Alien Prince: (Bride of Qetesh) An Alien SciFi Romance (33 page)

Back in the dwelling, he laid me down on the furs once more and went through the entire process of cleaning and bandaging me up, but with a look of utter annoyance on his face as he did so. That finished, he lay back down himself.
“
Svefn
,
”
he said sternly and draped his arm over his eyes so that he could go back to sleep. It didn
’
t take him long, bless his heart, to relax and resume his dreaming.

I got up after a while, hobbling slowly around the space. It wasn
’
t terribly large, but large enough for him to move around in. It had the straw mattress and fur bed in the center, and a trunk behind it. I opened the trunk and peered inside: more furs, weapons, leather, linens, trinkets
…
Linens! I tugged at a piece of fabric, and a tunic came free. It was roughly hewn in white linen, with a brown leather thong laced through the front at the collar. I tugged it over my head and it fell to my knees. The armholes were wide, and the fabric was thin; it didn
’
t do much to save my modesty, but it was better than nothing.

Closing the trunk, I noticed that he
’
d left a carving knife and some half-finished figurines on the packed earth floor. I picked one of the pieces up and turned it carefully over in my hand: it looked like a jungle cat, or a saber-toothed tiger, about the size of my palm. The artistry was exquisite: the wood was cherry, gleaming with oil rubbed into it. Another was a sharp-toothed flower with petals like razor blades and gaping jaws, just like the ones that had feasted on me, lovely and frightening like everything else on this planet. The third was too underdeveloped to be able to make out, a man, perhaps. With two horns.

I set the items aside and headed to the front of the dwelling, stepping gingerly around a fire pit lined and surrounded with neatly placed stones. The creature still slumbered behind me, and I held myself up against the mouth of the tent so as to not put much pressure on my injured foot.

I allowed my gaze to rove idly over the surrounding area: the dwelling was nestled in between a collection of trees in an otherwise vast and open field. A few paces in front of me was a pond with shimmering still water. It was an echo of earth: green grass and wide-trunked trees, crystalline water and colorful wildflowers. But everything was just a little off: the flowers bent, their tiny jaws searching for food; the trees had leaves larger than me, and the grass was stiff against a gust of wind. Familiar, but foreign at the same time.

I rubbed my eyes, sniffling against the crisp, fresh air, before limping over to a log that he
’
d clearly placed to serve as a bench. I sat, holding my breath to stave off another tidal wave of tears, but it was no use. I was in the middle of nowhere, cut up and aching, stranded on a strange planet, miles and miles from any civilization, without a way to communicate with anyone, in the company of an
alien
.

But then it struck me: No. He wasn
’
t the alien. I was.

I buried my face in my hands and wept bitterly, wishing for something as simple as a shift at that bar that I
’
d grown to hate, or going to class, or riding the subway, or walking down First Avenue in the rain. Anything familiar, anything at all.

I don
’
t know how long I sat there, minutes or hours, before he emerged from the dwelling, clearing the ceiling and uncoiling to his full height. He stretched his hands up high over his head and peered down at me, his head canted gently to the side.

He asked me something and I shook my head, not understanding, not even trying. He tried again, but I wasn
’
t looking at him, couldn
’
t look at him, didn
’
t want him to see that I was crying again. But he sat beside me and placed one of his huge fingers beneath my chin to turn my face toward his.

“
Odrik,
”
he said, and put his free hand on his chest. His dark brows were raised high over his wide black eyes, and he pointed at me.

I blinked, owlish, so he repeated the gesture:
“
Odrik,
”
he said, and put his hand on his chest. Then he pointed at me and raised his eyebrows.

“
Your
…
your name?
”
I asked, turning my body toward him. I pointed at him:
“
Odrik,
”
I repeated. And he smiled, nodding enthusiastically.

“
Odrik,
”
he said, and then pointed at me one last time.

“
Novalyn,
”
I said, holding my hand over my heart.
“
Novalyn.
”

“
Nov
…
ah
…
lyn,
”
he repeated slowly, still pointing at me. He pointed to himself:
“
Odrik,
”
and then to me:
“
Novalyn.
”

I mirrored his smile and nodded my head in confirmation. It was a relief to have at least that much known between us. A name was better than nothing at all.

He lifted a hand to my face, gently cupping my cheek, running his large thumb over the line of my jaw.
“
Vaenn
,
”
he murmured, but I didn
’
t know what that meant. He locked his eyes on mine, and I was drowning in the depths of them. That is, until my stomach growled noisily and completely disrupted the little moment between the alien and me. I laughed, and put my hand on my tummy.

“
Hungry,
”
I said, and mimed putting food into my mouth, chewing, and swallowing. I patted my tummy again.
“
Food?
”

He was staring at me, nodding along slowly.
“
Soltimm
,
”
he said.
“
Gjor.
”
With that, he rose to his feet and headed back into the hut. When he emerged again, he had a bow in his fist and a quiver of arrows slung over his shoulder. He rattled off something in his harsh language and gestured for me to stay put before he bounded off to one of the far trees. I watched him start to climb up it until he disappeared, until he was nothing more than a rustle of branches. Suddenly, a group of birds took wing, and I saw them fly for mere moments before one was gored by an arrow and dropped, lifeless, out of the sky.

I watched with wide and startled eyes as Odrik descended the tree, fetched his kill and returned to me, brandishing it triumphantly.
“
Gjor
,
”
he said and pressed the dead bird into my hands, skewered as it was by the arrow. I stared down at it: it was large, the size of an eagle perhaps, but black, with the blunt, curved beak of a bird of prey. Odrik set about lighting the fire, but he came over to me when he saw I wasn
’
t doing anything and rattled off a few sentences in his language before plucking some of the feathers out of the bird. Then he pointed at me and I realized he intended for me to pluck the thing so we could cook it. I swallowed hard, and set about relieving the fowl of its feathers.

He cooked it over an open flame, and we ate pieces of the meat off of the tips of diamond-sharp knives. The meat was savory, if a little gamey, and I was pleasantly full by the time we
’
d sucked the scraps from the bones. We sat together on the log, eating in companionable silence, and I was desperate to ask him about himself, desperate to know if he came from a city or if all of his people were like him. I needed to know if he had access to technology that could get me off of this planet, back to the
Atria
, and home. But so far, we had ascertained only the words for
“
food
”
and
“
knife,
” “
hurt
”
and
“
thank you.
”
And our names; at least we had that.

As we ate, I made a decision: I was obviously relatively safe with Odrik, who
—
despite his odd appearance
—
was clearly a decent man. He had tended my wounds, fed me, given me a place to rest, rescued me more than once. So I would stay with him until I was well enough to walk. Then I would steal away in the night and head to one of the fallen pods to see if they could give me any answers. I
’
d bring one of his knives with me, and I
’
d try to figure out what was and wasn
’
t edible on this planet before I left him. That way, I could survive on my own. Sure, I could do that. Couldn
’
t I?

The sun was beginning to set as we finished our meal, and the strangest thing started to happen: plants began to close up into themselves. The little flowers hugged their petals in tight, looking like fresh buds; the grass, once tall and stiff, was sucked back down into the earth; the fronds of the trees hugged in close to the trunk, making the landscape look oddly barren where once it was overlush with vegetation.
“
What
’
s going on?
”
I asked Odrik.

“
Vetrnott
,
”
he said, plucking the knife from my hands and rising to his feet. He hugged his arms and pretended to be shivering, then closed his eyes and rested his head on his own shoulder, making an exaggerated snoring sound.

“
Cold sleep?
”
I guessed, but he could neither confirm nor deny it. Instead he went about stoking the fire, and the longer I lingered outside of the dwelling, the more I could feel the temperature dropping. By the time the twilight had set in, the air was somewhere just above freezing. So much for stealing away in the night.

Odrik and I settled in to sit on the furs by the fire, warmed by the flames, and by his gentle proximity. He said something and shook his head, and I furrowed my brow, trying to understand.

He pointed at me; he shook his head
no
; he cowered. In this elaborate game of charades, I could only guess that he was trying to tell me he would not harm me. I searched his face, then lifted my hand to brush my fingertips across the elegant slope of his cheek.
“
I am not afraid of you,
”
I said. He turned his head into my hand, and I could feel his breath, hot against my palm. My heart fluttered, and I pulled away.

He said something else then, and I recognized the word for
“
cold sleep
”
in there among a bevy of other utterly indecipherable words.

“
What
…
?
”
I asked, watching his gestures. He took the front of my pilfered tunic and tugged at it, shaking his head.
“
You want this back
…
?
”
I asked, somewhat confused.
“
Can
’
t I just wear it so I
’
m not, like
…
totally naked
…
?
”

Odrik heaved a long-suffering sigh and stood up, sliding the straps of his leather overalls off of his shoulders and shimmying out of the shorts themselves. I couldn
’
t help but stare as his very sizable member became visible. I was stunned by the sheer length and girth of it
—
and he wasn
’
t even erect. He folded his clothing neatly and set it aside, then gestured for me to do the same. I gave a very stern and insistent shake of my head. He spoke to me again, and I caught none of the words, except for a very exasperated use of my name.

He put his hands on me and stilled his movements when he felt me jerk away, my response almost automatic. But he was gentle, if insistent, and he slid his hands up my outer thighs, pushing the tunic up until it was caught under my bum. Then, he moved forward and wrapped one arm around me, lifting me with ease as he freed the fabric, and tugged it up over my head. He folded the tunic and set it on top of his shorts, and I moved to cover my breasts with my arms. Maybe this was when everything would turn violent, I thought. Maybe this was when he would reveal his true colors, when his monstrous nature would make itself known.

He pushed me gently back onto the furs and pried my legs apart. Then he began unwrapping the bandages. No, silly Novalyn, he was just re-dressing my wounds. He was just being the good and kind and decent creature he
’
d always been. Though I wasn
’
t entirely certain as to why we both had to be naked to change some bandages. I watched him closely as he worked, and try as I might, I could see no monster in him at all.