And if I can steal it.
“Probably a bad idea, Georgie,” I tell myself. “This guy’s your only buddy at the moment.”
Even if he does want to just lick my pussy. I clamp my thighs together tightly at the memory and try not to blush. I go back to ogling the alien. His arms are bare and show a crazy amount of corded muscle. They’re enormous and intimidating, and I imagine the pectorals under the leather vest are equally as staggering.
He pulls a strap from over one shoulder, and I see that in addition to the myriad buckles and pouches, he’s got a bag slung across his chest. My stomach growls again. He might have food.
Real food. Not seaweed bars.
My mouth waters, and I clasp my hands together tightly to keep from reaching for him. I’ve never been so hungry in my life. He opens his satchel and produces a bladder of some kind that must be a water skin along with a leather-wrapped package. He hands it to me, and I unwrap it. There in the wrappings are a few thick bars of what looks like meat mixed with an oatmeal of some kind. Travel rations. Has to be. I tremble and look up at him. “Is this for me?”
“Kuuus-kah,” he says in that weird language of his, and he mimes breaking off a piece and eating it.
I could kiss him right now, fangs and all. “Thank you,” I say and break off a large piece. I don’t care if I seem greedy or not. I’m starving. I cram the entire piece into my mouth and begin to chew.
Right away, I can tell it’s a mistake.
The taste is . . . well, awful is the kindest word I can think of. It’s like I’ve bitten into a package of jalapeno peppers mixed with a vile, mealy texture. The spices are so strong that my nose and eyes immediately water. I cough, desperately trying to swallow the mouthful I’ve got, but it’s burning my tongue. I end up choking and spitting out half the food into my hand, all the while the alien looks on curiously.
It’s brutal. I gag and cough for a moment more, until he pushes the skin into my hand and barks out a short word. I cautiously take a sip, afraid of what it’ll taste like. To my relief, the water is cool and refreshing, and has a masked hint of citrus to the taste. I guzzle it with relief, and my choked coughing slowly abates.
I push the dried food back to him and shake my head. Even if I wanted to eat it—and oh, do I want to—I can’t. Just the thought of putting even a small piece into my mouth makes my jaw clench up. My stomach issues a miserable protest.
The alien is mystified by my rejection of the food. He examines my mouth again and tries to touch my tongue. I brush his questioning hand aside. “The problem isn’t my mouth, it’s your food.”
He says something in his gibberish language and gestures at my bruises. Oh. He thinks I’m hurt and that’s why I can’t eat. I shake my head. “I’m fine. Really.”
The alien—Vektal—gazes at me curiously.
“I don’t suppose there’s a nice city full of friendly aliens a short distance away?” I ask. The small cave’s getting colder, and the air whistles, so I hitch my jacket a bit closer to my body.
Vektal picks up his fur cape and drapes it over my shoulders, talking to me in that weird rumbly language.
“Thanks,” I say and hug it closer. He’s not putting clothes on, so the cold must not be bothering him as much. I eye him as he bends over and feeds another log to the fire.
He’s got a tail. Okay. Lots of things have tails. That’s not so weird. I’m trying not to get weirded out by him, but he’s just so . . . different. His horns, for one. The hand that places another piece of wood on the fire has only four fingers. The boots on his feet look like a soft leather but are shaped extremely wide at the toes, so I can only wonder what’s going on in there.
Oh, and he’s a smoky gray-blue. Can’t forget that part. And he purrs. So yeah, other than being bipedal, maybe he’s not much like me after all.
“Sheorshie,” he says, mangling my name. He repeats it and then gives me a frown and a shake of his braided black hair. “Sheorshie Vektal,” he says again, then points at his eye and then shakes his head.
“I don’t know what you’re trying to say to me,” I tell him. “That I’m not like you? I know I’m not.” I point at his food. “I wish to God I could eat this, but I can’t.” My eyes brim with exhausted tears. Everything feels as if it’s crashing down on me. “You have no idea how much my life has sucked in the last two weeks.”
He says something in a softer voice and wipes away the tear that spills down my cheek. I notice his skin feels like suede or chamois. It’s . . . nice. It feels friendly even if everything else in the world is all fucked up.