by Amanda Milo
ALLUVIAL
Valos of Sonhadra Book 1
by Amanda Milo
Copyright © 2018 Amanda Milo ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information and retrieval system without express written permission from the Author/Publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover Art by Cameron Kamenicky
Edited by the awesome LY Services and the talented Tiffany Roberts
(Along with a brick-ton of other generous souls who also gave up their hours and families to help a book out. (Dawn, Cindy, Lyda, Linda, Ronika, Yui, Christine, you rock ♥) I am grateful beyond measure, and you are freaking fantastic.)
What the heck am I reading?
Right, so you’re probably wondering why this doesn’t look like the Stolen, Rescued, Won universe.
That’s because… it isn’t.
Don’t yell!
I haven’t forgotten: I just took a side-trip. I was invited to write with eight other SciFi and Fantasy romance authors. Each one of us wrote a standalone story, and they’re designed to be read in any order, but we’ve woven little ‘easter eggs’ and plot details into each other’s books for a richer experience should you decide to tackle the entire series.
Each one ends with a Happily Ever After.
If we did it right, you’ll wish you had an alien (or two, or ten) of your very own by the time you’re done. (A few stories are Reverse Harem, some are Ménage, one is a traditional couple of two—this book, Alluvial, is a Reverse Harem, and will be the last RH I release until after Dohrein and Gracie (then Crispin and Laura) have their stories told.)
Happy Reading! =)
ALIEN NAME SUGGESTIONS, Dictionaries, and Drunk birds:
You’ve been asking me to make Dictionaries, and I’m going to work on that retroactively, but this time—check this out!—I got one done before it was published.
I know. I’m shocked too!
But that’s not all this is. I love weird and random factoids. My research for this story? Ant sex and Amazon penis trees.
I freaking love the job you’ve given me.
THANK YOU for supporting my weird-facts collecting habit!
Some of you have even joined in =D
The following are real words, with no changes to make them ‘alien’:
Alluvial: rich, fertile soil
Scion: a living bud or shoot that is grafted onto an established living plant
Caber: a large, thick log
Prevernal: [of plants] early flowering and unfolding their leaves or petals
Bole: a tree’s trunk
Tarn: a mountain lake, formed by a glacier
Now for a book Dictionary/Factoid-Inspiry tidbits breakdown:
Sonhadra: a planet inhabited by alien lifeforms, including several sentient races. Located far, far from Earth.
The Concord: orbital prison ship that is sectioned into pods; Alphapod, Betapod, and so on. The overall formation is flower-like, with each pod having a petal shape.
IPS: Interstellar Penitentiary System
Valos: a race either native to Sonhadra, or created there
Valos Element: Earth
Heroine name: Preta, taken from Terra preta (literally "black soil" in Portuguese) is a type of very fertile soil found in the Amazon Basin. FUN FACTOID: According to some folk religions, Preta is a supernatural being that undergoes suffering greater than that of humans, particularly an extreme level of hunger and thirst.
Sol: latin for sun, also Spanish for sun [Poppy Rhys gets full credit for this! She’s brilliant at backstory and chose this as the sisters’ last name.]
Cattleya Orchid: grows in Brazil, and the green, yellow and brown spotted species (Brassocattleya Hippodamia) inspired the eyes of the heroes.
‘Amazon Penis Trees’ - Photos of these trees inspired some… features.
Hormiga culona Ants: These ants from the Amazon are believed to be aphrodisiacs.
[Before you send me all the notes; I didn’t say I believe it to be true, I’m wiki-facting you on what the natives believe, and Artistic License-ing the crap out of it because it inspired a crazy-fun plot.]
Ants are strong: Despite their tiny size, they can easily lift far more than their own body weight.
Drunk Hummingbirds: If you feed hummingbirds, you probably already know this—hummingbirds can get drunk on nectar. This happens when nectar has fermented. In this story, the substance isn’t fermented, it isn’t harmful, and the reaction happens when there is a great excess of pollen. Yep, I’m pulling the Artistic License Card again: Go with it, just go with it ;D
The Rocks are REAL: The multicolored rocks described in the tarn in this story are not fiction! The Pebbles of Montana’s Lake McDonald in Glacier National park are worth a Google image search—unless you can visit, in which case; WOW, have a great time! It looks incredible.
ALIEN NAME SUGGESTIONS:
On the Amanda Milo’s Minions Facebook group, I asked for name suggestions, preferably with a significance to soil.
You’ll find the following name ideas were used in various ways all over this story.
It was so fun to do, THANK YOU for playing with me! =D
Neron: Spanish name meaning ‘strong’ - Lex Hampton
Azibo: Egyptian for “earth” - Eve Steward
Vejo-kaolin: combination of Andy Currey’s suggestion of vejo = the initials of her children (♥!) and Lee Allen was Kimber’s Kaolin = to do with clay
Salachar: The Irish word for dirt is Salachar. Sounds a bit elfin - Katherine Burger Eftink
Gaius: Yvette Ward Turner
Kor: Nadia Lynn Lambert suggested Kor, and I loved the sound of it so much that Petrichor, which Kate botting suggested, goes by the nickname of Chor. Love it!
Maceous: as in diatomaceous Isabel Wroth
Loess: face of the earth - Cyndi Mathewson (When I asked how she would like her name to appear, this is what I got: “CYNDI MATHEWSON, loyal fan of Amanda Milo, is how I would like to be referenced!” *HUGS* You got it! And man. Ha ha ha! I’m still cracking up! ;D)
Devon: Tracy Herzog
Geoss: Laurie Christensen
Petrichor: is the earthy scent produced when rain falls on dry soil. The word is constructed from Greek πέτρα petra, meaning "stone", and ἰχώρ īchōr, the fluid that flows in the veins of the gods in Greek mythology - Kate Botting
Marl: type of clay - Alyssa Higley Fogg
Bort: Bort is considered to be diamond without value so it's used in technical equipment - Sanda Šantare Ābele
Ammos: in Greek in means sand - Andrie Michael
[Just a random note from me (what isn’t, right? =D) Bortammos sounds like Aramis from Three Musketeers to me and it makes me smile every time I say it in my head ♥]
Caedon: Jean Aldredge
Terran: Linda Bacerra
Zemerac: Combination formed by Sanda Šantare Ābele’s suggestion of Zeme who said; In Latvian Earth and dirt is "Zeme" (capital Z for Earth and regular z for dirt) and Erac by Ronika Williams (also grabbed Mehyam!)
Nitesh: heartbeat of the earth - Sue Handshoe Bec
Granith: Susan Graham
Micha: like mica minerals - Courtney Pinelli
Dikar: Kaila Brieann
Prakrti: Sanskrit for "nature" - Sara Gray Evans
Adarian: Amor Pagsanjan
Sereth: Laura Davis
Ryekeil: Frenda Williams
Throckmorton: Kym Durham
K’Baan: Susan Deahl
Yui Phitchaya Monsintorn: “The word soil in my language [Thai] is "Din" or if you want a more sophisticated word it's "Pasutha" so some male will have Pasutha as his formal name and Din for his nickname.”
Combined Susan Deahl, Kym Durham, Yui’s and Frenda’s suggestions to make Keilmort’baan din, which in these aliens’ tongue means ‘You are welcome.’
Mustang or Charger?
I knew this story would have an old car in it. This book is set in the future, so this would be a very old car, but of all the decisions that needed to be made, it really boiled down to the big one: Mustang or Charger? Thankfully, I did not have to make this harrowing call. I let readers decide. =D
CHAPTER 1
PRETA
“Friggin’ leafcutter ants,” Drogan pretends to complain as he unzips my suit.
One of the species being used in the project is hormiga culona. Little gifts from the Amazon; delicacies consumed for their high protein, and prized for their incredibly potent aphrodisiac qualities.
The research team is doing a little more than feeding me liquified ants, but I blame the culonas for a lot of things.
“Worst job ever?” I ask as he helps me out of my sleeves. I keep my undershirt on, even though Drogan’s eyes always seem drawn to my chest. Today is no different; he looks at my cloth-covered boobs mournfully enough that I have to resist the urge to shove my face into his shoulder and guffaw.
It’s not that I need assistance getting undressed; it’s that he knows I need sex right now, and he’s doing everything he can to make sure we take advantage of our incredibly small window of opportunity.
He jerks down my stunning, atomic-orange jumpsuit, shoving it around my thighs. “Mmm,” his hand drops to his fly, and the zzzziiip! of metal over metal teeth is getting my pulse racing even faster. “I wouldn’t go that far, Preta Sol.” His lips quirk up on one side, and it’s sexy, and kind of sweet, and it concerns me a little—how much I like his face.
Him. I like him.
Drogan’s got the classic good looks with the piercing, jade-green eyes, the high, prominent cheekbones, and the ridiculously thick bottom lip I’d previously thought belonged only to movie stars and models. His looks are enough to make him trouble. His endearing streak is the surprise; a disastrous one. It’s a complication. He is a complication.
I squint at him and put my hands on his shoulders. “Less smiling; more sex, please. Time limit, remember? I distinctly remember that I already begged you to tear all my clothes off.”
“Work, work, work,” he says, quoting one of my favorite old shows as he pretends to take off his uniform.
That’s right. His uniform.
Drogan is a guard.
I’m a prisoner.
This is the Alphapod section of the Concord, an orbital prison ship, and he’s only joking about the uniform because we don’t actually have time for him to undress.
My shoulders hit the wall, his hand grips my ass, and my leg climbs to his hip like this is a dance routine we’ve done, oh, three hundred times in approximately one hundred and sixty-five days.
That first slide into me? Uunnfff.
Yet… no magic.
“Higher?” he asks before he hooks my knee over his arm. This angle change is nice, but I’m riding on the edge and can’t make it over and if I don’t come soon I feel like I’ll die.
“Here,” his voice is strained and husky as he pulls out, and drops his arm so the back of my orange-clad leg slides down his—formerly—crisply-pressed black sleeve before he turns me so that I face the wall.
I stifle a moan as he thrusts back in, and his hand wraps around my throat, his thumb clamping under my ear, his fingertip digging into my chin, his grip keeping me locked in place.
I’m frustrated, still not getting there, when his other hand spears into my hair and pulls my head back.
Startled, I try to stand up, but he tugs the fist holding my hair firmly, until my head drops back enough that my eyes meet his and—
He kisses me.
Not on the lips—my forehead. He doesn’t let our eye contact waver, either—his intense greens staring into my bewildered browns, and it’s oddly tender, and foreign, and it’s such a shock to my system that my core gives a delicious clench.
It sets off the world’s most pleasurable implosion.
He growls and releases my hair so that he can drop his hand to my waist and use the leverage to piston into me until he comes too.
I’m still floating down from the orgasm high and trying to process what just happened when he curses and swipes a nanocloth between my legs for the world’s quickest clean up.
That’s right: no condom for a mess-less encounter. This is a prison in space. Supplies do get up here, but they go to the people with rank.
Drogan’s the new guy, a spot so far down the totem pole, he’s really only a step ahead of a prisoner in the hierarchy here. At first, he was able to beg, borrow, and pay exorbitant prices to get condoms, but we ran out of the supply in no time.
His lips hit the side of my face, pressing right over my dark, curly flyaway tendrils—in effect, gluing them to my sweat-sticky skin. “No time for round two; sorry, babe.”
I groan, and he squeezes my hip in commiseration. His voice is softer than I expect when he asks, “Gonna make it, Sol?” His tone says; hold on.
I don’t have a choice: the camera is going to sweep back in our direction, and this corridor is about to lose its blind spot.
He chivalrously assists in setting me to rights before he’s dragging me alongside him. My eyes scan him, from his dark hair—the ‘could-be-dirty-blond-might-be-brown’ buzzfuzz he keeps it at—to the way his uniform stretches across his muscles. Mmmmm.
I’m in the middle of ogling how Concord-issued clothing somehow does all the right things for his chest, so I do see his arm come towards my face, but I twitch when I feel a teasing flick against my neck; this I was not expecting.
My gaze shoots up to his to see he’s smirking at me, and he looks… it isn’t a cocky ‘bitches-find-me-sexy’ expression that he’s wearing. It’s a playful, fond look. It’s a… it’s a dangerous look, because while Drogan does nice things like conscientiously thinking of post-coital cleanup (which is super nice considering I don’t have access to washclothes without permission at predetermined times), and sneaks me the special Icelandic-style yogurts from the guard breakroom, and kisses my forehead, acting like—treating this… couple-y. Like we-have-a-future-y.
My breath rasps out as I revisit the horrifying realization I was struck with weeks ago: THE RESEARCH TEAM KNOWS.
By now, they have to know. The doctors and lab techs do not strike me as incompetent; they can’t have missed the fact that I’m pregnant. My case for this theory? They haven’t performed surgeries on me in weeks. It can’t be a coincidence. Sometimes, as they stick the monitoring nodes to me, and everyone can hear—everyone can see—my heartrate jackhammering from the fear, I want to shout at them, ‘Just SAY it!’ But. If they don’t know, I’m certainly not going to enlighten them.
If they don’t know, then the longer I can keep quiet, and survive, the more time it gives my family to assemble a rescue mission.
Whenever I lie awake at night, thoughts chasing each other around and around like a coyote broke into my sleep-sheep’s pen and is running them down hard, I keep returning to the fact that I have an implant to prevent fertility. I’m still shaking my head in disbelief at our situation. Maybe the chemical cocktails they’ve been pouring into me overrode a hormone or something.
But wouldn’t the team have expected that?
Did they think I
’d stay celibate? After the leafcutter treatments? Orgasm-denial sadists!
I don’t know, and it doesn’t exactly matter—the knowledge of how doesn’t do us a damn bit of good. Drogan must have suspected this possibility though. Or perhaps it was simple male-that-rides-bareback paranoia that drove him to take over the assignment of passing out feminine hygiene products, and start paying special attention to my usage needs—specifically, when I had a lack of needs.
That’s when Drogan changed.
He’d already been sneaking me sweet things; both literal and figurative. As soon as he knew though, he’s been…
Good. He’s been so good.
I wish he’d stop. I can’t excise the fear spreading through me like a cancer; I know how this ends. By now, he has to know too.
The beep of his card against the scanner brings me to full focus. Drogan’s face is nearly back to his usual mask of hot impassiveness when he guides me inside my humble abode, where I’m celled with real criminals. Unlike some of them, I did nothing to end up here. When I arrived here, I was innocent. My stomach sinks with the knowledge that that time is long gone.
Just before he straightens, Drogan’s facade cracks, and he winks at me. His fingers brush against mine, and I meet his eyes. I appreciate the contact; this little connection.
I didn’t expect this. He’s all foul-mouth and rough edges at showing it, but Drogan cares about me.
He cares about me like I’ve been trying not to care about him.
This is bad. This is wrong.
He shouldn’t try to make it easier for me. He should be furious. We both know they’re going to make me kill him.
CHAPTER 2
PRETA
The Super Soldier Project could be what it’s called. I’ve no idea what it’s actually labelled; I’m not important enough to warrant showing me my own file. Although, with whatever they dope me down with during some experiments, they could wave my file in front of my face and I wouldn’t be able to read it. Most times, I can’t even stop myself from drooling. I can only lie there, and listen to their commentary as they run their little tests.
