Won by an Alien (Stolen by an Alien Book 3)

by Amanda Milo

  Gah! This does confusing things to me! If someone told me they felt like their belly was melting, and they liked it? I’d be telling them they need to book a visit with a doctor. Maybe two. Sounds like they have a body problem in addition to a head problem and both need immediate medical attention, stat!

  ...I could use those two doctors right now. Yes. Both. I am having a problem. I am having a big, big problem.

  Brax is getting hard against my stomach.

  And I like it.

  I told Tac ‘No Sex’ and he followed my lead. When has THIS alien EVER ‘followed’ anyone’s lead, but his own?

  I take another step back. “Brax, this is important. What else do you know? Babies?”

  But he’s all done talking. He stalks two steps forward.

  This brute.

  I sidestep, knowing right where I need to be, next to the bedside table where a very important thing is sitting out, ready and waiting—and Brax moves to block me just as I suspected he’d try to do.

  That’s fine. No remorse then. Slowly, not able to take my eyes off of his even if I trusted him—which I don’t, I definitely, definitely don’t—I place one hand on his bicep, making my way to his wrist and our umbilical cord of leather. But with my other hand… I reach down.

  I’m holding my breath as I run my hand along the hard surface, and I almost squeak when I bump into the heavy alien-steelness. Got it!

  The clanking sound is what finally breaks Brax’s gazelock, but it’s too late. I’ve already clamped a manacle around his wrist.

  He rears back in surprise.

  I leap sideways.

  He’s scary-fast, but his little hesitation costs him, and I can’t afford to wait around. I’m getting out of here.

  My heart is racing as I force myself to start for the door, and to ignore the remorse in his whale-ing.

  CHAPTER 51

  BRAX

  I’m confused—not to mention aroused—and this would pose enough of an obstacle on its own, but I am confused because I scented Tara’s arousal.

  This nearly makes me mindless.

  Yet something went wrong. I was careful to listen for it, but she didn’t say Stohp—yet I did something wrong: I don’t know what, I can’t think—and she is leaving me! I can’t let her leave like this—I know it. I feel it: if she walks away from me right now, she will harden her hearts against me.

  But something is sparking in my mind. Her utter joy when I spoke her word. I know some of her words. “Tara!”

  I bellow when she only begins to hurry away faster.

  “Rrwraaowwng! Wrrroong!”

  Her hand reaches for the sensor—

  “Siimowwhn!”

  Tara freezes.

  This is it! This is what she wants! This will make her happy again. Her strange language is important to her—but nothing so important as her lost hobs.

  “Meyyghan,” I sound out, trying not to click my teeth over the last syllable. This poor bastard. His years in the hob Academy must have be hellish. Meyyghan? Truly? His dam was a vengeful, barbarous sadist.

  I try to think of how to pronounce the other words she cries in her sleep. Arrrgh! Unless she has said them with repetition, as she has her hobs’ names, they initially sound muddy to me: I can’t pick out enough to mimic any one word. For once, I wish Tac were in this room with us, such is my desperation. His mimicry is uncanny.

  Because the moment she recognized what I was trying to say, she stopped running: she’s turned to me, her eyes impossibly wide. Hopeful.

  You have one shot. Do not fail. What else, what else? Ah! Baay… she has a word she repeats often, it is very soft, with no clicks whatsoever. I swallow, and lock my gaze with hers. “Baaayy—” click. “Baaay.” click. Tevek—!

  Tara shouts, the sound joyous and heartbroken—and her hands fly over her mouth just as tearsheens cause her eyes to sparkle. It would be a look I would like very much if she didn’t also wear desperation, disbelief, fear, worry—and her sucked in breath and leaned-forward posture looks like hope. She is hoping I can say her word. She needs me to say her word.

  I hope I can say her word too.

  I take too long.

  Her hands are blown back from her mouth as she explodes, “BAYBEEE! Brax, YESSS! I NEEEED my BAYBEEES!”

  I’m taken aback when she jumps onto me, nearly toppling us over because I was foolishly ill prepared for how exuberant my princess would be to share about her lost males.

  I’m struck with guilt. Before this, my first thought would have been resentment that I have to share our bed with Tac, let alone the specters of her two lost loves.

  I haven’t wanted to hear her say other males’ names. I’ve never encouraged her to speak more of them when she wakes because I’m a machaai, and I was too busy lamenting and feeling a grumbling jealousy. I see how foolish I was now. How damaging.

  By ignoring the fact that they ever existed to her, I’ve neglected Tara. It is obvious now she has needed to talk about them very badly. “Forgive me,” I beg her, flicking a wild tendril of her hair away from where it is sticking to her skin. She cants her head and presses her cheek into my palm, squeezing her eyes closed and sniffling most pitifully.

  The broken sound that is leaving her lips amplifies until it feels like it becomes a ravaging, deleterious song in my hearts.

  I sit heavily on the bed, bringing her down on my lap, and she throws herself on me further, her arms winding around my neck as she weeps so profoundly I have no hope of learning more words until she can calm herself.

  I start by stroking her from the bottom of her mane to her rump. I apply firm pressure, and the ludicrous thought occurs to me—a pair of wings must make it challenging to comfort a normal Gryfala.

  ‘Normal’? Implying Tara is abnormal, not to standard. Worth less.

  I could bite my own tongue. I don’t think of Tara any less for not having wings: this is ridiculous. I drop my chin to her shoulder, glad that my horns are set high enough on my head that her skull can be tucked right against mine without issue. We are like pieces of a puzzle, at least in this. I release a weighted exhale on her back…

  And watch her shiver.

  She is feeling sad. She is emotionally strained. But I confess, my cock went rock hard when she began to cry and seeing her react to me now is not helping it calm down.

  Why would her tears make me feel aroused?

  I start to shake my head, to shake off this thought, but because we are fitted together as we are, the scales on my jaw rasp the side of her neck, near her ear.

  She squeaks and jerks.

  “Sorry—!” A scent hits me. I inhale again—my sniff loud enough that she breaks from her self-reflection and eyes me warily. Is that… is she aroused from being breathed on?

  My stare must unsettle her because she buries her face in my neck in what feels like a gesture of escape.

  I groan. I am desperately interested in giving chase. Bad timing. This would be bad timing. Does Tac breathe on her?

  I shake my ears out sharply—careful not to brush scales against her this time. There are more important matters at play than discovering Tac’s methods to woo and rouse her: pay attention! I make a fist against her back, trying to regain control. I turn it so that I can drag the backs of my claws down her spine and continue stroking her.

  She shivers from this now.

  And… she’s adjusting her hips. Her scent! It is growing stronger!

  She tries to bury a broken sniffle into my neck and I swear my cock gets stiffer. I’m going to hells.

  I can feel my suit dampening at the collar, thus I know her eyes are still leaking—but her tears are quiet ones now. Her inhales losing the intensity of their shake and jitter.

  This next pass over her back has her fisting the fabric of my suit at the shoulders before she again resettles herself in my lap.

  And when her luscious rump cheek brushes over my cock, she goes motionless. In shock, I believe. I receive a different shock from it—my eyes
roll back.

  My hands both clamp on her hips.

  She lifts her face and—

  And Tac earns the award for the worst timing in the history of the galaxy when he squawks, “What have you DONE?”

  CHAPTER 52

  BRAX

  If I could nearly see our bond forming between us a mere click ago; now I get to watch as it shatters.

  I believe I’ve an idea what drove Gelert to—

  “Brax, focus. Why is Tara crying? On you?”

  Tara pulls back from me, her eyes stricken—that’s when I see it. Guilt. She wears a deep flush of guilt as she cringes and looks to Tac.

  She thinks what happened was wrong. She thinks we are wrong.

  Too late, veetling: I’m bonded, and you’re right with me.

  Another realization occurs to me: she thinks she and Tac are exclusive. Why? Because his kind are monogamous? So are mine. She can be monogamous with me. I wholly approve this possibility.

  “Tac,” I manage through gritted fangs. “Tell her I belong to her.”

  Tac hops closer, and Tara’s body might be attempting to rise off of me. I don’t know: I’m not letting it. I’m not letting her go.

  This makes circumstances awkward when Tac opens his arms, and Tara shifts to go to him—but can’t.

  “Brax,” he warns.

  I’m waiting for her to look at me. From the way she ducks her head when I try to capture her gaze, we could all be waiting a very long time. “Tara.”

  Carefully. I shake her.

  Tac’s goes apoplectic. “BRAX!”

  Tara’s hand, still fisted in the fabric of my uppersuit, tries to shake me back. “Dohnt shayyk mee! Ahnd Eyem weeth Tac!”

  ‘Weeth’. I knew it.

  Now that she’s meeting my gaze, I attempt to repeat her words. Less room for misunderstanding, hopefully, plus it gains favor, and with her I need all the favor I can muster. I’m not above employing tactical manipulation. I believe there’s a time and place for it. That time is now, with her nearly bouncing on my lap in outrage. Making it hard to concentrate, veetling… I clear my throat and try again to mimic her. “Tara weeeth Brax.”

  When her expression only darkens, I realize immediately that I need to make a concession here. “Ahhnnd… weeeth Tac.” The last two words fall off my tongue quickly and without conviction.

  She cups a hand behind her ear as if she needs to amplify their capability to catch sound. I remain silent.

  She shakes my uppersuit again. “I mees-hurd. Eyem weeth Tac ahlone!”

  Ahlone? Ahlone? Ahlone is a bad word. Ahlone means she doesn’t want me to follow her into the B.C.U. Ahlone-tyyme means she doesn’t even want my tail touching her. Ahlone is a bad word. But she lets me override ‘ahlone’ all the time. Especially if I call to her for a few spans. Her guilt over leaving me chained and ignored works to fabulous advantage then.

  “Noh ahlone.” My fangs squeak as I clamp my jaws. I see her eyes flicker to the muscle I can feel jumping in my cheek. “Tara weeth Brax—ahnd... Tac.”

  Eyes narrowed, she challenges, “Whot now? Saayy it slooww so I understond you understond. Ahnd ohnly Tac thees tyyme.”

  Grrrrwwwl. “Tara weeth Brax—”

  I can’t manage it as a single, unbroken sentence. It’s impossible. I believe I’m experiencing physical pain merely attempting it.

  She crosses her arms, and I’m not certain what her purpose was, but my eyes zero in on the way her movement is forcing the twin swells of her breasts to press in beautiful relief against the fabric of my shirt.

  She snaps fingers under my nose. “EYYES UHP HEE-URE.”

  “Tac!” I snarl. “Tara ees weeth Brax ahnd Tac,” I switch back to my language for the next word because I don’t know hers for it, but I believe she’ll understand what I’m asking. “Agreed?”

  Now her face turns mulish and she sticks her nose up in the air. “Noh.”

  This word. This is the other word I do not care much for. It is an irritating cousin to ‘stohp’ and she applies it to everything she could possibly deem inappropriate: growling, snapping at the others, crowding her—even preventing my ability to keep her safe while she’s in the B.C.U. ‘Noh! Keeep yor tayyl too yorcellf!’ *Stomp.*

  I strenuously reject her right to refuse. “You can’t claim ‘noh’ here—we’re bonded!”

  Tac’s eyes bulge, revealing the white rims, he’s got them held open so wide. “I certainly see why you think this is the approach to take. You ordering her to change her mind has worked so well for you in the past.”

  “Tevek off—” I feel the muscles in my tail tighten as I prepare to whip it for emphasis, but a small hand clamps down on the end of it and shakes it in an offensively impolite manner. I gape down at Tara.

  “Yoo Stohp being meeen too Tac,” she warns.

  Smoke clouds the air in the scant inches between our faces when I exhale. “You agree Tara ees weeth Brax ahnd Tac,” I counter. When she doesn’t look convinced, I fall back on the point I’d been hoping to avoid. First male vs. second male. Rutting luck of it: if I hadn’t fought so hard against the inevitable bonding in the first place, I’d be her first male right now. I saw how she looked at me, watched me. Grrrwwwll.

  Not the same way she is looking at me now. She’s immovable. She’s intractable.

  My nostrils flare and more smoke fills the space between us. Follow command: receive reward. “Fyyyne. Agree Tara ees weeth ...Tac—”

  She raises her chin and narrows her eyes even further, expecting a trap. This is just insulting.

  “—ahnd Brax,” I finish, and I watch Tac’s small jolt of surprise at my capitulation.

  She moodily delivers one infuriating word. “Noh.” As if sensing my impending need to argue, she holds up a stalling hand. “Tara ees weeth Tac ahnd Brax ees… ees…” She looks to be at a loss for words—even her own words. “Eez lyyka frenndeh. Bot noh sehx.”

  ‘Frenndeh’? ‘Sehx’? I’ve not the smokiest of clues what these two words mean. If she’s attempting to take them off the bargaining lot, then naturally I would initially surmise it is something she knows I will want.

  But if it associates with the word noh? It can’t be good.

  She startles us all when she suddenly laughs. “Whot em eye evun sayyng? Tooo? Tooo gyyys? Kahnt hoff bowwth!”

  I only have one play to gamble. “If you don't want Tac’Mot broken into smaller granules than the soap bars you stomped, I think you should reconsider,” I tell her. I angle my horn at Tac and raise my brow ridges. “Tac? Mime ‘dying’.”

  Tac tips his head the opposite direction of mine as if he’s studying a particularly unfortunate beetle that overturned on his back and is unsuccessfully trying to right himself with lots of effort but poor results. I resent the implication. “You want me to mime ‘death’ when she recently lost two loved ones to a violent end? Have you truly lost all your sense?”

  I flick my tail blades open and shut, with Tara still holding to the part a few finger spans behind them, watching this warily. I suck in air through my teeth. “Fair point.”

  But Tara catches the gist of it all perfectly fine. “Yoo weel bee nyyce too Tac? ‘Noh meen’ too Tac?” she says, hooking the first two digits of both of her hands and bouncing them.

  I snort. “Tara weeth…Tac…ahnd Brax?”

  She deliberates for an age. And she looks uncertain when she utters—in our language—the quietest, weakest imitation of agreed. She follows it directly with a cautious nod.

  I’m not like her. I’m not about to school her on her pronunciation when she made it close enough. I give a meaningful look to Tac.

  Tara senses that he’s readying for his departure. “Whot? Weeth Braax nowww? Allhone? Ryte NOWWW? Noh Tac?”

  I tilt my horns. “You heard the princess. ‘Noh Tac’. Be gone.”

  She flicks her finger against a thick scale plate at my neck, making me twitch in shock.

  Tac ignores me, affectionately scritching his claws against h
er scalp, digging his fingers through her strands in a way that makes her lids fall to half-mast. She’s instantly contented. And quiet.

  I am stealing this trick.

  Then he bends down and presses a soft kiss to her forehead. “We will join again later,” he tells her over the sound of my growling—which I cannot prevent, so she should stop glaring at me.

  Tac reaches for his pillow but this seems to upset Tara to an unbearable degree—she even begins attempting to extricate herself again. “Waayt, Tac, dohnt goh, yoo shouldent bee alohn!”

  “Leave the pillow,” I bite out.

  Tac looks unimpressed. “You want my pillow too? Is there anything else I can give you Brax? Anything at all?”

  Guilt actually reaches me and I hang my head. “No, I mean… come back. Give us a span… or—three. And then come back. Just…”

  Tac waits.

  I meet his eyes once more. “Just let me have this with her.”

  Slowly, he nods before he keeps an uncharacteristically stiff back as he hops away. The door closes silently behind him.

  “Don't look at me like that,” I tell her when her tear-filled eyes meet mine. “Tac is coming back tonight,” I explain, knowing she knows some of our words, enough to grasp what I’m telling her.

  She isn’t crying actively now, which is good but…I have a cockstand that is raging at me and a princess I would very, very much like to comfort. And the last element that worked to bring about closeness and comforting was talking about her fallen guards. She’s been attempting to talk about them for spans and spans now. Before, the words meant nothing; then I realized they were names. With my jealousy banked, I can see her repeated attempts mean she needs to share this. Perhaps revisiting her memories of them will give her more peace. It isn’t just at night that she cries for them; I have seen her sadness throughout the rotations also. It feels like a teveking knife to the ribs.

  I place a hand on her mane. Her eyes narrow, but this doesn’t deter me. “Tell me of your Meyyghan and Siimowwhn.”

  I’m a teveking genius.