Bambi's Alien Abduction (Earth Girl's Guide to Surviving an Alien Abduction Book 1)

by Aubrey Cara

  “Not cool!”

  “Why was this not cold?”

  I sputter and snap my knees closed. “Don’t you have any advanced technology that could have told you that?”

  “Yes, of course, but this is tradition for first time bhnt ky’ab yhars. And I was curious to explore your breeding orifice.

  “Forget it. Just don’t ram your tongue up in my happy land again. That’s unacceptable.”

  He opens his mouth on a breath like he’s about to answer, then closes it again. He grabs a handheld under the platform and runs it over me. It beeps, and he smiles a creepy Alogorian grin, showing the screen to me.

  “What’s this?”

  He looks at the screen questioningly, and nods and shoves it back at me, and then points out three little circles. “That’s the budding ling.”

  “There’s three dots. Which one is it?”

  “All three.” There is way too much glee in his voice.

  My heart stops. “Three? As in three alien eggs?”

  “Yes, multiple births are very rare. The ancestors have blessed us indeed. You strike strong resemblance to our fertility goddess, Umph Kaka. That along with you carrying not one, but three of the Yon Tor’s ling, will go a long way to lessening the numbers of those who may disapprove of you being human.”

  Three? His voice is drowned out by the buzzing in my ears.

  If Oathar hadn’t almost died, I’d wake him up just so I could smack him. Not only am I carrying his baby, I’m having triplets! Triplets his own people may say are some kind of demon spawn because I’m human.

  “I swear, if anyone on this planet calls me a hisham again, I’ll stick a spear up their ass.”

  Bo’hop’s eyebrow ridge goes up. “Where did you hear this word?”

  “Vhars.” I spit his name, picturing him as the first to get a butt spearing.

  “Ahh, yes.” He nods, the lines of his face pulling down in thought. “He’s grown bitter.”

  “Understatement.”

  “A few solars ago, he was at the age to go through his Wisdom Trials. The elders sent him away. Said it was not yet his time. That he was not ready for their knowledge. This has never happened before in our lifetime. He took it personally. Began rejecting traditions.

  “Yet, when Oathar told him about acquiring humans for breeding, he became irate at the thought of mixing species. I wonder…”

  “What do you wonder?”

  “He took the elders sending him away as a rejection. To him it was as if they didn’t believe he was destined to be Yon Tor. Our breeding time is in ten solars, and I wonder if he would be just as upset had Oathar waited and had a Ghyan carry his ling. A ling who may grow to be Yon Tor instead of him.”

  He gives me a thoughtful frown. I think he’s going to tell me more, but he turns and scoops Oathar up in his arms, grunting a little with effort. “I’m going to take our Yon Tor to rest.”

  I hop down to follow, the salve on my feet squishing inside the seaweed wraps.

  “You shouldn’t be walking,” he says, not breaking stride. “I will feed you after I get him settled.”

  I keep following him.

  We go down a hall and into a bedroom with an adobe raised platform bed taking up most of the space. It’s not as wide as a queen size, but much longer, and with a thick futon-like mattress covered in furs. Bo’hob settles Oathar in the center, and I climb up in next to him before Bo’hob can stop me.

  “Bombee?” Oathar croaks, and I can’t stop myself from cupping his cheek.

  His eyes aren’t fully open, but from what I do see, they’re still hazy. I can tell he’s still out of it, and I hate seeing him this way.

  “Yeah, I’m here.”

  “I told you to go to the Monrok,” he says with groggy disapproval.

  Yeah, not the sweetest thing he could say to the woman carrying his babies right when regaining consciousness after a near death experience.

  “Really? That’s what you’re going to say to me right now? You almost died.”

  “And you’d be safer with the Monroks if I were to perish.”

  “Pssha, says you.” Did the guy not meet the same Monrok I did?

  “Yes, says me. I am Yon Tor.”

  “And I am Umph Kaka.”

  Oathar frowns but snakes an arm around my waist, pulling me into his uninjured side. I cuddle right up to him, instantly comforted. “You are not really Umph Kaka.”

  I scowl back, wanting to stick my tongue out at him. “I can’t believe you knocked me up, and now you’re trying to get rid of me.”

  His tired expression softens before hardening in stubbornness once more. “I did not hit you up, but Lehor will kill you if you stay here.” The vehemence in his voice knocks me off kilter. “I erred bringing you here.”

  “If you hadn’t almost died, I would smack some sense into you.” But my argument lacks heat. I rest my cheek on his shoulder and don’t know whether to smile or cry when I hear the steady beat of his heart once again.

  It was more than a mistake to bring me here. I should be glad he’s finally admitted it, but hearing him say bringing me here was an error, and that I should leave feels wrong somehow. I want to scream, “There are no take backs.”

  Talk about too little, too late.

  “Yon Tor?”

  “Bo’hob?”

  Shit, I forgot he was there.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Elder’s Wisdom

  All existence is ruled by the will of the ancestors.

  OATHAR

  Pain radiates down my side where the huzah fang sliced into me, but Bombee in my arms takes some of the discomfort away. I lift my free hand and trail my fingers over her cheek. In truth, I do not want to send her away. I would prefer to keep her forever.

  “Oathar?” A well-known voice comes at me as if from a great distance. Bombee stiffens in my arms. I must concentrate a moment and get my bearings. My mind is moving through jhanka sludge.

  “Bo’hob?” My eyes finally land on my old friend, and I crack a smile at his bewildered gaze. How strange it must be for him to see me thusly. And with a human.

  “It seems the ancestors have spared your worthless hide,” he says. “Thankfully the people of Lehor won’t have to pass down the cautionary tale of how their esteemed Yon Tor was killed by the scratch of a huzah.”

  I scoff. Scratch indeed. I’m sure Bo’hob will lord this over me the rest of my life. “It would have been equally as pathetic had the profound healer not been able to heal said scratch.”

  “Ahh, but I would not have taken the blame. My gift is bestowed upon me by the ancestors. Had you perished, it would have been from their will, not my ineptitude. And I’m sure your people would all have speculated on why the ancestors had taken you.” He says the last with a pointed look at Bombee.

  My grip on her ample hips tightens.

  Had I died, many of my people would have turned against her. Just another way I’ve put her in danger by bringing her here.

  “Your yhar have attached and are stable. I see no reason why they will not grow inside her to be healthy and strong ling.”

  This pleases me, but then his wording strikes me. “They?”

  “Three have taken root.” He tries to suppress his mirth but fails. Usually grounded and kind, Bo’hob has always found humor at my expense.

  But this is new… I grin down at Bombee, who does not appear nearly as pleased as I am. Three ling.

  “Maybe I am mistaken and you are Umph Kaka.”

  “I’m glad you’re pleased with yourself,” she says. “You’re not the one who is going to be having triplet alien babies.”

  “In actuality,” Bo’hob breaks in. “We are unsure about the exact amount of human DNA they will be carrying. We believe it to be little, but should our calculations be off, Oathar’s ling may be more alien than expected.”

  “If you call my babies aliens, I will break you,” Bombee tells Bo’hob, even though she herself called the budding ling aliens.
/>
  Bo’hob gapes at my bynt and I shake my head. “She is very territorial of my”—at her pinch I change my wording—“our budding ling.” Though her possessiveness is odd, something unfurls and swells in my chest at her protective instincts over my yhar.

  And then I catch the scent. Though slight, I would know it anywhere. My gaze cuts to Bo’hob. He is my oldest friend. More like a brother, but if I were not so weak, I would tear his head from his body.

  “Why do you carry the scent of my human’s cha?” I growl.

  Bo’hob takes a step back and asks, “Cha?” in confusion.

  Bombee snorts and coughs. “Yeah, Dr. Bob. You wanna explain to your good old buddy, why your face smells like it’s been up in my lady bits?”

  Bo’hob frowns down at us. “I examined her as I would most Gyhan having their first young. It’s tradition.”

  I try to clear the haze of rage clouding my vision. Rationally, I should not be concerned. He is the Profound Healer. I should be grateful he honored Bombee the way he would a Gyhan bhnt ky’ab yhar, but inside me a territorial beast roars mine.

  “From my limited studies on humans, I have gleaned the females often release hormones during copulation that bond them to their male breeding partners. I didn’t realize how quickly the attachment occurred.” There is definite concern in his voice. “And that pheromones could be released that would be strong enough to have such a potent effect on an Alogorian.”

  It takes a moment for his meaning to penetrate my mind, but when it does, I’m swept under by a new rush of displeasure. “You think me attached to the female because of some sort of mating pheromones?”

  “I’m right here,” Bombee interjects. “And I have a name. Could we not refer to me as ‘the female’ or ‘human’? I find it offensive.”

  I gaze down at my sweet little warrior, her warm form curled around me. Everything about her pleases me, but my attraction and growing attachment to her from the moment I carried her onto my shuttle on Neo, has struck me as unusual.

  Unnatural, even.

  I give Bombee’s head one last stroke, before pushing her away. “Maybe you should take her for a while, Bo’hob. While I rest.” My guts give a sick twist just saying the words. I want no other to look after her, but that itself shows how unhealthy my attachment has grown.

  “What?” Bombee’s head pops off my chest, her face accusing. “You don’t believe that bullshit, do you?”

  I hold her gaze, but do not reply. Part of me does believe it’s bowel matter, as she says, but I am Yon Tor, and I must use logic and reason.

  I didn’t realize humans’ mating hormones caused them to bond. And if foreign pheromones are causing me to form an unnatural attachment to her, it’s best I distance myself from her now. I already ache at the prospect of her leaving me, and it’s clear she feels the same. It would be a cruelty to both of us to prolong our involvement when I plan on sending her to the Monrok.

  Something in my gaze must have conveyed something of my thoughts because moisture fills her eyes and spills over onto her cheeks. Then her face grows flushed and angry.

  “Fine.” She pushes away from the me, swinging her legs off the side of the sleeping platform and hopping down.

  She cries out when she lands, and I remember her injured feet and reach out to steady her at the same time Bo’hob does.

  “You, don’t touch me,” she says to Bo’hob, and wrenches away and points a finger at me. “And, you, definitely don’t touch me.”

  She covers her mouth as a wounded sound breaks free.

  Bo’hob steps back with his hands out. “What is happening?”

  “She is having hizz-star-eeks. This has happened before.”

  “She’s leaking.”

  Bombee screams loud enough to rival the shriek of an angry huzah, and storms out of the room.

  A very shaken Bo’hob turns to me, his horns along his ridges flexed straight up. “Should I do something.”

  I think about the standard cures for female hizz-star-eeks and shake my head. Though I am distancing myself from Bombee, I do not want Bo’hob to embrace her. He may enjoy it as much as I do, and I will not have him wanting to mate her while she is growing my ling.

  I have to hold in a growl of displeasure at the thought of him touching her. Caressing her soft curves…

  No embrace. But… “Gentle words may work. Speak in soothing tones and approach her slowly.”

  I sit up with the thought of going after her myself but slump back weakly on a wave of dizziness. I cannot remember ever being so feeble.

  I ache with the strange need to comfort Bombee. Already, I regret sending her away. My mind swirls with confusion. I shake my head to try to clear my thoughts.

  Bo’hob rests a hand on my shoulder, pushing me down. “Even the great Yon Tor needs to rest after a night of letting huzah venom pump through his body.” His voice lets me know how foolish he thinks me. And I have to agree, not treating the wound was arrogant and careless in the extreme.

  “I will go tend to the female,” he says, and when my soul cries “my female,” not the female,” I hold my tongue. He turns to leave, but another thought strikes me.

  “Wait!” I call out before he can get over the threshold. “Whatever you do, and no matter what she does, do not administer a cafkah.

  He hesitates with a question clear on his face, but he will get no explanation from me. Not today.

  “You are dismissed. Go tend to my female,” I say with authority.

  Unimpressed, Bo’hob crosses his arms and remains waiting.

  “Her body makes strange sounds when she is hungry. Do not mistake it for a mating call. She does not want to mate you.”

  His eyes narrow at my dictate, and he waits another beat.

  “Do you think the ancestors will bless one of my young as Profound Healer, should I have you executed for disobedience?”

  He snorts at that, dropping his stance. “I was always the elders’ favorite. They’d pray to the ancestors to smite you down.” The sihruka’s chuckle rings out in the hall as he leaves.

  BAMBI

  It would serve him right if I went to the Monrok. I tear another strip of leather from one of the throw blankets in the seating area, wishing it were a piece of Bo’hob’s hide. He so doesn’t understand how oxytocin works. He basically equated me to some siren-sorceress weaving a spell over Oathar with my ultra-potent lady-pheromones.

  With angry jerks, I begin weaving a belt and ties for the skirt and top I’m making.

  His chuckle rings out before he walks into the room. He stops, his features growing cautious when he spots me. His eyes go to the leather I’m working on and back to me.

  “What is it that you are making?” His voice is full of false cheer as if he has to placate me like a five-year-old, or some crazy person who may stab him.

  I’ve not ruled out being the latter.

  I swipe away the trail of tears staining my face and ignore him.

  My stomach rumbles, and he perks up.

  “Food. I’ve researched things that are good for a breeding human female, and fortune is with us because quite a few foods here on Lehor carry the proper balance of nutrients you need.”

  I pinch my lips together hard to keep from snapping. I’m not sure what’s worse. Oathar going into buying a human completely blind to our basic needs, or this lizard brain who’s studied just enough about us to make him a senseless asshole.

  “I can make you a bowl of rodahr grains covered in mu’iuk. And I have fresh ne’dav meat. We breed them locally.”

  I have a bad feeling the knee-dove meat is those brightly colored snake-slugs we passed earlier. My whole being pinches in distaste.

  “I want scorpzilla meat. I think it’s called goop something,” I say, keeping my gaze on the leather I’m working.

  “Gupa?”

  “Yes, that’s it. And I like those berries.” I stand, wrapping my new makeshift skirt around my waist.

  The pale leather hits mid-thigh
and ties in four places down my hip. Pleased with the results, I maneuver the strip of leather I’ve set aside as my halter top, crisscrossing it over and under my boobs for maximum support of the ladies.

  “Ashwana berries?”

  “Are they pink?”

  “Yes, but when ripe they have fermented properties that may alter the productivity of your human neurotransmitters.”

  I scowl at him for unknowingly confusing me. It takes me a minute to decipher what all that meant but I’m starting to understand what got me drunk on the ship. It was the ass-wand berry bar, not the water.

  “Ashwana berries are also good for dying leather,” he points out, trying to placate me.

  I look down at the light color of leather I’m wearing and imagine it dyed pink. I get a giddy little rush just thinking about it.

  “We have many ashwana trees in full bloom, and the berries are ready to be harvested.”

  For an Alogorian who doesn’t know much about humans, he’s sure got my number. Maybe it’s the super spidey sense of being the Profound Healer.

  I’m trying to tamp down a serious, “shut-up-and-take-my-money” moment, so I can retain the upper hand.

  Hands on my hips, I face him directly. “Okay, I’ll let you live. And you may feed me.”

  ~*~*~

  “Just outside the village gates are the ashwana trees we can gather berries from,” Bo’hob says, leading the way through the village.

  I’m not sure on time, but it’s been a little over twenty-four hours since we arrived here, and my feet are already healed. Dr. Bob could sell his miracle goop at a premium on Earth.

  There aren’t a lot of Alogorians in the village. I know this because they’ve all come out to stare at me. They mostly consist of loincloth-wearing old dudes, who watch me with varying degrees of interest. Some faces are friendly—a few even murmur something that sounds like Umph Kaka, while others show near open hostility.

  After fighting the urge to check on Oathar, I wanted to go out and explore on my own this morning, but Bo’hob was having none of it.