Angie's Gladiator: A SciFi Alien Romance Page 8

  “Why this obsession with resonance?” Vordis sounds openly skeptical even as his hand trails along my shoulder.

  “It’s a big deal.”

  “If you say so.”

  Maybe guys aren’t as in love with the idea of a soulmate as girls are. Me, I love the idea of my other half being chosen for me. Sure, I’ve been told that it’s biological, but I see how happy Harlow and Liz are with their men and how much the sa-khui guys miss their wives and children, and I’m so envious I could cry. If I had a resonance mate, I wouldn’t be in this alone. “Resonance is…the universe pointing an arrow toward that perfect person for you.”

  “I suppose that is good…if you need an arrow.”

  “You make it sound like you already know what I want.”

  “Because I do.”

  Is that his breath teasing my hair? My entire body lights up in response. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that you are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen,” Vordis murmurs. “I do not care that you have a child in your belly or that you cannot resonate. I know that my eyes have only ever seen you.”

  With those words, I melt. No one has ever made me feel so pretty when I have felt so very low. “Vordis…”

  “Angie.” He touches my shoulder again. “When I said I would kiss you and only you, I meant it. Do you wish to kiss me? If you do not, I will leave now and keep my distance.”

  I want to roll onto my back and look at him, but the baby’s so heavy now he’ll crush my innards and make me uncomfortable. I sit up instead, the act itself a struggle with my ungainly body. “Vordis,” I say again as he sits up, too. I gaze at him in the dark, loving the look of his handsome face, the intensity burning in his eyes. “With how pregnant I am, I don’t think I can do much more than kiss.”

  “I asked for nothing more,” he says, and reaches out to gently touch my mouth. “But if you will let me, I would like to kiss you.”

  I feel as shy as a virgin suddenly. “Okay.”

  Vordis grins. “Have you kissed before?”

  “Uh, yeah.” I gesture at my belly. “Obviously.”

  His eyes widen. “Kissing makes you pregnant? I thought mating did.”

  I blink at him. “No, kissing doesn’t make you pregnant. It leads to other things, though.” Things that I’m starting to wonder about with him. “Have you ever, er, mated with anyone, Vordis? Any girl gladiator ever get your attention?”

  He shakes his head slowly. “I am a’ani. Such things are not for us.”

  Being a’ani sounds terrible. Clones sound like they’re treated as less than human, and my heart squeezes with sympathy for him. No wonder he has such a hard time believing I want to touch him. I take his hand in mine. “We’ll go slow, then.”

  “Do we require a bone to spin?”

  I bite back the urge to laugh, because his face is so gravely serious. “No, it’s all right. We can do this without a bone.” I shift uncomfortably on my backside. “Perhaps we should stand, though. This stone floor is hard on my butt.”

  “I have a solution,” Vordis says, and pulls one of my pillows into his lap. Before I can say anything else, he tugs my hand, indicating I should move forward into his arms. While it does look inviting, I worry I’ll be too ungainly. I shake my head to clear it of such doubts—if Vordis likes me like this, then he won’t care if I’m heavy.

  I manage—with a tangle of arms and awkward legs—to get into his lap and I put my arms around his neck. He’s not as oversized as some of the other aliens. Tall, yes, muscular, definitely, but he doesn’t dwarf me or loom over me in a way that’s uncomfortable. It’s nice, really, and if it wasn’t for the red skin, fangs, and the pointed ears, I could imagine that he’s just a perfect human specimen. I study his face, biting my lip. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “I mean what I say,” Vordis tells me simply. “I would not give you lies.”

  Right. I decide to move things forward before I inadvertently insult him again. “It doesn’t have to be a game, by the way. Most people kiss just because they want to.”

  His gaze is utterly intense as he looks down at me. "I want to."

  Oh, damn. I want to, too. This man is so beautiful and protective that it makes me want all kinds of things that I shouldn't. I don't think about that right now, though. I reach up and touch his cheek, caressing his jaw…and I'm surprised to feel a fine bit of stubble there. "You can grow a beard?"

  "Is that required for kissing?" he asks, confused.

  I chuckle, because I'm getting distracted. I keep stroking his jaw. "No. I'm just surprised. Most of the other aliens don't seem to be able to." There are a few beards on some of the islanders, but the sa-khui are baby smooth on their jaws.

  "If I do not groom myself, it will grow in slowly over time. If you like it, I will keep it."

  "I like it," I tell him shyly.

  "Then it is yours."

  Kind of a weird thing to offer, but it's sweet. I touch his jaw again and then lean in, straining to brush my lips against his. He doesn't lean in to help me out, his body stiff and awkward, so I tilt his chin and give him a gentle tug forward until he gets the picture. My lips skate over his in the barest of kisses, and I'm startled at how good his mouth feels against mine. It sends a surge all through my body that's shocking in its intensity.

  Pregnancy hormones, I decide. My breasts tingle in response and feel heavy.

  He groans, the sound low and delicious in my ears. "I wish to do it again."

  "Oh, we will," I promise him, smiling, and this time, Vordis needs no encouragement to meet my lips. His lips rub against mine with enthusiasm, and then he seems to realize that more isn't always better, and he touches my jaw, holding me against him as he experiments with caresses. He gives my mouth soft little pecks, playful nips, and gentle rubs, and I shiver with how delicious it is to just explore one another.

  "I like this," he murmurs. "But only with you. I cannot imagine doing this to another female."

  I love the thrill that his words send through my body. "You might resonate to someone later on," I caution.

  "No," he tells me, his fingers tracing my jaw. "I am dedicated to you and only you."

  He might need some practice with kissing, but the man needs no practice with flattery. He's got me melting with every word he says, and I sigh happily. "People use their tongues when they kiss, too," I offer, because the light flirty kisses are fun, but they won't be enough. I'm craving everything this man has to give.

  Vordis grunts acknowledgment and then leans in to kiss me once more. Before I can take the lead, his tongue flicks against my lips in a silent demand for entry, and I moan as he sweeps in, taking control of the kiss. He doesn't need practice with this, I realize, dazed as he kisses the hell out of me, his tongue flicking and exploring and teasing in ways that make me hot with need and desperate for more.

  Vordis can kiss the pants off a girl.

  I'm breathing hard and practically mewing like a kitten when he releases my mouth, and my breasts tingle again when he rubs his nose gently against mine. "I like that even better," he murmurs. "Did I do well?"

  "Oh, god, yes."

  He chuckles, the sound rumbling from his chest. "I am glad I pleased you. Can we kiss more, or is that enough?"

  "More, please," I tell him, tilting my face up to meet his, and then we don't speak for a very long time. We kiss so much that I'm dazed with the feel of him, my body throbbing with an easy, sensual pleasure I haven't felt in forever. He seems to kiss just right—no slobber, no overly aggressive tonguing, just a perfect meshing with my mouth. In the space of one kissing session, he rises to the top of my kissing list, surpassing every ex-boyfriend I've ever had in the past.

  The baby kicks at my belly, the movement strong enough to make me wince and pull away. It shifts, turning restlessly in my stomach as if protesting, and I reluctantly pull away as the world slowly sinks in again.

  Right. Pregnant.

  "May I touch your stomach?" Vord
is asks, voice reverent.

  "Oh, of course." I feel awkward. It's not something a girl wants to hear when making out, and I feel even more awkward when I realize that my heavy breasts have started leaking inside my tunic.

  Vordis doesn't seem to know or care that I'm feeling awkward. I'm surprised when he reaches under the heavy hem of my fur-lined tunic and puts his hand directly on my taut belly. I force myself to relax, even though the touch is achingly intimate. He doesn't try anything weird, naturally. This is Vordis, who holds himself to some sort of moral code I can't even begin to understand. He spreads his fingers over my belly, his palm flat, and gently caresses the stretchmarks that are hidden in the darkness.

  "It has stopped moving."

  "Give it a moment," I tell him, and I'm waiting, too. I can feel his thumb rub lightly over my skin, and my nipples prick as if he's touching them instead. Should I be aroused by this? I don't know the rules of this sort of thing—I've never read a single baby book and I'm probably the least educated woman when it comes to being pregnant. All I know is that I love his touch and I want to cuddle up against him for the next several weeks and never leave his lap. "Have you ever seen a pregnant woman before?" I ask him, thinking of the way he and Thrand have watched me so closely.

  "Of course. I have seen them in the stands at arena fights. And Liz and Harlow are carrying, are they not?"

  Oh. Good point. "Then why the fascination with me?"

  "Because you are Angie and I am dedicated to you," he murmurs, and his thumb moves lightly again.

  The baby moves slightly, as if shifting into a more comfortable position inside my stomach. I inwardly wince as the new position puts pressure on my bladder, because the last thing I want to do is leave my spot, but the baby has other ideas.

  "I felt it move," Vordis tells me, and there's a sound like pleasure in his voice.

  "So you did." I can't help but smile. We sit there quietly for a while longer, his big hand on my belly, and then the insistence in my bladder becomes too much. "I should get up soon and get to bed."

  "I will sleep with you," Vordis announces.

  I stare at him in surprise. “What?”

  “You said you were cold at night. I do not like the thought of that, so I will share my warmth with you.” Vordis pulls his hand out from under my tunic and then offers it to me to help me stand. “It will not be mating, of course. Just sleeping.”

  “Oh, right.” I don’t know if I’m amused or humiliated because my mind totally went to “mating.”

  9

  VORDIS

  I help Angie settle into her blankets and get ready to sleep before I lie beside her again. She is embarrassed to have to use the outhouse, and even more embarrassed that I help her out there, but such things do not bother me. I have endured much worse living in slave pits next to twenty other a'ani, waiting for a battle or to be assigned a new task. I have eaten from troughs and shat in the same bucket as a dozen other males. Helping Angie is nothing.

  I strip my clothing off when we return to her cave, and I notice she averts her gaze, as if such things are not to be seen. Humans are curious with their shyness about the body, but she will be warmest if my skin is next to hers, and I tell her so. She changes into a lighter tunic, insisting I turn my back so she can switch leathers, and I do so. When she curls up in bed beside me and puts her cold hands on my skin, she sighs with contentment.

  "Gosh, you're warm," she murmurs, sleepy.

  "Very." I have never been so pleased about my body temperature before now. A'ani are warmer than humans, it seems, though we share many other similar characteristics. She clings to me, then discreetly pushes one of the furs over my naked groin before sighing and snuggling close once more. Her breathing evens out, and I put a hand on her shoulder, feeling her skin against mine for the second time. The leather tunic she wears has no sleeves and a skirt that goes to her knees. I touch her arm, thinking of how soft she is, and close my eyes.

  My cock aches, heated as if fevered. I try not to think about it, because such things are not for a'ani. If I were in the slave pits and my cock hardened, one of my masters would pull me aside and give me an injection of suppressant. A'ani are not treated like other gladiators, who are encouraged into full rut so they can fight for females and breed more slaves upon them. A'ani are tools, and we work best as a team. A distracted a'ani is a useless one, and all a’ani are sterile. Even though I am over thirty years old, I have never felt the urge to take a female.

  I am feeling that particular urge all too hotly at the moment, though, and there are no suppressants on this planet.

  I am not entirely sure how to handle such things. My palms itch and I long to grab myself and rub until I am free of the throbbing torment, but I do not want to wake Angie. I think of things other than mating, trying to distract myself. I think of hunting, of my feet crunching in fresh snow. I think of the way the salty ocean tastes on the air when a brisk wind hits my face. I think of the clouds overhead that hide the stars from view more often than not, and the two weak suns that shine in the sky. I think of the purple, jagged mountains, and how much there is to see in this harsh landscape.

  Eventually, the throb of my loins eases into a dull ache, and I can feel my length receding. Pleased, I relax and rub my thumb over Angie's skin as she sleeps. Her mouth is open slightly, and she snores, just a little.

  It makes my cock hard again.

  I think of the mountains once more, until the need to rut goes away. I have waited many, many years for this. I can wait a few months more. Or a year, if I must. I will wait until Angie is ready for a male. I will wait until she welcomes me with open arms to take me into her body. I can be patient.

  My cock throbs again, reminding me that not all of me is patient, and I think of the mountains that edge the furious ocean until I fall asleep.

  * * *

  The next morning, Angie is shy. She keeps her gaze averted as she puts on her layers of clothing, but she lets me help her to put her pants and her boots on. Despite my vows that I only wish to be of service to her, she seems uncomfortable, so I help her out to the fire and then deliberately give her space. She is having more difficulty moving around, and I think I will stay near camp until she has her young. I scoop a cup of hot tea out of the hanging pouch and offer it to Angie, who smiles at me gratefully as she eases herself onto her regular seat. A dark-skinned female with a child in her arms offers my female one of the hard, fatty cakes, and Angie takes it, nibbling on it. Now that she is settled, my thoughts turn to the encampment. There are things I can do here, though I will miss the adventure of hunting. I can fish, though, and repair nets, and scrape hides—

  “Vordis!” Thrand crosses the beach with strong, angry strides, his face a thundercloud.

  I expected this moment. He will be furious that I have spent time with Angie without him. He will want to sleep in her bed and share warmth with her. He will linger around the camp if I do so, and my irritation surges. I deliberately turn away from him, moving to the nets that are spread over an outcropping of nearby rocks to dry. One of the females—I do not know her name—gathers one, gives me a faint smile, and then heads down the beach to meet a friend and fish with her. I take the net that is left, but before I can sling it over my shoulder, Thrand is there. He gives my arm an angry smack to get my attention.

  “Brother, where have you been?”

  “In camp,” I say, knowing the answer is vague.

  His eyes narrow at me. “Cashol took Nadine and Penny and Steph hunting this morning. I waited for you thinking we could catch up, but that was before the suns were high in the sky. We will not catch up with them now unless you want to track them.”

  “You go,” I tell him, gesturing at the roiling ocean waters. “I will fish this day.”

  “Fish?” His lip curls. “Hunting is much better.”

  I agree—hunting is more enjoyable, but if I am fishing, I can watch Angie more closely. Hunting takes me out into the snows all day long. “Then go. I am f
ishing this day.”

  “I will stay with you,” Thrand says after a moment. “We are a’ani, after all.”

  I grit my teeth. “That means nothing on this world. You can do as you like. Go hunting. I do not care. We do not have to do things together.”

  Thrand studies me, his eyes narrowed. “Is that what you did last night? You deliberately did not return to the tent because you wished to prove you did not need me?”

  I scowl at him. Should I admit that I was with Angie? Taking care of her? He will just insist on doing the same. But Angie has shown no indication that she wishes to spend time with him…just me. Dark, delicious pride swells in my spirit and I cannot resist goading him. “I kept Angie warm under the furs in her cave.”

  His eyes blaze, his body going stiff. “You what?”

  “You heard me.” I toss the net over my shoulder, the wrapped rock-weights that dangle from the edges clacking against my arm. “She is cold in her cave at night. I warmed her. It was nothing more than that.” I do not tell him about the kissing. Such things are for her and me to share alone. “While you played games with the females on the beach, I did my duty to her.”

  Thrand grunts, and when I head down the beach toward the water, he stalks at my side. “You should have told me she needed us. I would have been there.”

  “She did not need ‘us,’” I tell him. “We do not have to be a’ani here. We can be our own people.”

  “But we are dedicated to her,” Thrand tells me.

  “I will remain dedicated to her,” I say. “You are free to do something else.”

  “Something else?” He snorts, and when I pick up the pace, he jogs at my side. “We are clones. If you do something, I should do it, too. Our minds and hearts are the same.”

  Anger boils in my belly. “We are not the same. We may be made from the same material, but we do not have to be the same person,” I snap at him. “We can think differently.”