by Lizzy Bequin
“Babu?”
Clare sighs.
“You know, the skinny clear noodle man that you saved. Or maybe it’s a woman? Or neither? I don’t know. Anyway, it says ‘babu‘ a lot, and it took your helmet off when you wouldn’t wake up.”
She gestures toward the side of my head where I am bandaged.
“Babu healed you. It made some kind of medicine from leaves and put it on your wound. I think it may have saved your life.”
“All for nothing, I’m afraid. Now stand aside, human. I must fulfill my duty.”
But Clare doesn’t stand aside. Instead she balls her hands into small fists and lets out a scream of rage so intense that the veins pop out along her throat.
“Fuck your duty!” She shouts. “And fuck your honor, and fuck your stupid Creed too! You need to cut out this samurai bullshit right now, mister. I just spent the entire day and half the night all alone and terrified that I had lost you. Now as soon as you’re better, you’re just going to off yourself? No way. No freaking way. Over my dead body. I swore to myself that I would protect you from anything that tried to kill you tonight, and I guess that includes yourself.”
As gently as possible, I push the human aside and take up my spear.
“You don’t understand,” I growl softly. “The Creed is all that I have anymore. I must follow it at all costs.”
I raise the spear to aim it at my chest again, but somehow, with surprising skill, the female wriggles under my arm and hugs her arms around my body, putting herself between my heart and the weapon.
“I told you, over my dead body,” she says in a choked voice. “If you go, you’ll have to take me with you.”
I move the spear tip away for fear that I might accidentally injure her soft, delicate skin.
“Clare, you know I would never kill you, but—“
“But what?” Her soft cheek is warm against my chest. “If you die and leave me here to fend for myself, I’ll be as good as dead anyway.” Then laughing through her tears, she adds, “I’m just a helpless, primitive little human, remember? I need you to take care of me. Now lets go to the ship and you can make a fire.”
I sigh and shake my head, but I do not drop my spear.
“You cannot understand,” I try to explain. “For a Mezentine warrior, the Creed rules all things. It is the beginning and the end of honor. And honor is everything for a warrior. I must obey the Creed, Clare. It is my bound duty.”
She is silent for a long moment as the night wind stirs her hair.
“What about me?” she asks at last. “Don’t you have a duty to me? I need you Rogar.”
She tilts her head back to look up at me with tearful eyes.
“And if not for me, then what about your brother? You can keep working and saving money so that he can be free. I’m sure he would understand. And I promise I’ll never tell anyone that I saw you without your helmet on.”
She closes her eyes as I pet her smooth hair back. She is so beautiful like this, her soft skin lit only by the stars.
“It’s not about who knows,” I say at last. “I will know, and that is what matters. It’s about honor.”
Clare frowns and drops her head, but she doesn’t loosen her hug.
“Some things are more important than honor,” she mutters.
“What things?”
Clare doesn’t answer, but she doesn’t have to. I know exactly what she means because I sense it too. Over the past two days, the bond between us has grown so strong, I feel like I have known her all my life—like she is the missing piece I’ve been waiting for to complete me.
All my adult life, I have prided myself on my strength as a warrior. None has been able to best me. None has been able to match my will.
None but this small, warm female.
Humans are a fragile species, but I see now that they are formidable in their own curious way.
I turn the spear tip downward and drive it safely into the earth again.
“Okay,” I say softly to the top of her head.
She tilts her head back and gazes up at me with a hopeful look.
“Okay what?” she asks.
“I will not end my life yet. I will delay my duty until we have gotten off this planet and you are safe.”
A bright, starlit grin spreads across her face, and a twinkling tear rolls down her up-tilted temple.
“That’s a start, at least,” she whispers.
Clare smiles up at me, looking so beautiful. I glide my hands over her body.
“You’re cold,” I say.
“So are you.”
She tenses slightly as I pluck my spear from the ground, but then relaxes as I sling its leather strap over my shoulder and gesture off toward the mountain and the wrecked ship.
“Come,” I say. “We will seek shelter there for the remainder of the night. I will build a fire to keep us warm.”
“That sounds nice.”
Clare’s small hands coil around my arm and she leans her head against me as we walk together under the stars. After a few seconds, she breaks the silence.
“Rogar?”
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry I called your Creed stupid.”
I smile and slide my arm around her soft shoulders, holding her close as we walk ahead through the rippling, windblown grass.
CHAPTER 18: CLARE
We have made our camp just inside the jungle, near the base of the wrecked spacecraft, which is canted up the slope of the plateau at a sharp angle. The pale green light of the fire shines through the branches and vines, knitting a shivering network of shadows across the scuffed and dented hull.
Every now and then, I catch a glimpse of other things gleaming in the shadows too—things that look like reflective eyes, though it could just be my mind playing tricks on me. I shiver, but this time it’s not because of the cool night air.
More than anything, I’m grateful that I’m not alone in this frightening world. I’m grateful that my alien warrior is here to protect me.
Rogar kneels by the stone-rimmed campfire and adds a few more branches that he chopped with his spear from trees felled by the ship when it careened down the mountainside. As the green tongues of flame lick higher, hungrily consuming the added fuel, the wood pops and crackles sending twirls of sparks drifting upward toward the leaves overhead, which are bobbing in the hot air rising from the fire.
Once he is satisfied, Rogar comes and sits beside me on the carpet of broad leaves that I have laid out for us. He has taken off his armor, his cape and even his boots, leaving him with only his loincloth of mail and leather and, of course, his dinged up helmet, which we need for talking.
It occurs to me that he and I are going to be stuck together on this planet for a long time. Maybe years. Maybe the rest of our lives. At some point I’ll need to learn his language. I’m not even sure my mouth can make some of those sounds.
“The wood is a bit damp from the rain.” Rogar’s translated voice comes out a bit glitchy due to the damage his helmet sustained. “But the fire’s going now, and I set more wood nearby to dry it.”
“It feels good,” I say, “Much warmer.”
I scoot a little closer to Rogar. For a little while, I just gaze into the hypnotic, green flames. My body is weary, and I should be asleep, but once more my brain is itching with a thousand different thoughts about everything that happened today, and what will happen in the days to come.
A loud and unexpected croak like a bullfrog comes from somewhere nearby in the jungle. Startled, I instinctively throw my body toward Rogar. He wraps his arms around me protectively to keep me from tumbling over.
“Careful, little one.” he says with a hint of a chuckle.
“Rogar, there’s something out there,” I whimper, staring at the deep shadows beyond the minty glow of the campfire.
His strong hands glide over my shoulders and arms soothingly.
“Fear not, Clare. I encountered some of those creatures when I was gathering firewood. They
are tiny, harmless things. Their loud call belies their actual miniscule size.
“Tiny?” I ask. “That’s a relative term, big guy. You’ve called me tiny a couple times.”
Rogar’s body shakes with laughter.
“These creatures are very tiny.” He holds one hand before my eyes, using the gap between thumb and forefinger to indicate the size. “No bigger than the Earth creature that you call a mouse.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. Though I’m not a big fan of mice, I can handle them. Plus, whatever creatures might be nearby, the campfire seems to keep them at bay, and Rogar also set up a security perimeter just like the night before, so I think we’re reasonably safe.
Realizing just how tightly I have smushed my nearly naked body against Rogar’s, I suddenly blush and try to pull away. Rogar, however, doesn’t let me go. His arm is coiled firmly around me, and it’s like being held by a solid marble statue.
An involuntary squeal escapes me as he slides his massive hands under my arms and lifts me up, setting me back down in front of him on the leafy pad, my hips bracketed by his muscular thighs.
I give in, and lean back into him. His hard, scale-covered muscles are cool and smooth against my back.
A long, wordless moment is filled up by the jungle sounds—the chittering of what sounds like insects, the crackle and pop of the fire, and rustle of wind stirring the tree tops overhead. The supposedly tiny creature croaks again in the shadows. This time, snuggled in Rogar’s embrace, I am unafraid.
“I can’t believe something so small can make so much noise,” I whisper.
Rogar chuckles softly. I don’t hear it so much as I feel it as a light rumble against my back.
“My mother always said the same thing about me when I was a little hatchling.”
There is a smile in his voice, but I detect a note of sadness and longing too.
“Were you a little hellion, then?” I giggle as I nestle against him.
“You could say that. But my little brother Kozar was even worse.”
It occurs to me just how little I know about this strange alien warrior. I know that he is a bounty hunter, and I know that he obviously cares deeply about his family, which is a trait that I like. But I know almost nothing about his homeworld.
“Tell me about your planet, Rogar. What is it like?”
He grows silent for a moment, and I worry that I have said something wrong.
“Why do you want to know such things?” his voice, slightly melancholy, is distorted by his helmet.
“I’m curious about you,” I say. “We’re going to be together for a while, so we should get to know each other.”
“Actually, I already know quite a bit about you,” he says.
I twist against his body and look up at his helmeted head reflecting the wavering green flames.
“Really?”
Rogar nods. “I read your dossier before I came to apprehend you.”
“Oh yeah.”
I settle back against his chest and stare into the campfire again. After all the crazy stuff that has happened, I had almost forgotten that he quote-unquote apprehended me.
“So what did this ‘dossier’ say?” I ask.
Rogar thinks for a moment.
“It said that you were an apprentice artisan and a scholar of human garments.”
I laugh at that.
“What?” Rogar asks. “Is the information incorrect?”
I shake my head against his hard chest.
“I’ve just never heard it put quite like that. But it’s basically right I guess. I’m studying fashion and costume design at USC. As a matter of fact, I even made this Princess Leia costume myself.” I look down at my nearly naked body—the elaborate bra that is dirty and tattered from our adventures and the skimpy burgundy panties. “Well, what’s left of it.”
Rogar rumbles with satisfaction.
“You are a skilled craftswoman, Clare. Among my species, this is a desirable trait for a female.”
“Really?”
“Indeed. Our females are strong, and fierce fighters in their own right, but they are not as strong and large as the males. Therefore they contribute by crafting our weapons and armor.”
I glance over at his carefully stacked armor and upright spear which are gleaming green in the light of the campfire.
“So a woman made those?” I ask, clearly impressed. And then I add, “Was she your girlfriend?”
I’m playing it coy, trying to keep my voice level to conceal my ulterior motive for asking that question.
“That armor has been in my family for generations,” he says with a proud growl. “It was forged by my great-grandmother and passed down to the first-hatched males of my lineage.”
That answer makes me happy, for more reasons than one. I take a moment to admire his great-grandmother’s handiwork before I continue my line of interrogation, a little more directly this time.
“So, do you have a girlfriend back home?”
Rogar grunts.
“Girlfriend? You keep using this term, but it confuses me. Are you asking if I have ever befriended a female?”
I can’t stifle my laugh at Rogar’s rigid outlook. I wiggle against him, enjoying the shape of his hard body and the way it seems to fit against the curve of my back so well.
“Not ‘befriended’ exactly,” I say.
Rogar makes a sound of realization.
“You are asking if I have a mate,” he says. “I do not. The life of a bounty hunter is ill-suited to such relationships. It would not be fair to the female involved.”
My heart flutters. I like that answer even more. Based on the masterful way that Rogar used his tongue and fingers last night, I have no doubts that he has definitely been with a woman before. Even I’m not that naïve. But based on what he is telling me, he is at least single now.
“What about you?” his helmet-distorted voice buzzes softly above me. “Do you have a mate, Clare?”
There is a hint of possessiveness in his voice that drives me wild, and gives me that funny feeling again, like someone tickling my tummy from the inside. Even though I shouldn’t, I can’t resist the urge to tease this stern, serious alien a bit.
“Maybe,” I say coyly.
Rogar’s body stiffens behind me. His embracing arms squeeze me a little more tightly, like a child with a toy he doesn’t want to share.
“I see,” he grumbles. “Perhaps I will have to defeat this male in combat.”
I turn around in his arms and kneel in front of him, placing my hands on his broad, muscled chest.
“That might be hard to do,” I whisper. “He’s a very dangerous warrior.”
“Indeed?”
His voice sounds different now. Raspy.
I trace my fingers down his torso, letting their tips ripple over his perfect abs. I circle the smooth place where his belly button would be, enjoying the smoothness of his supple, snake-like skin.
“Oh, indeed. And he’s very tough,” I add. “He’s covered in these hard, sexy little blue-green scales.”
My fingers play lower still, to the line of Rogar’s loincloth, which has risen with his excitement. I draw my nails lightly over the length of the rigid pole that is lifting the layers of leather and mail. Wet desire blossoms at my center.
“And I suspect,” I go on in a warbly voice, “that he is quite skillful when it comes to wielding his, um…spear.”
Rogar purrs, soft and slightly cruel. The sound doesn’t come so much from inside his helmet as it seems to emanate straight from his chest. Between my legs, I am growing slippery with arousal.
“You suspect?” Rogar rumbles. “You have not experienced it firsthand?”
I flick my eyes up to Rogar’s helmet.
“Let’s change that,” I whisper.
I reach for his helmet, but his massive fists clench around my wrists.
“I’ve already seen you,” I say.
“I know. But we won’t be able to talk with this off.”
The cracked visor reflects my face back at me, and I nibble my lip, giving my alien warrior the naughtiest look I can manage.
“We won’t need to talk,” I whisper. “The time for talking is over.”
His fists release my wrists, and he helps me remove the dented helmet, setting it aside.
Rogar’s face is even more handsome now, lit at a low angle by the trembling firelight. His eyes, I realize now, are the color of pale jade, and the pupils are vertical slits like a serpent’s eyes. It gives him a demonic quality and stirs desires I didn’t even know I had.
He pulls me roughly against him and claims my mouth in a forceful kiss as his fingers weave and tangle through my hair. He tilts my head, slashing his mouth against mine from a different angle. His forked tongue teases along the seam of my lips, and I open for him, letting him inside.
Rogar’s other hand glides down my back and grips my ass firmly, drawing me into his lap. I rock my hips, rolling my throbbing need against that hard shaft outlined beneath his loincloth.
“Rogar,” I whimper. “Oh fuck, I need you so bad.”
He can’t understand me, but his wicked growl tells me he got the gist. I gasp as he jerks my head back roughly and presses those perfect lips to my throat, letting his sharp fangs graze deliciously against my skin.
I guess I should be weirded out by this. Two days ago, I probably would have been. I mean, he’s an alien, and I’m a human. We’re not even the same freaking species. This is all kinds of messed up.
But Amber was always telling me I needed to experience new things. And this is an experience that my body needs more than anything right now. I need this more than food. More than air.
My sex-starved skin is screaming for his touch.
For his fingers.
For his mouth.
And most of all, for that long, thick erection pressing between my open legs.
“Fuck me, Rogar” I moan as I grind against him and bury my fingers in his thick, reptilian locks. “Fuck me right now.”
CHAPTER 19: ROGAR
It’s clear what the little female wants, but I’m afraid to give it to her.
It’s not that I’m nervous about making love. I have enjoyed many females of my own species in my youth, but that was only casual sex. None of them made me feel that way that this soft little human does.
