“Do you want me to draw what I see?” I asked.
He looked at me expectantly. I sighed and drew a circle in the dirt. His aura gave a pleased shimmy.
He walked farther away this time, to a trunk about ten feet away. This time, he drew a triangle. By the time he returned to me, I’d already drawn a triangle in the dirt. It was then I realized he had improvised a sort of caveman eye test. He’d detected my vision wasn’t up to par with his, and while I hated this sign of weakness, I also knew that out here, we were only as strong as the weakest link. Which was me. He had to know just how poor my vision was for survival purposes. While I understood the purpose, I still hated someone else knowing I had a physical limitation.
He walked away again to make another mark on a distant tree. This continued until the point where he turned around, and I couldn’t see the mark on the tree. Helplessness burned in my gut like acid, and when he returned to my side, I shook my head furiously and threw down the stick.
He watched me with a frown and then stepped right up into my space, ignoring my body language which clearly said fuck off. He gripped my face, and his gaze held neither pity nor censure. If anything, he looked pleased.
I soon realized the test wasn’t to make me feel weak or stupid. He had a valid reason, which he proved when he strategically placed markers at various points around our hut. A cluster of red flowers signaled the base of the tree we climbed to our home. He laid purple flowers down along the path to the spring. And he placed yellow flowers about ten feet apart on the border of what he considered our territory. There were a few hazards on the trails we frequented, just as fallen limbs or a hunner next, which he also marked.
When I realized what he was doing as he busied himself with the flowers, I nearly burst into tears. He did that all for me, extra work for himself when already the burden of keeping both of us alive fell on him every day. He didn’t care, though. He wanted me to feel safe and welcome. He wanted me to feel at home. I wasn’t sure he even realized how much it meant to me. I made sure to show him later when I gave him his first blow job.
Best of all, he encouraged me to listen more. I was not a patient person, but because of Drak, I trained my ears until I could hear a pivar pack in the distance or the sound of an antella chewing berries.
In return for all he did for me, I tried to improve the quality of his life. Not to pass judgement, but Drak’s mental health was in the shitter. These aliens had zero concept of self-care. I couldn’t exactly give him a facial or anything, but I diligently braided his hair, which had an interesting texture that held braids well—if they were woven tight enough. Good for him, I’d braided my own and my sisters’ since I was a kid.
I brightened up his meals with flowers. I smiled at him and touched him often, because he still seemed surprised every time I offered him physical affection. And most of all, I sang. I wasn’t the best singer—no one ever told me to try out for American Idol or anything—but I was passable, and I liked to sing. Around Drak, I could belt out all the songs I usually saved for the privacy of the shower, and he would do that purring thing or stroke my hair. He’d close his eyes, and his aura would settle.
Whatever he used to splint my leg had some special powers, because my ankle most definitely healed faster than it would have back on Earth. Each day, he diligently splinted, wrapped, and mudded it. Until one day, he only wrapped it with a thick leaf like a jungle Ace bandage. That was when I finally placed some weight on it to find that while I needed a makeshift cane, I could finally walk on my own with only a slight limp.
Oh, and we had sex. Like a lot. As in, his head stayed between my thighs for a ridiculous amount of time. My sex drive was through the roof. All he had to do was stand there and I was ready to hop on that big cock. I was hypnotized by alien dick, and it was ridiculous. I knew it was, but that didn’t seem to stop me from stripping him out of his worn pants every chance I could get.
So, I let myself make believe this was my new life. As much as I wanted to get back to my girls, I also couldn’t pull myself away from what felt like a weird fairytale.
We couldn’t even talk to each other, but our auras let us know what the other was feeling, which took away my perpetual skepticism of the male species. On Earth, I had always second-guessed what a man told me, worried he was lying, but Drak didn’t lie. It had nothing to do with the fact he couldn’t speak—he was just so damn honest about his actions. His aura always matched his posture. If he was angry or frustrated, he’d make short, quick movements with flared nostrils and eyes black as night. If he was happy, his eyes swirled a light violet. And if he was horny… Well, the tell-tale bulge was hard to miss.
I’d been so determined not to be tied to a mate, but my Drak was special. He was kind and gentle and never once made me feel like a burden to his solitary way of life. I ached to know his history. The Drixonians were a pack race—I’d been told many times being alone was a death sentence to them. How long had Drak been on his own?
One evening, as the sun set, we sat at the hot spring, me on a rock and Drak with his back to me, wide shoulders between my legs. His eyes were closed as he rested the back of his head on my chest. It was rare his big body remained still for any length of time, but I knew from experience he was listening to every sound around us in case of predators. And now I was too.
I could walk without a cane now, and I’d even jogged a short distance. I’d told myself tomorrow I’d need to communicate with Drak we had to take a little trip. I couldn’t let my girls think I was dead, and Drak should be with other warriors. But I worried about him—would he acclimate to a clavas? What about his flashbacks? I felt caught between my loyalty to Drak and my love for my girls. The problem was, I had no idea how to get back to the Night Kings. I just knew I had to try.
I hadn’t been able to eat much that day, my mind constantly spinning different scenarios so my anxiety had ratcheted up to insane levels. Drak noticed, of course he did, which was why he’d brought me to the hot spring. Other than the roof, this was my favorite place.
We’d just finished some fresh antella, and a little of the greasy fat remained. For the last few days, I’d been massaging this throat scar. I couldn’t tell if he didn’t talk because of the thick ridge of skin or if there was damage to his vocal cords. He could utter his name and make that purring sound, so he had some ability. The first time I touched some grease to his scar, he’d jerked away from my touch with wide panicked eyes. So, I’d sang and pulled him back against me. Trembling, he let me work the lubricant into the damaged skin.
Now, when I massaged the scar, he stretched his neck back further, giving me full access. His full lips parted, and his cheeks darkened with an aroused flush. This always happened too, the horny bastard.
I didn’t know if oiling the skin would do a damn thing, but I was willing to try. Not that I needed Drak to talk, but I did get the sense it frustrated him. He often moved his lips, and it took me a while to realize he was mouthing my name. My heart had skipped a few beats over that.
My mind was still on my girls, especially the pregnant ones—Val, Frankie, and Reba. I ached to see them, and I knew they were worried about me. We were a tight group, bonded by being forced into an unfathomable situation.
And Gar … he’d already lost his sister. Knowing him, he would have taken my disappearance personally. I let my hands fall away from Drak’s neck and wiped the remnants of the grease on the grass near us. Tears pricked my eyes. I’d already lost one family. I couldn’t lose my girls too.