Alien Enslaved IV: Spoils of War

by Kaitlyn O’Connor

  Spoils of War

  By

  Kaitlyn O’Connor

  Copyright ( c ) Kaitlyn O’Connor, December 2018

  Cover Art by Eliza Black, December 2018

  ISBN 978-1-60394

  Smashwords Edition

  New Concepts Publishing

  Lake Park, GA 31636

  www.newconceptspublishing.com

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

  Chapter One

  It was like a dream—the worst nightmare Lori had ever experienced.

  But it wasn’t a dream.

  More accurately, she supposed, it was dream-like.

  There was darkness—scattered awareness—as if she was moving along a deeply shaded road with light and awareness broken by darkness and unconsciousness in a confusing strobe effect. She felt the suffocating terror and paralysis associated with nightmares she’d experienced before, but she also felt with her senses—something she should not have experienced if it truly was a dream.

  She was being carried … by something—very ungentle. She could feel the strain of her clothing against her body as if that bound her and also held her weight, particularly against her throat—which produced the sense of suffocation and possibly also the fading in and out of her awareness at least to a degree.

  Her state diminished her vision, narrowed the perimeters of her world. But she could see there were … beings in the shadowy corners of the … room?...the place where she found herself. Alien beings? Or simply the stuff of nightmares, products of her unconscious mind?

  But how could she conjure things she had never seen before?

  Well—the demon. She had seen artistic renderings of horned, red-skinned, winged man-like creatures from mythology.

  She had seen conceptual art of the almost spider-like gray aliens—disproportionate heads, huge, black eyes—long, skinny bodies with long arms and fingers.

  The yellow giants, though ….

  The sound of tearing fabric brought her mind to abrupt focus on herself rather than her surroundings.

  Looking down, she saw the metal claw that had hooked in the neck of her shirt had freed her throat of constriction, allowing her to suck in a heady breath of air that almost carried her to complete unconsciousness.

  ‘Gun’ popped into her mind when she saw the claw and the thin red scratch that followed the path of the claw and the bright red droplets of blood that rose to the surface.

  Threat.

  Danger.

  Her gun in her shoulder holster.

  It was there because she had feared she might need to protect herself.

  She had the weapon in her hand before her mind could ‘verbalize’ the order to protect, and swung the barrel toward the nearest threat. The explosion of sound that followed the jerk of her finger on the trigger nearly deafened her, sent her reeling back against whatever it was that had dragged her in to this place.

  The disintegration of the giant head that sent blood and brain matter in every direction produced a concussion of horror, froze the tableau around her for a handful of heartbeats and then darkness exploded in her own head and engulfed her.

  Regret flickered through her as she sank from the world—not regret that she’d ended that thing that was a threat to her. Distress that she hadn’t managed to take more of the bastards with her.

  When she regained awareness, surprise was her first emotion since she hadn’t expected to see the light of day again. Cold fingers of dread crept over her next when it sank in that she was strapped to a table that most nearly resembled the examination table in her gynecologist’s office.

  Except it wasn’t.

  And the grays standing around it were definitely not hospital workers or members of the doctor’s staff.

  And the giant yellow man between her thighs was most definitely not her doctor.

  Who was a female.

  And human.

  Not seven feet tall, or close, and built like a weightlifter, with a face so human in appearance it defied the strangely colored skin, shocked her more for being so eerily familiar than it would have if his appearance had been monstrous.

  She was cocooned from feeling a very great deal, though.

  She had the disjointed, divorced feelings of someone who’s been drugged for surgery. In her mind, she knew she should be alarmed, but she couldn’t feel the alarm she knew she should have.

  She didn’t even feel particularly curious.

  She simply stared at the straining, furious male, wondering what he was doing—noting the alien things about him even as she saw the things that seemed to make him a close cousin.

  They were shocking him, she decided, after observing the involuntary contortions of his muscles for several moments.

  The way she’d seen very large, aggressive animals shocked in an effort to control them.

  Except she couldn’t see a device they might be using.

  He was wearing a collar of some kind, though, and wide wrist bands—not another damned thing, but those ….

  He slumped after a few moments, panting.

  Conceding defeat?

  Apparently.

  She felt the warm puffs of his breath, smelled his scent. It sent a strange current of awareness through her, almost a sense of familiarity when she knew he wasn’t the least bit recognizable to her.

  While she was trying to figure that out, he grabbed the torpedo jutting from his belly and tried to stuff it into her.

  It took her several moments to figure out that was what he was trying to do, though.

  First, he couldn’t get it to cooperate because it was only semi-erect.

  Disinterest in her? Or the effects of the charge they’d jolted him with?

  Then he couldn’t get it in because when the damned thing abruptly sprang to life it was huge.

  He battered her with it as if trying to ram through a passage he had no real thought or desire to surmount.

  Trying to convince his tormentors he was attempting the impossible?

  Not impossible, she realized abruptly when she felt a burning penetration as he speared into her flesh and struggled to wedge himself deeper.

  Despite the fact that she was tied down, he had to grab her waist and stuff her down over the thing.

  And she felt that.

  She definitely felt the strain of her body to adjust to his massiveness.

  Her skin burned until she expected it to tear.

  And she still felt oddly detached about it—not fearful that he was about to rip her apart, although that thought certainly crossed her mind.

  Aware that she should be frightened, thinking she should be revolted, struggling, screaming.

  She didn’t actually feel much at all, though, beyond the burning strain of her flesh as it tried to adjust to his invasion … until he leaned over her and she met his gaze.

  His eyes were alien.

  They were tumultuous with emotions she could only guess at—rage certainly.

  But there was intelligence there, a very great deal of it.

  And regret?

  He was no stupid beast, no monster.

  The monsters were the spider-like aliens that had victimized them both and now watched so dispassionately.

  Darkness claimed her again before she had time to assimilate more.

  Pain woke her.

  This time there were no aliens around her beyond the grays and they were probing her belly painfully. She couldn’t see what they were doing and the pain was too much to allow for a lot of speculation. She only knew that she was beyond reli
eved when the darkness claimed her again.

  The next time she rose to awareness and discovered herself bound to the ‘sex’ bed, there was a red demon between her thighs. Her pulse actually leapt at the discovery and yet it evened out almost as quickly.

  He didn’t fight as the other alien had, the yellow skinned one. He leaned over her and met her gaze for a very long moment and then dipped low and covered her mouth. Sensation exploded inside of her, a dizzying, intoxicating brew of drugs flooding her mind and bloodstream and nerve endings.

  She felt everything when he entered her body—desire, pleasure.

  And then nothing as consciousness was snatched away.

  But the voices that followed her into the dark were strangely familiar.

  “You did not even try to resist, Satren,” a male voice, laced with fury and accusation, growled.

  “Because it would have been pointless, Hirachi. And then also I wanted to fuck her,” another male retorted, his voice cool with deadly anger. “My choice. It does not follow that I yielded up my seed for enslavement … if that is what concerns you.”

  She had no idea how many times she passed in and out of awareness, moved from ‘dream’ to ‘dream’, but when she awoke finally in a vaguely familiar room, she felt like someone waking from a very long, debilitating illness.

  Everything hurt.

  It seemed like even her hair follicles hurt.

  The thing she was lying on was so hard it felt like floor rather than the bed that it appeared to be.

  Her mind felt curiously blank.

  That didn’t particularly bother her—at first. She was too caught up in the pain and trying to figure out where she was and what had happened to her.

  She wasn’t at home and she wasn’t in a hospital. That was the only two certainties she knew.

  And the only two possibilities that occurred to her.

  She was wearing something that reminded her of a hospital gown, though, and that thought and her missing clothes had barely connected in her mind when it leapt to the pistol she’d carried in a shoulder holster.

  She felt for it a little frantically even though she knew before she’d confirmed it with touch that it wasn’t there.

  She frowned. Was it supposed to be there, though?

  Or was it just stuck in her mind that it should be because of some memory that eluded her at the moment?

  She struggled to capture a memory.

  Bizarre images flickered through her mind and she abruptly abandoned the attempt to recall them, shoving them to the back of her mind and staring around the room she’d found herself in.

  Why did it seem familiar?

  And, at the same time, completely strange?

  She’d seen it before, she decided, been inside of it before, but it wasn’t a place she was actually familiar with.

  It was a comforting thought and she held on to it, refusing to examine it too closely.

  Gritting her teeth against the pain she anticipated, she shoved herself upright, sitting up so she could look around better.

  Darkness tried to swallow her up. She closed her eyes and braced herself, willing it back, and the inky cloud began to dissipate. When she decided she wasn’t going to pass out, she opened her eyes again and very carefully shifted toward the edge of the platform she’d been lying on.

  Because that was what it was, she realized even before she rapped on the surface with her knuckles to confirm there was no give whatsoever to the thing beneath her.

  She wasn’t on the floor, though, because she reached the edge and saw that she was elevated roughly the height of a bed from the floor.

  “What the hell?” she muttered.

  Mind games.

  She didn’t know why that popped into her mind, but it seemed plausible—for reasons that escaped her at that moment.

  It took an effort to get her legs over the side without face planting on the floor, but she managed to catch herself.

  Her legs wouldn’t hold her weight, though. She wilted to the floor the minute she tried to support herself with them.

  Except ‘wilted’ suggested a gentle settling and hardly described the pain that erupted through her when she landed on the icy slab. The cold was such a shock that it dominated for many moments. It finally occurred to her, though, that she’d been looking for a door, a way out.

  Clenching her teeth as her jaw spasmed with a shiver, she looked around and finally began to crawl toward a break in the wall she thought must be a door even though she couldn’t see a knob or handle.

  A hissing noise was all the warning she had as she finally reached her goal and began feeling along the crack for some way to pull or push the panel open. And then darkness swallowed her again.

  Gas.

  Fear crawled over her and led her into the darkness.

  * * * *

  Lori didn’t think ‘they’ cared whether she remembered anything or not. Whatever they’d been giving her wasn’t for that purpose. It was simply a side effect of their objective.

  The problem was, she couldn’t clear her mind enough to speculate on what the objective might be. She was certain she’d regained consciousness many times since she’d been taken, but she was never clear headed when she ‘woke’.

  Enough presence of mind emerged with her this time, though, that when she floated upward toward consciousness, she didn’t move. She simply lay perfectly still, trying to collect her rambling thoughts into something more orderly.

  She’d been taken by aliens.

  That thought should have shocked her at the very least, should have made her question her sanity, but it didn’t because it had been so slow in resolving itself in her mind that it was familiar even before she’d finally stopped trying to convince herself it wasn’t true—that it couldn’t be.

  The things half remembered weren’t dreams, or nightmares. They were real.

  She wasn’t as convinced about the rest of the images that flickered through her mind, but she thought that was because she simply refused to accept.

  It wasn’t the same things that kept running through her mind, though, almost like a video loop. They were similar in many ways, but different enough she couldn’t discount the possibility that it was memories, not dreams.

  She wasn’t certain about the shooting. Mostly, this was because she had a hard time accepting that they would allow her to live if she actually had done what she thought she had.

  Wouldn’t they have retaliated immediately? Like she’d thought they had when she blacked out?

  But maybe they just didn’t especially care about one another and their agenda was more important than the life of one of their own?

  The gun and holster were gone.

  She thought she’d had them on when she’d gone ….

  Her mind blanked again, leaving her hanging on that thought.

  She’d gone into a situation she’d thought had the potential of danger and she’d hidden the pistol she’d brought for protection under her clothing.

  That ‘felt’ like a fact and she thought she could accept that it was even though she couldn’t, yet, recall what had prompted something she knew wasn’t common enough for her to feel comfortable about it.

  She set that aside for the moment. It wasn’t that important beyond a need to comfort herself with memories as assurance that her brain wasn’t permanently damaged.

  She might have been chosen randomly—she was certain that must be the case—but she was important enough to them that they hadn’t killed her the minute she showed them that she was willing to kill them.

  So why did they want or need her?

  What was her value to them?

  Would it save her completely? Or just temporarily? And how long might her value last?

  She supposed that depended entirely on the purpose she’d been taken for, but the only thing that came to mind was so outrageous she simply couldn’t accept it.

  She finally decided she had to, though.

  They’d come light yea
rs for this purpose, had to have, because humans had pretty much checked out the neighborhood, certainly well enough to be reasonably certain there were no aliens in their ‘backyard’. Maybe microbes, possibly something even a little more complex, but not technologically advanced like these horrible things were.

  And then, too, there were the stories the ‘kooks’ told about being taken and having their sexual organs thoroughly investigated.

  It seemed inescapable that she’d been captured for breeding, particularly in light of the ‘dreams’ she’d had.

  Somehow, as crazy as that sounded, though, as insulting as it was, it made way more sense than the possibility that the bastards had come light years to make porns with aliens.

  The question was—what did they want it for? Knowledge purely for the sake of knowledge? Or knowledge for gain?

  And what would they do with her when they were finished?

  Chapter Two

  Lori’s nerves were jangling as she and her partner/assistant, Linda, and their ‘security detail’, Linda’s husband, ex-military, ex-special forces, Billy Eagle, unloaded their equipment from the old van that bore the logo of their fledgling company on its side—Paranormal Investigations.

  She loved her work—not to be confused with her J-O-B. The job helped her keep body and soul together and that was all she liked about it—well that and the fact that it allowed for plenty of time off to pursue her ‘work’, her passion.

  That she was convinced would—eventually—make her wealthy beyond her wildest dreams.

  She had a modest start with her internet show—Tales of the Supernatural: Things that go Bump in the Night, despite the fact that it was really hard these days to find anything serious that was worth investigating.

  Apparently, it was the age of enlightenment—fewer and fewer believers. Most people were apparently convinced they, ghosts, didn’t exist, but those same people would strenuously avoid any possibility of proving or disproving it.

  Especially if that meant spending the night in a place known to be haunted, let alone setting up to do it.

  Not that she believed the house she was currently investigating was haunted.

  That would be nice and she wouldn’t have to work so hard to make their video scary/exciting, but she was pretty sure they were just going to have to rely on the creepy setting, creaky old building, wind and lighting to get the ‘feel’ of a haunting.