The Alien's Virgin: An Alien SciFi Romance (Chief of Kurah) Page 7

  I want to answer, but my throat constricts and all I can hear is my heart pounding in my chest. This is worse than sixth grade math when Dr. Morrison asked me to do arithmetic on the spot and even though I knew the answer, all I could do was silently squirm under the penetrating eyes of my classmates. They laughed at me. This Kurah woman, though? She’s not laughing. If anything, the lines of her mouth deepen. “The Lowlands a dangerous place to be all alone,” she tells me.

  Her dagger catches a flash of sunlight. If that’s a veiled threat, point taken. Read and received. Loud and clear. The reminder of near death kicks my survival instincts into full gear and I finally manage to stammer out, “I’m not alone.”

  “Leyana, put her down.”

  His voice, that vibrating timber, brings a wash of relief through my blood.

  Her amber eyes flicker over my shoulder and her expression softens. She’s completely lost interest in me now and she sets me back down on the ground like a meddling child.

  Garock stands like a sturdy tree at the edge of the cliff. He’s so strong, that I haven’t noticed quite how worn down he is until now. He hunches at his shoulders and he’s littered in bruises and dotted with bumps from the venomous monkey-tails. He still looks like he could put up a good fight if push came to shove, but now that he’s among his own kind, he seems to let his guard down just a little.

  Leyana steps over to him and sizes him up from head to toe.

  “I heard about Faron at the Spirit Tree,” she says. “We expected the worst.”

  Garock’s eyebrows crumble. “You thought he killed me? Where is your faith?”

  “Nah, Chief.” A smile slits jagged across her face as though her lips were cut open with a dagger. “I assumed you had him on his knees, covered in blood and weeping like a newborn.”

  “I thought you expected the worst.”

  “Aye. Wouldn’t want you having all that fun without me.”

  She cups the back of his head and they touch foreheads briefly. The gesture is familial, intimate, and it makes my stomach curl up. I shouldn’t feel this pang of possessiveness that washes over me; jealousy is an ugly emotion and I know it does nothing but spoil a good thing. I don’t know the culture or their customs. For all I know, she could be his sister.

  And if she isn’t, if she’s something more, if they did the deed…well? So what? I’m not going to be that girl. I’m not going to get wildly insecure just because this man who I feel strangely connected to had a life before me. A life that included a gorgeous, badass, Xena Warrior Princess. It’s fine.

  Garock sets his hand on the woman’s shoulder to guide her around. “Leyana,” he says. “See what the Spirit Tree brought us. She is Goddess Wylah in the flesh.”

  Leyana’s eyes flicker over me as she takes me in. I feel her sizing up every flaw, trying to equate the word goddess with the pale, awkward looking woman in front of her.

  “The Spirit Tree brought her?” Leyana asks. Even I can hear the skepticism in her tone. “For what purpose?”

  “To give us the strength we need to defeat the Selith.” Garock sounds so damn confident, but I can tell Leyana isn’t buying it.

  “It is an honor, my Goddess,” Leyana says and dips her head in a small bow. Her eyes don’t leave mine and her expression is inquisitive. I can’t blame her for being skeptical. I don’t buy it myself.

  I laugh with too much air in my lungs and rub my hand over the back of my neck. “You can just call me Kennedy, or whatever.” I feel stupid for saying that, like a Hollywood starlet. I come off as snooty and my face turns crimson.

  “Let’s take you back to the camp,” Leyana says as she gives Garock’s shoulder a pat. “Get you two healed and rested. Much has happened in your absence.”

  Garock nods and starts walking forward. When he comes to me, he moves his hands to my waist and starts to lift me as though he means to carry me. I’ve had enough of being royalty. This whole goddess thing leaves a bad taste in my mouth, makes me feel like a phony, so I squirm in his hands. “Put me down. I can walk on my own, thank you.”

  My tone is sharp and he complies like I knew he would. “As you wish,” he says, but that only makes me feel worse. He wants nothing more than to worship me and take care of me. I should be the luckiest woman alive right now.

  But I don’t feel that way, I feel like a liar, like a fraud. Garock’s belief in me is unshakable, but Leyana casts a glance at me from the corner of her eyes and I know she sees right through me. So will the rest of the camp. I feel sick to my stomach as anxiety wraps around my gut like barbed wire.

  “Keep up, Goddess,” Leyana says and I find myself power walking just to match the long strides of the Kurah. I keep my eyes on the ground and the backs of my eyes burn with shame. I want to go back home. I want to dive under the covers, bury my face in my pillow, and never come out. This isn’t going to end well.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN: GAROCK

  It is nearly half a day’s walk to my tribe. My Goddess is quiet beside me and refuses to allow me to carry her. I keep an eye on her weary steps carefully and catch her when she trips, even as she pushes me away. There is a distance in her eyes that I do not understand. She fixes her gaze stubbornly at the skyline as though she can see something the rest of us cannot and refuses to look at me.

  We pass a bush flush with deep black berries and I pluck a spring. “Eat,” I tell my Goddess as I push it towards her.

  She shakes her head. “I’m not hungry.” I can see the tired lines in her face. She is acting like a child. A spike of frustration peaks through my blood and my Kaul flairs up. Enough of this. I am a Kurah Chief. It is not in my nature to bend to another’s will. However, I have sworn to obey every of my Goddess’s wishes, except in this.

  “Eat.” I am firm this time. It is a demand. I rip a handful of berries from their stems and forcibly put them in her hand, curling her fingers around them. I do not like to be forceful with her like this, but I will not allow her to disregard her own needs. She blinks at me and, when her eyes catch on mine, her hard edges soften. She stares at the deep blue smudges on her fingers for a moment before she finally begins to eat, one berry at a time.

  My temper is sated for the moment and the fire in my blood fizzles out. I turn my attention to the road ahead before something pings off my shoulder. When I wipe it off, my fingers come back blue. I see Kennedy smile, a mischievous grin. The corners of her mouth are tinged with the same deep blue that struck my shoulder. My heart melts in my chest and I feel the urge to take her chin in my hand and lick the smudges from each edge of her mouth. I would start and end wars for that smile.

  “Berries are for eating,” I remind her.

  “What?” she asks innocently. Her eyelashes flutter. “I didn’t do anything.”

  I pick out a berry from my stem and flick it at her. It bounces off her head and she lets out a delighted squeak. She tosses another at me, but this I catch in my mouth. That sends her into a new wave of laughter, a beautiful sound that rolls out from the depths of her lungs.

  When I turn my attention ahead again, Leyana looks over her shoulder and shoots me an admonishing stare. Behave, her eyes tell me.

  I am a Kurah Chief and warrior. But my Goddess makes me smile, makes me want, and me act like someone mad with sun fever. Perhaps the toxin stings have gone to my head more than I realized.

  I squeeze Kennedy’s shoulder. “I will be right back,” I tell her. Then I quicken my steps and catch up with Leyana, walking side by side with her. I lapse into silence, knowing that Leyana will not hesitate to tell me what is on her mind.

  I am not wrong. She starts in immediately. “When we get to camp, she should go to the Seer,” she says.

  I stare at Leyana. There is a weight on her; I can see it in her eyes. “You don’t believe she is the Goddess,” I state.

  Leyana’s eyes flicker towards mine. “Do you? Look at her, Garock.”

  We both turn behind us. A couple paces away Kenn
edy plucks a berry off the stem and begins to have a conversation with it before she pops it in her mouth. “Look at you, big, fat berry. King of the Berries, are you? Oh, excuse me, your highness, all bow to King Berry…raaar, not for long.”

  Leyana arches her eyebrow at me.

  “She’s different from us,” I tell Leyana. “Goddesses work in strange ways.”

  “Do they? And when was the last time you met a Goddess?”

  My jaw clenches. “I know what she is. I saw her come from the Spirit Tree—”

  “Yes, right before Faron came,” Leyana says. “A strange coincidence.”

  I narrow my eyes. “What are you saying?”

  Leyana’s mouth curls in a frown and she spits out a swear. “Kssal. Men are blind.” She juts her chin forward. In the horizon, I can see the feathered tips of our tribe’s tents. “We are getting close. You should warn the Goddess.”

  Leyana’s eyes are hard and her jaw is set as though forcing harsh words under her tongue. I do not pry her open. This is not over, but for now, I have my Goddess to tend to. I peel away from Leyana and slow my steps to walk side by side with Kennedy instead.

  “We’re nearly to my tribe.”

  She lifts her head to look up. Her eyes widen. “Oh. Wow. What should I do?”

  “We do not often have strangers in our tribe. They will be curious. Once you tell them that you are the Goddess, their fears will be quieted.”

  Her eyes meet mine pleadingly.

  “Or I can tell them.”

  “Yes, please. Thank you.”

  Before I can step away, her hand catches mine.

  “Garock.” I turn to face her. Her eyes are wide and her emerald irises vibrate. “Please don’t leave my side.”

  She is shaking. I can feel it in her grip. I lace my fingers in hers and squeeze her small hand. “I am not going anywhere. I promise.”

  The Kurah are not affectionate. We are warriors. We reserve touch for fighting. However, when my Goddess clings to my hand with fear echoing in her eyes, I find myself unable to let her go. I hold her hand in mine as the Kurah campsite grows closer.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN: KENNEDY

  This place is insane. It’s like Pocahontas on steroids. The Kurah live in large wigwams that litter the ground and stick out like small hills. Their dwellings are made of long wooden poles, arched together at the top and decorated with quilts. The Kurah themselves look a lot like Garock and Leyana, all are at least six or seven feet tall, sun-kissed skin, with long hair tied back in intricate braids, some laced with beads and feathers. Their standard attire seems to be as little as possible, with strips of leather to cover the essentials, but other than that, they’re hanging free. Some don’t even bother with that and I advert my gaze from a bare-breasted mother holding her small child. The children catch me off guard, it’s strange to see kids with black tattoo-like markings running up and down their skin. I feel like I should call CPS.

  But that’s just how the Kurah are born. I must look weird to them, too, still decked out in what’s left of my Pilgrim uniform from work. I hope the fact that I’m a red head isn’t a problem. Back in the day people used to get stoned for being ginger, it could happen. Everyone seems to be busy at work, either beating animal hide, corralling children, polishing armor, or sharpening the thin edges of their weapons. When I step foot onto camp they all stop what they’re doing, one by one, and turn their gaze on me.

  I want to shrink into the ground and become a seed. But Garock slips his hand to the small of my back, coaxing me forward. Their eyes dance curiously over me, sizing me up, but as soon as they see Garock their eyes light up. The word “Chief” murmurs off their lips and follows us through as they reach out to touch him, brushing their fingertips across his skin, clasping his hands and shoulders firmly as a sign of brotherhood. I knew Garock was someone important, but to see the respect that shines in their eyes makes me wonder who this man is. Garock acknowledges each of them with a name, a nod, and a smile, matching enthusiasm for enthusiasm. The words “I am fine” leave his lips more than once, along with “Faron does not know yet he is taunting fate. We will show him.”

  When he comes to an elderly woman whose skin is winkled and ash grey, he leans down and presses his forehead briefly against hers. It’s very clearly a show of respect. When he pulls back, her eyes are on his.

  “You have been gone,” she says. Her voice is as raspy as sandpaper.

  He nods. “Faron and his men found me. I fought them. I won the battle, but Faron will be preparing for war.” He looks at the woman when he speaks, but talks loudly enough for everyone to hear. “We are not alone. The Spirit Tree has brought us a gift.”

  My heart hammers in my chest. All the curious eyes turn to me as the pit of my stomach clenches up making me feel sick. Part of me wants to tug on his arm, pull him aside, and stop him from lying to his tribe. I’m not the Goddess they’re looking for. But their curious eyes turn into hopeful, wondering eyes with every word Garock speaks that I realize couldn’t stop Garock if I wanted to.

  Luckily, Leyana interrupts him for me. “Why don’t we discuss the gift later?” she says, her voice full of authority. “After you two have had some rest.”

  There are low murmurs all around. Some Kurah stare at me, unabashedly. Apparently, they don’t have the same it’s rude to stare rule here. They know I have something to do with all of this, but they’re not sure what. Truth is, neither do I. All they know is that their Chief seems fairly keen of this new person in the tribe. My eyes lock on Garock instead and I plead telepathically: help!

  A noise jerks me out of my failed attempt at telepathy. Small feet padding. Barking. I know that bark. I swerve around and see T-Bone scurrying through the crowd.

  “T-Bone!” I shout. He leaps at me, his little claws tickling my legs, and I scoop him up into my arms. His little body wiggles with enthusiasm as he covers my face in kisses. “Oh my God, I’ve missed you too! Look at your new do!”

  The Kurah have taken care of him, at least. The too-long strands of fur that tuff out from his face are braided with small bands at the end of them. I laugh. Maya’s going to have a cow.

  “The medicine man is waiting for you,” Leyana says. Everything about Garock is big, big build, big passions, big beliefs, it must be a challenge to rein him in. “I’ll take care of her,” she adds and cocks her head towards me.

  The thought of leaving Garock’s side even for a second has my heart hammering in my chest. He slips his hand to my shoulder and gives it a reassuring squeeze. “Leyana will take care of you,” he says. “I won’t be long.”

  “Yeah,” I chirp, my nerves making my voice unnaturally high. “Right on. Or whatever.” I hold T-Bone close, at least I have him now.

  Garock gives me a last look before he leaves me begrudgingly. Leyana is less patient when she grabs my arm and says, “Come. This way.” She guides me to a large tent and pulls aside the animal hide flap to let me in.

  It’s far larger inside than it looked from the outside. The hut is thick with the smell of incense and herbs and it makes my nose tingle with the urge to sneeze. The floor is covered in thick, patterned rugs. There are a couple large chests on either end of the tent and the place is littered with small idols and artifacts—carvings that have been shaped into trees, precious stones that take the form of Kurah figures. The thought pops in my head: this must be Garock’s tent.

  I instantly feel at home here though I can’t say why. Maybe I’ve just seen this scene before in Tolkien novels and it feels familiar. Two Kurah women sit on their knees beside two water basins come alert once I come in.

  T-Bone squirms out of my arms and rushes to a bowl of water which he laps up quickly. Clearly, he feels at home here, too.

  “This is Kaela and Seireh,” Leyana says, motioning to the two subservient women. “They will make sure all your needs are met.”

  “I don’t know if I have a lot of needs.” Before I can further protest Leyana g
ives me a good shove forward and I stumble towards them. The women grab me, coo over me, and talk so quickly I can barely understand them. Before I know it, they’re taking my clothes off and dabbing thick, pasty ointment on my nicks and scrapes. I quickly cover my chest shyly.

  “Do you have like a…something I can wear?”

  They exchanged confused glances before one of the women goes into the chest and pulls out a robe, and drapes it across my shoulders. It’s soft, far too big for me, but I feel slightly better being covered and I hug it to my body. Meanwhile, the other woman starts wringing out a washcloth and dabs it over my arm.

  “Seriously, I can do that,” I say.

  “You belong to the Chief,” Kaela says. “We take care of the Chief’s things.”

  “Oh, no, I’m not…for one, I don’t belong to him, like some prized possession, and two, I don’t even know if it’s official or what—”

  “I will take it from here.” The deep, thunderous voice stops us in our tracks. Garock steps inside, so tall that he has to dip down to pass through the tent flap. He looks good. The dirt has been scrubbed from his face and the leather tunic he wears is fresh and pattered with beads and feathers. His wild mane of hair is tied back into a bun allowing me to see his strong cheekbones that accentuated by his burly, scruffy jaw. I’m suddenly extraordinarily conscious of how bare I am underneath the robe and I tug it tighter around my body.

  The servants immediately obey their Chief. They rise, bowing their heads, and dip out of the tent. I’m alone with Garock. I feel incredibly vulnerable, like a rabbit in the jaws of a wolf. For all his brawn and bark, however, he’s nothing but gentle with me, and I’m reminded of that when he sits down beside me and wrings out the bathing towel. The excess water clinks in the basin.

  “Give me your arm.”

  Still clutching my loose robe to my chest, I extend an arm. He rubs the washcloth over my skin and droplets trickle up my arm and under my robe.