The Pet Project: Unnatural Selection--a Kept In Alien Captivity Romance

Home > Romance > The Pet Project: Unnatural Selection--a Kept In Alien Captivity Romance > Page 5
The Pet Project: Unnatural Selection--a Kept In Alien Captivity Romance Page 5

by Amanda Milo


  With a swift grab, Keeper catches the Ornamental before the male can attack or run or whatever he planned to do in his outburst.

  Keeper’s mouth is a firm line as he grips the lead in an even tighter hold and turns us around to return the Ornamental to his pen. When we reach the cage overhang, Keeper has to drag him through the door because, rather than walk, he’s thrashing and fighting.

  Biting my lip and glancing at Tranq and Avox, who are gaping at the wild male, I stay well back.

  Keeper’s expression is blanked when he locks the Ornamental’s door and he turns to me.

  I eye him apprehensively, feeling sad that he’s not happy.

  Sighing, Keeper shows me his hand, where he has two treats resting in his palm. He offers them both to me.

  When I approach, I lean against his side, in case he’d like a little affection.

  His arms close around me.

  “What the fuck,” Ornamental calls from behind us, his voice a detonation of hostility. “Do you even know what self-respect is? You’re letting an alien coddle you! Hell, I didn’t even touch you—why does he think you even need the damn comfort?”

  I shake my head, my hair clinging to Keeper’s hard-plated body. “He doesn’t,” I tell him. “You’re not paying attention.”

  Keeper lowers his arms so that I can see around him and converse better with the Ornamental.

  Even this polite concession by Keeper makes the Ornamental’s lip curl. A contemptuous smirk twists itself across his lips, and he opens his mouth to speak.

  I cut him off. “He’s comforting himself. Keeper has feelings too, you know. He has us for a reason.”

  Teeth bared, the Ornamental scoffs. “Yeah, he likes to treat humans like animals.”

  Heat flares in my chest. It’s frustration, and anger, and an unwelcome whisper of agreement that I’m so deeply tamed by my keeper, my captor, essentially the human enemy.

  But what’s my other option? Should I fight like the Ornamental is fighting? He doesn’t seem happier for his path in life.

  Renewed in my conviction, I meet the male’s anger-darkened eyes, frowning at him. “He doesn’t know any better! And he cares about us! He does the best he can, and he tries to learn.” Keeper pats my back during my speech, a soothing motion, but delivered with a hesitance that tells me he’s a little confused about what the Ornamental and I are discussing. “You can be obnoxiously wretched, or you can try to make the best of it, but you aren’t going to change his mind that you’re not a dumb animal by acting out like this.”

  Disgust is written all over his face. “Right. Because crawling into an alien’s lap like you’re an old Earth spaniel is so much better. You’re really showing him you aren’t his trained little bitch.”

  I suck in a breath, fury and—worse, so much worse—a slap of shame stinging my face.

  Keeper’s arms tighten around me.

  “You’re a sellout,” the Ornamental continues.

  I swallow, recognizing that many, many of my ancestors probably would think the same. “And you’re an abysmally unhappy individual who is throwing away a chance at a good life.”

  The Ornamental’s green eyes almost bulge he’s cranked his lids open so wide. “‘Individual?’ You can’t even say it, can you?” He grits his teeth. “I’m a person. You’re a person!” he howls, sounding more like an angry animal than ever. “We’re people! Dammit, we’re people!”

  Keeper utters a melodic series of notes, all of them low and rich and meant to be soothing.

  The Ornamental doesn’t respond. In a rage, he starts beating his fists on his sleeping box and yanking futilely at the bars of his cage.

  I hug myself.

  Keeper’s fingers tighten on my back, and he strokes my hair behind my ear, then keeps drawing the pad of one finger there softly, his touch affectionate. Reassuring. When I glance up, he’s watching the Ornamental, his gaze focused, his face intent, clearly studying the male. Keeper senses my gaze and glances down at me, his eyes searching mine and then my face. His expression turns thoughtful and he brushes his fingers through my hair, dragging his short claws along my scalp as he combs the strands out once, twice, three times.

  It feels nice. It always makes me melt a little.

  Which makes me want to catch his wrist to stop him. Because I don’t want to give the Ornamental any more fuel to attack me with. And usually, Keeper likes to give me a scalp massage by literally inviting me onto his lap sometimes. If he wants to pet and hold me on his lap now, in front of the Ornamental...

  You’re really showing him you aren’t his trained little bitch.

  At the replay of the Ornamental’s words, I flinch.

  Keeper’s hand stills, and my eyes shoot up to his. His gaze bounces to where his fingers are still in my hair.

  He drops his hand.

  After the shortest beat, he skates his touch over my still-hunched shoulders, before lightly tracing my face. His expression tightens and he casts a glance at the Ornamental before looking back to me. He withdraws his hand, setting me away from him and straightening his shoulders.

  “Ooooh, did you disappoint him by not going belly up?” Ornamental taunts. “I’d be careful if I were you. If you don’t please the master, he might start taking out one of your daughters instead. They’ll be his new favorite. That’ll burn.”

  Keeper procures another treat, offering it to me. It’s a hefty bar made of multiple types of grains held together by a sticky, sweet substance. These are my favorite kinds of rewards. My absolute favorite. I accept it from him, and tell him sincerely, “Thank you.”

  Then I turn and hurl it at the Ornamental.

  It sails through the bars and hits him square in the forehead. He jerks back from the cage bars in shock.

  To my astonishment, instead of yelling something else ugly, the male bursts out laughing.

  I cross my arms and stare at him—but then my eyes go wide and I cringe a little as I peek up at Keeper.

  To my relief, Keeper isn’t angry. But by his raised brow ridges and slightly quirked lips, I can tell he’s surprised. He makes a whistling noise that I’ve never heard before. It’s a quiet shred of air, not piercing, and maaaybe, maybe it sounds a tiny, tiny bit awed.

  CHAPTER 6

  The next day when the girls lie down for nap time with me, I stay with them, lying quietly for as long as I can stand it. When my eyes refuse to shut, even to doze, I give up and exit the sleeping den.

  A sense of foreboding hits me as soon as I do: Keeper is at the door of my cage.

  Standing with his hands folded behind his back, he smiles when he sees me emerge. He brings his fingers up, gesturing to indicate that he expects me to come out for a walk. Again.

  I sigh and trudge for the door, and Keeper whistles his easy chuckle.

  Hearing his mirthful sound makes me smile even though I’m dreading another visit with the Ornamental. I’m dreading it even more than I do the visits with the Whistler who does our dental work.

  I’d actually rather spend the day with the dental-keeper. At least he’s nice to me.

  Keeper’s arm falls around my shoulders and I realize I’m grumbling this out loud. I manage to stop the noise and ease my weight against Keeper’s hip, defeated but still trudging along with him, and this makes him whistle an encouragement as he rubs my back.

  Against all odds, this makes me feel an itty bitty bit lighter.

  When the Ornamental sees Keeper leading me to his pen again, his dark laughter fills my ears.

  Keeper stops us at the door, drawing his arm from me, and he procures the Ornamental’s leash. He opens the Ornamental’s door and calls Ornamental out.

  Smirking, Ornamental prowls to him, an arrogant, disdainful stare aimed straight into Keeper’s eyes—but he still walks right to Keeper today, with no further prompting. I’m sure Keeper is noting this little slice of progress.

  Ornamental’s smug look freezes when he gets close enough to see two little innocuous-looking sets of
metal strings dangling from Keeper’s hand.

  On one string is a rubbery piece of… something. I don’t know what it is, but the whole of the intricate rigging almost looks like some sort of odd jewelry. I’m about to break my self-imposed rule that I made up on the walk over here (where I promised myself I wasn’t going to speak to the Ornamental today, not a word, and certainly not listen to a word he spews at me if I can help it) but I’m really, really curious what we’re looking at. But before I can ask, Ornamental whips around, throwing himself forward to flee.

  Keeper’s hand closes over his collar, halting his escape. To my shock, Ornamental starts spitting curses, shouting horrible, ugly things at Keeper, growling, and—and he even twists and tries to bite Keeper!

  Keeper nimbly avoids the teeth aimed his way and stoically affixes the delicate top chain of the thing he’s holding over the bridge of Ornamental’s wide nose. He catches Ornamental firmly by the nape to hold him still in order to fasten the strap that anchors at the back of Ornamental’s head—and then he draws the lower chain down against Ornamental’s bared teeth.

  He waits.

  “I think he wants you to open your mouth,” I suggest.

  Ornamental spits, “You’d open your mouth for him, wouldn’t you! Cun—”

  While Ornamental’s mouth is forming the insult he’s about to sling at me, Keeper takes advantage and yanks the chain between Ornamental’s teeth.

  Ornamental’s eyes cut to me, so full of spoiling hate that I wince.

  Keeper snaps a tiny second leash to a ring dangling from the side of the face chain where it rests along Ornamental’s cheek. And during all of this, Keeper’s expression isn’t angry or triumphant. He’s looking calm and determined.

  “Yeww biiichh,” Ornamental manages to spew at me.

  Keeper flicks the tiny leash, and Ornamental’s head jerks to the side, the noseband tightening in what looks like a painful pinch. His jaws jerk open, forced by the mouth chain on which the strip of flexible rubber sits—and with the tension on the leash, the rubber clamps over his tongue.

  “Oh no…” I whisper, not even meaning to speak out loud, but unable to help myself. It’s just so… extreme.

  Deserved. But… extreme.

  Ornamental’s gaze narrows on me and he spits a furious, “Fffuk awwff yew—”

  Another light twitch of the chain snaps his jaws open and pinches his nose, as well as locking up his tongue.

  Ornamental tosses his head, his hands flying up to the base of his skull where he can probably free himself if he can blindly work at the fastener.

  Flick goes the tiny chain.

  Ornamental’s hands lower. But then they surge up again.

  Twitch-twitch goes the chain.

  Ribs heaving, Ornamental’s hands drop to his sides. He’s not glaring at me anymore. He’s not glaring at Keeper either. He’s facing away from us, and he stays that way.

  “Good,” Keeper says. “Let’s take a walk.”

  We walk.

  After a protracted silence in which even the new blooms in the garden can’t occupy my mind, I blurt out, “You looked like you knew what your face contraption was.” My voice is hushed from shock. “Have you seen one before?”

  Ornamental rolls his eyes at me like he thinks I’m stupid. “I’ve worn one before.” He grits this through his teeth. Then his shoulders tense, possibly expecting a correction simply for speaking, but Keeper seems able to read his tone somehow, or maybe he’s reading my responses (in this case, my non-reaction), because Ornamental isn’t corrected for this statement that he managed to deliver without any slurs or insults.

  After a moment where his gaze stays glued to the side, where he’s fixed the angriest of wary looks on Keeper, Ornamental’s shoulders drop and he rubs at the bridge of his nose. He’s rubbing where the chain sits, and I try to imagine even lightweight links of metal resting in that spot on my own face. Such a sensitive area. It would drive me crazy, the unfamiliar weight of them. Not to mention the implied punishment.

  “It’s a stud chain,” Ornamental mutters.

  I blink at him. “A what?”

  Seemingly against his will, his lips curve up at the corner. But the genuine touch of humor is fleeting. “Yeah. It’s typically used during a breeding.” At my nonplussed look, he adds, speaking carefully so as not to chomp on the metal resting between his molars, “I’m surprised with your fighter that you haven’t seen one. They have to wear them all the time during breedings. Otherwise, they tend to tear up whatever bitches they’re given.”

  I chance a glance at Keeper, wondering if he knows that one of those words was sort of rude.

  Keeper though is looking right at me. He raises his brows slightly, as if he’s asking me a question.

  I shake my head quickly and turn my gaze back to the path ahead of us.

  Keeper’s soft, whistling chuckle (‘Seet, seet, seet!’) floats to my ears, and Ornamental sends me a side-eye.

  It isn’t a mean look this time.

  We walk in silence for half the distance we did yesterday when Keeper asks us to hang right at the first path fork. Doing this will send us back in a loop. I’m surprised, but I don’t question it. In fact, I’m relieved; we’ve managed a civil walk where nothing bad happened.

  This seems to be Keeper’s entire goal, ending the short adventure on a positive note, because he praises Ornamental lavishly as he returns him into his pen. He releases him from the chain and leads, offering him a profuse array of treats.

  Jaw set, Ornamental selects two—then he seems to think better of it, and he sweeps all of the treats off of Keeper’s palm and catches them in midair, clutching the treats in his fists. His head drops, and his breathing is labored like he’s wrestling with himself, hard.

  Keeper gazes on him a moment, then pets him once on the head... which makes Ornamental’s scalp tighten, his ears notching back a fraction. If he had emotive ears like an animal, they would be flat right now.

  Keeper doesn’t push more contact. Instead, he backs out and latches Ornamental’s door.

  As Keeper returns me to my cage, I’m also offered treats (my favorite multigrain sticky-sweet kind), and he plies me with enough for the girls too. Which is good, because as I enter the pen, they’re sleepily emerging from the den.

  Keeper is about to give out treats to Avox and Tranq but the girls see him and rush the fence, rubbing their eyes and crying for his attention like they didn’t get to see him while he brushed their hair and played with them this morning.

  Keeper huffs a laugh and enters our pen, feeding Tranq and Avox through the walls of the cages and letting the girls hang off of his arms and legs like growths. He doesn’t treat them like nuisances; he’s chuckling—and he even gets down to play with them, letting them climb on his back and ride him like he is some sort of animal.

  They love to do this. They shriek and clutch at his shoulders and sides, and beg for him to keep pretending like he’s some kind of alien pony.

  I’m smiling and feeling happy to see my family so happy. I don’t know what makes me glance over my shoulder. Maybe I feel his gaze. But my eyes collide with Ornamental’s.

  He doesn’t shout at me. He doesn’t make any obscene gestures. His gaze drifts to the girls as they order Keeper around, and he watches as Keeper good-naturedly complies with their demands.

  Keeper seems happy to stay and play. The giggling sounds roll around and around us until his wrist beeps.

  (He wears a device that calls him away sometimes, and this is one of those times.)

  The girls begin to moan and Ava even starts to cry.

  Keeper pretends to gasp and twists to catch Ava, dragging her from his back and pressing his face to her soft belly, where he blows air on her tummy and makes her shriek. Of course, her tears dry up. He pats her, hugs Quinn and Molly, then stands, brushing himself off. He sends Quinn to the small door that will allow her access to Tranq’s enclosure, and Tranq, smiling easily, gets down on all fours to take up the
game where Keeper left off.

  Avox does the same and calls to Ava and Molly (the latter taking wobbly steps but manages to triumphantly make the distance), and the girls split up to play with their fathers.

  Keeper brushes his hand over my hair before he goes—and I waylay him for just a second longer to throw my arms around his hips and give him a quick hug.

  He squeezes me back, and then he leaves.

  CHAPTER 7

  Bathtime for the girls and me happens in the house because Molly, Ava, and Quinn won’t tolerate being sprayed down.

  I can’t blame my daughters because, frankly... they 100% get this from me.

  Keeper thought it was precious that they inherited my dislike of being cleaned off in the standard way, and he never forced them to stand for a spraying.

  I loved him even more for that.

  Keeper was further amused when he found that they will, however, take every opportunity to play in his garden sprinklers. He experimented with simply bathing them this way, by making it a game, but he found that this doesn’t get them adequately clean. His goal is to get Molly in particular less afraid of water because, even when using an indoor bathtub with her, each bathtime is a struggle.

  So today, he’s trying something different. He’s carrying Molly under his arm, Ava is hanging off the back of his neck for dear life, and Quinn is on his leg, and he makes funny screeching noises as he clumsily walks them to the edge of a waterfall feature tucked into a profusion of gold and burgundy flowers.

  The girls all adore his beautiful plants, and they love to look at the waterfall, so at first, they think this is an exciting trip. Soon, they’re begging to put their toes in the water, and they’re thrilled when Keeper swings them feet-down into the shallow end of the waterfall’s basin to splash and play. They’re having wonderful fun with him.

  Right up until he opens the shampoo bottle.

  Suddenly, his gently-raised ladies are gaping up at him like he’s an alien creature ordering them to drown themselves.

  My turn. I’m wearing my shortest dress as I step over onto the smooth river-rock bottom of the pool and call them to me.

 

‹ Prev