Passionate by Moonbeam

by Cynthia Sax

  “We’re ready.” Win gestured to the two bleary-eyed soldiers waiting by their section. The young men tapped their fingers against the brims of their helmets, silently entered the space and removed the stretcher containing the treated patient.

  “We require more Fixers,” Vern muttered.

  “I know.” Win rubbed his shoulders, wishing she could do more to comfort him.

  The soldiers brought in another stretcher. The middle-aged woman’s body was still, her eyes closed and her breathing shallow.

  “She’s unconscious, my Vern.” Win wrapped her arms around his waist, partially supporting his weight as they walked.

  “I’ll stay with her to ensure she doesn’t wake up.” The schoolteacher sat by the patient’s side. “Make a miracle happen, young man.” She brushed the hair away from the woman’s face. “She looks to be someone’s mom, likely has two or three little ones at home.”

  “She has offspring.” Vern slid his right palm over Win’s stomach and her heart skipped a beat. “We will fix their damage, Talker Gladys.” He lowered into the chair, a look of determination on his rugged face. “Assist me, my Win.” He spread his fingers.

  She covered his hands with hers and guided them over the woman’s body. Vern’s skin vibrated as they found wounds, his hands heating as he fixed them.

  All of Win’s previous concerns about being respected, being worthy faded into insignificance. They were saving lives and changing both of their worlds. This and love were what truly mattered, she knew that now.

  Chapter Eight

  Vern and his Win fixed for two planet rotations. They rested on the sleeping support, cleansed themselves with a fabric square and water, ate the Silan energy rations the elderly Talker Gladys brought them. The stream of damaged humans seemed neverending, draining Vern emotionally and physically. He couldn’t fix them all, the needless terminations pulling at his heart, at his soul.

  The constant presence of his druzka gave him strength. He watched as she tucked a blanket over the small female offspring he’d fixed, her face soft with caring. Talker Gladys hobbled out of the makeshift chamber, seeking to request assistance of the Warriors assigned to them.

  “The girl will live?” his Win asked, her voice quiet.

  “The girl will live,” Vern echoed her words. “She is strong for an offspring.” Will our offspring be as strong? He reclined on the uncomfortable single-ass support, savoring the period between fixing. “Come here, my Win.” He reached for his female.

  His Win climbed onto his lap, her lush curves pressing against Vern’s muscle, the contact soothing his heart. “You are making a difference, my Vern.” She stroked his face, her fingers dancing over his sharp angles, the dips in his skin. “You’re saving lives, giving our people hope.”

  Our people. He pushed his cheek ridge into her palm. His druzka’s people were his people, as the Silan people were now hers. “I could not fix without you.” Vern allowed the tips of their noses to touch. Shadows hugged her exotic brown eyes, her skin paler than normal. “You are the ideal mate for me.” She hadn’t complained once about the long duration or the primitive conditions.

  “Then you had better keep me,” his Win teased, her lips curling upward.

  “You are mine,” he growled and the scent of her arousal flavored the air. “I will keep you for my lifespan. I—”

  Footsteps grew louder. Vern tilted his head, listening to the bustling activity around them. He recognized the tread of Warrior Dave, the smallest Warrior, his left boot dragging on the pavement. “They are here,” he warned his female.

  The fabric surrounding their chamber rustled and the males entered. Their grim expressions lightened as they gazed upon the fixed offspring. They glanced at each other, Warrior Dave nodded and they turned as one.

  “Fixer Vern, sir,” they barked, tapping their heels together, and raising their right fingers to their foreheads.

  Vern had observed this greeting exchanged between other human Warriors. He nudged his Win off his lap and stood, his legs unsteady. “Warrior Dave, Warrior Dan.” He mimicked their actions.

  Warrior Dan’s lips twitched as he lowered his hand. “We are instructed to inform you that you are relieved of duty, sir. You are to don your hood and gloves.” He indicated the folded head and hand coverings set on one of the supports. “Soldiers are waiting outside to escort you back to your ship.” He paused, glancing at Warrior Dave once more. The smaller male inclined his head. “It has been an honor serving with you, sir. We wish you and Miss Win,” his gaze flicked to her, “the best.”

  They honored him. A lump of emotion formed in Vern’s throat, his brain blank of the human words to acknowledge the momentous occasion.

  “Awww…we wish you the best too.” His female didn’t suffer the same damage. “You stay safe.” She waved her right index finger. “Don’t take any unnecessary risks.”

  “We won’t, miss,” Warrior Dave replied. The two males smiled, appearing younger than their professed solar cycles, and they grasped the offspring’s sleeping support. They transported her out of the chamber before Vern could respond.

  He stared at the opening in the fabric. “My Win.” His voice broke.

  She gazed up at him. “I know.” His Win wrapped her arms around his torso. He held her, needing the connection, uncertain as to what or how she knew that. He trusted her, she was his druzka and he was too exhausted to decipher her response, his thoughts hampered by exertion and lack of sleep.

  “We must return to the ship,” Vern mumbled into his female’s brown curls. “I cannot protect you.” His limbs were weak, his senses dulled. A tunnel of black restricted his vision and all sharp edges blurred.

  “You’re that tired, huh?” His Win’s forehead wrinkled. He pressed his lips together, not answering. “I’ll get your hoodie.” She rushed to the support, her generous hips swaying, her seductive stride distracting him from his concerns. “I don’t know where they got this.” She held out the chest and head covering.

  He pulled it over his bald scalp and squeezed his arms through the openings. The fabric stretched tightly across his chest, restricting his movements. He rolled his shoulders back and seams ripped. “Human coverings are not suitable for Silans.”

  “Big-and-tall stores don’t carry your size.” His Win tugged the hand coverings over his fingers. “You need bigger and taller.” She laughed, the sound light and joyous, and Vern smiled, his female’s happiness easing his distress.

  “There. Done.” She perused him carefully. “You look as though you’re about to knock over a liquor store.” His Win’s twinkling eyes denoted a humorous reference, her words confusing Vern. “But no one will think you’re an alien.”

  “Silan,” he corrected.

  The curtain swished behind them, Talker Gladys’ raspy breathing announcing her return. “Whew wee. It’s a zoo out there,” the elderly female huffed.

  Vern’s confusion compounded. There is an enclosure for non-native beasts outside our transient domicile?

  “There are reporters and protestors and worried parents surrounding the tent,” Gladys elaborated. “It’s a good thing you’re wearing a disguise. There’s not a lot of love for aliens in this city right now.”

  Vern frowned, his concern for his female increasing. “The humans are hostile?”

  “They don’t know you, young man.” Gladys patted his chest. “And don’t worry.” She picked up the straight metal bar he’d extracted from an unconscious male. “They’ll have to get through me to get to you.” A Warrior ferocity radiated from the aged female.

  “They’d have to get through me too.” His Win closed her fingers around another piece of debris. “No one harms my male.”

  His little human females planned to protect him. Vern struggled to maintain his serious expression. “You will stay behind me.” He shifted his gaze to Gladys. “Both of you.” He pulled the head covering low, shielding most of his face. “They will not damage me.”

  He exited the makesh
ift chamber and Warriors straightened, primitive guns in their hands. Around them, damaged humans lay on the low sleeping supports, wailing for fixing, their sounds tormenting Vern. More makeshift chambers had been erected. A tall being, shrouded in black body coverings, stood to the side as though waiting for them.

  Another Fixer has arrived. Vern exhaled, relieved.

  “Follow me, sir,” the oldest Warrior instructed. They marched along the aisle. Vern kept his head bowed, his face in shadows, and concentrated on his surroundings, on his female behind him and any potential danger.

  The murmur of voices swelled to a roar as they stepped outside the domicile. Red-faced humans standing behind barriers chanted harsh words, requesting termination of all those they considered aliens. Jagged outlines of damaged domiciles filled the horizon. Smoke drifted close to the ground, decreasing Vern’s visibility, clouding his sense of smell.

  He reached behind him. His Win gripped his fingers, her hold on him tight, and some of his tension decreased. She was behind him. She was safe.

  They walked slowly, encircled by the Earth Warriors. Vern scanned the crowd, looking for any threats to his female. Seeing the destruction, smelling the putrid stench of termination, of spilled blood, he understood why the humans were angry. They associated all non-humans with pain, with loss.

  More Warriors stood in front of the Silan ship, arguing with a tall, gray-haired male. The male wore two chest coverings, one black and the other white, with a strip of green fabric around his neck.

  “I am the mayor, my city has been attacked and I’ll go where I damn well please,” the male fumed. Human Talkers held out crude recording devices, capturing his words. “Someone on that ship knows who treated my daughter.” His green eyes blazed.

  Vern had fixed a female offspring with similar-colored eyes. He should say nothing. He twisted his lips. But he could not risk that the female had more damage. “Did your offspring have black hair?”

  Heads turned. “We have orders not to engage with the civilians, sir,” the oldest Warrior advised.

  “Yes, she has black hair.” The mayor stalked toward him, his gaze searching Vern’s face. “Do you know who treated her? They told me her,” his jaw moved, his words not audible, “her skull had been crushed by those damn aliens. Those bloody bastards.”

  The female he fixed also had damage to her skull. “Does your offspring have additional damage?” Vern’s voice rose, a wave of concern sweeping over him. His Win squeezed his hand.

  “No.” The mayor shook his head. “That’s the thing. My people told me she wouldn’t live.” His eyes were covered with a sheen of moisture. “Yet she doesn’t have a scratch on her. She’s alive, perfect.”

  “She has no damage.” Vern’s shoulders lowered.

  “Do you know who treated her?” the mayor pleaded. Human Talkers crowded around them, lights from their recording devices illuminating the pavement.

  “Why do you wish to know?” His Win stepped forward.

  The mayor scowled. “So I can thank the doctor, of course. It’s the least I could do.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “I was helping others when her building was attacked. I wasn’t there for my own daughter.” His voice broke.

  Not knowing the Fixer’s identity caused the male damage. “I fixed your offspring,” Vern confessed. “With the assistance of my Win and Talker Gladys.” He waved his gloved fingers at his two females.

  “Thank you.” The mayor held out his hand in human greeting. Vern clasped it and the male’s eyes widened. “If there’s anything I can do for you, name it.”

  Vern released the mayor’s hand and thought for a moment. “Do not hate all aliens. We are not alike.”

  “We?” the humans collectively asked.

  “Lejno,” Vern muttered, realizing his error. He grabbed his Win’s waist as the crowd surged forward. He pushed her toward the ship. Someone tugged on his head covering, unveiling his face. Lights flashed. Warriors yelled. Gladys darted in front of them, moving faster than her perceived capabilities.

  An object hit the back of Vern’s skull, the pain negligible for a Silan. He hunched over his more fragile human female, protecting her with his body. Shots reported. They rushed up the metal ramp and the doors closed behind them. The floor under their feet vibrated.

  “I told them to start the engines.” Gladys grinned, her face moist.

  “You added great value,” Vern praised the elderly female. “Are you damaged, my Win?” He patted his hands over her curvaceous form. Her nipples tightened. The musk of her arousal grew heavy.

  “I’m fine, my Vern.” His druzka’s voice was husky. “But I will have damage soon if you continue to touch me like that.”

  “Fixer Vern Zajac,” Warrior Miar Najazd roared, the tall male appearing in the corridor. “Ruler Arystokrata Nazwisko requires your presence.” He glared at Vern.

  Lejno. Vern’s desire dissipated. “I will attend to Ruler Arystokrata Nazwisko, Warrior Miar Najazd.”

  * * * * *

  “What can they be talking about for so long?” Win ducked her head into the aisle. Vern lounged in a seat positioned at the far side of the chamber, his words too soft for her to hear. He’d been talking to Storm’s stern Silan Ruler for most of the flight. The Silans were returning to the compound, where they could protect themselves from hostile humans and the even more hostile Mravenecs.

  “I know what they’re talking about,” Storm sang, her eyes glittering with mischief.

  “Tell us, red.” Gladys leaned forward. She’d refused to leave the ship, out-intimidating the scary Miar, insisting her place was with them. “We girls have to stick together.”

  Storm looked around her as though ensuring no one overheard her. “Win’s Vern will be staying on Earth. My Ary has chosen him to be Sila’s first ambassador.”

  Vern won’t be leaving. Win breathed a sigh of relief. “What about the fiasco with the mayor and the reporters on the tarmac? Will Vern be in trouble for that?”

  “He’ll be in trouble for a short time.” Storm waved one of her hands dismissively. “Until I help spin the story. ‘Brave alien doctor saves mayor’s only child’.” She gave her headline air quotes, crooking two fingers of each hand. “An alien falls desperately in love with a human, a forbidden romance.” Storm’s voice lowers dramatically. “And he’s compelled to help her people. Vern will be the face of Sila.” She beams. “You can work the talk-show circuit and the morning shows and—”

  Win groaned. “I’m not you, Storm.” She ran her hands over her excessive curves. Her clothes were disgustingly dirty. She didn’t want to think about her hair.

  “You’re real, Win.” Storm’s smile widened. “The world will believe you. They’ll love you. Hmmm…” She tapped her index finger against her bottom lip. “You’ll need media training, of course. We don’t want Vern to talk about his fascination with your ass on air.”

  Win’s face heated. He did like her ass. “You really think we could do this?” she asked, valuing Storm’s opinion, needing her reassurance.

  “We are not doing this.” Vern loomed over her, his face blue with heated emotion. Win gazed down at his pants. He wasn’t aroused. He must be angry. “It is too dangerous.”

  She frowned. “Warrior Miar told us the compound was secure.”

  “Being my druzka makes you a target.” He lowered his big frame into one of the funky space chairs. “The humans are hostile. They wish to terminate all aliens and if you are seen with me…” His lips flattened.

  He worries about me. Win stroked his arm.

  “She has already been seen with you,” Storm said. “At this moment, every human Talker is displaying your Win’s image.” Win gulped, that prospect terrifying her. “She will be a target. If you don’t take this role, Fixer Vern, you will be forced to return to Sila and you won’t be able to protect her. She’ll be alone.”

  “I don’t want to be alone, my Vern.” Win climbed into his lap, sitting so she faced him. Vern wrapped his arms arou
nd her, holding her to his hard body, his hot breath wafting on her neck. “Where you go, I go.”

  “And I go,” Gladys chimed in.

  “You are a stubborn female, druzka,” Vern murmured. He turned his head toward the retired schoolteacher. “And you are a stubborn female, Talker Gladys.” He gazed at Storm. “I cannot say what you are, Talker Storm, or Ruler Arystokrata will reprimand me.”

  “She’s a stubborn female too.” Win grinned. “He can’t reprimand me.” Gladys and Storm laughed and Vern’s lips lifted. “So you’ll be Sila’s new Earth ambassador, my Vern?”

  “Is this my ruling to make?” he asked.

  “No,” they replied.

  The green coloring returned to Vern’s eyes. “I will be Sila’s new Earth ambassador,” he confirmed, meeting Win’s gaze. “I will protect you and love you. You will never be alone.” He pressed his lips against hers, sealing his decision with a kiss.

  Epilogue

  Win gazed at the folders spread out on the floating glass-and-metal coffee table. Six short months ago, she’d crafted similar folders on the Silans, thinking they were the only other intelligent life in the universes. She had been wrong. Each folder in front of her contained key information on a different extraterrestrial race seeking inclusion in the Earth-Silan Alliance.

  Only the peaceful humanoid races compatible with human females were being considered, as Earth leaders wished to minimize the risk of war with another off-world race. The Mravenecs had done enough damage to the planet before they’d been subdued by the Silans.

  Win flipped through the folder on the Orogones, a sophisticated race with the enviable ability to change forms. She could stand beside an Orogone male on a city bus and not know he was an extraterrestrial being.

  A loud cheer rose from the corridors outside the former laboratory. The wing of the underground facility had been dedicated to Silans and their human druzkas. Win set the folder down and strode to the doors, curious about the source of their excitement.