Her Brutal Alien (Alien Overlords)

“Family?” He says the word hopefully, as though he’s been trained to say it.

“Yes. Family.”

He reaches out and slides his hand over my stomach. His claws are never extended anymore when he touches me, and for good reason. The swelling of my belly has little to do with the abundance of baking I have been indulging in, and everything to do with the little life growing inside me.

I am so excited that Dr Haut has engineered a way for korabi and humans to reliably reproduce. Krush’s baby is the first in a new line, not just a royal line, but a species which will change the entire course of history in Megaris. At least, that's what Tusk has been saying. I do not care for the political implications. I care that my baby is going to have a long and happy life, knowing his brother, Rath, and yes, his cousin, as yet to be named. Tusk lives in constant fear of it being called Timothy, for some reason I still cannot quite understand.

“We're here!” Lyric calls, waddling through the front door, which I left open. Because that's what I do for family. Rath and Lyric will never find themselves staring at a closed door again. Metaphorically. I may have to occasionally shut the door if it gets cold. I’m still not entirely sure what the weather is going to do.

Lyric is even larger than I am. We are hoping that this crop of human-korabi children all play together, grow together, and have happy lives.

“I can feel her kicking my bladder," Lyric complains, lowering herself into a nearby chair.

"Careful, you know the gestation is much shorter than human pregnancies. You could be closer to labor than you think." Rath is hovering over her, his augmented eyes full of concern.

Lyric waves his objections away. “You've been saying that for three months, Rath. Doctor Haut says I’m fine. The baby will decide when it is ready to be born, and it's not ready yet. Just relax."

Tusk

I listen to my family’s bickering while doing my best to hide a smile. This old house is full of life again, and soon the shrieks of the young and happy will fill these massive spaces.

Life is good, for the first time in a long time, and I owe it to this apron-clad goddess who inhabits my kitchen, producing endless delights for us all.

Everybody in this house comes with horrors behind them. Me more than most, though mine go unremarked upon for the most part, because most of them took place long before any of the korabi or people present existed.

“Father,” Rath says.

“Son,” I growl, handing him a fermented beverage. Nothing more is said. Nothing more needs to be said.

My child and my grandchild are here with us, their presence tangible even though they are yet to be born. I hope that their future will be brighter and safer than the lives those present have lived.

“Smile," Margaret says, kissing my cheek. “We are having a nice time.”

Yes. Yes, we are. But we’re about to have an even nicer time.

“Come here.” I draw her away from the others, into a corner where we are out of sight. I slide my hand over her swollen belly and find the apex of her thighs. I love this little hot seam of hers. It is the place we first bonded, where I discovered the entirety of her wonderfulness.

“Tusk, we’re hosting your family,” she moans. “We can’t do this now.”

“We can do this any time,” I growl in her ear, nibbling ever so carefully at that tasty little lobe. “My appetite for you will never wane.”

“I love you,” she whimpers softly. “You know I do.”

“Yes. And you know I love you.”

There is still a certain desperation between us, a need which seems to grow with every breath we take. I love this woman more than I can say, though I say it all the time. The weeks in which we were apart were some of the most painful of my recent life. I have loved and lost before. I know the ways of grief, but Margaret is not someone I can tolerate grieving. Not now. Not ever.

I run my hand up the inside of her thighs and cup her sex.

“You’re not wearing underwear,” I growl in her ear.

She cannot deny that, any more than she can deny how wet she is becoming. Now that the nauseous phase of her pregnancy is behind her, she is coming back into her carnal self. I enjoy her appetite as much as I stoke it.

My finger slides inside her, finding that hot, wet little chalice which is mine to fill. I want so badly to be inside her, but I can hear voices from nearby. This is risky.

“Be quiet,” I growl, lifting her up off her feet and spreading her thighs.