Karak Contact: An Alien Shifter Sci-Fi Romance (Alien Shapeshifters Book 1)

by Ruby Ryan

  Strangeness aside, there was something alluring about having a young hunk sleeping on my couch. I knew I still looked good--working outdoors with miles of daily walking certainly helped--but I had never tried dating after Fred. Never really had the desire.

  But this guy...

  I pulled up to my house and carried the first sack of supplies inside.

  Eric lay on his back on the couch, hands behind his head and staring straight at the ceiling. The blanket was down around his waist, failing to hide the V-shape of his pelvis.

  "Uhh," I said, tongue feeling heavy in my mouth. In that position I could see the lines of his muscles, every ripple and crease of his obliques and abs. Good fucking lord he looked good. I felt a deer go prancing off in my stomach.

  "Hello," Eric said. "How are you?"

  I carried the bag to the kitchen without answering. He sounded more normal, now. Like there was a light on in the attic instead of just a candle. Facing away from him, I said, "I'm fantastic. How ya feeling?"

  I turned around.

  Eric had risen from the couch, and he wore no pants. His body was a perfect statue of a man, something photoshopped instead of actually real. His thighs were thick with muscle, and his cock hung heavy and soft.

  Oh my God, I thought, eyes locking onto it as if by a magnet.

  I heard Leslie's words in my head: you just left him there in your cabin? The unspoken threat of a strange man forced its way into my immediate concern, the stupidity of doing something like that.

  "I feel very well," Eric said casually. "Thank you for your help last night."

  He made no move toward me. He just stood there, innocent and weird. Thankfully that made the situation more embarrassing than threatening. I crossed my arms over my breasts and tried to appear nonchalant.

  "You can put on some clothes, you know."

  Eric looked down at himself with confusion. "Oh."

  "Oh indeed. Though I can see you're not cold."

  The moment the joke was out of my mouth I cringed. Complimenting this stranger on his dick size like we were at some bar, where cheesy pickup lines were the norm. But Eric only blinked.

  "I am quite warm indeed. However, my clothes were not satisfactorily clean. Once I had taken a shower--" the word sounded strange on his tongue, "--I did not wish to return them to me. They are presently being laundered."

  That's when I realized my washer was rumbling on the other side of the cabin. "Well, I think I've got some old clothes lying around here somewhere. Let me fetch 'em and you can help bring in supplies."

  I went to my bedroom more to retreat from his overwhelmingly masculine presence than to actually get him clothes, the blush on my face deepening with each second.

  6

  ARIX

  Human emotions were a strange thing.

  Karak shifting was not merely a physical transformation. Our atoms emulate the organism as best they can in every way, which is often necessary to reproduce the intellectual capabilities of the species. Otherwise our intrusion would be an obvious and failed attempt.

  This meant our thoughts and emotions became similar--to a degree--to the organism itself.

  It was a slow thing, not immediate. Data gathered from sources around the cabin, and from the humans with whom I interacted. As I spoke to Jo and gauged her reactions, my own human imitation became more and more flawless.

  However, the emotions and needs I had after only 14 hours in this body was powerful. I was extremely hungry. My body still ached from being struck by Jo's truck last night, but accelerated Karak healing was quickly resolving that.

  But my emotions?

  Jo was a beautiful woman, my human brain instantly knew. And not in an intellectual sense, the way someone knows that one plus one is two, but in a sexual sense. Her raven-black hair was pulled back into a ponytail, though curled tufts popped out around her face where they weren't long enough to hold back. Her eyes were wide blue ovals, with sharp eyebrows that gave her a constant look of curiosity and amusement. The shape of her breasts were concealed beneath her coat but I could tell they were full, and her waist was thin before widening at the hips in a wonderful mathematic ratio.

  I want to ravish Jo, I thought, emulating the language from the book she had left on her bedside table. I wanted to wrap my arms around her, feel the warmth of her skin...

  More than that, I could see a flicker of sexual attraction in her own eyes. She stared at my sexual organ longer than was necessary, and her face turned a shade of red that indicated pleasure or embarrassment. Perhaps both.

  And the most surprising thing about these human emotions of mine? Jo's obvious attraction to me only increased mine for her. A curious emotional reflection.

  "Here's a pair of jeans and a cotton shirt," Jo said as she returned from her sleeping quarters. Bedroom, the word shifted into place in my mind. "Now, you're a pinch narrower than the man who once wore these, but the belt should help so long as you don't mind them bunching up."

  Her face was no longer flushed, and as she handed me the clothes she very deliberately maintained eye contact. I felt my human face smiling back at her.

  "Go on, then," she said, disappearing outside. I obeyed, then followed.

  Her vehicle--her truck--was loaded with boxes and bags of supplies. Dried or frozen food products. Bottles of sugar-based alcohol. I carried them into her cabin and placed them where she told me, and then watched her unload them into cabinets and drawers.

  "This is gunna sound like a weird question, so apologies for that up front," Jo said without looking at me. "But you wouldn't happen to be a model, would you?"

  "A model what?" I asked.

  "You know. A..." She trailed off, glancing at me once more but only for a moment. "Nevermind. Where are you from?"

  I had been expecting this question.

  "Buffalo, New York," I said, repeating the words I'd found on an envelope of paper filed away in one of Jo's cabinets. "I sell insurance."

  "An insurance salesman," Jo said, voice strangely devoid of emotion. "Is that why you were walking around in the middle of nowhere last night?"

  "I was lost. I was trying to find help."

  She whirled on me. "If you wanted help, then why were you so resistant to being taken to the hospital?"

  Emulating a movement from Jo's book, I ran a hand through my hair, feeling each individual strand fall back into place. "I don't know. I was confused last night. I am still confused today."

  "I was afraid you had some sort of head wound," she muttered, placing cans on a shelf in the pantry. "Well. What we can do is get you into town this afternoon, let Leslie have a look at you. Take your statement about last night. Then I'll drop you off at the hospital. It's not really a hospital, more like a building with two medical beds and a half-educated nurse, but they've got the equipment to run some scans. Make sure you're okay."

  She turned around and nodded in finality.

  "And that will be that. They can take care of you from there."

  This was not ideal for me.

  I did not know what medical devices they had on this planet, but surely their technology was advanced enough to realize something was not right with my body. And I needed to stay here, to discern the damage to my spacecraft and find a way to contact home.

  More than that, I was a scout for the Karak Dominion. It was in my nature to investigate the planets on my tour, gather information, and report them back for the greater glory of the Dominion. As unfortunate as my craft's crash was, it now provided me a unique opportunity which had to be taken advance of. I could not squander the opportunity to learn about humans first-hand.

  I could not leave Jo's cabin. Not yet.

  "Can I not stay here longer?" I asked.

  She snorted. "Can't imagine why you'd want to."

  I reached out.

  Karak telepathy worked easily for most intelligent species, but with humans it seemed easier to use emotions. I reached out with my mind and touched Jo's softly, then once I felt th
e connection I poured emotions into it. Lust for her body, the curve of her hips underneath her jeans. My hands running up her side and to the swell of her breast, squeezing her tight, kissing the part of her neck where it met her clavicle. Removing her clothes frantically as if it were the most important task in the world and carrying her to the bed.

  "I would prefer to stay here a few more days," I said out loud, voice as soft as the wind. "If that is okay with you."

  Jo never turned around, but she stopped unpacking the bag and put both palms on the counter. I could feel how excited she was from across the kitchen, the heat coming off her sex like a lamp. She wanted me to take her right then, I could sense, but not to the bed: she wanted me right there in the kitchen with desperation. With her mind laid bare to me I could see the images her imagination manifested: me coming up behind her, pressing my body against hers. Pulling down her jeans and grabbing the meat of her buttocks in both hands, then licking up into her sex, spreading her lips wide with my tongue while she squirmed and moaned against the butcher block counter.

  I danced with her imagination, guiding it with my own actions. Rising and picking her up by the waist and twisting her to sit on the counter, pulling her jeans and panties all the way off. Using my arms to spread her legs wide, opening her for my rock-hard cock. Rubbing it against her dripping slit as she groaned in ecstasy, the teasing of it almost too much for her to bear.

  And somehow, my human emotions felt stronger than my Karak needs. My own sex was hard against my pants, and I desperately wanted to walk across the kitchen and make her imagination a reality. Only with carefully mustered willpower did I hold back.

  I withdrew my telepathic bond and said, "I would prefer to say, but only if that's okay with you."

  "If that's what you want," she said in a small voice, returning to her groceries. The space between us suddenly seemed cavernous.

  "Thank you, Jo."

  I returned to the truck to get the next load of groceries, the smell of Jo lingering in my nose like perfume.

  7

  JOANNA

  I needed to get a hold of myself.

  I've always been a loner. I liked it that way. I keep to myself, nobody bothers me, and that's just the way things have always been.

  Men were always coming around. Nobody from Elijah anymore (they'd all learned how futile of a venture that was) but occasionally men from the neighboring towns, or repeat customers to the hunting land who continued coming back to this area each year rather than try some place new. They were always friendly, but lingered just long for me to get an idea of what they wanted. And then I would politely turn them down, or make a joke, or any one of the other ways women have learned to decline to go to bed with a man.

  It's not that I was asexual. I loved sex. But only with the right person. Fred and I had a special bond, like we always knew what was in the other person's head, even while making love. We knew each other inside and out, with a familiarity and comfort that no new lover could hope to match. I still considered every new sexual advance when the opportunity arose--who didn't?--but it was always a quick and easy decision.

  But Eric?

  Oh sweet baby Jesus was I attracted to Eric. I could feel him near me, like he had an aura that demanded to not be ignored. Beyond the muscles, and the strong jawline, and the eyes like warm almonds, something inside of me did backflips when he was near.

  And something happened in that kitchen. It was like my imagination had a mind of its own, a movie I was watching without any control. When I came to it was like I'd blacked out and was reawakening somewhere else, out of breath and confused. And as horny as I'd ever been in my life. I had to face away from him until he left the room or else he would see the desire painted on my face.

  Desire for a man I'd nearly killed in my car yesterday. Who I was now allowing to stay at my cabin for a few days.

  So, yeah. I needed to get a hold of myself.

  "How's Buffalo this time of year?" I asked to make conversation while we carried boxes of deer pellets out to the shed. Everything smelled dry and musky, and I noticed that Eric wrinkled his nose.

  "Buffalo is nice," he said.

  "Seriously? This time of year?"

  He set down the box where I pointed and we walked back outside. The breath misted all around his face as he spoke.

  "I actually don't know. Memory is fuzzy for me right now. It's as if half my thoughts were knocked out of my brain, and what's left doesn't make any sense."

  "Well I did knock you flat with my truck." A sly grin crept onto my face. "I'm surprised you have any marbles left at all, to be honest."

  "Only a few." He turned and flashed a smile that probably made all the women weak. I pretended like I wasn't one of them.

  "Speaking of knocking you flat, I wanted to ask you something." I turned to face him, and hesitated. "Nevermind."

  "What is it, Jo?"

  The way he said my name, rolling off his tongue and lips like a kiss, practically stopped my heart. I ended up pushing forward with my question as a way to shove aside the feeling.

  "When I hit you, I could have sworn your arm was broken. I thought I saw bone sticking through your skin, and through your shirt."

  For an instant, the briefest flicker of time, Eric looked like he was going to nod in acknowledgment. That he was going to agree that my memory of events was correct. But something stopped him. Visibly, like when the power almost goes out and all the lights flicker.

  His eyes got a faraway look. A computer program scanning memory and coming back with the right response.

  "I don't think so." He pulled up the sleeve of the coat I let him borrow and showed his arm. "Looks fine to me."

  I examined it. It did look fine. "Must've been my imagination," I said.

  We loaded supplies for the better part of the morning, stopping only to make sandwiches. Eric wolfed his down like he had never had food before in his life, the same way he'd done with the stew the day before.

  I told him I had a list of chores around the property to tend, and he happily tagged along to help. Mending the fence on the south end of the property. Restocking the bird feeders spaced throughout the woods. Repairing the shooting blinds that had taken damage in the last storm.

  I had forgotten how useful an extra body was. Someone to hand me tools and extra wood boards while I climbed up into the damaged blinds. A second set of eyes scanning the fence and looking for snags. Hell, just having Eric carry the huge sack of seed around for me was an enormous luxury. And he hauled the sack on one shoulder without strain, looking as natural in my old husband's clothes as if he were born in them.

  "You maintain this land by yourself?" he asked at some point.

  "Sure do."

  "Have you never considered recruiting additional labor?"

  "What, like hiring someone part-time?"

  "Yes."

  I'd been single for nearly a decade. It was hard, but I'd gotten used to it. There was always something needing to be done, I went out and did it, and then it was on to the next item that had broken while I worked. I often considered hiring extra help when the list grew too long, but could never justify the expense to myself.

  "Not really," I said, trying to sound nonchalant.

  "You should."

  I looked sideways at him. "You implying I can't do this myself?"

  He shrugged one shoulder, the shoulder not hefting the bag of seed. "I imagine you manage just fine."

  "Indeed I do."

  "I also imagine you have a lot of male suitors coming around."

  I pointed to a tree and Eric lowered the bag, resting it against the trunk.

  "Male suitors? Who the hell talks like that?"

  My comment seemed to wound him; he flinched as if he'd been struck. I wondered why he reacted like that and felt a pang of guilt.

  But he recovered quickly, and said, "You're avoiding the question."

  I dipped my fingers into the sack of seed and came out with a handful. I pulled the feeder d
own and checked it--sure enough, it was empty. We'd been getting more migratory birds lately, mostly meadowlark and mountain plovers, and the feeders kept them around. A small detail of wildlife for the land that I cared to maintain.

  "I'm avoiding the question because it's none of your business." I stuck up my nose haughtily to take the heat out of the words. "There's no ring on your finger, but you don't see me interrogating you."

  He looked down at his hand--his right hand, the wrong one--before shrugging to himself. But before I could point that out he was hefting the bag again.

  *

  We were both exhausted by the time the sun disappeared below the tree line. Eric collapsed into the couch while I prepared something to eat, a quiet understanding passing between us.

  "Do you drink?" I asked while turning the steaks in the pan.

  "Drink?"

  "Alcohol. Beer, wine, liquor. Do you drink?"

  "Oh." I could only see the back of his head from the kitchen, but I heard the frown in his voice. "Why wouldn't I?"

  I opened a bottle of cheap Merlot (three dollar wine always tasted better to my tongue than anything fancy) and poured two glasses. Was Eric being coy with his answer, or was I making him uncomfortable?

  I carried the glass to him and he took it with a smile, almond eyes locking with mine for a split second.

  We ate dinner quietly and methodically, two hungry bodies refueling after hard work. Eric complimented me on the food. I said thank you.

  The entire thing was weird. Like a date.

  An awkward date.

  "I dunno what you do for fun back in Buffalo," I said when the dishes were cleaned, "but it's mighty boring around these parts. No cable, and the public network waves don't come out this far." I fell into the couch with my glass of wine and let out a long sigh. "I've got internet, but it's about as slow as a cow's tail."

  Eric poured himself another glass and sat on the couch next to me. Not the love seat catercorner to me. The seat right next to me. He didn't seem to notice that his leg brushed up against mine, but to me it was like electricity flowing from the point of contact. The warmth and strength of his muscles under the jeans.