“I’d rather it not be an option at all,” Flencik said.
“I know and I feel the same way.” Rajhir squeezed his shoulder. “Remember though, we’re facing the extinction of our species if we don’t find compatible females soon. Keep that in mind, my Imdiko.”
* * * *
Osill clasped his long-fingered hands together. “The anticipation has nearly driven me mad.” He eyed the covered painting like a starving man at a feast. Then again, the reed-thin Guildmaster always looked hungry. His marbled black eyes bulged from his sharp-edged face.
Amelia managed to smile despite feeling the Kalquorians’ heated stares. She didn’t have to look at them to know they were watching her. It was as if their gazes had weight, a pressure that ran all over her body. She did her best to ignore them.
How naked she felt in her scanty gown! “I only hope I’ve met the Saucin’s and Guild’s expectations,” she told Osill, inclining her head toward Israla.
The Plasian leader’s smooth face remained emotionless as she spoke with her aide, as if she hadn’t heard the Earther’s comment. Amelia’s nervousness turned up a notch.
It wasn’t just Israla’s rank that intimidated Amelia. Despite being three times her age, the Saucin was a beautiful example of her species. She’d make any Parisian model stalking the catwalk envious with her long slender build and ideal proportions. Her clothing was scantier than even Amelia’s, consisting of only a scarf-like fabric draped around the back of her neck and hanging over her small but perfect breasts. Another scarf tied about her hips. The fabric was deep red and completely see-through. Nothing was left to the imagination; Israla’s hairless sex was easily discerned behind the transparent scarf.
Israla’s legendary appetite for young men of all races and body types was also a testament to her disregard for her age. Tonight two young Plasian men flanked her, wearing small loin cloths made of the same fabric Israla wore. Vrill had confided these boys were young enough to be Israla’s great-grandsons. Their slender penises stood at attention as they unselfconsciously rubbed Israla’s back. Occasionally Israla smiled at them and stroked their eager flesh with pointed fingertips. Amelia couldn’t bear to look at them.
Amelia still preferred Israla’s aloofness to Osill’s enthusiasm, as the Guildmaster did little to quiet her fears. He practically panted with anticipation. “If this painting is like the rest of your works, all of Plasius will fall at your feet in adulation.”
She regretted the Plasians expected so much of her. Such attention could only doom her latest painting to failure. It would never live up to their hopes.
The opposite would have happened back home. Earth noticed little of her current work because her style confounded the critics. Not only that, Amelia’s choice of voluptuous, sensual shapes and colors, while not explicit enough to be unlawful, still pushed the envelope of acceptable art in Earth’s Puritanical society.
In contrast, Plasius embraced Amelia’s art with a fierce passion, importing prints and displaying licensed vids of her paintings by the thousands. Her arrival three months ago had been met with much sensation, although ‘sensation’ in Plasian terms was tame by most interstellar beings’ standards. There had been an endless round of quiet dinner parties hosted by Plasian elite. They started off quiet, at any rate. Amelia learned fast to leave the dinners as soon as eating was done because Plasian parties always degenerated into sex orgies that lasted well into the next day. She was sure tonight would be no exception. As soon as she finished her presentation, she planned to head straight for the nearest exit.
Outside the upper crust of Plasian society, Amelia had received dozens of offers from both male and female fans eager to help her shed the well-known issue of Earther sexual inhibitions. She’d been kissed on the street, pulled onto turgid laps at the outdoor cafes, and on one memorable occasion, nearly undressed in the middle of an art exhibit by four amorous women. For their part, the Plasians couldn’t understand how someone who painted such sensual pictures became flustered when confronted with sensuality itself.
Israla ended her conversation with her aide. She ran her fingers over chimes that tinkled over the murmur of conversation. The hall silenced at once as all eyes turned the quartet’s way.
The aide said, “Attention, please. We will begin the presentation now.”
The crowd surged forward, and Amelia saw the Kalquorians also approach. They were staring at her just as she’d sensed, their eyes devouring her. Such attention seemed to set her skin on fire. It was almost as if they had the ability to possess her body with their stares. She looked away from the three riveting men, fighting to maintain an aura of nonchalance. Her burning face informed her of her failure.
Osill stepped forward to address everyone, giving Amelia someone else to pay attention to. “Welcome, everyone. This is an exciting occasion, one we’ve all been looking forward to for some time. We come here tonight to celebrate the work of our visiting Earther artist, Amelia Ryan.”
Polite, quiet applause. The guildmaster smiled at Amelia, and she returned the warm expression. She could feel her lips trembling and hoped it wasn’t obvious. Damn it, she was nervous what with the presentation she was about to make and the Kalquorians standing nearby.
Osill continued his speech, facing the audience once more. “We have not long known of Earth. Indeed, the more we learn of our new neighbors, the less we understand them.”
A ripple of laughter greeted his words. He bowed his head to Amelia to indicate he meant the comment as a joke. She smiled wider, no offense taken.
“It is only that our cultures are so exceedingly different. Art, however, speaks one language. Not in many generations has an artist spoken as eloquently as our new friend Amelia Ryan. We are honored to host her on Plasius where we hope she will find much inspiration.”
He stepped back to polite applause as all eyes settled on Amelia. The bronze-skinned Plasians looked at her with as much hunger as the Kalquorians. She took a deep breath, put on a smile, and stepped forward.
“Thank you, Guildmaster Osill.” The steadiness of her voice surprised her. She avoided looking to her right where the Kalquorian clan stood.
“It is I who feel honored to have been granted the opportunity to paint the landscapes and people of your planet. In gratitude for your kindness and hospitality, I present to Saucin Israla and the people of Plasius this work.” She nodded to Israla’s aide.
The aide lifted the velvety drape from the canvas Amelia had labored three months over, sometimes going for days without sleep. The mere memory of her hand cramped around the paintbrush, the agony of effort slicing up her arm to her shoulder and neck, was excruciating to recall. Only pure will had kept her going some of those torturous days. Now she would know if the weeks of pain she’d endured to complete it on time had been worthwhile.
With a flourish, the aide swept the cloth aside, revealing the painting: the landscape of Plasius’ Lisidia mountain range. As it came into view, all the tension leading up to this moment released its grip on Amelia’s gut. Indeed there could be no doubt that it was the best work she’d ever done.
When she’d first viewed the seemingly endless line of mountains, the spirit of the rock and earth revealed itself to her with unguarded abandon. She instantly saw in them the undulating curves of a reclining Plasian woman, lush with invitation. Amelia painted the Lisidias in the hues of bronze and olive, the predominant colors of Plasian flesh and fur. At first glance, the mountains appeared to be a woman lounging in a languorous pose, her black marble eyes half-closed, and her parted lips curved in a provocative smile. It was not only a landscape of Plasius, it was the planet’s very spirit of relaxed, graceful sexuality.
The assembled Plasians gasped as one. For a moment, they gaped at the artwork. Amelia’s heart stopped.
Then applause crashed over her as the usually indolent race roared their approval. Osill shook her as he cried, “Beautiful, Amelia Ryan! Absolute perfection! Better than my greatest hopes!”
&
nbsp; Most astounding of all, the aloof Israla embraced her, sobbing every bit like a lost child found. “It is beyond expectation! An incomparable gift! I was born in a village in sight of these mountains, but I never saw them in truth until now. You have honored all of Plasius with your art. Thank you.” She kissed Amelia with an open mouth then bowed. Her mane, dyed red to match her outfit, danced with delight.
Plasians jostled to get close to the painting and its creator. They crushed against Amelia until she gasped for air. They congratulated her with exuberant shouts and many tears. Eager fingers brushed against her cheeks, throat, breasts, belly, and arms. The bodies pressed against hers until she couldn’t draw breath. The room tilted like a funhouse, and Amelia realized she was near fainting. Black spots appeared in her vision. Then someone grasped her hand in an iron grip. She found enough air to cry out as pain shot from her fingers to her shoulder.
The pressure eased as dark muscled arms pressed the Plasians back. Rajhir’s rumbling voice said in passable Plasian, “Please, good friends, give Amelia Ryan room! She needs air!”
Breft eased himself through the crowd to her side. He lifted her into the air, cradling her in arms of steel. The Nobek hugged her close to his chest as he carried her from the knot of Plasians. He whispered in her ear, “Relax, little one. I will take you to safety.”
Amelia whooped air into her chest. She lay limp in Breft’s arms as her grateful lungs heaved.
Rajhir and Flencik flanked them, as if to hold the eager Plasians back. Israla, her aide, and Osill darted ahead to peer at her.
“Is she all right?” Osill asked. “I’m so sorry! We didn’t mean to hurt her.”
Flencik answered. “She well, but overwhelmed.”
“We must keep her from the crowd until they have calmed,” Rajhir added. “You will also want to guard the art. They may destroy it in their excitement.”
“The painting!” the aide exclaimed and rushed away, presumably to save it.
Israla waved them to a closed door. “Use this private room,” she said, opening the door and ushering them in. “You will care for her, won’t you? She is precious to us.” At Flencik’s nod, Israla patted Amelia’s arm. “Rest now. No one will bother you here. I will have refreshment brought to you.”
The Saucin swept out, and Osill took Amelia’s hand. His long fingers trembled. “Forgive our enthusiasm. You have captured the very soul of Plasius with your painting, and we cannot contain our joy. No harm was intended.”
Despite her dazed response to the excitement of the last few minutes, Amelia managed to console him. “It’s all right. I’m glad it was so well received.”
Flencik spoke up. “She rest now must.”
“Of course. I leave her in your capable hands.” Osill bowed to them and left, closing the door.
Israla and Osill had left Amelia alone with the clan.
Fear spiked through her chest, and her heart skipped a beat. Amelia suddenly realized the Plasians’ jostling had shifted her gown to expose her breasts. She jerked the bodice over her nakedness, fresh embarrassment turning her skin almost as crimson as the garment.
“Lounger,” Flencik said, and Breft carried her to the seating area. The Plasian lounger looked like an oversized sectional sofa, perfect for sprawling, relaxing, and sleeping.
And lovemaking, Amelia felt sure as the Nobek lowered her onto the deep red billowy surface. She clutched her arms to her chest, a self-protective gesture. The Kalquorian men had been quick to ravish her in a roomful of people. What would they do to her in private quarters?
To her relief, Breft released her and stepped back. He remained standing like a wary sentry, his body angled towards the closed door they’d entered through as Rajhir and Flencik sat beside her prone body.
Amelia looked about the room, seeking an avenue of escape. Lighting globes drifted across the ceiling, illuminating the room in a soft golden glow. A smokeless firepit crackled in the middle of the room as chunks of scentwood burned. Aromatic fumes scented like the roses back on Earth swirled about the room.
In a corner, the Plasian version of a shower sluiced a waterfall into a bubbling basin. Amelia knew from her own apartment the roiling warm water eased tense muscles.
The room was a sensual retreat, but only one door offered Amelia escape.
She looked at the trio of men who regarded her in silence. She knew she should get off the lounger or at least sit up, but she was afraid to move. She was afraid they’d push her back down and pin her to the lounger. That they would take advantage of their greater strength.
It would be all Amelia’s fault if the Kalquorians chose to force themselves on her, the way it had been her fault with the other men. What could she say to these aliens after the way she’d surrendered to them earlier? Surely they believed her to be a slut, a whore, a wanton creature eager to couple at the slightest provocation.
Still, such behavior was the norm on Plasius. Many times Amelia had dined in restaurants with Vrill while fellow diners pleasured each other right at their tables. Early on, she learned to keep her eyes on her meals.
Had the Kalquorians really acted inappropriately when they’d fondled Amelia in the great room? Not in the least by Plasian standards, though Plasians usually had the courtesy to ask before they grabbed.
Another misunderstanding, Amelia thought with relief. That’s all. These men simply don’t know how to act with an Earther. Maybe I can still talk my way out of this.
She tried to smile. She pretended her heart wasn’t pounding. She ignored the voice in the back of her mind whispering, You know it has nothing to do with misunderstandings. These brutes want something from you, and it’s not lessons in Earther etiquette!
Amelia said, “Thank you for the rescue. I thought I would be crushed out there.”
Rajhir stroked her shoulder, and she held back a shiver. His hands were incredibly warm and made her think of things no upright Earther woman should.
“The Plasians are passionate for beauty,” the Kalquorian said. “Your painting excited their senses to overwhelm. Tell us—”
A knock at the door interrupted him. Breft whirled, and the next instant he was at the door. Amelia blinked. The Nobek was incredibly fast, too fast to follow with the eyes. It brought her fear of the Kalquorians up another notch.
He opened the door. A Plasian servant stood outside with a tray of goblets and a pitcher filled with azure liquid.
Amelia tensed as she heard the loud voices of excited Plasians. “They’re still reacting to the painting.”
“Relax,” Flencik said, squeezing her hand ever so gently. “We will no enter give to them.”
Amelia nodded her understanding of his halting English as Breft took the tray and shut the door, closing the servant and noise out. He carried the tray to the lounger.
Flencik nodded approval as he filled a goblet from the pitcher. “This leshella good drink is. You try it to drink,” he said, handing Amelia the goblet as Rajhir helped her sit up. “It will you calmer.”
“What is it exactly?” she asked, sniffing the sapphire liquid.
Rajhir and Flencik turned to Breft. He poured a goblet for himself. “Like the Earth drink called wine, I think.” He drank his serving in one swallow.
“Try it, Amelia Ryan,” Rajhir prodded.
“Just Amelia, please. Earth people have two names, sometimes more, but we’re usually called by just the first.” She wondered why she was talking to the men like they were at a nice dinner party. She had to get out of this room.
“Amelia,” Rajhir said. He smiled. “Easier.”
She smiled back, liking how the expression softened his stern features. She mentally kicked herself for being so damned polite again. She took a sip of her drink for something to do before she said anything else to encourage the trio.
The drink tasted smooth and buttery, and yes, similar but better than an expensive white wine. The knots in Amelia’s muscles loosened. The leshella went down easily. Too easily. She took the glass
from her lips and noted with shock she’d drunk half of it.
“You started to ask me about my painting?” she said to Rajhir to hide her embarrassment. Now they would see her as a slut and a drunkard. What a wonderful impression she must be making.
The Dramok nodded. “I have seen the Lisidias. I know that is what you painted. The woman resting in mountains … the colors you put to paint. They are no true, but they look – correct?” He struggled. “I do no have Earther words. The painting was wrong reality but perfect. How did you know the mountains wanted to be those colors, that woman?”
Amelia swallowed more wine without realizing it until the warmth made her tingle all over. She felt very relaxed now. The lounger beneath her was like a cloud.
“I paint subjects not how I see them on the surface but how I feel their soul appears.”
“Soul?” Rajhir’s brow furrowed. He looked to Breft who shrugged his own confusion.
“A soul is a person’s life force. Or in my painting’s case, the mountain’s true inner self.”
Her explanation only made them look more perplexed. Breft’s lips pursed as he thought. “It sounds like something from the Temple of Life’s teachings, I think.”
Amelia didn’t know anything about the Temple of Life. She gave up trying to provide a definition. “It’s hard to explain. As you say, I don’t have the words.”
She raised the goblet and saw it was full again without her noticing one of the Kalquorians refilling it.
“Is it good?” Breft said.
“Wonderful.” Languor spread through Amelia’s body like a balm. She was relaxed but not fatigued. Indeed, her senses felt incredibly alive, as if she was on the verge of some great excitement, only waiting for something wondrous to happen. Her body flushed with warmth, and the lounger felt to her skin like the softest cashmere. She longed to kick her heels off and dig her toes into its luxuriousness, if she could summon the effort. Her limbs lay heavy, melting into the cushions. She wanted to purr. The top of her gown had shifted again until one breast was in danger of exposure.
Alien Embrace Page 3
