Today we shine the spotlight on Lyn Gala with
Claimings, Tails, And Other Alien Artifacts
Liam loves his life as a linguist and trader on the Rownt homeworld, but he has ignored his heart and sexual needs for years. After escaping the horrors of war, he wants a boring life. He won't risk letting anyone come too close because he won't risk letting anyone see his deeply submissive nature. For him, submission comes with pain. Life burned that lesson into his soul from a young age.
This fear keeps him from noticing that the Rownt trader Ondry cares for him. Ondry may not understand humans, but he recognizes a wounded soul, and his need to protect Liam is quickly outpacing his common sense. They may have laws, culture, and incompatible genitalia in their way, but Ondry knows that he can find a way to overcome all that if he can just overcome the ghosts of Liam's past. Only then can he take possession of a man he has grown to respect.
Contains mature themes.
“How much tremanium did you secure, Sergeant Munson?” Colonel Thackeray was circling around toward Liam’s back.
“One ton, seven units, sir.” Liam kept his eyes forward, but he could hear Colonel Thackeray stop.
The man leaned in so close Liam could feel the body heat. “We will discuss that trade when we reach base,” he whispered. Idiot. Rownt had excellent hearing, and they were not amused by public shows of disunion within a group. Either their audience now believed Liam had no skill and needed more supervision, or they believed that Thackeray had no ability to lead. Given how the last trade had gone, the first was far more likely.
“Yes, sir,” Liam answered. Parade-ground shine and sucking up were going to have to get him through this because his skill as a trader had definitely failed him.
“Sir,” Gina offered softly. The nine-foot-tall grandmother was ambling toward them. Her lower belly was heavy with eggs that she’d be laying soon. She was old.
With Rownt, old meant stronger, and in the case of females, taller. Sometimes the soldiers on base called the Rownt “turtles” as an insult. Like earth turtles, the Rownt lived hundreds of years and seemed to grow larger with every passing year.
However, Liam doubted that the men chose “turtle” for those biological reasons. He suspected they meant to insult the lipless faces that could almost look turtle-like in the wrong light. And he knew they meant to make fun of the Rownt penis. The Rownt had penises a turtle would envy—huge things that came out of a sheath that lay along their backbone. When soft, the penis vanished under the muscle along the spine. When Liam had first landed, Craig had put aside his illicit porn to show off a tape with a long-lens view of two Rownt mating. Liam had felt like closing his legs for the next month or so.
While Liam understood the logic behind the turtle insult, he simply couldn’t look at this grand old woman who might be five hundred or a thousand years old, and feel anything except respect. This grandmother had an angular face that reminded Liam of Ondry. He risked turning his head just enough to look at Ondry and then back toward the grandmother. Most humans claimed Rownt looked alike, but Liam didn’t think so. Ondry had higher cheekbones that gave him an aristocratic look and a more angular shape to the eye. This grandmother had both.
“Sergeant!” Thackeray snapped, and Liam put his eyes front and center again. Crap. He was so royally screwed. Actually, Liam would be happy to get screwed if it meant keeping this posting, but Colonel Thackeray was probably too uptight to even find his damn prick.
“You are the new human commander,” the grandmother offered in a deceptively quiet voice. Around them, Rownt hushed. Even the few children on the road moved closer to their respective parents.
“Yes, ma’am. I am Colonel Richard Thackeray of the Forward Command.”
Liam couldn’t get a good look at her, but he could hear a snuffling noise.
The silence dragged. “Command is hoping I can improve the trade. I am hoping to speak to the ruling council to discuss how we can better help each other. We specialize in pharmaceuticals, and I do hope to reopen the discussion of importing them, at least those that are well-established as safe.”
Liam cringed. Oh that was not good.
“Such issues were previously decided.” The grandmother had her most reasonable voice going.
“Reexamining an issue can only bring more options to the table,” Thackeray said in a voice that had probably charmed a dozen different men and women. He had the sort of unctuous flair that wealthy boys from the Heights used on Bayview kids to talk them into bed.
“Or it can upset the table.”
“I would never want that,” Thackeray said. The Rownt language flowed with trilled r’s and th-fronting, but Thackeray managed to make it sound like badly pronounced German. He kept slipping English words into the middle. Normally Liam would encourage that in a new speaker since the Rownt understood English well enough even if they couldn’t pronounce it and even if they preferred visitors to have the courtesy to speak their language. However, when Colonel Thackeray used the human pronunciation of the word “Rownt,” things went from bad to horrific.
About the author:
Lyn Gala started writing in the back of her science notebook in third grade and hasn't stopped since. Westerns starring men with shady pasts gave way to science fiction with questionable protagonists which eventually became any story with a morally ambiguous character. Even the purest heroes have pain and loss and darkness in their hearts, and that's where she likes to find her stories. Her characters seek to better themselves and find the happy (or happier) ending.
When she isn't writing, Lyn Gala teaches history in a small town in New Mexico. Her favorite spot to write is a flat rock under a wide tree on the edge of the open desert where her dog can terrorize local wildlife. Writing in a wide range of genres, she often gravitates back to adventure and BDSM, stories about men in search of true love and a way to bring some criminal to justice…unless they happen to be the criminals.
Connect with Lyn: Facebook | Patreon
Promotional post. Materials provided by the author.