The Alien's Captive (14 page)

“Yes,” she said. “You honor me with your restraint.” She forced herself to take hold of the hand that cradled her face. “You honor me with everything.” She nearly choked on the final words. “Thank you, my GilAman.”

The happiness on his face was distinct. “I will thank you later, my treasure, for carrying my seed. Pregnancy is instantaneous between our species, especially when a female is ripe as you now are. It’s a marvelous thing. Gestation, too, is shorter. Within the time it takes for your Earth to revolve in the measure of a day, you will already be swelling with my child. Within one Earth season, you will bear a son.”

“Or a daughter,” she said, imagining an almond-eyed, elf-eared combination of the two of them, a daughter she would raise to be brave… But her sad imagining was cut short.

“No,” he said. “As a regent, I only want sons. If you birth a girl child, it will be… disposed of.” At her look of distress, he took her face in his hands again and laughed as if her reaction was silliness. “But don’t be sad, my jewel! Humans heal so quickly after a birth here, far more quickly than on Earth, and I will breed you again until you produce a son!” He kissed her on the forehead. “Is it not wonderful, having the possibility to look forward to?”

She felt queasy as she forced herself to nod. The man and his race were monsters, and she had to get away. But she could not if she showed the revulsion she felt.

“It’s time,” he said, and led her from the antechamber in which they were standing to a circular room with a pitched roof. The space was ringed with what looked like dignitaries and a cacophonous medley of bells sounded as GilAman led her to a figure standing in a robe with a fringed hood hiding its face.

With the translation chip still inside, she could understand the vows, which were not addressed to her but to GilAman, who promised to care for and breed sons on her for the glory of Savusia.

It was over in minutes and he gripped her arm tightly as the assembly cheered, nearly drowning out his words. “Come. The mating chamber awaits.”

“Can I eat first?” she asked, her words rushed. And when he looked down at her quizzically, she hastened to explain. “I was so excited for the day that I ate little this morning. I want to have the strength to… couple with you.” She put her hand on her belly. “To conceive our fierce son.”

He smiled broadly. “What would you like?”

“The green fruits,” she said. “The hard ones.”

“Anything for my jewel.” GilAman turned and barked the order to an attendant. When they arrived in the suit, which contained a round bed and a table, the fruit was on it. And so was the blade needed to cut away the hard skin. Phaedra tried not to look at it as her mind raced to formulate the second part of her plan. The weapon was within reach, the glittering blade lying accessible on the plate.

“The storm is still fierce.” To her relief, GilAman walked over to the wall and raised a panel revealing a large window. Little could be seen of the landscape outside. The blowing clouds of sand obscured the rising sun.

“It is.” Phaedra sat down, picking up a knife and the fruit. Slicing through the skin, she squeezed the contents of half the fruit in her mouth, for she was hungry and needed strength for what lay ahead. That much had not been a lie.

“Are you sated?” he asked, turning. “For now, I would be.” He walked to the bed. “It is time. Come, my little mate, and stretch out before me. It is time for the ritual.”

Phaedra walked over, her eyes on the bed. In her hand, hidden by the sleeve of her gown, was the knife. She was shaking, and hoped that if GilAman detected it, he’d think it was simply nerves.

She lay down on her back, her auburn hair fanned out around her. She forced herself to look at the alien who was planning to claim her. She tried not to gasp as he parted the lower half of his robe, revealing a two-pronged cock that was already jutting from a thick, bulbous base on his pelvis. The tips of the cocks were also bulbous and she tried not to scream as GilAman, breathing heavily, explained that the ends would expand even more, locking him into her and rendering them inseparable for nearly an Earth day.

He moved toward her, began to lower. And later, Phaedra would realize if she’d waited a split second longer, she could have stabbed him unseen. But in her terrified haste, she moved too soon and GilAman caught sight of the blade’s flash. With a cry, he clutched her hand and twisted it until she released.

The next thing she felt was a crushing pain in her throat as his hand wound around her neck and he stood, pulling her up and lifting her. Phaedra tried to breathe as she looked down at his face. In her misty vision, she could see that the rage was not just contorting GilAman’s beautiful features, but his very color as well. He was red as the sands blowing against the window, and when he threw her down, she bounced off the mattress and toppled to the floor on the other side.

She gagged and gasped as she tried to struggle to her feet, but he was on her, lifting her by the shoulders this time and shoving her against the wall.

“Faithless, unworthy filth!” GilAman slammed her against the wall and Phaedra was overcome with another wave of dizziness and terror. “I save you! Honor you! And this is how you repay me?” He shook his head. “I should couple with you as planned, tear you apart! But you are not worthy of my seed. Stupid human! Do you think you are the only fit specimen? I’m a regent! Soon I’ll be a hero with the destruction of Trao X39! I’ll take another mate…” He slammed her against the wall again and hissed. “A
better
mate! And you… You will now face the fate you have chosen. You will be bred this day. Again and again and again. But this time, it will not end with birth, but with your bloody death.”

And now Phaedra, who’d been too scared to scream until now, did scream. And she screamed and screamed and screamed all the way to where he was taking her. The pit.

Chapter Seventeen

He didn’t anticipate a problem flying into Savusia. With slave trade as its primary source of income, ships were always coming and going. A Savusian transport ship that had been expected wouldn’t draw scrutiny.

As Bron pulled toward the bay, he croaked, “Return vessel,” into the speaker on the tight restraint. But while there was practiced impassivity in his tone, there was nothing impassive in his head or heart. She was here. He could
feel
it.

Under any other circumstances, Bron would have chided himself for being soft-minded. But he would not deny the connection he’d formed with his pet, or that the drive to save her drove him onward.

He guided the ship to a remote portion of the bay’s massive interior. The jolt of the vehicle when it finally locked into the docking mechanism caused his head to bang up against the low roof of the cabin. After three days in the cramped ship, he was ready to get out. The transport vehicle contained two musty Savusian robes with tattered hoods. He donned one before exiting, making sure the fabric covered the weapons he carried.

Bron kept his head down as he walked. There had also been a map on the ship, and he’d memorized it. Now he headed directly toward the slave quarters, falling in with other traders as he walked. The Savusians were tall, but Bron was taller. He wanted nothing to make himself stand out, so he sought safety in the mass of distracted traders wearily herding their latest catch toward the auction pen.

This time the captured females were Clorians, their usually bright blue skin pale and mottled from the long trip, and as luck would have it, a rather hefty one collapsed from exhaustion just as Bron walked past. He caught her, and in flawless Savusian called to the nearby trader to let him know he would lend a hand. The trader glanced over, too grateful for the help to study the cloaked helper whose face was now obscured by the bulbous nates of the unconscious cargo now slung over his shoulder.

Bron laid the Clorian down gently, whispering his apologies to her as he did. It was all he could do, and he felt helpless and sad. But he could not afford the luxury of pity. Not now.

He continued to keep his head down, but his ears open. He’d been fortunate to arrive on a slave day. The pens were teeming with dealings, but also with gossip. When the name “GilAman” caught his ear, he edged over, listening as he pretended to inspect a pen full of women who sat cringing and weeping in a huddled mass.

GilAman, back from service on Trao X39, was taking a mate, he learned at one pen. At another, where some Savusian laborers were longingly eyeing a pretty human being paraded through the arena, Bron stood behind a pillar and listened to them complaining about GilAman’s sudden promotion to regent. This got his instant attention. He knew from talking to GilAman that regencies were honorary titles bestowed as gifts upon those who’d contributed heroically to Savusian society.

Bron balled his fist, not just at the confirmation that GilAman was on Savusia, but was obviously being rewarded for something that had to have been done on Trao X39. There was no doubt in his mind that the mate they spoke of was Phaedra. But what had the doctor done to deserve such an honor? An uneasy feeling developed in the pit of his stomach and he turned and joined a passing crowd before someone would spot him eavesdropping.

He thought of the map again, remembering that the elite slaves were held in restricted quarters in the upper levels of the complex. Getting there would be tricky. He certainly wouldn’t get in wearing the worn robes of a Savusian trader. He moved to the perimeter of the arena, keeping his distance as he spotted two members of the Savusian elite inspecting a potentially beautiful human with a tangle of black hair. Beside one of the men was a Savusian priest from a particular order favored by the elite for their compliance. Bron smirked, remembering how GilAman had once told him that the adherents to the Savusian Three-Eyed God had overcome their objection to slavery when their new temple as funded and stocked with beautiful slave ‘attendants.’ The priest wore a billowing robe with a peaked hood. The length of the fringed rim of the hood was an indicator of the importance of the priest. The fringe on this priest’s hood nearly covered his face, making him important not just to his friends, but to the Traoian general he didn’t realize was watching him.

Chapter Eighteen

I’m too late.

Bron had never felt such despair or frustration. It had been all he could do to restrain himself during the mating day ceremony as he’d stood with the other priests. He was so close, but still helpless to stop the ceremony, not with the other dignitaries—some armed with ceremonial weapons—nearby. And he had other worries; what if the body of the Savusian priest he’d killed were found? A manhunt would surely ensue for someone wearing a disguise.

But the ceremony had passed without incident, at least not a physical one. Emotionally, it was a different story. Phaedra had looked so small and hopeless at the side of his false friend, and Bron could see the fear in her eyes when the presiding priest spoke of how she would bear the Savusian strong sons. And it occurred to him that even if he could not get to her before the mating, if he had to hide and GilAman bred her, he’d still take her back pregnant if he could. He loved this earth female. She was more than a pet. He would save her, and would help her through anything to keep her at his side.

He slipped away before the end of the ceremony, hiding in an anteroom by the only exit. When the couple passed, he slipped out after them. The robe he wore contained the same sleeve sensors worn by the elite. No rooms were restricted to him, he realized, except the mating chamber with its thick, impenetrable door. He’d planned to enter, to kill GilAman there, and escape with Phaedra. But when he found himself locked outside, knowing that within his pet, his female, his
love
was facing rape by his worst enemy, for a moment he wanted to die from the pain himself.

And then he’d heard the screams.

The agony of enduring the sounds of her rape was replaced by surprise when GilAman burst out, dragging a screaming Phaedra behind him.

“In the pit, you’ll scream real screams,” GilAman was saying. “In the pit, you’ll beg me to take you, to breed you. But I won’t. I’ll simply laugh as you die for rejecting me!”

She’d fought him off. For a brief second, Bron felt proud. But he sobered as he realized that what she’d done now put her in mortal danger. A wave of cold fear washed over him. He’d heard rumors of the Savusian pit, and the horrors it held. Now he followed from a distance, worried that if he attacked in the hallway, someone could come from a side door and interfere.

GilAman’s rage was, at least, working to Bron’s advantage. He was so fixated on his treacherous mate that he didn’t even think to look behind him, and did not see the taller than average priest slip into the punishment room, or follow the hallway through it to an open area with a red dirt floor with a cavernous maw in the center. Screams and growls and the howls of the mad emanated from the pit.

Phaedra was screaming again, leaning back and bracing her heels as GilAman was pulling her along. The Savusian was laughing now, making sport of it, dragging her slowly toward the opening, enjoying her fear, excited by it. His robe, still gaping, revealed the hard twin prongs of his cock. Bron wondered how this creature had fooled him for so long.

They were closer to the pit. But they’d get no closer. It was time. Bron exploded from the shadows, running at an angle between the pit and the alien dragging Phaedra toward it. He hit GilAman broadside, knocking him away.

“Hide, my pet!” he cried, and looked back for a moment to see Phaedra on the ground stunned, then amazed as his hood fell away. She leapt to her feet and ran to a nearby rock, crouching behind it.

She was safe. But where was GilAman? From somewhere in the subterranean cave came the alien doctor’s high laughter. Bron knew well the Savusian talent for camouflage. Now GilAman had the advantage. Bron ran to Phaedra, shielding her lest his unseen opponent snatch her away.

“He can’t camouflage for long when agitated. It takes too much energy,” Bron said, and after a moment he saw a flash of form. GilAman was feet away, crouching. Bron raised his weapon and fired, but the Savusian had rolled to the side and there was only a patter of footsteps to indicate the direction he’d gone.