by Aguirre, Ann
The hammock swayed as he slid in, and the support webbing made it possible for him to settle upright. She tucked the stuffed bedding between them and then snuggled up against his side. It was better than she’d imagined, especially when he rested his claw on her head and gently raked through her hair. Tingles radiated outward, the top of her head, her neck, her spine, diffusing at her hips, and her nipples got hard.
When she moaned, he hesitated. “Is that a good sound?”
“Definitely. Don’t stop.”
“Am I giving you pleasure?”
“Very much,” she whispered.
“Then this is an erogenous zone? How interesting.”
Her eyes were closed, and she struggled to keep her mind focused on the conversation. “Not normally, but it feels fantastic. Human nerves are connected, so when something feels good, the message travels throughout our body and sometimes it kindles a sexual response, even if the original touch wasn’t meant that way.”
Beryl should win a fucking prize for that explanation, considering how scrambled she felt right now. He didn’t speak for a while, but he did keep petting her. She snuggled closer, with the vague wish that their bodies were more compatible. If they were, she wouldn’t need a layer of quilting to keep from bruising herself on his chitin.
“It’s strange for me to admit, but I understand. The things you do to me…” Ever so delicately, he touched her mouth with a single talon. “With this… They have no Barathi equivalent, but those sensations fill me with urgency nonetheless.”
She smiled, savoring the admission. “Thank you for telling me.”
“But…I am afraid.” His voice trembled with the force of the statement.
“Of getting in trouble?”
“Of losing you. The closer we become, the more certain I am that my life will be a misery without you, Beryl Bowman.”
Until this point, she’d been trying her best to live in the moment and not worry about the future, but those desperate, honest words ripped away the pretense. Suddenly her head filled with scary possibilities—of failing at the Choosing, being forced to try again with someone else, or having to leave Barath. It wasn’t like she could get a work visa, and more than that, she didn’t want anyone else.
Oh God, I’m honestly falling for him.
“Then we won’t fail. We won’t let Ryzven interfere either,” she said, forestalling the objection she knew he was about to raise.
He’s so scared of that bastard.
“We’re already a family,” he whispered. “Snaps is our first nestling, and I cannot relinquish the promised sweetness of a life with you.”
Her heart melted. “It’s mutual.”
Zylar resumed playing with her hair, sending jolts of pleasure through her body, and then he got daring, raking his claws lightly down her back. The teasing scrapes felt so good that her skin reacted in responsive goose bumps. At first, she thought he was trying to soothe her to sleep and that he might not realize he was turning her on.
Until he said, “Your scent is ripe. You desire me?”
Oh God.
Still, even if it made her face feel hot enough to toast bread, she admitted, “Yes.”
“By my measure, you have given me significantly more pleasure. With your permission, I would like to rectify that.”
No human lover would ever put it that way; it was so businesslike and brisk. Yet she knew how easy it was to get him stirred up, so she didn’t mind. “Do whatever you want. I’ll tell you if it doesn’t work for me.”
In response, he shifted her with impressive physical strength and settled her, between his legs, with the bedding between them so she could lay on her back against him comfortably. Beryl couldn’t imagine what he planned to do in this position, but then he pulled off her top. Both his arms came around her, and he touched her, shoulder to hip, with the tips of his talons.
The resultant surge of pleasure made her jerk and moan. He must have remembered what she’d said about her breasts because he focused there, teasing and circling her nipples with the lightest pressure. Zylar was incredibly careful and attentive, touching, then pausing to gauge her reaction. Soon, he was accurately measuring her arousal by the pitch of her moans.
She squirmed against him, and since he didn’t seem inclined to escalate from playing with her boobs, she lifted her hips and pulled off her pants, then she captured one of his claws and put it between her legs. Time to find out what he can do.
“Be careful. I’m very sensitive and tender down here.”
“This is your sex organ?”
“Yes.”
“You’re lubricated well. In humans, this also means that you wish to mate?”
Before she could respond, he angled his claw and touched her with the flat part, grazing her clit through sheer luck. “Yes. God, yes.” That was both an answer and encouragement. “Rub me there, exactly like that.”
He followed instructions beautifully, offering precisely the same angle and pressure. The heat intensified. She’d always had better clitoral orgasms, so she didn’t miss the penetration. With those small strokes, she spiked fast and came, thighs quivering. He noticed that as well, bringing both claws around to massage her legs. That felt incredibly relaxing, and she sprawled against him, panting. When her body stopped trembling, she tucked her curved hand into one of his larger claws, finding the curl of his talons oddly reassuring.
I should probably reciprocate. Most humans would be putting her hands on their good parts by now. “Do you want me to—”
“No, tonight is yours. I need nothing.”
Zylar rested his head on top of hers, and she closed her eyes over how lovely that was. I’m spooning with an alien, and it’s awesome. She mumbled a dazed and happy response.
“It’s easy to give you pleasure,” he said then.
Beryl laughed, nuzzling the top of her head against his mandible. “Now you’re just bragging.”
“Am I? But I enjoy the way you respond to me. It’s beautiful that it feels effortless.” He paused, seeming to choose his words with care. “I have never pleased anyone without trying. Never felt that who I am is enough. You are a miracle, Beryl Bowman. My miracle.”
14
The next day, Zylar remembered Beryl’s promise as he lined up with the rest of the competitors for the third trial. When he finished this event, he’d be halfway through the second round. He noticed Ryzven, who was whispering to the nearest officiant again.
Why does he hate me so much?
With effort, he looked away, searching the crowd until he found Beryl sitting next to Kurr, cradling Snaps close. Just seeing her face calmed his racing hearts, and his hands steadied. Beside him, Arleb was also gazing at his intended.
“Good luck today,” Zylar said.
“Likewise.”
The host boomed out a greeting. “Welcome to stage two, round three of the Choosing! We have a truly diabolical test in store today. There may be casualties! I hope you’re ready for a riveting spectacle, as our Chosen compete to prove they’re the best of the best!”
In response, the audience roared, a mix of churrs and sounds offered by other aliens that passed as cheers. Zylar had never remotely thought he was superior at anything, but he was starting to believe that he was gifted at pleasing Beryl Bowman. He just needed to perform well enough to stay in the competition, and everything would work out. For the first time, he didn’t need to worry about someone stealing his intended because she’d said she chose him.
Oh, there were a few Chosen trying to impress her, but she never gave them more than a fleeting glance. Beryl wasn’t the type to be lured by flashy moves or seductive colors.
The assistants wheeled heavy machinery into the arena, and he had a bad feeling. It wouldn’t be the Destroyer, as they’d used it in the first stage, but it might be something even worse since the host had mentioned casualties. Arleb churred in a high pitch, an unmistakably worried sound. Zylar stole a glance at Ryzven, who radiated satisfaction. This is hi
s doing. It seemed that his endless whispers to the officiants had borne dangerous fruit.
When they uncovered the machines, Zylar closed his eyes briefly, then he forced himself to watch as they arranged the mechanized death traps known as the Gauntlet. This was a purely physical test; speed and agility mattered most, but endurance came into play if you took a wound. Only great determination and fortitude could keep the Chosen moving under such circumstances. Zylar had never faced this particular challenge, but he had seen competitors lose limbs and even their lives when they mistimed a maneuver or lacked physical prowess.
“I’m frightened,” Arleb whispered.
He wished he could think of some profound comfort or encouragement. “Think only of Kurr,” he said finally. “Picture the happy life you’ll share.”
“I’ll try.”
The host called contestants at random, and Zylar’s misgivings rose with each run. When the third missed a leap and was smashed between two pistons, he froze and Arleb let out a sound so plaintive that it unnerved him to hear it. Before the other Barathi could settle, they called Arleb’s name. Zylar wished he knew what to say, but nothing came to mind.
Arleb took position, but he didn’t look confident. He ran forward, dodging and weaving, but he passed one piston too slow and took a hit. That knocked him forward, and he didn’t recover in time. As Zylar watched with absolute horror, Arleb tumbled into the field of spikes, and four impaled him when they activated. His body jerked, but he couldn’t pull free and the spikes rose again, again, until Arleb stopped moving.
The crowd quieted.
“Heartbreaking! Our first Chosen fatality. Let’s have a moment of silence for Arleb of Kith I’stak.”
So fast. It happened so fast. He just told me he’s scared, and now he’s gone.
Zylar sought Beryl with his gaze and found her consoling Kurr, who had wilted forward, fronds whipping in distress. Bleak fear swelled inside him, and he considered leaving. Dying meant leaving Beryl behind, on a strange world where she knew no one.
Maybe it would be better if they both left Barath and made a life together elsewhere.
Except he had no resources off-world. Everything he owned had been given by Kith B’alak, and it would be repossessed if he attempted to emigrate with a partner without completing the Choosing first.
Ryzven did this. He essentially murdered Arleb because he wanted me to fail.
That fury and outrage put titanium in his bones and in his talons. The event paused for the workers to remove poor Arleb’s body, and representatives from Kith I’stak came to the field in mourning colors, bearing him away with somber grief. While he understood the authorities did these things to keep Barath from overpopulation, the pendulum had swung too far the other way.
It’s too difficult now. They’re killing us for entertainment.
That thought was downright treasonous. Questioning policies enacted by the Matriarch could get him exiled, if he was foolish enough to speak such heresy.
He wasn’t.
By the time the machines were cleaned and arranged in the Gauntlet, Zylar was calm and ready to run. If he died trying to keep his promise to his intended, so be it.
“Calling the next runner—Zylar of Kith B’alak!”
With effort, he blocked out all the noise and stole a final look at Beryl, who raised her fingers in the sign she’d said meant victory. Her fear revealed itself by the way she buried her face in Snaps’s fur, unable to watch what came next. No, don’t look away. I need your strength. Stay with me until the end, Terrible One. As if she’d heard his thought, impossible as that was, she raised her head and bared her teeth.
Zylar took position and waited for the signal. When the bell sounded, he raced forward. There were no tricks to this, only sheer ability. Run. Dodge. Leap. Duck. Roll. The timing had to be precise, and it was, until the very end. He miscalculated the last leg and tumbled forward, a span too slow to avoid the slicing blade.
It was only a glancing blow and his chitin took the hit, though it left a deep runnel in his back. No blood. Just a scar, as chitin couldn’t heal. He could fill the gap with polymer to smooth the edges, but the mark would always remain.
Shakily, he got to his feet as the host pronounced, “A respectable time!”
He returned to his place in line, while the rest of the Chosen ran the Gauntlet, hideously aware of Arleb’s absence. There were injuries but no more fatalities, and at the end, he ranked in the middle, respectable enough that he took comfort in his odds of passing to the final phase.
How am I supposed to face Kurr?
Later, Zylar was still wrestling with that question when Beryl found him. He checked for Kurr, but didn’t see them. “Was it wise to leave Kurr alone?”
“They wouldn’t come with me, even to the garden. I don’t know what to do,” Beryl said.
Liquid leaked slowly from her eyes, and he studied her small, soft face. “Are you injured?” he asked in alarm.
“Emotionally, I am. I feel sorry for Kurr, but then, there’s a small part of me that’s relieved you’re all right, and I feel guilty about that too.”
Before he could reply, Ryzven stepped into their space. “I have finalized the plans for the celebration. You’ll join me tonight, I trust?”
I’d rather kill you.
Perhaps reading his inclinations, Beryl answered, “Yes, what time?”
“Any time after sunset, though the earlier the better. Don’t bring that one.” He indicated Snaps in a disdainful gesture.
Zylar didn’t feel like attending any festivities tonight, let alone an event that was likely to be extravagant. It was wrong, disrespectful even. Though he hadn’t been close to Arleb, they had been acquainted and they had agreed to cooperate, should there be any events where it would be necessary. Now Arleb was dead, thanks to Ryzven’s meddling.
“Understood,” he gritted out.
With that, he hustled Beryl away, fighting the urge toward confrontation. Once they completed the Choosing, then he could challenge Ryzen. Until then, he had to control his temper and force down all this aggression.
“He’s a monster,” she whispered.
“Yes.” There was no point in denying it. “He’s an example of how too much success can ruin a person. He’s never failed at anything, never been denied something he wants, and he’s come to believe that should never change.”
She quivered, the scent of fear strong like wilting sha blossoms, and stepped closer, tucking her hand around his forelimb. “And he’s interested in me.”
“Yes.” There was no benefit in denying the danger.
“You warned me to be wary of him before, but I didn’t understand. I thought you had some sibling rivalry going, nothing for me to worry about. But he’s throwing a party. And he was there when Arleb died! I saw him watching with such avid interest…” She paused, couldn’t seem to gather her words properly, then she tried again. “A decent person would reschedule to be respectful, right? That’s the same, even here.”
“You are correct,” Zylar said. “Ryzven is not good. But he is powerful. We must not antagonize him openly until we succeed. Be careful tonight.”
She let out a soft sound. “It won’t be easy, but I’ll try.”
I have nothing to wear, Beryl realized, watching Ryzven strut out of the arena, surrounded by sycophants.
That wasn’t a problem Beryl had expected to face after being abducted, but even life on another planet included some of the same problems. Now, it seemed like date night on Earth when she used to study the contents of her closet on Saturday night and conclude that all her outfits were terrible. In this case, it was a lot truer than usual since she had only the clothes she’d been wearing, along with a pair of makeshift pajamas.
That I made from what Zylar called a tarp.
She wouldn’t wow anyone at this heinous party if she showed up dressed in packing materials. Not that she wanted to impress, necessarily—more that she didn’t want Zylar to lose face because of her.
If alien values resembled those on Earth, then appearances mattered. It made her sick that she had to consider shit like this when she was so worried about Kurr.
The Greenspirit had been so devastated after their Chosen died, but they’d refused all offers of company and comfort. It bothered Beryl to think of Kurr grieving alone, yet she didn’t know them that well, not enough to insist they come to Zylar’s place when they said they preferred to be alone.
After leaving the arena, they let Snaps visit his babies and do his business, but the mood was somber. Now, on the way back, she couldn’t stop thinking about her friend. “Do you think we could check on Kurr before the party?”
Zylar angled a look at her, and it was inscrutable as ever, but the way he touched the back of her hand gently with one talon gave the impression of silent approval. “I would have suggested it if you hadn’t.”
Snaps paused to sniff the floor and Beryl sighed, returning to her initial problem. The idea of a whole civilization without leisure shopping might melt her brain. “The Barathi don’t wear clothes, but surely there are visitors who require some type of covering while they’re on planet. Are there any stores?”
“Clarify. The translator didn’t give me a perfect understanding of your request.”
She tried again. “A place where I can get something else to wear?”
Beryl tugged on the outfit she had been wearing nonstop for what felt like forever. Sadly, it wasn’t even one of her favorites, just a random shirt and pants she’d chosen for comfort while completing her community service. To make matters worse, Barathi hygiene facilities didn’t work that well on cloth, so the ensemble was grungy and a bit ripe.
“You wish to acquire more coverings?”
“Yes, I need more stuff to wear. At least two or three changes.”
Don’t get me started on underwear. I might end up having to be a lingerie designer too.
“There is a market at the spaceport. I’ll take you before we speak to Kurr.”
She cupped her hand around his talons. “Thank you.”
