Warrior Forever

by Amber Bardan

  The high strung indignant alien tech, didn’t respond.

  “Fine, you don’t exist for my amusement.” I sank back into the couch. Why would anyone invent such a pretentious, obnoxious technology?

  “I could probably work out in here.” I ran my fingers through my hair, tugging out knots, then grabbed my boobs through the blanket and groaned. “But who wants to work out buck-ass-naked?”

  Space sucked hairy balls.

  I drummed my fingers on the table top. That alien was one dead warrior when he returned. An entire day and night he’d been gone without a word.

  Without a single damned word. Rude . Leaving me with nothing but an unhelpful computer in my ear for company.

  And space gruel to stave off starvation.

  Excellent .

  I’d dusted his entire cave just to save my sanity.

  The rock groaned.

  I kicked back out of the chair and stood to face the entry. “Where have you been?”

  He entered, his fur cloak tossed over one shoulder, exposing one think bicep, horned helmet clutched under his arm.

  I tried to behave like the adult I probably still was, and did not gawk at the muscles on display. “You left without saying anything.”

  He scanned me from toes to forehead. “You well, wife?”

  “Well?” My fingers dug into my waist. A million things rushed through me at once making my skin feel tight. “No, I’m not well. I’m very upset.”

  “Angry?” He set down his helmet, and came closer, and I practically saw him lessen his armoring.

  As if I’d risk breaking a finger on him again. “Yes, angry.”

  “Why?” He unfastened his coat.

  Why ? I breathed in. “You left me here without telling me. Board out of my brain. Not knowing when you’d return.” The tight explosive feeling wound tighter. “And after I’d shared intimacy with you.”

  He stilled and something flashed across his face.

  I stopped, straightened and touched my mouth. Did I say that last bit?

  “My wife.” He reached for my shoulders. “You missed me.”

  “No, I didn’t.” I twisted, but his grip was inescapable. “I definitely wouldn’t miss you at all.”

  He squeezed me softly, and pulled me closer, gaze flickering over my face with such longing, I readjusted my focus over his shoulder.

  “Missing wife, also.”

  Two invisible hands seemed to creep out and push my ribs together.

  “That’s not true,” I whispered, still staring at the cave wall. “You don’t even know me.”

  He released me.

  I swallowed. Why’d he have to say ridiculous crap like that. He couldn’t miss me. We were complete strangers.

  “ Wife heal the sorrow of my loneness.”

  His words rattled around in my memory. I shook my head but they stuck like toffee in teeth.

  “I’m a pain in the ass, Thor.” I rubbed my arm where he’d touched. “A big nuisance. I’d be a terrible wife.” I swallowed and pulled together the remnants of my train of thought. “A human is very high maintenance. You’d be much better off releasing me and finding an easier species.” I looked at him. “I hear Crestonians are much easier to mate with.”

  His whole brow had become one big wrinkle, and it was impossible to tell which part of that he liked least. “What human need?”

  “Well that’s a billion-dollar question.” I let out a dry laugh, and rubbed my temple. “If that were so simple to answer, there’d be world peace.” I paused. “On earth, I mean.”

  Again, he didn’t react to humor, watching me just as seriously with those intense eyes of his.

  Lost cause.

  “Give one easy answer. What needed today?”

  I blinked. Today ? How about not to be a space prisoner.

  “I’m a psychologist. I work with people all day. I’m used to conversation and stimulation…” Could he even understand any of that? He watched me like he did but it was impossible to know how his alien brain reinterpreted half of what I said.

  I sighed and went with something simpler. “And when I’m not working, I like to take hikes. I like to fish. I like to listen to music. I like to cook. I like to watch television. I like to read—” Oh god, books … “I like to do a lot of things and laying around isn’t one of them.”

  “Understanding.” He nodded, his gaze making a hungry decent over me. “When mated, wife will not worry be idle.”

  My mouth opened, and my traitor nipples grazed the blanket. The you’ll-be-too-busy-taking-alien-cock dangled so precariously off the end of that statement, I clenched my slapping hand for the sake of my own wellbeing.

  “Have gift for wife.”

  I adjusted the blanket. “Is it calling me by my actual name, because that’d be fucking lovely?”

  He paused. “What name wife have?”

  My teeth clinked. See ? How could he be such a weirdo with the “I miss you’s, when he didn’t even know my name.

  “Leila,” I spat.

  He frowned. “La La.”

  “No, Leila—” I paused. Damn, I’d not always noticed when drips of English patch-worked into my Baratican when words didn’t line up. And my name was human. A different way of making sounds to Baratican.

  A way of making sounds I’d just woken up understanding and even still, the difference could be tricky.

  “It’s, Lee-lah,” I annunciated the words deliberately.

  He watched my mouth. “La La.”

  “Lee-lah.”

  He leaned closer, studying my lips. “La La.”

  I sighed and threw up my hands. “Thor…”

  At least now we were even. Kinda . I could probably say his name if I tried harder. But a girls gotta get her kicks somehow. Even if it were jokes at her captor’s expense which flew right over his big annoying head.

  “Have gift for La La.”

  I let out a little snort. La La … He was so completely insensitive toward my attempted grudge-holding with his persistent cuteness.

  “Waiting here.” He backed me into the chair.

  “Sure.” I flopped down, and gave a little wave accompanied by a grin. “Got literally nowhere else to be.”

  He left the room.

  Please don’t let this gift be bleeding green goo.

  He returned carrying a crate.

  A wooden crate.

  A crate with a big black stamp on the side.

  A stamp in an alphabetized language.

  My heart lurched and I stood. Could it be from earth ?

  He set the crate on the floor.

  I glanced around for a wrench to open it, my pulse fluttering under my skin. The crack of splintering wood ricocheted through the cave.

  I spun to him.

  He’d pulled the crate apart with his bare hands.

  Of course, he did. Barbarian. I stared at the debris, then crouched down, pushing bits of broken wood off the top.

  A swatch of pale green emerged. “A freaking dress.”

  I laughed and shook it out. The fabric glistened, billowing into a green cloud. Gold laces ran up the back. I held it to myself and laughed again, then rummaged through the pile. Belts, slips, more dresses.

  “Underwear!” There were too many pairs to even hold. I threw them onto the pile, then looked at Thor. “Where the heck did you find me clothes?”

  “Trade station.” He braced his legs apart, arms folded, face a bucket lode of smug all wrapped up in a blanket of palpable expectation. Managing to both smirk and raise only one eyebrow was almost certainly a special Baratican special gift.

  “Rein it in, Alien Boy, clothes count as part of the first favor.”

  His smirk made a rapid dissent.

  I cleared my throat and sifted back through the clothes. “But you may hold my hands again later.”

  See, I could play fair. Kind of. The weight of his attention burned on me but I focused my attention on collecting an outfit.

  “I’ll go ch
ange.” I stood, then glanced at him. “Privately. You don’t watch.”

  His mouth worked to one side then the other, but he didn’t say anything. And that expression wasn’t so easy to read as his others, yet made my pulse skip faster.

  I ran to the water room, glancing behind me before tugging the blanket off and pulling on a white slip I assumed went under the outer dress,

  “So, is that why you were gone so long.” I didn’t bother raising my voice. Not with his hearing. “You went to a trading station?”

  “Yes.”

  I stiffened at the sound of his voice just outside the water room. “Is it far away?”

  “Half a suns travel.”

  A sun, that must be a day. How did he travel anyway?

  I yanked on the outer dress. “On this planet?”

  “Between this colony and next.”

  I reached behind me for the laces at my back. How many Baratican colonies were there?

  “How big is this col—” A prickle twitched my spine. I glanced over my shoulder.

  There he stood at the entrance. Broad, would-make-a-rugby-player-cry-with-envy back to me.

  His face held to the side. But not looking. Eyes shut.

  He rumbled. Growled. But this was different. His shoulders hunched. A tension began at his waist and trembled up his back.

  His fingers opened then closed.

  Still, he didn’t look. Yet, I sensed him breathing me in. Imagining me changing. Knowing I undressed.

  And it was like seeing him naked.

  Bare .

  Raw.

  So close to the first time I’d seen him, and assumed he was a beast.

  My blood trembled, shaking me from core to surface. This was the same man, same alien, who tore my clothes to shreds when he caught my scent on them. Who ate me up like I was dinner, against a cave wall.

  Who threw me onto a cave floor to be had. Whether I agreed or not.

  Wild. Savage. Animal.

  The laces slipped from my fumbling fingers.

  “Thor.” My voice scratched my throat. “Did you not take your special juice today?”

  His posture straightened, his head turning to face forwards. “Did take.”

  My breath rattled my ears. I didn’t move yet.

  “Would not forget what need to keep Warriors word,” he whispered, then strode from the entrance.

  But my breath didn’t calm. My pulse didn’t slow.

  I reached behind me again. “Macca, how the hell do I do up this dress?”

  “Pull the laces twice, sharply down.”

  I did as instruct. Tension snapped around me. I tripped, landing on my knees, and swiped at my back, breath knocked out of me.

  The dress locked tight around my ribs, fastening automatically.

  I stumbled to my feet, staring down at myself. Hot damn. Sure, maybe the dress was a little fairy-princess come steam-punk-ninja, but the primary concern right now was—were these really my tits?

  Sweet mother of corsets.

  “Wow.” I touched myself, hands smoothing over my bust then down my waist. This dress would put the push-up bra out of business. “Will I be able to sit in this?”

  “ The dress will adjust with your movements.”

  I laughed. “Of course it will.” Some perks to outer-space at least. I picked up a spiked gold object I’d found amongst the clothes that looked something like a seashell. “Now tell me what this is?”

  “It is for styling hair.”

  “Get out of town.” I took a small chunk of matted hair, and held it to the shell. The spikes moved, gliding through the sectioned hair without catching, leaving it smooth and so glistening the strands seemed blacker . “This is so awesome.”

  “ That is but the measliest of Crestonian technology.”

  I laughed again, and finished off my hair. “Given the choice between being an alien warrior’s prisoner with dreadlocks, and an alien warrior’s prisoner without dreadlocks, I’m more than happy to enjoy such measly technology.”

  “Your preoccupation with appearances is nonsensical.”

  “Hmm.” I placed the shell brush on a rock and ran my fingers through the magnificent results. “That’s a really interesting perspective given I just used a Crestonian cosmetic device, and I’m assuming this super fancy dress is also Crestonian?”

  “Crestonian’s appearance is reflection of status—”

  “Ah, so lowly humans are beneath status?”

  ‘You know not—”

  I waved a hand. “You can go back to being quiet now.”

  Silence crackled.

  Uppity computer.

  I left the water room, pausing in the corner.

  Thor worked at the table, bicep flexing as he pounded something in what looked like a good old mortar and pestle.

  “What are you making?”

  His movements slowed. “Medicine.”

  “For what?”

  He looked over his shoulder at me. The pestle clattered to the table. He turned toward me and his forehead scrunched, and his fist clutched to his chest.

  “Oh, shit.” I rushed to the table. “Sit down.”

  His big body thunked into the chair.

  I grabbed the mortar and dragged it closer. “What is this medicine for?”

  He swayed in the chair palm flattening on his chest.

  “Help, Macca, I think he’s having a heart attack.”

  “They do not suffer such human—”

  My stomach twisted. Well something was wrong with him. “Thor, tell me how to give you this medicine.”

  He grabbed me by the waist, holding on as though he were about to face plant to the ground.

  “Tell me what’s wrong?” I squeezed his shoulders until he looked up at me.

  His expression stopped me dead.

  He growled low and deep and a little like a howl. “This my wife.”

  My heart went as still as my body. That was yet to be established, but something wasn’t right here. This wasn’t a game.

  This wasn’t semantics.

  “What’s happening right now?” I whispered, and turned the back of my hand to his forehead. His skin ran hot as usual, but was he clammy?

  He drew me close between his legs.

  With him seated, it brought us almost face-to-face.

  My breath caught full and tight.

  He moved his hands up over me, touching over my ribs, my tits, fingers skimming across my chest, until he grabbed handfuls of my hair, and ran his fingers through the lengths.

  I shivered, scalp tingling, a thrill raising the hair off my body and puckering my nipples.

  His fingers streamed through my hair over then over again.

  I watched every movement. Until then I hadn’t noticed how long it’d gotten, waist length. Length never made much difference in a bun, except for that I did like the weight at the back of head. Always had. More hair the merrier. “What are you doing?”

  His touch paused and his massive hand went to my jaw. “You are more wonderful than my longings imagined.”

  I didn’t move this time when he touched my lips.

  His palm alone could cover my whole face. He could crush my skull like a melon with no effort. Yet, his touch on me was as delicate as if he touched a butterfly’s wing.

  His gaze like someone in the middle of a daydream.

  He must be ill. Really ill. He wasn’t hand-to-his-chest, staggeringly, overcome by me wearing a pretty dress…

  That’d be crazy. Crazier than everything right up to date. And more unbelievable. There was more than enough first-hand life experience to prove I was plenty resistible.

  Pressure formed at the bridge of my nose.

  I cleared my throat. “Are you intoxicated, Thor?”

  “Maybe had too much Kakaki juice.” His touch moved to my chin, then down my chest, before returning to clutch my waist. “Not enough to stop lusting you.”

  A ripple shot through my middle.

  My mouth went wet.
>
  Other places grew wet too.

  Drunk .

  He was drunk on his mating-urge suppressant, I reminded myself. Not, crazy love-drunk on me .

  “I think you should lay down.”

  He snarled, nose wrinkling. “Not need lay down.”

  Men —just as stubborn the universe over.

  “Oh, don’t you want to hold hands with me then?”

  He shot to his feet.

  I stumbled back.

  He caught me by the elbow, reflexes no slower for intoxication or enthusiasm. “Laying down, holding hands.”

  A soft laugh curled through me. “Come on then.”

  I climbed onto the bed. He followed, crawling after me in a low slinking movement.

  My pulse doubled at the glint in his gaze. “Just hand holding, yes, Thor?”

  “Only this.” His expression belied his response.

  He took my hands, drawing me into the furs, sliding his rumbling body up against mine.

  Oh, boy.

  We lay facing each other.

  He folded our linked hands against his chest, and stared— the hopeless weirdo. I blinked, but this time he was so up in my face, there wasn’t even anywhere else to look.

  He grinned a little too wide. Those extended canines flashed. I bit my lip to keep in the chuckle. Given Baratican’s were supposed to be borderline indestructible, seeing one tipsy was pretty hilarious. Not to mention an enormous warrior alien grinning like a kid might also be a bit adorable.

  I collected myself with a deep breath. This wasn’t the time to admire his apparent genetic superiority, I needed to get my ass out of this cave and to those waiting women.

  And my captor was conveniently inebriated…

  “Thor.” I watched him. “How many Baraticans live in this colony?”

  He drew our joined hands up to his face. “Many.”

  “Many, like millions?”

  “This largest colony on planet. Has fifty thousand.” He inhaled from our hands, his rumble getting growlier. “Thirty-four thousand warriors, six thousand wives, ten thousand children.”

  That couldn’t be possible. At that rate their species would rapidly diminish to extinction. “How can you maintain population with so few wives?”

  He returned our hands back to his chest. “Population always maintain.”

  “You don’t understand.” Obviously, he was too out of it to answer these questions. “As your people age, your population will diminish if they are not replaced with the next generation.”