by Maia Tanith
Mated to the Alien Warrior
Maia Tanith
Chapter One
Hannah
I whip my head around to look behind me. What was that noise I heard? A dull roar and rumble followed by an unearthly screech.
Nothing there.
I must be imagining things.
I pick up my pace a bit. The wind in the trees above me howls and moans.
Odd, there’s hardly a breeze down at ground level.
The park is deserted as it always is at this time, when the daylight is fading and night is coming on. I’m not worried about the lack of people around. I’ve done this walk a thousand times before and I’ve never felt the slightest frisson of danger. My little town is as safe as it comes, and everyone knows me.
Even so, an uneasy feeling snakes down my spine, as if someone is watching me.
Just then I feel a hand on my shoulder and I spin around angrily. “What the—“ I start to say, ready to yell at the friend who has crept up behind me and startled me.
It’s not a friend. Or even a stranger.
No, it’s far worse than that.
It’s not even a human.
It looks like it has stepped straight from the stills of a made-for-Netflix movie. It stands on two legs, towering over me by at least a foot. Hunched shoulders with a thick neck. A not-quite-human face with an elongated snout and laid-back ears. It reminds me of a hyena.
Even the body is hyena-like. His skin is mottled, with a covering of thick hair. And yes, it is definitely a he.
That is the last thought I manage. I feel the jab of a needle in my arm. Before I get the chance to scream, everything goes black.
I wake to the sound of sobbing. I’m lying on the floor and the cold is seeping into my bones through my light clothes. When I open my eyes, all I see is a blank grey ceiling above me. Not even a light bulb.
I’m surrounded by other people. All of them women, and about the same age as me – twenty-five, though I’m so slightly-built that I can pass for a lot younger when I want a half-price college student ticket. We are in a room with no windows. I can’t even see where the door is. Just blank grey walls everywhere made from the same cold stuff that I’m sitting on. It feels more like a large metal box than a room.
A noisy metal box.
I can hear a rattling wheeze like a huge air conditioner and feel a slight breeze on my face. Good. Fresh air. I don’t have to worry about suffocating.
A dull roar starts up in the background, and the entire room starts to vibrate. Slowly at first but getting stronger and stronger by the second until it feels like the entire place is going to shake apart. Somewhere outside the metal box we are caged in, pipes are hissing and metal joints are clanking. And the roar intensifies until it is so loud my ears hurt.
The metal box suddenly tilts, and all of us are sent flying to land in a pile of bruises and barked shins in one corner. I shriek in pain and fright as I tumble over and land heavily on one hip. Moments later, another woman lands on me, catching my stomach hard with her elbow, and I shriek again.
One of the women – she looks barely out of her teens – starts screaming, a high-pitched wail that goes on and on without a break. The sound puts my nerves on edge, and I want to start screaming in sympathy. Maybe screaming would make this horror go away.
Someone else slaps her, and her screaming subsides into broken crying.
My ears pop and I shake my head to clear them.
The roar is fading now, and the floor gradually returns to a level position. We all stay huddled in one corner, hugging the floor. None of us want to go flying again.
A huge jolt makes me jump. The screamer gives a piercing wail, but a glare from the woman who slapped her before makes her stop before we all start screaming, too.
Then a series of smaller jolts and some clanks, and the roar fades away to nothing.
There is silence in the room. Nothing but the buzz of the air circulation system, and some quiet sniffles and sobs from the occupants.
“That was one hell of a rough landing,” the woman sitting right next to me says shakily. “Worse even than landing in Chicago in a thunderstorm. The pilot should be fired.” Her face is mint green. I hope she doesn’t throw up on me. Nights out on the town have taught me that you never quite manage to get the smell of vomit out of your clothes. I ruined a couple of my favorite outfits that way before I learned.
“Fuck yeah,” one of the other women mutters. “So, what now?”
We are all silent. I don’t like to think about what lies ahead.
I look around at the scared faces of my fellow captives.
None of us do.
A panel on the wall nearest to me slides open with a clank. I get onto my hands and knees and shuffle out of the way as quickly as I can. I have a feeling that I’m not going to like what comes through that door.
Two of those hyena men stalk in, their eyes darting to every corner of the room, assessing us, cataloguing us.
I was right. I don’t like it at all.
They are even uglier in the light. Their lips are turned up in a permanent snarl, and their spine curves over at the top, giving them a hunched appearance. Wrapped around their narrow hips is a belt on which hangs an assortment of weapons. They don’t look much like any gun I’ve ever seen before, but the intimidating grey and black barrels make it clear they are not to be messed with.
The larger one is carrying a huge bullwhip in his hand, and he cracks it over our heads. The very tip of the whip catches me on the arm and a bolt of red-hot fire streaks through me.
I scream in pain and shock, and the hyena man bares his teeth and howls with laughter.
He cracks it again and I cower on the floor away from him. The cut on my arm fucking hurts. The whip has sliced right through my sleeve and into my skin, and I am dripping blood onto the floor.
He laughs again. “See the vermin crawl,” he says in a hoarse voice.
“Knock it off,” the shorter, darker hyena-man growls. “Don’t damage the merchandise.”
Big hyena-man gives his whip another crack. “This lot don’t look like they are worth a rat’s ass. Nobody will pay beans for them. It won’t hurt to have a little play first.”
Dark hyena-man bares his teeth at his companion and makes a low hissing noise in the back of his throat. His fingers are twitching like he is on the verge of ripping his companion’s face off.
Big hyena-man tucks his whip into his belt with a scowl and aims a vicious kick at the woman next to me instead. His booted foot connects with her thigh with a loud smack, but she doesn’t cry out. I see her bite her lip with the effort of holding her tongue.
I’m jealous. I wish I had her level of self-control to not give this bully the satisfaction of knowing that he has hurt her.
Dark hyena-man shoots us an uninterested glance. “Up on your feet, slaves.”
Slaves? This doesn’t sound good. I scramble quickly to my feet, and then lend my good arm to the woman who was kicked to pull her to her feet. “Fucking hurt,” she mutters almost silently as I lean down to help her up. She is favoring one leg. She’ll have a hell of a bruise in a few hours.
If she is still alive then.
If any of us are.
“Take your clothes off.”
A general muttering runs around the room. I’m as body conscious as any other girl, but I’m not about to argue with hyena-men and their whips and guns. I shrug off my jacket, pull my t-shirt over my head, and then kick off my boots and jeans. I’m standing there in my Spongebob socks and white cotton bra and baggy panties, wishing I’d put my new purple lace ones on that morning instead. Stupid I know, but even in a situation like this, a girl has her pride.
A whip handle pokes me in the side. “All of them.”
My fingers are stiff with cold and unwillingness, but I obey. I don’t see any other choice.
The floor is chilly on my bare feet. I pick up my clothes, but that whip handle is back. “Leave them.”
I drop my favorite jacket and the jeans I have worn into softness onto the ground, already mourning their loss.
A group of women in the far corner are huddled together, still in their clothes. I see dark hyena-man give his companion a nod. Big hyena-man stretches his lips out into a terrifying smile, unfurls his whip and advances on the group.
I shut my eyes. I cannot stop what is about to happen, and I cannot bear to see it.
Crack.
A high-pitched scream fills the air.
Crack.
Crack.
Crack.
The air is full of screaming now. Raw, animal noises of unendurable pain and terror. Over the top of the screaming I can hear the insane cackling of big hyena-man.
“That was just a warning.” Dark hyena-man’s voice is cold and utterly void of emotion. Of the two of them, he scares me far more. His companion is a sadist and takes delight in our pain. But this one is worse. He simply doesn’t care. We may as well be potatoes for all the humanity he shows us. “Obey my orders or you will be punished.”
I open my eyes the tiniest bit.
I’m not the only one bleeding now. All the women in the corner have been cut. The worst off has a red slice across the width of her shoulders. She is shaking so badly she can hardly move, but a couple of the others are helping her off with her shirt.
If that was just a warning, I hate to think what they would consider a real punishment.
Dark hyena-man waits until the last stitch of clothing is lying heaped on the floor before he speaks again. “Follow me.”
We fall into line behind him, two by two, as if we were school children out on a trip. My partner limps on her sore leg. I hold my left arm carefully at my side, trying not to bump it on anything. The sting has faded, but it has left behind a heavy, dull ache that blossoms into pain at the slightest touch.
We walk through the door and into a narrow corridor made of the same grey metal. Then through another set of double doors and into a large open area.
One wall is a bank of windows. I turn my head to peer out, but I don’t understand what I see. Or rather, what I don’t see. There is no earth out there. There is no Earth. Just a vast area of darkness with a sprinkling of alien stars.
I gasp and stop still, reaching out to touch the window to make sure it is real. The person behind me bumps into me. A warning growl and a hand on the hilt of the whip makes me quicken my steps to resume my place in the line.
If this isn’t all an elaborate hoax, we are in a spaceship, taken off-planet. That would explain the roar of the engines and the heavy jolt when our small shuttle docked with the larger spaceship we are on now. If we are slaves, the hyena-men must be Intergalactic people traffickers, and we are their latest cargo.
The realization does not shock me as much as I thought it would. I have half known it all along. Hyena-men are not from our planet, that much was obvious from the first moment I saw the snout-like faces and heard their feral snarls.
We are herded into an area in the middle of the space, marked out by a rope barricade. Hyena-men close the ropes behind us. It’s a flimsy barrier, but we are all too scared of the whip to think of breaking free. Besides, there is nowhere to go and no way of getting there. My college classes didn’t include any courses on fighting aliens or flying intergalactic spaceships or on navigating through space time warps. I was more into learning about how to bandage Ruff when she got into a fight with the neighbor’s dog or prescribing the best diet for Fluffy so he didn’t get too fat to fit through his cat-flap.
All the Ruffs and Fluffys in my town will have to do without me now. I don’t like my chances of getting out of here in a hurry.
Minutes pass. We are starting to get bored and restless when a door opens, and a group of humans walks in. I’m fairly sure they are humans. They are definitely more human than the hyena-men anyway.
I’ve never seen human men on Earth who are so big and well-muscled, though. Not even champion bodybuilders who have lived on a diet of chicken breasts, broccoli and steroids for years. They are hugely tall—seven foot at least. Their bodies are a tawny-gold, and their shoulder-length hair ranges from golden blond to a dark caramel.
My mouth drops open. If the guys on Tinder in my neck of the woods looked like this, I wouldn’t still be single. They look like demi-gods. If I have to be auctioned off as a slave, I hope it’s to these guys. Serving one of them couldn’t be all bad.
They walk in as if they own the place. Judging by the way the hyena-men bow their heads like subservient dogs, they probably do.
“These are the goods?” the leader of the newcomers asks. His voice drips with disdain. “Where did you find them? On a slum planet in the dark quarter? They look pathetic. Barely half-grown. Have you been starving them?”
Okay, so maybe they aren’t are nice as they look. What is it my Gran always says to me? Don’t judge a book by its cover.
“It’s a brand-new crop,” the dark hyena-man says, licking his lips in the first sign of emotion I can see from him. “We brought them off Earth just a few turns ago. We are honoring our contract with you by giving you first pick.”
“Earth, huh. No wonder they look so small and weak. Do they have any hidden defenses to make up for their lack of strength and stature? Claws? Poison barbs?”
Dark hyena-man shakes his head regretfully. “Nothing. They are quite defenseless. Earth women are highly prized for their ornamental qualities and entertainment value, though. They are easily trained and take orders well. Their new masters can be quite confident they are harmless.”
A cruel smile spreads over the leader’s face. “Interesting…very interesting.”
He walks around us, peering at each of us in turn.
I huddle into myself, trying to make myself look small and weak and unappealing. I’ve changed my mind. I really don’t want to be bought by these overgrown apes anymore.
“This one,” he says, extending a razor-sharp claw from one finger and prodding one of the women. She flinches away from his touch, to his evident satisfaction.
Hyena-man unhooks the rope barrier and beckons the chosen woman over. She looks petrified. As she walks over, we see she has wet herself, and a shallow trickle of pee is running down her leg. We all look away, sorry for her fate, but guiltily relieved that it isn’t us. “No others?” he asks in an oily voice. “The contract allows you to pick four from every shipment.”
“I’ve done you a favor by choosing the smallest and weakest of the group,” the leader snarls. “It amuses me to do so this time. Don’t push your luck.”
He turns around and gives us another glance. “On second thoughts, I’ll take those two as well,” he growls. His claw lands on me and then moves to my neighbor with the bruised leg.
Fuck fuck fuck. This can’t be happening.
Hyena-man gestures unhooks the rope barrier and gestures at us to come out. I shuffle my feet forward as slowly as I can until he grabs me by my injured arm and yanks me forward.
I whimper in pain, and the leader looks pleased at this sign of weakness. “Yes, you’ll be fine entertainment,” he says, baring his teeth at me. His canines are long and pointed at the ends, like the teeth of a leopard. Big cats use these teeth to hold on to their prey so it cannot escape. The thought makes me shudder. “Even weaklings have their uses. We’ll pair you in the games with someone we want to lose. And lose badly. It will be most amusing.”
He motioned to hyena-man who trots forward and fastens a leather collar around my neck. There are spikes on the inside which press uncomfortably against my throat and neck. Then he clips on a woven rope leash.
Once we are all leashed like animals, the leader gives a sharp jerk on the rope. The collar spines
stick into my neck and I stumble forward. There is something on the spines that burns like fire when they touch my skin. I can’t fight the collar. I can’t even hang back or the rope goes taut and the spines stick into me and burn me.
I trot after the leader like an obedient dog, hating myself for my dumb compliance. Is this what slaves on Earth used to feel like? Utter helplessness mixed with a towering rage, tempered only with the fear of pain?
We are herded through another blank corridor, through an airlock and into a tiny, featureless space. The leader unclips the ropes but leaves the collars where they are. One of his companions puts a bowl of mush on the floor, alongside a bucket of water. He tosses in an empty bucket, catching the woman who had peed herself on the side of the head. “Use the bucket next time,” he orders. “Or you’ll be on your hands and knees licking it off the floor. I’m not cleaning up after you nasty lot.”
He tosses in a couple of blankets, then leaves.
We gather around the bowl of mush. There are no utensils, so we eat with our hands in silence. Take a scoop, shovel it in your mouth and pass the bowl to the next person. We do the same with the water.
“I’m Hannah,” I whisper, as I pass the bowl of water.
Faye and Delia. These are the names of my fellow captives. I hug their names to my chest. If we stay together, maybe we can give each other strength.
The blankets smell rank, as if a litter of cats has peed on them, but when I inspect them, I don’t find any active insect life. I lay one out on the cold floor and lie on top of it, gesturing at the others to join me. I tuck the top edge around my collar so the spines don’t bite into me as I sleep. The others copy my example.
We huddle on the floor together for warmth, the second blanket drawn over the top of us. I hold Faye’s hand for comfort, and she grasps mine as if it is her lifeline. We don’t talk anymore. Words can’t help us now.
I wonder whether anyone back on Earth is wondering where I am. I don’t even know how long I have been gone. How long before my workmates send the police to my door to check that I’m okay? How long before I end up just being another girl who has disappeared off the face of the earth?