Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 42861 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 214(@200wpm)___ 171(@250wpm)___ 143(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 42861 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 214(@200wpm)___ 171(@250wpm)___ 143(@300wpm)
I’m looking at a male alien. Everything on this planet has horns, and he is no exception. He has horns. Big, shining, horns that bear marks and scars. His chest is bare, and his body is covered in a light fawn colored pelt of fur that does nothing to hide his wicked musculature. His hair is dark and lustrous, curling toward his shoulders, and his face is handsome and intelligent. He has a sharp jaw but powerful mandibles set in a skull made for chewing and fighting. There is something of the beast about his features. His nose is broad and flat. His eyes do not have round pupils; they are bright green and slitted horizontally, guarded by a prominent brow and dark eyebrows. I am certain his vision is better than mine, his field of view wider. His expression is alert, and just on the verge of aggressive. He is a protector guarding his territory, and I am impinging on it.
His eyes slide to me. Meet my gaze. Widen slightly before narrowing. His lips part and I see that this is no beast of prey. He is fanged, two teeth extending out over his lower lip. His lips are black. I do not know if that is a cosmetic choice, but I suspect it is a continuation of the same color that rings his eyes and marks down the sides of his nose. Those lips turn up in a smile, and the fangs become more prominent.
There’s a moment in which I could turn and run, or stand and fight. I could pull the trigger and put a hole the size of a perfectly cut dinner plate in the middle of him. These are the standard biological responses to perceiving a threat. My body picks a third path: arousal.
He is the most attractive, terrifying, incredible creature I have ever seen. The idea of leveling a weapon against him feels wrong. The idea of running away feels even worse. I am destined to stand here, agape, as he approaches me with an easy swagger. He is wearing pants made of corded fiber, a sort of hemp blend that I have no time to pay any attention to because the rest of this creature is so astonishing. He has hands like mine, but his feet are cloven. He makes a slight clicking, clopping sound over the rocky ground between us.
He leans down to look at me. Yes. I am short, and yes, he is tall. He must be at least seven feet tall. Up close, he smells quite strongly of a rich animal musk. He gleams with the scent. It must be an oil or something. Natural? Manufactured? I can’t think of anything besides that scent. I can’t think of anything but him.
I draw in a deep breath, sucking the scent in. I feel myself respond to it even more viscerally than I expected. How does he smell so rough, raw, and good at the same time? It’s like this species has invented an entirely new kind of scent. I just want to bury my face in his chest and breathe in deeply.
“Whoa…” I can’t help exclaiming.
He crooks his finger at me in a gesture that appears to be universal, inviting me closer.
Do I dare take a step toward this creature whose biology seems to be intertwined with the form of a prey species, and yet who gives out absolute alpha predator vibes?
In the end it is not a matter of what I do or do not dare. He reaches for me and takes me by the hand, sliding my weapon from my hand. My fingers relinquish the laser without a fight. I have others, of course, but that is not the point. He has disarmed me figuratively and literally with his mere presence. I look down at the place we are joined, at the paw grasping my own.
His hand is very much like mine, just much bigger and with a light down across the back of it. His palm is leathery in texture, but otherwise smooth. He is a creature designed for this wilderness, or as our scientists would say, by this wilderness. This world has made this incredible alien man who is now leading me through the trees, docile as any lamb to the slaughter.
He takes something metallic from his pocket and motions for me to open my mouth. I obey, because in this haze, obedience is the only option. I am vaguely aware that I appear to have been intoxicated by this creature. I feel compliant and submissive and happy just to be in his presence. I’ve never felt this way before. It is very out of character, a fact I’m aware of, but it doesn’t concern me.
I am a strong, independent woman. The idea of being a castaway on an alien planet thrilled me because I really don’t need anybody. Strumpet, the mandatory emotional support goat, has been nothing but trouble, but that never mattered, because I never needed anyone or anything.