Barbarian's Touch: A SciFi Alien Romance (Ice Planet Barbarians Book 8) (16 page)

I stay close to the cave, the entrance always in my sight, and gather fuel for the fire. I unroll the furs and make a warm, cozy nest for us. Since I cannot feed her hot food, I make tea instead, to go with her trail rations. All the while, Li-lah sits in the corner of the room and gestures and talks to the wall.

After several hours, her waterskin is drained, and I switch hers with mine. Her voice begins to crack and grow scratchy, and as the night goes on, she continues. Her gestures grow slower and she yawns, her voice raspy.

That is enough, I decide.

I get up from the lonely fire and move to Li-lah’s side, approaching in her line of vision. She glances over at me, finishes the hand-speak gesture, and then pauses to take a sip of her nearly empty waterskin. Before she can say anything, I scoop her into my arms and take her to the fire.

“Hey,” she protests, her voice dry and scratchy. “I’m not done.”

I ignore her words. In my eyes, she is done. She has no voice left, and she is drooping. This will not do. She is my mate and it is my job to take care of her. I set her down by the fire in the nest of furs, and she rubs her face with her hands.

“Five more minutes—“

Her words die when I put my hands on her shoulders and begin to rub them. Instead, she moans, closing her eyes. My cock immediately responds, and my khui hums louder now that I am touching her. “How did you know my neck was hurting?” she muses aloud. “Never mind, you can tell me once you’ve learned sign language.”

I nod to myself. I will tell her so many things when I have learned her words.

She sighs and leans back against my hands, and I continue to rub her shoulders, pleased that I can do this small thing for her. I want to ask her so many questions, but she needs to rest.

“Didn’t realize how many words there were in the stupid English language until now,” she murmurs. “Did you know—“

I press a finger to her lips to silence her. She needs to save her voice. Already it sounds dry and raspy enough to pain me.

Li-lah nods and I rub her shoulders and back for a while longer, then get her a cup of tea. I watch her until she finishes it, then feed her small bits of trail rations until I am satisfied she has eaten enough. She starts to get up, gesturing at the wall that is waiting for her, but I shake my head and give her a stern look. I make the
stay
gesture and point at the furs.

She nods and lies back down, too tired to argue. She rests on her belly, propping her chin up with her hands. “Will you rub my back some more?”

Nothing would give me more pleasure. I move to the furs and press a kiss to the top of her small, hornless human head with its soft mane. It has been days since I had her on my tongue, and I am a selfish hunter because I crave her taste. She is tired, but perhaps I can give her pleasure. I move my fingers over the shoulder of her tunic and then tap it to let her know I want her to remove it. Will she be shy or will she take it off?

My khui rumbles low with pleasure when she sits up long enough to take her tunic off and then lies back down again, presenting me with the slim line of her bare back. Seeing her like this reminds me how fragile my Li-lah is. I must always be careful of her. I am much larger than she is, my hands capable of spanning her ribcage. How my khui has chosen someone so delicate for me, I do not know, but I will have no other.

I slide my hands up and down her soft back, and she makes another sleepy sound of pleasure. She doesn’t move as I stroke her, kneading tired muscles. This has been a tiring journey for her - from the mountains to the Elders’ Cave. In addition to the walking, I have been forcing her to learn tracking and gathering. No wonder she is exhausted and the muscles in her back are taut with tension. I should rub her every night until she’s moaning with pleasure.

That thought makes my sac tighten, and I close my eyes to compose myself. Resonance must be fulfilled soon, because every day it becomes that much more difficult to resist her.

Soon, we will talk, and she will realize what it is that connects us. I can be patient for a bit longer, especially as I have seen how hard she is working to be able to teach me her words.

As if her mind is connected to mine, she murmurs, “I can’t wait to be able to talk to you. Really talk and not wonder what the other is trying to say.”

I feel the same. I lean in and brush my mouth over the soft skin of her shoulder in a gentle caress. Perhaps she is not too tired to let me put my mouth on her cunt and lick her—

She rolls over onto her back, gazing up at me with soft, hooded eyes. Her teats are in full view, and she does not try to hide them or cover them like before, and that fills me with pleasure. She is growing used to being naked around me, and I like that. Li-lah reaches up with one hand and traces my mouth. “I wonder what you sound like?”

Her words sound sad to me, and so I kiss her palm to distract her. It does not matter what I sound like. I sound like
hers
. I
am
hers.

Li-lah gives a little moan as my fangs scrape over her skin. She moves her hands to my chest, then, smoothing over me and touching me everywhere she can. I lie down next to her, propping my body up carefully on one elbow at her side so I do not crush her smaller body under mine. I am filled with need for my mate. I want to kiss her everywhere, to put my mouth on every bit of her skin and taste her with my tongue. I want to lap up her juices until she’s crying out.

“I’ve never felt this way about anyone,” she says to me, and reaches for my long braid. She plays with the tip of it for a moment, and then locks eyes with me. “Have you?”

The question makes me sad and frustrated - if she understood resonance, she would not ask. She would know that she is my mate, my other half. There is no way I could feel like this for another. She would know I have waited my entire life for her. But I cannot say these things to her yet because I do not have the words. I take her hand in mine and kiss her knuckles, and then hold it against my heart.

Her soft smile is beautiful enough to make my tail flick, a tremor rushing through my body. “I’m addicted to you, too.”

She is wrong; she is not as addicted as me. If she was, she would understand the agony I silently endure while I wait for her to understand what it is to be my mate. She would know how hard it is to hold her and wait, endlessly, for the signal that says she is ready to be mine in all ways. She would know the mix of joy and despair I feel every morning when I wake up and she is mine and I have not claimed her yet.

“Oh,” she whispers, and her fingers reach for my tail, flicking on the furs beside her. “Look at your poor tail - it’s healing crooked.” Li-lah runs her fingers down the length of it, where the bones now lie bent after the sky-claw attack. The bruises have faded and the pain is gone, but it does not lie straight as it did before. “You have a kink in your tail.” And she strokes it again.

Her fingers on my tail are more than a male can bear. I have never had mine stroked before, and I did not realize until now that it is just as sensitive as my spur. The groan that I have been fighting erupts from me and I press my head against her stomach, needing desperately to touch her but wanting her approval first.

“Eeek, watch the horns,” she says, and I lift my head carefully. When our eyes lock, she bites her lip playfully and traces a finger around the pink tip of her teat. “If you’re going to put your head down, maybe over here?” And she licks her lips suggestively.

A possessive snarl rises in my throat at the sight. I am the luckiest male alive because she is mine. I bend down and kiss her soft, pink mouth gently. Then, I move further down and kiss her soft, pink teats until she is panting and clinging to my horns.

After that, I tug down her leggings and kiss her soft, pink cunt until her juices flood over my tongue and she is exhausted from crying out.

My own pleasure can wait for another day. Just being able to do this for her? For now, it is enough.

I
t takes
three long days to go through as many words as the computer spits at me. Three. Looooong. Days. Not every word in the dictionary goes into the Ice Planet Sign Language (or IPSL as I’ve been jokingly calling it). There’s not going to be any need for Rokan to know the sign for ‘book’, for example, or ‘turkey’. That speeds things along, but it’s still achingly slow progress to feed each word and gesture into the computer.

I lose my voice at the end of each evening, and Rokan pampers me with tea and cuddling (and okay, lots of making out) until I drowse off in the furs. When I wake up each morning, my throat is better, which is pretty impressive. I’ve never recovered that fast from a sore throat before, but I’ll take it. Maybe my body knows how badly I want this to be done.

During the day, Rokan has to go out hunting, so I have to close the doors to the ship for my safety. I can’t hear him knocking, and I don’t trust the computer to know to let him in, so I force myself to get up and stretch - and check for him - on a regular basis. He always returns with fresh meat, more fuel for the fire, and many, many kisses for his tired alien girlfriend.

Even if the work is exhausting, the company is excellent.

It’s on day three that I get through the letter Z. There’s not that many ‘z’ words that apply to our situation - zip, maybe. Zoom? Probably not. Zero. Sure. Zoo? Nah. I pick through the list of words and then, suddenly, there’s no more words to go through.

Wow. I’m done.

I sit back, rubbing my neck, and stare up at the screen, trying to think if I missed anything. I got the alphabet. I got numbers. I even added some slang as I remembered it. Is it…is it time?

It almost feels like it’s my birthday.

I bolt from my seat and rush to the doors that lead outside. I fling them open and step out onto the snow-covered ramp, looking for my mate. Sure enough, he’s heading back toward the ship with a large kill slung over one shoulder. It’s amazing that he always seems to know just when I’m ready to take a break, because whenever I look for him, he’s right there. It’s like he knows.

I wave for him to come, and when his gaze lands on me, a smile crosses his face. He’s breathtaking when he grins, and I feel my purring rev up as he jogs a little faster toward me. I’m practically bouncing with excitement when he gets to the door.
It’s ready
, I sign, and then point at the computer terminal on the wall.

His brow furrows until I point, and then he lights up. With a broad grin, he dumps his kill by the door. Clearly it’s not as important as the language stuff. He takes my hand and we dash to the computer like children, excited. I’m practically shaking with anticipation, which is silly, but it’s suddenly become super important to me that we be able to communicate at every level.

He speaks, and I watch his mouth move, holding his hand tightly. He waits a moment, and then speaks again, and then squeezes my fingers. A red dot lights up on the floor and I look at it curiously before glancing up at Rokan. He gestures at the spot on the ground and then points at his eye, then does the
talk
sign. Okay, I remember the computer saying something about ocular download or something, so that must be why he’s gesturing at his eye. I’m a little confused by the
sleep
gesture he makes next, but maybe he’ll need a nap afterward? The thought makes me antsy - I’m eager to let all the words I’ve been storing spill out of me - but he knows this system better than I do.

Rokan lifts my hand to his mouth and kisses my knuckles, then gestures I should stay in place. He moves to the red glowing dot on the floor and says something to the computer. A mechanical arm emerges from the ceiling, and I’m so busy staring at it in surprise that I don’t realize what it’s doing until a laser-beam shoots right into Rokan’s face and he collapses.

“Rokan!” I don’t realize I’m screaming his name until my throat aches with the force of my cry. I fling myself at him, cradling his head in my lap and patting his cheek. “Rokan?” I say again, trying to wake him. He’s out cold, his big alien body sprawled on the floor. His poor, crooked tail is limp, and I feel like bursting into tears. “I really hope this is what you meant by ‘sleep’,” I tell him, stroking his velvety cheek. I look over at the computer screen set into the wall but there doesn’t seem to be anything out of the ordinary going on. Meanwhile, the mechanical laser arm tucks itself neatly into the ceiling and disappears as if it were never there.

I pat Rokan’s cheek again, but he’s still out. Worried, I chew on my lip, thinking. I should get up and ask the computer a question, but I don’t want to leave my man’s side. “Computer,” I call out, and hope it can hear me. “Rokan is unconscious. If this is normal after the procedure you just did, please flash the screen green.” It’s the only thing that I can think of, my head spinning with frantic thoughts.

A moment later, the screen flashes green.

I exhale with relief and stroke Rokan’s cheek again. Thank God. “Computer, can you flash blue on the screen if he’s going to be unconscious for less than an hour, and red if he’s going to be out for more than an hour?”

Red flashes on the screen.

Drat. I gaze down at Rokan’s gorgeous, sleeping face. I want to curl up next to him and put my head on his chest and just wait. But the fire is nothing but coals, and there’s a big limp carcass of a hairy pony-looking thing by the door that will go bad if the meat isn’t smoked, and we’re low on water. Rokan’s been teaching me how to take care of myself. I guess now’s a good time to start doing so.

I gently set his head on the floor, mindful of his horns, and retrieve one of the pillows and a fur blanket. I carry them over to him and fix him up as best I can, tucking the pillow under his head and making him comfortable. Then, I straighten and look over at the dead animal by the entrance.

Yum, yum, dinner.

* * *

I
n a way
, it’s comforting that there’s so much work to do, because then I can’t obsess over Rokan. There’s the fire to be constantly nurtured - not too low to give off no heat, but not too high and burn the meat that’s smoking on the stones. There’s water to be melted, and since I just butchered an animal about the size of myself, lots and lots of hand-washing, which means more snow to melt. I’m careful not to put too much fuel on the fire, because I’m not entirely sure how long Rokan will be out. I close the doors to the ship just in case of predators, because I won’t be able to hear them. I scrape the big, bloody, sticky hide until I’ve gotten the worst bits off of it, then roll it up like Rokan has shown me, tie it with leather cords, and put it off in a corner for more processing later. I’m sticky and gross with both sweat and blood by the time that’s done, so I bathe and then it’s time to melt more water.

All of this keeps my mind off of worrying over my alien boyfriend. For a while, anyhow. By the time I can relax enough to bathe, I worry that he’s been asleep for far too long. Maybe we fried his brain instead of teaching him a language? Maybe he gave the computer the wrong command? Maybe he’s never going to wake up?

The thought fills me with so much grief that the breath escapes my lungs. I clench my nails into my palms to center myself, then shake the horrible idea off. That’s not going to happen. Rokan, he…well, he’s
mine
.

I’m not the least bit ashamed to be possessive over him. He’s handsome, sexy, fit, smart, funny, and a really good kisser now that he’s gotten the hang of it. I’ll happily claw out the eyes of any alien chick that tries to take him from me, too. My chest purrs in agreement.

Something touches my foot, and I yelp, stumbling backward.

Strong arms go around me before I can fall into the fire, and a crouching Rokan is grinning up at me, his arms locked around my waist. His tail flicks against my foot again.

He’s awake!

I fling my arms around him and pull him close, which means I’m hugging a lot of horn and the back of his head. That’s all right, though. I don’t care as long as he’s fine. His hands smooth along my back and he nuzzles against my breast, sending jittery little shocks of pleasure through my body. He’s always a little amorous when he wakes up, and I’m tempted to shuck my tunic and fling him down onto the floor and have a little bit of playtime, myself.

But I have to know.

I step backward, mindful of the nearby fire, and study his face. “Are you okay?”

My head hurts
, he signs, a sheepish grin on his face.

My heart stops in my chest. The casual way he made those gestures, without pausing to think…it’s too much. I burst into tears.

Rokan pulls me against him, stroking my hair.

“Sorry,” I mumble. Then I realize I don’t have to speak out into the silence to be heard. I pull back and look up at him, then gesture.
You learned the language? Everything is all right?

He nods, and begins to do a series of signs that are so beautiful it makes me want to weep.
I am still a little slow, but I see your hand words and know them now. I am glad.

We can really talk now.
I can’t stop smiling.
Now we can say all the things we have been wanting to say for days and didn’t have the words.

You worked very hard for this. I am glad for your efforts.

It’s weird - I’ve been waiting forever to blab at him and now I’m feeling all shy and awkward. I can tell from the expression on his face that he is, too. It’s like we’ve been communicating, but not as well as we could. Now we have the chance to say whatever we want, and I’m a little intimidated about where to start.
Well, anything you want to get off your chest?

He thinks for a long moment, his face solemn. Then, he looks at me and begins to sign again.
You are perfect. I would change nothing about you. And I am glad that you are mine. I have waited many days to say that to you.
He stops for a moment, thinking, and then continues.
I want to say it again. You are perfect.

I burst into tears again. He thinks I’m perfect? Even after having to get his head lasered just to talk to me? I feel so loved. I throw my arms around his neck and tackle him, sending us both tumbling to the floor. I press kisses to his face, my purring breast matched against his. Rokan tenderly cups my jaw and kisses me back, and I feel more cherished and adored than I ever have.

I’m dangerously close to falling for this guy - if I haven’t already. I mean, I’ve never met a man that makes me purr. He’s so thoughtful, and wonderful, and he’s never made me feel like I’m less because I can’t hear him. He acts like it’s been his problem that he can’t hear
me
, and not the other way around. Maybe that’s why he makes me purr.

I break the kiss and stroke his cheek, fascinated by him all over again. I love the way he looks at me when we kiss, those glowing eyes all sleepy and sexy and yet utterly focused on me. Like he’s waiting for me to tell him what I want to do next.

Or like he’s waiting for me to give him permission to do whatever
he
wants. I shiver, thinking of the times he’s woken me up from half-sleep by tugging down my pants and then licking me until I’m writhing in the furs. He’s never taken it further than that, though, and I wonder if he’s waiting for me.

Has he been waiting for me to say something to him?

There’s so many things I haven’t even cracked the surface of. Now, I can get some answers. And right now, answers are more important than kissing. Well, sort of. I force myself to ignore the hungry looks he’s giving me. Answers first, then kissing.
What are your people called?

He thinks for a moment.
I do not have the hand words for this.

Can you sound it out for me? With the alphabet?

He nods and then starts to spell.
S-A-C-W-E-E.

“Sakwee?” I say aloud.

He makes a
kinda
gesture with his hand.
Very close.

What does it mean?

It means people of the cwee.

And your people? They come from here?

This cave,
he agrees.
Like you came from a cave.

The ship had mentioned an emergency landing. All right, so Rokan’s people aren’t natives any more than me and Maddie are. They had a crash landing and never left. That’s rather depressing. Just another gaping hole in the ‘rescue’ plan, not that I really expected there to be a rescue.
I see. And you are the people of the cwee. What is a cwee?

He taps his chest.
It is the thing that lives inside you.

The glowing thing? The parasite?

He pauses over the word ‘parasite’.
It is helpful. It makes you strong.

And makes me purr, I guess?

Purr? I do not know this word.

The rumble in my chest.

Recognition dawns on his face and he grins, the sexy, heated look returning to his face.
It is because of me that you rumble. That is resonate.

Resonate? I ponder this. That can’t be the right sign. Or maybe he is mistaking it for something else? I sign to him,
I don’t understand. You are making me purr?