Page 20 of Alien's Challenge
“The answers are complex, and you will have additional questions,” he retorted, irritation in his voice. “You could be clean and asleep by now, but you insist on arguing.”
“I do love a good argument.” This prompted another fit of giggles, for no good reason. “Sorry. I’m so tired, I’m slap -happy.”
“No one will slap anyone,” he said, his voice firm.
“Good to know.” She pulled herself to her feet, aching in every joint. “Where’s the bathroom? I hope they have hot water.” Then, when she thought about it, “I hope I can figure out the bathroom. I mean this looks like a motel room, so some things must be universal.”
“Undress. I will assist,” he said.
“What? No.” Absolutely not. She realized he saw her when she wore nothing more than a decorative handkerchief, but she wasn’t interested in himassistingher in the shower.
The bathroom was a simple tiled room with a drain in the center, a sink along one wall, a wooden bench along the far wall, a complicated silver hose and showerhead hanging on a hook, a narrow shelf built into the tile wall, and a trench in the corner.
Her exhausted brain took a few seconds to realize that people with thick lizard tails couldn’t sit on the type of toilet she was familiar with.
Faris adjusted something on the hose until water poured out. He placed it back on the hook. “Toilet, sink. Soap is on the shelf. Is the water too hot?”
She stuck her hand under the stream of lukewarm water. “No. It’s fine.”
“I will remain outside the door. Call me if you require assistance.”
His overbearing attitude should have been a turnoff, but she felt charmed by him. Had to be a lingering side effect of the abduction. Multiple abductions. Well, two. She wasn't a victim of serial abductions.
She hoped that wasn’t a thing.
Even lukewarm, the water felt amazing. She sat on the bench and let the gunk and grime—and Grabby Hands’ blood—sluice off her. Exploring the bottles, she found a sweet-smelling oil, something that smelled like bleach, and a floral lotion. The last bottle contained the nearest thing to body wash, so she used that. Despite not lathering, she felt clean. The soap was a simple nutty fragrance, perfumed from whatever fat was used, like cocoa butter. She worked it through her hair, so damn happy to wash away the horrible events after she woke up in the warehouse.
She needed to get home. Answers about what happened would be nice but getting home was more important. Her poor Mom. Alice couldn’t imagine the horror of having your child just vanish in the woods. Her mom probably thought she got eaten by a bear or murdered by a serial killer. Or her ex-husband.
Another gap in her memory was filled. She had an ex-husband, Travis. His face remained foggy, but she remembered taking off her wedding ring and stuffing it in a jewelry box.
How many people did she leave behind? She wanted to find the aliens who abducted her and smack them across the face with a pistol and stab them until her rage drained away.
Faris would help her, she felt certain. He didn’t explicitly say he would, but he didn’t jump at the chance to sell a valuable human female, either. When Small mentioned sending her off to human sympathizers to “figure out what to do with her,” Faris said no.
Alice trusted him. Since she woke up naked in a warehouse, surrounded by strangers who saw her only as an opportunity to turn a profit, he was the only decent person she’d met. Considering that he shot multiple people, the bar fordecentwas low.
Fine, she shot Randevere, who was technically a person. Despite it being a total accident, she’d do it again. She wasn’t meeting her own definition of decent either.
But Faris hadn’t killed anyone, not even Grabby Hands. Injured? Yes. Beat the snot out of? Without a doubt. Murdered? Everyone at the bar was breathing the last time she checked.
Beyond that, she felt safe with him. Everything had been a chaotic jumble until he showed up. The chaos continued, but she felt safe next to him in the center of the maelstrom.
He’d help her get home. She knew it.
Faris
He needed air. The sound of water filled the room. Foolishly, he strained to listen for her heartbeat.
This was the fever. His cock throbbed, demanding release. Remaining passive while she wrapped her arms around him during the cycle ride had been one of the most difficult feats he ever achieved. Not slaughtering the male who attempted to take her had not nearly been as challenging as not responding to her touches.
He opened the window and took a deep breath of the cold, clean air.
It would pass.
He would molt. The hormones responsible for new scale production would burn off. The female would no longer invade his thoughts. His cock would be his own once again.
He rubbed the palm of his hand against himself. He had carried her in his arms, held her soft form against his. The lustful part of his mind whispered that his constant erection would frighten the female. A quick release would take the edge off.
