Alien god

“How long have you been here?” I whispered, sitting up and drawing the furs against my chest, as if they could somehow protect me.

His only answer was a penetrating stare.

I broke eye contact when I heard a sound at the door. One of the fox aliens, not the woman who’d been in my room last night, entered with a tray.

More room service, I thought dryly. How long could they keep me in here? And where would I even go if I was released?

The other alien was very similar in appearance to the female one, but had broader shoulders, larger hands and ears, and held himself in such a way that made me think he might be male. Like the other one, he had green, cat-like eyes, but no white flecking through his fur. Instead, he was completely orange, from the shaggy fur of his head to the downy stuff that covered his whole body. He wore a vest, like Asha Wylfrael, and matching trousers and slippers made of what looked like pale blue silk.

Asha Wylfrael and the fox man had a short conversation, probably about me, speaking as if I weren’t there. The fact I couldn’t understand anything they said was maddening. Like I was trapped behind a thick pane of glass, banging from the inside to be heard, to be a part of the world again.

The fox alien left. I watched him go warily, not wanting to be alone with Asha Wylfrael again. What the fuck was he doing in here while I was asleep? That was more ominous than I wanted to even consider. Having someone else around, especially someone who seemed as gentle and calm as the fox creatures, lent me a little comfort. Even though the fox aliens were obviously my captors, too, they seemed almost sweet. The female one yesterday had been so gentle, her voice trilling and soft, when she’d led me up here.

Not like him. Him, with the broad black wings and the stars on his skin and the eyes that tried to tear me open.

I won’t let him, I thought, steeling myself. If he tries anything, I’ll fight. I’m weaker than him, but I refuse to let him terrify me with just a look.

He didn’t try anything in that moment besides sweeping imperiously back to the table he’d been lounging at before. This time, he sat in the opposite chair, the one turned more towards the bed. His wings rustled, and he held out a large, glowing hand towards the other chair in a gesture that couldn’t mean anything else but sit here. Now.

I thought about refusing, turning up my nose at the offered seat and the food and him, and I hesitated. A ripple of tension went through his wings. His eyes narrowed, gleaming blue slits, and then he was up. I tensed, assuming he’d come for me in the bed. Instead, he stalked to the other chair, yanked its massive crystal body back as if it weighed no more than a plastic lawn chair, then stopped. Both he and the chair were fully facing me, now. His hands rested on the chair’s high back, the top of which only came partway up his chest.

Every bodily instinct told me not to go. Asha Wylfrael loomed, wings spiking darkly into the air, looking like some sort of savagely beautiful demon guarding a gateway into Hell. This felt somehow pivotal, like the moment in a story when the naïve young woman eats food in the fae realm and is trapped there. Forever.

My scalp prickled, the ghost of Asha Wylfrael’s fist in my hair. A reminder that I had no choice, no choice but to go to him, to go through the demon’s door, to eat the fae’s food.

I slid out of the bed.

I should have been prepared for the way my muscles gave out when my feet hit the floor. But I wasn’t.

He was, though.

Before I could hit the hard crystal and probably crack my poor human tailbone, hands were on me. Two huge, powerful hands, nearly circling my entire waist. I froze at the contact, breath catching painfully in my throat.

Asha Wylfrael’s hands emanated heat. For some reason, this surprised me. So much of him seemed cold and icy, echoing the landscape outside. The frost-white hair, the blue eyes that seemed to freeze as much as they burned. But there was no denying the heat of his contact, seeping through my grey cotton T-shirt. The heat was at my back, too, as he’d apparently hauled me up against his chest when catching me. I stared down, panic rising at the sight of his sharp black claws so close to the vulnerable skin of my abdomen, only flimsy fabric in between.

“I can stand up,” I choked out. “Let me go.”

So much adrenaline was coursing through my veins now I probably could have run a damn marathon if I’d wanted to. My muscles ached from yesterday’s exertions, and the stress made me even shakier, but there was strength there, too. Thank God I ate something last night.

Grimly, I realized it wasn’t God I should be thanking for making me eat. My scalp prickled again, more urgently this time, the tingles throbbing downwards into my spine.

Carefully, slowly, I put more and more weight onto my feet, straightening my legs and showing him I could stand on my own. He didn’t let go right away, as if not quite trusting I could do it.

“That’s one thing you obviously have to learn about humans,” I said. “We’re stubborn.”

He murmured something in response – a dark, hot whisper near my ear, his breath a shock of sensation that made me shiver.

I worried he’d said something like, “I don’t care if you can stand, I won’t let you go.” But he retreated, his hands drawing away from my waist. I panted, my body burning even while goosebumps puckered over my skin, as he strode back to the table. He leaned back against it, his arms crossed over his broad chest, his face a cool, unreadable mask.

It was a test, with him as the only judge. My hands curling into sweaty fists, I vowed I wouldn’t fail.

I began to walk. My muscles quivered but otherwise held strong. When I reached the chair, I hauled myself into it with relief, feeling like I’d crossed into safety.

The illusion of safety was shattered when the chair scraped into movement. I gasped, clutching at the pink crystal arms of the chair as Asha Wylfrael pushed me towards the table from behind. He didn’t stop until the arms of the chair collided with the table, creating a cage of crystal I wouldn’t be able to escape without shimmying down on the chair’s seat, sliding to the floor, and crawling out.

From behind the chair, Asha Wylfrael reached down for one of the plates on the tray ahead. I didn’t move my head, but my eyes slid to the side, staring at the ferocious curve of his star-bitten bicep as he placed a plate in front of me.

I followed the glowing line of his arm down to the plate. The food there was mostly recognizable, I thought. There was what looked like bread, but dark red in colour, like it had been soaked in wine. There was also a small jar of a taupe mixture that looked like some sort of paté, and beside that, a collection of shiny, black spheres that reminded me of tapioca pearls.

Asha Wylfrael and I noticed the stone knife at the same time. There was a hiss of sound above me, a sharp intake of breath. We lunged for it simultaneously, but he was faster, his hand closing powerfully over the green crystal handle. Swearing under my breath, I let my hands fall to my lap. Asha Wylfrael stood staring down at me, his silence a rebuke that needed no words, no shared language.

“It wasn’t like I was about to stab you or something,” I muttered, daring to look up at him from beneath my lashes. “I just...” My words disappeared, an unexpected tightness entering my throat. I just wanted something, something I could use, something I could keep, something to make me feel safe...

I blinked rapidly, not willing to let a single tear fall in front of him. He watched me impassively. Then, he did something surprising.

He held the knife up, close to my face. I flinched back, afraid he was going to cut me, but he didn’t. Instead, he ran the edge of his thumb down the knife’s edge, pressing so hard I saw a divot form in the flesh.