Michaela (14 page)

“Those aliens are too much to resist, aren’t they?” Reminded of her own issues with sexy Kalquorians, Michaela sighed.

Jessica’s gaze on her was sharp. “Tell me.”

Grateful she could trust everything with her friend, Michaela admitted, “I’m in love. I want to be with Korkla’s clan more than I can express. I want to spend my life with them.”

“But?” Jessica prodded. She stopped stretching to give Michaela her full attention.

Michaela threw her hands up in frustration. “They insist on being so damned cautious. I know they do it because they care.”

“Then you should be out of your mind with joy right now! Or are you not sure about them?”

Michaela shook her head. “Jessica, they don’t mind that I’m intersex. In fact, it seems to make me more attractive to them. I don’t understand it, but that’s the way it is.”

Jessica squealed and clapped her hands with glee. “I’m so happy for you!”

“I don’t want to wait another second to have sex with them. It’s going to happen anyway, so they might as well do me and get it over with.”

Her friend laughed. “You don’t want romance? No sonnets and love songs and chaperoned dates? More of those damned bouquets of flowers?”

Michaela snorted. “Fuck that. I want to get laid and clanned. We can skip all the damsel-in-distress bullshit and go straight to the happy ending.”

“In a manner of speaking.”

They laughed over Michaela’s unintended pun. The moment of lightheartedness seemed to get them both out of their funks. Jessica even started her usual round of protestations when Michaela decided it was time to rehearse.

“Come on, Michaela. I’m in pain today. Don’t be a hardass for this rehearsal, okay?”

The younger woman glared. “The performance is tomorrow. We have to be perfect.”

Jessica groaned and muttered a few complaints, but Michaela barely heard her. Something her friend had said earlier had given her an idea. If Jessica was right, Michaela thought she might just have the perfect opportunity to get Korkla’s clan and herself past the issues keeping them from having sex. The only question was if she was bold enough ... desperate enough ... to carry it out.

* * * *

Before first light on the morning of the Coming of Age Festival, Michaela rose. She’d barely slept all night, yet she was wide awake. Awake and overly aware with hope and nervousness.

The young woman wasted no time in getting dressed in her slave girl dancing costume. With practiced ease, she got into makeup and styled her wig. Once she had the fake mane of curls arranged and clipped into place, she hurried out of her quarters, holding a small sack that contained props and cosmetics for touching up.

She slipped into Israla’s unlocked office just as the first sun peeked over the horizon. At this early hour, the immense house seemed deserted. It was no surprise that no one was in Israla’s official chambers. The festival was set to commence at this very moment, and no doubt Israla and her aide Shisa were already on hand to make sure it started on time. Michaela herself was about to leave the house, but first she had a message to record and send to Clan Korkla.

Michaela looked around and shivered. Her silvery-gray costume consisted of a small bra and an artfully ripped skirt that gave tantalizing glimpses of her lithe legs. The outfit was little defense against the slight chill of an early spring morning. Nevertheless, Michaela’s hands were sweating. What she was about to do could backfire badly.

With the morning rays lighting the quiet room brighter by the second, its details began to assert themselves. Smell was still Michaela’s strongest sense in the dim environs, and there were layers upon layers of exciting aromas. They were secretive smells, musky and sharp. Michaela thought it must be the scents of sex, perhaps years and years worth. The Plasians were amorous to the hilt, and she could well imagine how Israla conducted negotiations with other worlds and territorial leaders. Michaela’s cock twitched at the idea.

Padded benches lined the walls, and the young intersex visualized dozens of bodies twined in every possible posture all along the velvety cushions. Behind Israla’s large desk were floor-to-ceiling windows. Michaela knew the Plasian leader loved to watch her Earther soldier sex toys play football on the trimmed bluish-green lawn, working their young bodies to sweaty glory.

Damn, all I can think about is naked bodies and sex. Korkla, you and the other two better come through for me,
Michaela thought.
I want your clan and I can’t wait another second for you to claim me if you’re going to.

Still at just half-mast, her cock strained the fabric of Michaela’s underclothes. Adjusting her panties through her skirt, she hurried across the floor, her gaze going to the com on Israla’s desk. Before she could think twice, she clicked the device on.

“Record and send message,” she ordered in halting Plasian.

Fortunately, the coms had always been able to interpret Michaela’s tenuous grasp on the planet’s language. “Where is the message to be sent?” a cool electronic voice answered.

“Clan Korkla’s guest quarters in this house.”

There was a moment’s silence before the computerized voice responded. “Sensors indicate presence of three individuals in Clan Korkla’s guest quarters. Would you prefer to converse?”

“No, damn it. Record a message.”

The com took no offense to Michaela’s temper. “Begin recording,” it invited.

Michaela took a deep breath before speaking in her breeziest tone. “Good morning, gentlemen. Happy Coming of Age Festival Day. Listen, I don’t want you three to miss out on any of the fun, so I thought I’d let you know you’re free to indulge yourselves with our lovely Plasian hosts. I’ll be busy with my dance this afternoon, of course. Once that’s out of the way, I plan to interview the two clans that came with you and the Crown Prince Clan. Since you’ve convinced me that Kalquorians don’t find an intersex as offensive as I feared, I’ve decided to check into all my options. So enjoy yourselves, okay? I know I will. Goodbye and thanks for everything. End message.”

The computer made a buzzing sound before stating, “Message ended. Re-record or send?”

Her heart pounding wildly, Michaela said, “Send.”

“Message sent.”

Michaela wiped her sweating hands on her skirt. There was no taking back anything now. Her course was set.

“And I’m getting the fuck out of Dodge,” she muttered.

The com responded, “I’m sorry. Would you repeat the last command?”

“Nope.” Michaela turned and rushed out of the room.

By the time she got to the front doors of Israla’s still-quiet home, she was running. She kept right on sprinting across the manicured lawn towards the front gate of the property, ignoring the few Plasians who were meandering late to the center of the capital where the festivities were being held.

Right now, Michaela’s one aim was to get away before Clan Korkla got it in their heads to hunt for her. She wasn’t sure what they would do once they caught up to her. She wanted to at least get her big dance out of the way before they did. Perhaps the longer it took them to find her, the more they would want her. Or maybe they would be disgusted with her little game and give up. She had no idea how Kalquorian men’s minds worked.

Either way, Michaela needed to stay hidden until her dance. She slowed down in her flight to the city’s center, moving at a jog. Her slippers made light slapping sounds on the springy walking trail that led deeper into the capital. She didn’t want to wear herself out before the big presentation, but Michaela was still eager to lose herself in the swelling crowds at the festival.

* * * *

Raxstad’s face had gone an alarming purple shade as he stared at their room’s com. Korkla had rarely seen his Nobek so enraged upon hearing Michaela’s message. Raxstad didn’t even look sane right now.

The big warrior turned on his heel and started for the door. Korkla raced to jump in front of him, knowing that doing so might earn him a punch. It was no matter; his Nobek could not be allowed to leave looking the way he did right now.

Raxstad fixed his leader with a glare that would have set any other man’s hair on end. With fangs showing behind his flat teeth, the Nobek snarled, “My Dramok, you know you mean more to me than my own life, but you need to get the fuck out of my way right now.”

Korkla didn’t budge. Instead, he fixed a steely stare at the other man. “So you can do what, Raxstad?”

“I am going to claim my Matara. No other clan can have her. She is
mine
.” The Nobek shook in his need to go after Michaela.

Korkla’s cold tone was a match for the heat in Raxstad’s. “She is ours. We will claim her together.”

The Dramok’s gaze slid over Raxstad’s wide shoulder to look at Govi, who still stood in the middle of the room. The Imdiko’s expression was shocked, but rare anger was creeping in as well. Good. Korkla thought Govi should be as angry as the rest of them at the thought that other men might think they had an opportunity to court Michaela.

Govi stared back at him. When he spoke, his voice was as controlled as ever. However, Korkla didn’t miss how his clanmate’s hands clenched into fists.

The Imdiko said, “I have made a terrible mistake. I never dreamed Michaela would become so accepting of herself that she would consider evaluating other clans.”

Korkla smirked a humorless grin. “She might consider it, but she will not have the opportunity.”

He looked to Raxstad again, who appeared as if he might be on the verge of picking Korkla up and tossing him to one side. The big man could do it too. The clan leader knew he had to calm him down quickly.

He said, “Michaela is a virgin. You will have her, but you cannot let yourself lose control and hurt her.”

Raxstad’s fury immediately drew down a little. Korkla could tell the Nobek was thinking again and not reacting in a territorial rage. He relaxed as Raxstad drew a deep breath.

“I will not harm my Matara.” Raxstad’s eyes narrowed in warning. “But she will know to whom she belongs.”

Korkla nodded. “Good enough. Let’s go.”

The Dramok led the way as the three men marched out of their quarters. They hurried down corridors, soon reaching the final bend before going into the wing where Michaela roomed. As they turned the corner, the trio nearly ran right into Prince Bevau. The startled royal barely jumped out of their way in time to keep from being knocked down.

Korkla sketched a hurried bow. “Excuse us, my prince.”

With that scant notion of respect, they kept going. In less than a second, Korkla was in front of Michaela’s door. He punched the visitor announce with contained ferocity.

Interviewing other clans, indeed! He’d pound the first man outside of his clan who dared to even look at his Matara.

There was no answer. Korkla hammered his fist against the door. “Michaela, open up right now! You know we’ll come in anyway.”

“Ah, Korkla?”

The Dramok wheeled around to see Bevau halfway down the hallway, watching him and his clan from a prudent distance. The Nobek prince eyed the three warily and said, “Michaela has gone to the festival already.”

Raxstad almost shouted in his frustration, too agitated to address Bevau with better courtesy. “She left? And you’re sure she went to the festival? Nowhere else?”

Bevau kept his tone careful, obviously not willing to rile the other Nobek any further. “I saw her leave, and in a big hurry too. She ran out the front door and towards the center of town.” His brow furrowed. “Is there a problem I can perhaps help you with?”

Appreciation that Bevau was half-Imdiko wormed its way past Korkla’s aggravation. The prince’s patience and understanding kept the Dramok from giving in to the need to punch a hole through Michaela’s door.

Raxstad’s temper was a little harder to cool. He glowered at their prince and said, “Michaela is ours. No other clan can have her.”

Still utterly reasonable, Bevau nodded. “Of course, Raxstad. That was always the intention. Did one of the other clans approach her?”

Korkla stepped forward, putting himself between Bevau and Raxstad. Not that he thought his Nobek would attack one of their royals, but in Raxstad’s state of mind, it was best to be cautious.

Managing to put his own anger to one side, Korkla answered, “No, my prince, no one else has tried to catch her interest. But she sent us word that she will be interviewing them.”

“Those other two clans were Jessica’s options.” Bevau made a face, for a moment looking as ferocious as Raxstad. Then his expression smoothed once more. “Only your clan has been approved for Michaela, Korkla. No one else may clan her as long as you are interested.”

The assertion should have settled Korkla’s mind. However, as long as Michaela was free to approach other men, they might dare to try to take her from his clan. There was only one way to be certain that could not happen.

Korkla told Bevau, “After Michaela’s dance this afternoon, we will be claiming her. Following that, I will thank you and your clan to recognize her as my clan’s Matara.”

Govi spoke up. “Coercion by way of the bite may be required, just so you know. However, I have determined she needs us. Her issues demand my personal care and my clan’s particular blend of strength and guidance. I assure you, this course of action is justified.”

Raxstad’s voice, more growl than human, added, “Michaela is ours and I will tear out the eyes of any man who dares to look at her as if she’s not.”

Bevau nodded. “Well, then. I will warn the other two clans to keep their distance. My congratulations in advance on your new Matara, Clan Korkla.”

Korkla managed to give the prince a more respectful bow than he had before. However, his thoughts were far away from giving Bevau his due. Instead, his head churned with what he would do when he got his hands on Michaela. He knew one thing: he would clan her in such a way that no one would ever doubt she belonged to him.

“You have my gratitude, my prince,” he said, stalking past Bevau with Raxstad and Govi close on his heels.

* * * *

Michaela had never danced with such passion before. Maybe it was because of the thousands of intoxicating flowers ornamenting the city’s center. They sent their aphrodisiacal scent to fill her lungs and erase her nervousness of sexual promise. Maybe it was the sight of the stone altar across the square. It was upon that surface where she’d watched Plasian youths give their virginity in celebration of reaching the age of consent. Maybe it was the sheer joy of dancing a wild entreaty to violent sex, with light manacles and chains around her wrists.

More probably it was the sight of three Kalquorians at the foot of the stage, glowering at her with barely contained ferocity.

Seeing those purple eyes riveted on her made Michaela’s head swim more than the aroma of the flowers. Korkla, Raxstad, and Govi were obviously pissed off. They were also blatantly aroused.

Michaela was barely aware of anything else. She knew Jessica danced on the other side of the stage with the Crown Prince Clan watching her. Many Plasians crowded against the massive Kalquorians and the stage, watching them perform. Some fucked each other in broad daylight. The festival looked primed to descend into a mass orgy at any moment. It probably would the moment the dance ended.

Michaela paid the Plasians no mind. She didn’t even think about the hideous statue that loomed over the altar several yards away, though it was the vision of nightmares. To Michaela, the thing looked like a winged Plasian, if said Plasian was half bat and half dead oak tree. Jessica had said it was one of the planet’s ancient and forgotten deities. Michaela thought the thing should not just be forgotten, but also destroyed. Seeing the young people shedding their virginity under the leering creature had been downright creepy.

Then Clan Korkla had shown up, and all of Michaela’s thoughts of the ugly statue had ceased to exist. Her heart leapt with savage joy to see them arrive, looking furious enough to storm backstage where she watched them while hidden behind curtains. Her plan to make them jealous had worked. Now she had to make them mad with lust as well, mad enough to claim her without any more caution.

She’d taken the stage with a vengeance, matching the men’s black stares with her own. They had courted her and turned her away. They had teased her and left her wanting. Spurred by agonized wanting and the inhibition-killing flowers, Michaela was determined to have her way.

I will have you
, she thought at the men as she defied their anger with a dance every bit as ferocious as their expressions. Every step she performed was a blatant dare for them to take her.

You cannot resist me. Make me yours.

She’d watched the newly matured Plasian girls give up their virginity on the altar. Now it was Michaela’s turn. She would not be denied. Not this time. Not ever again.

You want me. Take me now!

The fierce drumbeats suddenly ended, finishing the dance. Michaela dropped to the stage, playing the role of the reluctantly vanquished slave girl, overcome and submitting to her masters. Tumultuous applause crashed against her ears, applause she cared nothing for. She lay gasping for air, waiting to see if fantasy would consent to become reality.

Something low and dangerous rumbled over the cheers. It started off like a distant roll of thunder, and then grew to the sound of an enraged animal growling. Michaela’s heart, already galloping from the exertion of the energetic dance, pounded faster than ever. She raised her head and looked toward the bestial noise.

There was the blurred motion of something leaping from the ground onto the stage. Then Raxstad appeared, standing over her with fangs bared. The huge Nobek looked bigger than Michaela remembered him being. His muscular shoulders were a mile across. His reaching hands were bear paws. He resembled nothing remotely civilized.