Alien Warlord's Miracle Page 9

“How old were you?” Her fingers brushed the small symbol, and it glowed brighter in response.

  “A month? Two? An infant.”

  Her eyes were wide at his words.

  “That is typical for my people. To give a son the mark of his father’s clan is a celebration.” Another birth. Another warrior.

  She circled around him, examining his marks. Her fingers skated across his skin, and he glowed brighter in response.

  “That is decidedly not alien unless there’s something you won’t tell me,” she said.

  He bent his arm to get a better look. Ah, the hula girl. “That is a traditional tattoo for Terrans,” he said.

  “Maybe where you hail from. When you hail from.” She gave her head a small shake. “Is it Polynesian?”

  “My closest friend is Terran,” he said. “Michael. We have known each other since our youth. We chose this dancing female as a sign of solidarity.”

  “How charming. Does Michael live on the moon, too?”

  “He is stationed there, with his mate and daughter.” His voice must have betrayed longing or some unspoken desire because Elizabeth drew back and frowned.

  “Do you have a mate of your own waiting for you back home?”

  “No,” he said. He brushed back a stray lock of hair from her forehead and smiled at the smudge of charcoal on her brow. His mate was here, standing in front of her. The light in her soul called to him across the darkness, bringing him to this moment.

  She licked her bottom lip and tilted her face up, waiting for a kiss.

  He could not resist. He leaned in slowly, giving her plenty of time to turn away or ask him to stop.

  She reached up, fingers tangling in his hair and she tugged him down. Her lips crashed into his with enthusiasm. He ran his tongue along the seam of her mouth and her lips parted, warm and inviting. She tasted of the herbal teas she favored and smelled of pencil shavings and heather.

  He took her mouth, claiming it as his, and explored the depths until she warmed under his attention and opened for him. She was so soft, melting against him, yielding and pliable.

  Her hand curled around the base of his horn and stroked. Lights burst behind his eyes at the unadulterated pleasure of her touch, and he moaned into her mouth.

  This female.

  He couldn’t claim her, but he couldn’t leave her behind. He knew this. He told himself the difficult truth several times, but his heart refused to believe it.

  He pulled himself back, panting and hard. His erection throbbed with need behind his armor. He’d stroke himself that night thinking of her and the fearless way she stroked his horn.

  This had to stop now while he still could stop himself.

  “Reven,” she began, lips plump and eyes hooded.

  “I require a supply of iron or steel,” he said, bringing the focus back to his mission.

  Her shoulders slumped. The moment had passed. “The blacksmith would have the materials, but I can’t simply ask for a cartload of steel,” she said.

  “Is the blacksmith located in a densely populated area?”

  “No, he’s at the edge of the village.”

  “Then we will take the shuttle and requisition what we need.”

  “Reven, I want you to have this, as a souvenir.” She opened the sketchbook and carefully tore out the page of hands.

  He accepted, vowing to keep it next to his heart.

  Elizabeth

  She was flying. Actually flying.

  Elizabeth braced herself at the shuttle’s open door. Reven wrapped one sturdy arm around her waist to anchor her in place, not that she feared she would fall. The shuttle hovered over the moors, steady without so much as a sway.

  The cold wind whipped about, knocking her hair loose and disturbing her skirts. The night air braced against her face. The darkness spread out below her with the night sky above. Moonlight softly illuminated the landscape and houses glowed as little points of light against the rolling dark of the moors. Her eyes were fixed on the stars. They shone brighter than ever, closer than ever. She felt certain she could pluck them from the sky.

  She had never felt more exhilarated. It was too much. Everything Reven said proved true. She believed him before, but she took it on faith. The only proof she had was his exceptional appearance and strange artifacts. Now she knew the artifacts were functional technology, not a carefully crafted hoax. It was real. He was real.

  She shivered.

  “You are cold,” Reven said. As he pulled her back, the door slid shut.

  “Excitement got the best of me,” she confessed. She rubbed her hands together for warmth.

  “Let me.” He took her hands and gently rubbed, his thumbs digging into the meat of her palms. His touch radiated warmth. She wanted to feel his warmth on the back of her neck or sliding up her thighs. Everywhere, if she were honest with herself.

  “Thank you. I’m much recovered,” she said, pulling her hands away. She glanced towards the empty pilot’s seat.

  “The computer’s navigation system is capable of maintaining this altitude,” he said, answering her unspoken question with confidence.

  “I’m sure those technical words mean something very impressive, but perhaps if you just sat at the helm?”

  “Worried?”

  “A bit nervous. Won’t someone see us?”

  Reven sat at the control and motioned for her to sit in the empty co-pilot seat. “The engine is quiet, and I’ve disengaged the external lighting.” His fingers flew over the control panel and the interior lights dimmed. “A small amount of light may leak from the cabin, but we should remain undetected.” He pressed another button, and the shuttle lurched.

  Elizabeth grabbed the back of the seat to steady herself.

  “Apologies. I am an engineer, not a pilot. I disengaged the hover,” he said.

  “Perhaps a warning next time.” She calmly adjusted her skirts as she sat.

  The black screen at the front of the shuttle dissolved. No, that was inaccurate. The black material transformed into transparent glass, allowing her to view the outside as clearly as when the shuttle door had been opened. Clearer, actually. The image was illuminated as bright as day. An overlay of amber figures and symbols covered the screen.

  “What is that?” she asked. The figures were regular and elegant. They conveyed meaning and were for more than ornament. That had to be Reven’s written language.

  “Various tools for navigation,” he said absently. “The blacksmith is on the edge of the village. We will approach as closely as possible.”

  A dozen questions tumbled in her mind about his language. She never asked him how he learned to speak English, for one. She settled for something more immediate. “Why is it bright?”

  “I can’t fly in the dark,” he said. She sighed at his unhelpful response. “Because the external cameras are amplifying the available light, allowing me to not fly into the trees.”

  They traveled over treetops and rooftops. The familiar landscape seemed so odd from her vantage. She was nearly lost until she spotted the familiar bell tower in the village, and gave directions from that point.

  The shuttle sat down quietly behind the blacksmith’s workshop. Reven pressed his palm to a box, and the top unfolded, revealing a line of advanced weaponry.

  “Are those rifles?” she asked. The form was similar, barrel and stock, but the similarity ended there.

  “After a fashion.” Reven lifted a device no larger than a pack of cards with a circle in the center. His fingers slipped through the circle and the device hummed to life.

  “Is a pistol necessary?”

  “More necessary than the one you pulled on me?”

  Elizabeth lifted her chin. “You were a stranger, lurking in my barn. Trespassing is a crime, you know.”

  “I didn’t plan to be strictly law-abiding tonight.” He pressed the device to his hip, and it attached itself. “Relax. This is a stunner. It lacks the power to seriously injure a Terran.”

  “That is
acceptable,” she admitted. The blacksmith was a known drunk and could sleep through the apocalypse, but given her luck, tonight would be the night he turned over a new leaf and was stone cold sober. “How is that staying in place, anyway? I do not see a fastener.”

  “Magnetism,” he said, wiggling his eyebrow.

  “Honestly,” she said in a sour tone, fighting the urge to grin.

  They exited the shuttle. Immediately she became aware of the sounds of singing in the distance.

  “What is that noise?” Reven asked, hand on the stunner.

  “Christmas carols. It must be Christmas Eve.” The days had gotten away from her. She thought she had one more day before dinner with the Stearnes.

  “This is a problem,” he said.

  “It shouldn’t be. The carolers will be nipping at the brandy to stay warm. As long as we stay hidden and don’t draw attention to ourselves, we should be fine.” She hoped.

  Reven opened the door to the blacksmith’s workshop with ease. He found iron ingots but shook his head.

  “Hurry up,” she whispered.

  “This is unrefined. I lack the ability to shape this. I require large, flat pieces, no more than a few millimeters thick, that I can cut and rivet,” he said.

  “How big is a millimeter? It sounds French.”

  He held up a hand and brought his thumb to his index finger until they nearly touched. “This thin.”

  She scanned the workshop. Moonlight trickled in through the windows, but she saw nothing matching his description. The carolers drew closer. A cart rattled by.

  Elizabeth perked. “Does it have to be unused? Perhaps we can repurpose an already existing component.”

  “As long as it the chemical composition is correct, yes.”

  “We need to visit the rag and bone man,” she said, reaching for his hand. She drew him out and quickly explained that the junkman lived nearby. If they avoided the roving carolers, they should be in and out without a problem. “If anyone spots me, I’ll say I wanted to join the carolers.”

  “And me? How will you explain my presence?”

  “Vanish to the shadows, or whatever it is you do,” she said with a dismissive wave.

  “I do not like this. We conducted no reconnaissance on the man of rags and bones. He sounds bloodthirsty.”

  “It’s called thinking on our feet. We’re here, and that was the trickiest part, so let’s not dilly-dally.”

  Elizabeth had never been to the rag and bone man’s place of business, but she knew its general location. He had been to the lodge a few times, carting away unwanted construction materials during the renovations, and whatever scraps she no longer had a use for.

  They crept down an alley and darted between buildings until finally, they stood outside the rag and bone man’s shed. A great iron lock hung on the door. Reven did something, she could see, as he blocked what he did with his body, and the door swung open. A cart, piled high with the unwanted but still useable junk of the village, sat in the dim light.

  A snarl came from the shadows. A dog inched forward, ready to leap. By the time a startled cry rose in her throat, Reven shot the animal with the stun pistol.

  “Is it dead?” she asked, hand pressed to her chest.

  “Unconscious. Do not worry. He is well.”

  Reven picked through the cart, setting aside pieces he found suitable.

  “This is stealing,” she said, following him in.

  “It is necessary. My currency is not valid,” he said.

  “I came prepared for this situation.” She dug out the pound notes from her coat pocket and stuck them awkwardly into the cart. “I hope that will do. Now, do you have what you need?”

  “Yes. I can use this.”

  The door creaked open.

  Elizabeth stilled, knowing they were no longer alone.

  “What on the Good Lord’s green Earth is going on?” The rag and bone man stood in the doorway, leveling an old regiment rifle at them. He took in the scene, Elizabeth and the horned alien who carried a bundle of sheet metal in his arms. “Widow Halpine. What witchcraft is this?” Then, “What did you do to my dog?”

  “We’re spirits,” she said, wincing at her words. “Come to guide you on a vision of the past and,” she desperately looked towards Reven for help out of the hole she dug, “and the future. Do not be alarmed, simple mortal. We mean you no harm.”

  Yes. Perfect. That was helpful, she chided herself.

  “Felicity Stearne was right about you. You are a witch, consorting with the devil himself.” The rifle waved dangerously from Reven to her and back again.

  “A witch? In this day and age,” she said, incredulous. Honestly.

  “We do not have time for this,” Reven said. He dropped the bundle in a deafening cacophony and shot the man with the stunner. The man crumpled to the ground.

  “You shot him!”

  “He is an unnecessary complication. This way is better,” he said with a small nod.

  “But he saw you, and you shot him,” she said. Reven had been discovered. They had to flee. Immediately. From her house and from England, or else he would be captured, taken as a curiosity and experimented upon. He’d be a captive, and she couldn’t allow that to happen to him. She wasn’t ready to lose him.

  “He smells of alcohol,” Reven said, calm as ever. “No one will believe one crazed drunk man when he rants about the demon in his shed.” He picked up his scrap metal. “Hurry, before we are discovered again.”

  The villagers might not believe the man saw a demon, but Elizabeth feared they would believe she was truly a witch.

  Chapter Ten

  Reven

  Reven was experienced with the Terran holiday of Christmas. He enjoyed the winter holidays. The recreation committee on the lunar base decorated the common areas with strings of lights, greenery, and glittering baubles.

  He particularly enjoyed the tradition of exchanging gifts. Last year was his first attempt at spoiling Michael and Shauna’s daughter, Mara. The young female had several demands of her Uncle Reven, which pleased him inordinately.

  He wanted to make a gift for Elizabeth. With her, he felt free to be himself. He was not Reven Perra, son of Rahm Perra, a Mahdfel warrior tied to his clan, subject to his Warlord. He was more—and yet just Reven. She gave that freedom to him. He felt ashamed at his evasive behavior, answering her questions with technically correct information, using words she would not understand like “planetary defense array.” She only wanted to know him and the world that forged him. He wanted to share that part of himself with her. Need to share it with her. To show her.

  When they returned to the property, Elizabeth declared herself tired and went to rest for the night.

  “Are you coming?” she asked.

  “I need to run a few system scans.”

  “Don’t stay up all night.”

  “I will obtain the minimum amount of sleep needed for optimal performance,” he replied. She gave that weary-sounding sigh which meant she was secretly amused. “I will be in shortly,” he added.

  She nodded at his words and departed.

  It did not take him long to cobble together components. Visual projection tech was cheap and everywhere, including his wrist communicator. What he envisioned, however, required more power than his wrist comm could provide.

  Once it worked to his satisfaction, he set up the device and went to wake Elizabeth.

  She dreaded the obligations of tomorrow.

  Tonight, he would give her his gift.

  Elizabeth

  A dark figure stood over her bed.

  “I’m not asleep, so don’t bother trying to be furtive,” she said. Sleep would remain elusive that night. Worries about what the rag and bone man might remember coupled with her impending dinner with the Stearnes churned in her stomach. Did Felicity really call her a witch? Of all the slurs, she never expected one so… archaic.

  “Come downstairs. I have a gift for you,” Reven said.

  Intrigue
d, she pulled on her dressing gown and slippers and followed him into the Great Hall. The furniture had been pushed to the side, clearing a space in the center. A quilt and a stack of pillows waited.

  Reven lowered the lights before stretching out on the quilt. He patted the space next to him.

  A distant voice in her head told her that lying next to him was unseemly, but it remained distant and easy to ignore. That voice never let her enjoy herself.

  She stretched out, head on a pillow and hands folded demurely over her abdomen. Thoughts of their kiss came rushing back, heating her. He moaned like a starved man at a feast, and her heart raced, knowing she had that effect on him. Anticipation fluttered in her stomach. She wanted to go back to that and explore it further. Needed to.

  She turned her head towards him, giving him an expectant look.

  He brushed his knuckles down the side of her face and gave her a soft smile. Her stomach fluttered again, and she squeezed her thighs together. She ached for him, which was a sensation she had not experienced in a long time.

  “I have withheld certain information from you,” he started. “You offered me shelter and assistance without knowing me, but I have shared little about myself or my world.”

  “You’ve told me what you can,” she replied. She understood. No one wanted a paradox.

  “I want to show you my favorite view from the lunar base.” He sat a small device on the ground and the room filled with stars.

  “What—”

  The ceiling and the Great Hall vanished. They were in a forest of spruce and pine, but the moon did not hang above them. A great blue and white sphere did. The shape of the land masses was familiar.

  The images of the pine trees seemed to move in an artificial breeze. The lack of nocturnal sounds, breeze, or even the scent of pine needles, told her brain it was a false image, but it appeared real.

  “How is this possible?” she asked.

  “This is an advanced form of your photography,” Reven said.

  “That hardly seems possible,” she said. She and David sat for a photograph on their wedding day. The image was flat and washed in grays. This was so real she could almost feel the night air. She lifted her eyes. “Is that—”