Page 20 of Alien Desire
My cheeks flush and I scratch my neck as I examine the screen and make my next move.
I win the first three matches quickly and easily, but when I suggest we break for lunch, Tor shakes his head and presses me back into my seat. It seems the large alien is competitive;verycompetitive. I’m not surprised. I doubt someone his size is used to losing.
On the fourth game, it is clear he is beginning to pick the game up. I can almost see the little cogs in his head spinning as he studies the board and applies what he has already learnt. This match is tougher. I find myself almost walking straight into a trap he’s laid me, and need to concentrate more intently after that.
“Wow,” I say nodding, “impressive.”
But I still win this game, and the next, and then have to insist we eat as my stomach growls so loud it almost sounds like thunder.
Chapter ten - Tor
The Omega has laid out a challenge for me: one I must complete if I mean to mate her.
This is also a ritual I remember existed back in the days of old. An in-demand Omega could set a trial or an obstacle and the first Alpha who successfully overcame it was permitted to claim her.
Granted, such trials were, as far as I recall, usually more physical and dangerous than the one this Omega has laid out. The most famous of the tales was that of the great Gryton Princess Felia. Every Alpha in the kingdom wished to claim her so she decreed that only an Alpha who could fetch her the prized egg of a Mython (a deadly and fierce creature from the far off southern lands) would have her. Many died in the pursuit until finally the Hero Winx succeeded.
I suppose it is not so bizarre that, being of a more backward species, such a primitive tradition would still exist in Emma’s culture. Although, I am confused that the trial is mental and not physical. I suppose the early task of fixing the vent must also have been part of this ritual. It could be classed as physical but it required only a minimum amount of my strength.
This ‘chess’ challenge is far more taxing, but I am determined to crack it, and crack it quickly. I will not waste years on the pursuit like the Hero Winx.
I’m finding that the longer I spend in this Omega’s presence, the more determined I am to have her. Her smell grows more delicious, her face more beautiful and her playful manner more pleasing. It is making it increasingly difficult to focus on the task. Especially when her eyes light up in amusement or she rewards me with one of the bright expressions she calls a smile.
She is so easy in her manner. There is no formality, no reserve or rules. She eats on the floor. She dresses in hideous orange overalls that make her look like a wurange. And she frequently meets my eye, oblivious to the fact an Omega should lower her eyes in an Alpha’s presence, submit to his will, and follow his instructions. No, she breezily refuses to sit on my lap and earlier I believe she even made fun of me.
In my place, my father would be fuming at such outrageous behaviour. He’d probably find a suitable form of punishment. But I find I enjoy it. It is refreshing, like finally being offered wine when you’ve been drinking only water all your life.
She is an obstinate little thing too, refusing my help when she struggles to open a jar of one of her food stuffs, straining at the lid until her knuckles are completely white and her teeth clamped together.
She insists I depart the room whenever she undresses or washes, despite my attempted reassurances that I would like to see her naked. And she hides behind her hands and dashes from our shared spaces whenever I strip out of my own clothes.
She won’t follow my commands and I know this isn’t a lack of understanding, but a lack of care. She is not cowed by me as other Omegas are. It is abundantly clear that this Omega makes her own decisions and her own choices.
I just wish she’d hurry up and choose to let me mate her.
Right now.
After our lunch, I make it clear I want to return to the computer to beat her at the game of wits and mate her immediately. However, the Omega has other ideas. She says she is ‘tired’ — although it is some hours before she needs to sleep — and proceeds to head for the bedroom and climb into bed, snuggling under the covers and opening a small rectangular object formed of thin leaves bound together.
I climb in beside her, keen to take advantage of any opportunity to press my hard body against her soft one. But she frowns and shoos me away, throwing another of these rectangular objects at me when I attempt to purr her into submission.
Instead of making me angry, I find myself wanting even more to crawl into the bed. But cracking the chess challenge will be the fastest way of achieving this. I head to the computer.
I traverse through the chess programme until I find a way for the computer to teach me and I then sit through two hours of simulations. It is mildly amusing but not half as much as sitting here playing against the Omega.
I have always enjoyed other Gryton’s company — particularly my mother, my half brother Zyam and best friend Strax. I often seek them out to spend my time with them. We share food or tasks and eat together. It is pleasant.
It is nothing like spending time with Emma. Her smell and the warmth from her skin has my own heating and my heart hammering. I have never craved another being like I crave this Omega. Is it just the confinements of our situation? I peer out at the storm.
The next morning she is willing to indulge me in more games of chess, but despite the hours I spent studying the day before, she still beats me — although perhaps with more concentration and determination on her part. Plus this time I see my strategic errors and start to understand how I might be able to out-maneuver her. We break for lunch as the winds howl around the building and the windows swirl with murky cloud.
Afterwards she won’t submit to further games, despite my keenness. She seems to decide that she needs another form of entertainment to distract me. A discussion with the computer follows and then a cacophony of noise plays through the speakers. It takes me a while to realise that this clash of instruments, haphazard rhythm and wailing human voice must be her form of music. I grimace and the expression makes her lips curl upwards at the edges and the merry sound burst from her mouth.
Like last time, I find I can’t help but mirror this. The enjoyment on her face sends a warmth blossoming in my belly.
“Funny?” I ask her.
“Yes.” Then she points to one of the speakers. “Music.” She bobs her head in time to the beat. “Good?”
