Marauder Cygnus: A Scifi Alien Shifter Romance (Mating Wars Book 1) by Aya Morningstar
Authors: Aya Morningstar
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before falling into the belt. He didn’t have enough power or life support left to wake from hibernation.”
“If we could prove to the incoming fleet that humans could create the—uh—Seraphic Form, would it stop the invasion?” I ask.
“No,” Cygnus says. “It would change it, however. It would likely split the invasion into two camps. One side would want to peacefully co-exist with you, the other would want to eradicate you.”
I feel my stomach knot up, but I risk asking the question heavy on my mind. “Which side would you take?”
“That depends,” Cygnus says. “Do all human females have such nice freckles?” He grins wide and then says, “That was a subtle answer, yes?”
“Yes,” I say, eyes wide. “Very subtle.”
I lick my lips, and I’m not surprised to realize I’m blushing.
* * *
T he trip to Mars from the belt takes about five days. I quickly realize that there’s not enough food for the seven-foot tall alien and the weird parasite suit thing he has attached to his arm. He offers to hibernate to conserve supplies, and I reluctantly agree.
He still has a bad knife and bullet wound, and he says that hibernation will help it heal more quickly.
I’ve been alone on the Zephyr for years now, and after having Cygnus’ company, it’s hard to give it up. He goes into the greenhouse to hibernate, where the carbon dioxide he gives off during hibernation will help feed the plants.
During the trip, I occasionally go up to the greenhouse to “look at the plants.” They are all hydroponic and their care is automated, so there’s no real need for me to check on them. I know I’m fooling myself, because every time I say I’m going up there to look at the plants, it’s really so I can look at Cygnus instead.
He wants to breed with me. Jesus. I’ve had guys sleep with me before, but none have ever wanted to breed with me. It sounds so much more primal, but I find that something about it turns me on.
Cygnus took his robe off to hibernate, and I can see his big teal cock looming over me every time I visit the greenhouse. I try not to look at it, because if the situations were reversed, I’d be intensely creeped out at the thought of him staring between my legs while I sleep. So, I just glance at it occasionally out of the corner of my eye, as if it were the sun.
Scorpio doesn’t send me any more messages, and Seth and I focus most of our scans behind us, looking for any ships in pursuit. We find nothing.
All of my Martian contacts are on the surface. None of the snooty orbitals would dare lower themselves to the level of buying scrap and junk from the asteroid belt.
If I had a way to contact my sister, I would. She could tell her superiors on Earth, and they might believe her. But she’s lost to me because of the war, and the difficulty of getting a message through to her unmonitored.
Ending the war would mean I could talk to my sister again, make sure she’s safe. I’m in a serious bind, though, because the one way I could get everyone to believe me and potentially end the war, is giving up Cygnus.
That’s not something I’m willing to do, even though it seems like the logical choice. But I can’t. And I won’t.
Seth helps me run all the computer models and decision trees, and we agree our best bet is to keep Cygnus under wraps while looking for support from my surface contacts. The main issue is that I’ve come back from my belt run empty-handed—aside from Cygnus—and I’ll have to rely on favors and sympathy instead of bartering. The Martian surface is a harsh place, and there’s little sympathy to ever be found there.
10 Cygnus
I awake from hibernation to a cold ship. It’s cold for me, which means it must be even colder to the weak female.
I unstrap myself from the harnesses and realize that we’re in zero-g. Could it mean we’re already in orbit around the red planet?
I grab the ladder and pull myself forward toward the cockpit.
When I reach it, I find
“If we could prove to the incoming fleet that humans could create the—uh—Seraphic Form, would it stop the invasion?” I ask.
“No,” Cygnus says. “It would change it, however. It would likely split the invasion into two camps. One side would want to peacefully co-exist with you, the other would want to eradicate you.”
I feel my stomach knot up, but I risk asking the question heavy on my mind. “Which side would you take?”
“That depends,” Cygnus says. “Do all human females have such nice freckles?” He grins wide and then says, “That was a subtle answer, yes?”
“Yes,” I say, eyes wide. “Very subtle.”
I lick my lips, and I’m not surprised to realize I’m blushing.
* * *
T he trip to Mars from the belt takes about five days. I quickly realize that there’s not enough food for the seven-foot tall alien and the weird parasite suit thing he has attached to his arm. He offers to hibernate to conserve supplies, and I reluctantly agree.
He still has a bad knife and bullet wound, and he says that hibernation will help it heal more quickly.
I’ve been alone on the Zephyr for years now, and after having Cygnus’ company, it’s hard to give it up. He goes into the greenhouse to hibernate, where the carbon dioxide he gives off during hibernation will help feed the plants.
During the trip, I occasionally go up to the greenhouse to “look at the plants.” They are all hydroponic and their care is automated, so there’s no real need for me to check on them. I know I’m fooling myself, because every time I say I’m going up there to look at the plants, it’s really so I can look at Cygnus instead.
He wants to breed with me. Jesus. I’ve had guys sleep with me before, but none have ever wanted to breed with me. It sounds so much more primal, but I find that something about it turns me on.
Cygnus took his robe off to hibernate, and I can see his big teal cock looming over me every time I visit the greenhouse. I try not to look at it, because if the situations were reversed, I’d be intensely creeped out at the thought of him staring between my legs while I sleep. So, I just glance at it occasionally out of the corner of my eye, as if it were the sun.
Scorpio doesn’t send me any more messages, and Seth and I focus most of our scans behind us, looking for any ships in pursuit. We find nothing.
All of my Martian contacts are on the surface. None of the snooty orbitals would dare lower themselves to the level of buying scrap and junk from the asteroid belt.
If I had a way to contact my sister, I would. She could tell her superiors on Earth, and they might believe her. But she’s lost to me because of the war, and the difficulty of getting a message through to her unmonitored.
Ending the war would mean I could talk to my sister again, make sure she’s safe. I’m in a serious bind, though, because the one way I could get everyone to believe me and potentially end the war, is giving up Cygnus.
That’s not something I’m willing to do, even though it seems like the logical choice. But I can’t. And I won’t.
Seth helps me run all the computer models and decision trees, and we agree our best bet is to keep Cygnus under wraps while looking for support from my surface contacts. The main issue is that I’ve come back from my belt run empty-handed—aside from Cygnus—and I’ll have to rely on favors and sympathy instead of bartering. The Martian surface is a harsh place, and there’s little sympathy to ever be found there.
10 Cygnus
I awake from hibernation to a cold ship. It’s cold for me, which means it must be even colder to the weak female.
I unstrap myself from the harnesses and realize that we’re in zero-g. Could it mean we’re already in orbit around the red planet?
I grab the ladder and pull myself forward toward the cockpit.
When I reach it, I find
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