Marauder Fenrir: Scifi Alien Invasion Romance (Mating Wars) (5 page)

T
he woman wraps
the chains around me. They feel cold against my skin, but when her hand brushes against me, it’s sinfully warm.

I close my eyes and try to fight the temptation, but I feel my cock rising and getting harder at her mere touch.

“Okay,” she says. “I got some extra pants. They’re pretty gross and dirty...but I don’t want you walking around naked on the orbital.”

“Another wise choice,” I say. “I don’t want to tempt their females and make their males feel jealousy toward me. Tell me about the dialect spoken on New Copenhagen. Do they say ‘female’ or ‘Fiona?’ What other terms should I know?”

“I’m just going to ignore you, okay?” she says. “Keep your legs straight, the pants are going on now. You’re too damn tall, so I had to rip the bottoms off each leg, and I tore out the elastic on the waistband...but they should fit.”

I straighten my legs, and I feel her pulling the cloth onto me.

“Shit,” she says. “I should have had you put these on before I chained you up.”

“I can break these chains,” I say. “Easily.”

“They don’t know that, just pretend you can’t.”

She tugs the pants up my legs; my arms are chained behind my back, but my bottom half is naked and unrestrained. My cock is hard and vibrating slightly, as the human Fiona’s sinful pheromones are flooding my nostrils and her soft and warm skin is constantly touching me as she chains and clothes me.

She gets the pants pulled all the way up to my waist, but my hard cock stands tall above my abdominal muscles, poking far out of the strange cloth confines.

“Jesus,” she snorts. “You have to be joking.”

She starts to pull and tug on the waistband, and the movement stimulates my penis.

“I can’t get it in,” she says, referring to fitting my cock into the pants.

I long for her to touch my cock, and I bite my lip until I draw blood. The pain does nothing to erase my temptation.

An alarm buzzes, and red lights begin flashing.

“Shit!” she yells in a panic. “They’re boarding now. If they see you popping a teal boner out of your pants, they’re going to think we were...they’re going to think I was…”

Without warning, her warm hand wraps tightly around my masculine rod, and I vibrate wildly beneath her hand.

My cock secretes lubricant immediately, coating the shaft, and causing her hand to slide down my length.

Her face burns red. She pulls the waistband out, and then swiftly shoves my throbbing penis down until it’s below the waistline.

She lets go, the pants snapping against my waist, but my cock presses against the pants. I can see every last bulging vein through the tight pants. As the lubricant begins to seep through, I can even make out some of the teal color of my cock.

“I think this will still tempt them,” I say.

She’s already turned her back to me, and I can see her hands shaking. I’ve had quite an effect on her, yet the need to breed with her has completely overtaken me.

I too begin to tremble, and I worry that sinful lust will utterly consume me. That it will bring me so deep into shame debt that no act could ever redeem me. This feeling toward the human Fiona–if left unchecked–could bring me to betray my race, I realize.

The humans truly must be destroyed.

The airlock hisses, and then it pops open. A tall human female with golden blonde hair pulls herself onboard. Her features more closely align to the Seraphic Form than those of the female who has just chained me up and touched my penis. Though this new blonde female’s features are supposedly more ideal...I’m less attracted to her than I am to the Fiona.

I find myself suddenly in a strange situation–there are two motherless females–and I don’t know their function. On our Marauder fleet, childless females–and among a Marauder invasion fleet, that meant
all
the females–were referred to by their duty among the fleet: Antimatter-containment engineer 6, maintenance worker 3, training room operator 12, and so on.

I consider briefly thinking of the female I am most tempted by as “The Fiona,” but using her special dialect in this way feels blasphemously close to giving a childless female a mother’s name.

Turret Woman
, that’s what I’ll call her.

And this new one?

“What is your role on the habitat?” I shout the question to her.

She grips the handrail and looks down at me with wide eyes. Then her eyes stray farther down until she’s gaping at my bulging penis.

She looks back up, turning to look briefly at me, and then shifting her eye contact over to Turret Woman. I catch her glancing back at my hard penis, and then she shakes her head. Her long hair floats through the air like golden flames dancing in slow motion.

“I am Dr. Lisbeth Kristensen, Chair of the New Copenhagen University of Xenology, and I’ve been designated to–.”

“Jesus!” Turret Woman says. “You’re worse than an Imperial general with all of the titles and pomp–.”

“You are childless?” I ask her.

Xenology Woman pulls her blond hair back and tucks it into her collar. She’s wearing a high-collared shirt that looks almost shiny, and it clings tightly to her large breasts. Comparing it to Turret Woman’s dirty military uniform, I can see there is some kind of cultural or status difference between the two of them. And as they are females, this has made them immediately hate each other.

Xenology Woman shakes her head and says, “You’ve got nothing on your mind but knocking up as many of us as you can? How disappointing. I’d hoped the rumors were false and there’d be more to your culture than fucking.”

Xenology Woman sneers at Turret Woman and says, “He’s done with you already. He knocked you up, and he’s already asking me if I’m childless. I hope you were just into that alien cock and hadn’t felt anything for–.”

I growl and fight against my chains. They jangle, and my muscles flex. I kick off the wall and propel myself toward her in anger, but she dodges my advances. With my arms restrained, I simply ram ears first into the airlock door.

“Hmm,” Xenology Woman says. “Maybe he has decided you’re his lifemate? This could be interesting to study.”

My head and ears hurt, but I feel terror at this woman’s words. Why did I try to attack Xenology Woman for insulting Turret Woman? Is my temptation to breed with her developing into something more? Is it true blasphemy?

“I can’t say I don’t understand, why you’d let him fuck you,” Xenology Woman says. “He’s...a striking sight to behold. I’m going to examine him now.”

“What is your name?” Xenology Woman asks me.

I glare at her. She has no need to know my name.

“Let’s restrain his legs,” Xenology Woman snaps to Turret Woman. “I’m sure he can kick harder than a horse.”

“Just bring us onto New Copenhagen,” Turret Woman says. “We’ll negotiate then–”

Xenology Woman seizes Turret Woman around the neck, and my inner bear begins to roar.

The same genetic code that allows me to hibernate through the decades-long journey to Sol also allows me to transform into a bear at will, and at this moment, I allow the bear to take full control.

My body grows in size, tearing the clothes apart and ripping them from my body. The chains dig into my skin, but soon the tension is too much and they snap apart. Before I can shift fully to bear form, I force it back down and revert fully to my original form. I don’t want these humans from the habitat to know I can shift into a bear.

Unrestrained, I launch off the wall and slam Xenology Woman against the opposite wall. She releases Turret Woman so she can try to push me off her, but I grab her by the neck. Though she uses her full strength to hit me, I swat her blows away effortlessly.

I squeeze her neck with my bare hands, hoping to kill her.

“Fenrir!” the Fiona–no, Turret Woman–screams. “Don’t kill her, we need–.”

She keeps speaking, but through my blinding rage, I don’t even hear her. But then I feel her hand touch my back and my arm. She squeezes my arm, and her warm soft hand feels so gentle on my back. Her touch forces me to listen.

“She’s dying!” Turret Woman screams. “Please, Fenrir!”

I let go of her, and though the Xenology Woman gasps and chokes in agony, she’s not dead.

“Do not harm the Turret Female!” I warn. “Or I will kill you!”

F
enrir shouts
into Lisbeth’s face, but then the airlock doors fly open and two men with tasers float through and onto our ship.

“Stand down!” they order.

Fenrir spins toward them and raises his hands in front of him, not into fists, but his stance almost gives the impression that he’s preparing to claw the men.

“Leave the Turret Woman unharmed!” he says, “and take us both aboard your habitat. Do this and I won’t kill all of you.”

I feel a rush in my chest in response to the way he defends me. Even if he’s calling me
Turret Woman
when he does it. I realize I should try help him with his
“negotiation.”

“He’ll do it!” I caution. “He boarded our ship and killed five Imperial airmen, and they had guns!”

The men look at each other, and clutch their tasers more tightly.

Lisbeth nods to them, then says, “You promise to stand down?”

“We’re in zero gravity!” Fenrir says. “There is no down, and how could I possibly stand?”

“You won’t kill us,” Lisbeth repeats, enunciating each word clearly, in an exasperated tone. “That’s what I am asking.”

“If you lay a finger on Turret Woman again,” Fenrir says, “I will.”

* * *

F
enrir holds to his word
, and Lisbeth and her security team bring us onboard their shuttle. It’s total luxury compared to
Cygnus’s Bane,
with plush faux-leather seats.

Fenrir watches me strap myself in to one of the empty seats, and the two men each position a hand on the tasers–which are now strapped to their belts–as Fenrir remains floating freely around the cabin.

“Everyone sit down,” Lisbeth says.

“Them first,” Fenrir says, glaring at them.

Lisbeth sighs, and turns back from her seat to look over her shoulder at the men. “Anders, Peter, sit down.”

The two men pull themselves into their seats and strap in.

“Sit down, Fenrir,” I say.

He pulls himself down next to me and straps himself in.

He’s close to me, close enough that I can smell him. I can’t let myself forget that he wants to kill all humans, but he’s protecting
me.
For now at least.

And then rich and luxurious smell of tanned animal hide hits my nose. “This is real leather?”

“What is leather?” Fenrir asks.

“Of course,” Lisbeth says. She’s facing the window–which is a 3-D screen rather than a primitive glass window–while the two guards face us.

“You actually have cows on New Copenhagen?” I ask.

“What is cow?” Fenrir asks.

“An animal,” I say. “It’s extinct on Earth. I remember seeing one as a child. It was behind thick, bullet-proof glass. Hermetically sealed so no pathogens could get to it.”

“Speaking of pathogens,” Lisbeth says, “we’re going to have to deep-scrub you both before you are allowed onto the habitat.”

“She thinks I am dirty?” Fenrir whispers to me.

“She thinks we’re both filthy,” I say, loud enough for them all to hear.

“It’s not personal,” Lisbeth says. “But we couldn’t have you bringing on the bug that killed all the cows on Earth.”

“Aren’t you all pumped full of little robots anyway?” I say. “They’ll tear apart any bug or virus that gets in before it can even think of multiplying.”

“Yes,” Lisbeth says. “Our cows are, too, but you’re still getting deep-scrubbed. We take no chances.”

The New Copenhagen habitat is a massive O’Neil cylinder–a 50-kilometer-long spinning tube in Martian orbit. Inside the tube are long strips of land alternating with empty strips to let in the sun. Each strip of land is fifty kilometers long and three kilometers wide, and bridges run from strip to strip across the gaps. The rotation of the cylinder creates artificial gravity. It’s effectively a slice of old Earth floating above Mars. Just over one million people live inside the habitat, and they live much better than anyone else in the solar system.

We studied the habitats in school, though the Imperial education system portrayed them as decadent elitists, traitors who sealed themselves off from the rest of the filthy masses rather than working to save Earth. Even through all the propaganda, I knew that anyone with half a brain would kill to live on a habitat. Especially New Copenhagen, since it’s one of the largest and richest among the habitats.

They had cows, which meant they had beef. My parents had told my sister Aura and me about eating real beef, how it melted on their tongues and exploded with flavor.

“The scrubbing is not going to be pleasant,” I whisper to Fenrir, “but we might be able to bully them into giving us some really nice food.”

Bully. I’m already letting Fenrir’s brutish negotiation tactics influence me too much.

“It must be beautiful inside New Copenhagen,” I say.

Lisbeth just nods.

“Or do you all take it for granted? Not knowing what you really have?”

“When you see it,” Lisbeth says, “you’ll know it’s too beautiful to ever be taken for granted.”

I cross my arms and sigh. Aura and I used to look up at night, wishing we could see the stars through Earth’s toxic atmosphere. The only thing we could make out on a relatively clear day were the habitats in the Earth orbit. They felt so close, yet they were unreachable for surface scum like us.

The Empire claimed to have sovereignty over both Mars and Venus, which–especially lately–was not the case. The Empire
wished
it had control of Mars and Venus, and that is largely what this war is about, but the habitats–even the ones in Earth orbit and at the nearby Lagrange points–even the Empire doesn’t pretend to control them.

The shuttle approaches New Copenhagen head-on, and the angle makes it impossible for me to see inside the habitat. If we approached from the side, I’d be able to see through the strips that let in the sunlight, but from Lisbeth’s window I can only see a big metal sphere: the end-cap of the habitat.

“We’re going to dock on the end-cap,” Lisbeth says, “and you’ll both go through decontamination. I forgive you, Fenrir, for trying to kill me.”

“Forgive?” Fenrir says. “I did not ask for this shame.”

“Jesus,” I hiss, grabbing his arm. “Just say ‘thank you’ and be done with it.”

“Thank you!” he roars.

Lisbeth raises an eyebrow at him. “And I’m sorry I insulted you, Fiona. I have to admit...I understand his appeal.”

My face burns red. “We
didn’t
I say, it just–.”

She holds up a hand. “Most of us are not judgmental on New Copenhagen, our mother culture on Earth was very tolerant, and we continue that custom here. However, more...conservative...elements have gained a lot of influence here since the war began. I can’t promise you that everyone will be as tolerant as I am.”

“Will you stay with us?” I ask.

“I will push to be the principal researcher and liaison,” she says, “but if Lindgren gets his way, I may never see you again.”

“Lind. Gren.” Fenrir says. “Is this man dangerous?”

“Yes,” Lisbeth says. “He’d cut you open if he thought it would give us an edge over your fleet.”

“It will not,” Fenrir says.

I hold my breath, worried he’ll say that he wants to destroy humanity.

The end-cap has nearly filled the window now.

“Tell me honestly, Fenrir,” Lisbeth says. “What is it you want from us?”

Fenrir crosses his arms, and his massive muscles bulge. He presses his lips together in a tight line and says nothing, but then he turns to look at me and his mouth falls open.

He looks quickly away from me and down at his feet.

“I see,” Lisbeth says. “Maybe there’s still hope for us then.”