by Amanda Milo
Bash looks confused. “Are you daft?” He shakes out his ears and ties the Narwari team to a hitching post conveniently located in front of the cottage. He makes sure there’s water in the trough in front of their faces and then he takes my hand. He doesn’t have to drag me with him towards the alien home that is our destination. I am so looking forward to this.
He stops us at a scratchy mat that sits before ten cutely-arranged chunks of stone that are sunk into the ground, forming a path up to the front door. He uses the mat to scrape his three-toed feet, so I use it to scrape my shoes.
“Will your family understand me?” So far, everyone I’ve met here has had a translator. But we’ve gone further into the planetside than I think any human has gone before.
“All citizens received automatic upgrades as your language downloads became available.”
I squeeze his fingers. “I’m excited. Your forehead is extra wrinkly. That doesn’t normally happen when people are happy. You look… thoughtful? Worried? Determined?”
Turning to face me, still holding my hand, he declares, “If you take one more step with me, you can consider us bonded.”
My heart is dancing.
His eyes narrow on me like maybe he can hear it. “You had better know I am already bonded to you. But if you move forward, I’ll consider it your declaration that you feel the same permanent feelings of attraction for me.”
I’ve never had anyone want me back before, not like I wanted them. And this? Bash is going over the top with wanting me—and I adore him even more. I hop in place. “Consider me Gorilla-glued to you. I’m in this for the serious haul.”
Almost aggressively, Bash’s arms steal around my back, wrapping me up in the nicest hug I’ve ever been trapped in. “I rarely know what you are saying, but I don’t care.”
“Tight,” I wheeze, but I’m not complaining.
Which is good, because Bash’s nose is buried in my hair where he growls what sounds like, “Get used to this, female.”
Without us even knocking, the door to the cottage opens. I should probably be panicking at the thought of facing an alien family who might not accept me, an ‘alien’ human, but I’m honestly too ecstatic to experience fear, let alone process such a negative-seeming emotion. Bash wants me to meet his family! Considering these are the people who raised my cheery ray of horned and snarling sunshine, I maybe should brace myself, but I don’t get the chance. Bash is still wrapped around me, but my eyes are suddenly all for the alien standing in the doorway, staring at us.
And I’m glad she’s staring. Because this way, it’s got to make it less rude that I’m staring too. Because it’s a female Rakhii greeting us. Until now, I've never seen one. And once you’ve met a Rakhii, you have to wonder where they spring from. What sort of woman it takes to create these monster-sized beasts, and the type of sisters it takes to help shape their brother’s psyches, because all the male Rakhii I know take honoring women to the next level; they cherish females and protect them with fire and killing blades.
I couldn’t decide in my imagination if they’d be Amazon warriors or Valkyries.
Turns out, they look a little like they’re both.
This one is turquoise-scaled, with silver rope-like spines that grow out of her head where I’ve only ever seen spiky quills on Rakhii guys. I wouldn't say her spines resemble hair, but maybe because of the placement, hair is what I label them in my mind. Six ropes fit between her horns on top of her head, and about five ropes gather behind and under her horn bases along the sides, her ‘hair’ falling heavy down her back, a few of the strands resting on her shoulders. Either artfully or because a few slid around as she moved about her day.
And she looks like she’s been moving a lot. An apron drapes her from her chest to the tops of her knees—and it bears black marks that make it look like it’s taken burns.
Being that she’s most definitely a Rakhii, burns aren’t so much a possibility as they are pretty much a dead certainty.
Under the apron is a dress or blouse and skirt; I can’t tell, and I don’t much care which. But I can tell she’s dressed nice, neatly, and from what I can see with her being half covered by an apron, her clothes flatter her full figure.
Tight to her throat is a necklace with the biggest emerald I’ve ever seen. If this planet has emeralds, that is. Maybe it’s whatever this planet’s precious rock happens to be. Shaped like a pear and nearly the same size, it can’t be worth what an Earth-gemstone is, or Bash’s hobbit-house-living family is so loaded I can’t fathom their wealth.
Surprise is clear to see in the alien’s large, lovely tourmaline-pink eyes. Not like albino pink, but ‘have a black pupil surrounded by a brilliant pink iris’ pink.
They’re like gemstones.
It’s… stunning.
And as it happens, we’ve also stunned her.
Or maybe it’s literally just me. She’s so, so staring at me. I peel my arm out from under Bash’s hug and wave my hand. “Hi. I’m Isla. I’m a human. It’s so nice to see a girl Rakhii, you're beautiful!”
The female’s gaze on me turns warm. I’d swear her eyes say, Oh, I like you.
The Rakhii’s pink eyes whip to Bash. “This once, I will forgive you for not sending me a Comm in so long that I thought you for dead.”
“If you had really worried that I’d died, you’d have sent my sire to find my body,” Bash points out reasonably, not dropping his arms from where he’s still holding me.
Now the Rakhii female’s expression turns deadly, her lids lowering in a challenge, her chin going up slightly, and her ears lying flat. “You don’t think I would hunt down answers myself? My son, you haven’t visited us in so long you no longer know me.”
“This is your mom?” I blurt.
Okay, now I feel a twinge of nerves. “I thought this might be your sister.” To the female, I explain, “You don’t have all the little age-wrinkles like Bash.”
Both aliens turn to me (which means Bash actually has to pull away from me in order to give me his typical have you lost your mind face). I ignore his silent question though, because the female Rakhii—Bash’s MOM—softens all over: her eyes go warm, her shoulders relax, and her dorsal spines fall to her back. But they do it gracefully, prettily. Her spines look like ornamentation compared to Bash’s stabby-killing back-sticks. Suddenly, Bash’s mom gives me a winning smile. “Bash’s wrinkles are from endlessly scowling. And I was never blessed with daughters. But,” her smile is sly as she shoots a speaking look at Bash, “It looks like that’s about to change. Come in!” Her gaze snaps back to me, full of welcoming. “I’m Jyzu. I’m thrilled to meet the female that Bash finally—”
“Is bonded with,” Bash says. “We came for my blanket.”
Internally, I cheer. Externally, I keep it to a victorious suspiration: bonded!
Bash’s mom’s eyes roll up in her head and I twitch. Bash’s hand is cupped around my hip, and at my involuntary movement, his thumb begins soothingly sweeping the area in front of my hip bone.
Or, I think he intends for it to be soothing. Having him touching anywhere on my pelvis area is kind of a danger zone for me, what with his mom being right here. I scramble to catch his hand before I get turned on even a little, because I’d be mortified if his mom smells it.
I see Bash turning his head to me, a questioning look all over his hard-but-not-angry face, but I don’t look away from his mom because I realize she’s staring straight at the ceiling not like she’s in the throes of a seizure, but like she’s talking straight to God.
This is confirmed when she folds her hands, clasps them to her heart...s (Rakhii have more than one) and breathes, “Oh, Creator—THANK YOU!”
“Please stop,” Bash says.
“I’ve always said it would be a miracle if my Bubashuu stopped frightening away females—”
Bash sighs, and his hand around mine tenses a little, and suddenly I feel his claws. It doesn’t hurt, it just reminds me that he has them, and really soon, if he
doesn’t chill, I might have to start praying to my own Creator so I can ask for this visit not to end in me (very human not-tough-skinned Isla) turning into a pincushion. Families bring out the crazy in the most laid back people, and Bash is not that. But I have to say, his mom seems nice.
“—and here he is, bringing home his female—You are a worker of impossible miracles!”
She’s still addressing their Creator.
I’m pretty entertained.
But it’s clearly making Bash uncomfortable. “Keep to this and we’re leaving,” Bash warns. “We can see this done without my blanket.”
Despite the threat in his words, Bash keeps me tight to him and guides me to enter through the charming doorway, into his parent’s cave abode. Inside, the floor is—no surprise—solid rock. More yellow-and-purple swirled than Bash’s cave, Bash’s parents’ home sports a floor surface that’s been smoothed either intentionally or tread-worn by time so that everything is polished marble.
The area is warm and cozy somehow, with exposed rock walls and timber beams that frame up the kitchen, forming rafters that double creatively as drying racks for all sorts of herbaceous plants. It looks like there’s half of a garden above us, with heather-colored stalks and faint bursts of fading colors on various drying flower petals. A garland made of more herb-looking greens curls all the way around the space, lending a decorative effect.
The place is cavernous. A whole lot bigger when viewed from the inside than it looked like it’d be on the outside. Glancing to the side of us, I find a large, deep sink and an expansive stretch of countertop. There’s no stove. Instead, there’s almost an open pit grill, stained a chalky black—but as this place is home to aliens who breathe fire, that’s to be expected. Below the stone slab countertop are wooden cupboards, all sporting embellished iron handles (or similar alien metals) that have been beaten and melted into shapes that look vaguely like Narwaris.
Along the back wall of the room are racks stocked with a rainbow of glass jars. The jar glass itself isn’t colorful—the contents are, along with each jar’s lid, which are shaped sort of like pumpkins, not a flat mason jar lid like I’m familiar with. It’s artsy. It’s cute. It reminds me of the decorative conchos Bash puts on harness leather for the sake of making pieces pleasant to look at as well as useful.
A thrill zings through me because now that I’ve had a peek into his private life, I see Bubashuu might have inherited his crafty side from his mom.
And it’s got to be said: Jyzu may have raised her kids in a cave, but she’s got some mad decorating skills—because she’s sure made their cave a pretty one. Even without windows for light, she keeps her kitchen bright and homey with an assortment of moon globes and sun-bright spheres, most of which are suspended in various heights from the ceiling.
(But kept high enough that horns won’t tangle in them, I note as Bash walks under one without fear, head and horns held high.)
When it could be stark rock and look like nothing better than a dusty mine shaft, his homecave is polished and whimsical and everything has been enhanced with beautiful touches. “This place deserves to be on the cover of Cave Magazine,” I say in awe. I toss a smile to Jyzu. “If you have that kind of a magazine here. You know, like Good Housekeeping. That one features a lot of recipes where readers are instructed to cook their food,” I clear my throat meaningfully, “but they also showcase places like this.”
Jyzu’s ears cock.
Bash pinches the bridge of his nose with the hand that is not clamped around mine. “I believe her comment translates as a compliment on your hearth-keeping. Also, she’s teasing me. She drives me to madness.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful,” Jyzu says. “You’ve needed that so badly.”
“To be driven crazy?” Bash asks in disbelief.
She smiles. “Affectionately teased.”
At this, Bash tightens around me.
“It was a compliment,” I assure them both, peering up at his hard jaw. “And maybe some affectionate teasing. Hearth-keeping?”
Jyzu says, “Rakhii females are hearth and home creatures, through and through. We’re not like males, who thirst for adventure or glory.”
“Neat,” I tell her—and I mean it. I’m starving to see and learn all that I can about Bash’s people. My eyes greedily move to a massive table that’s been built to seat a dozen equally massive aliens. The thing should dominate the room, but it sits off to the right, almost swallowed up by the sheer size of the space. The design of it and its matching chairs, all looking scarred and artfully weathered, is simple but beautiful in that way farm-style type furniture tends to be, with a rough charm. And it is rough. The tabletop looks gouged and scuffed and—if I’m not mistaken—burned in a whole lot of places.
Barrels flank one end of the table, and one of the barrel’s caps rests on the lid of the next container over. Inside, I spy a steel-colored scoop sitting on top of what could be rolled oats.
“Did we interrupt you making dinner?”
“I would never label an arrival so welcome as an interruption,” Jyzu says with a smile that shows all her sharp teeth. She glances at her son. “Especially not when I have been waiting for this day all of my grumpiest son’s life.”
“I wondered if he was your grumpiest.”
Bash pinches me.
“Ouch!”
“BUBASHUU!” his mother chastises, ears pinned flat and a look of shocked censure on her face.
Bash rubs the spot he pinched me. “I am sorry, Isla. Even if you did deserve it.”
Jyzu’s tail makes a snapping noise that has Bash instinctively flinching.
“Just sorry then,” Bash mumbles to me. His hand that’s clamped over my hip gives me a little apologetic squeeze.
“Better,” his mother huffs as she grabs a dish off of her counter and walks to a large metal-looking box along the wall… and opens it.
“Is that a fridge?” I exclaim in wonder. “You guys know what refrigeration is, how cool!”
Turning on me, voice unnaturally high with the strain it takes him not to raise his voice at me in his mother’s home, Bash explodes, “Tevek, human, of course we’re familiar with a process you call ‘refrigeration!’ From now on, simply assume that we—a longtime space-faring people—are always more advanced than you troglodytes! Your people are new to inflatable tires, for crite’s sake!”
“Bash, she’s an alien,” his mother scolds, looking appalled at his behavior. “She doesn’t know any better!”
“She knows,” Bash growls, really squeezing me now—clutching me, actually. Like he’s afraid his mother is about to take me away from him if he can’t play nice with me. “She says these things to incite me. She hasn’t been beaten like she should have been.”
“I hardly think—” his mother starts.
“You don’t know these humans,” Bash interrupts. “Especially this one. She is not at all innocent like she looks. Surely she’s seen fridges at the human’s preserve. She delights in vexing me!”
Jyzu regards me, and I’m not an expert on Rakhii who don’t wear a cranky face 99.9999% of the time, but I’m reading unholy delight and unbridled satisfaction in her eyes. “Isla, I am beside myself to welcome you into our den.”
“Thank you,” I say, a smile I cannot contain just about breaking my face.
“Move, you overgrown pup!” a new voice orders. It’s coming from behind Bash’s obliterative frame.
Bash applies our joined hands to my hip and his other hand to the small of my back to propel further me into the house, where he then sweeps me to the side, following me, backing me up using his body so that another Rakhii can enter.
The new Rakhii practically races for Jyzu and grabs her up tight enough that I wince for her.
She, though, is not wincing at all. She’s smiling. “My beloved,” she addresses the male. “Our ill-tempered son has returned.”
As if he can’t concentrate on her words, he rubs his horns up and down her sides, the movements lookin
g rough—although Jyzu doesn’t seem to mind. She takes one of his hands, which is anchored to her hip, and holds it up, and his fingers seem to be trembling. She knits her fingers with his, holding his hand until it stops shaking.
He groans and hugs her harder.
Wow,” I breathe. The passion these two feel. It’s… beautiful.
“It’s the bonding,” Bash murmurs to me. “Until very recently, there was no way to lessen the effects on a bonding pair. And it’s particularly devastating to a male’s system to be separated from his female.”
“I think it’s wonderful,” I tell him.
“You think so now. You wouldn’t if I were away from you for so long I went mad from the loss of your touch.”
I give him an appraising look. “Sounds kind of sexy.”
“It’s not. It’s painful. Sometimes detrimental. If, say, a hob got between a male and the female he’s taken for his mate—”
“Ah, gotcha. Dead hob.”
“Utterly shredded hob,” Bash agrees grimly. “Likely burned, too.”
The Rakhii has calmed enough to lay his cheek on top of his mate’s head, the inside of her horn digging into his chin, but he doesn’t seem to notice or care. He just holds her and cuddles on top of her and sighs, “Which one of our ill-tempered sons?”
“Our wayward one. And he brought a surprise.”
At this, the Rakhii is interested enough to peel himself away from his wife, at least a little.
And whoa. This Rakhii looks like a sexy, silver-quilled version of Bash.
“Wow,” I breathe. I bump my elbow into Bash’s ribs. “You are going to look so hot in twenty years.”
But everyone in the room hears—evident because the new Rakhii’s ears snap up and his head whips down. He’d been looking at his son, but now his eyes—his very surprised eyes—are on me. And he’s taking me in like…
Well. Like I’m an alien from another planet.
Jyzu hears me make the hot-remark too. I know the moment she does because her spines raise up high enough on her back that I see them crest over her head. Before, I barely noticed her small (for a Rakhii) pair of horns, but weirdly, as soon as I make the remark, my eyes are suddenly glued to the still quite formidable set of smashing-and-stabbing tools that she has at her disposal.
