Alien Breeder

by Honey Phillips

  “You have a child?” A’rathia asked.

  “No.” Her throat clogged. “I… miscarried.” Would the ache ever go away? Since it had been over ten years, she suspected that it wouldn’t.

  “I am very sorry for your loss,” A’rathia said softly, and briefly touched the back of Sarah’s hand with her long cool fingers.

  “My doctor said that I was fine, physically, and that I could have another child one day.”

  “I concur. There is nothing to indicate otherwise.” Those strange eyes studied her. “But you doubt. Why?”

  “Does that say that I was married—mated—before?”

  “Yes. And that your mate died.”

  Such a blunt term. She closed her eyes briefly. “Yes. But before he… died, we had finally decided to try for another baby. It had been six months and it hadn’t happened.”

  To her surprise, A’rathia gave a bitter laugh. “There are many, many reasons why a female does not get pregnant—and sometimes, no reason at all. My warrior and I tried for fifteen years before I was finally blessed by the Ancestors.”

  “I don’t have fifteen years! I only have T’gana for another twenty-nine days.”

  “And you want him to be the father.”

  Yes. Her instinctive response caught her off guard, but then she remembered one day at the Colorado prison, before he left. They had been walking along the lake path, and he had stopped to help her carefully over a branch that she could quite easily have managed by herself. She had looked up at the big alien warrior, horns silhouetted against a clear blue sky, strange golden eyes glowing down at her, and felt the gentle reverence in his touch. She had known then that she wanted him to claim her, wanted to see him cradling their child with the same tenderness.

  “Yes,” she admitted, feeling the truth in the words. “I really do. But you don’t always get what you want. Do you think that more of the breeding drug would help?”

  A’rathia looked a little uncomfortable. “It is not actually a breeding drug. It is only to… relax the female and make her more receptive.”

  Sarah’s cheeks flamed as she remembered the previous night. No wonder she had been so needy. She glared at the medic. “You roofied me?”

  “I am not familiar with the term.”

  “You drugged me and made me want to have sex.”

  A’rathia shook her head. “Not at all. The drug does not create desire where none exists. Was there a lack of desire previously?”

  It was Sarah’s turn to feel discomforted. “No.”

  A’rathia raised an eyebrow but did not comment. After a significant pause, she returned to Sarah’s original question.

  “The traits of a single child are not indicative, but M’lan has significant Yehrin characteristics—our horns and claws, our eyes, and our double hearts.”

  “You have two hearts?” Now why did that surprise her more than the other traits? Perhaps because she hadn’t known until today that the Yehrin had double hearts.

  “Yes. But M’lan also has human skin and hair, and her feet are shaped like yours.” A’rathia gestured at her own more bird-like feet, with the rear claw extending backwards.

  “That means she will get to have the fun of shopping for shoes,” Sarah laughed.

  “Shoes?”

  “To, um, decorate her feet and make her look attractive to men,” she explained.

  “Ah.” A reminiscent look crossed A’rathia’s face. “We decorate ours with jewels and little bells when we are courting.”

  They smiled at each other, but the moment was interrupted by a harsh note from A’rathia’s tablet. As soon as she answered, a flurry of Yehrin emerged. A’rathia jumped to her feet and grabbed a silver bag.

  “Come,” she ordered. “Your warrior is in trouble.”

  Sarah fought down a wave of panic and fell in behind A’rathia. What had happened to T’gana? And why were they calling a doctor? Her mind kept flashing back to the image of Jeff lying so still and white in his hospital bed, while machines beeped around him.

  By the time they entered what looked like a reception room, she was on the verge of panic. Relief overwhelmed her at the sight of T’gana crouching uninjured in one corner—and then she realized that something was very wrong.

  He had one of the Yehrin weapons, a blast tube that could stun or kill, in one hand. He constantly swept the other hand behind him, as if keeping someone down. A steady stream of hushed Yehrin came from his lips but he didn’t seem to be addressing anyone in the room. His eyes were fixed on a—oh God, was that some type of head? A clear plastic box held what looked like a giant insect head, covered in red and black armored plates. One stalk-like eye hung down its cheek and the plates that formed its mouth gaped open.

  A giant Yehrin warrior stood at the entrance to an interior room and two more perched along the far wall, their weapons in their hands as well. Her heart started thudding in her chest.

  “What’s happening?” she whispered to A’rathia, afraid to disturb the situation. At the sound of her voice, T’gana paused momentarily, his head swiveling blindly, before he focused on the head once more.

  “A’rathia, take the human female and leave immediately,” the giant warrior ordered.

  “I will do no such thing. You sent for a medic. And S’rah is his female.”

  At the sound of her name, T’gana paused again, but only for a brief instant.

  “He is telling his comrades to keep down. That he will try and draw the fire away from them,” A’rathia said quietly. “He thinks he is in combat.”

  Her heart ached for him. “What can we do?”

  “I have a tranquilizer, but I have to get close enough to inject it.”

  “Give it to me.”

  “I can not do that. The blast tube is set to fatal.”

  “He won’t hurt me,” she said as confidently as she could. “Every time I talk, he stops and listens.”

  Unfortunately, as soon as she stopped talking his agitation increased. His voice started to rise, and she saw the two warriors tense. The situation was getting out of hand.

  “Give me the tranquilizer.”

  A’rathia sighed and handed her the hypospray. “Here. Just touch it to bare skin and press this button.”

  She nodded and took one careful step forward. T’gana’s head swung in her direction. Her heart pounded so hard she felt sick, but she kept her voice low and soothing.

  “T’gana, it’s me. It’s Sarah. Listen to my voice, baby. I’m right here in front of you and I need you to come back to me.” Repeating the words over and over, she moved forward one step at a time. He never took his eyes off of her, but she didn’t think he was actually seeing her. As she got closer, his weapon dipped, and she had to fight back a gasp of relief. When she was within arm’s reach, his nostrils flared, and then she saw the recognition cross his face.

  “S’rah?”

  With a relieved sob, she flung herself into his arms.

  Chapter Eight

  T’gana stood at attention before Supreme Commander T’rarchar’s desk, extremely conscious of the fact that his stance was no longer as perfectly balanced as it should have been.

  “At ease, Sub Commander T’gana.”

  T’gana rocked back on his good heel and focused on the Supreme Commander, resisting the urge to straighten his collar. Despite his many years of service, he was not accustomed to associating with the upper levels of command for anything more than an occasional military exercise.

  “I wish to commend you for your actions on Klendat Five,” T’rarchar said.

  As usual, even the mention of the name caused a trickle of cold sweat down his spine, but he kept his voice composed. “I did very little, sir.”

  “You held off an attack of Saviji for a week and saved over a dozen warriors.”

  The acrid smell of dust and smoke filled his nostrils, but he choked back a gag.

  “Any Yehrin would have done the same.” Although perhaps another Yehrin would have saved more. Perhap
s another Yehrin would have found an escape before his leg rotted and made him useless.

  “Perhaps. But your efforts will be rewarded nonetheless.” An uncomfortable silence fell between them. They both knew that normally that reward would have come in the form of an increased rank; however, that was no longer an option.

  “Thank you, Supreme Commander,” he managed at last.

  “I have read your report, but I would like to ask you some additional questions,” T’rarchar continued.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You mentioned that on the final day, you saw Icluthians at the communication tower?”

  “I thought I saw,” he corrected. The tower had been cloaked in dust and he had been nearly delirious at the time, but several times he had thought he caught the distinctive flash of green and the sinuous movements of the reptilian aliens. The sight had inspired him to make a final desperate advance and, for whatever reason, the Saviji had been distracted enough for the move to succeed.

  As he stood there, his leg aching, and answered the Supreme Commander’s questions, the neat military surroundings were overlaid by a green sky and a landscape of black rocks and endless swirling black dust. He knew it was only an illusion, only the memory of that horrible place, even as the sweat poured down his spine, and his leg began to itch the way it had when the rot set in.

  “Thank you, Sub Commander. That is very helpful. There is one more thing. If you will accompany me to the outer office, we have managed to procure a specimen and I want to understand how their bite mechanism works.”

  Too relieved to escape the lowering green sky, T’gana didn’t pay much attention to T’rarchar’s words as he followed him into the reception room. Until the Supreme Commander stepped aside and T’gana was face-to-face with a bug.

  The office disappeared. He was back in the black desert, crouched beneath the rock that both protected and trapped them. His men, his few remaining men, gathered behind him.

  “Stay down,” he ordered, as he tried once again to find a way out of this trap. His leg was a fiery agony and he knew he was close to losing it but there was nothing he could do. They had run out of medical supplies the previous day. A light flared in the distance. The bugs were readying another attack.

  A soft voice drifted past him. S’rah? No. She wasn’t here. She couldn’t be here. He tried to prepare for the attack he knew was coming but her voice kept distracting him. He could almost see her walking towards him, and he wanted to shout, to warn her away, but he was so grateful to see her one last time before he died. And then her fragrance washed over him, replacing the bitter scent of dust and smoke, and he was no longer locked in the hell of the desert, he was crouched in the Supreme Commander’s reception room and S’rah was there, right in front of him, and then she was in his arms, bringing him back to himself.

  “S’rah, S’rah.” He buried his face in her hair, the sound of battle fading around him. “I thought I was never going to see you again.”

  She raised her head, water falling from her beautiful eyes, and grabbed him by the horns. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

  He started to raise his hand to wipe the water from her cheeks and saw a blast tube in his hand, set to kill. A dull roar started in his ears and he felt himself sway.

  “The tranquilizer,” someone called.

  “I’m sorry, baby,” S’rah whispered, and he felt the cool hiss of a hypospray just before he descended into darkness.

  When he awoke, he was back in the breeding cabin, alone in the bed. S’rah wasn’t with him and he had a confused memory of a blast tube pressed against her cheek. Before he could panic, S’rah’s soft voice sounded from close by.

  “Good, you’re awake. I think A’rathia put enough tranquilizer in that spray to knock out an elephant.”

  He turned his head, wincing at the pain, and found S’rah sitting in one of the chairs. She had a bundle of yellow thread in her lap and two long metal skewers in her hands. He remembered her doing that when they had been at the Earth facility. Knitting she had called it.

  “Wh-what happened?” His throat hurt and his voice sounded hoarse and uncertain.

  “Do you want something to drink?” She jumped up and pushed another pillow behind his head before offering him a cup of dark liquid. “A’rathia left this for you. She said it would replenish your energy.”

  He noticed she hadn’t answered his question, but he was too thirsty to care. By the time he finished his drink, his head felt clearer. “What happened?”

  “What do you remember?”

  “This habit of answering one question with another is most annoying,” he grumbled, but he forced himself to think. He had taken her to A’rathia’s office and then he had gone to meet with Supreme Commander T’rarchar. He remembered entering the office and then… nothing.

  “I was to meet with T’rarchar.”

  “Yes.” She nodded encouragingly.

  “I don’t remember anything after that until… You were there and you said you were sorry.” He suddenly remembered the hypospray. He pushed himself up to a sitting position, flinching at the pain in his leg. He must have aggravated it. “You drugged me.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  She climbed up on the bed next to him and tucked herself under his arm. Despite his pounding head and aching leg, his body responded to her nearness and he found himself leaning towards her, drawing her scent deeper into his lungs. Her fragrance washed over him and then he froze, another memory worming its way into his mind.

  “We were in T’rarchar’s reception room,” he said slowly, horror crawling up his spine. “But I thought I was back on Klendat. The blast tube was set to kill.”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” she said quickly. “Your idiot commander thought it was a great idea to make you recount all the horrible things that happened to you on that planet and then show you one of those… things.”

  The bug’s face flashed in his mind, and dust filled his nostrils. He buried his head in her soft locks before he could help himself, then immediately tried to wrench himself away. But she had her arms wrapped tightly around him and he couldn’t figure out how to remove them without hurting her.

  “I put you in danger.” The guilt was too much to bear. He should never have returned.

  “It wasn’t your fault,” she repeated. “He should never have done that to you.”

  “A warrior should be strong enough to recount the tale of a battle without losing his senses.”

  “This has nothing to do with strength. Don’t the Yehrin have the concept of PTSD? Post-traumatic stress disorder?”

  The term did not register but he looked it up on his wrist com. The brief description he read filled him with horror—and a sense of familiarity.

  “I knew that I was broken,” he said. He gave up trying to remove her arms and stared up at the ceiling.

  “You are not broken. I don’t know all the details, but I know enough to know that you were trapped in a horrible situation. And I also know that you were strong enough to make it out.”

  Had he made it out? He felt like he’d left part of himself behind, trapped under that black rock.

  “Why did they bring me back to this cabin?” he asked. “They must know I’m not eligible for a breeding contract.”

  “You agreed to it,” she said firmly. “T’bukka recorded it. You can’t back out now.”

  Did she not understand that he was not a fit mate? “But—”

  “No buts. Officer T’bukka said that once the contract has been recorded, your medical condition doesn’t end it.”

  T’bukka was correct. The provision had been added many generations ago to stop warriors from harming their rivals in an attempt to gain a breeder.

  “But it was not intended to—”

  “I said no buts.” In one agile move, she climbed over him and raised herself up high enough that she could press her mouth against his.

  He started to protest, to tell her that sh
e could not put herself at risk, and her soft little tongue invaded his mouth. Once again, her taste exploded over his senses and the delicate stroke tantalized him. Without conscious thought, he found one hand cupping her head, bringing her closer so he could explore every inch of her delicious mouth. His other hand grabbed her ass, pressing her against him so that he could feel every soft curve. She writhed and he could feel the hard points of her nipples stabbing his chest. Impatiently, he brought his hand around to rip the mutashi open, then dragged himself away from her succulent mouth.

  Her lips were red and swollen, her eyes heavy-lidded with pleasure, and he lingered there for a moment before feasting his eyes on her large, soft breasts. He caressed one with his hand, relishing the sight of his dark grey skin against all that pink softness. Her nipples, too, were red and swollen and he teased one with a carefully retracted claw until she shuddered and pressed closer. He started to roll her over onto her back and his leg protested, sending pain shooting up his calf. The memory of his defects came rushing back and he tried to push her gently away. Instead of cooperating, she clung to him.

  “Why are you pushing me away?” she asked gently.

  “I can not cover you,” he admitted. He looked away, not wanting to see the disgust on her face.

  “Cover me? Oh, you mean get on top? That’s okay. I’ve always wanted to try this.” She giggled and his eyes flew to hers. She didn’t look disgusted; she looked… eager.

  “But this is not the proper way.”

  A flash of sadness crossed her face. “That’s what I was told, too.” Her blunt little white teeth closed on her lower lip and then she nodded. “But we can do whatever we want.”

  She leaned forward, deliberately dragging her nipples over his chest and her luscious ass came down to cradle his erection. Her hands fumbled at his shirt, but he grabbed them.

  “No. The shirt stays on.”

  Her lower lip poked out in a surprisingly provocative gesture. “I want to feel your skin against mine.”