Alien Desire by Hannah Haze
Chapter twenty three - Emma
The ship is bigger than I imagined. A darkly silver ball of metal, descending through the sky with a roar, whipping up the air and blowing snow, ice and cloud in all directions. I stand to the side of the window, watching, hidden by the frame, my heart beating fiercely in my chest.
I realise now how stupid my ideas of escape were, especially when the Gryton stride from the ship, armed with long spears, and tall and strong like Tor. There is no way I can outrun these men, no way I can fight them either.
Shaking my head, I go to turn, not wanting to see anymore, but then I freeze. The scene playing out beyond the window is all wrong. It is not one of brothers reunited, friends happily greeting one another. There is menace, confrontation and danger in their countenance.
Icy fear sweeps through my body.
This is wrong, something is wrong.
The Gryton halt in front of Tor and knock him across the crown of his head without warning. A fight breaks out, Tor lashing and striking at them like he did the monster under the ice. But he is weaponless and outnumbered. Soon, they force him to his knees.
I gasp as they twist his arms, and force a blade to his throat
The Gryton in charge has a grip on Tor’s hair and yells down into his face as Tor glares up at him resolutely. Their voices are loud but although I know more Gryton words now, it is hard for me to make out their conversation.
Are they arresting him? Had he lied to me? Is he a fugitive? And if he is, what does that mean for me?
No, I force away the wild thoughts in my head. Whatever the disagreement between us, I know deep down in my soul that he is a good soul. Like Sheila said. My imagination is a temptress enticing me away from what I know solidly in my heart to be the truth.
This isn’t an arrest.
This is an assassination.
I sprint across the room, to the cupboard at the far side. Here I’d hidden a selection of weapons from the store when Tor had arrived. Just in case.
I grab at the long-range rifle, praying this ancient relic still works, and click through the settings so that it hums to life in my hands. Thank God.
Then I dash back to the window.
They’re taunting him now, the chief Gryton smacking Tor across the face as he jeers at him and he sways on his knees struggling to stay in place.
My hands are shaking as I whisper at Sheila to open the window and creep up to the gap, peering out at the aliens.
It’s been months since I fired a weapon. But the weeks and weeks of training years ago, mean the actions come back to me instinctually, and my brain barely engages as I bring the rifle up to my eye and line up the shot. My fingers still on the trigger and my panting breath calms. I look down the barrel of the gun, my sights on my prize and I squeeze, my eyes clamping shut at the same moment.
The force of the shot flings me backward.
There’s a bang and a yell. My heart thuds in my chest. Noise screams in my ears.
I can’t breathe. I can’t open my eyes to look.
Please be ok. Please be ok. Please say I made the shot!
When my eyes fly open, I see the chief Gryton has fallen backward into a heap, a smouldering hole in his head, and Tor has used the opportunity to clobber the guard who had hold of him. But the others are rushing towards him with their spears outstretched and he’s still outnumbered, his hands still bound.
I rock forward and tug the rifle back into position. My heart has been kicked into beat now and it thumps violently in my chest, making my hands shake again with the force.
I don’t have time to line up the shot the way I want. I just fire towards the guards, this time bolstering my shoulder so I’m not rocketed backward.
The blast streaks through the air and hits one of the guards in the chest, sending him flying to the ground.
But I’m too late for the others. They’re on Tor already and in the tangle of bodies, I can’t get a clean shot.
He’s freed his hands and is on his feet, but it’s three to one and though he’s fighting with everything he has, he’s taking blow after blow to his chin and his temple, his ribs and his gut. I flinch at every impact and then I can’t hold back.
I jump through the window and sprint towards them, screaming in fury as I do. Fluffy bounds behind me howling.
“Get off him. Get off him. Leave him alone.”
One of the guards takes a step back from the fight and his eyes round on me. Confusion passes over his face as he takes me in and then an obvious look of smugness as he runs to meet me.
He thinks I’m small, insignificant and easily beaten. And he is large and broad — just like Tor — at least a foot and a half bigger than me. But everyone’s always been bigger than me. Every other cadet I trained with towered above me. They under-estimated me then and so will the guard with jet black hair and eyes dark like coal, snarling as he comes towards me.
I fire the rifle in his direction, but he swerves and it shoots past his shoulder. He goes to ground, sliding forcefully towards me in an attempt to take out my legs. But I’m quick — small and nimble has its advantages — and I spring over him, rolling and landing up on my feet.
“Emma, no!” Tor calls from the distance.
But I have no time to seek him out as I twist around. The guard is back on his feet too, turning towards me.
He jabs his spear at me and I duck, the blade skimming straight past my ear. I can hear the Gryton’s ragged breath and smell his virulent Alpha scent. In his dark eyes sparks a violent glint that chills me to the bone.
Lunging forward, his blade swipes towards my hip and I spin away. Fluffy whines and growls around us, leaping towards the guard, snapping at his feet and then scurrying away. He kicks at the dog and I seize my opportunity.
Before he has a chance to make his next move, I swing the rifle straight into his side, squeezing the trigger as I do. The weapon hits his ribs with a thwack and then an almighty crack. He stumbles to his knees, topples for a moment before crumpling down.
The stench of burning flesh lingers in the air, burning my nostril. I wretch and stagger away.
My breath rattles in my chest. My blood pounds hot in my veins.
I take a deep breath and run towards Tor. He’s fighting two of them at once, his skin suit ripped and his braid loose, hair falling over his face. A deep gash arcs across his shoulder and another down his cheek. But he’s still fighting, ducking the swerves and blows of the other two Gryton. They are coming at him so fast, all he can do is dodge. He has no chance to get a strike of his own.
I lunge at the smaller one, knocking him around the head with the weapon. It takes him by surprise and Tor uses it to upper cut his jaw, kicking him to the floor and Fluffy is on him, his teeth ripping at his throat.
And then it’s just Tor and the final guard, an older Gryton who fights like someone with years’ of experience. He’s not foolish enough to leave himself exposed, or tempted by Tor’s taunts. There’s intelligence and skill in his manner, and confidence on his lips.
“Who sent you,” Tor shouts at him. “Tell me who issued the order and I might spare your life.”
The Guard’s eyes flit to me. “You have an Omega,” he says, and I don’t like the greed in his eyes.
“Stay back,” Tor growls at me, his arms extended as he tries to shield me. “I’ve got this.”
And maybe he has but I’m not taking that risk. I see my chance as the two of them circle each other and I motion my head at Fluffy who darts forward and nips at the guard’s tail. The guard halts, swiping at the ball of hair with his weapon. Fluffy lets out a whimper of pain that strikes me all the way down to my bones.
No one hurts Fluffy.
No one hurts my Alpha.
Quick as a flash my rifle is lined up and firing. The guard blasts across the ice in a cloud of light and smoke. And it’s over.
I stagger backwards and then I sink to my knees, panting. Despite the cold, sweat streams down my face and bathes my neck, and a sudden nausea crashes through me.
And then Tor’s there, crouched down beside me. His arms come around me, hard and strained, and he squeezes me tight against him. I swivel around in his arms and my mouth is on his, hot and desperate, needing to feel him, to feel his breath and his heartbeat, to know he is safe and here and never ever leaving me.
They tried to kill him. They tried to take him from me. My Alpha. Mine.
And then it breaks, a flood of everything pouring out of me as I grip the back of his neck and press my lips hard against his. Sobs rack my body, tears flowing from my eyes and he tries to tilt away, but I hang on to him tightly, biting his lips and pulling him back into my mouth.
And he groans, kissing me in return with a passion and a ferocity that has to be real, that has to mean something.
Then he picks me up and hurries me into the home that’s been just ours for the last few weeks. I steady my rattling breaths and peer up at him through wet lashes. His eyes glimmer with more emotion than I knew existed inside him. It is so strong, so powerful, I can hardly look. It makes my very soul quake.
When he looks at me like that I could almost believe he loves me, but I know I am nothing more than an Omega to him. Something to own.
He drops me on the bed and we tear at each other’s clothes. I still need to feel his skin, his heart beat, his breath. I need that grounding, a reassurance that he is here with me, safe, alive.
I’ve missed his touch. It has been too long.
I need this. I need him. Even if it’s temporary. Even if he cannot give me what he promised.
His kisses are desperate and feverish down my neck, across my shoulders, over my breasts. His hands are too, gripping and groping at my waist and my arse, my thighs and my stomach.
My body responds to him immediately, a powerful ache forming deep in my gut and between my legs; my own kisses and hands racing to keep up with his.
Our scents grow thick and heavy in the air between us, mixing together to create that aroma I love. A mix of feminine and masculine, heavy and light, hard and soft. Like us. Him all hard planes and sharp edges, me all soft surfaces and sweeping curves. We are opposites. Not meant to be together. And yet we fit so perfectly. No one has ever made me feel like he does.
And he is possessed, unstoppable.
“I missed you,” he groans, opening my legs wide. “I need to have you, to plunge deep inside that warm cunt of yours and pound you until you scream my name. I need to watch you come undone, I need to do that to you. I need to know you are mine.”
I am incapable of making words of my own as his fingertips brush over my sex. Sometimes actions speak louder than words anyway, and I grip his arse, sinking my nails into the firm flesh, and drag him to where I need him.
His hands come sliding under me and he lifts me onto his waiting cock. Together we groan as he sinks into me, long animalistic noises that reveal to each other how hard we’ve been fighting the appeal of this these last few days. As he pushes further, brushing across that sensitive spot, my vision explodes with stars and I gasp.
For a moment, we hang there suspended, me and him, caught in the bliss of his cock fully submerged within me, trying to catch our needy breaths. And then he begins to move, slow languid circling of his hips as if he means to tease me, punish me, show me what I’ve missed. He brushes against my clit, spending sparks flying and I plead for more.
“Don’t ever shut me out again, Omega,” he growls into my ear, his hot breath on my cheek. “I can’t stand it. It’s worse than anything they could have done to me. You are mine and I need you like I need oxygen. These last few days you’ve been slowly starving me to death.”
“You have me now,” I gasp.
And he growls louder, nipping at my earlobe, and driving in harder so that my own oxygen is whipped from my lungs.
He’s taking me over, invading the very last part of my soul — he has already claimed me, I am already under his spell — he is lodged firmly in my heart, his child growing in my stomach — and no barricade, no distance, will ever change that. I could beg him now to bite me, to make it official but I want more from him. I want him in return. I want him to love me like I love him.
So I tell him, as I cling to his body, smeared with blood and sweat, his hair marked with the smoke from the rifle. I tell him that I love him. And my words make him frantic.
He loses his control, taking my hands and gripping them above my head and pounding into me with the full force of his body. Long powerful thrusts that I can hardly bear, it’s too good, too much and I’m too close to losing everything.
I cry out, more tears streaming down my face as my eyes screw shut and I swing my head from side to side in desperation, every part of me tensing against the inevitable surge.
“Take it,” he says, with even harder thrusts, “Take all of it. And come for me, Omega.”
And I do, my spine arching as I hover for a millisecond, before the explosion rips out from my core and I come around his cock, convulsing and clenching at him.
“I’m going to come too,” he tells me.
“Yes,” I moan as he falters and stutters, his cock throbbing and jerking within me, and then he collapses down on top of me, heavy and hot, and I wrap my arms around him, showering him in more kisses as my high continues to sizzle through my body.
I wish we could stay here in this moment, both blown away by bliss, swept up in each other, floating high above reality. I wish we didn’t have to descend back down, to face the future and the words that need to come next. The reality of our situation, the inevitable heartache of whatever we decide to do next.