Gyft (Rescued by the Alien)

Chapter Six

GYFT:

WELL. THE brIDE HAS a backbone after all. And she’s much more... attractive without the ghastly black shadows casting dips and valleys on her face. Not sure what she was thinking, but suddenly I’m able to see her in a different light.

I imagine it does take strength and bravery to fly to an unknown planet and marry a stranger, sight unseen. At least I’d seen distant images of her. I knew the basic shape of humans. With our hooded cloaks, humans didn’t even know that much about us.

A strange sense of male pride makes me wonder if she finds my form attractive now that she sees me.

I rise from the pond, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling of wet clothing. I’ll squish when I walk, and it’s her fault. Still, at least it gets some of the blood off me, I imagine.

She purses her lips as I get out, as if unable to figure out why I’m in a better mood. I can’t share with her that I’m impressed.

I’ll just have to guide her toward the city where I can see what she’s up to. Then, I’ll lead her to my shuttle, bring her back to headquarters and we’ll have the language loads together. I’ll explain that the marriage was necessary to prove our alliance, but that we’re able to head our separate ways as long as she acknowledges that she has an image to uphold. Any time we vid Earth, she’ll need to be by my side. She’ll need to reassure everyone that we’re a contracted couple .

I’m partly dry by the time we make it out of the forest. If I remember correctly, there’s an old farm up ahead. We’ll stop there and I’ll make contact.

“Is that a clothesline? I can find clothes to disguise myself.” My bride squeals as she lifts the ridiculous skirts she wears and forges ahead without me like she’s a prancing farm beast eager to be ridden.

“Wait, female,” I call, but she’s long gone. When I catch up, she’s going through the nightgowns and bed sheets.

“What are you doing?” I demand, ignoring the pink of excitement in her cheeks. It’s much healthier-looking, like she recently fed. Somewhat attractive, but I’m sure that’s because she was so hideous before. The first sun has sunk and the second sun gives a slight glow, much like the shade of the ancient sicqurius trees in the forest.

“See? I have to change my clothes. No one will recognize me, especially with a sheet I can drape over me like this—” The bride places bedding over herself as if she hides. Ahh. She is making a brichet , a hooded drape that we use when we hide from the main sun. I wore mine during our wedding ceremony.

Interesting. She tries to please me, then.

I place my hand on her shoulder. We both catch our breath at the intimate touch. Her skin is warm beneath mine and soft. So smooth.

I can’t help but run my thumb over her, curious about how she feels. Is she this soft everywhere?

It is simply curiosity. Nothing more. I should not lead her on.

“You do not need the garments, bride. I will not have my bride look like a hobo.” I reach into the lining of my shirt and pull out my own brichet. I shake it out and gesture to her.

She tilts her head and steps closer.

I smile, pleased that she obeys. But then she notices my fangs, and looks away with a gulp, her small hand fluttering toward the cloth decoration she placed on her neck .

I’ll have to reassure her once we have each other’s languages that the mateship bite will never occur between us. That our marriage is in name only.

But a strange feeling hits the pit of my belly at the thought. I feel oddly rejected. Confused, I drape my cloak over her, fastening it at the throat, and lift the hood to cover her head.

She gasps. Perhaps she didn’t know she could see through it? How did she think we got around with our faces covered?

“Come, bride. Let’s meet the farmers here and see if they’ll let us spend the night.” As if they wouldn’t. They’d undoubtedly recognize Gyft T’shil, High Commander to the King.

Whether or not they’ll run screaming at his alien bride remains to be seen.

I offer her my arm and when she takes it, she smiles up at me. I’m glad she’s on my left. On the other side, she could probably hear my heart thumping.

Her skin is soft, her body plush and ripe. Round hips, a small waist and voluptuous cleavage, even though there’s only one deep valley between two breasts.

I’d preferred the normal three before I met her.

But I find I’m curious about nuzzling between two.

To be fair, I should wait until we can understand each other before even thinking about exploring her private parts. She’ll need to know it’s a one and done. That she’ll be free to take another soon.

A prickling sensation of heat licks up the base of my neck.

She twists her ankle and yelps.

“Be careful,” I snap, my voice a bit short because of the sudden heated anger raging through me. Where it came from, I’m not sure, because I’m the one who decided the bride can go on her own way. “You don’t want to hurt yourself before I can call for a ride. ”

“Not sure who trained you in security, buddy. But you suck. Bodyguards don’t offer an arm like this is a high school prom, especially not to married women. I’m married to your boss, you know. Gyft.”

“I know you’re mine, female. You don’t need to keep reminding me. It gets old.” But it doesn’t really. Instead, the reminder just made something primitive and male rear its head inside me.

“Commander Gyft? Is that you?”

We’ve been discovered. I mutter under my breath before securely fastening the cloak at her throat to hide her and whirling around to see the farm owner. He’s aged a bit since I was here last, but I hardly ever require shelter so I usually see him from afar.

He’s cleaned up for dinner, because he’s normally dusty from the day’s labor. But now he stands, fresh and smelling of soap, his eyes bright and curious beneath the wide brim of the khaki brichet he’s tossed on. He’s mated, of course, so there’s no reason to wear it over his face. His dark freelig is tied back from his head.

“It is I. I was collecting my new alien bride from the edge of the forest. Naturally, we’ll need to make our way to my shuttle. I parked away from the deadlands, but the bride landed in the forest, so I headed there on foot.”

He bows deeply. “Is that one of the Earth aliens, then? May I see her—”

“You may not.” My voice is loud and sharp with authority. And fear that he will know just how ugly she is.

He looks confused, then nods. “Night is upon us, Commander. You will not make it far.”

I sigh. “Do you have a spare room we can use for the night?”

“I would be honored to house the High Commander,” he says, his eyes flicking toward her as if still trying to see what she looks like. “I am Minstrel Grekl M’irshlak. My monesse and I live here with our twin souls.” He makes a grand gesture toward the farmhouse with his arm.

“We would be humbled to stay,” I say formerly .

He leads the way. I take the bride’s arm and steer her toward their home, walking slightly behind the farmer to avoid him looking over his shoulder at her. Behind me, the bride babble-whispers because she just can’t help herself.

“Menga!” Minstrel M’irshlak calls out, which is hardly necessary because his nosy mate watches from the kitchen window.

I wince. She is one of those country busybodies, then. I’m sure the news of this encounter will be all over the village before we are even picked up. It will be hard to keep my bride under wraps after this.

In a flash, his mate appears, the dishtowel still flung over one arm. She wears an old, shapeless dress, though she still has the smooth, blue-green skin of youth, a silvery sheen not as metallic as mine. But then again, I’ve met the deadlands. And unlike my white freelig, hers are rich and blue, the ends moving freely. In the hallway, I see twin souls peering around the corner, silver eyes wide. They have their mother’s blue hue.

“Menga, the honorable High Commander Gyft T’shil honors us with his presence and that of his new bride.”

His mate drops the cloth she is holding as she stares at my bride.

“It is their people’s custom to cover,” I bluster. “May I see the suite? I must tend to my bride’s wounds.” I take Bride’s arm to steer her past the couple.

“Of course, of course,” Menga says, not at all appalled by my rudeness. By my lack of a formal greeting. A twinge of guilt strikes me. Do people consider it normal that I am so blustery?

She takes us up a set of creaky stairs. The landing is hardly used and at the top, has some cobwebs from unuse. She ignores them, so we do too. We follow her down a hallway to the reserved guest suite. All the older farmhouses this near to the deadlands have a guest suite reserved for the King’s Guard. It was part of the package when they were given the farms... no one else wanted property so close to the deadlands unless the houses were offered free with the stipulation that a suite always be available for those of us who get stranded in the area .

“This is it,” Monesse M’irshlak says, unlocking the door and flipping on the light. The room looks satisfactory—not quite as basic as the dusty old wooden landing. The suites were built for a small bit of comfort for weary soldiers, especially those that might need medical attention.

There’s a small sitting area, a dining spot near the wide, glass-framed doors covered with a sheer white curtain, a bedroom behind the living quarters, and a door to what I’m sure must be the bathroom. Beyond the glass framed doors is a second-story porch that faces the direction of the deadlands.

“It’s lovely,” I say to the farmholder’s wife, who blushes and flings the dishtowel over her shoulder.

“Thank you. I clean it every other moon if there are no visitors. I’ll leave you to relax while I finish making dinner,” she babbles, but I’m hardly listening. Once she steps over the threshold, she looks like she may turn around.

I close the door and fling the lock hard enough to make it click.

Her footsteps echo down the wooden floors, somewhat sorrowful that she didn’t get as much gossip as she wanted.

As soon as the door closes, I stare at my bride, who pushes the hood from her head and speaks. “There’s one bed. Now, look. I understand you’ll want to sleep on the floor of your boss’s wife’s room, but I have to admit to feeling slightly guilty because you’re injured. So, I will allow you to sleep in my bed. But no funny business just because you have amazing abs, Dracula.”

“Do you babble just for the sake of talking, female? When will you get that we have no clue what the other is saying? Now, I want you to try to understand that I will bathe you. Will wash off the grungy ink from everywhere on your skin. Plus, you kind of smell.” I hold up my hands, as if she’s about to protest, even when I know she’s clueless. “It’s not your fault, not really. That sleeping gas exudes from your pores. You’ll be fine once we clean you up. Well, as pretty as you can be, I guess. You have nice freelig , when it’s not knotted up in a tangle on your head, so I guess there’s that. I wouldn’t expect other females to feel challenged by you, that’s for sure.”

I begin tugging on the brichet she wears, and she helps by sliding her arms out like I’m her lady’s maid. Huh.

I leave her standing in the bedroom while I head into the adjoining bathroom—small, to be sure, but at least we don’t have to head out to where the rest of the family gathers—and rinse it out, hanging it to dry. Then I run the shower so the water heats and turn back to my bride.

“Can we get this atrocious travel garment off you?” I lift her various layers of black skirts.

“Hey, now, hands off, buddy. I just told you. There are layers of social etiquette being broken here, doesn’t even matter that you have an eight pack. The lady of the manor does not do the pool boy, if you know what I mean. Or in your case, the security guard.”

“Come now, this is not the time for being shy. We’re married,” I chide, tugging at her bodice, suddenly eager for a glimpse of what she looks like.

Bride giggles and my heart lifts at the sound. She bats my hands away, then holds her skirt in her hands and runs around the bed. I happily give chase and she squeals louder.

“Now just hold still,” I grin, showing fang as I clasp her to me.

“No, no,” she laughs, giggling still. “I know I’m irresistible. Fight the urge, soldier. Take control of yourself. Ignore my sweet pheromones. I can’t keep them from exuding from my pores.”

I race my fingers along her sides, tickling her gently as she slaps my hands away.

“I’ll get you naked and you’ll have to quit moving,” I say. “Otherwise, you’ll be slippery when wet.”

“How would you like if I took your clothes off?” She slides her soft fingers into the edges of my shirt, but apparently forgot she’d popped off all my buttons earlier .

Her laughter halts and her eyes grow wide as she skims her touch along my scaled skin—the scales that automatically soften for her sweet touch.

“So warm,” she hisses. “Still improper, you naughty vamp.”

“Hold still, lovely,” I murmur, trying to ignore the way my heart pounds. Surely it’s from the chase around the room and not the excitement of being so near her?

So I tickle her sides again and she giggles, stepping back from my arms. I don’t like that, not one bit. I take a step forward, reaching for her wispy layers of skirt again.

She slaps my palms and I slide my hand up her outer thigh, along the curve of her hip and to her waist. A bit higher and I can feel the curve of her bosom...

But then, somewhere, a zip-like contraption hisses down the side of her, and her breasts pop free. Spring out. Fall forward.

Like, into my hands.