Pheromone, page 37
part #1 of For the Love of Aliens Series
He walks slowly into the room, dressed in a different outfit today. The last three times I’ve seen him, he’s had the same military uniform on, that fabric woven of stars. This morning, he’s sporting a buttoned jacket in bright red, black pants tucked into white boots, and white gloves. He looks shiny and pretty, like he’s dolled-up for a special occasion.
I don’t look at his eyes.
That’s when I get into serious trouble.
And to think, I felt bad for wanting to run with Abraxas while this guy slowly starved to death.
He appears in front of me and snatches my chin in his fingers, lifting my gaze up to his. I resist, but the pull is there, and when I can’t control it, it takes over. Our gazes lock, and my entire body turns into a supernova. Is that the right space term? I don’t know anything about space terms!
I’m trembling as he holds my chin and stares into my goddamn soul.
The pheromones, those can be blamed for my hard nipples, for the way I squeeze my thighs together, for the breathy sound that whispers past my parted lips. But these other feelings? This … this sense that our differences don’t matter, that the species we were born to is less important than our connection with one another, that I can’t shake. I’ve met you before. A thousand times before. A million.
I jerk my face away and slap his hand to get his gloved fingers off my chin.
I refuse to admit that I woke up with my hand pressed against the wall, that strange red lace covering my skin, holding me there. Gross. When I tore my palm away, I ripped some of them and blood dribbled down the wall only to be absorbed by yet more of the pulsing threads.
“You want some wine?” I ask, ignoring him and the effect he has on me. “How about a cookie?”
“We must have a civil discussion,” he tells me, standing far too close to me for a stranger. I want to kick him in the nuts but again, do these moth guys even have nuts? Something tells me that yes, yes they do. With this chemistry between us, this attraction, there’s no way that we’re not … compatible.
“What’s uncivil about offering you refreshments?” I move to lift the wine bottle to my lips and then set it aside. Rurik watches me with his dark eyes narrowed in suspicion. I suppose I should find them creepy, solid black, twice as large as they should be. Instead, they’re a rabbit hole I keep tumbling down without meaning to.
“Is there something wrong with the wine?” he asks me, and a strange tension enters the room. I freeze where I am, seated on the table and wishing I’d been less bold and worn more clothes. His gaze moves back to my face, but I’m staring at his chest insead, at that red fur at the base of his throat. I want to touch it. Is it soft? I almost slap myself to knock the thought loose. With every second that passes here, I feel like I’m being unfaithful to Abraxas.
I have never felt lower as a human being, as a being in general.
Rurik reaches out and takes the bottle, studying the label before he lifts it to his own mouth and takes a massive swallow. I’m dumbfounded as I turn to look at him. I wasn’t aware that alien moths drank wine. It’s a strange sight, his pretty mouth around the neck of the bottle, his wings fluttering in agitation, his antennae like massive horns in his sea of white hair.
I fight the urge to put the table between us. I can deal with this through sheer force of will. I am not a basic animal with no control over my instincts and urges. That is literally what’s supposed to set humans and animals apart, isn’t it? You’ve got this, Eve.
The prince makes a face, holding the bottle aside and curling his lip in disgust.
“I understand that this liquid is a stimulant for humans, but it tastes of spoiled fruit.”
“It is spoiled fruit,” I explain, and it takes some effort on my part not to laugh. I take a bite of the cookie and discover that it’s pistachio-flavored. I’m impressed. Avril said the prince would go out of his way to get me whatever I wanted, and I guess in some aspects that’s true. Whatever I want to eat. Whatever I want to wear. But not whoever I want to see. Not whoever I want to love. Not freedom of movement or choice. “You can drink that?”
“I can consume whatever food and drink that my mate consumes,” he explains, setting the bottle aside on the table. I refuse to unpack that statement, but a joke slips out anyway. Humor is how I deal with shitty situations. Always has been. Always will be.
“Then if I were you, I wouldn’t down a whole pizza, a dozen hot wings, and a half-dozen bottles of beer. Next morning? Heartburn. All day. Sunrise to sundown.”
“You are deflecting,” he says, and I notice that his mouth actually moves to match the words coming out of it. That’s … odd. I swear that when I met him before, that wasn’t the case. Like with Abraxas, like with Hyt, I could see their mouths making their native sounds, and it was only in the translator that I heard English. Synchronicity contacts, remember? How could I have possibly forgotten the secret eye surgery I was given while unconscious. Cue expressionless face.
“Deflecting?” I scoff and grab the pitcher of water off the table, pouring myself a glass. I down it like it’s booze and then pour another. “You don’t know me.”
“I do not, but I would like to.”
That makes me laugh for real. It’s a bitter sound. Can’t help it.
“You sure have a funny way of showing that,” I tell him, staring pointedly at his chin. I try to keep my attention neutral by looking at a boring part of his body. Doesn’t work. Goddamn, that mouth. He has the mouth of a pouty pop star. How is that even fair? Some part of me feels like he’s the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen—save for Abraxas. “Pinning me to the floor of my own den, kidnapping me in the nude, locking me up.”
“You are not locked up. You have the freedom to go anywhere on this ship.” There’s a growl in his words, some low, grating sound of frustration that’s definitely not human. “You have not even tried.”
“I can go anywhere on this ship,” I repeat, wishing he’d move back a step or two. I decide to take the initiative, slipping past him and moving over to the wall of glass. I’m getting used to it, but I can only look at it if I pretend like it’s a planetarium or something. If I think too hard about it, I start to get dizzy again. “I can’t leave. That’s what being locked up looks like.”
“You will not be bound to this ship forever,” he snaps at me, getting way too close to my right side. There’s a venom in his words to rival Abraxas’ tail spikes. Yikes. Somebody has unresolved issues simmering beneath his courtly exterior. “You can travel the universe so long as you provide blood to me. You will only have to see me for small stints at a time, if that is what you so desire.”
“I can live with Abraxas?” I ask, turning to look at him with disbelief apparent in my face. “Seriously? You’ll let me go back to Jungryuk?”
“I …” he trails off, and I laugh again.
“Christ, you can’t even help yourself, can you?” I ask, sipping the water. I’m disappointed in him, and I can’t explain why. How can I be disappointed in a guy that I don’t know, that kidnapped me, that I don’t give two fucks about? “Stop lying to me.”
“He is not your mate. I am your bloody mate!” The prince turns and looks around, like he’s searching for something to break. He squeezes his hands into fists, making his gloves creak with the strength in them. “I should have let my soldiers kill him when he was trapped under their nets and writhing.”
I throw my water cup at the prince, and it hits the wall instead. I hear the sound of glass shattering, and that frustrating sense of vertigo sweeps over me. We’re going to be sucked into space. Ice-cold, silent darkness. My spirit will be forever trapped in the preserved shell of my body. I stumble, and Rurik catches me again, his hands at my elbow.
“The window is … did I break it …” I can’t breathe. All I can see in my head is that floating furniture. All I can think about are black holes and dying stars and things that humans maybe aren’t even supposed to know about.
I miss Earth so terribly in that moment that it rivals my longing for Abraxas.
“There is nothing you can do to break this window, my princess,” Rurik tells me, helping me into my chair. He kneels in front of me, and that expression of concern takes over his face again. His expressions are disturbingly relatable. “My poor judgment yesterday led you to incorrect conclusions. No comet struck this ship nor would it ever. My father has precise control over its movements. That section of the hallway is being tested with alternate gravity fields, that is all. It is perfectly safe.”
“I don’t know why this is happening to me,” I explain, even though I feel like I shouldn’t have to. I don’t owe this guy anything. He kidnapped me. What more do I need to know about him? He was dying, and you were going to let him die. Can he really be blamed for saving his own life? “Something about the idea of open space makes me dizzy as hell.”
“It is not an unexpected reaction for a planet-dweller.” He releases his hold on my arms which is good because my skin was starting to ache. I can quite literally feel my own blood throbbing inside my skin. When I imagine him feeding on me again—because we both know he has to do it—I get squirmy and uncomfortably hot beneath the collar. “You are not the first to have that reaction and you will not be the last.”
He rises to his feet, and I follow him up.
Unfortunately, that puts us chest-to-chest.
“I’m supposed to be your one, true mate, right?” I ask, reaching out to touch the front of his jacket. I may as well have grabbed his dick. His eyes close, his antennae sweep forward and brush across my hair, his wings spread behind him. I’m trembling as I swipe my palm down his chest, smoothing imaginary jacket wrinkles. “How can you prove that to me if Abraxas—the Aspis male—isn’t around? I should fall for you in spite of him, shouldn’t I?”
The prince pushes my hand away and turns, like he’s planning on circling me. I turn with him, and we do this bizarre dance with him in his military suit and me in my lingerie. He tugs at the fingers of his glove and then removes it, lifting his palm up to my face. I go still and allow him to touch me.
What a mistake that is.
Heat flows through me, and it’s my turn to close my eyes against the sensation. I start to bite down on my tongue again, desperate for the harsh bite of pain to knock sense into my bewitched brain. But … the last time I did that, he smelled my blood and it was game over. I don’t want him to feed from me yet. There are things I need. This is a negotiation, make no mistake.
I open my eyes.
“We can work something out, surely?” I ask before I notice that he isn’t looking at me. He’s staring at the gouge I made in the surface of the table.
“You not only count the days you have been separated from him, but you avoid the wine because you believe you might be pregnant.”
I stumble back, and he drops his arm to his side.
“Are you fucking spying on me?” I hiss, but of course he is. He controls Zero. I get the impression that she doesn’t blink without his permission. Not that … cyborgs need to blink. It’s just an expression.
“Did you not witness my blood lace?” He points his naked, claw-tipped finger to the ceiling. “I can see and feel everything that happens in these rooms.” He steps closer to me, and I back up. My ass slams into the couch and I find myself pinned there when he spreads his wings and brings them around me like a white cloak. “You cannot breathe without my intimate knowledge of your breath, of the way it skims your beautiful mouth, the softness with which it settles in your chest.” Rurik drags his knuckle down the side of my face, and I bite the inside of my cheek as hard as I can. I don’t care if I bleed.
As soon as that coppery substance coats my tongue, he’s groaning and squeezing his eyes shut again.
“So your father … he spies on this entire ship?” I ask, making the connection. Somehow, I can tell that the lace-like designs belong to Rurik, and the ugly ones belong to his dad. Can’t wait to meet the guy. Because I’m sure that’s what the plan is today. How can I be the stupid imperial princess without meeting the stupid imperial king?
“Everywhere but these rooms,” Rurik confirms, opening his eyes again. We stare at each other for what must be several minutes. He doesn’t move from his position, one hand on the sofa back on either side of me, his wings wrapped around but not touching me. “Which is why we must have a discussion. If we cannot come to an agreement, and you insist upon behaving this way outside of our chambers, we will both die.” He releases me and steps back, and I hate that I can feel slickness between my legs.
Rurik’s gaze drops to my thighs, to the bit of lace tucked between them. His antennae lift up, swiveling away from me. He can smell me. I’m sure of it. I look down at his slacks, mimicking the way he’s staring at me, and I see that there’s a significant tent in his too-tight pants.
Holy shit. Whatever he’s got down there, it’s huge. Maybe not Abraxas in his full-size form (which I definitely can’t take), but as big as he is when he’s shrunk down some. I didn’t expect that. Nice play, moth man.
We lift our gazes at the same time, and I frown.
“You’re telling me that if I don’t act the part of the princess … your dad will kill us?”
“Maybe not him.” Rurik stands up straight and fiddles with the buttons on his own uniform. For an alien moth, he sure is particular about his clothing. “But my brothers will. I have one-hundred-and-two power hungry siblings who are furious that I have found my mate before them.” He looks pointedly at me, but I don’t move. I’m afraid if I do, we might … and I would never do that to Abraxas. I would never betray him. I don’t want to betray him. “What my parents will do if you refuse me is force you into this.” He turns away and quickly tucks his hand back into his glove. “Despite what you might think, I do not want that.”
“Force me how?” I ask, and then immediately regret posing the question. “You’re saying that you’ll … rape me?” I can barely make myself speak the words. My mind drifts back to those chains on the wall at the brothel.
“If you’re so upset by it, why don’t you use your plentiful good fortune, become the Imperial Princess, and change it? You’d have that power, you know.”
Hyt’s words are impossible to ignore, the memory of them reverberating in my head. I haven’t forgotten. I’m coming into this conversation knowing that I’m going to lose in all the ways that matter. I have to make it count where I can.
“I do not want to do that,” Rurik repeats, and he sounds so unbelievably tired that I actually feel sorry for him. He stands by the table and touches his fingers to one of the macarons, like he’s never seen one before. I get the idea that he hasn’t. “But my parents will not accept anything less than our marriage.”
“Can’t we fake our way through the wedding night?” I almost laugh, but it wouldn’t be a sound of joy.
“If only such a horror could be avoided.”
I’m not sure if I have ever heard someone sound so salty about something in all my life. The prince won’t look at me now, turning away so that all I can see of him are his wings, his beautiful hair, and his antennae.
“Why do they care so much?” I need to understand exactly what’s going on here so I can figure out what to do. As it stands, I don’t know much more than ‘his penis will change shape to fit inside of you’. Thanks Avril for spewing the most important information first. “Does it matter if we fuck?”
Rurik laughs, the sound mixed with soft whispers as some of his real voice melds into the words spit out by the translator.
“It matters because they will do everything they can to avoid civil war. I cannot be left to wander around with a mate by my side who is not bonded to me while my brothers continue to flounder in their own searches. If necessary, I will be forced to mate you against your will. If I refuse, they will kill you and leave me to slowly starve to death. It is … not a pleasant way to go.”
His words make me sick with guilt. I was going to let him die like that. If he’d been an hour or two later, Abraxas and I would’ve been gone, and Rurik and I would never have seen each other again.
“How will they know?” Another question that likely has answers I don’t want to hear.
“They will know. I will have your lady-in-waiting explain the specifics. But believe me, my princess, when I tell you that there is no faking a mate bond.” He puts his hands down on a decorative table across the room, facing away from me. “I will bring you the Aspis male.”
I freeze up, unwilling to believe what I just heard. If he’s messing around with me …
“You’ll bring Abraxas here?” I say it, and I know right away that it’s wrong. Abraxas would never survive somewhere as sterile and unnatural as this. He belongs in those woods, and I couldn’t … I wouldn’t feel right taking him away from his home. I … “Let me go to him instead.”
There’s a long stretch of silence before Rurik answers.
“If you mate with me without complaint, if you participate in the wedding, if you show your best face to my parents and my people …” He pauses here, like there’s something he has to say but doesn’t want to. “If you bear my child, then I will let you keep him on this ship.”
My head rings with all of the things he’s just said.
Negotiate, Eve! This is your chance!
“Let’s break this down. If I marry you, if I ‘show my best face’, then I want to stay with Abraxas for half the year on Jungryuk.” I pause. “Half of a human year in exchange for half a year on this ship.” I almost throw up just making that bargain. The idea of living on this ship for six months at a time sounds like a hellish nightmare.
“That is not possible. I can only store so much of your blood at a time. I will need to see you at least once an Earth month. Perhaps twice.”
I grit my teeth, glaring at his back as he stands there bent over the table like he is the one suffering here. This bastard is going to be king because of me, and he has the audacity to act like it’s a chore?
