ALIEN ABDUCTION (Captured by Aliens)

by Fox, Jaide

  She appreciated having a space to call her own.

  Mali tripped on the rug cover the root cellar beneath the kitchen area then smoothed it back in place before grabbing her apron off the back of her chair and tying it around her waist.

  She sighed. “I never get a day off,” she complained, grabbing a piece of bacon and munching absently while she eyeballed the biscuits her mother pulled out of the stove. Butter scented steam wafted in the air.

  “Your father and I don’t either. It’s the way of things when you live this far from town. Stop complaining and go out and feed the chickens before everything gets cold. Your father has probably already tended the cow by now. He said he wanted fresh milk for breakfast. Hurry, I’m making eggs next, and I know you don’t like them cold.”

  Mali kissed her mother’s chubby, dark cheek, grabbed her straw hat, then disappeared out the door. She scooped dried corn out of the barrel and placed it in her apron.

  “Here, chick, chick, chick,” she called, scattering corn across the dirt in the front yard. The chickens clucked and swarmed the feed, pecking at the ground as she moved through them to the lean to on the back of the house where they kept their milking cow.

  Her father stood from his squat stool and stretched, putting two hands on the small of his back.

  “I would have done that, papa,” Mali said, taking the heavy bucket from her father.

  Barnardo smiled and chucked her chin with affection. “I know you like to sleep late. I was already up, and I know you haven’t been sleeping well. I know it’s the festival bothering you, even if you won’t admit it.”

  “Oh, papa,” she said, lugging the bucket of milk behind him as they headed back inside the house for breakfast. “I gave up on the idea of that a long time ago when I learned of my limitations. It’s one thing to dream about it when you don’t know any better.”

  Her father scrubbed a hand over his face and released a heavy sigh. “You might be at peace, but I wanted grandchildren running around and tearing up the place for me and your mama.”

  “Aye,” she said, lowering her gaze.

  He held the door open for her, looking at her with his sad, brown eyes.

  Mali rubbed her cheek on his big shoulder before going inside. Normally, the fact that she wasn’t a full shifter was never brought up in conversation. They all avoided harping on the obvious, because it wasn’t something any of them could change anyway, and it hurt something inside of her to be reminded of the fact that she was a freak in their world. No man would ever want a mate that couldn’t run with him as a wolf.

  “You two took long enough,” Abba said as they walked inside. She set plates of bacon and fried eggs at each of their places. A basket of biscuits waited to be plucked in the middle of the worn oak table, and fresh butter and jam occupied bowls on either side of the basket.

  Mali’s stomach rumbled as she sat down to eat her breakfast.

  Barnardo dipped a cup of milk in a ceramic mug and set it down in front of her before getting himself some. For himself, he fixed a cup of milk and a mug of coffee.

  Pulling the chair out for Abba, she smiled at her husband and swatted his arm playfully when he waggled his eyebrows. Mali watched them interact, feeling warmed that she had caring parents.

  Booted heels tread on their porch, and then a knock sounded on the door before Barnardo could seat himself. He stopped in the motion of dragging his chair from beneath the table, giving Abba and Mali a wide-eyed glance.

  Barnardo looked at Abba. “Did you order supplies from town for today?”

  Abba fidgeted with her hands. “No,” she said quietly, straining her ears.

  “Get down in the cellar,” he said to Mali.

  Knocking came again. Louder this time.

  Mali stood quickly and flipped back the rug covering their root cellar. Lifting the heavy door for her, Barnardo waited until she was at the bottom of the ladder before he carefully shut the door over her head.

  Abba rose to her feet with an effort, waddling to the cellar door and flipping the rug back over it as Barnardo walked to the door.

  “Who goes there?” he called through the door, cocking his ear to hear a response.

  “Open in the name of Clan Leader, Nicodemus,” a deep voice said on the other side.

  Barnardo’s dark face turned ashen. Sweat popped along his brow bone. Abba, standing behind her husband, clutched her chest with one hand and grabbed his arm with the other.

  He looked over his shoulder at her shaking her head and mouthing no.

  “I have to,” he said, slowly reaching for the door handle.

  ***

  “The pickings are slim for the festival this year,” Torolf said to Jaxon, nodding his blond head in the direction of the open air wagon carrying eligible, single clan women behind them.

  “Maybe they’re scared there’ll be an orgy, and they’re all hiding,” Ranger said with a chuckle, slapping Torolf’s bicep with the back of his hand.

  Jaxon sighed in exasperation, looking from Ranger’s scruffy, bearded face to Torolf’s clean shaven one. Both of them had the kind of looks and attitude which would easily win them a woman if they were willing to settle down. Which they weren’t. No more so than he. “It’s a fool’s errand Nicodemus has sent us on. But we’ve no choice but to follow orders,” Jaxon of the Black Wolf Clan said, scanning the road ahead of them.

  The morning breeze flicked his long brown hair across his face, making strands stick to his eyelashes and mouth. He frowned and wiped his face clean in annoyance.

  “Are you certain there is another one this way?” Ranger asked, propping his hands on the worn pommel of his saddle. “I’ve just about worn my ass off riding.”

  “The baker said he delivers wheat and oats this way a few times a year. He’s the one that said he thought he’d seen a girl watching him behind a thatched cottage. I didn’t say a damned thing about it,” Jaxon said, cracking his neck as if for emphasis.

  “We’ll sniff her out if there’s one here,” Ranger said, glancing behind them and giving the girls a wink.

  Behind them, the gaggle of women they were escorting to the festival squawked and babbled like a flock of geese. The sound of their high pitched voices and laughter made Jaxon grit his teeth.

  Baby-sitting duty.

  He rubbed his throbbing temples, eager to be done with this business so he could return to his home alone.

  As much as the others might look forward to the festival and the chance to find a mate, or just get laid, Jaxon wanted no part of it. He preferred his peaceful solitude. He was too damned old and set in his ways to want a woman to come into his life and create chaos in his carefully ordered world.

  Plus, he knew with his looks, he’d never get one he wanted. Most of them took one look at the scars on his face and high-tailed it back to prettier fare like Torolf and Ranger.

  The Bear Clan had done more than just scarred his face and ruin his knee, they’d given him a lasting reminder of vulnerability that repulsed the others of his clan, even if they were grateful for his sacrifice in protecting them.

  Being a hero wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

  Jaxon raised in the stirrups, letting some of the kinks out of his sore backside. He rolled his head, cracking his neck again as if that would alleviate the headache that’d been bothering him since the night before.

  He didn’t want to admit it was probably from sleeping on the ground and being on the road…that he was past his prime.

  Adolfo pulled the reins with his meaty hands, making the enormous horses stop before the trail. The pair snorted and pawed at the ground before settling down. “Road’s too narrow. I’ll wait here with the wagon while you all check ahead.”

  Jaxon nodded, nudging his bay horse forward with his booted heels. Leaving the noise behind suited him just fine. Behind him, Torolf and Ranger followed suit.

  Ancient trees reached their heavy arms towards one another, arching limbs over the road like a canopy. Grey moss la
ced through the leaves, dripping from the branches like curtains. Dust motes drifted through the early morning sunlight that dappled the pitted trail.

  Foliage hugging the road slapped against his legs as he guided his horse along the little used trail--if the overgrowth was any indication. If the baker was to be believed, the couple that lived out here rarely went to town, but he said he’d caught glimpses of a young girl a few times and thought they were keeping her out of sight on purpose.

  Jaxon knew how small towns were. If anything didn’t seem normal, it was up for conversation and speculation. It could be she was just too young to participate in the festivities and had overprotective parents. Tradition dictated all unmated women gather for mating rights, but he wasn’t so sure he’d want a daughter of his attending the sometimes brutal festival.

  The smell of earth permeated the air, and the longer they traversed the trail, the clearer the scent of cooking meat became. Jaxon caught a whiff of bacon grease carrying through the air.

  “We’re close,” he said to Torolf and Ranger.

  “I know. The smell is driving me crazy,” Ranger said.

  “My stomach’s about to eat me alive,” Torolf muttered, clutching his belly.

  “We’ll get done here and go out on a hunt. I’m ready for some fresh meat,” Jaxon said.

  As he said it, the quaint cottage came into his view. A small paned window stood open, allowing bacon grease and wood smoke to perfume the air. The trail came to an end at a small, closed gate. Over the rustic wood fence, Jaxon could see a few dozen chickens pecking at feed strewn across the dirt.

  He dropped down off his horse, handing the reins to Torolf before going to the gate. It opened with a creek, and he stepped under the small trellis trimmed in ivy before walking stiffly down a flagstone path. His bum knee burned and pinched from riding in the saddle for too many days, and he favored it with a slight limp.

  The way the sunlight filtered through the great pines surrounding the cottage produced a homey picture that made him miss his own place.

  Approaching the porch, he could hear voices inside that quieted as he stepped on the hand hewn boards and rapped sharply on the door.

  A chair scraped inside.

  His senses, ever acute, detected furtive movement. Jaxon cocked his ear, listening to anxious moves, steps across weakened floorboards. The scrape of two more chairs. He felt the vibrations of a door being shut.

  Puzzled, Jaxon frowned and knocked again. Harder this time.

  Footsteps approached the door. Jaxon tensed, expecting the worst.

  “Who goes there?” a male voice asked on the other side.

  By the raspy quality, Jaxon suspected the man was older. “Open in the name of Clan Leader, Nicodemus,” he said.

  A few moments passed.

  The doorknob squeaked as it rotated, and the door slowly opened. A cautious old man with black skin and a salt and pepper beard and white hair peered through the crack. Behind him, he could see what had to be the man’s wife, round and short with wide, fear filled brown eyes.

  Why were they so scared? Enemies certainly wouldn’t take the time to knock before attacking.

  “Who are you? What you want?” he asked in a furious whisper.

  Jaxon cleared his throat, relaxing the fists he’d made of his hands without realizing it. He pasted a smile on his face. “Good morning Sir, Madam. I’ve orders to round up all available women for the Moonlight Festival. I’ve heard word from town that you have a daughter.”

  “We ain’t got no daughter,” the man said, moving to shut the door.

  Jaxon put his foot on the stoop, blocking him. The man’s eyes widened, then narrowed as he frowned. “Reliable sources tell me you do. Can I check for myself? I’ve come a long way.”

  Behind the old man, the wife tugged at his sleeve. He dipped his head to let her whisper in his ear. Finally, he nodded. “I reckon. But make it quick. We was eating breakfast.”

  The man opened the door, allowing Jaxon to walk inside. “It won’t take long,” Jaxon said, applying his politest voice and immediately spotting the loft above the kitchen and the table set for three.

  Jaxon stopped at the table. Beneath his foot, he felt the floorboards sag beneath a rug covering.

  Placing his hands on his hips, he stared at the table, then glanced at the plump woman. “Any reason you have three plates? Were you expecting someone?”

  The wife hurried to the table. “That was just some extra I fixed for my husband. Sometimes he wants seconds in the morning.”

  Jaxon stooped and flipped the rug up, revealing a trap door. “What’s this?” he asked, glancing from one to the other.

  “It’s just the root cellar,” the old man said, crinkling his forehead and shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

  “You don’t mind if I check it too?”

  “Nothing down there but salted meat and preserves,” the old man said, walking stiffly into the room. His wife waited by the open door, wringing her hands.

  “Just the same….” Jaxon nodded, then pulled the rung and lifted the trapdoor.

  As soon as it was opened, a form lunged through the opening, knocking Jaxon back on his ass. The wind left his lungs and the floorboards reverberated with the force of his landing. A girl leapt over his prone body, heading for the open door.

  Jaxon snatched at her ankle as she ran past. The girl stomped his fingers before continuing through the small house, bursting outside and leaving him behind as he recovered.

  Rolling on his belly with a roar, Jaxon launched himself to his feet. She was quick, he’d give her that.

  “Too old for this,” he growled, following seconds behind her.

  She rounded the building, moving away from his men waiting outside the front gate instead of heading straight for them.

  “You got this?” Ranger called when Jaxon came into view.

  He didn’t answer, focusing instead on catching the girl. Dust sifted into the air from her feet striking the bare ground. She ducked around the thick trunk of a pine, heading for deeper wood. Pine needles and leaves scattered in her wake.

  He surged behind her and felt his knee threaten to buckle beneath the strain. He realized her head start would keep her just out of reach if he didn’t do something drastic. He didn’t have time for this shit, and he damned sure wasn’t going back to his men empty handed and showing them he didn’t have an edge anymore.

  Without pause, Jaxon shifted seamlessly to the wolf, his loose clothing no impediment to the change. Years of practice, from the time he was a mere boy, allowed him to transform without pain or strain.

  Padded feet hit the ground, soft and lithe, carrying him with a speed his human form could never match. He charged through the underbrush, a dark blur as he pursued the girl.

  She glanced back, eyes wide as she saw him. She stumbled over a root, careening to the left to avoid hitting the trunk.

  The scent of her fear permeated the air, and he caught a whiff of fine sweat as she pushed herself ahead to recover her unsteady gait. Weaving through the trees, she swiveled through the sentinels in her wooden shoes and kicked them off to gain better traction in the soft, moist loam.

  The tactic wouldn’t save her.

  Jaxon shot forward, energy pulsing through his powerful muscles. Her panting rang in his ears, making his blood thunder with excitement as he closed in on her.

  Her lilac dress flapped like a sail in a breeze of her own making. He launched off the ground with his hind legs, snagging the coarse fabric with his muzzle. Ripping at the fabric like a wild, excited beast, he snatched her backward. She screamed, flipping backward to land on her backside.

  Halting her flight, Jaxon immediately shifted back to human form, landing on top of her. He pinned her back to the ground, kicking and screaming, snapping her teeth at his arms and face and flailing her arms in a tornado of movement that nearly stunned him.

  “Hold … still,” Jaxon shouted, sitting on her stomach to keep her from bucking h
im off. Fear strengthened her, but she was still no match for his greater weight and experience.

  “Get off me,” she screamed, clawing at his face with talon-like fingers.

  Her struggles forced him to wrangle her arms to the ground above her head. It left him panting for breath above her, his face within inches of her gnashing teeth and glaring golden eyes.

  “Do you yield? Do you yield to me” he asked again when she refused to answer, tightening his hands on her wrists for emphasis.