by Presley Hall
The crowds are screaming for me, noticeably more so than for my opponent, a massive alien with dark red skin painted in black stripes, his head shaved bald to show the bumps across his skull. He’s more size than muscle, and I have no doubt that I can take him down. He has the weight on me, but I’m quick.
I could get used to this, I think as I ready myself for battle. I love the roar of the crowd, the adoration, their shrieks and screams with every blow. I enjoy performing for them. Many of the other warriors see this as an ugly necessity, with the field of battle being their true calling, their higher purpose. Back home we have gladiator fights, but those are for our own people. Many of the men don’t like being entertainment for strangers, for the motley crowd that gathers here.
I love every second of it.
But I can’t stop thinking about the woman from the bar as I fight, dodging and striking and parrying with an ease that comes from years of training and battle, each motion coming without my even really having to think about it. I picture her in the crowd, her slender fingers gripping the rails, those huge eyes focused on me.
She truly is the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen, with thick burnished red hair that a man could bury his hands in, dragging that perfect face to his for a kiss. Her lips are perfect too, just the right fullness, and the sight of her body in those skimpy costumes that she dances in inflames me every time I go there—both with desire and fury that the rest of the bar is watching her too. The thought of the other patrons being aroused by her, thinking lustful thoughts about her, what they do when they go home… it all sickens me.
Even though I want to do the same things, and I have the same thoughts.
There’s nothing like the adrenaline of a fight to make a man aroused. I know how I’ll feel afterwards, hungry and full of desire, a lust that I’ll have to quell myself. Some of the warriors are more prone to finding alien women in the ports to satisfy them than others, but Tordax has “suggested” that we approach that with caution here. Monri is a black-market city, a place where many things have a price that isn’t apparent at first. Nevertheless, some of the men will seek it out anyway.
I can’t say I’ve never paid for a woman before. The Orkun, our mortal enemies, killed nearly all the Kalixian women years ago. With only a few elder females left on Kalix and no possibility of a mate or a future with any woman, space port dalliances have been my only alternative to a life of celibacy. Young and hot-blooded as I am, I indulged my urges from time to time when the opportunity presented itself.
But now, the idea of having a woman I’ve paid for… or any woman other than the beautiful redhead, makes me feel slightly sickened. I want her, almost obsessively so, and nothing else will do. No one else.
She’s what fills my mind as I defeat my alien opponent, and as I stand over him in the dirt, listening to the roar of the crowd, even their adulation doesn’t satisfy me the way it normally does. It’s as if there’s a fresh hunger in me that can’t be sated by anyone but that woman, the dancer from the bar whose name I don’t even know.
It’s a hunger that I’ll have to learn to ignore.
Because there’s no good that can come of it.
3
Autumn
There’s a body leaning over mine, all bronzed skin and heavy muscle, and a face looking down at me, with eyes that change color.
They’re the deep green of summer leaves, then dark brown, then shimmering gold as his arms pick me up like I weigh nothing at all. He settles me into his lap and draws me closer to him, his beautiful face moving closer to mine.
His lips, when he kisses me, are soft and full, and there’s a desire in this kiss that I’ve never known. It’s like he’s hungry for me, desperate, and it rouses that same deep craving in me, flooding me until I can do nothing except cling to him, wanting to be closer and closer as his lips devour mine, his mouth tasting like wine and…
The face transforms, turning ugly, hulking, and green, covered in deep wrinkles and warts. The bumpy texture of his skin makes my skin crawl as it touches me. The hands that hold me are now thick and heavy, the lips twisted and grotesque, and even as I shudder backward, trying to escape, the creature presses me into the mattress, drool sliding from one side of his mouth as he growls in my ear…
I sit bolt upright in bed, my entire body covered in a cold sweat despite the already sweltering heat of my tiny bedroom. My chest feels tight, aching, and I press my hand against the damp fabric of my shirt, my heart hammering. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a nightmare like that. I’d hoped they were gone for good.
I lie back in bed for a moment, willing the nightmare to go away, for my pulse to return to normal. For a moment, the first part of the dream comes back to me—the muscled arms wrapped around me, the soft gleaming skin that I traced my fingers over, those sweet lips pressed against mine. It’s been years since anything like that was a reality for me. So long that I’ve forgotten what it feels like.
And a part of me doesn’t want to remember, doesn’t want to think about the pleasure and happiness that can be found in the arms of a man… because that’s no longer a possibility for me.
I can’t go back to Earth.
There’s no husband out there for me, no family, no future where someone loves and desires me, where we go to bed together at night, make love in the darkness, and wake up next to each other in the morning.
That future was lost to me a long time ago.
My heart squeezes in my chest as I think about it, but I push it away. It doesn’t help to dwell on what’s lost, or what I can never have. All I can do is think about what I do have, and everything that I can do to protect it.
To protect Chloe.
I get up, showering quickly in the small stall in the bathroom between my room and Chloe’s. I slip into loose pants and a short-sleeved tunic, tying my red hair up on top of my head. I’ll let Chloe sleep until after I’ve made breakfast.
I’ve learned over time how to make meals similar to the ones I had back on Earth with what’s available here. I can buy eggs from the market—eggs that come from a brightly feathered bird that looks nothing like a chicken and taste saltier than what I’m used to back on Earth. But they fry well and make a decent omelet. Flour here is ground from nuts, and I’ve learned to make something like pancakes with it. They’re flatter and less airy, but surprisingly tasty. I whip up a batch of them, covered with “butter” that comes from a five-horned creature that vaguely reminds me of a goat, and a thick, sweet substance that’s granular, like a cross between molasses and coarse sugar.
Pancakes are Chloe’s favorite breakfast, and I make them at least once a week. Normally I make them on my day off when I have the whole day to spend with her, but I’m scheduled at the bar every day for the next two weeks. One of our dancers quit—which on Monri could mean anything—and while I miss time spent with Chloe, I also can’t turn down the money.
Every extra token I earn at the bar brings us one step closer to getting away from here for good. I tell myself that lost time now is more time later.
Sometimes I even believe it.
I wake Chloe up, get her dressed for the day, and sit her at the table while I serve up breakfast. We have our own little routine, developed over the years that we’ve been here, and it helps to make me feel as if life is normal, despite how abnormal all of this really is. If you’d asked me years ago if I thought I’d wind up a single mother on an alien desert planet, dancing in lingerie for money while trying to save up enough to escape and go somewhere else in the galaxy, I’d have thought you were high.
But that’s exactly my life.
It has been ever since I was abducted by a group of Orkun warlords nearly five years ago before managing to escape and flee for my life.
My little routines keep me from thinking about those dark moments in my past too much. They keep me sane.
If I didn’t have Taloo, I might go crazy anyway. My sweet neighbor has been a godsend, watching Chloe every night as if s
Chloe is both part of me and part of a world that feels unfamiliar and strange, a world that I’ve known about for a very small portion of my life. Nothing about this is normal, not the situation I’m in or the fact that my child is only half-human, and every day I struggle with trying to decide what the best way to face it all is.
There will be more questions as she gets older, more decisions to be made as I grapple with how best to raise her as a human in an alien world. But for now, I try to enjoy all of the little moments I have with her—even the ones where she smears sugar across her face, more of it winding up there and in her hair than on the pancake stuffed in her mouth.
I look at her with love, sighing exasperatedly as I whisk her out of the chair. “Time to clean up,” I tell her in a singsong voice.
“Did I make a mess?” She sounds vaguely sorry, but I can’t be mad at her, not even a little bit.
“Yes, but that’s okay,” I tell her as I plop her in the shower. “Messes happen. We’ll just clean it up.”
I spend the afternoon with Chloe in the market, buying food for the week and a bolt of cloth to make her a new tunic and pants, since she’s outgrowing her old ones. Taloo comes over to watch her in the evening so I can go to the bar for my shift, and I squeeze my little girl tightly before I wave to them both and head out into the city.
Chado’s Cantina is just starting to get busy for the night as I step through the back door and into the dressing room.
As I sit down at one of the mirrors to apply my makeup, the onyx alien girl sits down next to me, toying with the green lace of the bra she’s wearing tonight as she glances at me. Her name is Kusi, and she’s one of the newer dancers here.
“Someone was asking about you,” she says, her lips curving in a smile as if she has some kind of secret. “Someone who was in the crowd last night, I guess.”
I tell myself not to freeze, not to panic. I just shrug, carefully drawing on my eyeliner, but my heart is suddenly hammering in my chest. I talked myself out of believing that I was followed last night—told myself that I was just on edge, jumping at shadows. But maybe I was followed after all. Maybe my instincts were right.
And now there’s someone asking about me… trying to find me?
“Thanks for letting me know,” I tell Kusi, trying to sound as if I don’t care.
“I didn’t give your name,” she tells me quickly. “But he seemed really curious.”
“I’m sure he’ll find someone else to fixate on.” I pin up my hair and straighten the sheer black robe I’m wearing over the lingerie I have on tonight—black lace held on by a mass of delicate faux-gold chains. “I’m up.”
I walk out onto the stage, trying to put it out of my head, trying to stop my hands from trembling. I can’t wonder whether the alien who wants to find me is out in the crowd, whether he’s watching me right now. I’ll panic if I do, and I can’t afford to do that. I depend on this job too much. And I’m far too replaceable.
The music fills my ears and I try to let it seep through me, taking me away as I begin to dance. But as I make my way across the stage, my pale legs parting the long, sheer material of the black robe as I tease the patrons with just a glimpse, I see that same alien sitting at the back of the crowd, golden horns gleaming in the faint light, drink in hand.
The one who’s been watching me for a long time now.
He’s back.
Again.
4
Autumn
It hits me in a rush as my gaze latches on the enigmatic alien in the corner. He must have been the one asking about me, the same one who followed me partway home last night. He must have been sent to find me, to collect me, after all this time.
My past has caught up with me.
Otherwise why would he be here so often, watching me?
I freeze mid-step, the panic I tried so hard to tamp down filling me. Stupid, stupid, I chide myself, shame washing over me as I realize that I was so distracted by his appearance, by how gorgeous he is, that I forgot the rule I’ve lived by all these years—that I have to always be alert, always be careful.
That aliens can’t be trusted.
My boss will be furious with me for not finishing my set, but I don’t even think of that as I make a run for it, dashing for the side door of the bar. He’ll probably fire me, but it doesn’t matter. I can’t go back there if they’ve found me, if they know where I work. If he knows.
I can’t let myself be captured again. I’ll get Chloe, take her and run. I haven’t saved up enough money yet for what I’d planned, but I’ll figure it out somehow. I’ll get us somewhere in the meantime, someplace where he can’t find us. No matter what, I won’t fall into their hands again. And I won’t let them have Chloe.
Never, never, never. The words echo in my head along with my footsteps as I run outside. I’m still wearing nothing but the black lace lingerie and sheer robe, but I don’t care. I can’t worry about that now. I have to get home.
I need to get away. I need to get Chloe.
And then, just as I round the corner of the bar, I nearly run directly into the alien who was watching me, the one who keeps coming back night after night. My nose is an inch away from his broad, muscled chest, and I realize he smells sweet, almost like almond oil.
He reaches out as if to grab my arm, and the momentary distraction fades away in a second as fear spikes in me again. I dart backward, resisting the urge to scream. No one is going to help me, and it’ll only tell the others—if there are others—where I am.
I know the city better than he does. I’ve lived here for four years. I can use that to my advantage and escape.
I run, gathering the robe up as I race barefooted down the street, ducking down a small alley as I flee. I’m not paying nearly enough attention to where I’m going, but my panic is almost blinding now, memories resurfacing from years ago, from when I was kidnapped, captured… and things that I can’t even bear thinking about. Things that I can’t remember right now, or I’ll collapse.
I have to stay strong, because I can’t let myself be taken again. It’s not just me that I have to worry about anymore. And I can’t live through that again.
I won’t.
Just as I slip down another side street, a shadow appears on the wall of the building next to me. Before I can pivot and run in another direction, a hand closes on my arm, pulling me toward the creature who stepped out of the alley that I just passed.
It’s one of O’Hozo’s men. I’m sure of it. The alien mobster who claims I owe him a debt has a large network of mercenaries working for him, both here on Wauru and off-planet as well.
I’ve managed to escape their attention for years, staying under the radar by working in an out-of-the-way dive bar, but my luck has finally run out.
The broad-shouldered, pig-like alien wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me backward against him and holding me tight. My robe slips from my shoulders, revealing some of the lace that’s barely containing my breasts, and I kick and scream as his hand slides over my arm.
“Yeah, go ahead and struggle, girl,” he grumbles. “I like it when you squirm. Boss said to bring you back alive, but he didn’t say I couldn’t inspect the merchandise beforehand…”
I’m screwed. I’m so screwed. I know I shouldn’t struggle, that it’s just exciting him, but I can’t help it. Nausea rises up in me and I try to kick him in the balls, but he manages to evade me, still holding me securely against him.
I feel tears rise in my eyes as my panicked thoughts flit to Chloe. At least she’s with Taloo, and I’ll never tell O’Hozo about her, no matter what he says or does. But what will she think if I don’t come home?
Hopelessness burns in my stomach like poison. All these years of hiding and saving, for what? It’s all gone in an instant.
And then I catch sight of a huge shadow in the dying light, and to my shock, the massive bronzed alien appears out of nowhere, his eyes angry, his face scowling.
For a moment, I think he’s backup for the mercenary who’s captured me, but then he lunges forward, grabbing the pig-like man by the throat as he wrenches the alien’s arm away from me, kneeing him hard in the side. My captor’s grip is loosened momentarily and I fall out of his grasp, dumped onto the dusty road as the horned alien lets out a wild shout, punching O’Hozo’s man full in the face.
And that’s when I realize the truth.
The strange alien isn’t hunting me.
He’s going to save me.
5
Sorsir
Two seconds into the fight, I realize that this alien isn’t going to give up easily. He’s not going to turn tail and run for his life.
I don’t know who his boss is, but it must be someone he fears, because it’s clear that this is going to be a hard fight. But I don’t care. If the entire Orkun army were chasing the red-haired woman, I still wouldn’t let them take her.
I take one quick look at the woman to make sure she’s okay—she’s alive and looks uninjured, coughing in the dirt—but then I put all my focus into the fight. I have to, because the mercenary is already recovered from my punch and coming at me with all of the weight that he has on his side. He’s a Shaga, a race known for their brutal, unsophisticated fighting style. I’ve seen several of his kind on Wauru since we landed here, usually employed as bouncers or enforcers.
I’ve fought once tonight already in the arena, but I’ve fought battles that have gone on far longer than that. And I’ve beaten this man unconscious once. I can see from the brand on his shoulder that it’s the same man who tried to take the red-haired woman off the streets last night. It’s clear he came back to finish whatever job he was given—to kidnap or hurt her—and I’m not going to allow that.
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