by Cynthia Sax
“I will teach you.” He pressed his lips to her smooth forehead, physically reinforcing his claim upon her. “And many Silans have learned English as they prepare for their human mates. Hearing an English-speaking talker will assist them in this venture.” Ary smiled, pleased with that solution, as his Storm’s light-hearted stories on Earth customs would benefit his planet and make his mate happy.
“Yes, I could do this.” His Storm bobbed her head, her glorious flame-colored curls bouncing around her cheeks. “I won’t have any competition. There won’t be a blonde-haired Brenda to scoop up the best assignments. I’ll have my choice, and wow, what choice!”
“Oh, my Ary.” She curled her fingers around his torso, hugging him. “This could be the big break I’ve been waiting for. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” Her body vibrated against his, arousing his spicka.
He flipped her onto her back. She wiggled away from him. “I should get started right away.” His Storm stood, her wondrous breasts jiggling, her nipples pink and puckered. Curls, a shade darker than those on her head, covered her womanly parts, and his seed leaked down the inside of her white thighs, her body branded by his scent. “No looking at me like that.” She waved one of her fingers at him. “Concentrate on your ruler duties.”
“I am your mate, not a ruler.” He reached for her. She danced out of reach, her movements playfully seductive. “I cannot be both. The statuses are incompatible.”
“That’s bullshit.” His Storm tossed a clean uniform at him. He caught it in one hand. “We primitive human females have been juggling home and a career for generations. You’re a superior Silan. You’ll figure it out.” She searched through the uniforms, stopping at the purple talker suit. “Can I wear this?” She held it up to her small body, the garment borrowed from a much larger Silan talker.
“The uniform is yours.” Ary unfastened his boots. “And there is no ‘figuring out’ of a ruler status. It is unchanging.”
“Wasn’t it you who wrote me an email declaring when people change, leaders must change?” His Storm tugged on the suit, covering her pale skin. “Your people have changed. You must change.” She rolled up the excess fabric at her ankles and wrists. “This is gigantic. Where’d you get it?”
“From the ship’s talker.” He donned the ruler uniform, feeling like a fraud, a ruler hated by his people.
“You have another talker on board the ship?” She widened her eyes, the white accentuating her pale-green irises. “Will you introduce me to him?” She slipped her feet into a pair of boots, the footwear tightening around her ankles. “Oh, magic space boots.” She stared down at them.
Ary fastened his own boots, dreading his Storm’s meeting with the talker, a talker other Silans found charming. “You are my mate,” he reminded both her and himself. “No other male will touch you.”
“Fixer Vern touched my ass,” his Storm chirped happily. “Which reminds me. I need to talk to him too.” She grabbed her machine. “And Warrior Danielle.”
She wishes to talk to too many beings. Ary’s mood darkened even more.
“Why are you upset?” She took his hand, threading her fingers between his, the contact calming him.
“Rulers do not get upset,” he grumbled as they exited their sleeping chambers.
“Ah, but I thought you were no longer a ruler.” His Storm tilted her head, staring up at him, her gaze too observant for Ary’s comfort. “You are my mate. Or has your superior brain already figured out how to handle the two statuses?”
“Your two statuses are required, Ruler Arystokrata Nazwisko.” Warrior Krol leaned against the corridor wall, his black leather warrior uniform gleaming with zbrans and daggers. “Your attendance is requested.”
Ary drew himself up to his full height, looking down his nose at Sila’s best warrior, affronted by the breach of protocol. “I am a ruler. Warriors do not request the attendance of rulers.”
Warrior Krol pushed away from the wall. “They do if they wish to prevent a mutiny. Lives, Silan and human, are at risk.”
Your people have changed. You must change. Ary glanced down at his Storm. She nodded, her face white, her fingers trembling in his. “We will attend.”
They silently followed the big warrior, Ary pondering how he, a ruler facing rebellion of his own people, could prevent a mutiny on board a ship. They entered the sustenance consumption sector. Many Silan males sat at the tables, scowls on their faces, their hands curled into fists. They stood begrudgingly as Ary walked back, showing respect for his status.
Images displayed upon a large screen. “Oh my God.” His Storm’s boots skidded on the floor. “That’s us, my Ary.” An alarming amount of pigment colored her pale skin. “In our bedroom. We’re naked.”
“They watch.” Ary squeezed her hand and studied the titillating images. His Storm kneeled before him naked, her feet tucked under her pert ass, and she sucked his spicka, her lips glistening with moisture.
“I will work to give this to every Silan.” His words echoed in the large chamber, the Silans silent as they watched his Storm fuck him with her mouth. “A mate for every Silan.”
“A mate for every Silan!” A roar rose from the crowd. The males clapped and cheered, smiles on their faces.
“But only if he remains on the council,” a warrior male bellowed. “The other rulers wish to remove Ruler Arystokrata Nazwisko. We should keep constant to our plan, attack the Earth and take our mates.”
Another roar of approval rocked the chamber. Ary stared, unable to believe his ears. “They wish to start a war? Do they not listen to their rulers?”
“Their rulers do not listen to them.” Warrior Krol stood beside him, his face dark. “And the rulers do not speak with them, hearing their replies. They speak to them, hearing nothing but their own voices.”
“You have to say something, my Ary.” His Storm gazed at him as though he could right all of the wrongs. “If they attack Earth, people, your people and my people, will die.”
Sladky matka. That cannot happen.
“We will not attack the Earth.” Ary strode to the front of the chamber, shielding all of his turmoil and doubt behind his disapproval. “And I will not be removed from council, not without a fight.” He stood tall, raising his chin proudly. “I said I would work to give a mate to every Silan and I will work to give a mate to every Silan. I do not lie.”
“He’s right. He doesn’t lie,” his Storm yelled from her position in the front row, her feminine voice silencing the males’ murmurs. She held her recording machine in her small hands, performing her status even under duress.
“Ruler Arystokrata Nazwisko can be trusted,” Warrior Krol announced, his unexpected support appreciated by Ary. Other warriors nodded their black-and-green heads.
“We should honor his status as he honors ours.” Fixer Vern stepped forward, his fellow fixers standing protectively behind him. “Rulers do not fix. Fixers do not rule.”
“Rulers sometimes fight,” Warrior Krol added, a wide grin on his normally stern face.
Ary, standing alone, yet no longer solitary in his quest, grinned back at Warrior Krol. “Rulers fight very poorly and only to protect their mates.” The Silans laughed, their anger diffusing. “Attacking the Earth would risk terminating human females. These females could be our mates. Is that what we wish? To terminate our mates?” The chamber grew quiet.
“We will find another solution,” Ary promised. “A better solution, one that will bring satisfaction to humans and Silans, with no terminations.” He surveyed the subdued audience. The Silans made eye contact, treating him as one of them. “And when this solution is found, you will be notified.”
“You will be notified.” His Storm beamed at him, her expression of immense admiration causing Ary’s chest to warm. “Because Ruler Arystokrata Nazwisko’s mate is a talker.” The males hooted, raising their hands.
As Ary pushed through the crowd, returning to his mate’s side, Silans slapped his shoulders, an act of familiarity normally not t
olerated by rulers. He remained silent, aware that his sire’s guidelines no longer applied, yet uncertain of the proper response.
“My people have changed,” he murmured as he stood protectively behind his Storm. Ary wrapped his arms around his mate, flattening the oversized uniform against her curves.
“You’ve changed.” His Storm leaned back into him, pressing her ass against his semi-erect spicka.
“Not quickly enough.” Ary rested his chin on her curls, the soft tendrils tickling his nose. “I might lose my status as ruler during this voyage home. If I do, they will attack your Earth.”
“Then we’ll ensure you don’t lose your status.” His Storm patted his hands.
Wishing he had his Storm’s confidence, Ary closed his eyes and held on to her, savoring the flowing contours of her body.
* * * * *
Storm replayed the interview and pressed her lips together, sucking back a curse, the super high definition space camera zoomed in on her breasts. She had unfastened her baggy purple jumpsuit nearly to her navel in an attempt to sex up the shoot, her Silan assistants claiming the added sex appeal would improve their chances of being picked up by the major media channels.
“Let’s do this again,” she declared, determined to get the footage right, Ary’s future depending upon it. They hadn’t time to waste. It had taken her a day to put this plan together, and during that day, the protests on Sila had grown more hostile. “Fixer Vern, point that camera at my face, not at my chest.”
Warrior Danielle and Talker Mowca laughed. The fixers gathered around the editing machine taunted Fixer Vern in their language.
“Yes, Talker Storm Nazwisko.” Her volunteer cameraman nodded, his face flushed bright blue. “I will not point the camera at your breasts.”
Storm narrowed her eyes. “Don’t point it at my ass either. We have enough ass shots to fill a five-part documentary.”
The fixers babbled excitedly, waving their hands. Fixer Vern’s blue-and-green eyes swirled faster.
“We are not making a film about my ass.” She stomped to the silver space chair, and glared at the purple-faced talker. He was bent over, holding his stomach, hooting loudly, the verbose Silan never silent. “I wouldn’t be taken seriously after that.” She plunked down in the chair. “Not that I am taken seriously now.”
“You’re not wearing an outfit that would make a dominatrix blush.” Warrior Danielle Nowak, formerly Officer Danielle, plucked at her skintight leather warrior outfit, the garment barely covering her breasts. “Sila isn’t a planet for the shy.”
“Tell me about it.” Storm rolled her eyes at Danielle, thrilled to have another human female to talk with. “They showed me giving my Ary a blowjob on the big screen, replaying that scene over and over.” Her cheeks heated, every male in this room having seen her naked with her mouth full of alien cock. “The entire audience had boners.” She’d been mortified and turned-on, their unabashed arousal exhilarating.
“They had vibrating boners,” the blonde former policewoman added and they laughed, the lighter moment dissipating some of the tension in the room, all of them anxious to improve Ary’s standing and prevent a war.
This is the most important newscast of my life. Talker Mowca finally quieted and Storm redirected the conversation to the interview. “We’ll take it from ‘And were you scared?’”
The stocky Silan nodded, a pleasant smile on his purple-and-green face. “And were you scared?” he asked, his voice soothingly deep.
“I was terrified.” Storm clasped her hands together and widened her eyes, infusing her retelling with extra emotion. “The Mravenec warrior rushed toward me and I was helpless. My feet were bound and the zbran had fallen from my fingers. My Ary bellowed my name, running to protect me, shooting at our enemy. The Mravenec warrior returned fire. I could feel the heat.” She brushed her face with her hand. “I thought I would be terminated.”
Warrior Danielle inhaled dramatically. Storm silently counted to three, building the suspense. “Then the enemy’s head exploded, bits of red flying everywhere.” She waved her hands. “And he fell to the ground, lifeless, terminated.”
“Ruler Arystokrata Nazwisko terminated the Mravenec warrior.” Talker Mowca emphasized Ary’s heroic involvement. “As he vowed, he faced his own termination to protect you and to protect Sila. He defeated our enemy as though he was a warrior.”
“My Ary would never claim to have warrior skills.” Storm shook her head. “He told me it was, as we say on Earth, a lucky shot.”
Talker Mowca turned and faced the camera, his expression solemn. “May all Silans, when facing the enemy, have such lucky shots.”
They waited. Silence stretched. Storm glanced at Fixer Vern, and he jerked to attention, his ridges rattling. “Chop.”
“Chop. Cut. Close enough.” Storm bounced out of her seat. “I wish that damn ant man hadn’t blasted my handheld before I could capture the kill shot. That footage would have been award winning. The interview was good, don’t get me wrong,” she assured Talker Mowca. “But nothing is more gripping than the real thing.”
Storm joined the fixers as they huddled around the screen, cleaning up the battle scene, vanquishing the shadows and steadying the image. “Wow. The colors really pop.” She shook with excitement, amazed at their skill. “It looks like I filmed it at noon.” The fixers took turns gazing at her, chattering in Silan. “Talker Mowca, when we’re done, where should we send this?”
“We will send this to the Talker Elder.” The ship’s chief communications officer stood beside her. His purple-and-green gaze flicked down at her cleavage, and Storm hastily refastened her suit. “The Talker Elder views and approves. All others access his…library? Is this how humans call it?”
“Library or database.” Storm shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. Your future mate will know what you’re talking about.”
“My future mate,” Talker Mowca repeated wistfully, his eyes swirling green-and-purple. “You are wise and humorous and beautiful, Talker Storm. Ruler Arystokrata Nazwisko is very solemn and stern. He talks seldom and rarely smiles, as is the ruler way.” Talker Mowca stepped closer and his arm brushed hers.
“My Ary takes his status as a ruler seriously.” Storm shifted away from the larger Silan, uncomfortable with his proximity, yet not wishing to insult him. “You should be grateful for that. You don’t want some clown in charge.”
“Clown?” Talker Mowca’s forehead ridges condensed. “Why would Silans follow a comic performer?” The big alien moved toward her, filling the space between them.
“Exactly. You wouldn’t.” Storm fidgeted, her smaller form boxed between the larger physiques of an admiring fixer and the overzealous talker. “My Ary’s ruler personality is more suitable for leadership.”
Talker Mowca studied her. “Ahhh…now I understand.” The ridges around his mouth relaxed. “Rulers are powerful. They have much wealth and influence. You mated with Ruler Arystokrata Nazwisko because he is a ruler.” His eyes swirled faster. “Will you remain his mate when Ruler Arystokrata Nazwisko is no longer a ruler?”
“When?” Storm glared at him, not liking his implication. “That “when” isn’t going to happen, Talker Mowca. My Ary is my mate and he will remain a ruler. If you doubt that, you shouldn’t be here.”
“My apologizes, Talker Storm Nazwisko.” The purple spread over Talker Mowca’s skin. “I meant no disrespect. I wish for Ruler Arystokrata Nazwisko’s continued rule.”
“As does my mate, Warrior Krol Nowak, Sila’s best warrior.” Warrior Danielle stood beside Talker Mowca, her hands resting on the hilts of her daggers. “Ruler Arystokrata Nazwisko backed my mate’s request that I join him on board this warship,” she explained to the talker. “We are in his debt.”
“The fixers honor Ruler Arystokrata Nazwisko’s status.” Fixer Vern squeezed his lean form between Storm and Talker Mowca. “And we support his mission to find mates for all Silans.” He glowered at the other male, his ridges rattling.
“All wish for your mate’s continued rule.” Talker Mowca backed away, his head slightly bowed. “I will prepare the communications channel.” He hurried through the sliding doors.
“Don’t bust his balls too much for asking your intentions,” Warrior Danielle advised softy. “Many of them have been waiting years for a mate and Talker Mowca seems like an okay guy. A bit chatty.” She grinned, her blue eyes sparkling with humor. “But okay.”
Storm watched Ary’s image on the screen. He rolled, shooting his ridiculously tiny guns, his face darkened with fierce intent, prepared to die to protect her. No one has ever cared about me that much. Her heart squeezed, a swell of protectiveness rising in her chest. “Talker Mowca doesn’t like my Ary.”
“He doesn’t like rulers, not many of the Silans do.” The blonde policewoman confirmed Storm’s suspicions. “He doesn’t know your Ary.”
“Then we’ll have to change that.” Storm forced a smile. “We’ll start the piece with the Mravenec warrior’s arrival.” She leaned forward, studying the footage frame by frame, determined to make the best damn documentary possible.
Ary shouldn’t have to choose between me and his job. Storm slid into a shiny silver space chair and directed the smallest fixer as he worked, fusing frames together, his fingers flying on the screen, the editing lightning fast.
Minutes stretched into hours. Storm’s back and shoulders hurt and her eyes burned. Fixers rotated positions. Warrior Danielle left the room, returning with a big smile on her face an hour later. Storm remained in her seat, the one constant in the group, driven to complete the piece today.
“What do I fix next?” The smallest fixer asked, his gaze locked on the screen as Storm ran the piece one more time from start to finish.
She watched with a critical eye, the battle scene footage flowing smoothly into the interview portion, the story entertaining and informational, positioning Ary as a hero.
“We do nothing. We’re done.” Storm grinned, slumping back in the chair. “Amazing work, team.” Everyone cheered. “We can send this to the Talker Elder now.”
