Alien Creep: An Alien Shifter Romance (Alien Abductors Book 1)

by Calista Skye

  Especially up. Oh my, this feels really good.

  I swallow in a dry throat. The wound is about halfway down my thigh, but the tingling heat travels fast and is about to reach a very special spot… I hold my breath.

  Xan'tor straightens, leans away, and spits something at the far wall. “Feeling better?”

  I almost want to ask him to continue, but I manage to catch myself and prod the injury. It's now looking red and swollen, with some blood coming through. It stings, like I would expect it to. “Yes. Very.”

  “Very better? There was a small part of the spike still in there, spreading nastiness. One more day, and you might have lost that leg. And then your life the next day.”

  “How you… your mouth?” I point to my own and then his to make sure he understands.

  “My species has certain abilities,” he says and gets to his feet. “Healing infected wounds is only one of them. Very useful for a warrior species. Can you stand up?” He reaches a massive hand down to me.

  I grab it, and he yanks me up like I weigh nothing. My knees feel weak, and not all of that is because I almost died from suffocation.

  “Thank you,” I say again. “You save my life three times.”

  His eyes bore into me. “That is the kind of thing that should not be counted. What if you now save my life three times, but not the fourth, because you only owe me three?”

  I look down like an errant schoolgirl. “Okay. Sorry. I won't. I mean, I will. Save your life.”

  “Hopefully you will never have to. Let's go.”

  He's still holding my hand, so I'm pulled along. But this time he doesn't hold me too hard, and it feels like I can easily get my hand out of his grip. For some reason, that makes me not want to.

  “Follow my steps,” he says and suddenly walks up the wall, which immediately becomes the floor. “The gravity does strange things here.”

  I only stumble a little at the discontinuity, using Xan'tor's steady hand for support. “Why?”

  “Spaceships need gravity inside them. Here the whole system has gone haywire, we think. Or maybe the aliens that built this old heap liked it like this. They certainly liked triangles.”

  “Where we go?”

  “Back to the same place. I was going to put you in my own room. Just you, alone,” he adds with emphasis. “I will find another place for myself.”

  I have an impulse to say 'no, it's okay,' but insisting on living in the same quarters is really not appropriate.

  Yet.

  I frown at my own thoughts. I've known this guy for a few hours, and now I’m fantasizing about sharing a room with him? Okay, I've been close to death, and I should be allowed some dizziness. And certainly it can't be all that crazy to kind of like the guy who's saved my life thr- many times by now.

  “Call off the search,” Xan'tor says when we walk through the main room. “I found her.”

  Frox turns half of his eyestalks at us. “Yes, I can see that. I also saw that the door opened again. You jumped out into the void to get her, didn't you?”

  “Maybe,” Xan'tor says airily, pulling me along. “It was perfectly safe. It's not like I jumped into space.”

  The eyestalks wave with frustration. “You know full well that you might as well have. We know nothing about that void. You could easily have died out there! I will remind you that we agreed in the beginning that we would not risk our lives on ventures with small profits—”

  “I remember,” Xan'tor cuts him off as we pass out the other door. “And I still agree. But I can do what I want with my own life.”

  We walk back along the corridor. The heap of alien stuff I pulled down to slow him is blocking our progress, but Xan'tor tosses some of the things out of the way.

  I tiptoe around the strange objects. “You really risk your life to get me?”

  “It's a bad place to be, that void. But worse for you than for me, I figured.”

  “Thank you. I feel you risk a lot for me.”

  He gives me a yellow glance.

  We turn a corner and pass another heap, and then a door in the side of the corridor slides open. Behind is something that looks like a hotel room. Or a very roomy prison cell. It smells like Xan'tor, and it has that triangular shape that I'm starting to get used to.

  “I'll just take out some things here,” Xan'tor says and grabs some pieces of fabric and assorted alien objects that look like weapons. “That's the bed. The hygienic facilities are through there. Everything should be clean. For food, just come into the Pyramid and Frox will get you something.”

  I sit down on the bed. It's wide and low and covered by some alien material that's cool and soft to the touch. It quickly shapes itself after me, and soon it feels like I'm sitting on air. “You not lock door?” I ask.

  Xan'tor gives the room a final sweeping look, then bends down and picks a long, black sword out from under the bed. “I not lock door. But keep in mind that many, many things in this old spaceship can kill you. If you want to walk around, let me know.”

  “I will,” I yawn. “Sorry. Not you are boring. I had long day, only.”

  “You did,” the alien agrees, cradling enough alien weapons to both start and win a medium-sized war. “And I hope your night will be less eventful.” He steps out into the corridor, banging some blades and guns on the doorway. “Good sleep.”

  “Wait.”

  He raises his alien eyebrows.

  I bite my lip. What I actually want to say is 'stay here'. But on second thought… “Why you are doing these things for me?”

  “You tell me.” He pierces me with those suns until the door slides shut.

  I lie back on the bed. He's intense.

  Then I grab my phone. “Ingrid. Can you run the subconscious learning program for Interspeech?”

  “Mila,” the phone chirps, “I have collected enough data on Interspeech to run a full Intermediary level program, with elements of Advanced and Expert. I will start it at level five. Will you be going to sleep?”

  The bed shapes itself after me, and it appears to be a material as malleable as clay. It's like a firm cloud that I can shape any way I want. I grab some of the material and knead it to a shape that can support my head. “I definitely will, Ingrid. Right now.”

  But I don't.

  Relaxing like this is the last thing I need. The worry about Emma just gains in intensity and takes over my thoughts. I seem to be somewhat safe right now. But even a girl as resourceful and smart as her may not be able to get out of the serious pickle that she must be in. Those Bululg were so determined and icy…

  “Douh vae pehn. You are pretty. Vae douh suhl ten? Are you hungry?”

  Ingrid starts her sleep learning program, speaking soft Interspeech and English in a way that is carefully designed to make a language embed itself in your brain even when you're asleep.

  “Yaeh bohr merek,” Ingrid says softly. “I live here.”

  I tighten my hands into fists. Nope, sleep is the furthest thing from my mind right now. No chance.

  “Masanet duih brout. That's your hand. Yaeh rakehr daeg. I like you.”

  13

  - Mila -

  I wake up and take a second to remember where I am.

  Ah. The ancient spaceship. The aliens. The suffocation.

  Xan'tor.

  My heart jumps a little when I think of him. One small point of light in the desperate darkness.

  I hope.

  “Barenat chonm aviot vrien, samaten mene yskalis byunox hel va, min revaretas baday sen. The secretary has no recollection of this particular item, but it should be in the protocol. Metalyt grex weniut'siom ark moene tyuinist erekat som hyr spro cret minusin. The annual turnover has on average increased by nineteen percent, just from the insurance division.”

  What the hell?

  “Ingrid,” I say, my voice crusty with sleep. “How long has that program been running?”

  “Nine hours and fourteen minutes, including the necessary breaks,” the phone informs me. “I sens
e that you are now awake, so I will end it.”

  “Fine. What level is it at?”

  “The learning program is at Expert level nineteen. Next time I will start at level eleven. The repetition will be good for you if you think you will be giving technical presentations to engineers or scientists.”

  I rub my eyes. “That must be why I'm feeling so tired. Actually, next time let me sleep without that thing running. Not sure if I will be giving presentations anytime soon”

  “Okay, Mila. The program is more effective when not running every night.”

  I stretch and yawn. My brain is exhausted, like I've been writing essays on English Lit all night long, but I know that feeling will pass.

  By the time I figure out the alien shower, I'm actually feeling pretty good and refreshed.

  The space-age latex hugs me tight, and the door slides open when I walk up to it.

  I make my way to the pyramid room.

  “Mila,” Frox says, one eyestalk focusing on me. “Were you able to get some rest?”

  “I was. How about you?” I lean my hip against a crate.

  “Oh, I don't need much rest. Just an hour or two every couple of years.”

  I frown. “Every couple of years?”

  “On my planet, there are so many predators that sleeping is the one activity that's the most dangerous. So we evolved not to need much of it. I suppose you'll be needing some food as well? Your kind usually does.”

  “And yours doesn't need that, either?”

  “We do. But we're very picky. How did you like the stuff you got on the ship? On the way here?”

  “It was fine. What does your kind eat?”

  The eyestalk stretches another foot towards me and sweeps up and down, taking me in. “Humans, mostly.”

  I go cold. “Really?”

  The stalk withdraws. “No, not really. The things we eat are of a nature that other species prefers not to see. They find it disgusting. I'll make you something you like, just a moment.”

  I breathe out again. “Is Xan'tor around, by any chance?”

  “He is here somewhere. Possibly sleeping? It seems to be what other species do most of the time. Congratulations on your new Interspeech skills, by the way. Much better.”

  “Oh. Thank you.” I quickly review what I just said. And yeah, the alien language comes easier to me now. Much easier.

  My heart jumps again when Xan'tor walks in from the other door, all spikes and muscle and tail and presence.

  “Uranium stores are low, Frox. Order more for delivery on Crymp. Not the 235 this time, please. We're not looking to build a bomb. Get the nice stuff that won't kill us, just the things we shoot at. Hello, Mila. Did you rest well?”

  I give him a little smile, noticing how his gaze lingers on my chest. That white latex does bring it out. “I did, thank you. Your bed is very comfortable.”

  He sits down, reading on a thin pad of some kind. “I always thought so. Your Interspeech has improved during the night, too. Maybe you just needed the rest.”

  “Maybe.”

  Frox hands me a steamy bowl of something that smells like rice and beans. “This is perfectly nutritious, but the flavor might not be to your liking. Let me know how to adjust it.”

  I taste it, finding it bland but pleasant enough. I wouldn't want to eat too spicy alien things. “It's fine, thanks.”

  The blue giant goes over to a stack of crates and rummages around.

  My eyes follow him automatically, attracted by the barely controlled power in him. And the little spark of fear he sets off in me. He has something of a wild predator in him, something unpredictable and deadly. I could easily get accustomed to being around him, but I would never get used to it. I have no reason to think that he would hurt me. He has done exactly the opposite. But the most primal part of me knows that he is the deadliest creature I've ever seen.

  I cross my legs and squeeze my thighs, just to increase the hot surge I'm suddenly feeling right there... oh my, this is crazy.

  He turns and comes over to me. “You're very concerned about not being a slave, Mila. And I absolutely approve. The way to separate slaves and prisoners from those who are free is that slaves never carry a weapon. Everyone else does. I'm sure it must be the same on your planet.”

  “Umm... not really...”

  “No? Remarkable. I myself don't always use weapons, because I have other ways to handle dangerous situations. But I think you should have this.” He gives me an alien object.

  I gingerly turn it over in my hands. It looks like a tiny pizza cutter, with a small handle and a wheel. Except the wheel is transparent and the size of a quarter. The edge is serrated like a buzzsaw, except it has a complicated, three-dimensional look.

  “What is it?”

  “It's one of the deadlier weapons that don't require charging or ammunition. May I?”

  I hand the thing back, and Xan'tor takes it between two fingers.

  “You hold it like this, and then you throw it like this.” He flicks his wrist, and a high, piercing whine fills the room for a split second before there's a little thud.

  He shows me the object which is now only the handle. The wheel is gone.

  I frown. “Where is it?”

  Xan'tor smiles. “Let's find it.”

  We walk over to the wall of the pyramid-shaped room, and there is the wheel, almost completely buried in the hard metal.

  “That's remarkable!” I exclaim. “You didn't even throw it that hard.”

  He pulls it out and reattaches it to the small handle. “It is very sharp. Don't throw it at something you don't want destroyed. You will probably never have to use it. Just so you don't feel like a slave. There is a small holster for it, too. It's typically worn at the small of the back. Don't use it until you've practiced with it. It will be just as dangerous to you as to your enemy.” He gives it to me again.

  I smile, truly grateful for him being so considerate. “Thank you. It's a very nice thing.”

  It really is, too. It must be a hard crystal, extremely hard and resilient. Even being thrown at a metal wall hasn't made a mark on it.

  He smiles right back, and it's like those hard, yellow suns soften.

  For a second we just stand there.

  “Xan'tor,” Frox says, “there is a message from the Bululg. They want to see you as soon as possible.”

  Xan'tor frowns. “In person?”

  “In person. Probably so they can kill you on sight. You must have really pissed them off.”

  “Did they say why?”

  “They say they want to discuss the new mission. Obviously a trick.”

  “It would make perfect sense to discuss the mission in person. They always do. So no, this is not a ruse. The Bululg are too direct for that. Where do they want to meet?”

  Frox slowly directs all his eyestalks at Xan'tor. “You're not seriously considering actually meeting them, are you? After… you know.” One long tentacle points straight at me and stretches across the room, the tip coming so close I could reach out and touch it.

  “No,” Xan'tor says calmly. “I'm not considering it. I'm going. Where? Earth, right?”

  “This is crazy. You'll walk right into a swarm of their fresks! They'll just kill you and be done with it. Probably, the baron is there so he can watch you die. In that case, it might be slow and painful.”

  Xan'tor gives me a brief smile. “I doubt the baron would try to breed me, Frox. And I suspect that I'm too valuable to the Bululg for them to kill me on sight. Anyway, the new mission is a big one. The payment, I mean. You don't want me to refuse it, do you?”

  Frox turns most of his eyes back to what he was doing. “I don't. Very well. They're at Earth, of course. But I'm not coming. You want to walk into an obvious trap, you're on your own.”

  “I wouldn't want it any other way.”

  I fill the alien spoon with food. “I'll come with you.”

  They both stare.

  “Now, Mila,” Frox says slowly. “The Bulul
g are very nasty. You know that already. You should do your best to never get close to any Bululg ever again. If they spot you, they'll take you and give you to the baron once more. And Xan'tor will be too dead to rescue you.”

  “I'll stay out of sight,” I promise. “Or maybe I'll put on a disguise. Because the Bululg have my sister. I will rescue her from them. At any cost and any risk.”

  The room is very quiet. Xan'tor looks at me thoughtfully.

  “Mila,” Frox says, “if the risk is being captured by the Bululg, again, then surely it's too great? How can you help your sister or anyone else when you're busy being bred by the baron?”

  “I won't get captured,” I state with a certainty I don't feel. “If I do, I'll kill myself.”

  “I doubt they will let you do that,” Frox says mildly. “You're not the first young Earth female they’ve dealt with. They know how to take care of their merchandise.”

  I point to all the weapons and equipment in the room. “Among all this, there must be kind of explosion object that I can use to blow myself up if I think I'll be captured. You not think I willing to do it? I'm a resistance fighter. I knew it probably kill me. And nobody going to keep me from doing whatever I can to find and rescue my sister.” My Interspeech breaks down a little with the rising emotions.

  Frox's eyestalks swivel and wave. “Your sentiment is all very honorable and pure. But the thing is that the Bululg… they… hmm.”

  “Your sister is lost forever,” Xan'tor says firmly. “She has very probably been sold already. At this very moment, she's being bred to death by some horrific alien being. She can't be saved. It is impossible.”

  “You were able to rescue me,” I point out. “And yeah, I know there's not much time. But she still was in a cell when I was sold. Still, there is hope!”

  “Hope is misplaced where the Bululg are concerned,” Xan'tor says darkly. “It's too dangerous. They will spot you and take you again. That's a risk I'm— a risk we're not prepared to take.”

  “It's not up to you!” I fire back, getting mad. “This is my choice! Take me to the Bululg and then just tell me to get lost. I'll take my chances with them.”

  Xan'tor gets up and fixes me with his twin suns. “No. You're not coming. When I see the Bululg, I'll do what I can to find out where your sister is and what happened to her. But it is probably not something you'd want to know.”