Stolen By An Alien

by Amanda Milo

  That’s when I got really, really confused.

  Arokh tentatively ran his hand up along my back. Then down… and then he lifted the hem of my blouse so that his fingers skated over my bare skin. Higher and higher, he worked his way up in circles, then fluttered along my side. Not soothing. Or should I say not just soothing.

  It was turning my body on again. And, still feeling ashamed, it was an odd combination.

  I didn’t move. When he pulled back, he said a word I had come to be pretty-fairly-almost-not-quite sure was the alien version of, “Okay?”

  No. No, I was so fucking confused.

  Arokh sighed, and looked down. Then he turned and started banging his horns against the wall – not hard, just enough to vent a little frustration I guess.

  “Arokh!”

  He stopped, then leaned in so close, our noses were nearly touching. He said nothing else. What was the point?

  My stomach growled, and his face went hard. He got up, picked me up, and carried me out. I didn’t know where to, and I didn’t know what had just happened. I heaved a breath and felt despair drop on me like a weighted blanket. Unless we could come up with a way to get past our communication issues, I wasn’t likely to figure it out anytime soon either.

  11

  AROKH

  I had embarrassed her. She had been attempting me – a Rakhii! – and I’d turned her away. Threw her gift back in her face! When she couldn’t even stand to look at me, I’d scrambled to think of a way to explain. It wasn’t that her advance was improper – after all, this what fledging Gryfala did. Experiment.

  With hobs.

  Never Rakhii.

  Not alone. A Gryfala, with the entirety of her attention on a single male? A Rakhii?

  I gritted my teeth. Never. Never.

  Never had I wanted anything more.

  She was obviously old enough to have romantic impulses, (which made me feel relief about the attraction that I felt for her) all completely natural if she had hobs surrounding her. I tried to explain that she would regret this, that if she had her hobs, she would never consider me. And what if it spurred her instinct to nest? She would regret trying to nest with me. The only reason she was feeling compelled now, here, with me, was likely due to hormone fluctuations and confusion since she had no hobs. Failing the ability to get this information across, the only way I could think to show her that her actions were fine, was to lightly reciprocate… but in the end, I had just confused her even more. Mixed signals, although that hadn’t been my intention at all. I’d wanted to stop her from making a mistake she would regret - not shame her.

  Throughout the rest of the day, I desperately tried to coax smiles from her, pet her, comfort her.

  But I’d damaged something that couldn’t be reached with touches.

  Her confidence.

  Tevek! I wondered what sort of impact this would have on her future. Let alone mine.

  At one point, when I placed my hand on her cheek and she turned her face away – not spitefully, but humiliated… involuntarily, I snarled.

  I was castigating myself so hard that it took a moment to register the absolute shock on Angie’s face. And now, a little fear.

  I dropped to my knees so that I could be closer to her eye level, ignoring the looks we got as the throng of people milled around us. “I’ve made such a great mess of this,” I tried to explain. I took her cold hands in mine. “You did nothing wrong. Nothing,” I emphasized. I looked into her eyes, searching, watching her watch me just as intently, and hoped she could see the sincerity in my eyes if nothing else.

  Maybe she did. Because, hesitantly, she gave my fingers a squeeze.

  I crushed her to me, so relieved to have even this little sign that the damage wasn’t irreparable.

  I told myself I wouldn’t turn her away ever again.

  As if she’d ever repeat what - to her - had been a confusing, embarrassing, unsatisfying situation. I sighed into her hair.

  And felt her tiny hand give a short, reassuring rub to my back.

  Forgiven.

  That bondstoned it.

  There was no Gryfala kinder than mine.

  That night, I was reluctant to rent a barn stall. I was no fan of the cold myself - but Angie was completely intolerant of anything deeper than a chill. And the stalls were only degrees warmer than the outdoors, of which the temperatures were bitterly arctic. It made me worry. I wondered if she was ill and that’s why her body couldn’t keep itself warm.

  I licked behind her ear again, taking measure, and confirmed my suspicion; her internal heating was not operating properly. She was several degrees cooler than she had been running. And most worrisome? She didn’t even attempt to bat my tongue away this time.

  For now, we were staying thawed at a tavern. I would keep her here until the tavern closed for the night. The longer I could keep her warm, the better off she would be. Firelight danced over her features. I lay half reclined, with her soft, curvy self sprawled on top of me and I had our chair positioned as close to the flames as I felt she could safely be. The heat was so intense that my scales were changing colors. Yet she snuggled against me and fell deeply asleep; peaceful at last.

  I nearly dropped her when my nose caught the smell of a hob.

  My hearts actually stuttered.

  My head reared back so hard my horns jabbed into the stuffing of the chair as my eyes frantically searched the crowd. Carefully I let Angie slide slowly off my chest. She didn’t stir. Just collapsed, oozing to a boneless heap atop my thighs. Trusting that I could keep her safe from all harm, all comers.

  And there he was.

  Staring back at me was a battle scarred, stooped-back guard. He looked as shocked as I felt. But it wasn’t just his presence that had me rattled.

  It was this writhing, possessive feeling that had me in thrall. It was thrashing at my control - urging me to attack, to defend, to keep him from taking my Angie from me.

  My Angie? What of my promises about temporary? Of only claiming her as mine until she was with hobs?

  REFUSE. She was MINE.

  The old hob shuffled to us, deceptively casual as he gripped a huge mug of frothy ale. My instincts clamored; move her behind you to protect her! Be on the offensive! Attack him first! I did my best to ignore all my impulses and stayed frozen in place. The hob reached my side, and stared down at her blanketed form, her full mane the only part of her that was visible.

  “Now I know I’ve actually seen everything.”

  I said nothing. Because I couldn’t speak. My emotions were choking my throat.

  He must have seen this plainly because his next words were gruffly reassuring. “Relax. I’m not about to pay to have a Comm sent out, hailing down a bunch of untried bachelors fresh from the academy. What would I tell them?” With a penetrating glance, he took in the sight of my arms - protectively holding, possessively tight - around her, my mouth firm, my eyes steady on his, and my scarred up horns telling their story of many past battles. “That a Gryfala ran off with a gladiator?” He snorted his disbelief of that last statement.

  He shifted his weight, leaning on a cane. “I’m surprised you risk being alone though. Not even one hob? But, they don’t train them like they used to.” He winked. “We both know those academy boys don’t know their ass from a pit in the sand. And you’re a high ranker in the arena, aren’t you? Even my old eyes can see the notches in your horns. I’ll bet she’s doing just fine.” He inhaled hard and closed his eyes a moment. His smile was wistful.

  “Ahhh,” he sighed. “There is no better scent than a Gryfala.”

  Secretly, I agreed - clearly something I would have to examine later. Perhaps I’d not met enough female Rakhii. Certainly never one that could rival my desire for Angie.

  When I still kept my silence, he did the work of carrying on a conversation.

  “You know what that smell means?”

  I swallowed hard. The thing attempting to stay my vocal chords now was my damned pride. As reluctant
as I felt, I desperately could use his extensive knowledge compared to my second-hand gossip. My ignorance was damaging her.

  The memory of that finally got me to speak. “No. I don’t.”

  The man gave a creaky laugh. “Boy, you are in for it.” He grabbed his chest, wheezed. “You better find a secure den soon, and a lot of food and water. You’re both going to need it.”

  Going to need… what?

  Glancing down, I could see just the side of Angie’s face, turned away from the hob. Her face scrunched and she squirmed, making me realize I was clutching her tighter than I’d meant to. “Sorry,” I whispered, and adjusted her a little, relaxed my grip. I petted her back to soothe her. Doing so actually helped me calm myself. To the man, I pitched my voice so that he could hear me, but I hopefully wouldn’t disturb her. It probably helped in this case that she couldn’t understand me; she’d simply feel the rumble of my words through the connection of our bodies, and not be disturbed. By now, her body was probably calibrating her to the vibration, a way for her species to take comfort from her males’ presence – although this was nearly exclusive to hobs, it had happened from time to time with a trusted, favored Rakhii guard. With a jolt, I realized how very much I treasured the notion of that.

  “Like I said. Don’t worry, boy. I know what it is to lose the female of your hearts. I wouldn’t wish it on any male.”

  For a hob to be standing alone and smelling of no female meant his had passed away. Or – rarer - been killed.

  “I will take her back,” I vowed, but even to my ears it sounded hollow and forced.

  “How’s your tongue feel?”

  Odd that he’d mention such a thing; it had been feeling strange. I tested it on the roof of my mouth.

  “I’m an old hob,” he gave me a gap toothed grin. “I’ve seen it before. Been a long time but,” he winked, “She’ll appreciate the change.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  He coughed into his free hand. “Rakhii develop pleasure bumps for their princess. If she claims them in her service.”

  “Claims… Pleasure bumps? On my…for my princess…” On my tongue.

  The man boomed with laughter at my dumbstruck expression. I could feel my horns burn with an embarrassed flush. “While she might not exactly agree… I’ve wondered if...” Tevek. I needed to just come out and ask.

  “Is she too young?” I gritted, resenting that I had to ask another male, a hob, about my female.

  This brought another round of laughing. “Trying to keep yourself chaste - and protect her innocence, if needed - and having a rough time?” he said with an evil sounding chuckle.

  “Are they always so very – “ I tried to choose my words carefully, “Very precocious?”

  He choked on his drink. When he finished blotting the froth from his chin and chestplate, he smiled. “Aye. Always.”

  Then his grin faded. “But have a care. Surely you’ve heard ‘why would she buy the bull if she can get the service for free’?”

  I nodded.

  Of course I’d heard this. Rakhii were told young - just as hoblings were - that if they were very lucky, a Gryfala might pursue them someday.

  But never, not ever under any circumstance was a male to give in before the Gryfala formed an attachment to him. If she didn’t?

  She’d move on.

  And females were so possessively jealous and proprietary that they tended to avoid males that had been taken before by another. Oh, they might dally with them on the side on occasion, but never consider them for permanent service.

  It was a kindness of him to warn me.

  But it was too late for me.

  “How…” My voice cracked, and I saw the hob’s lips twitch, but he didn’t tease me further. I decided this might be my only opportunity to ask these questions, therefore, I attempted to work past my discomfort by keeping the discussion as clinical as I could. “How do the males manage to abstain? How long do they have to wait?”

  “Lad, if she’s already that bad – or good,” he added with a playfully leering grin, “then you don’t have long to wait.” He inhaled again, testing, and my quills raised a little in an unconscious threat display that had him snickering. “It’s been a long, long time but it’s not something you forget.”

  I imagined not.

  “She smells ready.” He shrugged. “At most, she’s a solar or two from her Choosing.”

  A solar? Or two? I’d hoped she was closer. I’d never last.

  That was, of course, if she ever recovered from her last overtures that I fumbled.

  If she initiated again, I wouldn’t tell her no.

  Couldn’t tell her no.

  Almost literally.

  When she wanted something? I couldn’t rest until I gave it to her. I wasn’t like the hobs, my genetic makeup didn’t – shouldn’t - compel me to fulfill my princess’ every request. Yet I had these unexplainable yearnings. One look from her and I wanted to give in to the urge to stroke her. From her crown of fur to her silken toes, I wanted to lick her and pet her and creator help me - mount her until she was swollen with eggs. Eggs I alone had fertilized.

  Forbidden.

  The muscles in my back tightened and I took a few deep breaths to calm myself.

  The old hob laughed. “She’s got you tied into knots.”

  I could only nod.

  “If you let me look at her, I can verify-“

  My growl halted the rest of his words. They stalled in his throat before he choked them out in a quiet chuckle.

  He clapped me on the back congenially, then leaned in to whisper conspiratorially. “I gather that if she is testing you that hard-”

  If he only knew what I’d done.

  “-she is on the older end of the spectrum. And in that case, I’ll let you in on a hob secret.”

  He had my full attention.

  His chin dipped. “You can ease her.”

  “Expound on that.” I needed to be certain there was no misunderstanding.

  He ran his bottom teeth over his top lip, eyes distant and fond as if in memory. “Use your hand. Help her use hers. The most common way though is to let her ride you,” he smirked a little, “and start putting that tongue to use. That above all else will get you in her good graces. Many a Gryfala has taken a Rakhii into service after he impressed her with his considerable… oral skills.”

  My mouth had gone completely dry.

  Angie shifted, her hands tucking up closer to her chest, fingers curling against my thigh. I tugged the blanket around her even tighter. I began to gently work a tangle from her mane. And seeing that, the hob’s countenance turned wistful.

  “When did you lose her?” I asked.

  His eyes misted. “This fall.”

  I nodded. “Your brother hobs?”

  His chin puckered before he could control his grief. “Gone.”

  I took in his gaunt frame. Despite the fact he was carting it around, he’d barely made a dent in his ale – the sparkling golden foam still near the brim - and he neither smelled of nor appeared to be carrying food. His eyes were sunken, sad.

  He wouldn’t be much longer for this world.

  As he met my gaze, he smiled slightly, and I knew we both recognized that.

  “Cherish her, gladiator.”

  “I do.” I promised solemnly.

  12

  AROKH

  Hours later, I carried a bundled Angie, who sleepily winced at the bite of frigid night air. She hitched herself higher in my arms and pressed a very cold nose against my throat. When I hissed, she mumbled, “Suhrry,” and pressed chilled lips to my skin as if in apology.

  I shook my head. I hated that all I could offer this female was a – mostly – clean box of shavings to sleep in. It was freezing on this region of the planet and I couldn’t afford a room at the tavern. Days ago, I would have been universally described as an honorable member of the Rakhii gladiator class.

  I followed the law, I worked hard, carving my reputat
ion up from the bottom ranks.

  And I had never stolen in my life.

  Now, I had rifled through the purses of dead men, men I had killed to keep this Gryfala safe. I would do so again for her wellbeing, but each time I committed a crime I brought more risk to her safety as much as I added stains on my conscience. But when she began to shiver in my arms, I contemplated new illegal acts I never would’ve considered before the current circumstances in my life: breaking into homes, backrooms, or closed taverns. Picking pockets in order to scrape up enough to get us a room somewhere. But these crimes would call attention. Make us bigger targets. And she was too big a prize. Worth a fortune and so tempting, there was nowhere safe. We had to reach the homeland.

  She stirred when I jostled her as I attempted to wrench open the barn door. I kissed the top of her head. “Shhh.” She made no complaint when I carried her to our stall. I set her on her feet, kept ahold of her arm until I knew she was steady, and felt my hearts warm when she flashed me a sleepy smile. Creator, she was so sweet. This was a shithovel, but she was too much a lady to complain. Well, much. I suspected half her daily conversation - the growled parts (and somehow even more endearingly; the parts when she whined adorably and pitifully) - were lists of grievances she suffered.

  She gave me the hand motion that meant she had to relieve herself. She beamed at me when I handed her filched napkins from the tavern. I was both thrilled by her expressing appreciation, and conversely shamed that this was the best gift I could afford to give her. Stolen bar napkins. I dutifully faced the other direction and waited, my thoughts heavy.

  “Aww, craaap!”

  It was said softly, but low and so vehemently that I turned to check on her. This was the wrong thing to do, and she let me know that by way of indignant screech. I whirled, about to apologize. But then I caught it. The smell of blood.

  Three things became apparent.

  This explained her drop in body temperature. And the incredible smell I’d been taking in had been her prime breeding time. At least I thought that’s how Gryfala cycles went. No wonder I’d been driven half mad with it. (Also disquieting, because her scent was no less attractive now – how and when did hobs catch a break?) But I tried to refamiliarize myself with the little biology I knew and concluded that her body must now be shedding itself because her eggs had not been fertilized?