Gyft (Rescued by the Alien)

Chapter Five

OLIVIA:

HOLY SHITBALLS, he’s sucking the rabid deathbeast’s blood. Like, right in front of me. And that move takes the glory away from the fact that I just saved his alien ass.

Saved. My. Fucking. Bodyguard.

“Whryt?” he mumbles, looking up as he licks his lips.

If possible, he’s even paler than he was before, his bluish silvery color almost a translucent glow.

He’s bleeding everywhere. No wonder he’s white as a ghost... well, a ghost lit from a blue-white bulb with a metallic sheen. But his weird alien hair is white, hanging in long, spiky tendrils.

“Oh, God,” I mutter. Then I jump into action. “Now just hold still. I’m trained in CPR.” I pause. “Once. Like in the fourth grade Girl Scouts. Mostly I joined to sell the cookies. But you don’t understand me anyway and as long as I smile”—I grin, showing teeth, and ignoring his slightly weirded-out expression— “I’m sure it conveys confidence. After all, the key to successful CPR is positivity. In other words, you thinking you’ll make it just fine. And me assuring you of such means that you’ll convince yourself of it. It’s all mind over matter,” I assure him. “That’s how CPR works.”

Now, how does the procedure go again? I’m supposed to pump his heart to push blood and blow into his mouth to inflate his lungs, then go back to pumping. But what if he’s breathing just fine? He hasn’t drowned or anything. So, I think we’re good to just pump his heart? Besides, he just sucked down a rabid beast’s blood. Eww. I certainly don’t want to put my mouth on his.

I allow myself to ponder how hideous his breath must be for a second, then smile confidently and clasp my hands loosely so one is atop the other, then start pumping his chest and counting like I know what I’m doing. “One, two, three, four. Um, that should be good. Now let me listen to your heartbeat.”

Removing my hands, I put my ear down to his chest. What the—?! I listen in vain, the bodyguard still as death beneath my cheek. Gah, I don’t hear anything. Maybe he’s a vampire. Do vampires even have a heartbeat? Frantically I pump his chest again.

“Well, I probably need to bind your wounds so you don’t bleed out.” I give a little laugh, but it comes out shaky and false. I’m such an idiot; I might have killed him if the blood had started flowing out of the bites and slashes. Imagine my new husband showing up and finding his guard dead.

He probably sent his favorite. My safety is everything.

I toss my skirts up over my head to get to the still-white layers underneath. “Yvette and I didn’t have enough dye to do it all,” I explain, slapping the chiffon layers back down, figuring he’s wondering why my skirts flipped up. “So, we took the top layers to dip. I rather like the way it turned out. Gives it more dimension with the white underneath, ya know?”

I rip some strips out and start wrapping them around his arms.

“You don’t need to do that, bride. I just fed and my blood will clot momentarily. Soon the healing process will begin.”

“You’re welcome, handsome.” I wince. That one was a stretch. But everyone likes to believe they’re pretty, I guess. We’re not all born with good looks and grace.

He mutters rather weakly. “Really. You’re wasting your time and ruining your... gown? Travel garment? I guess there’s not much to ruin. It’s rather hideous. Did they force you to wear it? You probably can’t wait to tear it into strips.”

“Okay, arm’s wrapped. Let me do another round of CPR just to be on the safe side.”

I move back up to his chest and press. “One, two, three. Ooh, that reminds me of the old jingle: How many licks does it take to get to the center of a —”

“What in the everlasting world are you doing?”

He must be in pain because he sounds somewhat grouchy though his voice isn’t as weak.

“It’s okay. I got this, soldier. No one dies on my watch.” I give him a wink, hopefully it looks full of confidence, and lean down to listen to his heartbeat again. Still nothing. Yikes. Poor guy must be dying. I school my face before popping back up.

“I’ll have to keep up the CPR. But let me see how your chest fared since your shirt is pretty bloody.” Maybe there’s a big ole hole in his heart. Maybe that’s why it’s not beating.

Without waiting for the response I can’t understand anyway, I rip open his uniform. Tiny buttons go flying every which way.

And whew, mommy . The most magnificent chest I’ve ever seen is splayed before me. I guess it makes sense that a bodyguard would be ripped, but sheesh. The bluish-silver skin has a smattering of darker scales, a little hair and yes, my fingers are twitching to run through it. Make it rasp.

He’s got an eight-pack. Muscles so firm, so defined, I can’t help but wonder if there’s a little contouring and shading going on. Much like my own smoky eyes and sharp cheekbones. A rather nice touch was the dash of highlighter right under my eyes. The effect is stunning, making my cheeks pop.

I run my fingers down his perfect pecs and, oh, God. No contouring. No shading. No highlighting. He’s literally perfect mouthwatering muscle. And the hair on his chest? It’s not hair at all, more like tiny springy spikes. Maybe they harden when he fights to protect his organs?

My mouth is dry and I lick my chapped lips. The ebony lipstick has no moisturizing properties whatsoever. At least it’s fade-resistant.

I use more white strips of bridal gown around his ribs and beautiful abs. He will not bleed out on my watch. No way.

“Okay.” I smile reassuringly. “We’re CPRing again.”

I do the chest presses but this time it’s my bare palms against his pecs and my hands feel really warm at the contact with his chest. And even though I haven’t even met my husband in person, I feel a little bit guilty. I’m feeling up his guard.

And I’m loving it.

“CPR?” he asks. Then tilts his head.

I think the fact that he’s not dying dawns on us both at the same time. “I guess you’re not unconscious,” I whisper, feeling foolish.

“Why do you keep listening to the wrong side of my chest? My heart is on the right,” he says.

I lean down to peer into his strange eyes. “Still don’t know what you’re saying. I guess I won’t know what Gyft says either.”

“Gyft,” he agrees, then starts to sit up.

Which is awkward because we bump foreheads and both groan.

He hisses with pain.

We’re close, very close together. “Sorry about that,” I whisper, trying not to notice that he smells like fresh rain and pine forests.

He reaches out to cup the back of my neck. His thumb runs along my jawline, and my pulse skitters. I tuck my face into his touch. Does he feel it too? This weird, breathless feeling between us? Maybe he’s captivated by my charms. Then his thumb comes up and...

Rubs harshly against my bottom lip.

He pulls his hand away and studies his stained thumb.

“Well, rude,” I snap, scrambling away. At least the black contouring I did on my cheeks probably hides the blush that’s heating my face. I feel like such a fool thinking he was having a moment crushing on me. He’s not the most attractive of species and sure, I was going to give him a freebie there—

But then I freeze. There’s no freebies. There’s no kissing, no flirting, no nothing. I’m married to this Gyft. His boss. It doesn’t matter that there’s a supernatural sexiness to his guard. His silver skin and kissable lips.

His undeniable sex appeal, like a mesmerizing... vamp.

“Emphra lishtaria?” he asks.

“No clue,” I say in my loudest voice, wondering why the hell we even speak.

Slowly he stands, then points toward the direction he wants to go. This time when he walks, he puts his hand on the small of my back. Maybe we’re feeling closer since I saved his life? Maybe his boss will let me stay away... as soon as I get away, that is. Maybe this guard will even look the other way, pretending he doesn’t know where I’ve disappeared to.

I’m going with that theory.

My guard leads me through the trees and when we get to a small lake, he heads that direction. But the strange purplish-blue sun—which is way too big—looks like it’s sinking down too close to the horizon. It might get dark and I won’t be able to navigate.

“Well, where are you going?” I snap. “I need to get to a town before dark so I can lose you and strike out on my own.”

He carefully unwinds one of the strips from his arm and holy mackerel. His arm—gone are the slash marks. He’s healed. He’s completely healed.

I nod knowingly, watching as he dips the cloth and wrings it out, then re-dips it. I figured it out. I know exactly what he is. I suspected before, but now I’m sure.

“Vampire,” I say accusingly. “Complete with fangs and pale skin before you feed.” Doesn’t matter that it’s slightly silvery-blue, slightly green. I knew it. My alien husband sent a real-life alien vampire to protect me. That’s what did the healing. He sucked the hellbeast’s blood and it healed him right up.

While he’s distracted washing the blood out of his fabric, I quickly tear another strip, a little thicker this time, and make myself a choker. I wrap it around my neck, tucking the end in.

I don’t need him tempted by the sweet throbbing of my tantalizing pulse. It probably calls to him. Surely he won’t be able to resist.

He turns, rubbing the fabric between his hands, and his eyes go there.

“Don’t even think about it, buddy. My husband’s not gonna like it.”

Something flashes in his gaze and he narrows his eyes, coming at me deliberately with the wet cloth. Ooh, he’s one of those take-charge individuals. Wetness pools deep inside my core. I stare at him, bemused.

And then he rubs it all over my face.

I gasp and sputter, my hands going out to stop him but they somehow find their way to his naked chest again. “Are you kidding? Stop that! You’re ruining my expertly applied goth look. My contouring!” I howl.

Sure enough, by the time he drags the cloth away, it’s black and muddy-gray and he looks somewhat satisfied.

“Jerk! How would you like it if I’d have just washed you while you were injured? It’s not like you look clean! Or handsome.” I lean in and sniff, but I smell nothing. “And you probably stink. Like beast and blood. And smelly... vampire!” Then, an idea hits me and I push forward, palms out.

He looks confused for a minute before I shove harder and he falls backward into the pond.

“Have a bath!”

But then the fool sits there in the wet, and looks up at me grinning.

“You’re not supposed to like it.” My voice is much softer now.

Crazy alien.