by Ruby Dixon
There are a few stalks close to the muddy bank that are human-sized. I grab one. It’s warm under my hand. That’s a good sign that the water’s warm too. Maybe too warm to touch. I lean down to the surface, holding on to the stalk.
As I do so, I realize there’s a face on the other side of the water staring back at me. A face with a huge mouth, jagged teeth, and bulging fish eyes. And the stalk I’m holding? Appears to be attached to its nose.
I scream and stumble backward just as the thing lunges forward, snapping at me.
I keep screaming and crab walk back, away from the edge of the water. The thing stirs, moving slightly away from the surface, its nasty mouth working. Then it sinks in and the stalk gives a small shiver before moving back in place.
Holy fuck.
Holy . . . fuck. I just nearly got eaten by an alien fish . . . thing.
I stare, wide-eyed, at the happily burbling stream. At the enormous stalks sticking out of it. At the ones that are taller than a two-story building. Are all of those . . . monsters?
I turn and run. Breath huffing, I sprint as best as I can through the snow, back up the hill. Back through the feathery blue-green trees. Screw all this. I am not equipped to deal with alien life forms on an alien planet. My lungs rasp and my ribs hurt like the blazes and I landed on my wrist back there and none of that matters because I am not stopping.
As I pass one of the strange trees, something whips around my ankles.
I barely have time to scream before the thing drags me backwards and I’m hauled, upside down, into the branches of the tree, my feet caught and bound together.
I scream over and over again, twisting, turning. The ground is at least a foot or two below me, and I can’t touch it. Down there? My club-slash-gun. I dropped it when whatever this is hauled me backward.
When nothing happens, I stop flailing and panicking and try to figure things out. I bend over, flopping through the air, and get a good look at my feet. They’re tied with something that looks like rope. If I wriggle enough . . . that definitely looks like a knot. The other end of the cord is tied higher in the branches. I whimper and fall quiet, and I just sway back and forth gently in the tree.
I . . . I’ve walked into a snare of some kind.
On one hand, this is encouraging. There’s intelligent life here, right? Which is exciting because it means we’re not alone.
But I can’t overlook the fact that I’m in a hunting snare and something could decide I’m dinner. I remember a scene in Star Wars where Luke found himself upside down in the snow creature’s cave. And I start panicking again, because I know how this sort of thing goes down. Luke’s able to free himself before the creature eats him because he’s a Jedi.
Me? I’m just a Floridian in a stolen space suit with no weapon and a busted wrist. I know how this is going to end.
I whimper and wriggle some more, working my feet and trying to free them from the noose that’s holding me fast, upside down.
I don’t want to be here when the owner of this trap comes back looking for dinner.
Wiggling my feet doesn’t work, so for the next minute or two, I concentrate on trying to stretch far enough to reach my gun. Not that I know how to fire it, but I’ll feel better if I have it. It’s getting harder to think, though, and the longer I hang here, the harder my head pounds.
It’s probably not good for me to hang upside down for a long time, I realize. How long can a human hang upside down before all the blood rushes to their head and they die?
I twist even harder, and as I do, I realize there’s something new on the edge of my vision. I stop moving and stare as a white, furry figure approaches.
Shit. It’s too late. I’m dinner.
“No,” I moan and struggle again. But my body can’t keep up with the demands I’m putting on it. My head throbs, and then I pass out cold just as the monster starts to move toward me.
At least I won’t be awake to feel it eat me.
VEKTAL
I don’t recognize the . . . thing . . . squirming in my trap.
This is new.
I approach it cautiously, my blade drawn. A moment ago it was dancing and writhing, and now it’s gone limp. The smell is sa-khui and yet . . . not. Curious. I poke it with the tip of my sword to see if it will jump once more, but it does not. The wind is picking up, the cold air preparing for the little moon’s arrival, the twin suns heading to their beds.
With the tip of my sword, I slice the cord binding its legs, and it flops to the ground, lying in the snow.
And then I am shocked anew as my khui resonates inside me. My inward being, which has lain dormant for so long, which recognizes no mate amongst my people? It vibrates and sings at the sight of this new creature. I stare at it.
My thoughts confused and whirling, I snatch it into my arms and sprint for the nearest hunting cave.
It is the bitter season, when hunters must be cautious when journeying out far from the home caves. There are a series of hunting caves that only see use on the coldest of nights, when a hunter is many sprints away from home. They are ingrained into my brain after turn upon countless turn of hunts, and I find the nearest one’s location easily. I push aside the leathery flap protecting the entrance and set my burden down on the floor. A quick shake of the furs does not reveal hidden occupants, so I move the she-creature—for it must be a she—to them. Her teeth clack together, making the cold sound that young sometimes make before they’re sa-khui, so I touch her eyelid and pry it open to see if she is lit from within.
The eye underneath is white, dull. There is no khui inside her, or if there is, it is dead. She will need to be treated as if a child, then. I make a fire quickly and wait for it to warm her. And because my curiosity has the best of me, I examine her. I tell myself it’s simply to determine if she is wounded, but my mind sings with curiosity, my khui vibrating within my chest with a song that’s growing greater with every possible moment.
She is making me resonate. She is mine.
I run a hand over her limbs. She is wearing some sort of clothing that stinks of old, bitter memories. I want to rip it off her, but if she is as helpless as a kit, she will need it. So I take time to find the fastenings and undo them, revealing the flesh underneath.
She’s smooth. Not like a sa-khui. Her flesh is almost completely hairless, save for the long, flowing locks on her crown and a small tuft between her thighs that’s revealed as I pull her leathers from her. I snort with amusement at that small tuft.
Adorable. Adorable and nonsensical.
She has no ridges under her skin to define her muscles, and the overwhelming sensation I have as I view her body is one of softness and weakness. Perhaps she has been sick, and that is why her khui is gone. I run my fingers over her strange face. It’s smooth too, her brow flat. She has no ridges anywhere. Just softness.
How did one so weak as her find their way to the outer hunting grounds? It’s a mystery, almost as much of one as the fact that she’s making my khui resonate hard in my chest. It’s thrumming with the call, and the need to mate slams through my body as her soft, rounded thighs part and her scent fills my nostrils.
A groan escapes me as my cock grows hard, the ridges on it swelling.
I bury my face between her legs so I can taste all of her.
GEORGIE
Pretty sure I’m dreaming.
Maybe that’s all this is. One big, bad dream. I’ve just been stuck in the bad part of my head for a while, and now I’m getting to the wet part of the dream. Because I’m pretty sure I’m naked, and there’s a mouth between my legs, licking me like there’s no tomorrow.
I moan softly, because this? This is a much better dream than that spaceship crap.
Something slick with hard, nubbed bumps runs up and down my pussy. A mouth, a tongue. It glides through my folds, and I press a hand to my forehead because it feels so good. A flash of pain shoots up my wrist, but it’s quickly buried under another round of pleasure. Soft rumbling sounds come from nearb
y, almost like language, except I can’t understand a word of it. This guy is eating my pussy like a champ.
His head lifts, and he nuzzles at my bush, mumbling something again. My hands go to push his head back down to where I want it.
Except I encounter horns.
I jerk awake, realizing it’s not a dream. None of this is. I look down at my body in shock. I’m naked. I’m naked, and there’s some guy with a pair of massive curled horns rising from his head between my legs. As I watch, his tongue drags over my pussy again.
“Oh my god,” I whisper. I push at his head, trying to shove him away. This is not normal. This is not normal.
He looks up at me, and as he does, I gasp.
He’s not human. I mean, I knew that with the horns and all, but looking at his face, I can tell he’s really not human. Horns rise from his hairline and curl around his scalp like a spiky, lethal helmet. He’s blue, for one thing. Well, bluish-gray with a black mane of hair that reminds me of a lion’s mane. His brows are heavy, heavier than any human brow I’ve seen, his face rugged like it’s carved from stone. Going straight down his forehead to the tip of his nose is a striated pattern of ridges of some kind, his bluish-gray skin slightly darker there.
And his eyes are a glowing shade of blue that I’ve never seen. Blue like Caribbean waters but completely without pupils of any kind. And they’re glowing as if from within.
A small whimper escapes my throat as he rises up over me. I see the shaggy white furs covering his shoulders, and I realize I saw them from hanging upside down. It wasn’t a monster come to eat me. It was this monster.
Who’s come to eat me out.
It strikes me as incredibly ludicrous, and I want to laugh, but I’m too terrified. “What are you going to do with me?” I ask softly, my eyes wide. The refrain of please don’t kill me please don’t kill me echoes through my head.
He says something and runs a hand down my stomach. Then those weird glowing eyes break my gaze and his head dips.
And he begins to lick me again. Long, slow, delicious licks right down the slick folds of my pussy.
I can’t help it. I start to giggle. It’s ticklish and it makes me squirm and I should be screaming no, help, rape and instead, I have the giggles. Because he doesn’t want to eat me. He just . . . wants to lick my pussy. I’ve dated guys that I haven’t been able to convince to go down on me, and this one’s doing it as a greeting.
Laughter sweeps through me, relieved and absurd all at the same time. I might be a bit hysterical. It somehow doesn’t matter. I’m not going to die yet, and a strange guy with horns is determined to give me oral pleasure. It’s just that . . . out of all the worst-case scenarios I’ve come up with since being abducted by aliens, being licked until I come isn’t anywhere on the list.
And he’s really, really good at licking.
Something ridged and slightly knobbed slicks against the entrance of my core, and I realize he’s got a texture on his tongue. And it feels incredible. And even though my every instinct is telling me to find my clothes and get the hell outta Dodge, I don’t move. I’m barely even breathing.
When one big hand pushes on my thigh, urging me to spread my legs wider, I do so. I’ll get up and protest in just a minute.
Just.
A.
Minute.
He licks me again, and his tongue grazes my clit. And I can’t help it. An undignified squeal erupts from me. My clit’s especially sensitive, and he’s been avoiding it until now.
The horned man’s head jerks up, and he looks at me in what I can only assume is surprise. I quiver because those weird eyes are staring at me, and I press my good hand to my mouth, determined not to make another noise and startle him. What if he gets mad and, like, gores me with those gigantic horns?
But he only looks confused for a moment. Then, as I watch, big fingers spread my folds, and he studies me intently. Humiliation burns, and I try to snap my legs closed. Fuck all this. His big hands hold my legs down, though, preventing me from doing that, and he goes to spread my folds again. He looks shocked—downright shocked—at the sight of my clit. He says something that sounds like sa sa, and it’s definitely a question.
I try to clamp my legs shut again and rise. “Now is not the time for an anatomy lesson, buddy.”
The big alien pushes me back down on the furs with a stern word.
I shove at his hands, but he’s much stronger than me and determined. He keeps my thighs pried apart, and I can’t help but notice that his hand is enormous, like a baseball glove. How tall is this guy? His hand spreads the folds of my pussy again, and to my utter humiliation, he touches my clit like it’s going to bite him.
I remain perfectly still.
That doesn’t satisfy him. He mutters something, and then he begins to rub the hood of my clit, as if trying to figure out the right touch to make me react again.
And I respond despite myself. I close my eyes so I don’t have to see the look on his face. He continues to touch me, stroking my clit very carefully. I’m doing pretty good at controlling my reaction, even though every touch of his fingers makes me want to moan.
Then I feel his mouth on my clit, and he sucks it gently.
My hips buck against him, and I cry out.
He murmurs something and sounds pleased, and continues to lick and suck at my clit until my thighs are shaking. I’m going to come. Damn him. Damn him and the fact that he’s making me feel incredible. Those bumps and ridges on his tongue move against my clit, and my entire body quakes, and then I’m coming hard. Over and over, my pussy clenches and the orgasm rocks through me, my entire body locked and tense with the strain of it.
I collapse on his furs, exhausted. My hand goes over my eyes, and I rub my face.
Okay, so I just did that. I just had an orgasm from an alien. I have no idea how I’m going to explain this to Liz and the others.
The alien says something else, and I open one eye to peek at him. The look on his face is fierce, and there’s no mistaking the masculine look of pride on his inhuman face. He’s pleased he made me come. I shoot him the finger. “You’re an asshole,” I mutter.
In response, he says something else. Then he grabs me by my hips and turns me onto my stomach.
I know what’s coming next. And even though I just came, a girl’s got to have boundaries. I don’t want to have sex. Oral is okay as long as I’m the recipient, but this is too much, too fast. I twist in his grip, then kick and lash out at him. My foot connects with his chest.
It feels like I broke it—my foot, that is. Not his chest.
It feels like I kicked iron. I give a cry of pain and collapse on the blankets again, my leg throbbing and my ankle shooting pain clear up my entire body.
When I look up, the alien’s furious.
PART TWO
VEKTAL
My mate, the resonance of my khui, my new reason for existing, has just planted her tiny, strange foot in my chest and kicked. It’s almost as if she does not want to mate.
Her strange, dead eyes are wide with fear, no comforting glow in them. I want to tell her that she’ll be fine. That she’s mine now and I’ll take care of her. That we’ll take down one of the monstrous sa-kohtsk and pull a new khui from its depths so she will no longer suffer.
But I’m puzzled as to why she would hurt herself. I rub my chest where her tiny foot landed. Without her leathers, her body seems even smaller, and she’s soft and ridge-less. She seems to have forgotten this, too, as she gives me an indignant look, then howls with pain and clings to her foot.
I don’t understand her. Maybe her lack of khui is affecting her senses. “I will not harm you,” I say to her slowly, because she looks terrified. “You are my mate, now.”
“Tht hrt dmmt!”
“Let me see your foot,” I demand. If she has no khui, she probably does not heal as she should, either. When she continues to give me a frightened look, I reach forward and place my hand on her ankle.
She bellows something
and thrashes at me again. Her hand curls into a fist, and she smacks it into my face, knocking my lip against my teeth. A flash of pain shoots through my mouth, and I snarl.
She immediately goes quiet, flinching backward, her hands raised to shield herself.
I am sickened at her reaction.
This woman, this small creature who has half the stature of a sa-khui is my mate. How can she possibly think I would harm her? But she is cringing back even now, as if expecting a blow to fall. Rage fills me, because this is not a normal response.
Someone has hurt my mate in the past.
I reach forward and turn her pale face toward me. She fights, but her eyes close again, and she begins to tremble. I gaze at her small, flat features. Her skin tone is regular, except for mottled bruising along one side. There is the evidence I suspected.
“Who did this to you?” I ask.
She trembles, but she doesn’t answer me. She’s not mute. She makes sounds, and I wonder if she hit her head. Or perhaps her people speak the nonsensical language of hard syllables she’s been filling my ears with. It sounds nothing like my language.
But then again, she is nothing like one of the sa-khui. I should not expect similarities.
I’m fascinated by her, though. The men of my tribe say that there is no pleasure like the taste of a resonance mate on your lips, and they’re right. Burying my face between her legs was one of the truest pleasures I have ever felt, and I want to feel it again.
It’s clear from her reaction and the way she cringes away that I’m the only one feeling this way, though. I’m mystified by her reaction, but it must be her lack of khui. She doesn’t feel the resonance like I do.
She doesn’t feel the teeth-aching need to claim. She doesn’t feel the hollowness of a lonely spirit. How can she? There is no khui inside her to resonate.
