by Leith Briar
“That, my dear, is also the point.”
I lift an eyebrow. “And what point would that be?”
He shrugs. “You have changed the way you stand. You are careful, composed, poised. You were slumping before, and it was not becoming.”
I almost snort at him. “It’s all very well looking poised, but how am I supposed to move?”
He shrugs. “I do not suppose you are meant to move much. Now, for the finishing touches.”
What finishing touches? He takes a smaller box from the chest and opens it up, revealing two compartments — one with tiny bottles and the other with jewellery. “Be sure to thank Winona, the Native Queen, when she arrives. This was a personal gift from her to you.”
I peer down into the box. It sure seems like a lot of gold.
“You have holes in your ears?”
I nod, having had piercings there since I was a child. He removes two large hooped earrings and puts them in. “Nose?”
“Uh.. no.”
“No matter,” he says with a shrug. “We can do that later.”
I want to tell him we most certainly cannot, but I’ll wait and see what else he pulls out before choosing which battles to fight.
“Bangles, anklets, and nipple rings,” he says.
He says it as casually as if he’s announcing the weather, and I almost choke.
“Excuse me?”
But he’s already kneeling down, tapping my foot so I straighten it. He opens up the gold band and then uses a tiny screwdriver to seal it closed around my ankle, before moving on to the other one.
“Is all this really necessary?”
He moves up to my wrists as he explains. “On this planet, every girl receives four from their father when they are born, and four from their husband on the morning of their wedding.”
“I don’t understand,” I tell him. I’m genuinely baffled.
“Wrists and ankles, they come from your father. Since you don’t have one here, the Native Queen sent them for you. Ears and,” he nods at my boobs “... nipples, they come from your husband. The hoops in your ears a symbol of your marriage, and the hoops below serve as a constant reminder of it.”
“I don’t have a husband,” I say, shaking my head. But I’m not stupid. I already know what this means. Suddenly, I understand exactly why I was brought here.
“You will by the time the sun sets.”
Chapter 7
Colm
My new little mate cares not about tardiness, so it would seem.
We have a hall full of people, including visitors, waiting for her. I know it is somewhat of a tradition in certain cultures for the bride to be late, but that is not one I wish to continue on this planet. And especially not since this will be the wedding that sets the precedence for all others.
I am already on edge, and I can tell from the atmosphere I am not the only one.
Whatever happens tonight seals the fate of every Bhiast in this room. I watch them all from my seat on the dais. They play cards and drink from their horns and try to act as though it is any other banquet. The Balachs rush around the long tables, tending to the fire, tending to the horns, tending to the baskets where the aran is quickly diminishing, the men too hungry to wait any longer for their brot to dip it in.
Everyone knows the risks, but everyone also knows the rewards. If I can successfully mate without harming the little thing, then my commanders will follow suit. The Scouts will be sent back to Earth to find more women, and soon we will be able to begin what we have all craved for so long.
If I can not do it, then the consequences do not bear thinking about.
That is why it needed to be her specifically. That is why I waited years after the scouts first made contact. We found a child — but she had to be mature. I could have chosen anyone, but choosing someone from the line of our greatest enemy seemed somewhat symbolic. If she survived, then we would have a queen. If she died, then at least we would have our revenge before we all became extinct.
“You know, I am so curious to see what this she-male looks like.” The Native Queen, Winona muses while she takes a sip from her small horn. It is not fitting for a woman of any species to drink from a large one.
I turn to Brody, deciding to let him answer. “They are like us, but with your parts,” he says.
The table chuckles at his basic answer.
I guess he is not wrong in that they both share somewhat similar reproductive organs. The Natives, as far as I know, have cunts just like humans do, and tits too. The difference is all in their face, and their skin. Where our skin varies from the palest white to the darkest brown, their skin is the colour of rainbows. They can control the colour for any reason they choose, be it to camouflage on a battlefield or to compliment the dress being worn on that evening. The queen is the colour of summer grass in a drought, her dress the darkest shade of purple.
And it’s not just the skin that makes them different from us. They have two legs and two arms, but they are bigger. The women are tall and skeletal, the smallest almost as tall as us Bhiasts, and the men are about a foot above them and barely any wider. Their brow-bone is more pronounced, their lips bigger and their noses flatter. Their ears sit further up on their heads and point at the ceiling, and can move of their own accord.
A strange people, for sure, but we have got along since the day we settled here, sharing in their culture and giving some of ours to them. They did not know what a sword was until we showed them, and they had never experienced electricity before — something given to us by the Plaigh.
They took the swords but rejected the electricity — hence why we have never used it much ourselves, save to warm our beds at night and travel through space. Two basic necessities.
“And you said they are small? How small would you say? Like our calves?”
Brody nods while he takes a chunk from his loaf of aran. “Maybe this much smaller than you. Our babes are tiny, though. Much smaller than your freshborns.”
He is speaking to them in their language, as is customary, and getting half of the words wrong. It is hard for us to pronounce most of their words, but we manage enough to be understood for the most part.
The room just then falls silent and I sense there can only be one reason for it, but it would be unbecoming of me to crane my neck and look around.
Loche should have versed her on what she is expected to do. She is to walk around the hall — so that all can see her face and know she is mine from this moment on — and then she should approach the dais, bow to Winona, and then fall to her knees at my feet.
She comes into vision just to my left and instantly my eyes are locked on her. Even from behind, she is breathtaking. The gown I had Loche alter fits her beautifully, and she wears it with an elegance I’ve never seen before. Her long raven hair tumbles down her back, covering the naked creamy flesh there and making my teeth ache at the thought of wrapping that hair around my fist and tasting her.
She rounds the corner at the top of the room and her eyes meet mine.
She is supposed to be looking at the ground — as is customary. But she does not lower her gaze, even when I narrow my own eyes at her.
She walks towards me with her chin raised and her head held high, and I do not know whether I want to put her over my knee for her disobedience, or worship at her own fucking feet for the way it warms my insides.
I feel my horns threatening to break out and I urge myself to calm down. It will only make things worse if she sees me like this now.
She gets to our table and turns from me to Winona, bowing her head slightly before she focuses her darkened eyes back to me.
The coal has made her eyes look even bigger, the darkness so at odds with her fair skin. She has not been here long enough to lose it yet, she has not spent hours in the searing hot sun like we have — and I have half a mind not to let her. I should keep her like this forever, perfect and pure.
If she survives.
“Miss,” Loche stands beside her, th
e tone in his voice urging her into place.
“Tell him I kneel for no man.”
Loche knows I understand every word that comes from his mouth, but Winona does not. I shake my head at him, knowing that if he says those words in Gaelic, I will be the talk of her tribe.
What kind of man cannot control their mate?
I will not have such things said about me — even though it does appear to be the truth at this current time.
“Tell her to sit,” I say the words in Gaelic to Loch, and gesture towards the seat beside me. “And you will sit there.”
I nod towards a seat on the end of the table, beside Brody who sits on my right and opposite Winona and her advisors. Balachs rarely sit at our table, but since she does not yet know I can speak her tongue, we will need a translator to keep up appearances.
I introduce my mate to the Queen in her language, and she smiles in return. “Tell me, child. How does my world compare to your own one?”
Loche takes her Gaelic and translates it into English for Sophia.
She glances over at me and then looks at the Queen.
“Well, the country I came from does not treat women like slaves, or objects to be decorated and used without their permission.”
Loche glances nervously at me while I clench my fist under the table, trying to keep my claws from breaking out. He then clears his throat before translating a false answer. “The temperature is not so volatile, the sun is not so bright, and there is only one moon in the sky.”
“One moon?” Winona repeats. “How do they see at night?”
Loche answers this time without bothering to translate for Sophia. “Electricity, my Queen. They use it to light their streets and their homes. They can also carry it around with them and are not reliant on fire — or moonlight.”
Winona nods. “Interesting. Well, Sfyia, I hope you learn to love this planet and our ways as much as we do.”
Loche turns to Sophia and says, “She is wishing you well. I would advise you to smile less you risk angering your soon-to-be-husband.”
Sophia glances over at me and quickly looks away when she catches me staring at her. She looks up at Winona and gives her a weak smile. Her effort is pathetic, but at least she has not caused offence, like she would have if the Queen had understood her English earlier.
I scrape my chair back from the table and stand, the sound of it causing the room to go silent, and address the room in my own tongue. “Bhiasts, Balachs, Tusail, we gather here to celebrate a day that will be remembered in our history forever. I know we are all anxious to get this business over with, but there are things that must be done, both in honour of our old ways, and to solidify our new ones.” I give Winona a nod out of respect, and she raises her horn to me.
“As the closest thing we have to a holy man, Balach Camdyn will from this day forth be relieved of his current duties, and will be responsible for the rites of marriages, births and deaths.” They all look around, trying to locate Camdyn who stands and nods.
Camdyn was once a man of the old gods — a priest of sorts in the old world.
Since we have never had births, marriages, or deaths, there was no need for a man of spiritual means. But now we may well get all three. We do not understand how effective the Uisage-Beatha will be on these human women. It may work in prolonging their life just as it does ours, or it may not. It may indeed kill them, for all we know.
It has never been done before.
Certainly, before the day is out we will either have a marriage or a death on our hands — perhaps both — for which Camdyn will be needed.
“Bhrathair Camdyn.” I motion him forward and he takes the space in the middle of the hall. Brother seems like the most logical way to address him now.
“Sophia,” I hold my hand out to her, as is customary. Her face pales and she looks up at me with wide eyes.
If she rejects me so publicly, there will be hell to pay.
Chapter 8
Sophia
Loche explained to me what I needed to do. I had to bow for the Queen and kneel at Colm’s feet. I knew with all the talk of the earrings and the ridiculous things currently attached to my nipples that he intended to marry me — but I didn’t think it would be right now.
This very moment.
And I’m well and truly sensing — regardless of the language barrier — that’s exactly what is about to happen.
I know nothing of their marriage customs, but it seems to me where there is a wedding there is also a consummation.
And I am one hundred percent not ready for that.
I could fake my way through whatever foreign ceremony this is, (it’s not like it means anything to me) but actually doing the deed?
Sealing the deal?
With him?
I stare up at the man above me, this brutal giant who I don’t even know. The only words he has said to me which I vaguely understood were soup and bed. And now I’m expected to marry him? Sleep with him?
It’s not that he is disgusting. The thought of it doesn’t make my stomach roll with sickness. He is actually handsome, for a giant alien. If there was a knife at my throat, then I would do it.
But truthfully, he scares me. There is nothing tender in his eyes, not even a spark of warmth between us. Going through with this would be cementing myself to a man who feels nothing for me.
And whether I ever make it home again or not, that is not a life I want.
I glance over to Loche, who’s urging me with his eyes to follow him. “Please. Please tell him this is too soon. I need more time. A week even — I only learned his name this morning.”
I’m trying to keep my tone even. I know Loche covered for me earlier when I said what I did about this place, and truthfully, I was betting on him doing so. I don’t yet know my status in this place, or what it means. I don’t know who I can anger, how far I can push. If I tantrum — like I’m dying to right now — I don’t know if they’ll cast me off outside and leave me to bake in the sun, or freeze to death in the cold.
I’m completely and utterly at the mercy of this man beside me, and that alone is why the thought of giving myself to him scares me so much.
Loche translates for me, and Colm’s eyes soften for the first time since we met. Up until now, even when he has smiled it’s not been a warm one — more like a patronising smirk. I don’t know what Loche said, if he translated word for word or if he altered it to be more palatable, but there’s a noticeable shift in Colm’s expression now.
He looks at me as he speaks, and for once his tone isn’t harsh or demanding.
When he finishes, Loche clears his throat. “He wants you to know that it must be tonight, and that regretfully the fate of the other women you travelled here with lies in what you choose to do next.”
My mouth drops open as I turn from Loche back to Colm.
He would resort to blackmail?
He’d threaten me with the lives of other women, all whilst staring me in the face with a soft expression?
Fine.
If that is the game he plays then I shall have to play it better. I will marry him. I’ll go along with whatever it is he wants to do while we’re in this room.
But the second he takes me back to his bed is the same second he regrets forcing my hand.
* * *
Forcing my hand.
I’d almost laugh if it wasn’t so ridiculous. He has quite literally forced my hand.
We’re stood together, shoulder to shoulder (not exactly true, more like my shoulder to his elbow) and the bangle that’s screwed onto my wrist has been attached with a little chain to a link on his leather cuff.
The priest (I have no clue what to call him. They said a word that sounded a lot like brother…) comes over and adds another tie, this time a thicker rope which he wraps three times around our wrists and then secures with a knot.
He’s going on and on, using words I don’t understand. Loche is beside me, and other than occasionally telling me to nod, he doesn�
�t translate.
All I can think about is how with that rope on my hand, I will not be able to fight him off later like I intended to.
I was going to go for the dagger he keeps in his waistband, wave it around a little, and back the fuck across the room.
But that will not be possible.
I look up at him again and catch him giving me the side-eyes. Could I really stab him? If I had to? I’ve never hurt a soul in my life, but I’m almost positive he will hurt me. Just the sheer size and weight of him I’m sure would be enough to hurt me, even if he tried to be gentle.
There’s a reason men on Earth don’t generally grow to over seven foot.
We seem to finish up here because people are clapping. Colm turns to face me, and while I try to remain looking ahead at the priest, it’s not long before he takes me by the shoulder and forces me to turn around.
“This part is much like Earth’s tradition,” Loche whispers.
Brilliant.
This is the part where he kisses the bride, whether or not I want to.
I expect maybe he’ll force my chin up, or perhaps get down on his knees. He does neither of those things. Instead, he simply bends down and plants a single kiss on the top of my head.
All around us people (and creatures) get up from their chairs, the sound of cheering and fists banging on the table erupting throughout the hall. I take the distraction as a chance to look up at him and catch the smile on his handsome face.
The guy is beaming.
And the guy’s got teeth.
How the hell didn’t I notice those before?
Not fangs exactly, but definitely bigger than the average human canine. I guess it makes sense, considering he’s way bigger than the average human.
But teeth aside, the look on his face is surprising. I’ve only ever seen it so stern and serious, his silver eyes cold and hard.
