Her Alien Prince

by Presley Hall

  Unable to stay away from her for long, my gaze returns to Charlotte once again.

  She’s left my side and is stepping carefully around the bird’s hulking carcass, studying it and my men with interest. For such a small thing, she truly does have a warrior’s spirit. She is wary of them, but she’s not shying away from getting close. Perhaps the women are warriors on her planet. It is odd to consider because of her size, but my father was a firm believer in never underestimating an opponent, and after my own mistakes, I have become a firm believer in that too.

  The younger men are working on separating the bird. Once they’re done, my men will carry each dressed piece back to the settlement, a task that will likely require several trips.

  “Hello.” Rath stands up when Charlotte walks near him, holding out his hand.

  She freezes. I do too.

  I know he won’t hurt her, but logic and experience are being overridden by an instinctive urge to protect my mate. I walk closer to Charlotte and Rath, doing my best to keep from yanking her away from him and snarling at the young warrior.

  She slowly reaches out for Rath’s hand, and I’m pleased that there seems to be a natural curiosity between the two of them. However, instead of merely touching her palm to his, she grabs Rath’s hand strangely and shakes it. The gesture is awkward looking, and it’s difficult to stifle my chuckle. What an odd custom.

  I wonder at the significance of the movement. Grabbing the hand and moving it up and down perhaps signifies the struggle between two strangers?

  It’s no matter. I will show her our way later. For now, I watch her interact with my men without interrupting.

  Rash grins and puts a hand on his chest. “Rash.”

  From behind him, Zayre steps closer and holds out his hand. “Zayre.”

  She shakes his hand in the same strange manner. “Rash. Zayre,” she repeats, giving them a hesitant smile.

  “We’re brothers,” Zayre says, putting his arm next to Rath’s to show her their identical markings. “Twins.”

  She looks at the swirling white marks, wonder shining in her eyes. “Thots amayzing. Ther beeootiful.”

  I’m happy to see her getting along with my men, but the selfish part of me wants her attention only on me. I suddenly understand the possessiveness that I’ve seen other Voxerans exhibit toward their mates.

  “All right.” I step forward, shooing the youngbloods away. “Get back to work. There will be plenty of time for talk later.”

  Rath and Zayre quickly do as they’re told, sharing proud grins as they walk toward the bird’s carcass.

  Leaving Xevar with a few final instructions, I usher Charlotte out of the small clearing. My men will be fine without me. We’ve all become adept at hunting in the five years we’ve been here, and they don’t need my supervision to clean and dress a kill.

  As I lead Charlotte toward my village, she takes in the world around her. She even stops once or twice to look at a plant, although luckily not any dangerous ones.

  We stop at a small stream where I refill my water skin, and she drinks deeply when I offer it to her. I pluck a few yeggins from a tree as we pass, and when she hesitates, I bite into mine first. The succulent juice of the fruit bursts over my tongue, and Charlotte bites her lip before holding out her hand. She eats two yeggins as we make our way through the forest, and I’m pleased to see that her energy improves with the meal.

  I want to ask her so many questions—where she comes from, why she crashed, what food she likes, what her customs are—but this damn language barrier is getting in the way. I want to be able to talk to her as soon as possible, so I begin to teach her words as we walk.

  I tell her the words for tree, for Voxeran, for rock, for bird, for camp.

  She nods and repeats every word, then she repeats them a few minutes later while pointing at each object they represent.

  “Droth comes camp,” she suddenly says, and I blink at her.

  She’s constructed a sentence on her own already. She has an exceptional memory, and I’m both impressed by her as well as slightly embarrassed that I haven’t managed to construct a sentence in her language yet.

  “Yes. Very good.” I nod.

  “Yes, Droth comes camp… to?” She wrinkles her nose as she finishes speaking, looking dissatisfied.

  My eyebrows shoot up and she makes a small sound of triumph before she tries again.

  “Yes, Droth comes to camp,” she says slowly.

  I can do no more than smile and nod once more, delighted beyond belief that she’s caught on to something so quickly. Maybe it won’t be too long until at least one of us learns the language of the other.

  She looks pleased with herself, and then she starts talking very fast in her own language, gesturing to her mouth while she looks at me.

  I have no idea what she’s saying, but the enthusiasm in her tone is infectious. I try to encourage her, and we trade new words back and forth as we continue through the forest.

  When we reach the camp where my people and I dwell, she falls silent. The men who are outside working all stop what they’re doing to watch Charlotte as she enters the encampment.

  She moves to walk closer to me, and I put an arm around her shoulders, a clear sign that she is under my protection. Axen and Jaro are together, as they usually are, and when they catch sight of me and Charlotte, they walk directly toward us. Before either of them can open their mouths, I speak.

  “This woman is Charlotte Navarro. I found her when the gicnuk dropped her from the sky. The gods have bonded us as mates. She’s not to be touched or bothered. Spread the word.”

  Axen nods and turns to do as he’s commanded. While some might take the opportunity to study her for a few seconds, Axen doesn’t. He’s never been one to stick around for the details, and for that I am grateful. Jaro doesn’t question me either, but he shoots a confused look at Charlotte before he leaves.

  Let him wonder. I don’t care if she isn’t Voxeran, she’s mine all the same.

  “This is my home. I will show you around,” I say as I look down at her. She knows the word for home, so she nods and repeats the sentence. I begin to walk, my arm still around her shoulders. “I hope you like it here. I know it’s likely not what you’re used to. It’s nothing like what I was once used to either, but it is comfortable, and all of our needs are met.”

  Truth be told, I’m quite proud of what we’ve built here. It’s more rustic than the towns and cities on Vox, but it is a serviceable village all the same. The walls around the camp are high and thick, the huts are solid and well-constructed, and the fire pit burns low as we pass by. We foraged for materials and traded for building supplies in Pascia. None of us are architects, and yet we’ve built a home for ourselves here despite that.

  “This is where we have meetings.” I gesture to the largest building in the village. “And on the new moon, we have a feast here, to celebrate what we’ve accomplished. I don’t know about your gods, but ours take tribute in joy. We thank them by living well.”

  She’s listening to me and looking wherever I point. Sometimes she adds something to the conversation, though it’s gibberish to me.

  “Droth… home?” she asks finally, looking up at me.

  Her eyes are full of questions. We’ve established that this small village is my home, so I think she means to ask about my hut. Our hut, if she’ll have it. I lead her to the middle of the encampment and stop when we reach my home.

  “Mine,” I say, opening the door.

  She doesn’t move to step inside, so I walk in first and rest my spear beside the door before I turn around and watch her.

  She’s got her arms crossed and is biting at her lower lip. Daylight filters into the dimly lit hut, and her eyes dart back and forth as she takes in the interior. When her gaze lands on me, I can see the doubt clinging to her expression.

  “I won’t hurt you.” I hold out my hand. “I promise. You are safe.”

  She takes a small step back, but I don’t let mysel
f feel disappointment this time. Charlotte is a brave woman. She’s come so far now that I doubt she will turn and run. I just have to be patient and let her get comfortable in her own time.

  She doesn’t move for a few long seconds, but finally, she holds out her hand and places it in my palm.

  I try not to grin too widely as I lead her all the way inside.

  Her head swivels back and forth as she takes in my small dwelling. In fact, she’s so intent on looking around her that she almost trips. I catch her quickly beneath the arms to keep her from going down and am shocked when she hisses in pain. She winces as she rights herself, rubbing at the place where I touched her.

  I’m confused for a moment, but then I spot purplish markings on the skin between her arm and back.

  Bruises.

  Although they look slightly different on her skin than they would on mine, I have no doubt that’s exactly what they are. The gicnuk must’ve bruised her as it held her in its talons.

  Gritting my teeth, I curse myself for not checking her more thoroughly for injuries when I first saw her.

  Akhi. How could I have been so blind?

  13

  Charlotte

  “Ow,” I mutter. “That stings.”

  I didn’t realize I was hurt until Droth touched the bruises from where the big bird held on to me. There was too much going on, too much new information to process, for my body to register the pain earlier. But I sure feel it now. The backs of my shoulders and the undersides of my arms ache lightly.

  Droth huffs and mutters something to himself before shaking his head, his gaze scanning my body. When he looks into my eyes, his expression softens.

  “Tuke,” he says, gesturing to my shoulders. His hands make a rubbing motion, and I think he’s saying that he wants to put medicine on my bruises like I did to his cut earlier.

  “Um, okay.”

  I nod, and he grunts before he crowds my space, guiding me deeper into his home with the cues of his body. When we get to an adjacent room, the bed is the thing that immediately has my full attention. We’re in his bedroom.

  I sit on the mattress with my feet on the floor. I have no idea what it’s stuffed with, but it’s firm, just the way I liked it back home. When I look up, Droth is gesturing to my torso and bringing his hands down.

  Oh.

  Oh.

  He wants me to take my nightgown off.

  I lick my lips, my throat going suddenly dry. I’m not stripping down to my underwear in front of a strange alien man, but I can see the utility in at least giving him access to my back.

  Flushing slightly, I push the thin straps of my nightgown from my shoulders and let it drop, covering my breasts with my arms. The sun filtering through the small window on one wall casts his shadow over me like a mountain. He grabs the back of my neck softly and makes my body curl forward until his abdomen is in my line of sight.

  My heartbeat picks up a little, but it’s not fear I’m feeling. I’m not quite sure what it is.

  I feel strange around this man. I have ever since I woke up to see his face staring down at me.

  The way he holds on to my neck is controlled and confident, like he knows me well enough to physically guide my body. The way he brushes his fingers along the edges of my bruises is soothing, reassuring.

  It’s like he’s found something of his, like he’s claimed it—me.

  Maybe he does think I’m his. Maybe without realizing it, I’ve somehow given him some kind of signal I’m not aware of. He sure acted territorial toward the others earlier, and he jumped to protect me with the bird.

  I’m sure that I haven’t helped matters by sticking to his side like a barnacle. Hell, maybe I’ve even been encouraging his possessive behavior.

  But what if he decides he wants more? What if he tries to kiss me like I thought he might earlier? Or… do more than that.

  If he thinks I belong to him, then nothing is stopping him from trying.

  As a general rule, it would probably be best if I never found myself in that sort of situation to begin with. In addition to this man being a stranger and a different species, I’m still a married woman. True, my marriage to Joseph was barely more than a lie we maintained to keep his career from imploding, but still.

  The skin of my back starts tingling as Droth applies some sort of balm to my bruises, and I shiver beneath his strong hands.

  Focus, Charlotte. Focus.

  God, why does his touch do this to me? It’s like it destroys all reason and self-control. One minute, I’m telling myself I need to keep my distance, and the next, I’m imagining where else he could put those big hands. What they might feel like on other parts of my body.

  Droth grunts, leaning over me, but the biggest bruise goes too low on my back for him to reach it well. Instead, he walks around my legs and climbs onto the low bed behind me, his fingers making expert movements along my skin.

  He’s done this before. It’s obvious in the competence and surety of his movements.

  I wonder how many of his people he’s had to patch up from wounds like these, or from ones much worse. It’s kind of incredible that he’s used to doing this. Clearly, by the way his men fell into line around him, he’s their leader.

  He takes care of them.

  I can’t quite articulate how that makes me feel. As he continues to rub the soothing balm onto the skin of my back, my imagination paints vivid pictures in my mind. I imagine Droth leading his people in building this place, his arms straining under the sun as he works alongside them.

  He’s a true leader. One who leads from the front, not behind.

  I only realize that he’s done tending to my wounds when the bed shifts. The throbbing ache of the bruises is already fading a bit, replaced by a pleasant tingling sensation.

  “Wow. That really is amazing stuff,” I murmur.

  Wanting to see what it looks like, I turn to peer over my shoulder—and find my face dangerously close to Droth’s.

  His hand slips to my shoulder as he says something in a low almost-whisper. I think he’s reassuring me that I’ll be okay.

  That strange heat starts building inside my chest again, pounding just as surely as my heart. He’s so close that I could count his eyelashes if I wanted to.

  Tension fills the space between us, an energy so thick it seems to suck all the oxygen out of the air. The thin markings along his neck start to get brighter, glowing slightly, and I have the strangest feeling that’s happening because of me.

  Because of his reaction to me.

  Oh, God. I think he’s going to kiss me.

  Is it crazy that I want him to?

  I close my eyes as he leans in. The soft warmth of his breath caresses my lips, and my whole body lights up with awareness. He smells like the forest, something clean and slightly spicy. It’s a scent I could drown in if I let myself.

  My body twists a little on the bed, my neck craning as I stop thinking and let instinct take over.

  But before his mouth can press against mine, a loud shout cuts through the air outside.

  14

  Droth

  I’m so close to kissing Charlotte that I can practically feel her lips against mine. My cock is pulsing and rising again, straining toward my mate.

  Then a harsh shout makes my mate startle away from me, and I almost growl.

  That is, until my brain registers that it wasn’t a normal cry. It’s not the sound of men sparring or calling to each other outside. I’ve been the leader of these warriors for enough time to know a sound of fear when I hear it.

  Whatever it is, I must go deal with it.

  It pains me to leave Charlotte, especially with the connection thrumming between us like a taut wire, but I would never forgive myself if someone got hurt for the sake of my desire. I stand up from the bed and stride into the main room, but before I can reach the front door, Strome pushes it open and steps inside.

  His gaze lands on me immediately and then tracks over my shoulder to the arched opening that
shows a clear view of my bedroom.

  And my topless mate.

  Charlotte yelps, tugging at the thin straps of her gown as she rises from the bed.

  I growl, just a warning, and the taller Voxeran pulls up short. His eyes dart back to mine. “I’m sorry, my prince. I shouldn’t have burst in like this. But Xevar’s trapped in the stinging vines. He—”

  Slanch.

  Before he can finish, I grab my spear from beside the door. As my fingers curl around the smooth wood, I glance back toward the bedroom. I don’t know what to do. Charlotte hasn’t left my side since I woke up after fighting the gicnuk, and I’m loathe to let her out of my sight now.

  Still, I’m not sure it’s wise to bring her with me. The stinging vines can be deadly, and I don’t want her to get frightened by what she sees and run off again.

  Before I can come to a decision, however, my mate strides from the bedroom. Her gown is covering her body again, and her face is a mask of seriousness.

  “Waats rong?”

  “One of my men has been injured,” I tell her, gesturing as I speak and hoping it helps convey my meaning. “I have to go help. Will you come?”

  Understanding lights in her eyes at the word “come.” She glances at Strome briefly and then nods. “Okeye.”

  A smile tugs at my lips. Maybe it was silly to think she’d be frightened by anything—my fierce, beautiful mate.

  Strome turns and walks out of the house, and I follow him, as does Charlotte. She’s got shorter legs than the two of us, but she keeps up with our quick strides, her gaze focused and her chin held high. She reminds me of my mother, once upon an age. The woman who raised me didn’t shy away from an emergency. She ruled by my father’s side until his death, and she cared for her people as a true queen should.

  If my uncle hadn’t stolen the throne and violently quashed all opposition, I would’ve ruled in much the same way one day.