Monster King (Royal Aliens 5)

He doesn’t really know me. I know most people want land and riches and maybe goats, but I’ve never wanted those things. You don’t become a cop because you want to be rich.

“What’s wrong? You do not look pleased.”

“I am very pleased. I mean, your offer is very kind, and I am sure generous, and many people would be so thrilled…”

“But you are not one of those people. What do you want, Ariel? What is it your particular human heart desires?”

You.

The answer is inside me, but I can’t give voice to it. It would be crazy to say that to an alien king who wants to give me somewhere to live and lots of alien money.

“I don't need anything,” I tell him. “Knowing that you survived, and that I did my job, is enough.”

“It is not enough,” he replies. “You are too humble.”

“And you are much nicer than you seemed on the surface. Of the planet, I mean. Of Earth.”

“I feel better than I did there.”

I guess anybody bleeding out on an alien planet has good reason to be a bit snappy. I didn’t meet him at his best. I guess that old Marilyn Monroe adage about putting up with alien kings at their worst sort of applies here. She figured if you wanted them to give you goats, you had to deal with their bullshit. Or something like that. I’m having a hard time remembering all the nonsense my head got infected with over my years on my planet of origin.

“You look better,” I say. “Your doctors must be very talented. You were a mess down on that pier.”

“Flying through steel beams will do that to you, even as an advanced alien.”

“Yeah. For sure. That was rough.”

“But yes, our doctors are excellent. You should see one.”

“What? Why?”

“Being transported across time and space may have caused some problems with your cell structure. We should get you inspected.”

“I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”

He scowls at me. “Human, you are defying me at every turn. Do you understand what it is to disobey a king?”

“I do not.”

“It is not as it was when you disobeyed your human authorities. Unlike them, I will do something about it.”

“What will you do?” Curiosity makes me ask the question, but it comes out as insolence.

His answer is as terrifying as it is sweet. “I will punish you.”

“You fucking won’t.”

The response explodes out of me without me having to think about it. He won’t punish me. Even the word, punish, makes me feel hot and cold and tingly all over. What the hell does he even mean? It could be something small, like being grounded from my space goats. But I don’t think so. I cannot ignore the sheer physicality of this alien. I can understand his meaning through the vagueness of his words. He’s going to hurt me.

Do I want him to hurt me?

“You saved me. I intend to save you.”

Those words, coming from the gruff throat of a furious alien who I have crossed in so many ways, are not nearly as comforting as they may sound. I look at him with pure rebellion. He doesn’t know what he’s getting into. I can’t be saved, and if I could be saved, it wouldn’t be by the sexy mean green giant from another planet.

“What are you going to do? Punish me? Or save me?”

“They are the same thing where you are concerned, Ariel.”

I don’t like the way he’s looking at me. Far too determined, and far too serious. Again, I am struck by the sexy strangeness of his alien visage. His eyes are golden and slitted like a lizard’s. They are framed by dark brows and raven hair flowing in dramatic masculine fashion over his shoulders. He’s weird looking, but he’s hot. And that makes this worse, or maybe better. I can’t tell.

As alien as he may be, he’s not the first guy who thought he could save me. Men of all species love a damsel in distress. I guess I somehow gave off that vibe even while carrying a .45 and wearing steel-capped boots. I know how to run a dude with a messiah complex off easily. A shitload of sarcasm, and a hefty dose of reality.

“Oh yeah? You can save me from fifteen years growing up in the grip of an alcoholic? You can save me from what some asshole called a personality disorder, and my boss calls ‘my temper’? You can save me from seven years of seeing the absolute worst of what humans can do to each other?”

He doesn’t even flinch at the hysterical, blunt description of my past. Usually saying that is a great way to chase away any guy. Dudes don’t like fucked up chicks, at least once they work out you’re the angry kind of fucked up, and not a super-easy-manic-sex-pixie.