Alien Desire by Hannah Haze
Chapter ten - Tor
The Omega has laid out a challenge for me: one I must complete if I mean to mate her.
This is also a ritual I remember existed back in the days of old. An in-demand Omega could set a trial or an obstacle and the first Alpha who successfully overcame it was permitted to claim her.
Granted, such trials were, as far as I recall, usually more physical and dangerous than the one this Omega has laid out. The most famous of the tales was that of the great Gryton Princess Felia. Every Alpha in the kingdom wished to claim her so she decreed that only an Alpha who could fetch her the prized egg of a Mython (a deadly and fierce creature from the far off southern lands) would have her. Many died in the pursuit until finally the Hero Winx succeeded.
I suppose it is not so bizarre that, being of a more backward species, such a primitive tradition would still exist in Emma’s culture. Although, I am confused that the trial is mental and not physical. I suppose the early task of fixing the vent must also have been part of this ritual. It could be classed as physical but it required only a minimum amount of my strength.
This ‘chess’ challenge is far more taxing, but I am determined to crack it, and crack it quickly. I will not waste years on the pursuit like the Hero Winx.
I’m finding that the longer I spend in this Omega’s presence, the more determined I am to have her. Her smell grows more delicious, her face more beautiful and her playful manner more pleasing. It is making it increasingly difficult to focus on the task. Especially when her eyes light up in amusement or she rewards me with one of the bright expressions she calls a smile.
She is so easy in her manner. There is no formality, no reserve or rules. She eats on the floor. She dresses in hideous orange overalls that make her look like a wurange. And she frequently meets my eye, oblivious to the fact an Omega should lower her eyes in an Alpha’s presence, submit to his will, and follow his instructions. No, she breezily refuses to sit on my lap and earlier I believe she even made fun of me.
In my place, my father would be fuming at such outrageous behaviour. He’d probably find a suitable form of punishment. But I find I enjoy it. It is refreshing, like finally being offered wine when you’ve been drinking only water all your life.
She is an obstinate little thing too, refusing my help when she struggles to open a jar of one of her food stuffs, straining at the lid until her knuckles are completely white and her teeth clamped together.
She insists I depart the room whenever she undresses or washes, despite my attempted reassurances that I would like to see her naked. And she hides behind her hands and dashes from our shared spaces whenever I strip out of my own clothes.
She won’t follow my commands and I know this isn’t a lack of understanding, but a lack of care. She is not cowed by me as other Omegas are. It is abundantly clear that this Omega makes her own decisions and her own choices.
I just wish she’d hurry up and choose to let me mate her.
Right now.
After our lunch, I make it clear I want to return to the computer to beat her at the game of wits and mate her immediately. However, the Omega has other ideas. She says she is ‘tired’ — although it is some hours before she needs to sleep — and proceeds to head for the bedroom and climb into bed, snuggling under the covers and opening a small rectangular object formed of thin leaves bound together.
I climb in beside her, keen to take advantage of any opportunity to press my hard body against her soft one. But she frowns and shoos me away, throwing another of these rectangular objects at me when I attempt to purr her into submission.
Instead of making me angry, I find myself wanting even more to crawl into the bed. But cracking the chess challenge will be the fastest way of achieving this. I head to the computer.
I traverse through the chess programme until I find a way for the computer to teach me and I then sit through two hours of simulations. It is mildly amusing but not half as much as sitting here playing against the Omega.
I have always enjoyed other Gryton’s company — particularly my mother, my half brother Zyam and best friend Strax. I often seek them out to spend my time with them. We share food or tasks and eat together. It is pleasant.
It is nothing like spending time with Emma. Her smell and the warmth from her skin has my own heating and my heart hammering. I have never craved another being like I crave this Omega. Is it just the confinements of our situation? I peer out at the storm.
The next morning she is willing to indulge me in more games of chess, but despite the hours I spent studying the day before, she still beats me — although perhaps with more concentration and determination on her part. Plus this time I see my strategic errors and start to understand how I might be able to out-maneuver her. We break for lunch as the winds howl around the building and the windows swirl with murky cloud.
Afterwards she won’t submit to further games, despite my keenness. She seems to decide that she needs another form of entertainment to distract me. A discussion with the computer follows and then a cacophony of noise plays through the speakers. It takes me a while to realise that this clash of instruments, haphazard rhythm and wailing human voice must be her form of music. I grimace and the expression makes her lips curl upwards at the edges and the merry sound burst from her mouth.
Like last time, I find I can’t help but mirror this. The enjoyment on her face sends a warmth blossoming in my belly.
“Funny?” I ask her.
“Yes.” Then she points to one of the speakers. “Music.” She bobs her head in time to the beat. “Good?”
I wouldn’t describe it as that, no, but not wanting to hurt her feelings I continue to smile and say nothing.
Appearing to take this as encouragement, the little Omega starts to squirm and wiggle on the spot. I stare at her open-mouthed. What on Astia is she doing? Is she unwell? The way her body convulses looks almost like she might be having a fit.
My eyebrows lift in alarm and I reach for her, but she tosses back her head, throws her arms wide, and spins.
Is this … dancing? These chaotic, erratic movements are not the ordered, sedated motion of Gryton dance, but I have to confess to being somewhat captivated by the sway of her hips, the bounce of her chest and the jiggle of her backside.
“Come,” she says, beckoning me to join in. But frankly, I wouldn’t know where to start. There’s no rhyme or reason to it.
Seeing my hesitancy, she reaches forward and takes my hands in hers and that now familiar jolt of electricity races through me.
She steps from side to side and my arms sway with her, while my body remains rigid. This does not deter her. She points to my feet, signaling for me to move in time with her.
With a reluctant sigh, I obey. If it were not for the pure absurdity of this dance, I would wonder if it were another part of the mating ritual — some creatures on Astia being known to seduce each other with ‘dance’ before copulation.
It occurs to me that this experience would be more enjoyable with the Omega pressed up against me. I’m about to tug her my way, when she spins under my arm, yelping with joy, and then spins the other way.
While I certainly am happy to continue to watch the hypnotising wriggles of her soft pliant body, this is a waste of time. Time we could be using to mate. I need to overcome the trial she has set me. And soon.
* * *When morning arrives, I persuade her into another game of chess. This one is closer; I can tell from the little crease between Emma’s eyebrows and the way she snaps at the computer with irritation. She is concentrating more closely. But after half an hour she beats me again. I immediately demand a rematch and, with a shake of her head, she agrees.
This time the match is even closer. I take some risks and set up some of the plays the computer showed me. She leans forward and studies the screen, muttering to herself, her eyes flickering about as if she’s visualising the moves. When she makes her move, she bites her lip and her finger lingers above the screen. She’s still of two minds about what to do and I know I’ve got her. Five moves later and I have her King.
She grins at me and holds out her hand. I stare at it for several minutes, wondering what this can mean, if she is finally submitting, then take hold of it and tug her towards me.
She yelps in alarm and lands in my lap where I’ve wanted her for several days.
But before I can wrap her in my arms and proceed to the mating, she’s scrambled to her feet.
With her hands on her hips, she says, “Shake.” Then takes her right hand in her left and waggles it up and down, before offering me her hand again. I copy the gesture although it seems pointless, and wait for my prize.
It is not forthcoming and, for the first time in my life, I am so utterly frustrated with the situation I find I want to head out into the storm and yell at the sky. Or punch something. Punch lots of things. Hard.
I need to get to my damned ship, storm or no storm, and resolve this communication obstacle.
But the storm is fierce and relentless and it rages on for five more days.
Five more days of being taunted by the smiles of this Omega, the jiggles of her unfamiliar body, and the ripening of her scent.