Havik

by Starr Huntress

  Another snort. “I know you aliens are all moral and upright, but no. No one cared, unless we got sloppy and got caught. Then the system wasn’t very interested in, I don’t know, street urchins. Waifs. Anyway, that lasted until I reached the inevitable destination of a kid getting three meals a day and puberty. I know I ain’t,” she waved a hand at her chest, “but it made enough of a difference that I couldn’t climb through windows anymore.”

  “Are you referring to your breasts? They seem adequate.”

  She blushed a pleasing pink and rolled her eyes. “Adequate. What every girl dreams of hearing.”

  “They are small, but they have their appeal.” He nodded, satisfied at his statement.

  “Can we not talk about my boobs right now, unless we get to talk about your tail?”

  “No,” he said curtly. “No discussing any body parts or attractive features.”

  “You were married?”

  “Yes.”

  “Someone, a human woman, actually married you?”

  “Yes.” He did not understand her line of questioning.

  “And you talked to her like this? Was she adequately attractive?”

  He wanted to explain that Vanessa’s appearance had been strange, yet he found her Terran differences to be attractive. Instead, he said, “What happened next in your tale of woe?”

  “Oh. I started working with Doc. He needed someone young to run around for him. I learned a lot watching him and eventually I did basic first aid-type stuff.” She raised her shoulders in a Terran gesture he recognized as indifferent. “No big deal.”

  Static proceeded Ren’s warning that gravity would commence in thirty seconds. He advised them to move to a safety harness or hold on. The computer began a countdown.

  Thalia grabbed the medical kit and made her way to a fold-out emergency seat. She tugged at the safety harness but floated above the chair and could not position herself. Havik pressed down on her thighs, moving her down and allowing the safety harness to click into place.

  “What about you? You’re gonna hit the floor.”

  Havik opened his mouth to respond that he would be fine when the computer countdown reached ten.

  His chest slammed into the floor, knocking the air out of him. “That was not thirty seconds!”

  Chapter 10

  Thalia

  Turns out, Thalia wasn’t the type to hide away in her cabin, which surprised her. She always hid in her room as much as possible from Nicky and his goons, easily able to entertain herself with reading or watching shows.

  Everything was different here. Maybe it was the lingering fog in her head—getting clearer every day—or just the strangeness of the situation. She had lost three years, was on a spaceship, surrounded by alien strangers, and she just wanted a bit of human contact, so to speak.

  The common room served multiple purposes with a small kitchen, dining with a farmhouse-style table, and entertainment with a semicircular built-in couch with deep cushions. At first, Thalia thought the round wooden table in front of the couch was a coffee table, but it was a holographic console.

  With the lights down low, the projected images flickered in the light like ghosts. She could get better sound and picture quality watching on a handheld tablet but curling up on the massive couch with a snuggly blanket and Havik’s pet monster was better than being alone in her cabin.

  Havik, for some reason, lingered in the common room. From the other side of the room, he watched her every move, like he expected her to steal the nuts and bolts of the ship.

  Obstinately, she wanted to, just to show him she could.

  Sitting on the couch with her legs crossed, she munched on a bowl of noodles. It had a savory peanut-like sauce, rehydrated bits of vegetables, and a ton of salt, no doubt. The guys didn’t seem to be much in the way of cooks and packed the kitchen with three different flavors of the same instant noodle bowls. They did have a cabinet full of—hand to God—tomato juice. Fine, not tomato juice, but close enough that the hungover would reach for a glass the morning after. It was spicy, a bit sweet, and surprisingly nice when cold. Thalia liked the not-tomato juice.

  She dangled a noodle over the edge, and the pet scorpion reared back on two legs and grabbed it. His mandibles crammed the noodle in while his front paws twitched and flexed. It was cute as fuck, to be honest.

  “Do not feed the kumakre from the table,” Havik said.

  “I’m not at the table.” Score one point to Thalia on a technicality.

  “It is a wild creature and must learn to hunt, not beg for scraps.”

  “Fair enough.” She deducted her point. “How big do kamu-whatsits get?”

  Havik ran a hand down his braid and tossed it over a shoulder, a move she now recognized as his thinking gesture. “Theoretically, there is no limit outside of available space, food, and water, but most grow to be this high.” He stood up and stretched his hand over his head.

  Massive.

  Thalia looked at the kumakre. “Right now, I’m sincerely wondering if he’s plotting to eat me.”

  “Most definitely.” Havik grinned, bearing all his sharp, pointy teeth, and tusks. Just a mouthful of teeth, a heart-stopping number of teeth.

  Fuck, that was hot.

  She seemed to forget how to swallow and coughed to clear her throat. Holy crap, she hoped that was a friendly grin.

  “Do not worry. The kumakre sleeps burrowed in the sand and has a sand pit in the cargo bay. It will not outgrow the enclosure.” He picked up the sand scorpion and stroked the underside of the shell. “It has reached the maximum size allowed by the space.”

  So chonky housecat size. Thalia could handle that, or at least fight it off if it tried to eat her.

  “You changed the color.” Havik waved at his shoulder. She assumed he meant her hair.

  “Yeah, that green was a big old fail. It was just bad luck that I got stuck with it for three years.” She pulled an exaggerated frowning face. “I like this green much better.”

  He gave her a critical look. “I see no difference.”

  “Stabs said he liked it.” She rubbed his belly and the kumakre rattled its tail and chirruped. Her heart melted. That cutie could totally nibble off her toes.

  “Do you want to watch a movie?” she asked. To her surprise, he sat down at the far end of the couch. Using the clunky hand-gesture controls, she pulled up the menu. “Any preference?”

  “There is a new series on the endangered wildlife of—”

  “Trick question. We’re watching Pride and Prejudice.” While the holographic console connected to the network, content had to be downloaded. Connection speed varied on distance from a satellite, blah blah blah, nebulas, or something. All Thalia knew was that it took her a full day to download a century’s worth of Jane Austen adaptations. She grabbed as many as she could find, even the modern films inspired by Austen’s books.

  “It’s fantastic. It’s a classic book and a romance between two people who don’t like each other initially. Plus, costumes.” She glanced at Havik, once again picturing him with a starched cravat. “There’s about fifty versions of the book, so we can compare and decide which one we like best.” That was another trick because they were already watching the best version.

  “Is there fighting?”

  “Not in this version, but there is this one remake with zombies. It’s surprisingly fun.” The lights dimmed as the credits played.

  When the first soldier in a red coat wandered onto the screen, Havik perked up. “Is this based on historical events?”

  “Um, no. It’s fiction, but Britain was at war with Napoleon when it was written. That’s why all the soldiers are wandering around,” she explained. Not wanting to scare him off by geeking out, she stifled her natural enthusiasm about the social turmoil of the Regency.

  They watched in silence until he said, “The mother is unusually preoccupied with finding mates for her children.” Thalia muttered something about women not being able to own property and having caree
rs.

  Then, “Ten thousand pounds? Is that currency, or he is very heavy?”

  Then, “The youngest child is too headstrong.”

  Then, “The garments seem impractical.”

  Ren wandered in and became entranced. “That is an impractical sword,” he said.

  Havik grunted in agreement. “They are too conservative to brag about their prowess, so they decorate themselves in meaningless ornament to attract a mate.”

  “Fascinating.”

  Then, Ren asked, “Ten thousand pounds? Is that a lot of currency, or is he weighed down by all his currency?”

  A few moments later, Ren, because he was the more vocal of the two, said, “I have much admiration for their style of dress. Female, you should do that.” He waved a hand over his chest and then toward the holographic figures. “This part of Terran female anatomy is highly attractive.”

  “Do not stare at the female’s anatomy,” Havik snapped.

  Entirely self-conscious about the thin tank top she wore and her flat chest, Thalia jumped up and announced, “I’m getting a drink!”

  “Do not growl at me,” Ren said. “What is wrong with the female being pleasing to the eye?”

  “She is not here to please you.”

  Ren laughed and muttered something she couldn’t hear. She heard Havik growl in response as the entire room seemed to vibrate with displeasure.

  “Fine, she can be hidden away in a bag for all I care,” Ren said, defeat in his tone.

  Funny thing was Thalia had a brief period of long, romantic style dresses when she was sixteen. She found a ton of dresses at a thrift store. Some she liberated. Some she purchased legitimately. The Jane Austen Empire-style suited her figure, but she didn’t like the attention it brought. Soon, she hid herself away in layers and continued to do so.

  She plucked at the tank.

  Well, her wardrobe on Earth had been chunky sweaters and shapeless hoodies. Now she had stretchy pants, tanks, and a pullover, not that she ever wore it because the guys kept their ship temperature just shy of the Bahamas.

  She hadn’t really picked anything; those items were given to her without any input. Still, she could jazz up her wardrobe and wear something more flattering.

  With a glass of cold water, she returned, painfully aware of how Havik watched her. Not with appreciation, if the sneer on his face was anything to go by. His tail flicked against the sofa. Cats did that when they were irritated, and he certainly looked irritated.

  Why did she want to look nice for him, anyway? That was dumb.

  They fell back into silence as the movie resumed. Before long, “He is an honorless scoundrel!” Havik shouted. “And he is to be rewarded by mating the youngest daughter? He deserved a blade through the belly.”

  “I totally agree,” Thalia said.

  Two hours in, the end credits rolled. Stretched out on the couch on her belly, the kumakre curled up in the small of her back.

  “Female, are you asleep?”

  “Nearly.” She flexed her fingers and stretched slowly, giving the critter time to move and complain about his nap being interrupted. “Thanks for watching with me. What did you think?”

  Ren excused himself, claiming something about regulators that sounded technical. Havik moved from the sitting area, as if to leave the common room, then paused. He ran a hand down his braid and tossed it over his shoulder. His tail waved from side to side. “I am interested in the version with zombies.”

  Thalia smiled, delighted how he sounded almost nervous. “Sure. I’d like a drink and a stretch before the next movie.”

  In the kitchen area, she made herself a cup of coffee, or the closest thing to it they had on the ship. The dark brew had a bitter taste but hit enough of the coffee notes that she felt satisfied, especially when she added a powdered creamer. Whatever it was, particularly if it was ground bugs or something, she didn’t want to know.

  “Shouldn’t you be flying the ship?” she asked before blowing across the steaming mug.

  “Autopilot. The computer will notify me if an issue requires attention.”

  “So, it’s just you and Ren on the ship?”

  His back stiffened and his tail, once lazily waving behind him, tucked down next to his leg. “We are without a clan. You were aware of the situation when you agreed to the mission,” he said.

  The sharpness in his tone felt bitter, almost brittle, and Thalia knew not to press the point. Havik, a mystery man without a wife and a clan, could keep his secrets.

  The door opened at a touch. Steam hung in the air, but Thalia could see the massive red man in the shower just fine.

  The perfectly shaped ass and thick thighs flexed as he soaped. The tail swayed from side to side. Long black hair hung in strands down his back. Seeing his hair undone felt more vulnerable and intimate than his naked butt and tail.

  Thalia knew it was wrong to stare. She should back away and pretend she saw nothing, that the door had been locked—because who doesn’t lock the cleansing room door? —but her feet refused to move.

  Havik reached down and lathered the length of his tail.

  Thalia made some strangled gurgle that might be construed as attraction but had zero ability to actually attract anything. She dropped her towel and hairbrush.

  Havik spun on his heel, surprise on his face.

  She shouldn’t look down.

  Water beaded on his broad chest, trickling down.

  She looked down.

  She blinked and quickly looked back up. “I’m so sorry. The door wasn’t locked and…” She glanced down again because what was wrong with her?

  “Leave! Can a male have no privacy?”

  “I’m really sorry.” She scrambled to pick up her towel and hairbrush, backing up and dropping the damn brush again.

  Thalia hustled back to her cabin. Safely behind a closed—and locked, thank you very much—door, she collapsed into a chair. She buried her face into the towel and screamed in frustration.

  Why did she act like such a perv, and why didn’t she feel worse about it? She was gross, leering at the gorgeous muscular alien with an ass that wouldn’t quit. She wanted to get her hands on that tail and tug.

  She was so gross.

  Danger B was built, which was no surprise because he liked to wear pants so tight, they could be painted on. The surprise was what hung between his legs.

  Or didn’t.

  His dick wasn’t there. Sure, a bulge suggested something internal, and she really hoped that something was comparable to a penis. It had to be. The Mahdfel came to Earth to make babies, and everything she had read and seen in the media suggested those babies were made the old-fashioned way.

  Okay, okay. Dick crisis over.

  She just wished she knew more about alien biology and that she wasn’t such a creep.

  Havik

  “Who’s a pretty sand demon? You are. Yes, you are,” Thalia cooed, applying a clear coat to the painted design on the kumakre’s back.

  “What have you done?”

  Clutching the small bottle of paint, Thalia stared at him with wide eyes. Before she could say something clever and make his ill temper vanish, he swooped in and grabbed the kumakre.

  “Be careful. You’ll smudge the nail polish,” she managed to say.

  He touched the design, finding it tacky. He shook his finger to rid himself of the sensation. “What do you call this?”

  “Mile High Blue Sky. We match. See.” She held up a hand and wiggled her fingers, drawing attention to the blue paint on her nails.

  “Why?”

  “It’s the only color I have. I think it looks nice,” she answered.

  “No, why did you adorn the kumakre with this—” He waved a hand.

  “Insignia. To denote his rank.”

  “He is a wild predator. He has no rank and this folly is undignified,” he said.

  “His name is Lieutenant Stabs, and he deserves your respect,” Thalia said in a breezy tone, as if unfazed by his displeasu
re.

  “You named my kumakre?”

  “You’re just upset because Lieutenant Stabs outranks you,” she said.

  Havik sputtered. “I am the captain.”

  Thalia leaned down. “What’s that? Admiral Stabs?” The kumakre’s mandibles played with the loose strands of her hair. “Congratulations on your sudden and unexpected promotion, Admiral.”

  Ridiculous.

  Unable to fight a bemused grin, he turned away. No one needed to see that.

  “This program is inferior. The actors simply stare at each other.” Havik had little patience for sitting idle and watching holographic images flicker, but when Thalia invited him to watch a show with her, he accepted.

  “Are you blind? Look at them. So much emotion.” Thalia held up her bowl of noodles and slurped. Excess sauce clung to her bottom lip, begging for him to run his thumb over it and taste.

  He forced himself to look away. “Terran faces all look the same,” he said.

  “First off, rude, and a little racist.” She set the bowl down. Stabs—he refused to acknowledge the kumakre’s rank of admiral—scurried forward to investigate. “It’s all in the eyebrows. Like this one is super serious and pissed.”

  If she did something with her face, he could not tell.

  “And this one is surprised.”

  Nothing.

  “And this one is amused.”

  Her face remained the same.

  “This is pointless. If you are a civilized being, use words,” he huffed. “This nuance is unreasonable.”

  She grinned.

  “…you are teasing me,” he said.

  And she laughed, tossing herself back on the pillows of the bench. She kicked her feet, rolling side to side in exaggerated mirth.

  Havik caught a foot, holding it gently. Terrans were fragile, especially at their joints. His thumb rubbed the insole of her foot. Her breath hitched in her throat. The moment stretched out between them. The soft background noise of the film and the ship’s ventilation and life support systems fell away.