Strange Love

by Ann Aguirre

  “Incredible. So hot. So soft and slick.”

  “Can I keep going?”

  “If you can attain completion, take your pleasure from me.”

  She moaned over how formal yet how filthy that sounded and rubbed against him faster and more firmly, feeling the pressure build. The little hisses affirmed that the motion pleased him too, and that intensified her excitement. Still careful with his claws, he gripped her hips and pulled her against him harder, enough that the plates against her inner thighs might leave a mark. A shock of white-hot sensation swirled through her, something new as their juices mingled. The smell was pure sex, and he breathed it in as she did.

  Her clit slid against his sex, and she came, so hard that her vision grayed. Zylar made that unmistakable sound, the one that meant he was there too, losing control right along with her. His whole body vibrated with it, sending her shivering into the afterglow.

  “That…” she tried. “…Wow. How?”

  There’s no way he’ll understand that. Try again once you can breathe—and think—properly.

  Before answering, he settled them into their customary resting pose, as close as they could come to a proper cuddle. Beryl was happy to leave such maneuvering to him. Then he said, “I’m not entirely sure, Terrible One, but I think our fluids are…reactive. The hormones, when combined, become a powerful sexual accelerant.”

  “Enough to let you come when I’m not…” I can’t say that. God only knew how the translator would interpret fingerbang. “Touching you intimately?”

  “It was intimate. Even more so than these.” He nipped her fingertips, sending a lazy shiver through her. “Our sex organs touched. We have completely broken the rules of the Choosing now.”

  “Yeah, well. We’re already in trouble for Snaps. What are they going to do, double fail us?” In all honesty, she’d forgotten they were supposed to be waiting to have sex—not that they could ever do it for procreative purposes.

  All for fun, all the time.

  “You make a compelling case,” he said. “And we did speak of leaving Barath together, so I’m pleased that we finally…that you wanted to…”

  “Make love,” she supplied, hoping the translator would get it right.

  “Create love?” he repeated.

  Close enough.

  “Yes. That.” Her voice was soft as she took his hand and stroked the sensitive skin between his claws.

  He responded with a sound that wasn’t a hiss or a churr, somewhere between the two. Instinctively, she understood that it meant it felt good but he was sexually satiated and not looking for more than this sweet and tender moment.

  “That is perfect. Just when I think I cannot adore you more, the feeling grows. I am consumed with you, Beryl Bowman. I would die to protect you from a moment’s pain.”

  Impossible not to press a kiss between his talons. He made that churr-hiss sound again and ran his claws through her hair. “You’ll never know how much I love hearing that, but I’d much rather you live with me.”

  Softly, he said, “I should perform the rite of thanks for those sun flares. Without them, I would never have taken you.”

  She hid a smile, basking in the quiet joy from such a ridiculous, wonderful compliment. “Keep praising me that way, and I’ll become insufferable.”

  “Impossible.” He nuzzled his face against hers, such alien contours, yet those touches had come to feel better than a hug.

  She wanted this moment to last forever, to snuggle against him and sleep, but she had made Kurr a promise. As he often did, Zylar read her withdrawal and let go. Beryl sighed as she sat up.

  “I’m sorry. I have to contact Ryzven now.”

  His claws tightened on her, then she read the exact moment when he decided to be rational, though it was clearly tough. “Helix will help you. Give me time to leave with Snaps. It will make your overture more compelling if you do it when he can verify that I’m elsewhere.”

  “Like I’m doing it behind your back.”

  “What does my dorsal side have to do with anything?”

  “Never mind.”

  Zylar hopped out of the nest, took two steps, and then rushed back to her and pressed her against him, talons tangled in her hair. “I cannot be here, I know this, but leaving you feels…” He struggled visibly before continuing. “I don’t know why I’m like this. Intellectually, I understand that what you will say is part of the ruse, but…” His spines flared, showing exactly how he felt about her approaching Ryzven.

  Beryl wasn’t into dominant assholes, but that did not apply to Zylar. She found his hesitant possessiveness adorable, because while he felt those things, he never tried to stop her from doing whatever she wanted. And she could eat his sweet vulnerability with a spoon.

  “I’m not leaving you,” she whispered. “Go play with Snaps. It will be done when you get back.”

  Resolutely, he turned—with the aspect of someone who was about to be executed for something they didn’t do. Damn, he was cute, so much drama over what amounted to a bullshit phone call. She heard them leave, then she hurried into the next room and headed for the terminal.

  “Helix, can you please put me in touch with Ryzven of Kith B’alak?” She didn’t have an address or phone number, but that should be good enough for a smart AI.

  “Right away. And thank you for your courtesy.” Okay, Helix sounded less grumpy today, maybe he was getting used to them.

  “What do you want?” Ryzven demanded. In holo, his face showed no expression she could read, but he sounded pissed.

  “Is this a bad time?” Beryl tried to sound meek and humble. No telling if it worked; that wasn’t her specialty.

  “I thought you were Zylar. This is his terminal code.”

  “He’s out right now. That’s why I had to call you. I may not have much time.”

  Here we go, sell it hard.

  “Is something wrong?” His eyes fluttered, showing interest.

  “I’ve made a terrible mistake. I’m afraid the Council is going to banish me, and I’ve heard station life is terrifying. Is there… Could I meet with you? I bet you could put in a good word for Snaps and me. Please, just a little of your time. I’d be so grateful. I’m willing to do anything if you can help me.”

  That was the right tone. Ryzven clearly liked the abasement and the groveling. “You said Zylar is away? If you are sincere, come to me. Now. Say nothing to him.”

  Fuck it. I promised Kurr. I’m going all in. “Where are you?”

  [ 20 ]

  Snaps showed his great joy about extra time in the garden by wriggling all over, his rear extensor lashing in excitement. He went to check on his verdant offspring before dashing off to play, leaving Zylar alone with his decidedly grim thoughts.

  He trusted Beryl. She had kept all of her promises to him, but she couldn’t control how Ryzven reacted. If there was a way for that flavork to exacerbate the situation, he would act on it, regardless of who it hurt. More than ever before, Zylar felt certain Ryzven hated him especially, and he had no idea why. It wasn’t as if he had power or physical appeal to rival Kith B’alak’s favored one.

  He wandered the lush paths for a while, morosely, until Snaps bounded up. “You smell sad.”

  Zylar dropped into a crouch. “Your olfactory sense is quite accurate.”

  “Why are you sad?”

  “It’s complicated,” he said.

  “Why?”

  This probably wasn’t worth explaining to the fur-person, but he tried. “My greatest fear is that I will lose Beryl Bowman, my dearest Terrible One.”

  “Beryl does not get lost,” Snaps said. “She only finds. She found me. She found you. And we are still found, see?” A fuzzy head bumped his lower limb.

  While Zylar wasn’t sure that argument hung together, as he was the one who had taken Beryl from her homeworld, he did like how reassuring it sounded—that he couldn’t lose her.

  But Snaps wasn’t done. “Beryl loves us. I’m her best boy, but you are pr
etty good. She told me lots of times, she doesn’t abandon anyone she loves, even if we pee in the wrong place.”

  “I will remember this,” Zylar said, feeling strangely comforted.

  “Ready to go home! The tiny green dirt dogs are bigger, and I have smelled everything.”

  Snaps seemed to be awaiting some sort of recognition for his dedication. “You are excellent at such endeavors.”

  “Thanks! Do I get extra snacks?”

  “We can ask Beryl,” Zylar said.

  The fur-person’s ears drooped. “That means no. No extra snacks.”

  Ignoring the obvious play for sympathy, he attached the lead and then they went back to Zylar’s room. As soon as he entered, he knew she was gone, even before Helix said, “Beryl Bowman left a message for you. Shall I play it?”

  “Please.” His hearts were beating entirely too fast, the fear he had almost mastered spiking, sabotaging logical thoughts.

  A holo of Beryl appeared. “I made contact to keep my promise to Kurr, and Ryzven insisted on seeing me right now. It’s a test, but I’m up to it. Don’t worry about me. I’ll come back to you, I promise.”

  For the first agonizing seconds, all he could hear was that she’d gone to Ryzven. Snaps dragged him back by nudging him and whining, until Zylar scratched the top of his head. All his instincts said he must find and retrieve her at once, but such haste wouldn’t serve their revenge scheme, and it wouldn’t sell it either.

  Unless…

  He weighed the two possibilities as Helix said, “How can I help?”

  “Do you know where Beryl is?”

  “I do not.”

  “Then find Ryzven for me.”

  “Scanning,” said Helix. “Ryzven is in his private research lab and has notified the system that he is not to be disturbed.”

  Zylar spat a word so foul that Snaps cocked his head, maybe because the translation startled him. “That likely signifies the fact that he’s isolating her. He doesn’t want to be interrupted by Miralai.” It was the height of avarice for Ryzven to covet Beryl when he already had a devoted nest-guardian.

  “Probable,” Helix agreed. “Miralai is in their quarters, protecting their clutch.”

  Zylar snarled. The depth of that dishonor wouldn’t soon dissipate; any Chosen worth the cost of his bodily parts would be with his intended, celebrating their impending offspring. Not Ryzven. He chose to neglect his duties and look for ways to steal what did not and would never belong to him.

  It didn’t matter that Beryl was enacting a clever ruse. That lessened Ryzven’s transgressions not at all, and despite Zylar’s all-encompassing rage, it wasn’t the worst crime Ryzven had committed. He bore the burden for multiple deaths for the way he had tampered with the Choosing.

  Trying to calm his mind, Zylar weighed his options, then he decided to ask Helix and Snaps which path he should pursue. Either might aid in Kurr’s vengeance, and he didn’t think either possibility would hinder the scheme.

  “There are two possible responses,” he said. “Ryzven will expect me to react to my intended’s departure. I can array myself in a public venue, indulging in a display of grief or despair.”

  “Suitably pathetic,” Helix decided.

  “Or I can go straight to the lab and beg Beryl not to forsake me. Direct or indirect, which course shall I pursue?”

  Snaps seemed confused by the choices offered. “But I already told you—”

  “This is a game,” Zylar cut in. “We’re tricking someone, who will be very surprised when he finds out.”

  Understatement. Grim amusement edged his distress. Never in his most inventive imagination could he have envisioned playing a role in Ryzven’s downfall. Oddly, he did not question Kurr’s capacity to enforce their vow and create a dreadful new reality for Ryzven. There was an unmistakable aura of power about the Greenspirit.

  “You will pretend to be sad or pretend to beg?” Snaps asked.

  “One or the other.”

  “If I am sad, I get pets. If I beg, I may get snacks. Would you rather have pets or snacks?”

  Despite the wholly unsatisfactory situation, there was only one answer to that question. “I would always choose to have Beryl Bowman touch me softly.”

  “Snacks are good,” Snaps said wistfully, “but I agree. Pets are better.”

  Helix added, “I concur. The less confrontational route will also send the message that you have given up hope—that you believe you have already lost. Ryzven enjoys savoring such moments of weakness.”

  Inarguable. Part of him hated playing this role, for it represented who he had been, uncertain of his own worth and easily cowed by those he perceived as superior. Beryl had taught him that he had value without changing his colors or his character.

  He loathed leaving her with Ryzven, but he had to believe in her.

  She promised to return to me. I will put my faith in my Terrible One and in Kurr. I will not interfere in their plans.

  That might well be the toughest challenge he had ever surmounted. With effort, he lowered his spines. Such aggression and defiance didn’t suit the act he would offer.

  “I will be back later. Helix, please entertain Snaps while I’m gone.”

  “How should I do this?”

  “You’re a genius,” he said. “Work it out.”

  In answer, the AI sent the cleaning device out. “Chase it, Snaps!”

  When Zylar left, the dog was running after the unit, yelling with excitement over this strange, new game. With leaden steps, Zylar imagined he truly had lost Beryl. That she’d chosen Ryzven, and he would never see or touch her again. The rush of grief and rage nearly incapacitated him, making him grip the wall for support. A few citizens paused to gape at his unseemly display, but he ignored them. The more witnesses to his breakdown, the quicker it would reach the flavork who needed to believe he was broken.

  He went directly to a venue frequented by lower-caste Barathi, those from lesser kith or fallen on ill-fortune. There was no one he recognized from Kith B’alak, but that didn’t matter. Just as he had asked Helix to find Ryzven, that flavork could do the same and probably would, after he spoke with Beryl. Zylar’s presence in such a desperate place would lend credence to her words.

  Here, there were no interested glances or friendly gestures. Everyone who stepped within was seeking a strong chemical solution to forget their woes, at least for a little while. Zylar wasn’t prone to such pursuits, but he bought a smoking flask full of tomesh and downed the contents, feeling the numbing effects at once. He paid for another and swallowed it too. Truly, he only needed to sit here, drinking slow poison, and Ryzven would believe he had won. Because any other outcome was unthinkable, inconceivable.

  Someone sat beside him, a Barathi who looked vaguely familiar, but with so much tomesh buzzing inside him, he probably would not have even recognized the Matriarch.

  “You did well in the Choosing. Unlike me. Why are you here?”

  This must be one of those who had gone unchosen in the final round. Zylar knew intimately how that felt, but it didn’t seem plausible that he would have any sympathy to spare if Beryl had truly deserted him, so he ignored the mumbled question and slurped another tomesh.

  “All you Kith B’alak are the same. You learn from Ryzven. I don’t want company anyway.” The Barathi lurched away.

  It stunned him momentarily that some random citizen saw through Ryzven’s charming façade, but he couldn’t falter, even if that Barathi might make a decent friend. If nothing else, they had mutual loathing of that flavork in common.

  Grimly, he ordered another, vowing to drink until he was sick. Only complete incapacitation could make him forget his pain, if Beryl ever truly left him. Inaction might destroy him, but he had pledged his cooperation.

  Please, let her return to me. Please. In this whole universe, she is all I need.

  Beryl took a deep breath and steadied her nerves, then she tapped the door, activating the sensors. Within, she heard something, and then it s
lid open, revealing a lab out of a science fiction movie. It was dead quiet inside, but she went in anyway.

  Ryzven was near the back, likely creating something terrible and destructive. He turned to greet her with the oily charm that made her skin crawl.

  “Welcome. I have several experiments at sensitive stages, so I hope you understand why I couldn’t meet you elsewhere.”

  More like you’re scared of word getting around what a complete creeper you are.

  “Of course I should come to you. I’m the one asking for your help.”

  “How precisely can I assist you?” he asked, taking a step closer.

  Stifling a shiver of revulsion, she clutched his claw with both hands. “I don’t want to be exiled. After what Snaps did in the last match, there’s no way we’ll be approved. You’re so influential. Can’t you put in a good word for me?”

  “For you,” he repeated, staring at her hands as if he was fascinated. The membrane in his eyes flickered. Interest, at least, if not more.

  Time to up the ante. Let’s see if he likes this as much as Zylar does. Gently she touched the skin between his talons, just a graze, but he hissed as if she’d gone right for his sex organs, and his neck ruff flared.

  Ugh. At least it worked.

  “I would be so grateful.”

  “It would be a pity for Barath to lose you so soon,” he said at last. “Simply because you chose poorly. I believe I can secure a place for you here, but it may be…unconventional. Are you open to such an arrangement?”

  Honestly, she only had half an idea what he had in mind, but if alien assholes were anything like human ones, he was slyly proposing to set her up as his side piece.

  “You’re saying I can’t be your primary intended,” she guessed.

  “Clever human. I will enjoy learning more about your…proficiencies.”

  Gross. Extra gross. It was like Ryzven thought she was begging for a chance to become his pleasure slave. The nutrition cube she’d eaten earlier lurched into her throat.

  Keep it together.

  “What do I need to do to be safe?” she whispered.

  “I’m sorry to say that I cannot save your companion. The furry one broke our sacred covenant and such missteps must be dealt with harshly. Do you understand?”