by Presley Hall
And why she and she alone has the power to make me want her more than I’ve ever wanted anyone.
7
Rose
The moment the massive Kalixian touched me, my body responded in a way I’ve never felt. In a way I can’t understand.
His hands felt like fire on my skin, my stomach knotting with a deep, aching need as he pulled me into his arms and away from the guard who was about to kill me.
He saved me, and I thought he would let me go after the guard fell dead. But instead, he pulled me to him, and I saw in those black eyes the same nameless desire that rushed through me in that moment. A need so deep that it frightened me almost as much as everything that came before.
The touch of his body against mine was like nothing I’ve ever felt, hard and solid. And between his legs, something else hard and solid, pressing against me through the thin leather of his loincloth.
In that moment, I wasn’t able to think of anything except the fact that I was completely nude. That all he would have to do was push that scrap of fabric aside to take me. I forgot where I was, the destruction happening all around me, as everything narrowed down to the man gripping me in his muscular arms, the evidence of his desire rigid against me.
And then reality came rushing back like a wrecking ball.
I remembered where I was, what was happening, and that this was just another alien creature, one frighteningly aroused and likely about to do the same thing to me that the Orkun had planned.
And it would be insane for me to want that.
He’s an alien! A creature I’ve never seen before and don’t know, and since I’ve never been in the habit of having casual sex with humans, how could I possibly be ready to spread my legs in the middle of a battle for a barbarian creature not even of my planet?
Shame washed over me in a hot, embarrassing wave, and I started to fight him, struggling valiantly in his arms.
Which, of course, led me exactly to where I am now—draped over the Kalixian’s shoulder as he carries me away from the battle… presumably to his bed.
And I have however many steps lie between here and there to figure out what I’m going to do about it.
I kick, scream, and punch. But it’s like he doesn’t even notice my fists hammering his back, or my feet against his chest. He just carries me down the hallway like a sack of grain, saying something I don’t understand.
His voice rumbles in his chest, and I can’t help but notice the hardness of his body as I pound my hands against him, trying to get his attention. His muscles flex as he shifts my weight, carrying me as easily as if I’m a feather, and I feel them ripple under my hands.
The tattooed, bronzed skin beneath my fingertips is smooth and coated with a fine oil that smells almost like almonds, but with a different undertone. Sweeter, somehow. I breathe it in, and underneath it I can smell the scent of his sweat and the musk of his skin… and something else too.
I don’t know what it is, precisely, but I can feel my body react to it. I’m suddenly very aware of his hand resting on the small of my naked back, just above my ass, of the smooth skin of his shoulder beneath my stomach and the way my breasts press into his back.
He could slide his hand down, just a bit…
At that thought, I feel the ache flare within me. The need burning through me seems to have settled between my thighs, and I realize with fresh embarrassment that he must know how wet I am, how aroused. It’s impossible to hide in my current state, and as I squeeze my thighs together and wriggle in his grasp, punching him squarely on the spine again, I think I hear him chuckle.
Bastard.
We enter an unfamiliar room. I’m guessing they’re the former captain’s quarters, from what I see of my surroundings.
The bed is covered in rich fabrics that look out of place in the clean, futuristic room—all gleaming white walls and carbon-fiber floor tiles. But there are thick rugs made of some animal’s hide tossed over the tiles, and a wardrobe made of rich, dark wood on the far wall.
The furnishings and bedding look so anachronistic that I want to laugh, but I’m abruptly distracted by the Kalixian setting me down in the middle of the room. His hands are gentle, and the care he takes as he sets me on my feet makes me think maybe he doesn’t want to hurt me.
That doesn’t make me feel much better though, because I have other guesses as to what he does want.
And just because an insane part of me wants that too, it doesn’t mean I’m going to give in to this.
The Kalixian says something to me in a language I don’t understand, peering down at me. His gaze moves over me, taking in every inch of my naked body, and I feel my skin heat again, but this time it’s not with shame. I cover my breasts with my arms anyway, shrinking away from his gaze.
Why could I understand the Orkun, and not him? Is it because the ship belonged to the Orkun? I know they weren’t speaking English, but I was able to comprehend what they said. The Kalixian’s language is beautiful to hear, but I don’t understand a word of it.
The muscled alien reaches out, stroking the knuckles of one hand over my cheek, and his touch sends a shiver down my spine.
He murmurs something else—another phrase I can’t comprehend—as he touches me, and I fight the sudden, inexplicable urge to lean into the caress. His gentleness is surprising, coming from a man of his size and imposing physical presence. I expected more violence or anger, for him to force me roughly to do his bidding. But he’s touching me the way you touch a lover, or at least the way I imagine someone might. Certainly, no man I’ve dated has ever touched me that way.
He points to me, a curious expression on his face as he says something else. The intonation of his voice sounds like a question, but I don’t have a clue as to what he’s saying.
“I don’t understand,” I say helplessly, clutching my arms around myself more tightly.
He points to his own gleaming chest, grunting. “Tordax,” he rumbles, tapping his chest. And then he gestures to me again, repeating the same incomprehensible phrase.
“Oh.”
I think I get it; he wants to know my name. And his, it seems, is Tordax.
He gives me an encouraging nod, his strange, entrancing eyes still focused on my face.
“Rose,” I whisper. “I’m Rose.”
So at least we’ve been introduced. That’s something, I guess?
The strangeness of it all threatens to overwhelm me as reality starts to sink in once again. I’m on a spaceship, floating out in the middle of a vast blackness, god only knows how far from earth and my home. In the past few hours, I’ve been frightened out of my wits, stripped naked, given as a bride to a disgusting warlord creature, threatened with rape, watched a different alien race fight, seen them revolt, and felt an overwhelming draw toward an alien man whose species I didn’t even know existed until today.
And now, I’m standing naked in a strange room, politely exchanging names with this same alien. It’s too incredible to be real, but somehow, it is. I’m under no illusions about that anymore.
“Roz,” he repeats, my name sounding strange in his accent. He seems to roll the word around on his tongue, feeling it out, and the sound of my name on his lips sends a strange jolt through me, making me shiver. “Roz,” he says again, a small smile playing on his lips, and I look up at him, my eyes wide and frightened.
Why does he make me feel this way? Why does something as simple as him attempting to pronounce my name make my knees feel weak?
I wait for him to say something else, or touch me, but he just looks at me for a long moment. And then I see that his eyes have changed. They’re not black any longer. Instead, they’ve faded to a deep brown, almost human-like in his strangely handsome face.
And then he nods, as if satisfied with something.
With a decisive movement, he turns on his heel and strides out of the room. The door shuts audibly behind him, and I’m left standing stunned in the center of the room.
The minute he’s gone, it’
s like I snap out of a daze.
The room comes into clearer focus now that his dominating presence isn’t drawing my gaze like a magnet, and I feel as if a fog has lifted off of my brain.
Escape, I think wildly, my heart thudding in my chest. I have to escape.
I circle the room, looking for any way out, starting with the door. But it’s solidly closed, and I can’t find a handle like I’m used to. I think it slid out of the wall when it closed, and although there’s a small pad on the gleaming white wall next to the door, I don’t know which button or mechanism will make it open again.
It must’ve locked behind Tordax.
The thought that I’m a prisoner sends a shudder of fear through me. There are no windows; the only exit from this room is that door. And although I try kicking it, pounding on it, and shoving my shoulder up against it—a move that only leaves me with a sore spot that I suspect will turn into a bruise tomorrow—it doesn’t budge an inch.
I press buttons on the pad at random until the thing beeps warningly at me, flashing with a red light that makes me yank my hand away.
Shit.
If I keep trying without knowing what I’m doing, the thing might electrocute me or flood the room with poison gas or something. I have no idea, and my imagination is coming up with some terrifying possibilities.
And then I notice a series of screens on the far side of the room. They look sort of like surveillance video feed, and they’re all displaying different scenes from around the ship—I recognize a few locations, like the arena where were brought for the ceremony. This must have been set up so the captain could monitor what went on in various areas of his ship.
There’s no volume, but all the screens are on, and I approach them slowly as I scan them for evidence of what’s happening outside the room.
On one screen, I can see the Kalixians finishing what’s left of the Orkun on the ship, those who didn’t escape with Djool and the other warlords. I cover my mouth with my hand as I watch.
The Orkun were disgusting monsters with terrible intentions, but the violence still makes my stomach rebel. The Kalixian gladiators are moving through the ship, finding crew and guards that are left and rooting them out, dispatching them with a militaristic efficiency that’s frightening to watch.
They’re not cruel or sadistic. They don’t seem to take unnecessary pleasure in the killing, even though the Orkun took them captive and intended to make them fight to the death. The gladiators kill their enemies quickly, and although I feel cold as I watch it… I can’t tear my eyes away.
It’s like watching a movie, except it’s real, and I’m in the middle of it.
And with the Orkun dead or escaped, the Kalixians are my new captors—in particular, this one called Tordax.
While I’m glad to see that they’re not needlessly cruel or violent, they are still warriors. How different they are from the Orkun remains to be seen.
Tearing my gaze away from the brutally beautiful men, I look at the screen to the right and catch sight of the rest of the women who were captured with me. They’re huddled together in a group in a separate room, one that’s much more bare than the quarters where I’m being held. All of them appear to be there, and it strikes me that I’m the only one who’s been singled out to be kept separately.
The thought sends a fresh trickle of fear through me.
Why am I different? What makes me so special that their leader would single me out and take me to another part of the ship? Why has he tried to speak with me, and not them?
I wrap my arms around myself again, shivering. I’ve never felt special in any way, and I don’t want to start now.
Not here. Not in this situation.
The Kalixians have at least let the women get dressed again, and the realization of that reminds me that I’m still naked. It’s not a thing I would’ve ever thought could slip my notice, but after spending the better part of the last few hours nude, and after everything that’s happened since then, it’s been one of the last things on my mind.
Surely there’s something in here that I can wear.
But short of pulling the bedding off and wrapping that around me, I can’t find a damn thing. I even open the wardrobe—seemingly the only drawer or cupboard in here that isn’t locked—but all it contains are the leather pants and furs the warlords wore, none of which I want to touch. They’re also huge, meant for the hulking bodies of the Orkun, not a woman of my stature.
Gritting my teeth, I begin to circle the room again, looking for something, anything that I can use.
To cover myself? To defend myself? At this point, I’m not entirely sure.
All I know is that when Tordax comes back, I don’t want to be exactly as he left me, naked and helpless in the middle of this strange room.
8
Tordax
The men are gathered and waiting for me in the central control room. Vrexen is standing at the head of the group, a proud look on his face.
“We’ve vanquished the Orkun that were left, Commander,” he declares. “Not one is left alive.”
There are eleven men standing in front of me.
“A victory was won today,” I say solemnly. “But we have suffered losses too.”
A hum goes through the men, as we repeat the phrase that honors those lost in battle.
“Their spirit is flown from us, their memory remains.” We repeat it, each of us, three times, and then their names: Zokox, Striik, Ishar.
They were brave men, and I’m sorry to have lost them. It is our way of life. We are a warrior race, no strangers to death and battle. But the Orkun did not deserve my men’s lives.
It brings me some comfort to know that we’ve avenged our fallen brethren and more—the Orkun have suffered a great loss today, as well. Not only of men, but of their ship, and whatever else we might find aboard it.
“Today was a victory,” I repeat, my voice ringing out as the men snap to attention. “But do not let it make you complacent. We’re not out of danger. We have a great distance to cross until we reach Kalix again, and you know better than most the dangers that are out there. Not the least of which is the possibility that the Orkun may send a ship to try to reclaim this one. We will rotate watches to keep alert. Druxik, you are my best pilot. You and Kaide are in charge of navigating us to the nearest place where we may refuel and purchase supplies, and then we will begin heading back to Kalix.”
“Norix is the nearest planet.” Druxik speaks up, already prepared with an answer. “It’s a cold planet, but one with plentiful fuel. It is sparsely populated as well, except for a trading station. We can stock up on supplies and refuel. It’s unlikely the Orkun will make it there before we do, if they are coming after us.”
The other men chime in with suggestions, and I listen closely, weighing our options. But my mind keeps drifting back to the female in my quarters.
Roz, she called herself, although it sounded a bit different in her tongue. I wonder what my name would sound like on her lips, and it sends a shiver down my spine to think of it. Even now, physically separated from her, I yearn to see her again in a way that I’ve never experienced.
The feeling only intensified as I carried her to my—our—new quarters, and the moment I spoke her name, it was as if the wheels that had been turning since I first caught sight of her clicked into place.
My soul has recognized hers.
The phrase flits through my mind, and I close my eyes briefly. As afraid as I am to hope, I am all but certain of it now.
She is my Irisa, my fated mate.
It has always been the way of our people, to wait on the bond before choosing a mate for life. Our trust in the mate bond is our strength, the thing that makes us what we have always been. It could happen between strangers, or between friends who had never before felt attraction. The bond might take years to appear—sometimes one could wait a lifetime and never find it. But when it does happen, it is strong and undeniable.
Or at least, that’s what I’ve alw
ays been told.
That’s how the stories go.
Our people have not been able to mate in decades—not since I was a young boy, just before I reached puberty and would’ve begun hoping for a mate of my own one day.
If not for our grave defeat by the Orkun all those years ago, I might have been a warrior, but not a commander. Or perhaps I would have lived in peace, farming or tending beasts. I will never know, because the virus they unleashed on our planet set me on the path that has brought me here.
They killed all of our women—every last one who was of an age to mate and bear children.
The ones who survived were past their childbearing years. Even now, it makes my blood run hot to think of it. The Orkun could not best us in fair battle. So, like cowards, they poisoned us instead. They ensured that no new warriors would be born, that our race would begin to die out. And one day, when we grow too old and feeble to fight back, they will come back to finish what they started—the extinction of my people.
I made it my life’s purpose to ensure that never happens. That the Orkun are extinguished before we can lose our vitality, that they never survive to see the end of my species.
In all of the stories, it has never been spoken of that a Kalixian may find his or her mate outside of Kalix. And with all of our women gone, it seemed impossible that we would ever find such a bond again. Our race, we believed, was doomed.
But if this woman, this Terran called Roz, is my Irisa…?
It proves something that we could never have dared to hope for. That we can bond with women not of Kalix, and that we can once more flourish as a people. That we need not settle for revenge before we inevitably pass from this world and are forgotten. We can hope for better.
There could be a future for us. For my entire race. It’s almost more than I dare think of.
But there’s only one way to find out.
