Alien Romance: Grabbed By The Alien Lord: Scifi Alien Abduction Romance (Alien Romance, Alien Invasion Romance, BBW) (Celestial Protectors Book 2)

by Aana Celestya

  Grabbed By The Alien

  Aana Celestya

  Copyright 2016 by Aana Celestya

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced

  in any way whatsoever, without written permission

  from the author, except in case of brief

  quotations embodied in critical reviews

  and articles.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any

  character, person, living or dead, events, place or

  organizations is purely coincidental. The author does not

  have any control over and does not assume any responsibility

  for third party websites or their content.

  First edition, 2016

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Chapter 1 … A Spirited Purchase

  Chapter 2 … Language, Culture, and Promises… and Ogling

  Chapter 3 … A Dark Word of Glittering Gems

  Chapter 4…The Horrors of Rule

  Chapter 5…Dream in Pleasure

  Chapter 6…Blood Claim

  Chapter 7…Unbroken

  Chapter 8…Homeward

  Chapter 1 … A Spirited Purchase

  After so long in the dark, even the muted lights were garish. Beings that never came anywhere near Milky Way – Earth Bound filled the room. Crystalline walls that sparkled so beautifully should never be part of something as dark and horrible as an auction of flesh – human flesh. It seemed Amelia’s time had come.

  Her eyes refused to focus, a migraine building as lights were fixed on her – the thin shift that had been roughly forced over her head was nearly transparent beneath the blaze. That shift had only been allowed because she was prime value – a virgin. Still, she was restrained, bound within a metal ring, limbs splayed.

  Amelia couldn’t decide in that moment whether it was a good thing or not that she turned down the member of the terra-mining frat on his oh so generous – yeah right – offer.

  Apparently, her standards had saved her from being assaulted by her captors as well as from the dive markets; but really, was any slave auction all that different from the next? And that’s what was transpiring, an auction.

  Amelia could hardly differentiate individual ‘words’ through the din; not that it would matter, not a single one of the beings – she assumed that they were in the process of bidding on her – spoke in any of the languages she knew.

  That surprised Amelia; she was a linguist, an excellent one at that, with nearly thirty alien dialects in her repertoire. Even though she knew that she shouldn’t be surprised; her abductors had taken her outside the galaxy of her birth – it was disconcerting to, for once, not know what was being said around her.

  The din quieted, a single voice – the officiator’s mumbled out once, twice. However, if three was the charm on this planet, another voice boomed through the hall before the auction could be closed.

  “Aftnich luerma.” Judging by the sudden buzz among the buyers, whoever that voice belonged to had either just placed a significant bid, was very important on this planet, or both.

  *

  Galtan had thought himself cold. He hadn’t believed compassion remained within him; however, there had been something that called to him when he had glimpsed the female on the security feeds at the spaceport as he was doing an inspection earlier that day.

  He had tried to convince himself that it had been the human’s coloring. Hair darker than starless space on the outer rim – it had hung down her back in heavy coils; her eyes, a brighter blue than luerma, the most prized gems of his world; her skin looked smoother than polished crystal and was a warm-hued cream.

  As he looked at her skin, he had wondered whether the galaxy she hailed from, had been named for women as fair as she. Yes, that particular female was likely the most beautiful human Galtan had ever seen – but there was more. There was spirit – they hadn’t broken her.

  She had fought in the back hall of the port. Galtan had watched her strike out at the collectors over the security feed, shocking everyone. He smiled, an expression that felt uncomfortable on his face, thinking about the way the human had moved.

  She had been swift with her feet as she kicked, but by haltrak, she was just mean when she used her fists to shatter softer structures of the face and to hit poorly guarded week points on the body.

  When the collectors had managed to subdue her, with help from private guards, they had been forced to take her to the medibay to heal her tender flesh. Slaves had to be in prime condition to fetch the best price.

  It was then, that the men around him had started chattering about how the female’s new owner would have to break her in. Men that more than feared Galtan had stood about, before the monitors to discuss the best methods to break down a spirited slave: pain, deprivation, humiliation, etc. For the first time in nearly two and a quarter cycles – eighteen of the human’s years – Galtan felt the emotion one might call regret, or perhaps pity.

  That stirring within him had driven Galtan to attend his first auction in at least a cycle. When he had been ushered with great commendation into the hall, the hosts desperate to fulfil any desire he might have, the Spirit – Galtan couldn’t help but think of her any other way – had been given some sort of light sedative and was on display for bidding.

  A Murga couple had just placed the top bid, thirty standard shalkan, on Galtan’s female and were doubtless going to close out the bidding. Thirty shalkan was a nice profit on any slave, worth approximately a tenth of a single standard luerma.

  The concept had been completely reviling – the Murga used human slaves for some very sick pleasures, no human lasted long. Unable to stand the thought of the slimy, dripping with mucus, aliens having the beauty, Galtan had silenced the auction house’s manager with a single raised digit, and bid.

  “Five luerma.” The hall went silent for but a heartbeat, before voices in various languages buzzed. Few ever had an actual luerma in their possession – only the highest elite might have more than one. To put such a value on a slave that wasn’t of status or empowered was unheard of; and even when royalty or kinetics came on the market, to pay more than a luerma or two was absurd. Galtan knew this, but didn’t care. The female’s spirit was worth the price.

  The palat, the officiator, stood there in silence. To facilitate the man, Galtan pulled a pouch from an interior pocket in his coat, took five luerma and held them in his open palm. Even in the low light, the stones flashed brilliantly – miniature, blue supernovas.

  “Does anyone beat five luer?” The palat looked around the room for form. “Five luer?” Staring straight at Galtan, knowing no one would beat the bid the palat uttered one last time, “Five luer?”

  The spotlights dimmed, Spirit was his.

  *

  Amelia felt ill. Whatever the slavers had forced into her veins at the port was making her ill. She had felt the effects before though – when she was taken.

  Amelia had always been brilliant, but unfortunately there were times she disconnected from reality and made some bad choices. The mating conference had been a bad choice, but her friend Simone had found a lovely mate from the Morpal planetary system, even if he was a bit orange in hue.

  She had been on her way to that conference on Umbriel – the Uranus moon that had developed a reputation as the moon of love in the 26th century – from earth when the transport had
been attacked.

  Any men on the transport had been ejected into space by the slavers; they only wanted the women. Amelia had been the prize of the capture as the only virgin on board.

  In the common date system declared 2734, within Earth’s planetary system, virginity held zero value, and hadn’t since the end of the 23rd century; so the valuing of lack of experience was an antiquated notion.

  As much as Amelia might seek to analyze what she perceived to be a lack of logic, she wasn’t up to the effort. She was exhausted, hungry, cold, and drugged.

  They didn’t bother to take her off the ring she was suspended in; instead they ran the hook holding the ring along a track system. The ring jerked to a stop, which didn’t help the queasiness, when she reached another brightly lit area.

  Through barely cracked lids, Amelia saw that this was the place where the buyers thoroughly examined their new purchases. Other women that had been auctioned before her were being probed and prodded.

  Someone…something was fiddling with the shift she was clothed in, they were going to strip it from her. Bracing herself to face the humiliation, Amelia squeezed her eyes tight. The booming voice sounded again.

  “Threk!” Suddenly whatever had been preparing to strip her jumped away from her bound body.

  *

  Galtan didn’t want the greedy limbs, tentacles, or eyes of those around to touch her. Though familiar with the processes of the auction houses, he was not of a mind to go through the motions with Spirit.

  The displayer dashed away from her; so called for the transparent nature of its specialized limbs – tentacles really. Displayers were aliens hired by slavers. They would probe a human’s orifices with the clear tentacles, holding a female’s body open.

  The process served a couple of purposes: first many buyers wanted to scrupulously examine their new purchase; many buyers also took great enjoyment in the humiliation and degradation that the slave would feel from the process; and lastly it was simply another method by which a new slave could be further broken.

  “My lord?” Galtan’s position awarded him such an address, Lord Commander of the Armies – of the entire super planet of Amirak-Ren.

  “I don’t pay a fortune for a slave, for your minions to turn around and expose what is mine, to everyone.” Galtan kept his voice cold, menacing, as he walked to the pale beauty. Her skin was coated with a light sheen of sweat even though her body shuddered – the sedative that had been used to tame her for the auction wasn’t sitting well in her body.

  Galtan didn’t bother with unfastening the restraints; instead, he pulled the small blade at his hip and sliced through the bonds. The ties keeping the female’s legs splayed went first, then those at her wrists. Galtan pulled her from the display ring, set her on the floor before him, and turned her – he had been right about her eyes. Even glazed by drug fever, the human’s eyes sparkled as vividly as they had during the fight at the space port.

  *

  Amelia was relieved to be off that infernal ring. Though she had been tied to it, her weight had been centered on the arches of her feet. Yet, more than her feet being happy, she was thrilled to not be spread open for alien amusement.

  It had been disconcerting when she had felt a blade slide against her skin, but the edge had been meant for the bonds, not Amelia’s skin. Now, she was on the floor, and whatever being had rights – according to this world he did – to her was turning her body to look at it…him. It was certainly a ‘him,’ and he could have easily passed for human.

  The world kept trying to spin, but Amelia was determined to get a good look at the alien that had purchased her. Or am I the alien – her thoughts were beginning to haze-over. Please don’t let me pass out in front of all of these beings. Please don’t let me pass out.

  Amelia tried to focus her eyes and caught a glimpse of lavender. Lavender, the shade of the sweetest smelling Angel Face rose. Determined, her eyes focused again. As Amelia registered that the man staring down at her had lavender eyes, he must have seen something in hers.

  The intergalactic male – Amelia was still trying to decide which of them was the ‘alien’ in this circumstance – abruptly turned to walk in the direction of the door, pulling her with him by the hard grip he had on her bicep.

  *

  She was about to faint.

  Her eyes had cleared, and then glazed; cleared again, glazed over once more. If she dropped, he would have been expected to drag her across the rough floor. Galtan chose to get the female out of the auction house before faced with that issue. He grabbed the paperwork and ownership tag for the human from the clerk as he hauled her through the doors into the dark Amirak-Ren night.

  A squawk made him stop, and turn to look at the human. Oh. I forgot how cold many beings find Amirak-Ren to be. With the drug fever, she has to be absolutely freezing. Galtan glanced around, the street was all but deserted; the late-night foot traffic had not yet emerged from their evening’s entertainment.

  He stripped the cloak from his shoulders, then pushed the female’s arms through the voluminous sleeves, wrapped the heavy fabric around her body, and lifted her. The walkways were coated with ice – Galtan suspected the human race was not bred to have extended contact between ice and their bare skin.

  He hiked between the buildings of the space imports district. After navigating the pathways for a while, putting as much ground as he could between the auction houses and his human, Galtan rounded a corner and a sign caught his eye. He adjusted his course to take him to the shops door.

  Obviously in the process of closing up for the evening, a withered little man turned and recognized Galtan.

  “My Lord Commander of the Armies, what can I do for so noble a figure this night?”

  “Do you have time to place a translator implant? I also need the ill effects of a sedative negated.” Galtan placed the female down before the elderly healer and drew his cloak from her shivering body.

  “What did they give her? This looks like Pandor poisoning. Bring her back here.” The healer turned and shuffled into a back room. Galtan scooped up the human again; his cloak tossed over his shoulder and followed the old man.

  “Put her on the table with the attached scanner,” the healer shuffled about the room flipping the switches of his sensory equipment. Galtan placed the woman – he was pretty certain that is what humans called the females of their kind – down on the indicated examination table.

  The healer approached the controls of the scanner and noticed how wet the shift she wore was – he stared for a moment, but not in a way that made Galtan want to carve the man’s eyes from his skull; instead the gaze was considering. Finally, it seemed the man had made a decision and addressed Galtan.

  “The shift she wears, its balka cloth; while it is quite translucent to our eyes, that fabric can impair the scanner’s readings, which is why so many smugglers use it. In order for me to make a clear and comprehensive assessment, it needs to come off.”

  Galtan did not achieve his position by acting a fool, so he stared at the healer and saw the man was truthful. With a heavy sigh, Galtan pulled the blade from his hip once more – he would just wrap her in the cloak when the healer was finished with his work.

  *

  Amelia felt the blade against her skin once more; however, unlike the time before, the cold metal slid between her breasts. Confused, she tried to get away. Amelia couldn’t figure out what was going on – it didn’t help that the migraine was nearly unbearable, she was freezing, and all she could see were vague shapes.

  All she knew was that the metal table beneath her was cold, and that there was another being nearby talking to the one with the booming voice; though, his voice was not booming at the moment.

  “Tagyek truga – threk bagastan,” the words were soft as they were spoken close to her ear – they were for her, not the other intergalactic in the room. “Moyda vatkel Ii’f dan-ro.”

  Then her intergalactic…or was she his? I am so confused – this is worse than wh
at those bastard slavers gave me the first time. The hell-with-it, I might as well consider the Lavender eyes mine. Why is his hand on my chest?

  Amelia’s head lolled from side to side; nothing was clear anymore, until that distinct ripping sound. She could focus on that sound, because the man was cutting away the shift, and Amelia was sure that she wasn’t OK with that.

  *

  Though he knew that she couldn’t understand him, not until she had the translator implant placed, Galtan tried to sooth the female. She felt the blade against her skin and was starting to struggle.

  “Settle down – stop moving. I’m not going to cut you.” He spoke gently against her ear. Then he settled his palm just below the hollow of her throat, caught the fabric of the soaking shift on the blade of his knife and sliced through – from neck to hem. He then sliced the crude straps that hung the garment on her shoulders.

  The human was fighting; Galtan hated taking the only shield she had away. While she weakly thrashed and kicked, Galtan pulled the ruined balka from beneath her. The human female hissed when her fevered skin touched the cool metal.

  “I had hoped she would not fight; I can tell you would rather not bind her to the table and I cannot sedate her until I negate the effects of the poison.”

  “Give me a moment; let me see if I can convince her to hold still for the scans.” Keeping his hands gentle – Galtan did not want to bruise the female’s delicate skin – he grasped her wrists in one hand and stretched them over her head.

  Then he caught her legs beneath the other hand at the mid-joint, is it called a knee on a human? Keeping his hand away from the human’s sex, Galtan carefully pinned her to the table.