Page 22 of Captured By The Alien Barbarian
Her gaze darts about, looking for the very blossom I mention. I say, “It blooms after the harsh winter subsides and the air turns warmer.”
“Oh,” she says, looking rather disappointed.
I chuckle at her expression. “You won’t be able to miss the flower. It grows everywhere, on tiny vines. The blooms are bright red, just like your hair. The very air smells sweet. But it’s also dangerous. Prepared correctly, it can be a sleep aid. Mess it up, and it can kill you. Of course, it isn’t as sweet-smelling or as beautiful as you.”
Ariana’s mouth hangs open for a moment, then snaps shut, only to open again, as if she can’t decide what to say. Her face flushes crimson, and I watch, entranced, as the blush spreads from her cheeks, down her neck, and across the gentle curve of her breasts, only to disappear beneath the fabric of her clothing.
I’m filled with an urge to see just how far that blush goes. My fingers practically twitch with the need to tear the clothing from her body and I exhale deeply, trying to rein in my thoughts and the corresponding reactions they’re causing.
“Thank you...?” she stammers, “No one’s ever called me both beautiful and deadly before. I feel like some kind of femme fatale.”
“I don’t know what that phrase means,” I say, “but if it’s something positive, then yes, it is an accurate description of you.”
This time, when my tail encircles her wrist, claiming her as my own and keeping her close, she doesn’t glare at me so readily.
* * *
The fruitof the Maklabar tree is quite difficult to reach, as its trunk grows tall and smooth. I doubt Ariana will be able to reach the fruit due to her species’ lack of claws, unlike mine. Breathing heavily, I dig my claws into the bark as deep as possible and pull myself up a little, using my tail to wrap around the trunk for stability. It’s just another feature my mate lacks.
Down below, Ariana makes faint noises each time I ascend higher. Uncertain whether they’re sounds of distress or appreciation, I hope it’s the latter. The more time I spend in her presence, the more I want her admiration.
Still, if it’s concern for my well-being, her actions touch me in a way I never thought possible. Although I should be insulted at her distrust in my abilities, her desire for my safety and wellbeing melts my two hearts—a sign that she truly is beginning to care for me.
By the time I reach the tree’s top, my arms and legs tremble with exhaustion. I stretch upwards, plucking the fuzzy, hand-sized, globe-shaped fruit and detaching it from its stem.
I pluck the Maklabar fruit and call down to Ariana, warning her to stand where I instructed. Glancing down, I see she had indeed stepped forward during my climb, but quickly scurried back to the spot I marked in the soft soil. She looks up at me with a wide smile.
I let the fruit fall to the ground, hearing it bounce and crash through the foliage below before tossing down the rest.
With practiced, graceful movements—and perhaps the intent to impress my mate—I swiftly slide down the trunk.
Landing firmly, perhaps a bit too firmly, as my body jars from the intensity of the impact. However, Ariana’s proud expression and her excited applause make my antics worthwhile.
Gesturing for her to come forward, I’m pleasantly surprised when she eagerly joins me. She’s growing more comfortable with my presence as time passes.
“Great. I’m starving!” she says.
I abruptly turn to her in alarm. She seems in good health, although her stomach frequently growls for sustenance. Guilt for forcing her into this predicament by not providing her adequate food earlier weighs heavily on me.
“Are you truly starving?” I ask.
“What? Oh, no,” Ariana says, with a ripple of laughter that shakes her shoulders. She shakes her head, sending her fiery hair into a whirl about her face. “It’s just an expression. It just means that I’m hungry.”
My shoulders slump in relief. Ariana leads us to a sunlit log nearby and takes a seat. Her hair catches the soft light, shifting from red to golden strands. I sit next to her on the soft soil and can’t help but chuckle as I realize we’re almost the same height. She really is quite small. Ariana struggles to open the fruit with her clawless fingers. The shells are far too thick to simply be forced apart that way. I take the problematic fruit from her hands and crack into its surface with the tips of my claws. With a deft twist, I snap the fruit in half, and its juice dribbles onto my fingers.
Carefully, I pass the fruit back to Ariana, mindful not to spill more of the precious liquid, and she eagerly accepts. “This fruit is known as Maklabar. Drink the liquid, then give it back to me.”
After showing her how to pluck the pale flaky flesh from inside the fruit in bite-sized pieces, I extend the fruit towards her. However, just as Ariana reaches out to take it, I pull back.
“Allow me to feed you, mate.”
Asking for something isn’t my usual approach, but I’m afraid that making demands will only frighten her. She’s a timid little thing in need of coaxing to come out of hiding.
A blush spreads across Ariana’s face at my request, her eyes meeting mine. She squirms on the log, her legs pressed together. I begin to worry that I’ve pushed her too far. Is she about to bolt from me? Then she licks her lips. My gaze is fixed on that little bit of action, and my body hums with desire.
Slowly, Ariana leans towards me and opens her mouth, awaiting my offering. Our eyes stay locked, and the tension mounts between us.
I bring the fruit to her lips, allowing my fingers and claws to lightly graze her soft skin. A moan escapes my lips, and Ariana trembles in response.
