Tempted

by Presley Hall

  Brooke nods, and I feel relieved all over again that she’s at least attempting to trust me. She’s been through a great deal of trauma, and I’m certain that her faith in others has been shaken, but this mission would be much more difficult for both of us if I had to rescue her kicking and screaming.

  Now I just need to make sure I deserve that trust.

  I have to get us off this godsforsaken planet.

  7

  Brooke

  We leave the building where Zhori rented the healing pod, and I stick closely to his side as we walk down the street. He’s careful to avoid more crowded areas and populated streets, and I keep the hood of his coat up around my face, trying to make myself as small and invisible as possible until we reach some kind of shelter.

  As we walk, I can’t help but steal glances over at him.

  He looks more striking than ever, his body on full display now that he’s given his coat to me. He doesn’t seem to mind the cold at all, striding through the streets in only his loincloth. He looks like a barbarian warrior, fierce and savage, and the curved horns on his head and the marks on his skin only add to the effect.

  Something about his bronzed skin in this cold, dirty place makes him seem like the sun breaking through on a gray winter day, a beacon of light on this awful planet. It makes him stand out more than we should, but in this moment, all I can think is that he looks… beautiful.

  He’s an alien. You’re thinking all of that about an alien. Admiring an alien. The small voice in my head cuts through my thoughts, and I wince. What are you, crazy?

  I remind myself that although I’ve decided to give him a chance and put a little of my faith in him—since I don’t really have any other options—I don’t completely trust him.

  He’s saved me more than once, protecting me from Savyiek’s guards and pulling my leg from the trap. I’m pretty sure he was one of the Kalixians who tried to keep the guards from hauling me back during the first escape attempt.

  That means a lot to me. He’s gone to a great deal of risk for someone he doesn’t even know.

  But I’m still wary.

  Just because he’s being kind now and treating me well doesn’t mean there isn’t some ulterior motive, and I don’t know for sure that he’s telling the truth about everything. I need to keep my guard up and be cautious.

  “Where are we going?” I ask him, speeding up a little to keep pace with him.

  His legs are longer than mine, and he’s clearly much more fit—although I feel a hundred times better since I got out of the pod. It seems to have healed my malnourishment and the bumps and bruises I got from the auction house guards, as well as my leg and wrists.

  “I saw a small place that rents pods in a decent part of town, one of the times when I went out to look for food while you were healing. There are several establishments like that, but this one doesn’t seem to have as much traffic from slavers. It’s nice enough that the worst of those who pass through here avoid it, but plain enough that richer aliens like Savyiek and his cohorts wouldn’t deign to step inside.”

  I frown. “How long was I in that pod thing?”

  I figured it must have been a matter of hours, maybe a day. When I woke up, it didn’t feel as if I’d been out for a long time. But from the way Zhori is speaking, I’m suddenly not sure.

  “Your healing took several days,” he says, glancing at me. “Aside from short trips to buy food, I stayed with you to make sure you would be safe. Leaving you there alone would have been unwise.”

  It hits me suddenly that he watched over me the entire time I was healing. There was no television in the room, no books or anything, so I’m not sure what he did besides just sit there… and make sure I remained safe while I healed.

  I don’t know how to feel about that.

  My whirling thoughts are interrupted when we arrive at our destination. The place Zhori has chosen for us to stay looks pretty run-down, with dirty stone walls outside and snow piled up around the edges where it’s been cleared out of the street. The wooden door is chipped and stained, but when we walk inside, I see that the interior is clean, if simple and a bit shabby.

  It’s in an area of the city that doesn’t seem to be too busy, and it’s clear why he chose it. The proprietor also doesn’t seem to be a fan of the slave trade. It makes me wonder how she stays in business—but I suppose there must be some legal commerce in this city.

  “And the female’s relation to you?” she asks Zhori when he requests a room and hands over a few of his remaining pieces of money, her voice turning a bit sharp.

  “She is my mate.” Zhori’s voice is deep and calm as he reaches for me. I try to look happy and in love as he wraps his arm around my waist, one hand settling on my hipbone. “We’re just stopping over on our way back to my home planet, and we need to rent a pod for a few nights.”

  I wonder if she’ll ask where his home planet is, but Nierra seems to be a place where it’s better to ask very few questions. The proprietor gives us both one more quick once-over, sniffs, and then hands Zhori a key.

  “Keep it down,” she says, and I see a flicker of something almost like jealousy in her eyes as she looks from me to Zhori. “There are other guests here, and the walls are thin.”

  I flush when I realize what she’s talking about, my cheeks heating as Zhori guides me away from the desk. I follow him up three flights of stairs to the top floor and wait while he unlocks the door to our room. Once the lock clicks, he pushes it open and gestures me inside.

  The room is small. Very small.

  I remember seeing people I knew back on Earth post photos of their studio apartments on social media—people I went to high school with who actually left our small town and went off to have adventures and study at big-city colleges. This “pod,” as Zhori referred to it, is even smaller than those, barely the size of a dorm room. There’s a single bed, which looks clean at least, made up with two flat pillows and a frayed blanket with a faded quilt tossed over the end of it. A device that looks similar to a hot plate sits on a countertop, and an open door on one side of the room leads into the tiniest of bathrooms.

  “You can clean up if you want,” Zhori offers, flashing me a reassuring smile. “I’m going to go find some food for us, and some better clothing for you.”

  I start to say that I’ll go with him, then stop myself. I know it’s not a good idea for me to be running around town. Savyiek’s guards will be looking for me by now, and the slug-man might even have put out a reward for me. Besides, I’m just wrapped in Zhori’s coat with nothing beneath it but a pair of underwear—and I’m still filthy. I haven’t bathed in longer than I care to think about.

  It occurs to me that if I stay here while he goes out to the market, I could run and he wouldn’t know. How do I know that I can trust him, really? Yes, he came back for me, and he spent most of his money to have me healed—but what if that’s all just a ruse to get me to go with him so that he can turn around and sell me to someone else?

  You’d be an idiot to run, I tell myself. At least you have shelter right now, and food, and the opportunity to clean up. Take it a little at a time. What else are you going to do? You have no money, no connections, no friends here.

  I can speak to any alien I might encounter now, thanks to the language chip Zhori implanted while I was healing. But I can’t see what good that will do me without money.

  My head feels like a mess, a confused tangle of emotions and conflicting thoughts. I always promised myself I’d leave my small town one day, get up the nerve to go somewhere new and explore new things.

  But I didn’t mean like this. This is nothing like what I had in mind.

  “All right,” I say to Zhori, who’s still waiting patiently for me to respond. “I know I could use a shower.” I laugh a little self-consciously. “Thank you. For the room—and everything else.”

  “Of course.” Zhori’s dark blue eyes soften a bit. “As I said, I want to help you. We’ll get out of this. It’ll just take some
time.” He pauses, almost as if he’s about to say something else, then nods once. “I’ll leave you to it and return as quickly as I can.”

  He strides out of the pod, and I wait until the door shuts firmly behind him before heading into the bathroom.

  I let his coat fall to the floor, turning on the faucet in the tiny shower cubicle and praying that there’s hot water. In a place like this, I wouldn’t be surprised if it were lukewarm at best. But to my great relief, steaming hot water begins to flow down within a matter of minutes. I stifle a moan of pleasure as I step beneath the spray.

  The water pressure is a little dicey, but I couldn’t care less. I’ve almost forgotten what it feels like to be truly clean, or to be this warm. The only soap in the shower is a hard ball that smells sharply like some kind of citrusy fruit. The scent reminds me more of cleaning solution than soap, but I lather myself up as best as I can, running my sudsy fingers through my hair to wash away the dirt and grime and leftover blood.

  It feels blissful. Better than any sex I’ve ever had, better than a massage, better than junk food.

  I stand under the water for what feels like forever, letting it run over me and then soaping up again until my skin is pink and clean everywhere, every trace of that awful warehouse, the auction, and my injury washed away. The only thing that remains is the thin pink scar on my calf, and I wonder if that will go away eventually too.

  There isn’t even any pain like I would expect after breaking something and then healing on a frigidly cold planet. Just some soreness throughout my whole body, but the gloriously hot water eases that as well.

  After a little while, I start to sing softly to myself in the shower, bits and pieces of tunes that make me happy. A pop song I loved, an old hymn my grandmother used to hum around the house, a song from The Sound of Music, which she loved more than anything and we watched together dozens of times.

  It calms me, making me feel more steady and grounded. My tense muscles begin to unwind, my thoughts regaining some kind of order as the terror and pain of the past weeks starts to fade away. It’s not gone entirely, and I know I’ll have to face those memories again. But for now, I feel almost like myself again.

  Finally, the water pelting down on me starts to run cold. I quickly turn it off before I start to get chilled and step out of the shower, dripping wet. I look around, but there’s no towel hanging anywhere. There’s not even a cupboard where one might be stashed.

  Rolling my eyes, I huff a quiet breath. Shit. In this kind of place, why am I surprised?

  I should have known there would be even less than the most basic amenities here. Starting to shiver a little, I hesitate, still dripping water onto the floor. There was that frayed blanket on the bed—if I use that, it will still leave the quilt to use on the bed. And maybe we can get an extra blanket from the proprietor later if we need one.

  After poking my head out of the bathroom to make sure the small main room is empty, I make a beeline for the bed and the thin blanket on it.

  But before I can reach it, the door opens. Zhori steps into the room with his hands full of packages.

  I freeze in place, stark naked and soaking wet in the middle of the room, my damp hair plastered around my face. He closes the door behind him, catching sight of me as he turns. He stops in his tracks just like I did, his gaze fixed on me.

  For a brief moment, heat flares in his eyes. It’s an unmistakable look, one I’ve seen on men’s faces before.

  Desire.

  But somehow, it seems different on Zhori’s face. His eyes almost seem to sparkle as he looks at me, the flecks of silver in them brightening. His gaze sweeps over me once, almost helplessly, as if he wants to be respectful but can’t stop himself. As if he wants to look at me so badly that he can’t bear to tear his gaze away from me.

  And I can’t seem to move. I can’t seem to do anything but watch him watch me as my breath catches in my throat.

  Then, just as quickly as the moment came, it’s gone.

  He shakes his head sharply as if to clear it.

  “I’m sorry.” He clears his throat, putting the packages down on the postage-stamp sized table near the counter and striding toward the bed. “Terran women prefer to be clothed—I know that. I shouldn’t have stared.”

  He grabs the thin blanket from the foot of the mattress, averting his gaze as he wraps it around me. He drapes it around my shoulders and wraps it over my chest as he begins to carefully help dry me off.

  I could do it myself, and I start to say that, but the words won’t come.

  There’s something kind about the gesture, so sweetly caring, that I can’t bring myself to shrug it off as if it doesn’t matter, as if it’s an annoyance or patronizing—because I know he doesn’t mean it that way.

  He’s so careful with me, so gentle, that I can feel my body starting to respond to his touch, swaying toward him a little as I relax under his large hands. He’s just taking care of me, not feeling me up or trying to grope me. In fact, he’s very careful not to touch anywhere that might be construed as inappropriate. But it still makes goosebumps rise up on my skin that have nothing to do with the slight chill in the room.

  Something warm burns in my belly, and when I glance down at his hands, as he dries me off, I think I catch a glimpse of his loincloth shifting a little.

  Is this affecting him too?

  Before I can be sure or even really process the thought, he steps back and turns to grab one of the items he brought back with him. It’s a large cloth bag, and when he hands it to me, I grab it with one hand, keeping the blanket wrapped around myself with the other.

  “There’s warm clothing in here,” he says. “It’s nothing fancy, but it’ll protect you from the cold. And there’s a clean slip in there as well, for you to sleep in. I know that your people prefer that.”

  I flush, thanking him quickly before darting into the bathroom, the blanket still clutched around my body. My skin feels like it’s on fire, and my heart is beating a mile a minute. Oddly, I miss the feeling of his hands on me, moving over me with such care. I feel breathless, and I don’t understand why.

  I tug the clothing out of the bag, quickly dressing as I drop the now-wet blanket to the floor. Zhori brought me a pair of pants made out of a heavy canvas-like material, and a hooded sweater-like top knitted from the hair of some animal. It feels like coarse wool, and although it’s a bit itchy, I’m sure it’ll be warm.

  There are also boots that have seen better days, but they’re made of leather and lined with fleece. Underneath all that, I find the slip that Zhori mentioned. It’s the nicest item in the bag, honestly, made of a soft linen-like material and long enough to hit mid-thigh, with ribbon ties at the shoulders.

  It makes me pause, realizing that he stopped and considered not only that I needed warm clothing, but that I wouldn’t want to sleep naked.

  He truly seems to care. Not just about my safety, but about my comfort. About me.

  Even though that makes no sense, even though I keep looking for the trick or the lie, I keep seeing signs that he’s telling the truth. That he really is here just to help me. And although I know better than to let myself think of him in any way other than a potential rescuer…

  My skin is still tingling everywhere he touched me.

  8

  Zhori

  As I unpack the food I purchased, I gaze at the closed door to the bathing room where Brooke disappeared.

  I can’t help but remember what she looked like when I accidentally walked in on her—the perfect shape of her body, her narrow waist and slim hips, those soft breasts that look as if they would fit perfectly into my hands. She’s always been beautiful. But fresh from the shower, with her wet hair clinging to her skin and every inch of her bare and clean, she was a vision to look at. And when I touched her…

  She was warm and soft under my hands, and it was impossible not to remember how her body felt beneath mine after she leapt out of the healing pod and tried to fight me again. Her brave spirit
is just as alluring as her beauty and vulnerability.

  I shake off those thoughts, ignoring the warm throb of desire burning through my blood. I’ve certainly never been one to deny myself the company of a beautiful woman, and I’ve charmed and seduced many into my bed. Some of the Kalixian warriors occasionally pay for women off-world, but I’ve rarely had to do even that. In fact, I can think of one or two planets where I’d be very happily welcomed back by a few of the local women.

  But in this case, the beautiful woman is my mission.

  I came here to keep her safe, to rescue her and bring her back to sanctuary on Kalix like the other Terrans she was captured with, to give her the choice of where to go and what to do with her future—not to bed her.

  As much as I’m drawn to her, that’s not my purpose here.

  Still, it’s impossible to forget the softness of her curves, or how good she smelled. Under the sharp scent of cheap soap, I was able to scent the sweetness of her skin, the hint of her own arousal as I gently dried her off.

  She responded to me. I felt it.

  But it’s my duty to ignore that, just as it’s my duty to see her safely back to Kalix and then leave her be, no matter how beautiful she is. And she truly is lovely—striking in a way that none of the other Terran women have ever seemed to me.

  The door to the bathing room opens again as I’m heating up some of the food I purchased from the market into a rough vegetable and meat stew. I’m unsure of what animal the meat came from, but whatever it is, it will be good enough. It will give Brooke the nutrients she very much needs, and the rich broth will help warm and strengthen her.

  The Terran woman steps out, dressed in the clothing I bought for her. The garments are a little big on her, hiding her figure. I’m almost relieved at that—it’s easier to brush aside my attraction to her when she’s swathed in layers of cheap wool and stiff trousers. But her face is still beautiful, with those bright blue eyes and her sharp chin, and I can’t help but notice how lovely her hair is now that it’s almost dried. The thick waves fall around her face, a soft brown that gleams even in the fading light that streams through the dirty window.