Stolen By An Alien

by Amanda Milo

  “Bring forward his Gryfala,” a councilwoman calls.

  My Angie. I can’t help myself. Metal squeaks and jangles as I try to lift my head, my eyes searching desperately for her, the rays from the rising suns casting everything in the colosseum a soft, rose-gold.

  And my Angie. She is led forward, and I feel the restraints digging into my scales as my body strains toward her.

  For a second she drops from view and my hearts cease for a beat and my chains make a hideous screech as I lunge forward – but then she pops up and I realize she ducked out of the guards’ hold and is running to me. “Angie…love, no!” But my words are muffled through the iron muzzle, fitted tightly on my face to prevent me from breathing fire.

  The crowd gasps as she vaults over the barrier separating the seating from the arena floor. Close, so close…

  A guard swoops in and tackles her to the soft dirt.

  And I lose my mind.

  The likelihood of making a successful escape, added to the probability that I could wrest Angie away from the hob guards, is so infinitesimally unlikely that I wouldn’t care to examine the odds. It would be safe to say I’d never have made it, let alone managed to not only break free with her, but to successfully escape off of this planet.

  It wouldn’t have happened. Not without the events that took place next.

  A boom so loud it silenced the screaming crowd - the sound echoing off of the stone, so jarring that my wits returned, my body feeling every tear in my hide, now bleeding thanks to my struggles. Everyone turned to look, everyone but me, because my chains kept my head locked in place.

  The pounding of many feet approaching had my body tensing - no way to protect Angie - let alone myself.

  Then there was a clang, and the chains at my neck fell, another clang, and I was able to turn now, and I saw my brother.

  Armed with a battle axe, he was breaking me free as the other male prisoners swarmed the arena walls. Males that, as they spotted their own females, could no longer be reasoned with, gone completely crazed. The council was in a panic, the hobs scrambling to get the councilwomen to safety, and hobs in the stadium seats were taking flight, surrounding their princesses. Not defending; escaping. The only safe option now.

  My neck torqued painfully when the axe came down on the extending iron loop that locked the muzzle in place. I worked my jaw from side to side when the heavy piece fell away.

  I had one last manacle binding me to the stone pillar, but it was then that Zadeon’s little female cried out to him. She sounded terrified. No doubt the rush of males was causing her to panic, and physically, there was every chance a female could be trampled or worse in the melee. I saw the change come over my brother, the moment when his scales flushed dark and his eyes went nearly molten with madness to reach his mate.

  It was a bloodbath.

  Then I heard her screams. “Nooooo! Let me go!”

  Angie.

  Angie!

  The last woven metal length keeping me rooted in place suddenly snapped as if it were thread.

  I ripped at anything in front of me – when someone grabbed me, their scent unfamiliar, male, I bit them, envenomated them, shredded them until my scales were slick with blood.

  Mindless, I fought to reach my female, my Angie - nothing would keep me from her. A crack across my head, raging pain in my horn, I blew fire, not reaching for distance just coverage - I didn’t want Angie caught in the flames.

  She was close. I could smell her. Her terror.

  I fought harder.

  Most of the hobs were wise enough to simply release the human females and get out of the way; those that didn’t were not in the way for long.

  And then she was in my arms. My Angie.

  I snuffled her, lapped at her skin, checked her for injuries and purred to her as I found her whole and well.

  It took time to calm. When I had regained the wits to speak, I voiced what had been troubling, yet I hadn’t had the control until then to verbalize.

  “Why isn’t Dohrein with you?” I panted. I tasted blood, blood that wasn’t mine. I let my mouth flood with saliva, attempting to wash the rustiness of it away, horrified that I had lapped at my Angie’s skin with this in my mouth. I turned her, checking her over, seeing if I had left any smears of it on her.

  She steadied herself on my arm, but didn’t dissuade me. She did however, give me that look like she thought I was being ‘too much’. “He’s been trying to get some of the council to hear him. They refused! Now he has to find his dam.”

  The intonation and emphasis she put on that last word coupled with her strange finger motions had me struggling to follow the rest of what she was trying to tell me. “He hopes she will hear what he has to say, and then talk to the sire that hates him, the one that sits on the council. ‘Rein said I’d be safe enough until you came for me.”

  “Safe enough?” I seethed. I tried to ignore the fact that she shortened his name with an inflection of fondness. Nearly an endearment. He spent hours with her. I forced myself not to imagine him comforting her. I could always kill him later. Now, I needed to think. I tilted my head. “And just how could he know that I would somehow manage not to be executed, and somehow manage to reach you before you came to harm – after I somehow managed to escape iron restraints locked to a slab of rock?” I was raging. “He gambled too much.”

  She gave a weak smile. “I’m not saying he had a hand in freeing the other guys, but I’m not not saying that either…”

  Not for the first time, I feel the tiniest, most miniscule surge of gratitude for that sour hob.

  I carried Angie down to the arena floor, which looked calm and quiet compared to the war happening in the stands.

  Fleeing into the gladiator pit for safety? Such a reversal from what I was used to.

  We were soon joined by others attempting to get their humans out of harm’s way. I noticed manacles still clamped around wrists, little lengths of chain dragging from them, just like mine. I spied Zadeon, and saw that he however had no manacle.

  Dohrein chose well when he risked much to free one of us. My brother is a force all on his own.

  His female is safe now, but he is lost in a rage. He is breaking seats, ripping up dead bodies, roaring like a psychopath. It would help if his human talked to him, but she isn’t talking at all. Instead, she screamed and thrashed when he first reached her, and it is making this all so much worse. Now she is curled up, hands covering her ears, face tucked into her knees. She is rocking oddly, and making a keening sound that is agitating us all. The bodies of the guards that frightened her are splattered in parts and bits all over her.

  All we can do is watch. No male will allow his female near Zadeon for the chance that they can comfort the damaged human. Every so often I chuff at my brother, and slowly he is coming back to himself.

  But even I won’t approach him to help him gain control. Some things are best to work from afar.

  That’s when I see Dohrein. Arms crossed, he leans against a pillar at the edge of the arena. He is watching too.

  Not even begrudgingly, I can admit to myself that he is a good hob. I don’t know why he helped us, but I owe him a great debt. All of us do.

  When my brother’s female starts choking on her own tears, that finally rips him from his rage haze. He immediately does what he can to console her, this time crouching near her without trying to touch - crooning to her until she lets him approach.

  When she lets finally lets him hold her? He plucks her right up.

  He sags in relief, his head bowed over her, squeezing her to him.

  Out of the corner of my eye I see Dohrein motion with his hand.

  And a legion of hobs enter the arena with their own Gryfala to protect.

  This, as it turns out, is as close to a real Gryfala as I’ve ever been. The difference between this female and my Angie would be enough to make me laugh.

  But this is no laughing matter.

  The Gryfala’s full lips press tightly togeth
er as she takes in the sight before her. “What a senseless, cataclysmic massacre,” she says with a voice full of so much disdain, such cold, that our very bones should flash freeze.

  36

  ANGIE

  Everyone bowed.

  The hobs and Rakhii, of course, that made sense - but it was the assortment of other aliens paying respect that made me really feel the weight of this woman’s power. Us humans… we looked at each other. What do we do?

  If we bowed, were we conceding anything? By not bowing, were we insulting her - or even committing an offense?

  Arokh wasn’t urging me down with a hand between my shoulder blades or anything, but what was protocal here?

  I settled for a nod of acknowledgement. Out of periphery, I saw the others do the same.

  The stunning creature might have dipped her chin before she whirled to stare into the mess in the stands. The horror there. She said it: massacre.

  And it was - it really was - but it wasn’t like I hadn’t been staring at it for the last oh so many... I checked my watch: a pair of fighting tiger-giraffe looking things, and some symbols I couldn’t fathom. That was exactly how long it felt like I’d been a bystander to all this, yes.

  But I shut off that part of my brain to process what I was seeing in front of me.

  The other front of me; not the bodies and blood.

  The cleaner thing, the safer thing to latch onto.

  Dohrein talking to this woman.

  I think this is his mom.

  And if she’s his mom, then…

  Nine doesn’t have a chip on his shoulder because he’s number nine down in the list of her life.

  Nine is a huge grouch because he has to share her with thirteen other hobs.

  My thighs reflexively clench up. How is she even walking right now? Does she enjoy one a day? Two a day in order to make sure everyone gets a turn during a week? Oh fuck…are weeks even counted in seven day increments here? Or here’s a question: why am I fixating on Dohrein’s mom’s sex life, anyway?

  Arokh rubs his hand over my back, not having a clue what I’m thinking – he’s just awesome like that. My Rakhii gladiator.

  Speaking of… Dohrein’s mom has one hulking Rakhii of her own – but surprise, surprise; he is way, waaay off to the side, and a sea of her hobs separates him from her. He looks very uncomfortable as he avoids looking at the stands, or the other Rakhii at all. Afraid of a little guilt by association maybe.

  It seemed to me that it would be a very lonely life if the woman that you put your life on the line for treated you like you were always second class, and her more-than-a-baker’s-dozen other main squeezes treated you like you were second class, and you had no hope of advancing to a position of more importance to her than …background muscle? And he had to put up with Nine? Shit. Life.

  That, and his fellow countryman or kind or whatever were in a whole shitload of trouble just now.

  The Gryfala turned then and looked at all of us. Slowly, she crossed her arms.

  I shivered.

  We were way, way off. No empty bobble headed brainless Barbie here. This female looked sharp, shrewd, calculating. Intimidating.

  Not to mention that she was an incredible knockout.

  That settled it: hobs were attracted to humans because they were desperate. We were ragged little castaways compared to this supermodel.

  And Nine must have mad skills with a brush because her hair was fantastic.

  Unbelievably gorgeous, great hair.

  I hadn’t even showered today.

  I felt instantly at a disadvantage.

  In all ways.

  Nine made his way to her, completely ignoring their son’s presence as if he didn’t exist, and the other hobs parted the way for him without even being told. In his hands he held a GMS screen. He showed her something, murmuring to her, and she responded – but not to the screen. She talked to him, and then he relayed the words she dictated.

  I looked up at Arokh, seeing the underside of his chin, his strong jaw. He must feel me looking because he dropped his gaze to catch my eyes, and his crinkled in brief show of amusement. “Gryfala rarely speak directly to each other. Irascible females.”

  “Right.” I said.

  And Dohrein’s mom was back to looking us over. Her gaze was clinical, penetrating, and chilly, and I felt the hairs on the back of my neck rise under her scrutiny. And I was no longer swaying into Arokh’s chest with every exhale; he was holding his breath.

  “It seems there has been a massive miscommunication,” she begins.

  “Fuck, you think?”

  Ah. Bitchy.

  Some of the women shushed her, no doubt afraid of what an angry Gryfala with all the power could do. Dohrein, standing behind his mother now, shook his head.

  The Gryfala’s eyes narrowed. “Humans,” she mused. “Tiny, defenseless aliens. Yet the trouble you have managed to cause…”

  Eeek.

  She inclined her head when Bitchy managed to keep silent this time. “We were made aware of an unauthorized landing yesterday. When our defense force looked into the matter, they found not one ship, but dozens – the rest had been cloaked and hidden off log. We prepared for the worst. What we didn’t expect was an attack from faithful Rakhii,” her eyes seemed to pierce every one of them as she slowly let the weight of their treachery seep in. I felt Arokh’s muscles go tight and I found his hand, sliding mine down until I was able to weave our fingers together.

  “Let alone our very own,” her eyes found Crispin this time. The bandages that covered his shoulders were a bloody, filthy mess now. He looked down, but his teeth were bared, and instead of looking at the ground in shame, he was staring at the woman in his arms. Like he’d do it all again. For her.

  “Save for a single ship, the rest had full permission to land, and received the cloaking access code from a trusted member of our society.”

  Nine’s head turns so slowly it adds ten whole creepy points, and he fixes his glare on Dohrein.

  “Imagine our force’s shock when they touched down and were met by bonded males and had to act with extreme force to subdue them. That these humans can trigger the bonding instinct and process in such a variety of races… how peculiar.” Her claws tapped together as her expression became downright mercenary.

  Uh oh. I did not have a good feeling about where she was going with this.

  “It’s been ages since we have been introduced to a new race. Your arrival brings so many questions and,” she looked back to Crispin, who was clutching his woman tightly and growling a little like he couldn’t stop himself, “Possibilities.”

  She licked her full, pouty, bottom lip. “Therefore, we propose the following. Offworlders that had permission to touch down on our planet; you killed our hobs. That is an offense punishable by death. Rakhii that attacked hobs; that offense is punishable by death. Crispin,” she clucks her tongue now and for the first time, an almost tender expression flits over her face. “It was reported that you wounded three and strangled Egard, your own nestling.” Her perfect brows lifted prettily as she surveyed the broken, angry mess that looked nothing like the sweet boy I met just days ago. “Punishable by death.”

  Her face held a world’s worth of condemnation now.

  “In light of what we’ve learned, we are prepared to offer an extraordinary... opportunity.” She said this with just a tiny hint of predatory excitement and with a whole lot of anticipation. “Similarities between humans and our kind is quite curious.”

  My stomach curdled.

  Her strides were too elegant to be called pacing, and she was careful not to get too close - but she couldn’t seem to stay still, such was her anticipation. “So we will let the humans decide. Volunteer to let us study you, and we’ll pardon the grievous offenses of your chosen males.” When nobody jumps at that offer, she shrugs halfheartedly and continues like she knew she’d have to roll this threat out. “Don’t wish to compromise? We can always force you into studies. And we will unfortun
ately have to put these warriors down and ruin their family names for a veritable eternity.” Her teeth looked so freaking sharp as her lips pulled up in a facsimile of a smile.

  “What would ‘study’, ah, involve?”

  Arokh’s claws tighten around me, sharp tips pressing in.

  “Angie, no,” he hisses. His tail makes a loud crack as he swings it in agitation. A quick glance tells me all the males are considering their odds of going on the defense. Right now.

  I talk fast, “Needles… scalpels?”

  The Gryfala tips her head, considering.

  Arokh snarls.

  “I’ll-“

  Arokh’s hand clamps over my mouth and a look of clinical fascination takes over the Gryfala’s face - like we’re her own personal nature documentary in the flesh.

  “They do not care for needles, nor procedures,” Dohrein says all offhandedly, cutting in calm as you please as he strides towards… Bitchy?

  The Gryfala’s nose wrinkles in distaste. “Who does?”

  Nine slides his hand between her folded wings and her back. And she turns a brief smile to him. Holy fucking shit. She has a heart.

  Bitchy watched Dohrein as he came close, and she looked like she was playing it cool, but she didn’t move away from him as he crowded her space, ducked down a little to… brush his cheek on her shoulder.

  Bitchy smiled.

  Holy fucking shit. She has a heart.

  Wow. Now I’d seen everything. (And for frick’s sake, I’d seen a lot lately, so this was saying something.) Go Dohrein.

  The Gryfala watched this too, looking… intrigued at her son’s display. Her voice was less frosty when she said, “Some things cannot be avoided but we can agree to make it as humane as possible with no lasting harm-“

  “No!” Arokh cut in.

  “Arokh,” I warned in one of those furiously-serious whispers that are loud enough to be heard but hopefully not overheard. “We’ve got to do this. I can’t let them kill you!”

  His hand tightened enough that my lips mushed and words were no longer possible.