Anna and the Alien: A SciFi Alien Romance (Alien Abduction Book 1) Read online

  The delicate figure was still turned away but she flipped a wrist before answering slowly. “I for money. But not pay.”

  It took a minute to work through that one. “They are holding you for ransom? But your family won’t pay?”

  “No. Never pay Ithyians.”

  “Ithyians? Are they the ones who have us?”

  “Yes.”

  “But what will they do when your family doesn’t pay?”

  Melia finally looked back and her eyes were wide and shining with tears. “Slave still good price.” Her hand slipped to her stomach. “Two better.”

  “Oh my god. You’re pregnant. Do they know?”

  “Not now. Soon.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Anna reached out her hand to the wall and after a moment, Melia laid her fingers on the other side, all six of them. A shiver passed through Anna, the sense of wrongness fighting with the compassion she felt, but she kept her hand pressed to the wall and tried to smile reassuringly.

  After a minute, Anna asked, “Why did they come after me? I have no one to ransom me.” Well, that wasn’t strictly true, but she couldn’t imagine her boss paying ransom fees to an alien race.

  Melia shook her head, but before she could speak, footsteps echoed down the corridor. Both women backed away from the side wall and Anna could see Melia trembling as she retreated to her bunk, her hair starting to whip around her face.

  Two men were approaching and, for a moment, Anna was relieved. They looked human enough, perhaps a little shorter and stockier than the norm—and considerably hairier—but nothing too far off. However, as they approached, preceded by a smell that made her nose curl, she could see the cruelty on their faces; cruelty and…lust. Anna was suddenly conscious of the brevity of the white shift and moved back against her bunk as Melia had.

  They stopped outside her cell and stared at her. Both of them wore gray jumpsuits tucked into boots with some type of insignia on the shoulder. The shorter one could even have been handsome if not for the savagery in his gaze. He let his eyes roam over her body and licked his lips, and she couldn’t conceal a shudder of revulsion. His resulting smile was the most terrifying thing she had ever seen. The taller guard seemed older, with a streak of white hair behind one ear. He, too, surveyed her body with a terrifying intensity but leered less openly than his companion.

  “Come, slave.” The voice was harsh and Anna was terrified to hear the underlying growls—growls that reminded her of her first awakening on the ship. She shook her head. Another growl, not translated, and one of them pressed a button on his belt. A section of the bars at the front of the cell disappeared and both men entered.

  “Wh-what do you want?” Her voice quivered.

  “Come,” the tall one ordered. Before she could react, each grabbed a wrist and yanked her from the cell. Momentary relief that she was not about to be raped fought with fear as they pulled her across the corridor in front of the cell that held the unconscious man. The shorter man yanked her against his body. The stench was overwhelming and she shuddered as she felt his erection pushing against her ass. His free hand headed toward her breast but the taller man knocked it away with a scowl. “No damage.”

  Anna’s sob of relief was cut short as he manipulated the button at his belt once again and one bar disappeared from the cell wall, leaving a narrow opening that he immediately pushed her through. It was a tight fit and it pulled her shift away from her body, revealing her breast to the smirking pair. The shorter man reached for her again and she leapt back, only to stumble as the lion animal threw itself against the cell wall. She backed to the farthest wall, an unfortunately small distance, and looked from the unconscious man to the guards behind the bars once more in place.

  “Fix or die.” The tall guard nodded toward the bunk.

  “Fix? You want me to fix him? But I’m not a doctor. Why would you think…” The words were tumbling out but there was no reaction from the guards.

  “Fix or die.”

  Shaking, Anna turned to the man in the bunk. As she had seen previously, he was enormous, his head and feet crammed against each end of the bunk. This close, she could also see that he was definitely not human. His skin was an odd metallic bronze color that almost shimmered in the overhead lights. What had appeared to be hair from a distance was actually darker sections of skin. Nothing concealed the strong lines of his face – cheeks and brow ridge higher and sharper than human, nose and ears flatter and closer to his head, and a surprisingly sensual mouth. A hard face but not repulsive and, at least in repose, not cruel. A gash across one side of his head made her flinch in sympathy.

  He was bare-chested and she let her gaze travel down his body, flinching again as she took in the collar digging into his neck and the bruises and gashes covering the broad expanse of his chest. Metal cuffs fastened his wrists to the bunk but the cruel links looked small next to the muscles that banded his arms. Her gaze slipped lower, to tight leather pants which clung to long legs, before horror filled her as she took in the terrible wound on his left leg. His legs were splayed, fastened down by ankle cuffs, revealing every detail of the injury. The skin was gashed open almost to the bone from his thigh down to his knee, the edges of the wound jagged and torn, and even as she watched, blood dripped down to pool on the bunk. The raw flesh and muscle was sickening, and she clenched an arm across her stomach as she turned to face the guards who still stood by the cell bars.

  “I can’t fix that.”

  “Fix or die,” the guard repeated. She could certainly see how he would die without help but she couldn’t—“Both die.”

  The meaning of that statement was all too clear. It didn’t look like she had a choice. Teeth chattering, she tried to think. The closest she had ever come to first aid was watching medical shows on television. The only obvious solution was to clean and bandage the wound. She turned back to the guards and tried to sound confident.

  “I need supplies—something to clean and sew up the wound and bandage it. Surely you have a medical kit on board.”

  After another growled conversation which her translator didn’t translate, the shorter guard left, returning moments later with a box. The two huddled over the box and then caused a bar to lift high enough to slide a few items under. Anna approached the bars cautiously and raised her head in disbelief. All they had given her was a long curved needle, some type of thread, and a square of cloth.

  “That’s it? Isn’t there anything else?”

  “No weapon.”

  “I don’t want weapons. I want medical supplies—what about bandages, antibiotics, scissors to cut his pants away from the wound?”

  “No weapon.”

  This time Anna growled as she turned away in frustration. Her stomach knotted and she pushed down another wave of nausea. This was impossible, she couldn’t do it. Unfortunately, it looked like she had to; both of their lives were depending on her non-existent medical skills.

  “At least let me have water to wash the wound.”

  The taller guard pointed to one side of the bunk. Surely he didn’t mean the toilet? With no other choice, she ran her finger where he had pointed. Sure enough, there was another button and this time a basin emerged from underneath with a small spigot. Harsh laughter filled her ears as she searched for a way to turn it on before she realized that it was motion activated and dampened the small square of fabric. The cloth foamed slightly and she could only hope that it contained some sort of soap or antibiotic. Holding the cloth in one hand, she ran her other hand tentatively down the alien’s arm. His skin was warm and dry to her touch, strangely textured but silky smooth beneath her fingertips. This close to him she could catch his scent, a combination of musk and spice, which was curiously soothing.

  Trying to put off the inevitable, she started by bathing the head wound and the gashes on his upper body. He was covered with dirt and blood, and she wet the cloth over and over. The darker patches of skin over his chest seemed to have protected him and, fortunately, most of the wounds were s
uperficial. As she cleaned him, she couldn’t help noticing the taut muscles beneath her hands, the strength in every line of his hard body. She hadn’t been with a man in a long time and never with one so powerfully built. Dismayed with the direction her thoughts were taking, she forced herself to concentrate on her task. Old scars marred his skin in several places and the knowledge that he had survived previous wounds gave her a little hope. Her hands moved more and more slowly, but finally there was nothing more to do except tend to his mangled leg.

  As gently as she could, she sponged away the blood and pushed the torn pant leg back from the wound, trying desperately not to be sick at the sight of the raw flesh. The gash started high on his upper thigh and she was uneasily aware of the large bulge that her hand was brushing as she tried to expose the wound enough to clean it. Another harsh laugh made it clear that her guards were equally aware, but she moved her body as best she could to block their view. At last the wound was as clean as she could make it, but it was still oozing blood and she knew that she was going to have to try and sew it closed.

  Her hands were shaking so hard she could barely thread the needle, and a panicked voice was screaming in her head that she couldn’t do this. She had never had surgery but she vaguely remembered seeing sutures removed on television and she was sure that they were lots of neat little individual stitches. There was no way she would be able to do that without scissors, even if she knew how. Her sewing skills were pretty much limited to modifying hemlines and that was going to have to do. For a moment, hysteria threatened to overcome her at the thought of sewing a man’s leg like she was turning up a pair of pants, but she forced it down, forced a deep breath, and forced her shaking hand to still.

  The needle slid into his flesh more easily than she had expected and she drew another deep breath as she made the first stitch. Maybe this would be OK after all. Just then a hand closed around her wrist with bone-crushing force, and as she tried to jerk away, she looked up to see one wide awake and very angry male staring at her. His eyes were cat-like with no whites and dark rims surrounding irises of pure white gold. They seemed to burn into her, but, despite his rage, they were stunningly beautiful.

  “P-Please, I’m just trying to help you,” she gasped.

  “Ithyian,” he snarled, and now she could see sharp white teeth and oh God, were those fangs behind those full lips? His wrist was still restrained but she couldn’t pull away from the strength of his fingers as he clenched harder.

  “No, I’m human.” Tears sprang to her eyes from the pain in her wrist. “Please. I’m a prisoner just like—” She broke off as he growled again and looked past her to the front of the cell, taking in the two guards standing there. As she followed his gaze, she noticed they had moved back, way back, from the bars. How could they be so frightened of a bound, injured man? But even as that thought crossed her mind, she couldn’t deny her own fear. The massive body, the strength of his hands, even the sharp intelligence in his quick glance, gave every indication of a formidable enemy.

  He was still taking in his surroundings, and she realized he had seen the other woman when he muttered the string of incomprehensible syllables that made up Melia’s name. Even in the midst of her fear, that puzzled her. What did the gentle woman and this fierce man have in common? They obviously weren’t the same race.

  The sound of vicious snarls finally penetrated her shock and she noticed that the lion animal had been throwing itself against the joint cell wall since the man’s first word. The man shifted his gaze to the wall and made an answering snarl. She froze at the sheer ferocity of the sound, but the animal stopped throwing itself at the wall and sat, its tail switching furiously. The force of the animal’s attack had left tracks of blood on the clear panel. As soon as the animal quieted, the man shifted his gaze back to Melia, but the grasp on Anna’s wrist was becoming increasingly painful and she tried to wiggle her fingers to relieve the pressure. Immediately, his fiery stare turned to her.

  “She’s a prisoner, too.” She winced at the obviousness of the statement but it was all she could think of to break the tension. The anger in his eyes only increased so she gathered her courage and leaned close enough to whisper in his ear. “There is nothing you can do about it right now. You have to heal first.”

  Moving back, she spoke a little louder. “I’m just trying to help. Your leg is injured—the wound needs to be closed.”

  She gestured toward the leg and saw with horror that the gash was bleeding more heavily as he strained against the ankle cuffs.

  “Please, stop moving.” The leather of his pants was soft beneath her fingers as she laid her free hand cautiously on his uninjured leg. His muscles tensed at her touch and she patted him gently, trying to ignore the corded strength beneath the leather. As soon as she felt the slightest release of the tension in his leg, she held up the needle. “I…I don’t really know what I’m doing, but I can try and close it.”

  He looked at the needle and then back at her, his eyes burning into her until she could feel her skin heating. Slowly, he surveyed her features, frowning briefly at the bruise on her forehead before running an appraising glance down her body. His gaze had an almost physical presence and, despite her fear, despite the guards, despite the pain in her wrist, she felt her already sensitive nipples tighten. When he looked back at her face, their eyes locked. Lost in the whirls of gold, she couldn’t force herself to look away and for a brief second, everything else disappeared. Finally, he growled again and released her gaze, taking another quick glance down her body before freeing her hand.

  “Begin.” He gestured to the leg before fixing his eyes on the ceiling.

  This was twice as terrifying, knowing he was awake, knowing he would feel everything she did. Once again, she forced herself to take a deep breath and still her shaking hands. Just like hemming pants. Still she hesitated with the needle poised above his skin until she realized that waiting for her to begin was probably making this harder for him. She clenched her teeth and inserted the needle. He didn’t make a sound but his whole body tightened.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. For a moment his eyes met hers and a look she couldn’t read flashed across his face. He nodded his head the tiny amount allowed by the collar and then resumed his study of the ceiling. Anna continued the stitches, drawing the wound together as evenly as she could. The man’s body remained tight but unflinching, although a cold sweat was beginning to cover his skin.

  As she drew closer to the top of his thigh, the awkward position caused her hand to brush against the large bulge between his legs. His body seemed to tighten even further and she drew back, trying to find some way to continue without touching him. She bit her lip and glanced up to find him looking down at her once more. His bronzed skin seemed notably paler but she thought she detected a look of amusement in his eyes. With a start she realized that his eyes had changed color, moving into a richer gold.

  “Continue,” he growled softly. She nodded and returned to the task at hand. Despite her best efforts, the back of her hand brushed lightly against him multiple times as she completed the last five stitches. Each time she made contact with the smooth leather covering his cock, she felt him twitch against her hand. By the time she tied off the final stitch, she was both horrified and fascinated to see a large and obvious erection straining against the tight leather. Giving in to a sudden, crazy impulse, she ran her entire hand lightly across him as she straightened up at last.

  For one searing instant, her eyes met his, before a loud laugh from the bars startled her and she jumped, turning rapidly to see the guards back at the bars. They had obviously noticed his erection as well, because the shorter one sneered. “Likes pain.”

  Blushing, she turned back to her patient, but his eyes were shut. She hovered over him uncertainly, but he didn’t move and she finally concluded that he had passed out at last stitch. The jagged line of stitching up his thigh worried her but the wound was closed and the bleeding had almost stopped. She picked up the cloth,
intending to clean the blood from the bunk but an impatient voice interrupted her.

  “Come, slave,” the tall guard demanded. He was standing at the bars gesturing her forward. Suddenly, reluctant to leave, she cast a hesitant glance back at her patient. Despite his fierce aspect and painful grasp, she felt safer here than with the two guards.

  “Come.”

  Even though she had a suspicion that the guards wouldn’t enter the cell, she decided she didn’t have a choice and moved to the entrance. As soon as she was close enough the single bar disappeared and the short guard grabbed her and pulled her through. Her tunic caught on the bars again, revealing her ass which he immediately grabbed in a painful clasp. Before she could cry out, the tall guard knocked his hand away but his nails left painful scratches across the soft flesh of her buttock as he withdrew. There was a growl from the lion animal and she wondered uneasily if he was reacting to the scent of her blood.

  The guards pushed her back across the corridor and into her cell before disappearing down the passage. Anna just made it to the bunk before she collapsed. Curling into a ball, she stared numbly down at her hands, still spattered in the man’s blood. Without quite knowing why, she brought them to her cheek. Beneath the coppery scent of the blood was a hint of the man’s spicy scent and she breathed it in as she let exhaustion take her.

  Chapter Three

  Jakkar kept his eyes closed as the little human left the cell. Despite his initial accusation, he had known almost immediately that she wasn’t Ithyian. Her features were too delicate, her body too lushly curved, and her scent entirely too delicious for her to be part of that race of animals. As his anger receded, he had realized that she, too, was a prisoner. With no other alternative, he had submitted to her ministrations. He had been impressed by her courage as she attended to him. It was obvious that she was terrified and that she had no medical skills but she had completed her task with a dogged determination that he admired.