by Emma Alisyn
He sighed. “I speak several Earth languages—they aren’t all that complex. Your thoughts won’t evolve for another millennium, at least. Gayle, you are welcome to my attention at any time, however I was on a call with my brother. Is there something you need?”
“You came to see my father?”
“Yes. I did. He and I have an understanding. Apparently, you were remiss—it was expected that you formally introduce me to him. I didn’t think things were done that way here. I could have avoided a fuck up earlier if I’d known.”
Her back stiffened. Excellent inflections. “Are you scolding me?” She certainly didn’t like the reproach in his tone. “Never mind. Why did my father call you a prince?”
“Is that what you wanted to talk about?”
“I wanted to talk about why you came to my home and didn’t break me out of here!”
He stared at her with poorly concealed astonishment before his expression smoothed. “I forget how young you are.”
Gayle picked up the crystal inkpot on the desk and threw it at the nearest wall. It shattered. She stared, satisfied, at the glittering shards on the floor.
Ithann laughed. Her head jerked towards the screen. “You—you’re laughing at me.”
“Not really. It will be entertaining watching you with my mother.”
She smiled, jaw tight. “Let’s talk about your mother. Let’s talk about your family. Let’s talk about what, exactly, you were thinking I’m supposed to do as the spouse of a… noble.”
“When you called, I was speaking with my brother. He will ease the negotiations your father has in my province—”
“He what?”
He shut his mouth, then said, “Gayle, start paying attention to the dealings of your family. We’ll talk later.”
A week passed. Her one impatient attempt to break out of the home was aborted by security, and her various calls to lawyers and people in high places were unfruitful. As she had suspected they would be. Her father’s reputation, sterling as it was, and her reputation for being a less traditional High Tier woman, conspired against her. Ithann contacted her, but the call was brief and she could tell he was distracted, his response to her questions cagey. He commended her on her control and lack of outbursts, and gave her some instruction on why her escape attempt failed. That last bit set her teeth on edge. He wanted her to be a warrior—but he also wanted her to be well behaved. She could read between the damn lines.
Mila called her, eyes angry. “What is this shit with your father? Do I need to come over there?”
Gayle laughed. “Security would just try and snatch you and then we’d have a hoard of angry blue aliens on the front lawn. Though, that might be fun. Liven up this neighborhood.”
Mila’s eyes narrowed. “You know security can’t handle what I got.”
“You’re crazy. Did Jaron forgive you yet?”
“He’s still in a snit. I don’t care. As long as he puts out, he can be moody all he wants.”
“Hey, there’s more to a relationship than good sex.”
“I’ve got these glowy things,” Mila said, holding up her patterned arms. “So, it’s not like he can stay mad forever.” Her voice softened. “He’s administering the fertility treatments himself.”
Gayle’s eyes widened. “You rat! You didn’t tell me.”
Mila smiled. “I wanted to wait to make sure they would take. Everything is going well, but we’ll want to join Mom off planet soon.”
“Well, if things go my way, I’ll be coming with.”
“They won’t know what hit them.”
When Gayle emerged from her suite for dinner, her parents sprang yet another small torture on her.
“We’re having a black-tie event,” Miranda announced. “The stylist will be by with gowns for our selection.”
Gayle lowered her head into her hands. “Lock up your adult daughter to force her to marry; check. Throw a ball; check. You’re all mad.”
When she looked up, her mother was frowning. “Abigail, can we please do something about your hair?”
She scowled. “I just had the braids redone. I’m not wasting all that time in a chair because you want to artificially process my natural hair to fit some arcane standard of feminine beauty which isn’t even realistic for our phenotype.”
“At least put them up in a style,” Miranda snapped. “I just—Bakari.”
Her father lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “I think she is lovely as she is.” Her father, the consummate liar. He could afford to be urbane—he held the key to her lock.
Time to try another escape, but this time she’d have to do it when he least expected.
“You didn’t include an image in your dossier, Ithann,” his mother complained.
“I wish to surprise you.”
Her beautiful, patrician face soured. “I hate surprises. I need to know the quality of the fabric you want me to sew with.”
He smiled. Even with nearly a century of age in front of him, she still looked as youthful as the images taken at his parents’ bonding ceremony.
“Gayle will bring you pride, Mother. You’ve wished for a daughter, and I am bringing you one worthy of our house.”
How surprising, that his mother and Gayle were very similar. His mother’s hair was long, styled in a myriad of black braids and woven in an intricate design around her head, adding height to her already elegant frame. Ornaments draped over her temples, the gold a glitter against her skin.
Her eyes narrowed. “What have you told her about us?”
“Not much.”
“Ithann.”
He shrugged. “She is a warrior. She will adapt. One battleground or another—what difference? Besides, she’s bored and needs a challenge. The people here require nothing of her.”
“Is she undisciplined?”
“No more than you at her age, with time and beauty and more energy than three toddling babes on your hands.”
“Oh, dear.”
His lips quirked. “Indeed.”
She regarded him “And have you… bonded?”
His teeth clenched. “I have not touched her.”
“I see.” Her tone was very dry. “And yet you’ve no doubt the bond is possible?”
“None.”
“Good.” Satisfaction gleamed in her eyes. “Well, I never thought my youngest son would be the untraditional one and bring home an alien bride, but I trust your judgment and her family credentials are respectable. Give her the welcome of our house on behalf of your father and me.”
7
Black tie meant Gayle showed up in blue. A brilliant, peacock sapphire blue gown that left her shoulders bare and nipped in at her waist, spilling to the ground in waves of sheer fabric. Her mother went along with the idea, of course, because it would help Gayle stand out.
“A blue gown to a black-tie affair is the kind of appropriate feminine rebellion one would expect from a high-spirited daughter of breeding,” her mother said. “Your video will be in all the fashion and High society blogs. And monochromatic is so dramatic.”
Gayle just rolled her eyes. Her intent wasn’t to stand out to snare a rich husband or a novelty modeling contract, it was to throw her father off the scent. He wouldn’t expect her to bring attention to herself on the evening she was planning another jailbreak.
Gayle entered the ballroom, the subtle tinkle of the tiny precious stone beads woven into her hair musical against the swishes of her gown. She’d dusted a shimmery silver powder over her high cheekbones and décolletage—the contrast against her darker skin was startling—she’d had the stylist design her eye shadow in a swirl of colors reminiscent to Ithann’s tattoos, also embedding sparkling jewels on the outer edge of her lids to match her hair. The rest of her, neck, fingers, wrists, was bare of jewelry—all the attention would be on her face. Well, after the men stopped staring at her cleavage. She supposed they just couldn’t help themselves.
She made her way through the throng. The ballroom was the size of a sma
ll gymnasium and could fit a hundred members of High society and their house servants, as was all the rage now—to be trailed about by a well-dressed attendant. The more well-dressed the attendant, the higher the prestige of the house. So, at times the paid servants were as flamboyant as the actual guests.
“Father.” She kissed his cheek when she approached, the men at his side making room for her.
“Abigail, you are as beautiful as your mother,” he said, raising her hand to his lips.
“Should have had a dozen of them, Bakari,” a silver-haired man next to her father said. “One for each of us.”
They all laughed, though Gayle just smiled. It was meant as a compliment, but it was just another example of the entrenched, inherent sexism in her father’s social circle. As if her mother should have popped out a dozen female babies just to provide arm candy for the rich men of the city.
“I think she has other plans,” her father replied with an indulgent smile. “We’re trying to see if we can persuade her to accept one of the younger men as a suitor, but she’s bent on completing her training at YETI.”
The man raised a brow, surprised. “I’d heard about that—soldiering, hmm? Well, you always were the progressive one.”
“Funny we still even have the term progressive in this century,” Gayle said. “You’d think we’d be past all that nonsense, but I’ve learned only recently that we aren’t.”
The old fox smiled. “We need our women to civilize us, that’s why we keep you close. Besides, who would run things while we play?”
Another round of laughter. Gayle excused herself, conveying the pretext of seeing friends, needing to get away before she snapped. Then she remembered she’d get to have the last laugh tonight, and relaxed.
Her preliminary paperwork had come through. Mila was waiting at a strategic pickup point, and Gayle had already transferred as much money as she could to a secret offshore account, which she would cash out as soon as she could travel. Because the Academy was technically foreign soil—intergalactic soil, to be specific—she could lie low there until her father’s guard relaxed. It would be a few weeks, but by then she’d be able to sneak off planet on a transport.
There was dancing before dinner, a mutation in custom having occurred years ago, when sensible people realized they’d rather feast after working up an appetite. After dinner, there would be an after-party, dancing that was less formal with lights dimmed and alcohol flowing.
Gayle couldn’t completely keep from joining the dancing since she was the daughter of the hosts, but she managed to avoid the more odious potential partners. Not that she disliked dancing—she loved to dance. But she’d rather dance by herself than with a partner she didn’t like.
The music began again and she was about to make a dash for something to drink when a ripple of sound in the crowd alerted Gayle a moment before a presence at her back shivered over her skin. She turned, gown swishing around her legs, and stilled. A god stood before her.
Gayle mentally slapped herself. No, not a god, though if the Yadeshi had ever visited Earth in ancient times, they would have been mistaken as gods.
Tall, he’d let his hair flow loose in a silky cape of glossy black, a subtle undertone of deepest amethyst gleaming in the light.
“Ithann,” she said, her voice quiet.
He stared down at her, eyes impassive. Not for the first time she observed the shape of his lids was somewhat different than the other Yadeshi, and the bones of his face were broader, cheeks high and flat. She supposed that like humans they would have variations amongst themselves. No species lived for millennia without variation.
“Your father invited me,” he said. “Are you displeased?”
She wasn’t sure. He seemed… odd. The clothing he wore was obviously the fancy dress of his homeland. Normally, she would have had him turn, would have observed it with interest. Tailored soft pants and an ankle-length fitted tunic with slits up the side. Sleeveless to display the tattoos on his arms. The cloth changed colors, even though he didn’t move and the light didn’t change. Gold winked at his earlobes, and each of his long fingers sported a jeweled ring.
“You look like a prince of the Djinn,” she said.
His head titled. “I don’t know that word.”
“Mystical creatures—demons, I think. Come to think of it, they were often portrayed as blue, as well. I wonder if that’s the fault of your kinsmen, hmm?”
He took her hand, lifted it to his mouth in a gesture that echoed her father—but was not fatherly at all. His eyes remained trained on hers, and he allowed her to see him. See into his soul for a second, and that second took her breath. Everything missing in his voice, absent from his perfect statue face, was in his eyes. The promise and the passion. Anger held at bay and a predator leashed, poised to strike.
After she could breathe again, she asked, “Are you here to take me away?”
His lips curved. “Tell me you weren’t already planning to flee tonight.”
She couldn’t keep a straight face, and grinned. “I’m not telling you nothin,’ pal. You need plausible deniability.”
“What I need is my female naked in my arms.” His voice lowered. “Riding my cock, wet with cum.”
“Ithann.” Her heart jumped in her chest. “Of all the times to tease me…”
“You made it,” Bakari said in his smooth, hearty, political voice.
Ithann glanced over her shoulder and smiled. Gayle blinked, staring at him. Her alien lover-prince was suddenly a golden boy. He clasped her father on the shoulder.
“It was a pleasure to receive an invitation,” Ithann said, voice just as hearty, teeth white and... big. “Your ballroom is stunning.”
“All recycled materials,” her father said. “The craftsmen were all local as well. Made it in the tabzines—my wife was pleased. You know how women are.”
“I was about to ask Abigail to dance with me—with your permission, of course.”
“Certainly, my man! We’re not that formal around here. You two kids have fun.”
Gayle grabbed Ithann’s hand and pulled him on the dance floor.
“Kids? Really? It’s bad enough I’m considered a child, but… how old are you anyway? You never told me.”
He laughed, and pulled her close to his body. “Older than both your parents combined, enja.”
Her eyes widened. “That’s… a little disturbing.”
“I’m considered youthful among my kind.” His head lowered, lips brushing her ear. “And fairly energetic.”
What had gotten into her staid, dour alien? “I thought Yadeshi were immune to human alcohol.”
“You are correct.”
The beat of the music changed, slowing, lights dimming. The company her parents had hired was top notch, of course.
“Your behavior is a bit more relaxed than I’m used to.”
“We’re permitted to court on the compound, Gayle, but it would be inappropriate to fuck while training.” His voice sounded oh so reasonable. If her skin was lighter, he might have seen the blush on her cheeks. “You think I don’t understand your teasing, female? I’m simply waiting for the right time to pay you back, triple fold.”
His hands roved up and down her back, finally settling low enough on her buttocks that it might as well be a shout that they were together. He pulled her even closer, the polite social distance long since discarded. Anyone watching wouldn’t mistake them for casual friends, or colleagues.
“What does enja mean?”
His eyes held hers, a smirk on his lips. “Mine.”
Her breath stalled. “Are you staking a claim, Ithann?”
“Haven’t you already staked yours?”
She had. Yes, she had. And without even telling him. Her full plan was to drag him along with her when she absconded off planet with Mila and Jaron.
“You and my father seem to be on good terms.” The thought sat in her stomach sourly. Ithann was supposed to be on her side.
“Ah—but he thi
nks I am the well-bred Bdahn of a noble house.”
“Aren’t you?”
“The prince of a noble house? Yes. But no one ever said any of us were your human definition of well-bred.”
She was a bit nonplussed. “But you talk so much about proper behavior and decorum and… all that.”
“It’s a tool, Gayle,” he replied, voice patient. “A dance. Only humans ever mistake a Yadeshi warrior for anything but what he—or she—is.”
“And what is that?”
He swept her out of the ballroom and onto a balcony, backing her against the high railing.
“Dangerous and not to be toyed with. And, particularly,” his lips hovered over hers, “not to be denied his or her mate. I rage, Gayle. Unfortunately, I’ll have to take it out on you.”
It was the second time he’d initiated a kiss, but this time all his anger, banked frustration, and the glimpse of the vicious predator he’d allowed her to see was behind the capture of her lips. His hands squeezed her hips, hard body flush against hers as if even his limbs wanted to devour her.
“I can’t breathe,” she said, tearing her head away. And it was true. He stole her breath. The sudden, fierce heat of him, the crack in the dour, often sarcastic veneer.
“When I have you to myself, you won’t need your breath for anything but screams.”
His mouth latched onto the side of her neck, hand pulling her head aside to give him access. A knee wedged between her thighs. She felt air on her legs as he pulled up the skirt of her gown, enough for his hand to slip underneath. The tiny scrap of satin she wore was no impediment. Fingers sank inside her, thumb flicking her clit.
Gayle moaned, thinking distantly that once again he had her somewhere semi-public, his hands in her pussy without asking first. His teeth… fangs pierced the side of her throat as she sank into the cloud of pleasure his clever fingers provided. She didn’t understand how he did this to her, made her body sing with so little provocation. How her will drained even as he drained her blood. What had he said? The Ngandan princes enjoyed the taste of human blood.
She wondered what other dark desires they enjoyed, indulged in.
