of sugar I’m savoring, it’s also because the salty sweet caramel flavor tastes just like Sayer had smelled when I had my face buried in his throat.
I lick at the candy as Molly is called over to the group of aliens across the cafeteria.
“I’ll be right back,” she says, but I can barely hear her.
The suit they provided is too hot, and too tight. I want to rip it off and replace it with the hard weight of Sayer’s body instead. No, that’s not right. I don’t want him. I press my fingers into my eyes and try to concentrate, but all that does is intensify the fantasy.
“You okay, honey?” Molly asks.
“What is happening to me?” I moan, thankful the candy has finally melted away.
She takes a seat beside me and wraps an arm around my shoulder. “I can’t imagine how confusing and frightening this is for you. I was plum scared out of my wits when they woke me up from cryosleep and I wasn’t even pregnant at the time. You’ve got all kinds of hormones and pheromones raging through your system and that doesn’t even scratch the surface.”
“You’re telling me,” I say. “But I don’t understand. Why am I so attracted to him? I don’t want to be.”
Molly caresses my cheek and lays her hand on her stomach. “Well, as far as I understand it, once a woman is pregnant with a mortling, she begins to secrete a pheromone to attract her mate and vice versa.”
“That I understand.” My voice is a touch impatient. “But why?”
“I can see the scientist in you now,” she says with a sparkle in her eye. “To be frank, the males provide a boost of necessary vitamins and minerals that are vital to the baby. A pregnant female and her mate will grow more and more attracted the longer they go without having sex. Think of it as the mort version of prenatal vitamins,” Molly adds brightly.
“You have to be joking.”
“’Fraid not, sugar. I imagine you and Avrell could come up with a way to work around it somehow, but that’s all above my head.” She offers me another candy and I shake my head.
She begins to chatter on about her trip to find something called a rogcow as I mull over what I’ve learned.
I understand biological functions. That doesn’t mean I have to accept them.
And it sure as hell doesn’t mean I’m having sex with Sayer.
I’m pretty sure Jareth would lose his mind if he hasn’t already.
* * *
I don’t want to talk to him, but I have to. Resigned, I use the armband and hope Avrell isn’t in his office. I scowl when the door whirrs open and Avrell is sitting behind a desk, his short, neat hair a perfect contrast to Sayer’s long locks.
He gets to his feet. “Grace, what’s wrong? Are you okay? Is it the mortyoung?” The worry is etched plainly into his face. It only makes me want to claw it off.
“The baby’s fine. I have some questions if you have the spare time.” Please don’t.
Avrell gestures to the set of chairs in front of his desk. “Of course. Have a seat. Since you’re here, do you mind if I do a quick examination? Check your vitals and the mortling?”
“That’s fine,” I say. I’d been in such a state of shock after I was woken from cryosleep that I didn’t pay complete attention when he’d done the first examination. If I’m going to do this, I may as well know what I’m getting myself into.
“How are you feeling?” he asks as he pulls out a wand about the length of his arm from his elbow to his wrist and gestures for me to hop on an examination table across the room from his desk. The table is surrounded by contraptions and there’s a bank of monitors along the back wall. As he clicks a button on the scanner, one of the monitors blinks to life.
“As well as I can be under the circumstances. That’s actually why I’m here.”
Avrell’s eyes meet mine. They’re different from Sayer’s almost sleepy, doe-eyes. Avrell’s are kind, but sharp and assessing. I can tell from studying them that he’s the type of person to hold back and consider all angles before acting. Despite my outburst and the constant thrum of anger beneath my skin, he and I are a lot alike.
“Oh?” he prompts.
“I’m having some symptoms that Molly explained are a part of pregnancy and I was wondering if you could explai
n further.”
“Of course. What sort of symptoms?”
“I saw Sayer a little while ago and it was almost like I was in a dream. I couldn’t see or hear anything but him. Jareth was also there, but it was as though we were the only two people in the room. Tell me, Doctor, was Molly correct in saying this was a symptom of pregnancy? My body wants me to have sex with my baby’s father.” The last is said dully as though I’m reciting a piece of boring text.
“That’s correct. I assume Molly explained how the mortling will require—”
“Yes, she made that very clear. And there’s no other way?”
“None that we’ve tested, no.”
I meet his eyes then, but he hurriedly looks back at the scanner he’s holding level with my stomach. He waves it around and an image appears on the monitor. The shape fades in and out of focus until Avrell seems to find what he’s looking for. At first it doesn’t click what I’m looking at, and then I realize I’m looking at my baby.
I’m still reveling at the life on the screen when the doors open. Calix strides in with Emery in his arms. Her face is red and scrunched in pain. I quickly slide off the table so he may set her down.
“What is it?” Avrell demands, jumping into doctor mode.
“Our mortyoung is coming.”
And that’s my cue to leave.
* * *
I don’t know where I am or what I’m doing, but it doesn’t matter because it feels so good. There are hands on me, pressing and rubbing, soothing and stroking. Nails bite into my skin, not rough, but just enough that I feel the threat of pain on the other side of pleasure.
The taste of goldenroot candies is heavy on my tongue. I lick along flesh and find skin that tastes just as sweet.
I want more.
My hands reach and find a warm, heavy weight above me. Long hair floats around us like a curtain. My fingers comb through the strands as a mouth finds mine and drinks deeply. A moan fills my throat as I taste sweetness a thousand times more satisfying than the candy.
The hand caressing my body strokes down the length of my rib cage. Down my stomach and reaches the notch between my thighs. Lightning zings through my body and I peer up at the body above me and find Sayer’s dark eyes shining back at me.
I heave myself upright, sweat coating my skin, my body still responding to the ghost of his touch.
I thought after leaving Avrell’s office I could take a cold shower and get some sleep to help wash away the remnants of lust.
Apparently, I’d thought wrong.
My body trembles, wanting. I try to tell myself this feeling, this need, will go away, but as the seconds tic into minutes, the wanting only grows worse. There’s an ache, an emptiness inside of me, begging to be filled.
I don’t want Sayer, I don’t.
But my body does.
6
Sayer
“I can resist,” I assure Jareth.
He scowls, his nostrils flaring. “At what cost?”
I pace in front of the window in my room, ripping at the hair on my nog. Truth is, I don’t think I can resist. The urge to see Grace and…do I don’t know what…is overwhelming. I rekking dream about her now! I hate that this pregnancy is literally ripping me from my mate.
But the mortling…
With each solar that passes, my heart thrums with pride. I want to raise this mortling to be strong and wise and revered. And something inside me itches to convince Grace we could do it together. She says she doesn’t want the life growing inside her, but if she’d give me a chance, I feel like I could show her how important it is—to make her see how wonderful it could be.
And Jareth?
It’s easy to get caught up in this firestorm that is Grace and the pregnancy, but all it takes is one look from Jareth to pull me back into our world. Our world is safe and comfortable and loving. It’s familiar. I’m confused at the warring emotions inside of me. Avrell says it’s to be expected. My pull toward Grace is a physiological consequence to her carrying my mortling.
Grace.
Grace.
Grace.
I can almost scent her. My mouth waters. Claws pierce my flesh as I fist my hands, overcome with the need to sink my cock into her. She carries my young. Fierce male pride washes over me and a guttural growl escapes me.
Grace.
Grace.
Grace.
I’m thirsty. Rekking ravenous for her. I want to shred her clothes and claim her over and over again.
Now.
I’ll do it now.
Swiveling, I ram right into a wall. No, not a wall. I blink, blink, blink away the feral daze and find myself staring into sad black eyes.
“Sayer,” the voice says, reaching up to touch my cheek.
My sub-bones start cracking. I’ll destroy the one who steps between me and my mate. He flinches at the sounds coming from me.
Mate.
Grace.
My mate.
“Sayer,” the voice growls, fiercer this time. “Focus.”
He leans forward, running his forked tongue along the column of my throat. The haze fades as reality finds me. My mate stands before me. Aching and lonely and sad.
I’m a monster.
Rekk!
A choked sound escapes me. Before I can let the guilt consume me, he pounces. His mouth attacks mine, hungry and needy. Nipping and licking and sucking. My cock has been hard for what feels like days and now it seeps with need.
“Want me to relax you?” he asks, his voice low and seductive. It cuts through the maddening desire to bed Grace.
“P-Please,” I beg. My throat is hoarse.
He wastes no time ripping through my clothes in the same way I envisioned ripping through Grace’s. When we’re both naked and panting, like two starved animals salivating over one piece of meat, clarity seems to finally find me.
He’s mine.
All mine.
I can’t let this chemical response to the pregnancy destroy the love that’s grown between Jareth and me for many revolutions.
“I need this,” I croak out.
“I know,” he assures me. “Get into the bed, Say.”
I’ve barely crawled into it before he’s curled up behind me. His teeth nip at my bare shoulder and his cock ruts against my rump. He wraps his hand around my own cock and strokes me with urgency. The need to release is overwhelming. Our breaths come out heavily as he takes me to a place where I don’t have to think—a place where I can simply feel. Because of the state I’m in, it doesn’t take but a few pumps before I’m groaning. My cum jets up my stomach and all over his hand. Once I’m completely spent, he uses my semen to coat between my rump cheeks. His finger probes within my tight hole, causing me to hiss.
“I’ll always take care of you,” he vows, his voice still sad sounding. He slips out his finger and I can hear the juicy sounds of him coating his cock with my seed. Then, the large head of his cock presses against my hole. From experience, I know the piece of metal pierced through the tip will feel like nothing I’ve ever felt before. Unbelievably good. “Always, Say.”
His claws dig into my hip as he pushes into my tight depths. The pleasure is intense, especially in my feral state. He ruts against me in a gentle-for-Jareth way. Normally, he ravages me and leaves teeth marks when he’s caught up in the moment. Now, he is tender and careful. As though he fears for my health.
“Jareth,” I groan. “Harder. Faster.”
He grunts and his hips flex. His skin slaps against my rump, ratcheting up my heart rate. I love being with him this way. It’s the only time I ever feel truly whole. He slams into me hard several times and then lets out a hiss. Heat floods into me.
As the toxica enters my bloodstream, I relax to the point of nearly falling asleep. Each bone feels useless. All my muscles are done for. All I can do is allow the paralyzing agent to numb me into oblivion and trust my mate to look after me.
He murmurs sweet words into my ear, but I’m too exhausted to hear th
em.
* * *
“Grace!” I cry out, waking in a cold sweat.
Jareth is already bolting from the bed toward the door where pounding can be heard. He opens it and Grace launches herself inside. When he goes to grab for her, a roar of fury bellows from me. Even in the dim room, I can see that I have hurt him. But my mind and my body are at odds. My mind says to assure him I meant no harm while my body craves to pull Grace into my arms.
“I-I can’t s-stop thinking about y-you,” she chatters, her entire body trembling as she stands in front of the bed. “How d-do I m-make it stop?”
Jareth is extremely quiet. Normally he’s so possessive and protective. I tear my stare from her to find him watching me with the saddest, most resigned expression.
No.
I can fight these urges.
But the mortling?
Pain rips at me from the inside. I hit my nog with the heel of my hand, needing to knock some sense into me. Jareth storms over to my side and sits, gripping my wrist.
“Sayer, stop.” His words are commanding and yield no room for argument.
Grace sways in front of me, her fingers dragging along my cheek, as though she can’t help but touch me. Rekk, she smells so good.
“I need help,” I croak, turning to look at Jareth. “It rekking aches.”
Grace lets out a pained sob. “I feel sick and tired and…” She starts to cry. “Help me.”
Jareth grips her forearm gently. “I can help.”
We both stare at him in disbelief.
He lets out a heavy sigh. “You need this to remain healthy. It must be done. For the mortling. For both of you. My feelings on the matter are insignificant.”
I shake my head. “No. Your feelings mean everything to me. You’re. My. Mate.”
Grace nods as tears streak down her cheek. “I’m not a homewrecker.”
Jareth cocks his head at her in confusion. “Homewrecker?”
