Ice Planet Barbarians: The Complete Series: A SciFi Alien Serial Romance (7 page)

It’s . . . not the worst place in the world to be. I mean, if I have my choice between the old cargo bay, alone in the snow, or snuggled next to the pussy-loving alien, I’m going to go with option number three.

I debate pretending to remain asleep, but there’s something big and hard prodding into my stomach that tells me that Vektal’s conscious, acutely aware of my presence, and far more generously equipped than any guy I’ve ever met.

I sit up, tugging the blankets around me. My breath fogs in the air, and I glance around the cave. Weak sunlight is pouring in through the door flap, and the fire has gone out. It’s bitterly cold unless I’m pressed next to Vektal, and the urge to crawl back against him and huddle for warmth is real and strong.

But he sits up and begins to adjust his clothing.
“Vy droskh,”
he tells me. I don’t know if that’s “good morning” or “damn it’s cold” or what. He gets up, and as he does, my stomach rumbles again.

Vektal squints at me.

“I know,” I say. “Trust me, I know.” It’s embarrassing for me, too.

He begins to unwrap the food from last night, but I make a face and shake my head. I mime that it burns my tongue. He chuckles and then makes a gesture that looks like a rocking baby, which puzzles me. I’m not following this conversation at all.

“Hungry,” I say. I rub my stomach and mime eating something. “Food?” Every inch of me feels like a mooch for finding a guy and then demanding he feed me, but “food” is easier to mime than “If you’d give me a nice weapon I’d catch my own breakfast.” For right now, we have to proceed in baby steps.

Vektal nods and begins to put on the gear he discarded overnight. He’s bare-chested this morning, and his pectorals are just as grimly fascinating as I suspected they would be. They’re like slabs of cold iron over his smoky blue chest. I remember the warm, suede-feel of his skin. He sure was nice to rub up against. I watch him dress, intrigued by the differences in our bodies. Over certain spots on his body, he has knobby ridges. They trail along the back of each arm to his elbow. The ridges glide down the center of his chest and smooth out somewhere between his pectorals and his navel. And his thighs have the bumpy, textured ridges, too. I wonder what purpose they’re for. They decorate his brow, too, and right down his nose.

He’s in a talky mood this morning, too. He holds a one-sided conversation with me as he slings his vest back over his chest and begins to tie his knives and blades back to their proper spots. I want to ask for one, but I don’t know his culture. Maybe it’s taboo for him to give me one and I’d insult him by asking. Right now I’m wary of pissing him off, because he’s the only lifeline I’ve got. I watch my breath fog in the air again as he continues talking, and I think of the girls at the ship, huddled together.

I hope they’re okay. God, I hope they’re okay. I need to get back to them today so they don’t worry. I can tell them what I’ve found . . .

Which, really, isn’t much. I’ve found face-eating fish that have stalks that look like bamboo. I’ve found a warm stream (full of the aforementioned face-eating fish), and I’ve found an alien that likes to eat pussy as a greeting.

All three things won’t help us get home. I haven’t found a city. I haven’t found another ship. I sure haven’t found anyone that speaks English. And to make matters worse, I’ve lost our only weapon. I’m not doing so hot at this save-the-day thing.

Vektal finishes tying his bags and pouches and then slips on boots. I sneak a peek at his toes just to satisfy my curiosity. Three large, splayed toes and a bony heel that was probably a fourth toe at some point in evolution. I probably wouldn’t be able to wear his boots either, and the thought depresses me as I shove my feet back into my uncomfortable stolen boots.

I stand and spots swim before my eyes. I weave, only to be pulled against a hard chest. He murmurs something in my ear and offers the food again, but I push it away. I’m not being picky. I cannot physically eat the stuff. I accept the water he pushes into my hand, and I drink it, but it’s not going to last me. Maybe I can convince Vektal to go back to where he captured me so I can hunt for my seaweed bars. At this point, I’m so hungry I’ll eat them even if they’ve turned to a block of ice overnight.

He leads me out of the cave, watching me as I follow him. A new powder has fallen overnight, and I look at the deeper snow with despair. So much for finding my old supplies.

Vektal gestures at his shoulders, bare of any sort of cloak since I’m wearing it. He kneels and indicates that I should climb onto his back and put my arms around his neck, piggy-back style. Well, this is humiliating. But I’m so tired and weak that I don’t protest. I put my arms around him and cling to his back, wrapping my legs around his waist. He pats one of the arms around his neck, says something soothing, and then he starts racing down the side of the mountain.

I’m stunned for a moment at how fast he is. He’s unaffected by the snow, his boots driving through the powder as if it’s nothing. He burns like a furnace inside, too, his skin so warm to the touch that the parts touching him are toasty warm and the parts exposed to the wind are like sticking a hand in a bucket of ice. It makes me burrow down even closer to his body once I realize he doesn’t need the cape at all. He’s just fine in this wintry landscape without it. So I push my head against his neck and press my cold face into his warm hair. He smells good, too.

Great, now I’ve got Stockholm syndrome.

He pushes down the mountainside, moving down the steep slopes as if they’re nothing. We pass through another copse of trees, and I realize for the first time that we’re heading the wrong way from the crash site. I haven’t been paying attention, dazed from hunger and cold. But this is wrong. Everyone up there is waiting for me, shivering and starving. I can’t leave them.

“Wait,” I say, tapping on his shoulder. “Vektal, wait!”

He pauses, and as he does, I slide off his back. I shiver immediately at the bitter cold, but I make him turn so I can point up the hill, back to the direction that I came. “We have to go that way and rescue the others.”

He shakes his head and points down the hill. In the direction he’s pointing, I can see thick trees and more greenery. He wants to go down the mountain.

But I can’t leave everyone behind. I insistently point back up. “Please. I need to go up there. There are more people. More women. They’re hungry and cold and don’t have anything.”

Vektal shakes his shaggy head and mimes eating. Then he points at the forest below us, down the snowy slopes.

I waver. Do I let him take me farther away to eat? Or do we immediately go up to the others and still starve? I hesitate. They probably already think something’s happened to me.

My stomach growls again. Vektal gives me an exasperated look. He says the food word again.
“Kuuusk.”

I bite my lip, thinking. I glance back at the mountain. Everything in me says I need to insist. But I’m feeling so weak and starved. I can convince him to go back later, can’t I? Once I’ve gotten something to eat?

And won’t it be better to show up not empty handed?

With a heavy sigh, I look back at him. His glowing blue eyes seem to be burning holes into me. “Kusk then up the hill, okay? Let’s get enough kuusk for everyone.”

Maybe a belly full of food will swallow my guilt.

• • •

VEKTAL

When my mate climbs atop my back again and wraps her small, soft limbs around me, I have to fight my pleasure. She’s cold and hungry and upset over something. The need to please her eats at my insides. I’ll bring down a meal for her so she can gorge and regain her strength. Right now, her pale skin is even paler, and I worry she’ll sicken and be too weak to accept a khui.

I have plans for my sweet mate. Whether she likes it or not, she’s going to take a khui. I’m not about to lose her now that I’ve found her.

The valley blossoms with teeming wildlife. I can tell from my mate’s easy grip on my neck that she doesn’t see the skulking snow-cats in the distance or the form of the sickle-beak hiding behind a nearby tree. My hunter’s gaze picks them out, and I search for a safe spot in which I can leave my mate without worry for a short time. She’s too weak to hunt for her own food or to defend herself if something should attack.

There’s a large boulder I can use for a lookout on the far side of the narrow valley, and I head there, pushing through the ever-deepening snow. Though the weather doesn’t bother me, my mate’s shivering increases the longer we are out. She won’t be able to travel far unless I get her something warmer to wear. So, food first, then skins so I may dress my soft, fragile Shorshie.

I’ll protect her with my life if I must.

The need to claim her resonates in my chest, my khui reminding me that I have found my mate and not yet claimed her. I pat my chest as if to tell it
I know. I know she is mine.
Communicating with her is difficult, and she is frightened and weak. Once she is strong and we can share more words, she will see what I have been trying to tell her. Then she will spread those soft, pink thighs for me again, and I will have her on my tongue. I will bury my cock inside her and feel the resonance reverberate between both of us.

My cock grows hard at the thought, and so I force it away.

Once I get to the boulder, I gently set Shorshie down. She climbs up on the rock when I gesture to it. “Stay here,” I tell her.

Of course, she tries to follow me.

I gesture that she should stay again, and she gives me a panicky look. “Sheorshie Vektal?”

“I’m not leaving you, sweet resonance,” I tell her, brushing a finger over her pale cheek. “It’s dangerous.” I point at the lurking creatures that are even now watching us. I point out the scythe-beak and then the snow cats. I even point out a lurking quill-bundled rodent that will be her meal. It takes a few moments for her to recognize the creatures hiding in plain view, blending amidst the snow. When she sees them, though, her eyes go wide, and she gives me another frightened look.

“You will stay here,” I tell her. “I’ll hunt something for you to eat.”

She babbles something in her weird language.
“Hly sht thse thngs r hugednt leev me!”

“It will be fine,” I sooth. I bundle the cape tighter around her small shoulders. She responds by reaching for one of my knives, a question in her eyes. I nod and hand her a bone-handled one that I created myself. Now she has protection.

It’s clear she feels better with it in her hand. She crouches down on the rock and nods at me, gripping the knife. I brush my fingers over her cold, hairless skin again and then pull my sling from my pack. I keep a few smooth stones at hand and put one in the pouch, then whirl the sling through the air, taking aim. My arms flex as I let the stone fly, and I’m pleased to see that the rodent flops to the ground, staggered.

I approach it before it can recover and slice its throat with a motion of my knife. Then, I cut a slit in the neck to drain the blood and another in the belly to remove the offal. I leave the heart and other tasty bits for my mate, then bring the entire thing back to her. I’m leaving a trail for the snow cats to follow, but they won’t attack as long as they scent me. Their memories are long, and they don’t like the taste of sa-khui flesh. We are a bitter meal.

I return with my prize and display it to my shivering mate.

She wrinkles her nose and gives me a confused look.

“Not familiar with quilled beasts, are you?” I say, because it feels good to talk to her. I lay the kill down on the cold stone she’s crouching upon and notice she flinches backward. “It’s dead, sweet resonance. Look, I have saved you the choicest parts.” I pull open the belly flap and reveal the heart and liver. They’re still warm, though they’ll cool fast in this weather and won’t taste nearly as good. “Just avoid the quills in the fur. We’ll get you something larger for a cloak. There are furred
dvisti
in this area that will make a fine meal.”

Shorshie stares at the kill blankly. Then she points at it.
“Yewspectmiteweet thet?”

Is she not familiar with this food? She ate the meal bar easily enough. I pull the heart out and hold it to her lips. “Here. Taste.”

She nearly falls off the rock in her haste to move backward.
“Ohmigodfckno!”
A moment later, she points at the dripping delicacy held between my fingers.
“Fckincookthtshit!”

I tilt my head at her. “What is it? What are you saying?”

She mimes a gesture, holding her hands out like she did over the fire. Then she points at the food.
“Fiiiiir,”
she tells me.
“Cookhit.”

This time my lip curls. “You want to burn the food? Do you not understand what this is?” I toss the heart into my mouth and chew to show her. Flavorful blood bursts across my tongue, hot and sweet.

Her face crumples, and she gags. Her hand goes up, and she gestures for me to put it away.
“Hmigod.Grss.”

“Eat,” I tell her sternly. She’s too weak to be picky about her food. “I’ll burn it for you later if you like, but you must eat now.” I slice another thick portion of the creature’s flank off and hand her the meat. I force her small fingers to close around it, ignoring the fact that she makes that gagging noise again. “Eat so you have strength for the rest of the day.”

She shakes her head.

I take a bite and show her, then insist she eat as well. Her stomach growls, and she gets a pained look on her face.
“Hopeslikesushi.”
Shorshie makes another face and then takes a bite, grimacing the entire time.

I’m pleased. She’s not, but at least I’m getting food into her. She doesn’t like the tasty organs, then. I eat them, ignoring her little sounds of distress, because a good hunter does not waste meat. I carve more tasty tidbits and feed them to her, and she protests the entire time, but at least her belly is filling. She drinks all of my water and then motions that she’s still thirsty.

I nod. One thing at a time. Caring for Shorshie in such a dangerous territory is something that must be handled carefully. The last thing I want is for her to accidentally run into a snow cat near its den . . . or worse, a pack of hunting metlaks. I must carefully guard her and not let her out of my sight. It will mean slow hunting and an even slower return to the tribal caves, but I am prepared to do whatever it takes.