by Shea Malloy
It’s tranquil save for the gentle lap of the ocean against the shore and the occasional rustling of the nearby trees from a cool, soft breeze. A faint minty scent pervades my senses and I can almost taste it too.
The shore consists of copper-coloured sand. Warm and somewhat rough against my bare soles, the grains are as large as tiny pebbles. The sky is gradated from pale pink to pale blue and home to two bright spots illuminating the area.
Two suns? No planet in our galaxy possesses such a thing.
“We’re very far from home,” I say as I point out the suns. One is twice the size as the other. I frown at her as I add, “No thanks to your loud mouth.”
She drops her horrified gaze from the sky to scowl at me.
“Seriously? You’re going to blame me for us being kidnapped? At least I had the balls to call that little monster on her bullshit!” She lets out a huff. “I did not sign up to any dating agencies. This is nothing but a scam!”
“I did not sign up either.” I rub my chin in thought. “Maybe we were both entered into the program by someone else?”
“But who would do something like that—ah, dammit!” She closes her eyes on a groan then opens them again, irritation brimming in their golden-green depths. “My sister. This has Tabitha Fry written all over it.”
“My mother is a meddler as well,” I agree. For the past few years, my mother has been increasing the pressure I ‘continue the Dross lineage’ by fathering children. However, she has been suspiciously silent on the matter of late. No doubt she decided to take matters into her own hands and this is the result.
What my mother fails to understand is some are meant for long-term relationships whereas others are not. I consider myself in the latter category. I have only enough love, energy and attention for my work. Whatever leftover time I have I give to trivial moments with various females.
Furthermore, the relationship I share with my work is straightforward. Uncomplicated. When something is broken, when there is a flaw in the design or the mechanics of the ships I create, I can fix it. But to love another, to give myself completely to another being is far too complex, unpredictable, and beyond my control.
“So what do we do now?” asks Rosalind. “How are we going to get back to Zenovas 9 if we don’t even know where we are?” She pushes her hands through her hair. “Mother’s Suns.”
“We wait,” I say simply, crossing my hands over my chest even though I am as anxious as well to return to Zenovas 9. “There’s nothing to gain in panicking.”
“I’m not panicking.”
I raise an eyebrow at her. “Your heart rate and body temperature are elevated, you are breathing faster and deeper, and your pupils are dilated. You are panicking.” I smirk as I add, “Although, these symptoms mimic those of sexual attraction.”
Her lips curve into a smile and it’s genuine and beautiful and makes my heart soar it’s directed at me.
“Me being attracted to you is as likely as coming away alive after touching the sun. Both of those things are not only insane and stupid as shit, but impossible. Never gonna happen.”
Ouch.
I shrug. “Being emphatic in a belief doesn’t make it a fact.”
She rolls her eyes. “Whatever.” She gazes around the area. “I’m starving. I can’t think properly. I’m going to find something to eat.” Then she squints at me. “Don’t you dare stare at my ass as I’m walking away, Dross.”
“You won’t know if I do. Stick to the perimeter. Don’t be an idiot and get yourself lost because I won’t come looking for you, human.”
She lets out a huff and heads off toward the jungle of trees. I stare at her round, plump behind and the seamless curve of her waistline expanding into wide, swaying hips. I harden from the filthy images brought to life in my head. My dragon demands I go after her, drag her down to the warm sand pebbles and take her until she screams herself hoarse from pleasure.
Irritated, I glare at the sparkle of the twin suns on the surface of the ocean. It’s a beautiful view but I don’t want to see it. I don’t want to be here anymore. It’s against my will and therefore out of my control. Worse yet, I’m stuck here with a woman I desire but cannot have. A frustrating, rude, sexy, disobedient, gorgeous human woman who is supposedly my fated mate, but, in truth, hates me completely.
All of that is inconsequential. I am a Rur dragon. I will find a way out of this place by scouring its topography via flight. I drop my hands to my sides and let my dragon take over. My bones shift to accommodate my dragon form, my skin roughens into scales, my large wings spread wide and free from my back, my powerful tail unfurls, my nails lengthen into talons. Soon, I am twice my height as I am in my primary form and my breath is warm with the dragonfire in my chest.
The endless stretch of pale pink and blue fills me with anticipation.
Then Rosalind screams.
4
Rosie
You might say I deserve it. After all, only a major idiot trapped on a strange, alien planet would decide to grab hold of something round and furry hanging off a tree without at least poking it with a stick first.
But I can explain. See, at first glance, that round furry thing reminded me of a coconut. It’s a fruit that used to grow in the tropical areas of Earth—before Earth went KA-BOOM! over five hundred years ago and became nothing but floating bits of exploded rock. Good thing my ancestors had enough sense to bail that sinking ship in time!
Anyway, on Zenovas 9, original Earth-like fruit was reserved for the mega-rich while the rest of us have-nots got recycled paste in a shake-and-snap tube. So the opportunity of eating an actual fruit for the first time in my twenty-five years of existence was too amazing to pass up. I reached for it without a second thought and tugged hard.
Then that coconut opened four pairs of eyes, unfurled four limbs with wicked claws, extended a long-ass spiky tail, and bared two rows of sharp-as-hell teeth. The other not-coconuts occupying the tree did the same.
And let me tell you, they were not happy with me.
I scream and retract my hands. The not-coconut I grabbed snarls and angrily swipes at my face. I book it, narrowly missing the attack.
I glance to my left as I run and I see a black, towering scaly creature with huge wings and a tail. A dragon! Distantly, I’m aware it’s Garan in his dragon form, but I scream again because I’m already terrified from the many pairs of skittering feet hot on my heels and this new sight is like pepper to the gaping wound of fear.
I know the screaming isn’t helping but I do it anyway. If I’m gonna die today I’m gonna let the whole damn place know when and where it’s happening! Everyone says I can be dramatic sometimes but in instances when you’re on the hit list of monsters masquerading as tasty fruit, it pays to be a loud mouth.
The not-coconuts pursue me as I veer to the right and into the thick nest of trees of the jungle.
“Rosalind!” Garan shouts from somewhere behind me, but I don’t respond. His dragon hide is safe but I gotta get the hell outta dodge. Maybe up a tree? No! The little fuckers can probably climb trees! So I keep running, dodging trees with violet leaves and pushing through clusters of maroon bushes.
My heart pounds so hard it’s all I can hear beside my heavy breathing. My arm stings where a branch whipped me and the ball of my left foot throbs from a sharp stone I stepped on. But I keep running. At least I’ve stopped screaming. I don’t hear the skittering anymore. Momentary euphoria courses through me that I was successful. I outran the not-coconuts! But the euphoria—and my breath—is knocked out my body when I’m tackled to the floor.
“Oof!” The sound escapes me out of surprise than pain. Somehow, I’m not on the floor eating dirt but on top of Garan. He twisted himself to take the brunt of the fall.
“Fuck.” He grimaces. It’s the first time I’ve ever heard him swear. During our time in engineering academy, he always had this air of royalty and refinement about him. Well, except in the moments when he and his flier—flight-capable species—
buddies were being total jerkfaces to us grounders—non flight-capable species.
“Are you OK?” I scramble off of him and help him sit up. He rubs the back of his head. Clumps of dirt and debris fall from his hand and his dark hair as he does so.
He pins me with those stunning amber eyes and goddammit, my stomach does that ridiculous roll and quiver thing it always does whenever I’m under his gaze. He’s one of the main reasons my life went kerfucked six years ago, but it’s really damn hard to remember that when those twin pools of liquid fire threaten to consume me.
“I’m unhurt, Fry, but I’ve probably suffered significant hearing loss from your useless wailing,” he says as he pushes to his feet.
I quickly stand as well. I don’t want my face level with his dick because I’m not sure I’ll be able to look away. Even flaccid, that monster is too large to be ignored despite my struggle to maintain my gaze above his chin.
I fold my arms across my breasts, both to cover them from his gaze and to engage Bitch Face Mode at three hundred percent.
“I was fearful for my life, jackass. I screamed because it was the natural thing for me to do.”
Aforementioned Jackass smirks and points at the spot between my legs.
“You forgot to cover your pretty little pussy, human. I suppose you don’t mind me seeing it?”
My face heats as I fight the urge to cover myself. I will not cow before Garan Dross and his sexy voice.
“You can look all you like but that doesn’t mean you’ll get to touch.”
He slides his tongue over his lower lip.
“Is tasting off the table too?”
Holy fuck. Not only is he flirting with me, it’s working. It’s working too damn well. The heat in my face heads straight between my legs and before I can stop them, the images of this hot alien male’s face between my legs eating me out floods my brain, which then leads to a flooding of another kind.
He inhales as if he can smell my arousal and steps closer. My gaze falls and I lick my lips. He’s getting hard. And I’m wet. And we’re both naked. And alone. And Leeka’s words he’s my fated mate are suddenly rotating in my head. In half of a day, my one-track mindset of ‘Hate Thieving Garan Dross One Hundred Percent’ is changing. New and disturbing thoughts of, “Is it a bad idea if I fucked him?” and “I bet sex with him would make my pussy explode from ecstasy,” are entering my brain.
But I’m an engineer. I’ve the brain of logic and foresight. I can take apart and reconstruct any machinery in my head before applying my methods to an actual object. All I see after believing Leeka’s bullshit about us being meant for each other is nothing but disappointment and regret. Garan’s not the type of guy you fuck and forget. And that’s basically how I prefer my relationships with men. Most importantly, Garan screwed me over in the past. And while I like being fucked, I don’t like being fucked over.
Pardon my less-than-Standard Speech.
I don’t have a snarky response in my belt. Only honesty.
“Stay away from me,” I say, glaring at him as I take a step back.
A crushed look flickers across his face. There one moment, gone the next. He takes a step back as well.
“We should head back to the beach.” His tone is cool and businesslike. “You will stay there in case Leeka reappears while I search the area for any clues or exits.”
“I’m not returning to the beach.” I purse my lips and peer around me cautiously, just remembering my ordeal with the not-coconuts. “I have a feeling those things that chased me can hold grudges. They’ll murder me on sight.”
“They can’t hurt you.”
“Did you not see those knives they had for claws?”
“Look,” Garan says, his voice impatient as he turns and indicates a short trail of black, roasted balls littering the earthen floor. He reaches for the nearest one and pushes it toward my face.
I recoil. Oh my god. Did he roast those poor, sweet, harmless not-coconuts alive with his fire breath? What a monster!
“They can’t hurt you,” he repeats, a look of grim satisfaction on his face. “But I’m certain they’re quite tasty.”
5
Rosie
I have to admit—but certainly never out loud—Garan is right. Despite being unseasoned, the not-coconuts’ meat is actually pretty good. Tender and juicy.
I mean, don’t judge me, OK? I resisted eating it at first. I argued with Garan on the finer points of animal cruelty, about accidentally eating teeth, claws and buttholes, and even about the benefits of a plant-based diet. But after scouring our immediate area for what felt like hours for anything resembling food, my starving stomach could not be denied. I ate two of the roasted beasts and gathered the others for future meals on our trek back to the beach.
Except, we’ve been walking awhile and we still haven’t located the beach.
As a matter of fact, I’m pretty sure I’ve seen this tree before. Many of the trees on this alien planet are dark blue towering behemoths, their trunks severely twisted as if they endured the business end of a tornado but resisted any uprooting or damage. Their branches are spread wide and densely clustered together, blocking out most of the sky and the brightness of the twin suns overhead.
“Hey, numbnuts, you’re leading us in a circle,” I say to Garan’s broad, golden shoulders. Why does he have to look as spectacular in the back as he does in the front? He’s all toned, defined muscle, thick arms, powerful thighs, and he possesses a firm-looking ass my fingers ache to squeeze.
Preferably while he’s on top of me.
Between my legs.
Launching me outta this world with that massive torpedo he’s got south of his belly button, if you know what I’m saying.
Ugh! What am I saying? Bad, Rosie, bad!
He comes to a stop and faces me.
“Do you enjoy verbally abusing everyone or is it just me?”
“Just you. You don’t deserve Nice Rosie.”
“Does such a thing even exist?” He raises an eyebrow. “Sometimes I wonder if you don’t have Rur ancestry in your bloodline, human. You embody spitting fire and unnecessary rage. Also, we are not going in circles.”
I glare at him. “My rage is not unnecessary. It’s very necessary. Vital and with good reason, you thieving bastard.”
His dark eyebrows draw together. “How am I a thief?”
“That’s the thing with dragons.” I give him a cold smile. “Long tail, short memory. And if we aren’t going circles, then we’re definitely lost.”
“We are not lost.” But his words lack conviction. He tilts his head, his eyes searching the sky.
I shuffle the three roasted balls of meat into the crook of one arm and wipe away the sweat beading on my forehead.
It’s humid in the jungle of twisty blue trees than it was on the beach. The minty scent I smelled earlier is stronger here too. Except for the infrequent breeze disturbing the tree branches, the quiet is unnerving. Besides the stench, Quadrant 4 is rich in noise pollution. It’s where I grew up and what I’m accustomed to even though I hate it sometimes.
“Look, instead of us going back to the beach and waiting around like two idiots for that pixie, why don’t we try looking for a way off instead?”
“Clearly you’ve a short memory as well. That’s what I suggested earlier.”
I shrug. “The idea sounds better when I say it.”
He crosses his arms over his broad chest.
“Because disagreeing with me is as intuitive to you as breathing?”
I laugh. It’s genuine too. It’s funny because it’s true.
One corner of his mouth quirks up in a sexy half-smile that enhances his handsomeness by a thousand. I catapult the thought away straight into the sun’s core. May all sex based adjectives regarding Garan Dross burn to nothingness!
“So,” I say after my laughter has petered away, “our plan is to search for a way out, then? It’ll be easy since you can fly. I’ll just climb on top of you and ride you—stop it!
You know what I mean.”
“No need to be shy, human,” he says, suggestive grin deepening. “I enjoy when a woman is blunt about what she wants from me.”
I step closer, holding his gaze as I soften my voice.
“Garan, I want you…” Triumph and pride alights in his golden eyes, and I smile as I continue, “…to crawl inside a space freighter’s thruster and let the turbine blades slice you to itty bitty pieces.”
Instead of the anger or disappointment I’m expecting and waiting to relish in, I’m surprised by the amusement in his eyes. He leans forward so our faces are near.
“And I want you bent over any surface so I can fuck all of that meanness and misguided anger out of your system. Until you’re nothing but the sweet Rosie I know you can be just for me.” His low, mellifluous voice glides along my naked skin like the soft breeze blowing around us and I have to resist the urge to shiver. I’m aroused by the way he speaks, his lurid words, the imagery they inspire in my head. He straightens and puts distance between us. “But like your violent desires, it’s only wishful thinking.”
He’s robbed me of speech. Garan: 1, Rosie: 0. He’s won this round. But that was a battle, not the entire war. No matter some traitorous part of me wants to make his wishful thinking a reality, I will resist. I will win the fight against this new dynamic developing between us.
6
Garan
Satisfaction courses through me.
I’ve shocked Rosalind Fry into silence. Which is not an easy feat as her tongue is as quick and sharp as her intelligence.
But her shock rapidly dies away and her eyes narrow. She’s about to fire off a cutting retort because, of course, she’s forever determined to have the last say.
“Stand back,” I order. “I’m going to shift now. Then you can climb on top of me and ride me however you like.”
“Asshole,” she mutters, but there’s no mistaking the curiosity in her eyes as she gives me room to shift.
