Page 6 of Monsters in Love: Lost in the Stars

I’ve prepared myself for death. I knew it was a possibility coming out here, and hey, Brianna is my beneficiary. If I die, she’ll have more than enough money to get out of the church—more than enough to get all of my siblings out, really. That one thought stays with me as I squeeze my eyes shut. The kids will be okay, and for a brief moment of peace, it all feels worth it.

Instead of a swift death, though, the creature screams in protest as it’s ripped off of me. Something else, something... inhuman, roars in the darkness, matched by the angry screams of the creature.

They fight in the darkness, so I can’t see them, but the sounds are terrifying. Whatever is fighting the animal might not be friendly to me, and I am not about to take my chances. Staying low, I flee towards the door, so happy when I reach the exit that I am sure I would cry if I weren’t so hyped on adrenaline.

Outside, it’s a bit lighter, the dual moons illuminate the courtyard just enough that I can navigate it without running into any of the statues.

That strange impulse presses in on me again, that if only I can get to my statue, I’ll be safe. Perhaps some base instinct in me knows that if I climb the plinth, the creature might mistake me for part of the stone soldier itself.

I half run, half stumble to the statue, except... it’s not there. My statue is missing from its plinth. I look around, blinking, but the temple door and it’s horrible din draw my eyes.

Through the gloom of the night, I can see the creature that grabbed me fighting something else inside the temple. The sounds of the battle sound right out of an action movie. I look around at the other statues, since the plinth that I was planning on hiding behind is empty, it stands to reason that I should hide behind one of the others. Almost as soon as I think of that, though, the idea is abhorrent to me. Usually, I’m a woman of action. But between my injuries, the fight inside the temple, my aversion to the other statues, and my own empty pedestal, I’m frozen.

Suddenly, the temple is silent. The fierce growls, and sounds of a tussle of quieted, and the silence chills me. Instead of picking another statue, I crouch behind my own missing one, peering over the lip. Because it has suddenly occurred to me that all of my supplies, including my radio, are still inside. I have a tracking device inside my necklace, but I don’t even have my bag, so its battery will only last so long if I run away.

Movement in the temple catches my gaze once more and I gasp aloud at what I see, because it doesn’t make sense. It — he emerges from inside.

My statue.

He’s covered in bright purple blood, and bits of stone crumble off of him with each move. And yet, I know it’s him.

He moves with the slow, deliberate grace of a predator. His eyes scan the courtyard, as if looking for something, looking for me. His eyes stop at his own empty space and he nods once. In my right mind, I would have tried to duck out of the way, but in this moment, he overwhelms me. I’m transfixed by him, and instead hold his gaze. His eyes are deep and dark, with no whites or iris to speak of, and yet there is an intensity that pins me in place. With each breath, he approaches, stone crumbling from him as his powerful muscles tense. When he’s perhaps ten feet away from me, he pauses and sniffs, his face suddenly alarmed. His eyes widen, and he sets his brow, increasing his pace until he is right in front of me. He reaches out a massive hand toward my face, and I can’t even flinch away. He’s too compelling, too magnetic for me to take my eyes off of him for even a moment. Beneath the stone, his skin is a dusky blue purple, and if I was in my right mind, I would probably chuckle at such a powerful person being periwinkle.

Instead, my breath quickens as his massive hand cradles the side of my face. It’s so large, and his muscles are so strong, he could squash my head like a grape, and yet his thumb skates over the side of my cheek, like I am something precious. His face is open and honest, and he looks almost in pain, so intent is his inspection. He frowns, and I realize that with all of the blood all over him, he could be seriously injured.

I don’t see any glaring injuries, but there is so much blood that it’s hard to tell. Regardless, I don’t get the opportunity to search any longer, because he scoops me up in one swift motion. I squeal as he does, because he’s got at least a foot if not more on me. His arms are firm, but gentle and his chin is set with determination, his eyes fixed on the entry to the temple. I barely have time to comprehend that he’s picked me up when a drone circles us, ostensibly, attempting to get a good shot. With a speed I’ve never seen, my statue’s arm shoots out, capturing the drone in one large clawed hand. As easily as if he were squeezing butter, my alien crushes the drone, sparks flying as his sharp claws sever wires. With a grunt, he throws it off to the side. Nodding his head once he turns back toward the temple. Inside, it’s still terribly dark, but the tender way he holds me keeps me from being afraid. My statue settles me on the grass I used for my bed, and picks up a smallish stick from the fire. For a moment, he has stepped out of the circle of the fire, and I can’t see anything except for the bobbing, faint dim of his makeshift torch. Seconds later, a wall sconce bursts to life, and I can see him as he circles the room, lighting others. The room is much as I had previously assumed, a central chamber with four doors on either side. Once he is satisfied with the brightness, my statue comes back, kneeling next to me.

“Hello,” I say, though I’m confident he won’t be able to understand me. In the light, I can see parts of the stone still clinging to him. After the final lamp is lit, he turns toward me and pauses. I’ve been on television naked, interviewed by people about the show and about my ex-cult status, and I’ve never had anyone look at me so intently.

He cocks his head to the side, as if trying to discover what my greeting means and puts his finger into his ear, wiggling it like he has water in his ear.

He opens his mouth and words I can’t even begin to understand come out, though they go up at the end, as if in question.

I shake my head. “I don’t speak your language, I’m sorry.” He stalks toward me, smiling softly and I realize that I should probably be scared. This man is massive, bigger than any human I’ve ever seen. He’s got long claws, massive wings and a tail that swings lazily behind him. He absolutely obliterated that animal, which I can see strewn across the far side of the room.Not to mention I just watched him destroy my drone, one of my only links to the outside world, and yet I feel… safe. His powerful legs lead to digitigrade knees and large, clawed feet. On each foot, a larger toe with a wicked claw like a velociraptor clicks on the ground with each step. He hunches his shoulders, as if trying to appear smaller, and lowers his voice. “Ma’el,” he says, tapping his chest.

I chuckle, I couldn’t mistake him for anything but male, or if I had our species must be very different. He could be pictured next to the definition of male in the dictionary. “Uh, female.” I say, touching my own chest.

He frowns, as if I’ve misunderstood. He repeats the gesture, tapping his own chest and stating that he’s male. I mean, it's not exactly what I would have led with, but I guess there are worse ways of starting than getting our pronouns sorted.

“I’m Abbie,” I say, holding out my hand to him.

“Imabby, Ma’el,” he says, smiling his clawed hand between the two of us.

“Ma’el!” I squeal, bursting out laughing. “You meant your name!”

“Abbie, I’m just Abbie,” I wince, because laughing hurts my wounds, both on my face and stomach.

Ma’el moves and he’s in front of me in a flash, concern written all over his face. His eyes roam over me, cataloguing my injuries with precision. He reaches for my stomach, but with me being entirely naked, and him covered in stone dust, that feels like a recipe for infection, or things getting really weird really fast. Because as strange as the situation is, as alien as he is, I’m apparently really into that. This poor guy saved my life out of the goodness of his heart, and I’m immediately objectifying his strong thighs, his massive wings, and his strong blacksmith's physique. He’s barrel-chested in a way that reminds me of strongmen, which of course makes me think of how he lifted me up like I was nothing. I’m not a little girl, and I’ve packed on extra weight before coming here to help me survive. In the past, other boyfriends have barely been able to walk when I rode piggyback, or they’d joke that I’d better not ride their face lest they suffocate. This dude though? He’s solid, with horns that arc over his head like handlebars and—I shouldn't be thinking of him like this.

I smack his hand away from my stomach, because the last thing I need is to be objectifying him while he’s so close to my pussy. When I do so, he raises his hands and purses his lips, as if to say, “okay then.” He raises his brows—or rather his brow plating— in question and gestures to my knee. While still close to the uh, danger zone, my knee feels safer, and he seems to really want to look at my injuries. I nod my head, and when he places a hand on my knee, heat pools between my legs. Corresponding heat rises in my face as I hope he doesn’t notice anything odd going on with me.

His large hands dwarf my leg and he must be having trouble seeing because he leans closer, or so I think. Instead, a long, purple tongue snakes out of his mouth, and licks my leg.

I try to pull it away, squealing, but his hands hold it firm. “What are you doing?!” I shriek.

He chuckles, the soft huff of his breath traveling up my leg to nestle in my pussy. He mumbles something, sounding amused, but doesn’t stop his licking. His tongue isn’t rough, like a cat’s, but that’s what it makes me think of. It’s soft, but it grips my skin in the same way. In a moment of absolute insanity, I imagine that his tongue is pulling the edges of my wound together, knitting my skin and stemming the flow of blood. Separately, I blush as I realize just how good it feels. I never imagined that having someone lick my wound could be sensual, but it decidedly is. Each tug of his tongue on my kneecap, sends waves of heat through my body. I breathe deep and look up at the temple ceiling, willing myself to focus, willing myself to calm down and for my blood to stop rushing, for my heart to stop beating ninety miles an hour.

Then, I realize that the sting of my cut is gone, the residual throbbing pain has vanished, to be replaced by the throbbing between my legs. The open gash has been replaced by a thin red line, and all the blood has been swept away.

“What?“ It burst out of me, I can’t control my surprise. Because this shouldn’t be possible. Don’t get me wrong, medicine has come a long way, but I’ve never seen anything like what I’m seeing now.

In my response to my incredulous outburst, he just smiles at me. He knew this would be the outcome, And he seems pleased that I’m finally on board. I’m blinking rapidly, because I truly can’t comprehend how such a thing could be possible, but I flex my knee, and see the skin stretches easily. With a wince, I also see how much cleaner that part of my body is now compared to the rest of me, but that is just the truth of existing out here.

His eyes roam my body once more, clocking my injuries, lingering on them as he completes his survey. Next, he skates his hands down my legs, checking them for any small abrasions that might have escaped his examination. When he reaches my ankle, I grimace and he frowns. It’s a less than ideal situation, and it hurts, but I’ve no open wounds for him to heal with his magic spit.

Magic spit. What the actual fuck. It makes no sense to me that his saliva should have healing properties, but judging by his face, it makes complete sense to him. As if it is only logical.

He reaches behind him, as if expecting to find something attached to his belt, but whatever he expected to be there is gone, and he growls. Afterward, he takes a deep breath and searches the room once more, his face appears surprised at how empty it is. When his eyes catch on my spare bag, they light up, and before I can say anything, he’s shredding it into long strips. Normally, we aren’t allowed to alter the bag, as it holds our camera and batteries for filming. But I think we’ve gone beyond our regular protocol at this point, and I doubt the network will be upset with me, considering the circumstances. Once he has it in long strips, he begins wrapping my ankle, lifting and testing it for the right angle. After several circuits, it’s wrapped tight and I’m proven wrong. His magical saliva might not be able to fix this problem, but it seems he is not without medical training. When it is tied to his satisfaction, he sets my ankle down and nods. That self satisfaction is so familiar and human that it startles me. Perhaps we are not nearly as different as I initially might have assumed.

Those injuries dealt with, he returns his attention to the wounds on my face and stomach. I wasn’t comfortable with him exploring those before, or rather it’s becoming increasingly apparent that I might be too comfortable with that possibility.

He raises his brow in question again, indicating the wounds on my stomach. They are decidedly the worst of what I have sustained, so I know why he wants to focus on them. As awkward as this could get, I know that it would be stupid to turn down his miraculous healing. And while it might make me feel some kind of way, I'm capable of controlling my own actions. A little bit of discomfort won’t stop me from getting what I need. This wound could get infected any moment, so I’m not exactly in a place to turn down magical saliva, just because it might make me feel hot and bothered.

I nod and lean back, indicating that he can lick—I mean heal—me. It’s probably a good thing that I am not wearing panties, because if I was, they would be soaked by the smile he gives me before he leans in.

Excuse me? Sir? Surely I am imagining the way he looked at me, and the way he is rumbling against my stomach as he laps at my injuries. He cannot possibly be…purring? But it does feel like that is the case. His tongue is vibrating against me, soothing the sharp pain as it heals and I am way too into it. I knew I should have reached out to one of the fuckbois I’ve ignored for months on my phone before I left, but in my defense, I didn’t have the context of a massive sexy alien lapping at my squishy stomach and humming like it’s the best thing he’s ever done when I was deciding. If I had known, I’d have done more than rub one out. I’d have… no, maybe that’s a complete lie. Because even as I think it, the idea is just disgusting. I don’t want just anyone, I want Ma’el.

And there it is, the realization hits me like a truck. I know essentially nothing about him, except that he’s caring and wants me to be comfortable and safe… that he’s huge and so different from anything I have ever known… and all of that makes me want him desperately.

While I’ve been objectifying him and drooling over his body, Ma’el has healed the gashes on my stomach and has raised his hand to indicate my face. Because, of course, I have some on my face. I should say no, I know I should, it’s too close, too personal, and I want it too badly. But I am a stupid, horny bitch, so I nod my head.