Alien General's Bride: SciFi Alien Romance (Brion Brides) Page 8

  It would be good to see the Brions from a woman’s perspective. Even if she said “we” like she and Grothan were a “we”.

  Deliya ordered breakfast for them. At least for Isolde, she herself hardly touched any of the food.

  Over the safest and most Terran looking dish – it reminded her roughly of a sandwich – Isolde’s priorities fought over questions she should ask. Survival instincts won out, and she was honestly surprised.

  “Are we going to die?” she blurted out.

  To her surprise, the Brion woman laughed. She had never seen or heard a Brion laughing, the best Grothan could do was smirk. “No,” Deliya said. “The Commander always wins.”

  “Brion bravado is nice and all, but this is our lives we’re talking about here,” Isolde protested, pouting at being laughed at.

  “If it were some other general,” Deliya argued proudly, “but this is Diego. He is grothan.”

  Diego… I wonder if he calls you Della, Isolde thought bitterly, but then frowned. “What do you mean ‘he is grothan’? I thought that was his name.”

  “It is not a name, it is a title. All Brions have a single name. You call us by the root of that name, because for you names remain the same throughout your life while ours change.”

  Isolde had known they changed, but not about Grothan’s… Diego’s name. Similarly to their language, names were another thing the galaxy simplified with the Brions. Deliya was right about the roots thing. All female names ended with -ya, while male names tended to end in -en, although they were plenty of exceptions Isolde hadn’t been taught for some reason.

  “What does it mean?” she asked, amazed. Her professional curiosity lifted its head, somewhat shadowed as of late by her desire for the commander, who apparently she’d been calling by his title… titles. How many titles did that man have?

  Deliya thought about it for a moment. “It does not… translate well. It is an archaic word, few use it, few are worthy of it. All Brions theoretically start out as grothan – undefeated, victorious –but it is not used for the young. There is little pride to be had in not losing two or three fights. Grothan means you have not failed, truly failed.

  “Warriors lose it when they are defeated, or do not achieve their goals. But when a warrior remains undefeated for a long time, the Elders name him grothan. They do not do so lightly nor often. We are proud that our commander can still carry that title, we like calling him by it.”

  “So he never loses?” Isolde asked, wide-eyed and not a little turned on by the picture Deliya’s words painted.

  “Never,” said a voice at the door.

  Deliya was quickly banished to her post, and Isolde was left alone with a bunch of alien sandwiches, which looked to be the same juice she had been served before, and the man who had never suffered defeat.

  He looked invigorated, somehow. The valor squares, as much as Isolde could determine, seemed to be resting at ease. Distantly she wondered what it was like to walk the world with your every emotion broadcasted so vividly to others, but it wasn’t even a trivial concern compared to the smirk playing on the commander’s lips. It did things to her. Good, and a bit uncomfortable things.

  The alien proposal she couldn’t distance herself from suddenly hung in the air between them again.

  Isolde’s mouth went dry. She wasn’t yet done with the complicated and elaborate lies she had to tell herself in order to get her mind to admit that every inch of her wanted to give in. It was like she was pulled to him by some invisible cord of… fate. Oh whoo-bloody-hoo, they would make a believer out of her still, but time was up, since Grothan – no, Diego – crossed the distance between them with slow, measured paces, the smirk still on his lips.

  She had joked about the whole thing so far, but he was actually serious, wasn’t he? While she went ha-ha, the alien lord is trying to seduce the human girl in her head, the general saw her as his other half for the entirety of his life. As ludicrous as the whole situation seemed to Isolde, she kind of felt bad. Brions took these things very seriously. Even if he believed she was destined for him, did it change anything for her?

  Isolde thought about dreams. Two days ago, she’d had practically none. All her friends were always going on about what they wanted to do, wanted to have, wanted to achieve, and she had felt out of place. A big house would have been nice, yes. A kind man to love her, sure. Recognition for her work, boosted by serious field work on Rhea – lovely. Had she ever craved anything with the kind of passion usually reserved for dreams? No. She had been aimless; drifting like she had yet to meet her destiny. The smile died on her lips as the general lifted her chin up for her to look in his gorgeous eyes. Two days ago, she’d had nothing to dream about. Diego Grothan was a dream.

  “Two warships bound to my location, and my biggest concern is how you are feeling,” he said.

  Isolde’s heart tried to pound itself out of her chest. Stop joking about this! He’s not trying to smooth talk you. He’s being serious. Oh girl, you’re in such a fucking mess…

  “I’m fine,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, but the general heard her anyway. “Commander…”

  “Diego,” he corrected. “A gesha doesn’t call her gerion by titles.”

  Isolde wanted to argue she was nothing of the sort to him. Yet, maybe, damn it.

  “Diego,” she said, the name rolling of the tip of her tongue like a song. She saw his eyes lit up, the smirk giving way to the first really kind smile she had seen on him. “I…”

  I can’t. This is so wrong. I can’t be what you want me to be. What you wish me to be. I can’t. This is all wrong. This shouldn’t be happening. I can’t. I can’t be without your touch.

  What? Isolde was not prepared to rule out the possibility of a drug in her system, although she was fairly certain it was a natural aphrodisiac called Diego and should be administered to her at once. Her hands locked with his, and then she was standing on her tippy toes and initiating the first kiss. She couldn’t stand like that for too long; the general was so much taller than she was, but strong arms encircled her waist, fitting around her like she was made to be in his arms, holding her up. She squirmed in response, not to get away but to get closer, much closer, even if she knew it was a bad idea. Backing away would be a better one, telling him humans didn’t function this way, he had no right, but her body was giving him every excuse ever.

  Eventually she had to get some air, and if her memory wasn’t completely faulty and Brions hadn’t suddenly started favoring firearms, that wasn’t a gun poking her belly… She suddenly became very aware that she wasn’t wearing much, and the blouse she had decided to sleep in was the only thing covering her breasts. No bra. There was no mistaking the direction of the general’s eyes as he took in the curves of her body, skintight as her clothes were. She should have dressed before he got there, now her nipples were sticking out, giving her body ideas, very clearly giving his body ideas… The movement was so sudden she let out a surprised yelp and so smooth she barely noticed when she was already flat on her back on the bed. The general was on top of her, again, belonging there in a sense Isolde could neither explain nor disprove. She was about to tell him something of propriety, when his hands calmly pushed her blouse up and then his mouth was on her breasts, tasting, sucking, licking… The gasp that escaped her lips was everything but silent and the chuckle from him tickled her exposed skin.

  “I read that human females enjoyed this,” he murmured, his hands groping her skin, sliding over her body as if he wanted to map its every contour. Isolde moaned.

  He looked this up! Oh gods, he looked up how to pleasure me! I have to send the editor of Cosmopolitan a thank you note or something… Ooooh.

  Isolde checked out from the realm of consequences and focused her entire attention on arching up from the bed under his miraculously strong body, all kinds of nos fleeing from her mind. She closed her eyes and had to bite her lip not to give him the satisfaction of knowing exactly what he was doing to her, because surely his e
go was already flattered enough. Besides, she knew he could read her reactions like a book, so there was no need to spell it out for him.

  He was good at it, she had to give him that. Isolde wouldn’t have considered herself an expert in such matters, but she knew what she liked, and he was pushing her buttons like nothing else. Maybe it was his natural gift, or he read the signals her body gave him, or he had a lot of practice – she pushed those images away. All that seemed secondary to Isolde, who had never felt anything so good for a wholly different reason.

  Her treacherous eyes wanted to close in pleasure, but another instinct kept them open, staring at the general. Skilled or not, what made every inch of her skin ache for more contact with him and her soul ache for something even greater, was how obviously he was enjoying her. Every moan that escaped her lips, every twist of her body under his hands and tongue, the way she writhed under him – the effect on him was immediate. It was his eyes that were closed, relying on touch instead; his body shivering against hers at every sound she made. Isolde whimpered to see it. A surge of power went through her. The general might have been able to overpower anyone he met, but Isolde held the power to make him shiver. She doubted any of his enemies had ever gotten that reaction. Not that lust and fear were the same, but to get Diego Grothan to expose his feelings so clearly, to make him grind himself against her body without the restraint he was usually known for…

  Isolde had to face the fact that the general was hers. As he’d promised, as it was customary for Brions. The magnitude of it took her breath away.

  Noticing her falling silent, Diego stopped and replaced his frantic touches with a much gentler kiss. Isolde clung to him, uncertain if it was to keep him close or to get the last kiss before telling him all of this was not for her.

  He stood and watched her sit up while she was searching for the words she should have said a long while ago.

  “Humans are an irrational species,” the general said without any judgement or anger.

  Yes, Isolde thought. I’m afraid so. We don’t think of the survival of the species as the objective of relationships. We love.

  “I know you feel it,” he went on, making Isolde’s head snap up in surprise. He looked completely calm and certain in his right as he had from the beginning. “Geshas do not have the recognition, but I can see you feel the bind. Yet you choose to fight it because you think it is not proper in your culture. I can understand that. I will wait. But I do not know why you would lie to yourself.”

  Then he left, leaving Isolde alone to cope with his words and the truth in them.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Isolde

  Isolde had never felt so adrift.

  When she was younger, everyone else seemed to have a goal in mind or an object of interest they wanted to pursue. Isolde, in contrast, had been gifted at several things, yet lacked real passion for any of them. In the end, she went with what was popular in those days – alien culture research. The skies were opening up to Terra, and the fields dedicated to knowing their great galactic home better were doing amazingly.

  It was a sure bet – grants and scholarships and a position on the staff of any even slightly space-related organization were pretty much assured, there were endless fields to major in, because it was impossible to grasp even a small part of the galactic whole. Isolde did well and there was even talk of her getting a job at the GU as a part of the human representatives. Yay for her.

  Not once had there been a spark for it in her. Others dreamily gazed at space, or lost themselves in the miraculous and borderline unbelievable variety of other cultures the human race had encountered. The Brions, for example, were of great interest to them because they were humanoid like the Palians, the first allies of humans. Bigger, stronger, more developed – but close enough to feel a sort of kinship, if it weren’t for the quick and saddening discovery of the Brions’ nature.

  normous research involving the scientists of all three species went into trying to find a single ancestor – the similarities were great enough to rule out any random coincidence. No wonder Isolde wasn’t very religious, the big churches had taken a heavy hit, though they still remained influential and now preached that God had simply created the other races as well.

  In the end, nothing on Terra interested Isolde very much. She had long expressed her desire to go somewhere else, but the farthest she had dared to imagine was Luna Secunda. There, she had thought, it would be something new every day.

  When the offer came to go to Rhea, Isolde had been very conflicted. A part of her rejoiced at the prospect of something new not only for her, but the whole galaxy, and another part of her wondered if she shouldn’t start with smaller steps – perhaps a position at the orbital station, then missions to other planets. Curiosity had won out.

  Now Isolde sat on her bed and realistically entertained the notion that she was meant to take the mission to Rhea, meant to miss her transport, and therefore meant to meet her gerion. It was so unsettling she could hardly consider the implications.

  She felt something, that was for sure, but so far it looked like desire to her. If the general was one to listen to reason – which he was not, preferring, like all Brion generals, to mainly listen to himself – Isolde would have explained to him that no woman could be expected to be cold to those otherworldly eyes of his. And the body, oh yes, that body, and the way his voice played chords in Isolde’s mind she didn’t know could be strung, and the way he could silence a room with his mere presence. All in all, she could hardly be blamed for how she felt.

  To assume it was something more, though… That was different.

  Isolde desperately longed for a companion to talk to. Any human would do, they would at least understand where she was coming from. The Brions hardly sufficed, and Isolde was starting to feel slightly uncomfortable with how much information there apparently was about humans, ready to be accessed at any point. She didn’t exactly fancy getting served English breakfast for the morning, accompanied with “I have read humans eat that thing after they wake up”, although it would have been amusing.

  Speaking of being adrift, where was she, anyway? All right, she was on the Triumphant, but where was the ship? Were they on their way to Rhea, or had Diego changed their direction? Had they even been going to Rhea? The only thing Isolde knew was that they were not in the Solar System any more. The rest of space looked like a bunch of stars to her, surprise-surprise.

  She needed some answers. She hadn’t completely rid herself of the animosity the Brion woman had in no way deserved, but Deliya could at least give her some of the information she desperately wanted.

  Like whether they fucked, her subconscious provided cheerfully. Like where the heck we are, Isolde shot back at herself.

  Deliya joined her in her room, looking as alert as any of the times Isolde had seen her.

  “Do you even sleep?” she blurted out before she could stop herself.

  “I did, while you were still sleeping,” Deliya said, seemingly amused by her question. “Narath and his men guarded you then. The Commander ordered that while you are awake, I should be on guard.”

  “Why?”

  “He does not think it is appropriate for another man to be in the room with his gesha, should you require something.”

  Oh, so he thinks that is inappropriate, but suggesting I bind myself for life to a guy I met yesterday is fine. He’s a true prince, isn’t he?

  “Can I ask you where we are?” she said out loud instead. “I mean… Where are we going?”

  “We are going to Briolina.”

  Yup. Great. So my knight in shining armor has kidnapped me and is taking me back to his lair. Can’t say this isn’t a custom unknown to Terrans, but I’m not the damsel in distress type. I would get so bored locked up in a tower like a princess. And who would save me from there if it’s my prince that locked me up in the first place?

  Some of it must have reflected on her face, because Deliya hastened to add, “The Commander has a plan, do n
ot worry. He will let no one hurt you.”

  “I’m not afraid that he’ll hurt me,” Isolde said. “I was afraid he was going to take me so far away from home and where I was supposed to go that I can’t even comprehend the distance. You just confirmed that.”

  The look on Deliya’s face nearly made Isolde take her words back, but it was true, after all.

  “He wants to protect you,” Deliya attempted to explain. “You would not be safe on Rhea, not while…”

  “I believe you,” Isolde said seriously. “He does what’s right for him. It just doesn’t work out all that well for me, does it?”

  “The Commander is a great man,” the Brion woman argued, “any woman would be glad to be his gesha.”

  A woman like you? Jealousy and frustration rose to surface in Isolde, having found an easier target than the general, who somehow made her forget these arguments when she wanted to throw them in his face.

  “I am not a Brion,” she snapped. “I don’t want to be his.”

  Despite all evidence to the contrary.

  “I didn’t ask to be dropped into this mess, or to be someone’s fated!” her voice rose. “I just wanted to go to Rhea and do my work. Now I’m on a way to your home, your home, because he thinks it’s his right to take me anywhere he goes! And you wonder why the GU is constantly on your case, when you just ignore what anyone else thinks and do what you want!”

  It felt good to get it all out, but halfway through the tirade she felt it was not directed at the right person. Deliya hadn’t said a word, but the kind smile she had greeted Isolde with was gone. Isolde gritted her teeth and shut up.

  For a while, they were both silent.

  Then, Isolde said, “I’m sorry,” just as Deliya said, “I understand why you are upset.”

  Isolde sighed and took a deep breath. With all the irony in the universe, this was actually one of the situations she was trained for. After all, she was a cultural researcher and an ethnographer. Of all the people, she was supposed to understand that different species sometimes saw the world in opposing ways and that everyone was ultimately the victim of their upbringing.