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

by Calista Skye

  I concentrate on keeping my voice steady while not being blinded by his eyes. “I go wherever I want. I thought you not keep slaves, but now you hold me prisoner after all?” I hold up the weapon he gave me.

  His eyes don't blind me. Instead they soften, and I think it's compassion I see. “You're not my prisoner. I understand your eagerness to accept great risk to find your sister. It does you credit. But it would mean the capture and eventual death of both sisters, not just one of them. You are not coming. Nothing good can result from it.”

  My jaw clenches by itself. “I promise you, nothing good can result from not letting me come.”

  Xan'tor nods. “I understand.”

  Frox rolls over to a crate and opens it with one tentacle, peering inside it with one long eyestalk. “I'm afraid he can be very stubborn, Mila. But I think he's right about this. The Bululg are more dangerous than they look.” He closes the crate with a bang.

  “I must come,” I give it one final try. “I only have one sister. Our brother died when— well. Without Emma, I'll be all alone.”

  Xan'tor busies himself with some kind of alien lawn mower. “Better alone than bred by the baron. Frox, do we have that flanged solenoid for the UGS launcher?”

  “What am I, your nanny?” Frox fires back. “Ask Prash. When he gets here. Or rather, when you get back. Don't let the Bululg wait.”

  The blue alien lifts the lawn mower, which is probably a gun of some kind, judging from the way he sights along it. “Probably shouldn't. But I also don't want to seem too eager. I'll be on my way in a couple of hours. Could have sworn I left that solenoid right here...”

  Okay, I can see when I've lost.

  I turn on my heel and march out of the pyramidal room, heading for my own quarters. A plan is taking shape in my mind.

  Walking through the Toblerone corridors, I examine the various heaps of trash with greater interest than before, rummaging through and picking up some of them. When I open the door to the room Xan'tor gave me to sleep in, my arms are full of stuff that could be useful.

  But I'm not done. I search through the room, very carefully. He kept a lot of weapons in here, and maybe in his haste he didn't remove them all.

  I find the first knife after thirty seconds. When my search is over, I'm spoilt for choice. There's a whole heap of weapons on the bed. They're all small, and they include a snub-nosed little thing that has to be a gun and five blades of various sizes and colors, most of them having been hung as decorations on the wall. And there is a thing the size of a longish soda can that looks too much like a small pipe bomb to not be one.

  It's all very alien, but I'm starting to realize that war toys look much the same wherever you go. My Resistance group has prepared a lot of pipe bombs.

  I take in the heap of stuff on the bed. This might actually work. And I have less than two hours. I better get started.

  An hour later I'm done with my preparations, and it's time to sneak into the ship. Now I know the way a little better than last time.

  There's nobody in the Toblerone corridors, and I hurry along over to the pyramid room, stopping right outside the door.

  “—pretty respectable,” I hear Frox's voice. “But she's so small and soft-looking.”

  “Made more for the bedroom than the battlefield,” another voice agrees. I think it's Prash with the gold skin and the horns. “But yes, rare to see that kind of warrior spirit in a female.”

  Having done this before, I pick out the same hidden route through the room as last time. That part worked fine, at least.

  Once more, I tiptoe and crouch and crawl, making my way among the alien stuff in this storage room-slash-social lounge. This time I judge that I'll be out of sight for both Frox and Prash until I'm out of the other door, so I can be quicker about it.

  I'm a little worried that Xan'tor is nowhere to be seen – maybe he has left already?

  I run quietly inside the other giant Toblerone, making sure to pick the right way. And to my relief, the old spaceship we came in is exactly where it was.

  Opening the hatch and ducking inside, I quickly determine that there's no obvious hiding place in the lounge. And if I'm up in the control room, Xan'tor will spot me the moment he gets here.

  But I doubt he'll be using the water-less bathroom before he takes off. So I install myself in there and wait for the ship to take off.

  Ten minutes later, I hear heavy footsteps outside, and a couple of minutes later, the bathroom starts to tremble.

  “Mila,” Ingrid says from behind my back, “you appear to be inside a spaceship that's taking off. I'm sure Population Control would like to hear about your plans!”

  14

  - Xan'tor -

  “You want to say goodbye to Mila?” Frox turns two eyes on me as I enter the Hub.

  “And say what, exactly?” I grunt. “That I'll bring her a memento from her own planet?”

  “Well, I don't know. I just thought she was brave to offer to come, and you kind of shut her down. Hey, I know she can't.”

  “She is brave,” I agree. “And I will show her the respect of not trying to talk more about this. It's very probable that when I return, I will bring conclusive and extremely sad news about her sister.”

  I glance in the general direction of my cabin. The truth is that I would love to see her face again. Right now. But there is nothing to say. There will be much more to say when I return. Not all of it nice.

  I check the ray gun and replace it in its holster, deciding against bringing it. “Well, I'll see the Bululg now. If I don't return, keep in mind that they probably only blame me for the act of piracy. If they kill me in response, they may still be okay doing business with the rest of you.”

  “Very possibly,” Prash says. “But I doubt they will repeat the offer they gave you for this new mission.”

  “So do I.” I turn my back and walk to my ship. My mood is dark. But I'm not sure why.

  I get in, take off from the landing pad, and maneuver out of the hard but invisible magnetic field that keeps the air inside the hangar bay. Then I key in the destination and let the ship fly itself.

  The trip would certainly have been much more pleasant with Mila here. But I shiver at the thought of bringing her back to the place where she was auctioned. Such an insane idea!

  But even having her onboard when I dock carries a great risk that she might be discovered.

  And if that happened… no, I don't want to imagine it.

  I pour a watery drink, bring up a 3D map of Earth, and start planning the big mission.

  - - -

  The autopilot beeps, notifying me I have arrived at Earth. I look up from my studies. The blue and white ball hangs above me, a truly beautiful sight. Not a bad trophy for a freelance general.

  I allow myself a tight smile. The invasion of that place was surprisingly easy, and they gave up quickly. Now that I know Mila, I don't get the impression that she would have given up quite as fast as that. But perhaps she is unusually brave and focused for her species.

  Standing up, I stretch my limbs and locate the Bululg mothership in the distance, disk-shaped and otherwise featureless.

  “State your business,” the communications console says with a clear Bululg accent.

  “General Xan'tor, here to see the Brood Lord,” I state.

  A couple of heartbeats go by.

  “Honored General Xan'tor, release the controls of your craft and wait while the tractor beam pulls it in.”

  “Done.”

  As usual, I feel a strong revulsion at having to deal with the Bululg. They are slave-traders and pretty loathsome in general, having to hire others to fight their wars of conquest. They do pay well, though. And my clan does need me to keep the funds coming. If not, well…

  I shake the thoughts out of my mind. I should get ready for the meeting and make a short visit to the head before the ship lands in the hangar bay of the Bululg mothership.

  In the lounge, Mila's scent is still on the air. It's fresh,
too, as if she had only just left.

  I can't hold back a sigh. Even when light years away, she is present in my mind to such an extent that it fogs my senses.

  I enter the head—

  “Vix—!”

  —and almost enter my Combat Form from sheer shock at seeing an unknown alien sitting on the commode. My reflexes take over, and a split second later I'm pinning the intruder to the floor in the lounge, a black blade held at its throat and my full weight on its body.

  It yelps with a thin, strained voice. “It's just me! Xan'tor! It's Mila!”

  The scent checks out. And when I run my gaze down the body, it's obviously true.

  I release my pressure on her chest, but keep the blade at her throat. “Why?”

  Her eyes are wide and wild beneath me. “Because… Emma! I must find Emma!”

  I have to restrain myself to not slap her face, hard. “Do you have any idea how close you were to death just now?”

  “I'm sorry!” she squeaks.

  I pin her with my weight and my eyes until tears are running down her temples to her ears and she's whimpering pitifully.

  Then I let up, grab her by the neck, and hold her out from me, looking her up and down. “What in space is that you're wearing?”

  “Disguise,” Mila wheezes. “I can't wear the white thing here.”

  She's wearing one of my old robes, but she has cut it to fit her height and then tied it tightly around her. Many pieces of metallic scrap are hanging from it, making dissonant clanking noises when I shake her. Her face is dirty with soot, her hands and arms are covered in cheap, transparent plastics, and her hair is hidden by a coil of thin hydraulic hose. I could have walked right past her on any street, and only her scent would have given her away.

  The shock subsides and gives way to other sensations. There's no sign of her white, tight outfit, so in order to put on this bizarre ensemble she must have stripped completely naked in her cabin. In my cabin.

  And she may well be completely bare under that robe. Even that vague idea creates a pressure in my crotch.

  I gently release her and sheath my knife. “You look ridiculous.”

  She massages her throat. “That's the idea. Even you didn't recognize me.”

  “I didn't.”

  “Do you think the Bululg will?”

  I am a man of honor, so I don't lie. But sometimes telling the truth doesn't strengthen my case, and it can be better to change the subject. “You ruined my robe.”

  “I'm sorry. I can repair it later. It's just that I found nothing else. I can hide here until you've left, then sneak out.”

  The ship shakes as the Bululg tractor beam lets go of it. We're now inside their mothership.

  And I have a problem. The Bululg are strict about who they let in. Not only will I be checked out when I exit my ship; they'll also search the vessel for stowaways and undeclared passengers. They're bound to find her.

  “They're bound to find you.”

  She shrugs. “Hence the disguise.”

  “You're not realizing how serious this is. They will give you right back to the baron.”

  “Only if they see through my disguise.”

  “And they will probably kill me.”

  Her face goes pale behind the streaks of soot. “Oh. I didn't think— can't you pretend not to know me?”

  “They know I took you. Vix! This is a disaster!”

  For once she manages to meet my gaze. “Actually, Xan'tor, it's worse than that. This is war.” Her voice trembles, but for some reason that gives her words more impact.

  My warrior skills kick in, the instinct to pick a course and stay with it. There's only one thing to do. “Stick close to me. I'll claim you as my slave. Nobody would ever believe you're my associate. Walk behind me and do not speak. Keep your head down at all times. Don't look at anyone. Or anything. It's our only chance.”

  An uncertain smile flashes across her round face. “Okay.”

  “We have to leave the ship. But first I need to… hmm. Just wait here for me.”

  I enter the head and do what I had been planning, then return to the lounge. “Let's go.”

  Opening the hatch and stepping out, I spot the usual two Bululg officials. “General Xan'tor to see the Brood Lord. My slave, Vixi.”

  Slaves are common among many alien races, and nobody looks at them twice. Unless they're human females, like this one. Although right now she looks nothing like one. She looks more like one of those scavenger aliens that live on deserted planets.

  To my relief, the Bululg take no notice of Mila. And I can't blame them. She's shapeless and ungainly, and when I stride down the hallway towards the audience chamber, she pretends to limp as she scrambles after me.

  Or is she pretending?

  “Are you well?” I hiss to her when nobody's around.

  “Yes. Is it too much, with the limping?”

  “No, keep it up. It disguises your normal gait.”

  Her normal gait being a sensational sashaying, what with her wide hips and all. It would probably be possible to identify her from that alone.

  We make our way to the brood lord's part of the mothership. The Bululg themselves don't use alien females to procreate – they lay eggs in a process that I once had described to me, and later have tried my best to forget.

  Mila keeps quiet, but whenever I glance behind me I can see her being very alert and checking out her surroundings like a spy would.

  This is war, she said. What exactly is she planning here?

  15

  - Mila -

  I remember these corridors from when I was auctioned off. Was it only a day or two ago? It seems much longer.

  Everything is bare and smooth and impersonal, so different from the messy corridors in Xan'tor's base. They have some evidence of life. Here, there's less life and more terror.

  Xan'tor walks confidently in front of me, but I sense that he takes shorter steps than he could have. It's for my benefit, no doubt about it. He's being considerate. After I totally defied him, hid aboard his ship, and have now placed his life in grave danger. How many other men would have done that? By all rights, he could have turned me in to the Bululg the moment we landed.

  His blue tail swishes back and forth in front of me, his muscular back flexes with each step, and his body looks more than ever like a blue sky with some wispy, white clouds. His whole appearance could have been a little too perfect and the spots would be almost cutesy if it hadn't all been balanced by those brutal, hooked spikes on his arms. The contrast is extremely attractive, and the few aliens we meet totally ignore me because they can't keep their eyes off him. It feels like I could have been naked, and nobody would notice me because Xan'tor commands all the attention without even trying.

  Still, I pretend to limp and try to look as pitiful and defeated as possible. The disguise works fine, and while Ingrid is still strapped to my back, I've turned the phone off so it won't give me away at a bad time.

  This could be my only chance to find out where Emma is. And if the news is bad, well, then I have a contingency plan that should be pretty well suited for the Bululg mothership in orbit around Earth.

  We go through a series of wide doors, each one guarded. Xan'tor identifies himself each time, and the various guards look at me a little closer each time. Most of them are slimy, tentacled girku, but there are some Bululg, too.

  Finally, we pass through a kind of a portal into a semi-dark room. At the far wall there's a raised platform with a huge blob of a yellowish, grease-like material on it, like several tons of half-melted, rancid butter with patches of mold and rot.

  Xan'tor clears his voice. “Honored Brood Lord, I am Xan'tor. I come as called.”

  For a moment, nothing happens.

  Then the blob of butter moves with a sickening sound, like a hundred feet walking through a pool of wet lard. I almost throw up when I realize that the heap of rancid butter is the chief Bululg.

  “The Lord is impatient,” a small Bululg inte
rprets from off to the side. “He wants the conquered to be more still and docile than they presently are.”

  “I know,” Xan'tor says. “And I have already accepted his offer for my assistance.”

  The butter moves again.

  “The Lord wonders if there was some misunderstanding as to the manner of your payment. You appear to think that you could simply take certain goods from the vicinity of this planet, goods that had already been delivered to its new owner. It placed the Lord in a difficult position. Baron Pantoflir was irate.”

  I go cold. That's me they're talking about.

  “Oh,” Xan'tor says. “I thought perhaps, since I was invited to the auction, that I could take my pick of the stock as a part of the settlement. If I misunderstood, then of course I apologize very sincerely to Your Lordship.”

  More sickening noises that go on for so long that I'm seriously going to throw up.

  “The Lord regrets that there are so many misunderstandings when dealing with aliens. He feels that every species should adapt the Bululg way of doing things. It's very simple and straightforward. The value of the item you obtained will be subtracted from the agreed fee for the new mission. The Lord trusts that you will complete it as well and as quickly as the last one. He now asks when you will begin.”

  Xan'tor nods once. “I will begin when the preparations are complete. We must be certain of the outcome. I think a few days more. The plans are still being made.”

  “The Lord now wishes that you leave. You will talk further with his assistant, the Underlord Glur.”

  Great. I can't wait to get out of this incredibly creepy place.

  Xan'tor doesn't move. He stands there like a deadly mountain, feet wide apart, showing no intention to leave. “Before I go, I have one question, Your Lordship.”

  There's a short sound like a rotten egg breaking.

  “The Lord asks what the question is.”