by Josie Walker
The stomping from the stands is deafening as I throw down my weapon. I beat my chest with my fists. The blood lust fills me and my shouts of victory blend with the crowd’s who are in a frenzy. “DAS GAHMEN!” I roar at the top of my lungs as I look up to my woman, my TSSS.
Her countenance does not appear delighted as I expected. Something is wrong with her. What is the look on her sweet face? Is she not pleased that I have prevailed? She doesn’t look happy. She looks . . . scared. And what is that smell that is coming from her? I want to smell her arousal, not her fear.
She’s fighting at the restraints and screaming. “MAHN STR! YEE RAWL MAHN STRS!” she shrieks.
The meaning totally escapes me. If only I could understand her strange language.
Tessa
He stares up at me with his unnatural blue eyes as the tower is lowered. He terrifies me. If he can kill his own kind so savagely what chance do I stand against him? In my heart, I know that I am right. He killed those men . . . all of them . . . for me. I am the prize. And now he owns me. I hate the way that makes me feel. Like I’m his possession, a pet dog or something.
Only, he’s not looking at me like a pet. The look he gives me is carnal. It makes me feel desirable. And my stupid body doesn’t even understand that this is a very bad thing. A rush of heat shoots straight to my core. I slam my legs shut, as though that might somehow stop the feeling.
This is insane. Was there some kind of aphrodisiac in whatever they drugged me with? I can’t be attracted to him. I will not fall for a metal barbarian. He’s not even human! And he’s filthy. I’m not talking sweaty from mowing the lawn filthy. I’m talking about the fact that he’s covered with blood and gore from all the men he just butchered. I refuse to be attracted to such a monster.
“Monster! You’re all monsters!” I scream as the tower starts to descend.
The platform reaches the ground, and a group of the metal men step onto it. Their chanting is driving me insane. They touch my restraints which melt away, freeing my hands and feet. I kick and scream as I’m picked up and carried forcibly from the arena.
“Let me go!” I shout, frantically trying to break free. Oh God, oh God, oh God. What’s happening? Where are Eclipsa and the others? Somehow I must escape and help my friends! But how?
I’m taken inside one of the tall buildings and carried up several flights of stairs. A door is flung open and I’m fighting them tooth and nail as they toss me on the bed. A bed? Seriously? I sink into the soft material and am astonished when they leave, closing the door behind them.
They didn’t chain me up again, which is one ray of sunshine in a very dark day. I scramble to the edge of the elevated bed, swing my legs over backward and climb down to the floor. No way am I going to sit docilely and wait for that alien bastard to come in and rape me. This particular human is not going down without a fight.
I run to the door and try the handle, but it’s locked. I look around the room, and notice there’s a window. I run over and lean out. My heart sinks when I realize how far below the ground is. I’m at least three stories up. I have a clear view of the arena from here, as if I need a reminder of what just happened. I slide my hands along the surface under the window and see that it’s smooth metal with not a single thing to hang onto.
The only escape out this window would be by suicide. I’m a fighter, so I don’t even consider it, no matter how desperate my situation is. I survived my childhood and I will survive this.
Think Tessa! I pace around the room searching for a weapon, anything that could help protect me from this barbarian. Everything in this freaking place seems to be made of metal. There is a table with food and drink. There are some of those purple bananas and some other things I don’t recognize.
There’s absolutely nothing to use as a weapon—especially not against a metal enemy. There’s not even any glass I could break to use a shard for a knife. The pitcher and goblets are made out of what looks to be silver. I slump against the massive bed in defeat. They’ve obviously done this on purpose.
A soft current of air ruffles my hair, and I look up curiously. A flicker of hope springs in my heart. Ductwork? There is a breeze coming from what looks like a vent in the ceiling above the bed. Is that the alien version of air conditioning?
These metal heads are such a mystery. In some ways they’re medieval barbarians with brutal hand-to-hand combat weapons, but on the flip side they must be technologically advanced. They have space travel after all . . . and apparently air conditioning.
The vent is huge, which leads me to hope that the ductwork would be large enough for me to hide in. But how do I get up there? The ceiling is at least fifteen feet tall. I see a metal clasp, so I think I could open it if I could get up there. I dart to the bed, and hoist myself back up onto it. Standing tall, I reach as far toward the ceiling vent as my five foot five frame will allow.
“Not even close,” I mutter as I step toward the massive headboard and begin to climb. The thing is ornate, and fortunately there are places I can grip to climb. I haven’t had shoes this whole time, and right now that’s a bonus. I grip the various knobby designs and indentations with my toes, scaling the thing. It’s almost like the climbing wall back at the dome that I used as part of my exercise regimen.
At the time I was just bored and looking for something to do, now I’m glad for the extra muscles I built, because it looks like I’m going to need them. I reach the top and take a moment to catch my breath as I analyze the vent from this closer vantage. It is indeed attached with a flat latch which slides to open it. I turn around with my feet on top of two knobby areas, one hand holding onto the top of the headboard with the other hand reaching toward the vent.
“Crap. Not even close,” I mumble, glancing toward the door. I’m afraid it will open at any moment and that bat-shit crazy barbarian will bust in to rape me. Not if I have any say in this. I’ve always been pretty flexible, so I’m going to try something. If I fall, at least it’ll be onto a mattress. I hook a leg over the top of the headboard and thrust my body out backward like a trapeze artist, preparing to catch a partner. I just manage to snag my fingers in the grate. Thankfully the holes are large enough to get my fingers through. My grip holds as the momentum of my trajectory jerks to an abrupt stop.
I bring my other hand up and begin to fumble with the latch. It’s tight, and this is so awkward spread out on my back in midair. My abs are screaming, and I don’t think I can hang on for long. The latch lets loose without warning and the grate swings open unexpectedly but is still attached by hinges on the other side. I almost fall but instinctively my hand flings out to catch the edge of the opening. I disengage the sore fingers of my other hand from the grate.
I hear footsteps coming down the hall. I pull myself up and slide into the opening. I feel my old ragged jeans snag on the metal of the opening and the rip on one thigh deepens. The exertion has sapped the last of my strength.
Quickly, I roll inside and reach back down to pull the grate closed and poke my fingers through to slide the latch back in place right as I hear him enter the room. I hear his bellow and I know instantly that it’s him. And the fact that I’m not waiting docilely for him to pork me has him in a rage.
I peer out through the grate and see him tearing through the room, looking for me. He rips the blankets off the bed, then tips the massive mattress up looking underneath. He shoves it to the side when he doesn’t see me hiding underneath.
He spins around, searching. I’m afraid he’ll look up, so I back away from the opening and crouch just out of sight. I’m so horrified I literally fear I’ll pee myself. But I keep a tight rein on my bladder as I tremble in terror. If urine started raining from the ceiling this game of cat and mouse will be over. As I hear him ripping the room apart to find me gruesome visions of how he just murdered all those men fuel my fear.
Today is the day I’m going to die. Well, that sucks.
> CHAPTER SIX
Tessa
I crouch in the duct work, afraid to move. I know I need to crawl away since he’s directly below me ripping the room apart as he searches for me. That’s the logical course of action.
Also, I have to move because my quivering muscles can not hold this position a moment longer. I reach my hand out and place it on the cool metal, inching onto all fours. I move slowly, but that doesn’t matter because somehow my shifting movement causes the metal to make a slight popping sound. He instantly goes silent below me.
Damn it! I guess he has supersonic hearing too.
I start to crawl away. I’m not trying to be slow or quiet now. There’s no point in worrying about noise now that he knows I’m up here. I’m hoping to reach some kind of laundry shoot slide to the basement like in the movies.
But I never make it that far. I scream shrilly as a metal fist punches the aluminum surface in front of me. I scramble backward toward the trap door in the vent as his fist lands again, causing vibrations in the metal to shake through my body.
I’m beginning to doubt my ingenious plan. It only takes a few blows to break through, then his strong hands peel the metal apart like a tin can. I’m quivering like a leaf on a windy day. Has angering him earned me an even worse fate?
He sticks his head through the opening and his blue laser eyes stare unblinkingly at me. I swallow nervously, but my mouth is so dry it doesn’t really work. I’m all out of ideas, and I don’t have a weapon.
What should I do? I can’t go forward because he’s there. If I go backward there is just the trap door which leads back into the room below.
Unlike me, the alien isn’t at all indecisive. I keep my eyes trained on him as he effortlessly pulls himself up inside the ventwork and begins to inch toward me, army crawl style. Honestly, I’m amazed his bulk even fits up here! The sound of his metallic body sliding on the metal ductwork pierces through my nerves, making me even more hysterical. It’s worse than nails on a chalkboard.
Acting on pure instinct, I kick open the grate and lower my legs through the opening. Dangling from my fingertips I glance around to see if there’s anything to break my fall. The room is a disaster zone.
The bed has been torn apart. What if he plans to demolish me next? I swing my body, and aim for the mattress which has been tossed to the ground. I don’t know why I’m still running. I guess it just isn’t in my DNA to surrender without a fight.
I make it, just barely and land on my feet. I let my knees buckle as I roll to make the impact less jarring on my joints. I don’t even have time to stand before he grabs me. I scream in terror as he picks me up and holds me to his chest. I tense, waiting for the agonizing pain when he crushes me, or worse, rips me apart like he did the furniture.
I beat my puny human fists against his face, not even making a dent in his armor. My hands are bruised and I’m crying myself hoarse. This is it then. I’m going to die . . . right here and now.
Then I realize something, something downright impossible. He’s not hurting me. Our battle has all been one-sided with me wailing away at him. But the metal monster . . . he’s just holding me.
He’s not fighting back at all, he’s just staring at me with those freaky blue light bulb eyes as my fists beat on his face. He’s not even yelling at me. What the hell? I don’t understand this alien, not even a bit.
My adrenaline surge fizzles out, leaving me exhausted. So, I stop fighting. Minutes go buy and we just stare at each other. I don’t know if it’s surreal or just weird, but it’s definitely something.
And that’s when the most amazing thing happens. I feel the arms around me grow warm. It’s like his metal exterior is melting away. I lean back and look down at his torso and it morphs right before my eyes.
Firm pectoral muscles are pressed against my chest. I shift my gaze up to his face and gasp. The robotic laser beams have melted away, leaving behind piercing blue eyes framed by the most gorgeous face I’ve ever seen.
I’m having a hard time grasping what just happened. Holy crap! He’s not a robot. He’s a man. A flesh and blood, muscle bound hunk. Honestly he looks like one of those men that spends all day in the gym.
My traitorous body doesn’t seem to remember that this is the guy I thought would kill me scant seconds before. It’s so confused that it’s responding to him the way it would any attractive male. I feel softer and warmer. This is not a good sign.
I have no idea how all that alien armor has just disappeared, but all that manflesh lurking underneath . . . well it’s straight up yummy. I tentatively pull away and he lets me slide down his body and take a step backward so that I can get a better look. His dark blond hair is shaved on the sides then long strands are pulled up into a knot at the top of his head. Intricate braids come out of the topknot to fall along his chiseled square jaw.
He is without a doubt the sexiest man, bar none, that I have ever seen. And I’m not just counting personal experiences here, I’m also lumping in all of those glorious movie stars. He’s beautiful, and I mean every inch of him when I say that, because he’s completely nude.
His massive pectoral muscles taper into his rock hard abs. He has a few cloth bandages wrapped around the worst of his injuries, but they certainly don’t detract from the show. He earned those wounds in the arena, which somehow makes him more attractive to me. I can see the dips and bulges of every one of his muscles. If I were artistically inclined this would be the point where I’d grab a hunk of clay and start sculpting. But who needs clay when you can run your fingers over the real thing?
My eyes dip lower and a flood of moisture seeps from my core at the sight of his junk. Honestly, I have to admit that while I enjoy the feel of a nice dick inside of me, looking at them has never been my thing. But this guy is different.
It is enormous, standing proudly at attention, as though awaiting my approval. I lick my lips in appreciation, and my eyes dart back to his face in time to see his nostrils flare as he watches my tongue. Maybe I shouldn’t be openly checking him out. What if he gets the wrong idea? My eyes drop back down for another glance.
What the hell is wrong with me? Yes, it’s been three years since I last had sex, but am I so desperate for it that I can’t resist a naked hottie? I try to remind myself that he’s a barbarian, and that I just saw him hack several other warriors to pieces. But my arguments aren’t working.
He cocks his head and his gaze goes straight to my breasts which are pebbled and straining at the thin cotton material of the shirt tied around my waist. Maybe I am that desperate. Why am I fighting it? What’s the worst that could happen?
He takes a step closer and I feel his thumb . . .yes indeed a flesh and blood thumb . . . brush sensuously over one of my nipples. My breath hitches as I try to work up the resolve to resist him. But my treacherous body isn’t concerned with logic and it’s not listening to my commands.
With one last ditch effort I try to tell myself to kick and fight, to put a stop to this madness. I need to try to get the hell out of here. But it’s like my body is following a different imperative, the one where a species tries to reproduce before it goes extinct. If I’m going to die anyway, why not enjoy some sex before I go?
“TSSS,” he says softly in his alien tongue.
I’m sure now that it’s my name he’s trying to say. It’s actually kind of sweet. I’m impressed that he’s managed to pick it out of my conversations with the other females.
I point to my face and repeat my name, “Tessa.”
Then I point at his face and pause, giving him a probing look. If I knew alien for “what’s your name” I would happily have used it. But I don’t, so I’m working a mean game of charades instead.
“BOCC-D’AR,” he answers my question, pointing at his own head.
And there I’d been thinking that my highschool Spanish class had been useless. Take that Mrs. Scravinski. I just
introduced myself and learned his name. I’ve always been interested in foreign languages.
I smile, and repeat his name, “Bocc-d’ar,” trying to emulate his guttural inflections. There’s almost a growl sound on the D’ar part. I’m probably making a mess of it, but it’s a start at least. I tap his chest excitedly because this is huge. We’ve started a dialogue.
“TSSS,” he repeats, and then he taps me on the chest too. Except he doesn’t stop there. His huge hands slips inside my shirt cupping my breasts, and some kind of sound leaks out of me that I’m pretty sure might get mistaken as a moan.
I know I should stop him, but I can’t seem to work up much conviction to do so. My nipple is rock hard where he’s rubbing it between his thumb and fingers. Then like lightening he’s ripped my shirt open, buttons popping off, and pushes it over my shoulders. It slides forgotten to the floor.
I’d call him an asshole for ruining my shirt, but he’s basically just fulfilled one of my private romance novel fantasies and I don’t want to be a hypocrite. However, I’m not on Earth and I don’t have any more clothes, so there’s only so far I’m willing to let this fantasy go. I’m fearful for my jeans because they’re pretty much covered with holes already, and I don’t want to be trapped naked on a strange planet.
So I shimmy them down my hips before he can tear those off of me too. I try to tell myself that me getting naked is only to protect my wardrobe, but I know it’s a bald-faced lie. I am so unbelievably horny. Does he have to be so freaking hot?
What’s that thing where captives fall for their prisoner? I think it’s called Stockholm Syndrome. Is that what’s happening here?
No, this is lust: pure and simple. I’m pretty sure he was never trying to kill me, but then again death by sex might not be such a bad way to go. He steps toward me again and slides one of his big fingers straight into my core. Holy crap! Is this the alien version of foreplay?