ThunderClaw: Science Fiction Romance (Alien Warrior Book 2)

  I jolted at the pleasure fizzling through my lower belly then jerked back. Or tried to. Beowyn’s arm was clamped around my back, holding me in place. ‘What are you doing?’

  It felt as if all I did was ask him that question.

  ‘I do not wish to argue. I fight because it is my nature, and quickly I see it is also yours.’ He rubbed his cheek against mine, warm breath at my ear. ‘What must I do to prove myself?’

  ‘It’s no that you…I want to…..’

  ‘It feels as if you accept everyone’s differences but mine.’ His words rung with conviction. ‘I pay for the crimes of another. Something of me reminds you of him. You are suspicious and wary of any overture I make. I am beside myself with trying to please you.’

  ‘I warned you.’ I had told him before we left Earth I had issues.

  ‘You insist on finding fault with anything concerning our mating. You are my One, my wife. You said you wanted to move forward. Was this a lie?’

  My throat felt tight, my stomach was queasy. ‘I’m trying.’

  ‘To convince yourself I am not to be trusted with your human love.’ He leant back and gripped my chin. ‘I said it once in sorrow. I say it again in frustration. It is not fair. I offer you all I am.’ His gaze drilled mine. ‘It is past time for you to see me for who I am, and do the same.’

  I braced for rejection, expecting him to set me aside in his discontentment and be done with me.

  Beowyn cupped my face then held it steady to accept his kiss.

  My head bent on my neck from the force of his passion, lips tingling as his barbed tongue scratched at their threshold, coaxing them open.

  They parted, and he delved inside.

  I’d kissed some boys. The sloppiness and open-closed-mouthed rhythm were much of a sameness.

  Verak kisses were different.

  Once they gained ground, you had to go to war to claim it back. My tongue battled his until it gave up and took the thrashing, sparks of pleasure spangling across its surface each time his thick muscle rasped and writhed against it.

  While my mouth was dominated, his hands were not idle. He rubbed the calloused pads of his thumbs across my cheeks then moved his hands to massage my ears, my nape. They worked down my back and kneaded my ass until I was a floppy, disconnected sprawl of limbs held together by his embrace.

  Until that moment, I hadn’t known how much tension I held in my buttocks.

  Each flex of his fingers into the fleshy mounds drove me higher into unknown realms of ecstasy, and if his fingers grazed against my core, it simply added to the overpowering pleasure.

  ‘King ThunderClaw?’ A feminine throat cleared when Beowyn carried on ravishing me, unheeding. ‘Great Alpha? Introduce me to your One.’

  His lips detached from mine. ‘Sìne, Wyrhild. Wyrhild, my Sìne.’ He went back to feeding on my mouth, pushing back until I was flat on the bench with him wedged between my legs and grinding me into its planks.

  ‘An honour to greet you. I heard the tale of your wooing, and so, I call you Great Lady. You showed a brilliant grasp of strategy, and should you deign to speak with me, I would like your advice on capturing the attention of your male kin. I thought to kidnap him and tie him to my bed as is the tradition by the females of my House, but I wish to include his alien mating rituals in my wooing.’ She paused. ‘Is it true he is a warrior? He is handsome.’

  Beowyn kissed the side of my neck.

  My lips were swollen making my words slurred, and my eyelids drooped making it difficult to perceive anything other than the masses and masses of curly blonde fluff haloing Wyrhild’s muscular body. ‘You have pretty hair.’

  A glossy eyebrow arched. ‘My King, be gentler.’ Laughing, she slinked away.

  Beowyn returned to nuzzling the sensitive skin behind my ear. ‘That was the Paladin Guardian. She commands my legions when we are not at war, and is beholden to my High Commander, who of course reports to us.’ He nipped my earlobe. ‘Lah, sweet, your scent and your taste drives me to spew.’

  I blinked, mouth slack.

  My words to the Guardian caught up with me. I stiffened. ‘Did I tell that female,’ who came seeking an intellectual peer for advice on catching Patrick’s eye, ‘that she had pretty hair?’

  I groaned and pushed at my lusty swain, seeking fresh air to clear my head. The task proved about as easy as catching sunlight. The hardness between Beowyn’s thighs increased its friction against the apex of mine. I sucked a breath between gritted teeth. Much more of his wickedness, and we’d be fucking on the supper table. Not only did I wish to avoid traumatising my daughter, but there were carnal acts family and friends should never see you greedily partaking of. I shouted for Éorik to help, but at the last moment, strangled the cry. Was I out of my mind? I already dealt with one amorous male, and I sought to add another? My thoughts drifted to the idea of us three entangled, licking smears of delicious cream from naked abs, sending food flying and setting dishes to clattering.

  Air. ‘I need air.’ I wriggled out an inch from under Beowyn.

  Snarling around his mouthful of tunic-clad breast, he clamped down on my waist to drag me back.

  ‘Let the woman breathe, Wyn.’ Lumen slapped at him until he reared back to fend her off. It left me able to escape over her lap onto the seat on the other side, wedging myself between her and Venomous. He glowered at the intrusion. ‘Go let the sycophants get a piece of you before they tear the room apart.’ She pointed towards the cluster of well-dressed Verak mincing towards us. ‘You’ve been so wrapped up in Sìne, you’ve neglected them.’

  I buried my warm face into my hands. ‘Thank you,’ I mumbled when he stormed off muttering threats to return and finish what we’d started. ‘That was beyond my control.’

  ‘Don’t be embarrassed.’ Lumen poured me a drink. ‘I was insatiable, too, when I first mated.’ She squinted. ‘Come to think of it, I still am.’ She jerked her shoulder. ‘I’ve grown used to the feeling. I’m in control.’ She patted my hand. ‘You’ll get there.’

  ‘I’ve never kenned want like this.’

  ‘I hear you, sister.’

  ‘It’s as if I’m all about my body.’ I ran my hands over my torso.

  ‘Preach.’

  ‘You can no imagine the thoughts I have about their bodies.’

  ‘No, but I tell you, you’ve not had an orgasm until you’ve been petted by twelve hands, and been eaten out by a forked tongue while your nipples are licked.’ She bit her finger. ‘When they shove inside you, the bumps and ridges grind against the sweet spots in the front, and in the back, and then you’re choking, and then it’s tight and sticky.’

  I stared. ‘W-What?’

  ‘Do you invite me, Rä’Na?’ Venomous loomed over me to put his hands on his mate. His tongue flickered. ‘I taste you at the back of my throat.’

  ‘Want you in the back of mine.’

  ‘Clutch.’ He growled. ‘Hot wet.’

  She breathed, ‘Yes.’

  ‘Fucking.’

  ‘Oh, yes.’

  Oh, my God, I mouthed.

  I slouched halfway under the table with my hands over my ears. I hit my knees and twisted, ready to scramble over the bench to flee.

  Pawing at his chest, Lumen licked her lips. She didn’t even glance at me when she spoke. ‘This has been fun, but, ah, you see we’re in need of bed?’

  ‘I see you’re the picture of self-control.’ From my vantage point, I saw under the table and out the other side.

  I witnessed something fascinating.

  Fiercely’s broad shoulders snapped straight. His nostrils flared, his head cocked, and he walked away from a disappointed Verak female who was in the middle of a sentence, reaching to stroke his arm. When the table blocked his path, he climbed onto it. I heard the thud, thud, thud of his approach. He stretched over me, a bridge of sapphire edged with silver, to ever-so-lightly rake a claw down Lumen’s upper arm.

  The talon caught on the gold band encircling it. He tugged, rumbl
ing low in his chest until the whole table vibrated.

  Cobra closed in on her from behind. He dropped to his knees, butted his nose against the back of her neck and reached around to grip her thighs and spread them so he could caress the flesh there, going so far as to cup her.

  Eyes round, my mouth dropped open. Surrounded by a nest of aroused Rä warriors, I was very much forgotten as they seduced their female.

  ‘A-Aside….’ Lumen’s hand went to her throat as she panted. ‘Aside from the pressing need to be alone with my mates and a large bed,’ her smile was deviant, ‘tomorrow we’re packing and saying our goodbyes.’ Venomous nuzzled her shoulder, his mouth moving so his forked tongue could lick her pulse. She shivered. ‘We’ll be gone before dawn the next morning.’

  She’d prepared me for this.

  I fumbled past the groping Rä for her hand. ‘I can no say it enough. Thank you for everything.’

  She extricated herself long enough to hug me. Her whisper in my ear was breathless. ‘Thank you. I know they’ll make you happy.’ They weren’t halfway out the door before her moans of ecstasy drifted back into the hall.

  Falling quiet then rousing with a ribald cheer, the Verak celebrated.

  Beowyn burned me with a hot look from where he was stuck in the midst of the House leads. My mouth puckered, taunting. His eyes narrowed with promise as his tongue swiped his top lip.

  I spun to find myself caught in Éorik’s snare.

  A calculating look flickered within his golden pupils. ‘You play?’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘You wish to make him lusty?’

  ‘Uh.’ I began to see a direct correlation between my intelligence quotient and certain people. ‘Um.’

  ‘Shall I help you?’

  ‘Erm.’

  ‘Open your mouth.’

  A back-bent, wet-lipped, flushed-faced kiss later, Éorik prowled towards Beowyn. He looked ready to tackle me to the floor. I swept a frantic glance around, then staggered across the hall.

  On my way to see what mischief Patrick stirred, I walked by the youngest Grae triplet. My steps slowed at what I heard. Rowan, it appeared, had mastered the ability to talk without stopping to breathe. ‘…and no only did I hike, play rugby, and the pipes I did art, photographs, you mind, I can no draw to save my life as it’s no a skill of mine as it were with Cait, but even though I have lots of new interests on Vayhalun to keep me busy, photography will always be my first love.’ He belched. ‘What things do you like then?’

  ‘Food.’

  ‘Oh, aye? Food is tasty. You have something in common with Aled here then. Most of his food is Welsh, you understand, but we forgive him that because he bakes a mean loaf of sourdough. Naught else interests you, Hel Bihter?’

  ‘Killing.’

  Rowan blinked.

  Aled’s neck flushed puce. He coughed into his drink then tipped the tankard back to savour the dregs. He smacked his lips. ‘I really like this drink, I do.’

  Smothered by giggles, I dropped into a seat next to Patrick. I sniffed his plate, flicked aside a leafy green then stole some meat when he wasn’t looking.

  ‘No, you don’t get it,’ he said. ‘It’s no a skirt but a kilt. Traditional highland dress for a Scotsman.’

  ‘Dress?’ Wulfyn squinted. His fingers tapped a tall flagon he used as a cup. ‘Females wear the kilt?’

  ‘Lassies wear the earasaid and long skirts with the clan sett.’ Patrick wiggled his fingers. ‘Tartan.’

  ‘I think I have it. Males wear the tartan.’ Wulfyn made a gesture around his waist. ‘As a kilt–’

  ‘You have the way of it.’

  ‘–which is a dress.’

  ‘Traditional dress, you daftie.’

  Wulfyn threw his hands in the air. ‘What else of your home world?’

  ‘I could spend a lifetime telling you the history of Earth. Mostly tales of discovery, war and overcoming hardship. Clan Grae hail from Scotland, a place called the Highlands. Ah, such a place as you never dreamed. Mountains, lochs and sweet-smelling wildflowers strewed about the misty glens.’

  As he stared into the distance, foggy eyed, I nicked his plate. He wasn’t eating it, and the kissing made me ravenous.

  ‘The atoll of my House sounds much like your land. You are welcome to visit whenever you wish. We hold fetes once a season, and invite our closest friends.’ Wulfyn lifted his chin. ‘The Great One and his household often attend when he is in residence.’

  Patrick clapped his shoulder. ‘I’ll visit. What happens at these fetes? Can I bring the wee bit and my Da?’

  ‘Fighting. Sporting. Drinking.’ He licked his lips. ‘Rutting.’

  ‘That’s a no to the wee bit then. Sounds like Highland games. Excusing the rutting.’

  Verak within hearing distance straightened, ears twitching. They crowded close, sharp features animated.

  ‘Games?’ a female asked then sipped from her cup, tongue caressing its edge. Lashes fluttering, she danced dainty talons over the cannons revealed by the wispy scrap that was her dress.

  I snorted into my pilfered meal.

  ‘Tests of guile and feats of strength.’ Patrick slid her a lazy wink. ‘My Da loved the games in Fife, but the largest gathering is held in Dunoon.’

  ‘A tourney,’ a male muttered scratching his curlicued beard. He raised his voice. ‘What contests are played?’

  ‘Heavy tosses.’ He made a throwing motion. ‘Stone put, hammer throw and the like.’ He brightened when they grew exuberant, chattering amongst themselves. ‘I can show you.’

  Cheeks stuffed as I chewed, I gulped water to help me swallow then said, ‘Lazy Stick, Patrick. You can no toss a caber or hurl stones about inside.’

  He clicked his fingers and pointed at me. ‘Clever, lass. Boots off, Wulfyn, on the ground.’ He stripped his own footwear then plonked down in front of the Verak. ‘This is called Maide Leisg in Gaelic. Sìne should know that.’

  ‘I know it.’ I hunched. I hadn’t spoken in my native Gaelic in years.

  ‘Put the soles of your feet against mine. That’s the way of it. Grip the bone. No the middle just your end. Aye.’ Patrick grinned. ‘Now the first to lift the other off the ground wins.’

  Wulfyn nodded, face etched in painstaking concentration. ‘Our feet must always touch?’

  ‘You got it. Ready?’

  Mouth setting, the Verak grunted.

  ‘Go.’ Patrick hunkered, arm muscles bulging but was lifted up and over, tossed across the room and slammed into the wall when Wulfin tugged.

  I shot to my feet. ‘Trick? You alive?’

  ‘Och.’ Exhilarated laughter floated from the crumpled lump. He waved a floppy arm. ‘Mebbe.’

  Accepting thuds on the back and horn knocks from his fellow Verak, Wulfyn puffed his chest and lifted his chin. ‘At this game, I am best.’

  I sat. ‘Your sense of modesty astounds.’

  Patrick gambolled into the fray. ‘You won that fair and square, bráthair.’ He shoved his sleeves to the elbow. ‘How are you at arm wrestling?’

  I snagged his belt to yank him away. I pulled him into a seat then boxed his ears. ‘Eat something.’

  Patrick dove into the half decimated plate I set in front of him.

  Wulfyn joined us when he was about done. One of the finely woven table runners was draped around his narrow hips, leathers hobbling his ankles as he shuffled to the table. ‘I fashioned a kilt. Is it accurate?” He turned. “Feels draughty towards the back.’

  Hand suspended at my mouth, I blinked and blinked … blinked some more as I searched for words.

  ‘No bad.’ Patrick stabbed an eating knife at the bare buttocks presented to us. ‘Needs pleats. I’ll show you.’ He fussed with the material. It unravelled when he stepped back to scrutinise his masterpiece. ‘Och, your needing a pin.’

  ‘A pin?’ I choked on a shard of bone, eyes watering as I slapped my chest to hack it up. ‘There are many things he needs. Least of them is a pin.’

  W
ulfyn bobbed his head, humming melody under his breath in concert with the music drifting from the musicians.

  Patrick leant closer, listening. ‘That’s a bonny ditty.’

  ‘What songs of Earth?’ Swaying to the beat, the Verak tried to keep his pleats from exposing his loins.

  Not that we all couldn’t see the hard club and hairy balls dangling between his thighs. I considered ordering him to pull up his leathers, but life was short, and no one seemed faffed.

  ‘I’ll teach you a song.’ Staggering back, arms wide, Patrick raised his baritone above the din, ‘By oppression’s woes an’ pains.’

  ‘By yer sons in servile chains,’ Rowan yodelled across the room. He scrambled onto the table, knocking over jugs, fists in the air, cheeks ruddy with drink.

  Grinning ear to ear, Beowyn dropped into the space next to me. He slung a heavy arm over my shoulders, rocking us to the rhythm I pounded on the tabletop. He nuzzled my temple and whispered filthy things in my ear.

  I warbled, ‘We will drain our dearest veins,’ then Beowyn kissed me.

  ‘But they shall be free,’ finished Patrick to whistles and boot stomping. He flopped into a bow then surged up with a hip gyration. ‘Slàinte, laddies.’

  Breaking free, I muttered at Beowyn.

  He lurched onto his feet to roar, ‘Do dheagh shlàinte,’ and threw up his arms to the delight of my cousins, who went absolutely mental.

  Slumped in his chair, head lolling, Fergus peeked an eye open to ogle at the ensuing mayhem caused by his sons. He barked a rusty chuckle then went back to snoring, cuddling his namesake sprawled in his lap, also snoring.

  Aled hopped onto his bench to bellow Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau, the national anthem of his native land, fleshy uvula visible as he trumpeted his rolling, lilting Welsh. The tankard in his hand drenched a squawking Rowan in ale as his arm jerked to and fro with the lyrics.

  Slapping our knees, we heckled him, throwing napkins and food while he laughed himself sick then keeled over.

  ‘Wulfyn?’ Beowyn’s eyes glinted. He waved a finger. ‘Mine is bigger.’

  Chapter 29

  Beowyn sauntered into the assembly chamber. He sprawled into his seat. He hooked a leg over the armrest, then propped his chin on his loose-curled fist.