Highland Barbarian Alien (Possessive Highlanders Book 1)

by Leith Briar

  “There is my good girl. You want me to fuck you?”

  I nod my head as enthusiastically as I can manage, my breath fast and shaky.

  “How? How do you want me to fuck you?”

  I can’t say it. He should know. Surely he should know just by the way I’m looking at him? Every second he pauses, every moment he spends outside of me threatens my state of mind. I feel as if I’m holding on to my sanity by a single thread, a heartbeat away from losing control completely. My teeth ache. My breasts ache. My center… aches.

  He releases my arm and quickly grabs a hold of my chin with his clawed one, forcing me to look at him. “You want me to ravage you? Fuck you sore and give you a place to release all of that anger?”

  I try to nod my head but his hold is too tight, and I still fear those talons could cut right through me. “Yes,” I whisper. Yes, I want that. Fuck, I need that.

  He flips me over onto my stomach with zero restraint, his knee spreading my thigh high on the mattress. And then he rubs the head of his shaft against my wetness, and I lift myself, desperately trying to beckon him inside me.

  He’s teasing me.

  Why would he do that?

  Anger burns beneath my skin and I reach back, desperately trying to find him and draw him into me.

  “Put your hands behind your back,” he orders.

  I’m caught between wanting to listen to him and wanting to turn around and throttle him. Or fuck him myself. Whatever.

  But I must hesitate too long because he gives me no further encouragement. He grabs my arm and places it at the small of my back, then lays the other one across it, wrist to elbow.

  His weight lowers, and my arms are trapped between my body and his. The air is pushed from my lungs in the same moment he drives into me.

  He takes, brutally and unforgiving, forcing the full length of himself inside me while I cry out at the shock of it. And no sooner than the sound escapes my throat does his human hand grip me there, ready to choke down the next one.

  It’s pressure everywhere. My breasts. My nipples. My throat. My fucking cervix.

  His violent ways should scare me. His possessiveness should be disturbing. I shouldn’t enjoy this.

  But denying I do would be a lie.

  The pain he’s wracking from my body mixes with pleasure until the lines blur completely, and I realise I want more.

  I want it harder.

  With his hand around my throat and the other, sharper one now pinching my nipple, all I can do is whimper into the furs as he drives into me, each thrust getting more vicious.

  “You feel that?” he growls, directly into my ear. Heat and a mess of curls get in the way of the hungry kisses that come between each word. “You feel my cock lodged deep inside you? Claiming you?”

  I can’t speak, I can barely even breathe. But his words send me dangerously close to the edge, and I feel like I’m about to slide right off whatever I’m balancing on.

  “You are mine. Every inch of you. Mine.” He slams into me again, hitting me in places I didn’t know existed until this moment.

  Just as I feel like I’m about to lose it and pass out, he releases his hold on my throat and wraps both arms around my hips and tummy, lifting them off the bed. His weight is on his shoulder above my head, and I bite down on him hard as he drives in deeper. He lets out an angry roar, and I shiver as the sound vibrates above me.

  The harder I bite, the harder he fucks me. It’s like playing with fire knowing full well how much it’s going to burn you.

  But the wave of ecstasy makes it all worth it. Our bodies now wet, I slide my arms free as my insides contract around him. I reach up and grip on to his thick forearms, squeezing hard as I come. He collapses on top of me, going for my neck again and this time he does cut off the air. This time I don’t know if I’m floating or falling. I don’t know if I’m coming or going.

  I don’t think I care.

  I tap him on the arm and he releases my neck, his nails scratching the sides of my body until he finds my hips. He lifts me up and thrusts into me once, twice, and then I feel every muscle in his body pulse as a warmth spreads between my legs.

  We’re both left hot and breathless, me more than him apparently.

  I’m exhausted. I’m wracking my brains for something to say, something to keep me awake, but my thoughts are too muddled to bother wading through them.

  All I want to do is drift off to sleep and prolong this hazy bliss that still lingers throughout my body.

  But he shifts on the bed to where the pillows are, and he hasn’t even gotten himself sorted before he’s tugging on my arm and pulling me up beside him.

  I can’t help giggling. His eyes are glowing, his teeth are protruding against his bottom lip and his horns are bigger than I’ve ever seen them before. And yet he’s acting… needy. It’s preposterous, but also endearing, and I think my heart melts a little inside my chest. He nestles my head in the crook of his arm and spreads my leg across his stomach.

  “You have a joke you want to share?”

  I glance up at him, a smile playing on my lips. “No joke. I’m just… happy, I guess.”

  He does a double take, clearly looking for signs I’m fibbing. Finding none, he smiles back at me. “Aye,” he says, leaning across and kissing the top of my head. “Aye. Me too.”

  Okay, so that wasn’t the initial reason I was giggling and maybe I feel bad for that.

  But it wasn’t a lie, either.

  I am happy.

  I lived.

  I changed.

  The fear of what that actually means gets muddled in with the hazy bliss, and Colm reaches down and strokes my cheek. “You will be fine,” he says. “I swear it.”

  There’s a brief moment of how did he know, before I remember that I felt his worry as clearly as I can see a colour. It must work really both ways, just as he explained it to me.

  I give him a faint smile and close my eyes, the gentle motion of his hand making me sleepy.

  And I drift off… my body slotted against him… his fingers stroking my cheek. And finally, finally, feeling hopeful.

  Chapter 21

  Colm

  I wake up well before dawn feeling restless.

  There is much to do, so much to prepare, and already I can hear the castle below me, awake and preparing for the day ahead.

  I untangle myself from her limbs and settle her down on the pillows, covering her body with furs now that she will no longer have me to keep her warm.

  She is in a deep sleep and looks peaceful. There are no signs that she is still in any state, and this is good. I returned to my senses within minutes of my release, so I assume she did, too.

  I do not want to wake her from sleep, but neither can I just leave without a word. Not after what happened. Not after I nearly lost her and then claimed her properly as my own.

  Stroking her soft cheek, I nudge her gently until her lids flutter open. Her eyes are normal, mossy green and natural looking. None of the sparkling shit they were doing last night.

  “I have to go, mo chridhe.”

  She takes a moment to process my words and then shifts herself up on the pillows.

  “No,” I say. “You need to rest. Stay there.”

  Her eyes flit over my face, her lower lip opening slightly as if she is about to argue.

  I lean down and kiss it away, and she blinks a few times when I retreat.

  “What happened to me?”

  “You… changed. I saw it in your eyes just as surely as I felt it in your emotions.”

  She swallows. “So I won’t… I won’t die? But I’ll be like you. I’ll be… angry.”

  I do not know.

  That is the worst part about it. I do not have any answers. I know we originally changed when the Plaigh put chemicals and hormones into our system, and the Usige-Beatha keeps us strong and alive. I can only guess that I transferred some part of that to her last night when I… mated us together.

  “You will need to wo
rk it out yourself. I am leaving, fuck knows when I will return.” The words cut through the air between us like a dagger.

  Her mouth drops open in surprise, her brow furrowing. “What?”

  I shrug. “I do not know when I will see you again.”

  “And that doesn’t bother you?” Her tone is harsh and fiery.

  I shake my head, egging her on. “Why should it?”

  Her eyes narrow further. She is angry — clearly. But she is showing no signs of changing. If she had been the one saying this to me, I would have been straining to keep my horns from showing. And I am much more practiced at this than she would be.

  “How can you be so cold? So cruel? After everything… What the fuck is wrong with you?”

  I decide to keep going just to make sure. I have come this far, I might as well see where it leads us. “You love it,” I say, my tone taunting her. “Do not pretend my cruelty does not make you wet. I can be cold, and you will love me anyway.”

  My eyes drift down the bed and linger where her cunt would be, then I meet her fierce gaze. She leans forward, and there is a swish of air as the flat of her hand connects with my cheek in a harsh slap. I could have stopped her quite easily, but I needed to be sure.

  The moment her hand drops, I have to fight to stop myself from laughing. It is clear from that tickle she is no she-Bhiast. Whatever strength she possessed last night is gone now — and a good thing, too. It is not that I am threatened by it, the truth is I quite enjoyed it. But I much prefer her being precious and breakable.

  Unless we are fucking.

  “I think it is safe to say you do not get angry like I do,” I state, lifting an eyebrow.

  She glares at me, her lips pouting and her little hand balled into a fist — probably recovering from the hurt she just caused herself.

  Finally, realisation spreads across her face. “You were trying to make me angry?”

  This time, I do chuckle. “Aye. Did it work?”

  She tilts her head to the side and the glare returns, but this time it’s not half as intense.

  I make a mental note not to make a habit of pissing her off — she-Bhiast or not.

  “Of course it bothers me,” I tell her. “I do not want to leave you — especially now. But I will fight all the harder knowing exactly what I have to come home to.”

  Her face finally softens, and I wink at her.

  “How long is that moon thing? In sleeps?”

  I shrug. “Twenty, give or take. But it could well be less. Do not fash, alright?”

  She nods her head, her mess of curls falling around her shoulders. There is a lump in my throat because I am not really able to communicate to her what I do not even understand myself.

  All I know is I have never felt anything other than excitement at the thought of a war. We are a species made for it. I will never be a man who tends to crops and works the fields, and this castle — large as it is — will always feel too small for me.

  But this time there is little appeal, and even less excitement. This time I could happily stay here, in this chamber, just the two of us, exploring every inch of her soft body and only stopping to sleep. I feel like a man in my youth again, with too much energy and no place to put it, and I fear even the fight to come will not be enough to expend it.

  “You should go,” she says quietly. “Just… be safe, I guess.”

  “Wars are not won with safety, mo chridhe. I will not be safe, but I will be quick.”

  She giggles and I pull her in close to me, breathing in her scent and trying to remember it.

  “Now you get some sleep, and I will see you soon.”

  I plant a final kiss on her forehead and get up from the bed, crossing the room without looking back. There is no point in looking back, not when I need to look ahead.

  I close the door behind me and make my way down to the great hall with a heavy heart.

  Chapter 22

  Sophia

  It’s late when I hear the familiar sounds of Loche and his men bustling around the room. The sun is up, and warm heat floods the room the second he opens up the shutters.

  “You will be wanting a bath this morn, I bet?”

  His tone is cheery, much too cheery for how I’m feeling. My stomach growls with hunger.

  “Breakfast first, please?”

  “Right you are,” he says, turning to the younger men who always accompany him. I really must find out their names, but they never speak or even look at me. “Brochan.”

  Porridge. Porridge sounds good.

  I sit up in bed while Loche fetches a robe, but the moment I do, I feel lightheaded and dizzy.

  Nauseous.

  I swallow, hoping it will pass and growing increasingly more worried when it doesn’t.

  “I need to use the bathroom,” I say… but I can’t even get the sentence out completely before I’m crossing the room.

  “My lady?” Loche’s voice is full of concern, and he rushes after me, robe in his hands, but I care not.

  All I care about is not throwing up all over myself.

  I make it in time but nothing comes. I feel sick, but I can’t be sick, and it’s the worst feeling. Like being drunk and knowing you’ll feel much better for it, but not being able to, regardless.

  I slump down on the cold stone floor next to the bowl and Loch is quick to throw the robe over me, the concern clear on his face.

  “I’m too hot,” I explain. “I feel faint.”

  “Stay there,” he tells me.

  Moments pass and I focus on breathing, feeling slightly better now I’m sitting on the cool stone and away from that ghastly heat.

  He returns with a small clay dish and a carved wooden spoon. “Here,” he says. “Have a mouthful of this.”

  I look it over. Honey, perhaps? Deciding it can’t hurt, I swallow down the thick liquid and while it’s not honey, it doesn’t taste too dissimilar. Maybe like thick golden syrup.

  “What is it?”

  “Boiled sugar,” he says. “It will help until you can get something solid in your stomach.”

  I nod, swallowing down the last of the sweetness that’s cloying to my palette. “How do you know?”

  He takes a seat on the stone floor across from me. There is no real hot water plumbing here, so no bath or shower. Just a stone thing that doubles as a toilet and a bowl for washing that gets changed by the Balachs.

  Loche gives me a knowing smile. “I had many sisters on Earth. Some more friendly with the boys than others.”

  I lift an eyebrow and stare at him. “It’s not. I’m not.” Shaking my head, I try to find the words. “I can’t be. Well, I might be. But not yet.”

  “You had bunta — potato and lentil soup for dinner last night. You do not catch food poisoning from potatoes, not on this planet anyhow.”

  I shake my head. “It’s not possible.”

  “Is there any part of Colm that is possible? And yet, he tells me that you saw him — the real him — clear as day. He tells me you changed, too. Is any of that possible?” He lifts an eyebrow, showing me clearly he knows he is right.

  “It’s too soon,” I argue, but I’m not even sure how much conviction there is behind it anymore. Loche may very well be correct. Who knows how long a… Bhiast pregnancy takes? Everything about Colm has been enhanced. Would it be a stretch to believe his abilities for procreation are, too?

  But if we make that stretch, then it means the impossible is possible. It means I am carrying a child, right now. Inside me. An actual baby.

  I swallow as that sinks in fully.

  Is it even a baby?

  And how big will it get?

  Colm is two foot taller than me and at least twice the width. What if this baby is too big? There are no hospitals here. No sections, no anesthetic, no surgeons.

  Except maybe Vrexor.

  But as soon as that thought crosses my mind I shut it down. They’ll run tests on me. Check me daily. They could cut it out of my stomach and take it away if they wanted
to, and I’d be powerless to stop it from happening.

  No.

  I don’t know what it is, call it maternal instinct… but they’re not going anywhere near my baby.

  If there is even a baby at all. There may not be. This could be a stomach bug.

  “Let’s say for a moment that it is possible. That I am. What do we do? I don’t want those things touching me. The Plaigh.”

  Regardless of any other uncertainty, I am absolutely sure about that.

  He leans over and takes a hold of my hand. His skin is soft, much softer than I had expected for a man who is, by his own admission, a housekeeper. “We will not let it come to that. Most of them, including their leader Shaxrin, left this morning. They like to watch the Bhiast fight from a safe vantage point. They left Vrexor here, but we shall take care to avoid him.”

  I nod, feeling somewhat reassured, but not entirely.

  “Can you stand? We should get some brochan in that belly of yours. Bhiasts are ferocious in their appetites.”

  * * *

  It takes exactly one week for the worst of my symptoms to subside. By symptoms I mean what Loche describes as typical first trimester complaints. Sickness. Dizzy spells. Waking up at all hours of the night to pee. And my breasts — the ache. The second morning Loche presented me with the two little rings, and I gave him a look that would make birds fall from the sky.

  “I guess what Colm does not know cannot harm him,” he had said with a shrug.

  “I’d shove the damn things down his throat if he wanted to argue about it.”

  Loche just chuckled and put them back in the trinket box, and we haven’t seen them since.

  Although the typical symptoms seemed to subside a week after that first morning, they are replaced with something else.

  “I fear it will not fasten,” Loche says from behind me.

  I crane my neck around, trying to look over my shoulder to see exactly what he is talking about.

  “I guess the natives must have different styles for maternity,” he says with a shrug, throwing the corset down on the bed and leaving me hugging the fabric over my chest.