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  The Alien King’s Desire

  A.M. Griffin

  Copyright © 2019 A.M. Griffin

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  The Alien King’s Desire

  Melisizwe is the Kgosi and sole ruler of the bu Kumkani Kingdom. He needs a powerful queen with alliances, wealth and connections at his side. To find his perfect mate, he invites nine dignitaries from across the galaxy for a meet and greet. Instead of focusing on a fitting match, he’s plagued with assassination attempts, civil unrest, and meeting his true lifemate—a human. For the good of his race, he must pledge himself to a female of status, so there’s no room in his life for a lowly security guard.

  Atlanta Georgia Moore has never visited Earth or her namesake. Born and raised on a distant alien planet, she has worked hard to fit into a world with people who view human emotion as a weakness. She has trained hard to suppress all human traits until she meets the Kgosi. The effect he has on her body and heart frightens her but, for the first time in her life, she wants to embrace who she really is.

  Atlanta can fight and protect others, but defending herself against love just may be the battle of her life.

  Pronunciations

  bu Kumkani – boo-come-con-e

  Ionwabo – I-on-wab-oo

  Ipakethe – Ip-a-keth-i

  Kazi (Queen) – Kah-zi

  Kgosi (King) – Ko-zi

  Melisizwe – Mel-iz-we

  Mxolisi – Ko-li-ze

  Ndebele – De-belle-e

  Ngonyama – Non-ya-ma

  Ngumniki – Num-niki

  Nkosana (Prince) – No-sa-na

  Nkosazana (Princess) – No-saz-a-na

  Nonhle (Beautiful) – Non-heal

  Okuthyu – O-ky-thy-u

  Themba – Them-ba

  Prologue

  “Lanta?” A fit of coughing overtook Atlanta’s mother’s body. The sound was more wet than hoarse. Her mother’s old bed creaked and rocked as one cough came after another.

  Atlanta paused at the entrance to her mother’s bedroom, clutching the curtain that separated her room from her mother’s tightly in her hand, afraid to enter and afraid not to. The coughing stopped and her mother’s breaths came out as labored wheezes.

  In Atlanta’s other hand she held a small glass of recycled water. It was only enough for three sips. After she’d woken up that morning to the first sounds of her mother’s screams, Atlanta had saved her morning’s water rations. Now she was glad she did. Her mother needed it. Atlanta pressed forward through the narrow room, keeping her gaze on where she knew the cot should be.

  If it were earlier in the day, the slit of a window would’ve allowed some of the sun’s light inside and Atlanta could’ve easily found her way to her mother’s bed. But with the sun long gone, Atlanta moved slowly, shuffling her feet along the floor so she wouldn’t injure herself on the tiny desk and chair that her mother felt compelled to stuff into the too-small space. The rasp of her mother’s labored breathing guided her way. It was times like this she wished there were extra credits to purchase candles.

  “I’m almost there, Momma,” Atlanta said, but not too loud. She didn’t exactly know why, but she felt the need to whisper. Maybe it was the still of the night and the hushed voices coming from the communal room, but Atlanta thought quiet was better. Living amongst the Oncuns, quiet was always better.

  Another cough wracked her mom, followed by another, more violent cough. Her mother would need medicine to clear up all the wetness in her lungs. They’d used all their credits to call for the medic to help with the birth. There wasn’t enough for the cough. Atlanta could skip breakfast for the next month to help save. She didn’t mind. Her mother liked to say breakfast was the most important meal of the day, but she herself never had it.

  Atlanta finally made it to the bedside and placed the cup on the table. Her mother’s tiny form was covered by a sheet and, even without light, Atlanta could tell her mom’s pregnancy bump was noticeably smaller. Atlanta flicked her gaze to the bundle cradled in the crook of her mother’s left arm. Her new baby brother was in there. Samuel. Her mom said they would call him Sam for short. After her mother’s father.

  Atlanta let out a sigh of relief. Her baby brother was finally here. It had felt like he would never come. Now that he was here, all their troubles would go away.

  The source of their troubles? Atlanta and her mom were human, and although Atlanta was born on Luur, her mother still chose to raise her the human way. The Oncuns didn’t understand that, and what they didn’t understand they shunned. But things would be different for her brother. He was half-Oncun. Her mother would raise him right. The elders had already demanded it.

  Atlanta didn’t want to be raised as a human. It only made her stand out on Luur. The elders had even tried to intervene regarding her upbringing. They’d told her mom that if she could embrace the Oncun way of life, the community would accept her and Atlanta. Her mother usually left those meetings with her nose in the air, telling Atlanta they were special because they were different. It didn’t matter to her mom that different wasn’t such a good thing on a planet where being the same was expected.

  But now that her mother had a half-Oncun child, she wouldn’t have any choice but to leave her human ways behind and raise the baby right. They would finally be accepted. Atlanta was sure of it. She’d spent the last four months praying to her mom’s God about it. In secret of course. The Oncuns didn’t believe in a higher power. To them, they just were, until they weren’t anymore.

  “Hi, Momma.” Although Atlanta wanted to see her new brother, he didn’t hold her attention. Her eyes had finally adjusted to the darkness. Her mother’s face was twisted in misery. Tears pooled in the corners of her eyes, and the stains from the one she’d already shed were on her cheeks. Her lips were dry and cracked. All her prettiness was stripped away. She looked…frail…broken.

  “Humans are weak beings.”

  Aunt Varlah told the other children that whenever one of them accidently hurt Atlanta during training. She would then caution them not to hit her as hard.

  It wasn’t Atlanta’s fault, Aunt Varlah often told her. But, as a species, humans were easily maimed, hurt, and injured. Aunt Varlah was teaching her how to be strong. Atlanta trained with Aunt Varlah’s daughter Elkah every day. Momma never trained.

  “There’s my baby,” her mom said, with a sigh.

  “I’m not a baby anymore,” Atlanta grumbled. “I’m eight, practically grown.”

  She dropped to her butt, sitting on the floor beside her mom’s bed. It had been a long day. Her mother had been in labor since the early morning and it was well past Atlanta’s bedtime. Maybe her mother would let her new brother sleep with her? That would be nice. Atlanta yawned.

  “Why are you way down there?” Her mother’s hand hung limply over the side of the be
d. Instead of her normally vibrant brown skin tone, her hand looked dusky and pale.

  “I don’t know.” Atlanta slipped her hand into her mother’s, something she wouldn’t do if an Oncun were around.

  Her mom’s hand didn’t feel right. Instead of being warm and soft it was cold and lifeless. Her mother curled her fingers around Atlanta’s hand. If Aunt Varlah was around, they would’ve gotten verbally reprimanded. But since they were alone, it was okay. She would remind her mom later they shouldn’t hold hands. Holding hands is what humans do, not Oncuns, and since they were going to raise an Oncun boy they had to work harder at behaving like them.

  “I love you so much, baby girl.” Her mom’s voice hitched with a sob.

  “You shouldn’t tell me that where Oncuns can hear, Momma,” Atlanta whispered. Although they lived apart from the villagers, Aunt Varlah and a few of the elders were in the other room. They’d come to assist in the birth.

  Oncuns loved each other but they didn’t show it, and most certainly didn’t say that to each other. Aunt Varlah said expressing emotions was a human flaw. One that Atlanta would one day learn to overcome. Atlanta could become stronger, but keeping her emotions from showing? That was difficult. Humans had so many emotions that it was hard to keep them all contained inside. To Atlanta, human emotions grew and grew, until they spilled to the outside and couldn’t be hidden anymore.

  Aunt Varlah and Momma both agreed it was too late for Momma to overcome her human flaws. She was older and her flaws were firmly set.

  But Atlanta worked on controlling her emotions every day.

  “I’ll tell you that I love you anytime I want.”

  Although her mom couldn’t change her human ways, and often made life for them on Luur harder than it should be, Atlanta loved her. Even if she didn’t say it when other people were around.

  Atlanta glanced toward the bedroom entrance. Aunt Varlah wasn’t in sight and she wasn’t prone to eavesdropping, but Atlanta braced just the same. If she heard them, she might leave, uncomfortable with the show of affection, and Atlanta wanted her to stay around for a little while longer. The medic had gotten so uncomfortable by Atlanta’s mom’s yelling and crying that she’d left. Aunt Varlah had to show them how to care for an Oncun baby so they got it right. “But Aunt Varlah—”

  “Varlah doesn’t know anything about being human. She saved us and took us in. I’ll be in her debt forever. But she needs to keep her nose out of our business. She thinks she’s doing right by telling you to behave more like an Oncun, but she’s not. She’s trying to strip you of your humanity.” Her mother coughed and wheezed as she spoke, but there was determination in her voice.

  “That’s a good thing. I need to fit in. If the other kids stop seeing me as different then they’ll talk to me. I don’t like being shunned.” And lonely.

  “I know it’s hard, baby. The Oncuns aren’t bad people. They’re just…” She let out a long breath. “Back on Earth we would call them socially awkward. They don’t really like to talk. They don’t make eye contact. They don’t like expressing or showing emotion and, because of that, they can’t handle it. They can’t process it correctly and it makes them uncomfortable. They would rather shun you than deal with your regular everyday emotions.”

  “But I can change. I can become like them.”

  “You can’t. You’re human. You’re meant to express joy, pain, love, hate. You can be sad one minute and happy the next. And it’s wonderful. It’s okay to be unique…different…you. Embrace it.”

  If Atlanta took her mother’s advice, she would never talk to anyone on Luur but her mother again. Even Aunt Varlah and Elkah would eventually stop talking to her.

  Atlanta shook her head. “Momma, I can’t. I have to fit in.”

  “I thought… I wanted to give you a good life and shield you from the dangers that are out here in this brand-new world. But I messed it up. I think I should’ve gone to the Okuthyu and asked for help instead of following Varlah to Luur. She was my savior. I was terrified. And I just needed a friend.”

  Atlanta had heard the story of how Aunt Varlah had saved her mother—at the time pregnant with Atlanta—a million times. Aunt Varlah had stumbled across Atlanta’s mom while working as a personal guard for one of the scientists who had abducted her from Earth. Aunt Varlah didn’t think what they were doing to her mother was right and, when the assignment ended, she’d freed her.

  “The Okuthyu wouldn’t have returned me to Earth, and I’d heard stories about how they kept humans in colonies, shielded from the rest of the galaxy, and I didn’t want that for you or us. I thought that with Varlah we could have a normal life. A good life.”

  “I have a good life, Momma.” Despite all the shunning, she liked her life. The other children didn’t care for her, but Elkah was her true friend. She never shunned Atlanta. And once she showed the other children her new baby brother, she would have more friends.

  Another sigh broke from her mother. “You say that because you don’t know any other life, Lanta. Do you know what I was doing when I was eight?”

  Atlanta nodded, then, realizing her mother couldn’t see her, she said, “Playing with your brothers and sisters?”

  Her mom spent hours telling Atlanta about all the fun she and her siblings had in her hometown, Atlanta, Georgia. When her mother spoke of her memories of Earth, Atlanta would try to imagine what it was like to live in a place full of trees and grass. She tried to picture buildings so tall they touched the sky. She sometimes drew what she thought cars and airplanes looked like. And she dreamed of water flowing freely from a faucet, just by a turn of a knob.

  She would also try to imagine an entire planet with people who looked just like her. That was the hardest of her mother’s memories to believe. In none of her mother’s stories had her mom talked about people pointing at her and whispering as she walked by.

  Her mother chuckled, then sniffled. “Yes, of course that. And playing on a playground too.”

  Like all the other times her mom talked about playgrounds, Atlanta closed her eyes and imagined what one looked like. She conjured up images of concrete, wood, and metal and how those materials would be used for children to slide down and swing on.

  “Ah, the playground,” her mother said, in the voice she used when she was about to cry about missing Earth. “What I wouldn’t give to take you to a playground. Just once.”

  “I wish I could go too.” A place where children played, carefree? Atlanta dreamt of going to such a place. There wasn’t anything like that on Luur. The Oncuns didn’t play. Not even the children. And according to her mother, it was plain wrong.

  “But, most importantly, I wasn’t worried about my mother dying and leaving me all alone on an alien planet.”

  Dying? Aunt Varlah hadn’t said anything about her mom dying. Atlanta pushed herself to stand on shaking legs. She smoothed a lock of tightly curled hair from her mother’s damp forehead. “Momma?”

  Her mom blinked hard, and tears squeezed from the corners of her eyes. “I tried so hard to fit in here. I took a lover in hopes of making a match. That didn’t work. I was much too human for him. I even thought having a baby would—” Her mother’s words broke off into a fit of sobs.

  “We’ll be okay now that we have Sam. You’ll see, Momma. They’ll accept us now.”

  Her mom cried harder. “Oh, Lanta. I’m so sorry. The baby…”

  Atlanta looked toward the bundle in her mom’s arm. The baby was still. “What about the baby?”

  Atlanta’s hands shook as she unfolded the sheet covering Sam’s face. Her mother made an attempt to swat her hand away but, as weak as she was, she was no match for Atlanta’s determination.

  When she freed the baby’s face, she saw it wasn’t a human or Oncun face, but an odd mixture of both. Three eyes, two noses, two mouths and four ears weren’t in the right places and some appendages weren’t firmly attached at all. The baby—her brother—was lifeless. Atlanta dropped the piece of cloth and backed away. Vomi
t rose to the back her throat. “No. No. No.”

  Aunt Varlah appeared at the door. Her short and square frame blocked most of it. Like other Oncuns, she wore her dark brown hair cut close to her head. She wore a full-length robe that covered most of her body, but what flesh was visible was green. In the shadows, she could resemble a human, having the same facial features, but Atlanta’s and her mom’s were more pronounced than the flatness of Aunt Varlah’s. “Lanta. Come with me. Let your mother rest. She needs it.”

  “My brother. He…he’s dead?” She stared at the unmoving bundle, waiting for a squirm, eye blink. Anything.

  Aunt Varlah tugged her toward the exit. “Control your emotions. Your mother doesn’t need you crying over her. It will do no good. Crying and being emotional won’t change the situation. The sooner you realize that, the better.” She pulled Atlanta from the room and closed the curtain. “Your mother will call for you when she’s ready for another visit.”

  Only her mother never woke up.

  Chapter One

  Melisizwe bu Kumkani opened his heavy eyelids. The room was dark, except for the flicker of the hologram projected over his desk. He couldn’t remember at what hour he’d fallen asleep and didn’t know what time it was now. It was late enough for the lights in the garden, outside the picturesque window at his back, to have gone dark. They’d been on before he’d fallen asleep though, otherwise he would’ve turned on his office lights.

  The last thing he’d remembered was researching the Laheath Kingdom. Their princess, Lu, was one of the nine off-world dignitaries arriving in the morning. He’d spent the past month learning each of his guests’ customs, down to the smallest detail. He wanted to make a good impression.

  No. He had to make a good impression.

  One of the nine would rule by his side as his bonded mate. Those he didn’t choose would hopefully become allies in his attempt to unify his homeworld, Ipakethe, once and for all.