by Alana Khan
Males of many species, their noses blasted off by centuries of raging wind, are forever frozen in stone poses with swords above their heads or while slashing their opponent.
I turn my attention to the action in the buff-colored sands of the arena. Two males face off and pound their fists to their chests as the Master of the Games announces in his stentorian voice, “For our next fight, we have two Premier fighters in a contest for your enjoyment. Slayer, owned by Pluvia of Trent, versus Amroden owned by Ordox of Monravia.”
I watch as a muscular humanoid, his metallic green skin shining in the harsh suns, attacks the huge four-armed mountain of a male from planet Monravia. Even though this match is unarmed, I turn my head away. I don’t want to watch the green guy get pounded to a pulp by a male twice his size.
For a moment, I have a surreal feeling that this is a dream, then I return to reality. It’s been over four years since I was abducted from Earth. Shortly after my kidnap, I was constantly focused on how inconceivable my condition was. For long months I found it hard to believe I was billions of miles from home, trying to stay alive as a slave among aliens on other planets.
I’ve been over the shock of my changed circumstances for years. At some point, I had to admit the truth to myself. Compared to the three other women on my ship, I should consider myself lucky. At least I was no one’s sex slave.
I was thirty-six when I was abducted—I think they considered me too old for sex. Which really makes me fortunate. I’m glad all my owners expected of me was to pour wine, serve food, and tolerate the merciless torment of my masters’ seven unruly brats.
Five months ago I was in a holding cell awaiting a new owner when I was rescued by the nice pirates I’m here with today. Captain Thantose, who’s been kind and gracious, gave me three months to either bond with one of the males on the ship and stay with him in his cabin, or find a planet I’d like to settle on. He even offered me a parting gift—a tidy sum of credits to ease my way into a new life.
Although he’s let me slide two extra months, I know I’d better hurry and figure out what planet I want to reside on. Sadly, I don’t have a clue.
I’m pulled back to the present as I watch Slayer, the shimmering green guy, pound the Monravian into the dust, then raise his arms over his head in victory. I’ve got to give him credit, I certainly pegged him as the underdog.
“We have a treat for you today,” booms the announcer. “For your enjoyment, we have three hover-chariot races, each with eight contestants.”
I sit up in my seat and my friends quit gossiping as we all pay closer attention. Ssly will be in this first race. I scan the field below, looking for him. Despite all the chaos and activity as the hovers assemble in the starting gates, he’s easy to find.
For one thing, he’s been working on his fire-engine red machine since we picked him up with his ‘companion’ five days ago. Second, he’s hard to miss. He’s wearing flowing, white muslin robes that would look at home on a Bedouin in the sands of ancient Arabia. Except Bedouins don’t have spotted green tails peeking out from under their tunics.
I wish I had binoculars, because from this distance it looks as if he’s removed the covering he’s worn over his head and across his cheeks since he came on board. I’ve never seen his face before. I’m so far away, though, all I can see is the leaf green of his skin. If only I could catch a glimpse of his features.
Ssly and his young companion, Tru, boarded the Ataraxia five days ago. Captain Thantose may be a pirate, but he’ll take credits wherever he can get them, whether they’re legitimate or not. We were coming here to planet Galgon to buy what Thantose described as ‘an excellent forgery’ of the Raven of Maldeve, so he agreed to bring the pair here for their chariot races—for a fee.
As intrigued as I’ve been to glimpse Ssly’s face, I’ve been equally interested in seeing young Tru without his facial covering. From what I’ve seen of him, Tru appears human, although I have no idea his true species. I assume the pair are gay. They’re never out of each other’s sight. Despite being assigned cabins, they sleep in the hold next to their chariots.
I went to the hold the first night they were onboard. I love to sing, although I can’t carry a tune in a bucket. The acoustics there are amazing. Sometimes I sneak down after everyone’s asleep and sing to my heart’s content—off-key, mangled lyrics, and all.
When I got there, I saw the two males sleeping near their chariots rather than in the cabins they paid for. More interesting, though, was that their bedrolls were pulled next to each other and the two were snuggled together. That’s proof enough for me.
Too bad, because there’s something about Ssly’s masculine form, even under all those layers of gauzy fabric, that catches my eye every time he walks by. His shoulders are wide, his hips are slim, and his golden eyes draw my attention even though he’s never given me more than a passing glance.
The chariots are lined up and the blast of one loud trumpet signals the beginning of the eight laps.
Oh my God! I’d imagined the gladiatorial fights would constitute the ‘blood’ portion of the bloodsports we were going to see today. I had no idea the chariot racing would qualify.
I imagined eight laps of the Indianapolis 500 in hover chariots as opposed to race cars. That’s not what I’m seeing. It’s like bumper cars on steroids going a thousand miles an hour. These drivers are trying to kill each other.
Before the first lap is complete, three of the eight chariots are in flames on the ground. I’m too busy watching the red chariot to pay attention to the grounded hovers, but with the extent of the three blazes raging on the racetrack, I’m not feeling optimistic about their drivers.
There must be fifty different types of aliens in the stands, but they all have one thing in common—they’re screaming in bloodlust, urging their favorite drivers to commit more murder and mayhem.
My friends and I are silent. Although Ssly and Tru have been conspicuously private, we’ve passed them in the halls enough that we want them to walk out of these races alive.
Ssly is last in this reduced field of five, close on the heels of chariot number four. It appears to be a good strategy, if not to win, at least to stay alive. He’s lagging behind, but not too far, and watching the other drivers take dangerous chances to try to force their opponents to crash.
On the eighth lap, Ssly is about two hover lengths behind his one remaining opponent. If I hadn’t been following his progress so closely, I wouldn’t know which hover is his, it’s no longer fire-engine red, it’s the color of dust, as is his opponent’s.
I’m so nervous I look down to notice my friend Brin’s hand is clenched tightly in mind
Seconds from the finish line, Ssly somehow kicks his hover into a higher gear, and races into first place to thunderous applause from the stands.
I don’t know how he did it, but the wrenching he’s been doing on his machine the last five days just paid off. That machine can move!
Two uniformed attendants accompany him to the Master of the Games’ platform, and he’s ceremoniously presented with his credits and a silver chalice.
“Congratulations to Ssly’Vestril of planet Numa. Masterfully played. Well done. Please say a few words.” The Master of the Games sticks a microphone into Ssly’s face, but he pushes it away, lifts his hands in thanks to the thousands of cheering fans in the stadium, and hurries to the underground area where the chariots are stored. He probably wants to celebrate with his lover.
“I was afraid he was going to die,” Brin whispers into my ear as the Game Master announces the next gladiator match.
“Me, too,” I admit.
“He always seems so serious. Did you notice he didn’t even smile when he accepted the prize?”
I nod, but actually I hadn’t noticed. I was too busy trying to get a good look at his face, but he was too far away.
The three suns are beating down so hard that sweat is pouring down my forehead and beading on my upper lip. There are dark half-moons of persp
iration under the arms of my red t-shirt. I would be back on our ship already if I didn’t want to watch Tru’s race. Luckily, they’re announcing it now.
Tru’s chariot is the same interesting combination of leaf and emerald green as his lover’s skin. He looks like the anti-Ssly. Where Ssly is muscular and tall—maybe six-and-a-half feet—Tru is slim and slight, less than my five foot four height. Hopefully, he can drive his hover as well as his friend; this is a deadly sport.
Tru gets off to a great start and is leading the pack by the time they’re at the far side of the first lap. At the tight turn, though, the chariot in second place rams him. His hover sputters, almost overturns, then Tru corrects the vehicle and pulls directly behind the hover that attacked him.
On the third lap, though, the third-place chariot crashes into him from behind, and this time Tru can’t recover. The crash is horrifying, yet I can’t take my eyes off it. The hover topples end over end, bursts into flames, and skids to a stop into a thirty-foot stone wall at the end of the track. The crunching metal sounds like a death sentence.
As the nine of us from the Ataraxia run to the wreck, I see Ssly approaching from the other direction. My stomach clenches in horror as Tru’s chariot blasts into a fireball.
“Thank God,” I say as I see Tru’s spare form in a crumpled heap on the ground. At least he wasn’t in the hover when it exploded.
A medical crew runs from under the announcer’s booth carrying a hover-stretcher. Seneca, the medic from our ship, kneels, puts his hand on Tru’s carotid artery, and begins barking orders.
“Griff, Devolose, borrow this hover-stretcher and run Tru to the ship. Carrie, come with us, let’s get him aboard and see what we can do.”
Ssly
I’ve never loved anyone as much as I love Tru. I want to help, but it’s best to let the other males hurry the stretcher to the ship. I’m so distracted I can barely think.
It takes less than five minimas before we’re back aboard the Ataraxia and crammed into medbay.
“Everyone out but Carrie,” the medic barks.
I back into a corner of the tiny operating room, but I’m not leaving Tru’s side. Seneca gives me a quick scowl, must see by my expression that I’m not moving, then jumps into action.
“Carrie, cut off his clothes. I need to see the extent of the injuries. I’m glad I’ve been training you to assist me. I never thought I’d need you for something this serious, though. Medbot, run full assessment.”
My heart is racing, my jaw is clenched, and I’m already mourning Tru’s death—there’s blood everywhere.
Carrie is using blunt-tipped scissors to slice Tru’s flowing robes from the neckline down. My teeth grind together as I prepare for things to change. I’ve spent the last eight years keeping the secret that’s about to be revealed.
The worried expression on Carrie’s face transforms into confusion when she encounters extra layers of cloth around her patient’s upper torso. Then her eyes widen in surprise when the binding fabric falls away to reveal Tru’s developing breasts.
She looks me straight in the eyes, seethes, “You motherfucker,” through clenched teeth, then attacks her task with renewed fervor.
I’m not certain which part of my behavior offends Carrie more, the fact that I hid Tru’s real identity from all the people on the vessel, or that I put her young life in danger by entering her in the race. Now that I take even a moment to think about how dangerous it was to allow her into that arena, I feel truly repentant.
I slide even farther into the corner and watch, my face impassive. I don’t care how often Carrie’s hate-filled gaze flicks in my direction, I’m not leaving Tru’s side unless I’m forced away at gunpoint.
Carrie cleans Tru with wet cloths while the medic inventories her injuries.
“Broken radius in the right arm,” he announces dispassionately. At first, I’m outraged by his apparent lack of concern, then I’m heartened. It’s good he’s not emotionally involved; he needs to focus his energy on fixing her.
“Broken right ankle.” When he removes the layers of clothing around her midriff, blood pours out of a wound. “She must have been badly slashed by her metal hover when she was ejected,” he says as he inspects the jagged ten-inch cut that spans from under her right breast to her left hip.
He gives rapid instructions to the medbot, which then cleans and disinfects the cut. It’s prepping for surgery to repair the damage.
I stand like a stone statue for the ninety-minima procedure. Breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth, I watch the clock and pray. Well, it’s not really praying. Praying would imply I believed in a God worthy of worship. I don’t.
Since it’s not praying, I guess it’s hoping. That female, who looks so pale and small and lifeless on the operating table, has been my life for almost eight years.
I saved her—liberated her. But she’s the one who’s been my salvation. I was barely Numan when I rescued her. She restored my faith in people. Well, maybe not people, but at least she restored my faith in possibility. The possibility that people have the capacity to be good.
Maybe I took advantage. I let her love me. I should have told her years ago that I’m not worthy of her love. I should have found her better adoptive parents, an easier life. But she didn’t want to leave me, and truth be told, I loved her too much to let her go.
So here we are. In my desire to teach her a trade, a way she could support herself when I inevitably leave her, I’ve killed her.
I feel hot liquid behind my lids. That won’t do. I can’t allow it. I lock down my emotions and watch the medbot repair the female I consider my daughter.
~.~
Here’s Ssly’s Blurb:
Mysterious hover-chariot racer Ssly believes he’s destined to compete in the dangerous sport until the inevitable day his luck runs out. The only thing fueling his will to live is his need to protect his adopted human daughter, Tru.
Until he meets the beautiful human female who challenges his every belief, won’t accept his aloof indifference, and marches into hell with him to prove her love.
Carrie
An abducted human slave deemed too old to mate escapes to the far end of the galaxy, but has no prospects and no way home. She’s drawn to the mysterious male who keeps his face covered and his head down. He wants little to do with her until he discovers she holds the key to saving his daughter.
Ssly
Abducted from his planet at the barrel of a laser and forced into slavery, he risked everything to rescue the defenseless human child about to be subjected to his master’s perversions. He kept her safe while on the run until she’s injured. Now he needs the help of the human woman whose interest in him becomes far too personal. Why would she risk her life to save them both? And why can’t he keep her out of his dreams?
Journey with Ssly and Carrie as they travel the galaxy, race a hover-chariot, steal an expensive painting, buy illegal guns, survive a shootout, kill more than one bad guy, save a life, and discover all the ways a prehensile tail can be put to good use. *wink*
Bestselling author Alana Khan brings her imaginative style to the sensual, out-of-this-world adventure tale of Ssly, Book Three in the Galaxy Pirates Alien Abduction Romance Series. This standalone book features a mature heroine and the handsome male capable of reminding her it’s never too late to find love.
No cliffhanger, no cheating, plenty of spice, and a guaranteed happily ever after.
Buy Ssly today.
Acknowledgements to my wonderful Alpha, Beta, and ARC teams. Your feedback makes my books so much better. Special thanks to Susan C who helped so much in making this book better (and sexier—she convinced me to put some hot sex way earlier in the book).
