The Quarry Master: A Grumpy Alien Boss Romantic Comedy

by Amanda Milo

  Her Chrysanthemum-pink gaze may not turn aggressive, but all of her attention is locked to me and the tip of her tail is now tick-tocking behind her.

  I’ve seen Bash’s tail do this.

  When Bash’s tail does this, it’s a warning. He’s about to strike.

  What if he inherited this tail-tell from his mom?

  While Bash may not entirely scare me, his mom is sort of having success without trying. “Hot means attractive,” I assure her quickly, my voice almost a squeak. “In a complimentary, chaste sense, in this case. Honest.”

  To this, Jyzu sends me a serene smile. But she reaches for her mate’s bulging bicep—and lightning fast, she proceeds to drag her tongue up his neck.

  Claiming him.

  Bash’s dad’s eyes change, the pupils filling up with black. His focus is immediately redirected to his wife’s possessive display of affection. His nose makes a hollow thump-thudding noise. “Happy to be welcomed home, my yeoneen,” he growls, and he bites her throat. He also slides his hands to her hips, dips his head, and runs the base of his horns over her shoulder like he’s suddenly got an itch. He lets out a noise that makes me jump—but when the sound only seems to make Jyzu happy, I realize it’s not supposed to be a scary sound.

  This is the Rakhii version of a very amorous sound, judging by Jyzu’s heated look at her mate.

  Bash shudders beside me. I glance up to see his face is screwed up a bit. And fair enough. Watching your parents licking and rubbing each other in the kitchen would scar anyone.

  “What’s yeoneen mean?” I whisper.

  Bash looks pained. “Don’t ask.”

  CHAPTER 33

  BASH

  My dam used to warn me and my littermates that the day would come when we would bring our female to the homecave, where our mate would be taken aside and offered the most mortifying look into each of our childhoods—an activity our dam waited for with anticipation and unhealthy relish.

  That day is now.

  Isla meets all of my littermates (Sterigmos, Oido, Xoknith, Mizuku, Reiko, Kitmalo, and Pūrah) and they tell her every story they know I wish I could kill them for sharing. Isla takes one look into Xoknith’s pink irises (a rare color he inherited care of our dam)—and she exclaims, “Hey, I know you! You’re Mystery Rakhii! You helped us on our kiln trip.”

  The teveker grins at her. “I thought Bash was going to lock me in the kiln that day. Which would have been a shame. I wouldn’t have been able to run home and tell our dam that Bash was dragging around a human.”

  My dam pipes in, “I asked him—was it a dead human?”

  (She acts as if the idea wouldn’t shock her. I’d think her a traitor, but it just goes to show that my dam knows me.)

  “And I told her ‘Not yet,’” Xoknith adds helpfully. “He seemed awfully protective of her.”

  “We’ve been hopeful ever since,” my sire shares with a pleased look at his soon-to-be daughter-in-law.

  My dam takes her sweet time locating my mating blanket, the ceremonial piece of fabric that Rakhii males use to properly court and mate their females. It was made by my dam as is custom, and it has the scales of my family members sewn into its design; a chart of my ancestry, if you will. It can’t mean much to Isla, but she sits beside my mother with rapt attention as my sire and dam point out all the prominent Rakhii who made our line what it is today.

  “That was Typher Singetail’s scale. He had a terrible disposition,” my dam is saying. “Like a wounded yanak.” She sends a pointed look in my direction.

  “Suppose we can at least say his descendent came by it honestly,” my father supplies, his tail twined with my dam’s as they look upon my great-great-great grandsire’s scale, which is sewn next to his beloved mate’s.

  “He was a gladiator,” my dam shares. “But Bubashuu might have superseded his kills.”

  “Bubashuu has never had kills that have been confirmed,” my sire reminds her. “He has the temper, but he knows better than to be caught with unburned bodies.”

  I growl at them both and Isla laughs.

  “Come sit with me,” she coaxes.

  I try not to stomp my feet like a snot-nosed pup as I cross the room and drop down heavily beside her.

  She pats my leg, and I catch her wrist with my tail, twining it up her arm.

  When my family has had their fun and are finally ready to relinquish my mate, I rush Isla over the ceremonial fire circle, throw the blanket around her shoulders, scent mark it and her thoroughly, and damned near haul her off her feet to race her to the wagon to get her as far away from the people who raised me as I’m able.

  CHAPTER 34

  ISLA

  I wave goodbye to my alien in-laws like a maniac, and Bash is eyeing me like he’s just now getting concerned about how many bricks I’ve got packed into my wheelbarrow.

  “Too late to change your mind,” I sing-song to him. “You stepped into a fire circle with this!” I shimmy in place, bursting with happiness. “I can’t hardly believe we’re married!”

  “Mated,” Bash corrects. “As I understand it, your human marriages can end. We, Isla, are forever.”

  I sigh, thrilled with this unexpected but absolutely fantastic turn in life. “Yay!” When our wagon rolls far enough away from my in-laws that I can’t see them waving anymore, and I’m sure they can’t overhear us, I lean towards my husband.

  Husband. Bash. It’s such a crazy-wild concept. Let alone a reality I can claim.

  He glances down at me. “Something on your mind, mate? I’m surprised you’ve allowed so many moments of quiet.”

  “Me too, I must be processing. But don’t worry, I’m up for talking now.”

  “Is that so.”

  “Uh huh. Any topics you want to cover? Is there a side of your bed that you prefer?”

  He cuts another look at me. “As long as you’re in the bed with me, I could not care less how we assign sides.”

  “That sounds like a great approach to marriage and being mated all around.”

  That’s the last thing I really remember. The excitement followed by a full workday catches up to me, and even with the occasional jostling that the wagon’s shock absorbers can’t cushion, I’m soon sagging against Bash’s side and winking out like a light.

  ***

  I come to when Bash utters an easy, “Whoa. Ukko, don’t bite him or I’ll knock your teeth down your throat. Whoa,” and the wagon rolls to a gentle stop.

  “Can’t believe I fell asleep,” I mumble, straightening from where I’d sunk against Bash’s warm thigh. I wipe the blurriness out of my eyes. “I’m so glad this isn’t a dream!”

  “Here I was,” Bash offers in a distinctly droll tone, “afraid you’d be begging for this to be all a dream rather than your new reality.”

  “Are you kidding? I’ve got you locked down! You can’t get this kind of deal where I’m from. I’ve basically trapped a unicorn.”

  Bash’s eyelids sweep up and down a couple of times, and I’m sure he’s trying to figure out how a horse with a horn on its head relates to our reality. I’ll help him. In a minute. For now, I’m getting a bit of a kick out of his struggle.

  And as an aside, if we were in a play, this would be the part where we show a side-scene of the clueless hero who has no idea how men everywhere else operate. There’d be a FADE IN: —anywhere on planet Earth, show an average Joe chafing at the idea of commitment that lasts longer than the time it takes for the bedsheets to cool.

  “Trust me,” I tell Bash. He exits his side of the wagon and comes around to catch me by the hips and pull me down from mine. “Where I’m from, men my age do not get married. They might shack up with their baby-mamma, but give that a year or two and he’s chasing new tail and trying to shake his old lady. So you’re like every kind of candy I never let myself dream I could have. I’m not going anywhere.”

  He steadies me to make sure I’m awake enough to keep my feet. I am. He looks appalled. “Your world sounds deplorable.”
<
br />   I shrug. “Not my world anymore.”

  Bash’s fingers are suddenly pinching my chin, tugging my face up to his. “No. It’s not.”

  He plants his lips on mine and gives me the sweetest kiss I’ve ever had.

  When he draws back, he orders, “Stand here. Let me take care of the Narwari.”

  “Are you going to take them all the way back to the stables?” That’s a long walk here and back. If Bash goes, I go. I just need to wake myself up a little more and I’m ready for the trek.

  “For tonight, I’ll stable them here.” He proceeds to make three halters out of rope that he draws out from under the wagon’s hidden compartment under the bench seat.

  “What are you going to feed them?” I ask. I scan my gaze around at his scraped-out quarry. “Do you have bodies hidden here you haven’t told anyone about?”

  “Isla, I wouldn’t tell you if I did on our first night of being mated.”

  I shoot him a grin. “Wait til tomorrow?”

  He dips his horns to me. “I’ll wait to reveal my skeleton count tomorrow.”

  “You’re funny.”

  He snorts at me and proceeds to feed the carnivorous horses salted meats from his own refrigerator (he gives me a super pointed stare as he opens his fridge—I totally was screwing with him at his parent’s place and he knows it) and then he’s gazing down expectantly at me.

  I smile up at him, excitement curling in my belly. “What’s that look for?”

  “We did this wrong.”

  My heart almost stops. “Did what wrong?” I shake my head. “Doesn’t matter. No takebacks!”

  The Narwari cry out and I gasp as Bash swoops me up in his arms. “You followed me over the threshold when, to be a properly captured bride, I should have carried you.”

  “Oh! Well, proceed then,” I say, and give him a relieved smile. “And hey, we have a tradition like this on my planet.”

  “It probably has its roots in some primitive custom that would stun me.”

  “Says the alien who wants to treat me like a ‘properly captured bride.’”

  “Hmph,” he mutters, almost rolling his eyes. But he’s smiling at me. He murmurs to his animals, telling them to settle as he walks us behind his waterfall, approaches his door with purpose, and gives me a heated look as he throws it open and carries me over the threshold with all the ceremony I could wish for.

  So romantic!

  “We have this tradition too,” I murmur to him.

  “Don’t utter anything that will incite me to disparage your backwards people,” he warns me levelly as he stalks towards his bedroom. “It would bring shame to my bloodline if I insulted my mate on this night.”

  I curl my arm tighter around his neck and pet his flexible dorsal spines. “You are such a sweet grouch.”

  “Kick off your boots,” he orders.

  “Oh, yes,” I say, toeing them off with only a little difficulty as he holds me aloft. “I don’t want them to make anything dirty.”

  “And I don’t want you to be shod and therefore provide you with a more-speedy escape.”

  “This is just like a fairy-tale,” I sigh. “So creepy and romantically twisted!”

  He sets me beside the bed.

  So hot!

  Bash draws away. But not before planting a soft kiss on my forehead. So sweet. “Now, as hopeful as my hearts want to be that you’re accepting this change in circumstance beyond my every prayer and expectation, a part of me can’t trust it.” He moves to a work table in the corner of his room where there’s much the same tool spread as he has at the blacksmith station in the quarry. He raises a hoop of metal. On the hoop is a ring. On the ring is a long, long chain. And then Bash turns, his eyes glowing as they light on mine.

  “Is that a shackle?” I ask in disbelief.

  CHAPTER 35

  ISLA

  “This is your leg cuff,” Bash confirms.

  “Oh my land, you’re going to cuff me to your bed?” I’VE HIT THE JACKPOT: nothing says true love like turning your spouse into your captive! “This is the hottest thing that’s ever happened to me!” I whoop, sticking out my leg like I’m Cinderella waiting for the prince to fit me with my long lost slipper.

  Bash eyes me warily the whole time he works to snap my new commitment jewelry around my ankle, clearly not trusting my capitulation.

  I pat him on the shoulder reassuringly, then I leave my hand on his solid muscle to brace myself, because it turns out that having your new husband/mate raise your leg in the air so that he can chain you in his den means your balance is a bit off. Not a big gripe or anything, just a caveat.

  “What are you chaining me to?” I ask happily. “And how did you know my anklet size?” I ask in wonder when he sets my foot on the floor and strokes his hand slowly up my leg. Oooh, nice. The weight of my cuff settling on the top of my foot is making warmth pool in my stomach. Or maybe it’s the way Bash is caressing my skin. Could be that.

  “I’ve chained you to our bed,” Bash answers—still watching me for a reaction, still not trusting that I’m really okay with this. “If you follow the chain, you’ll find it’s already anchored—”

  “Our bed!” I marvel. My eyes light up as I gaze into his pretty, pretty-distrusting lush green beauties. “You anchored me to our bed!” I bounce my eyebrows, which makes him twitch. “Does this mean we are finally going to have the crazy hot monkey sex?”

  “—and my tail,” his tail wraps around my other ankle to demonstrate, “has spanned your ankle often enough that your size has been burned in my mind. That’s how I knew to craft a fitted cuff…”

  A moment passes before Bash’s translator parses out my blurted question. His face scrunches up with distaste. “Monkey…?” He shakes his head violently, making his ears flap and his horns swing back and forth.

  “Wait—did you make this yourself?” I hold out my foot like I’m showing off a toe ring and decorative ankle jewelry, not my new mate’s way of keeping me chained to our marriage bed.

  Bash’s nose goes up a fraction, and his eyes narrow. Like he’s expecting this is the moment I’m going to snap. “I did.”

  “When?” I ask, starving for details. “How long have you known that you were crazy about me and wanted to keep me as your forever and ever sex slave?”

  “The day I told you I was quit with wooing you. I decided that the simplest way to make you mine would be to just take you and keep you my captive.”

  I fan myself and stare up at the cave ceiling of Bash’s den. “I wish you’d told me that. It would have saved me so much moping. But this is fine! This works. I can’t wait to tell the girls. They’re going to go nuts.” I bite my lip and beam at Bash. “I win. I SO win.” I shake my ankle, making my chain rattle to emphasize the epicness. “You have officially completed the Rakhii requirement for showing your everlasting adoration for me.”

  Gaze slitted with his typical bad temper, Bash just stares at me. Waiting.

  I motion for him to come closer.

  Immediately, he steps forward—but then he scowls and stops.

  “Come on,” I coax. “This is where you attack me with your mouth and we get to make mad passionate love for the first time.”

  The scales around his eyes tighten as he works through what I’ve proposed, and he sighs a little. “I beg you, Isla. Speak plain, I beg you.”

  “I am,” I assure him. Personally, I’m a little curious to know what his game plan was, exactly, because he doesn't seem to know how to proceed. But I get it, I understand. This is his first abduction.

  I am, in fact, his one and only abduction.

  I sigh with one hundred percent pure happiness. And eyes intent on my target, I start stalking the alien who’s shown me he wants me above all others by chaining me to his bed. Who clearly also has no idea what to do with me now that he has me, but I can help with this.

  I cross to him, intending to sashay up, grab him by the back of the neck, and haul him down for a kiss.

  But
I’m jerked to a stop when I run out of chain.

  Bash and I both stare down at my anchored leg.

  With my hand arrested where I’d started to reach out for him, I glance up and roll him a humored smile. “I’ve done all I can from here. You’re going to have to make the next move, mate.”

  Bash’s mouth is immediately taking mine, his hand sliding into my hair, the other one gripping my hip. “Get on the bed,” he murmurs, sounding dangerous.

  Backing up slowly, suppressing my grin, I do as he ordered. I have to brace myself with my hand on the bed and kick with my feet to boost my butt up to his mattress, but I manage.

  He attacks me.

  A mewling noise escapes me as a couple hundred pounds of muscle flatten my body, squishing me heavily into a surprisingly fluffy comforter and multiple pillows.

  Bash’s face is in mine, his hot breath spicy and strange—but nice, like a cinnamon campfire. “Isla,” he groans, hands braced on either side of my shoulders, arching his back to bring his hips hard against mine.

  “Ohhhhh,” I pant. “It’s time to get naked.”

  “Yes.” Teeth bared, he does the honors of ripping his shirt off. Right off, the shredding sound loud and shocking (a little threatening, too—especially with the way he’s shooting me a dangerous, promising stare)—it’s hot.

  He rears up to attack his belt. Everything from the way he unzips (careful with the merchandise, I have a brief moment to think. Snag the tip of your tool and our fun is done for the night!) to the way he jerks his pants down before violently kicking them off is a promise that what’s about to come is going to be good.

  Rakhii wear briefs. At least mine does.

  And unless he’s stuffed his underwear with a second tail, my brand new husband is hung like a rhinoceros.

  I hook my thumb in the waistband of my leggings and start shimmying them down.