Page 5 of Captured By The Alien Barbarian
I don’t feel relief when I reach my home, just a dizzying fear that I am too late. That nothing I can do will save her.
My pet drolvden approaches but senses my urgency, holding back. As I dash past, they sniff the air, detecting the unfamiliar scent of blood—hers. My mate’s. They are clueless about her significance to me.
I barrel through the wooden door. The sound of the wood shattering is loud in the quiet room. Ignoring the splinters and debris, my only concern is healing my mate.
Gently, I lay her on my fur pallet that I use for sleeping. She attempts to curl up, whimpering softly. Her sounds of distress pierce my soul. Blood continues to seep from her wounds, the metallic scent filling the room. Has she already lost too much?
Her natural fragrance reaches my nose, tainted by blood. But beneath it all, the undeniable scent of a female. It fuels my determination to nurse her back to health. I need to see her cared for.
I grab the nearest blanket and wrap it around her limbs, hoping to staunch the bleeding. Once ready, I remove the tattered clothing and wash her wounds. Water splashes everywhere, drenching the floor and nearby furs. Among her injuries are teeth marks—evidence of one wild night out.
Time seems to crawl as I frantically scavenge supplies and tools around my simple dwelling. With nimble fingers, I begin to stitch her wounds closed. Each time the needle pricks her skin, I can’t help but cringe, reminding myself that this is necessary. Without it, she will die. Still, guilt hangs over me. I would’ve happily endured the pain a hundredfold for each of her injuries if it meant saving her from this torment.
Once I’ve treated her most critical wounds, I swaddle them in clean hides soaked in a healing paste. Now all I can do is wait. Eventually, she will recover, and we can spend countless days together, unraveling each other’s mysteries. I can learn about her people and why she came here. I shake my head firmly. My mind feels clouded with the need to mate, to protect. I am getting ahead of myself. I know nothing about her or her species. As I examine her more intently, her scent tickles my nostrils. Beneath the grime, there is a subtle but delicious aroma that reminds me of warm days spent bathing in the sun amidst blooming flowers. Heavenly.
“Do you have a name?” I ask, knowing full well I will not get a response. She is already dear to me, and I don’t even know her name.
“I shall call you Nika then.” It is a fitting name since her scent reminds me so strongly of the scarlet Nika flowers that blossom around my dwelling when the weather is warm.
I ponder her origins. In all my cycles, I have never seen or heard of anyone like her. It is hard to picture such a small and delicate being surviving on this ruthless planet. Life here is relentless, gradually stripping away everything until only a husk remains. I know that better than most.
The thought of other tribes discovering her existence sends shivers down my spine. They would kill to have her for their own. Encountering a lone female in the wild is unheard of. It dawns on me that I need to shield her since she cannot defend herself. She is now another mouth to feed, another body to protect from danger.
Perhaps after she is healed, I can return her to her people. But the idea of parting ways sets my hearts racing, a cloud of panic momentarily covering my mind. Now that she is in my grasp, I do not like the idea of not seeing her again. Of letting her go. She is too valuable, I rationalize. She could answer all my questions about her species and whether they pose a threat to my own tribe.
Until I decide what to do with her, she is mine. I will see to it that nothing, ever, threatens her. Already her soft scent has permeated my home, taking over, mingling effortlessly with my own.
I try to rationalize my thoughts and my body’s reaction. It has been too long since I have been in the presence of an unmated female. To say I am a bit overwhelmed would be an understatement.
With a growl of exasperation, I occupy myself with tidying the place. Staying active helps me focus on something other than the female so fitfully sleeping nearby.
Before long, I am clean, my work area is clean... but my mate is still a disheveled sight. I can see grime on her face and body, and her hair is a bird’s nest of twigs and leaves. I yearn to run my fingers through it and feel its silken softness slide around my claws. As I chat with her, her nose crinkles, as if trying to sniff me out. Her brows furrow, and her lush lips pout. I am dying to touch those lips to see if they are as soft as they appear. But the timing is all wrong.
Seeing her hair splayed out over my blankets makes my cock harden. Would that be the sight I saw when I spilled my seed deep within her, as she clenched around me? Her red hair is such a unique coloring compared to my tribe’s black locks. It is the same hue as the Nika flowers. Yes, the name I have picked for her is perfect. She is perfect. I run my claws ever so gently through her hair. I take my time working free of the snarls and knots, careful not to pull on them and hurt her. Gathering a small bowl of warm water and cloth, I begin the task that I probably should have done earlier. Guilt assails me for being so lax with my duties, but I squash it down to focus on her needs now.
I peel the grubby furs from her small body, tossing the soiled ones aside for cleaning or disposal later. I am faced with the strange clothing she wears that covers her from neck to toe. At first, I wonder if I can salvage the clothing, but it has been ripped apart in so many places. I doubt she would want the reminder of being attacked.
As I fumble with her footwear, I recall some elders from my youth donning footwear. It takes me considerable time to unravel the laces and slip off the hefty footwear. Underneath, another layer of fabric swaddles her petite, clawless toes.
The only way I can describe her feet is cute.
Tracing a finger along the underside, she snorts in her slumber but doesn’t rouse. The soft, cushiony texture makes me put the shoes aside for cleaning. I doubt she could safely stroll outside without them, given how delicate her feet appear.
I use my claws to rip the material from ankle right up to her hips. My claws tug through delicately stitched seams with ease. It is a shame to waste such fine material, especially seeing how much work my mate had put into making her clothing. I am a little ashamed that over the cycles I haven’t bothered much with my own clothing, favoring simple pants. I haven’t even bothered wearing a vest or shirt this whole last season, favoring the feeling of sun on my bare back.
Perhaps Nika will honor me by making garments of such fine quality—far beyond my own skill. I can already envision spending days or evenings working alongside her.
I clean Nika’s legs, savoring the silkiness of her skin. I enjoy the feel of her skin beneath my fingers, tracing back and forth over it. The flesh is easy to indent, and I realize just how much thinner her skin is compared to my own. Ugly discolored marks mar her skin, showing just how easily she can be bruised.
Gently, I cradle her in my arms, swapping the sullied bedding for clean furs.
That’s when I spot the blood pooling beneath her. I curse at the sight of her wounds, still oozing despite my endeavors. Even though I close the wounds, bringing the flesh together... her injuries display no hints of healing. I have no idea how fast her species heals. From the look of it, much slower than my own.
My eyes shift across the room to a lone jar on a shelf, sticking out like a sore thumb. Its glossy container catches the light, like a beacon—a terrible, dreadful beacon.
I avert my eyes, resolute not to use that poultice. It is too dangerous. Anything but that one.
A whimper escapes my lips as I grasp that I have no choice. I am clueless about treating injuries as grave as hers. It is the only thing that might save her. Lurching to the tiny jar on the shelf, I waver for just a moment, my hand floating above the poultice. I had sworn never to use it. It is potent. It might do more harm than good. But without it, she is doomed. With it, a glint of hope shimmers.
