Page 11 of Gyft

“Don’t even think about it, buddy. My husband’s not gonna like it.”

Something flashes in his gaze and he narrows his eyes, coming at me deliberately with the wet cloth. Ooh, he’s one of those take-charge individuals. Wetness pools deep inside my core. I stare at him, bemused.

And then he rubs it all over my face.

I gasp and sputter, my hands going out to stop him but they somehow find their way to his naked chest again. “Are you kidding? Stop that! You’re ruining my expertly applied goth look. My contouring!” I howl.

Sure enough, by the time he drags the cloth away, it’s black and muddy-gray and he looks somewhat satisfied.

“Jerk! How would you like it if I’d have just washed you while you were injured? It’s not like you look clean! Or handsome.” I lean in and sniff, but I smell nothing. “And you probably stink. Like beast and blood. And smelly... vampire!” Then, an idea hits me and I push forward, palms out.

He looks confused for a minute before I shove harder and he falls backward into the pond.

“Have a bath!”

But then the fool sits there in the wet, and looks up at me grinning.

“You’re not supposed to like it.” My voice is much softer now.

Crazy alien.

Chapter Six

GYFT:

WELL. THE BRIDE HAS a backbone after all. And she’s much more... attractive without the ghastly black shadows casting dips and valleys on her face. Not sure what she was thinking, but suddenly I’m able to see her in a different light.

I imagine it does take strength and bravery to fly to an unknown planet and marry a stranger, sight unseen. At least I’d seen distant images of her. I knew the basic shape of humans. With our hooded cloaks, humans didn’t even know that much about us.

A strange sense of male pride makes me wonder if she finds my form attractive now that she sees me.

I rise from the pond, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling of wet clothing. I’ll squish when I walk, and it’s her fault. Still, at least it gets some of the blood off me, I imagine.

She purses her lips as I get out, as if unable to figure out why I’m in a better mood. I can’t share with her that I’m impressed.

I’ll just have to guide her toward the city where I can see what she’s up to. Then, I’ll lead her to my shuttle, bring her back to headquarters and we’ll have the language loads together. I’ll explain that the marriage was necessary to prove our alliance, but that we’re able to head our separate ways as long as she acknowledges that she has an image to uphold. Any time we vid Earth, she’ll need to be by my side. She’ll need to reassure everyone that we’re a contracted couple.

I’m partly dry by the time we make it out of the forest. If I remember correctly, there’s an old farm up ahead. We’ll stop there and I’ll make contact.

“Is that a clothesline? I can find clothes to disguise myself.” My bride squeals as she lifts the ridiculous skirts she wears and forges ahead without me like she’s a prancing farm beast eager to be ridden.

“Wait, female,” I call, but she’s long gone. When I catch up, she’s going through the nightgowns and bed sheets.

“What are you doing?” I demand, ignoring the pink of excitement in her cheeks. It’s much healthier-looking, like she recently fed. Somewhat attractive, but I’m sure that’s because she was so hideous before. The first sun has sunk and the second sun gives a slight glow, much like the shade of the ancientsicquriustrees in the forest.

“See? I have to change my clothes. No one will recognize me, especially with a sheet I can drape over me like this—” The bride places bedding over herself as if she hides. Ahh. She is making abrichet, a hooded drape that we use when we hide from the main sun. I wore mine during our wedding ceremony.

Interesting. She tries to please me, then.

I place my hand on her shoulder. We both catch our breath at the intimate touch. Her skin is warm beneath mine and soft. So smooth.

I can’t help but run my thumb over her, curious about how she feels. Is she this soft everywhere?

It is simply curiosity. Nothing more. I should not lead her on.

“You do not need the garments, bride. I will not have my bride look like a hobo.” I reach into the lining of my shirt and pull out my own brichet. I shake it out and gesture to her.

She tilts her head and steps closer.

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