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

by Aana Celestya

  “Settle down. Settle down.”

  *

  Amelia couldn’t move – she didn’t want to show weakness and cry, but nothing was making sense.

  “Tagyek truga – tagyek truga.” While the male wasn’t hurting her, he seemed to be taking care to not do so, Amelia couldn’t move. Her eyes started to tear in frustration.

  “Ro-ro – Alahi yhevet dan-ro. Moyda’f gaylea.” Amelia’s intergalactic leaned in close and rubbed his forehead against her own. Their noses touched, tip-to-tip and he pushed air through his teeth, “Ssssss. Tagyek truga.” He was trying to get her to calm down.

  Amelia forced herself to take a breath and to stop struggling; once she was as still as her shivering body would allow, Lavender-eyes took his right hand from her legs. He then rearranged her arms, settling them at her sides.

  *

  The healer was right, Galtan didn’t want to bind the human – he wanted her to relax, especially when he saw the tears.

  “No, no. Spirit, don’t cry. You’re alright.” He inexplicably sought a more companionable contact with her and had put his skin to hers, nose-to-nose as he had seen the couples of other races do. “Sssss, Settle down.” Finally, the woman seemed to calm.

  Galtan rearranged her arms when he was confident she would stay as he put her so the healer could scan her. He went nose-to-nose with the female once more, just for a moment; then he stood and took a step back as the device hummed to life and zipped over her curves.

  “Pandor as I thought – but what we need the scanner to tell us is the specific variety. Here it is: Pandor – Strain 7 – Abeebran origin.”

  “From the beetles?” The old man had wisely said nothing of Galtan’s behavior with a human slave.

  “Yes, it is popular with groups such as collectors because it is cheap; however, it if is not harvested correctly, it can have very bad side-effects. Such as the ones your human is exhibiting.”

  “You can treat it, yes?”

  “Absolutely,” the healer held up an injection gun. “I have already loaded the necessary remedy. It’ll be easier on her if I deposit the remedy in a large muscle.”

  Galtan returned to his position at the table – the opposite side as the healer – and lifted one of the human’s legs. He pushed the mid-joint toward her chest, exposing and tightening the shapely curve of the woman’s hindquarters. She whimpered as the healer put the loaded injection gun against her skin there, and then yelped as the remedy was shot into the muscle.

  “You wanted a translator implant too, right?” the old man confirmed, as he shuffled to retrieve an implant. Galtan saw the healer select a base model.

  “Do you have any 1800KLP models?” The 1800 was the best available, the one Galtan had implanted behind his own right ear.

  “I do.”

  “Put in an 1800, then.” At the querying look Galtan answered the healer’s question, “She needs the language varieties to be of use in my household.”

  “Of course my lord.”

  After the implant was surgically placed, the healer compensated for his time and services, and the – correctly – sedated female bundled into his cloak, Galtan resumed his trek through the streets.

  When, near the dawn of the first of Amirak-Ren’s twin suns, Galtan finally reached the door of his silent home, he contemplated his lie to the healer – she didn’t need the best implant in order to navigate his household, there was no one in it but himself…and now Spirit.

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

  Amelia woke under iridescent green light. She raised her body into a sitting position, and found herself ensconced in the largest bed she had ever seen: easily twelve feet – by – twelve feet. A gauzy sheet was pooled around her hips. The walls of the room she was in were glimmering crystal, like the citrine-colored ones the night before. Well, as far as I know that was last night.

  A heavy footfall rapped outside the door of the room; Amelia pulled the gauze over her breasts as the door swung wide. Wide cobalt eyes met lavender ones across the room. From lips made for sin, the booming voice – though it was much more mellow now – spilled into the easy quiet of the alien morning.

  “Good you’re awake.” The man was bass, his voice low and clear; his diction, meticulous, betrayed many years’ practice of uttering commands. Suddenly, Amelia realized something different that when she last heard the man speak.

  Why can I understand him?

  “You have been fitted with a translator implant – it should make things easier for you.” He must have seen the question on her face; however, that also meant he could see the panic that resulted from the answer.

  “You put something in my head?!” Amelia’s voice was a bit shrill, but she managed to not scream. She didn’t know how the male got across the room so quickly, but when he reached for her, Amelia swatted at his hands. She then attempted to escape the bed on the opposite side.

  *

  Galtan grabbed the human before she hit the floor, and dragged her body back across the bed silks. He held her down, the weight of his body forcing her deeper into the cushion of the bed. She twisted and snarled beneath him. Galtan sighed as she thrashed – he had hoped Spirit would be easy to handle this morning.

  “Settle down Alahi – by the suns you’re meaner than a haltha in a box.” At his words, the female stopped struggling; when he glanced down at her face, Galtan found her glaring up at him. When she opened her mouth, he knew his comparison was accurate.

  “You put some alien science experiment in my head, and then you fail to program it correctly. If you’re going to rape someone’s brain, at least do it correctly. Some so-called superior intergalactic translating device shouldn’t be leaving holes.”

  Oh yes, quite mean…she might have the haltha beat.

  “The translator will fail you on certain words or phrases for one of three reasons. Firstly, as with the word haltha, if you have no comparison for the word – it will not translate.

  Second, the words might translate, but it is a local saying that means something else and is therefore gibberish to you. Lastly, as with ‘Alahi’ – the translator isn’t programed to recognize the tongues of ancients. I speak several languages that are beyond the translator. Yours is the exact model I have, myself.”

  Galtan lifted his body from hers and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. He took a moment to stretch before standing and turning to look at her. He was struck again by her looks – this time, getting to view her charms with his own eyes as opposed to through the lens of a security scanner.

  She was still sprawled back on the bed – his bed, as no other room was appointed for overnight stays – and her thrashing had bared her limbs. Galtan took the moment to observe the creamy fleshed curves of her body.

  That deep space, black hair tumbled around her – sleep static had crackled the fine strands into a dark halo that framed her face, as the length surrounded her torso on the bed in a mass of spiraling curls. Her luerma blue eyes flashed as they had on the security feed.

  Her cheeks were defined, though were gently rounded; Galtan could tell that they would dimple if she smiled. Her nose was small, but refined; the slightly upturned tip highlighted the deep bow of the woman’s upper lip.

  Her lips were full – both of them – they were smooth and the color of blood-berry linen left too long beneath the suns. Her neck was long, where it sat between the line of her pointed, stubborn chin and the hollow at the base.

  Galtan let his gaze drift lower, knowing the human could tell he was allowing his eyes to feast upon her flesh. Ripe mounds of milky cream sat high on her chest – her breasts tipped with rosy nipples as rich a hue of dusty red as her lips. His eyes wandered across the long plane of her midriff – supple skin stretched over the slightest rounding of her stomach, just above a thatch of dark curls. Though the curls were tight and bound to be riotous, the human was meticulously groomed. That lower hair had been sculpted into a neat wedge that sat centered above her sex,
leaving the skin at the creases of her thighs bare. From his position, Galtan could see that the folds of flesh hiding her center were bare of the dark curls as well.

  A beautiful face, deliciously curved body, and smooth nicely lined legs – it was little wonder the collectors had taken such neat care.

  *

  There was no question that the man was staring; he had looked her over from the crown of her unruly curls to the toes of her feet. Amelia had taken the stare – at least she wasn’t being molested, her orifices opened, and exposed to a room full of people. Instead, Amelia took the opportunity to study the male who had purchased her.

  He was bigger than most Earth or Earth-descent men; he would tower over her average 173 su, or rather, standard units – the modern term for what had once been called centimeters.

  Amelia still marveled that the world had been divided on the unit of measurement system for as a long as it had. However, those times were finished; with the foundation of the world federation in 2257 units of measure had been standardized.

  Most blatantly humanoid males in the Milky Way were between 178 and 191 standard units. Amelia’s intergalactic was at least 208 su. His shoulders were broad; his neck thick; his body more heavily muscled than the loose tunic he wore revealed.

  She had felt the thick cords of raw strength masked beneath the soft, dark, linen as she had struggled beneath him. The tunic couldn’t mask the musculature of his long legs – legs that had they been on earth would only belong to an Olympic sprinter turned body builder. His thighs and calves bulged through the fitted… leggings?...that he wore.

  His hands were large, with broad palms and long, strong fingers. However, despite the man’s impressive size, his most striking features found home on his face.

  A slightly pointed, strong jaw was shadowed with stubble and high, defined cheeks rose in the man’s rectangular face. His Roman-esque nose cut the sharp planes of the man’s cheeks and rested above a wide mouth. His lips were firm – the top one, narrow with a defined bowman’s grip, the lower fuller.

  There were no laugh lines; instead it seemed the man kept his face devoid of emotion, with just a hint of a menacing scowl to show through. Those fierce features would have been impressive; however, the eyes made him beyond compare.

  His eyes iridesced the pale lavender of an amethyst crystal; the glimmering depths rimmed with a grey band the hue of desert storms that brought rain to the thirsty reaches of a wasteland.

  The intergalactic male had a face of dreams. It was the face of prurient, illicit dreams – the types of dreams that had driven Amelia to consider the damn lovers conference in the first place.

  To distract herself from the twist in her thoughts, Amelia asked, “What do they mean then?”

  “A haltha is an animal of this world – I will show you one.” The corners of his lips tilted upward, ever so slightly.

  That man is doing to have a devastating smile when – if ever he uses it.

  “Alahi is what I’ve been calling you. Humans take names, yes?”

  “We don’t take them – they are given by our parents, unless for some reason we desire to change it once we are adults.”

  “Then what name were you given?” At Amelia’s silence, the male shrugged, “I can just continue to call you Alahi then.”

  “What does it mean?” There was undoubtedly a meaning behind the name and as a linguist; Amelia wanted to know what it was.

  “Spirit – ever since I saw you take on the collectors at the space port, what struck me was that you still had one.” The man was strangely honest – but the genuineness drew the answer to his question from her.

  “Amelia. My name is Amelia.”

  *

  Galtan rolled the name around in his head. Amiilya…Amiilya.

  “Amiilya?”

  “Yes. Amiilya Glass.” Why did she add to it? Is ‘Glass’ in addition to Amiilya or is it all the same?

  “What is the Glass?”

  “Glass is my family name.” Galtan wondered if something on his face gave away his confusion when she extrapolated. “Humans often bear their family name – most often passed down the paternal line. Glass was my father’s family name.”

  “So, you take your father’s name as a family name?” There were a couple of races that took a parents’ name, but Galtan had only ever heard that indicated by ‘son of…’ or ‘daughter of…’ – never had he heard just the name.

  “Not exactly,” Amiilya answered. She paused, pressed her full lips together, as she looked for an explanation. “What is your name,” she asked.

  Galtan was a bit surprised, granted he had not considered what he would have the human call him; yet, to be asked outright was surprising. She is probably looking for a comparison, his ever logical mind suggested.

  “Galtan.”

  “Is that all you go by? Galtan?”

  “I also go by ‘Lord Commander of the Armies’”

  “That is a title,” Amiilya commented. “Are you the only ‘Galtan’ on this planet?”

  “No. While ‘Galtan’ isn’t common, I am not the only one.”

  “If all of those bearing the name Galtan were put together in a room and someone wanted to address just you, how would they specify you from the other ‘Galtan’s?” It was an odd question – apparently Amiilya was an intellectual sort.

  “I would be Galtan of Aruthga’ly.”

  “What is Aruthga’ly?”

  “A clan of Amirak-Renians.” Galtan could tell she was about to ask another question, so he pre-emptively addressed it; “This is the super planet Amirak-Ren.”

  “OK.” Whatever that articulation means… “So, are all of the Aruthga’ly related?”

  “In a way.” Reproduction was a complicated issue on Amirak-Ren, Galtan preferred to keep his human focused on names; the reason there was a market for human slaves on Amirak-Ren could wait for another passing of the suns.

  “Well I guess that is the closest comparison you have here. Glass would be the name of the clan that I hail from on Earth.” She glanced around the room, Galtan could sense another question brewing – there was one in particular that he was waiting for. Amiilya didn’t disappoint him.

  “So, what are you going to do with me?”

  *

  Some would prefer to wallow in ignorance – thinking that if they didn’t ask, and it wasn’t confirmed, then it wasn’t true – in a situation regarding enslavement; Amelia was no such person.

  She was too pragmatic. Galtan – interesting name – had all but devoured her with his fascinating eyes. Amelia would rather know upfront whether the man planned to use her carnally.

  “I hadn’t really thought about it – I suppose it would be best if I find a way for you to get back to your home world.”

  “You’re going to let me go?” The words escaped before Amelia could think to stop them. “Seems odd that you would pay to free a slave you bought.” Amelia wanted what he said to be true, but it was almost too good to be so.

  “If I had allowed the other bidder to win you – you would not have survived through tomorrow.” He said it plainly, indicating that it was a common instance for human slaves to die at their purchaser’s hands.

  “Why me?” Amelia’s voice was hardly more than a whisper as she stared into the face that would be guaranteed to haunt her in the future.

  “If you are to be tamed then I will do so; but you will not be broken in the process.” Lavender eyes bore into blue, Galtan’s voice rumbled through the room. “I couldn’t let them break you.”

  *

  Galtan knew that Amelia was confused, that she would question his motivations eventually; however, he took advantage of her silence and strode to the hidden door of the wardrobe storage. True, many slaves were made to be nude – but Galtan had no desire for his human to go about that way.

  He found a sleeveless tunic of blue so dark it was nearly black. The fabric shimmered and would be soft on the pale cream of her skin. Galtan grabbed a length
of silver chord that had come loose from a robe, and turned to find the woman sitting on the side of the bed closest to him; watching him.

  I’ll take her to the clothier. Galtan knew that the merchant would likely want to complain about clothing a slave, but Galtan was a man few crossed.

  As he reached the bed, Galtan tossed the chord over his shoulder and held the bottom of the tunic open. Amiilya looked at the garment, then to him, and then back to the garment.

  She shrugged and raised her arms to feed them into the tunic as she stood. He released the fabric, and let flutter down to obscure the curves of Amiilya’s body.

  Cut to fit him, the armholes were open to the tops of her hips. His human quirked a brow at him over the expanse of skin still showing.

  *

  Technically it’ll cover some things…like my crotch since it goes past my knees. However, with every step, her breasts would be on display through the giant slits down the sides of the garment Galtan was dressing her in.

  As she quirked a brow at him, her intergalactic dresser fed the silver chord he had tossed over his shoulder through the arm holes, across her belly. He then slid it up her skin to just below her breasts and cinched the fabric. He then crisscrossed the chord around her body over and over again – back cross, front cross, back cross, front cross – ending on a back cross, Galtan turned her and knotted the chord.

  Amelia’s breasts were secured behind a precarious sling of shimmering midnight blue, the chord wrapped about her torso in a manner similar to ancient Grecian women. However, with her body, the ensemble was vaguely pornographic.

  Amelia bit the insides of her cheeks to keep from laughing. Well, it’s best to find humour where one can, right? It seemed Galtan had noticed her mirth, despite Amelia’s attempts to hide it.

  “What amuses you? I intend to get more suitable clothing for you, but this will have to do for now.”