Slag: Book Four in the Galaxy Pirates Alien Abduction Romance Series (Shifter)

by Alana Khan

  “Is Slag your real name?” I ask. One of the girls said it means waste that’s thrown away in the mining process. Gross. Its meaning is as ugly as its sound.

  “No.”

  “Are you attached to it in any way? Because no offense, it’s not the prettiest name I’ve ever heard.”

  “No.”

  “So, tell me. What did your parents call you?”

  “Ah—”

  All of a sudden, his face kind of . . . flickers. One moment he’s Slag—green and pebbly—and the next he’s like I’ve always pictured the human incarnation of Helios, the Greek God of the sun. His skin is golden, and he has hair—a long braid of golden-blond hair trailing to his waist. His eyes are the color of the bluest part of a flame. He’s gorgeous.

  I keep watching him for long seconds, not wanting the vision to disappear. Finally, I have to blink, and when I look again, he’s passed out on his pillows looking exactly as he’s looked since I met him.

  “Doc!” I call into the wrist-comm they equipped me with. “Seneca, can you get to my cabin as fast as possible? Bring a stretcher.”

  My mind refuses to function as I wait for the medic to arrive. I can’t even begin to assess what’s going on.

  “What’s wrong?” Seneca asks as he bursts through the door and runs to Slag’s side of the bed.

  “It’s not him. It’s me,” I tell him as I stroke Slag’s head. “I’m having a psychotic break.”

  “What are you talking about?” His brow furrows and his head tips back. This was obviously not what he was expecting to hear.

  “I was talking to him a moment before I called you. I saw him clear as a bell, and then all of a sudden I saw a . . . a God. An ancient God in one of our historic pantheons on Earth. Not really, but it was the way I always pictured him.

  “Obviously I dredged it out of my subconscious. But it wasn’t a dream or a memory or an image I stole out of some book I read. I was having a hallucination.”

  “And now?” he asks. “What do you see now?”

  “You. Your regular self. And Slag, like he always is. I asked you to bring the stretcher so you could take him to medbay with you. Obviously, I’m too crazy to take care of him.”

  “I’ll do nothing of the sort. We’re going to figure out what’s happening, but I’ll tell you one thing, young lady.” He points his finger at me. I can’t scold him for calling me a young lady. I’ve been told he’s pushing two-hundred-years old. Primians live twice as long as humans. I guess he’s earned the right to sound like an old grouch. “There’s no one on this vessel who can care for this male better than you. You love him.”

  “I do?” That slipped out. Do I? Do I love him?

  “Freeze,” Seneca commands. “Don’t move.”

  I follow his order.

  “Just look at you. Your posture.”

  I’m as close as I can get to Slag, my hip resting on his mattress, my hand stopped in the middle of a gentle stroke of his pebbled green head.

  “You’ve barely left his side since you came aboard. Maybe I’m the crazy one. Perhaps you don’t love him, but you certainly care for him. So no, I will not be taking him to medbay. Now let me do a full examination to see what’s going on with you.”

  He uses his med-tablet to take every possible reading. “I don’t see anything out of the ordinary.”

  “Well, I did doc. I saw this big green guy right here turn into a handsome golden humanoid male. I don’t have a medical degree, but I know visual hallucinations aren’t a good thing.”

  “There are many reasons people get visual hallucinations, not just psychosis. And the fact that you know you didn’t see what you think you saw is a very good sign.”

  That barely made sense, but I don’t have the energy to argue.

  “Call me immediately if it happens again, but my scans indicate nothing wrong.”

  As soon as he leaves, I shimmy under the covers and tuck myself next to Slag. I refuse to call him that one more time, even in my head. Maybe I should call him Helios. Nope. That’s too creepy.

  How about John? Just a plain old American name that doesn’t signify a waste product.

  Seneca’s pronouncement—that I love Sl . . . John, that’s crazy, right? We’ve been together weeks, but it’s only been a few days that he could talk—and we’ve talked about nothing of substance. And look at him, not exactly every girl’s dream guy.

  But even if Seneca’s wrong about the love part, he’s not far off.

  Chapter Five

  Slag

  I wonder how long it’s been since I was taken. I think it’s been years. Most of that time is filmy, like a hazy dream.

  I remember the mine, though. That was too terrible to forget. And I remember our escape. I helped KJ climb out of the mine and knew she’d never come back for me. Why would she?

  The first time I truly believed in God since my abduction was when I heard her call my name when she returned. I thought I was imagining things, then she leaned over the hole and blocked out the sun. That moment I knew two things for certain—the Gods are real, and I love KJ.

  She’s cuddled against me, her back to my front. My cock is hard for her. Entering her in the cave, filling her with my seed over and over, making her come apart in my arms? I don’t think that was a dream. I’m a lucky male.

  I ease off the bed, not wanting to wake her, and amble to the piss-hole. KJ went there many times over the last few days. I heard her. It will feel good to walk for the first time since I came aboard the ship and piss standing up instead of into the bottle she gave me.

  I’m slightly unsteady, but I’m strong; I won’t fall. My attention is caught by the ugly picture on the wall. This vessel must be fancy indeed if the piss-room is adorned with art.

  What sorcery is this? The picture moves! I approach it and the hideous male in the picture gets bigger. I step back and he gets smaller. When my nostrils flare, so do his.

  I lift my arm to touch him and it’s as if he’s reaching out to touch me. I scowl. He scowls. This ugly thing is mocking me!

  I’m not stupid. I know better than to think I can hit him, but he’s being disrespectful. I’d scold him, but don’t want to wake KJ. Cupping my chin, I try to think. So does the male in the picture.

  It suddenly hits me like an arrow that this is me. A reflection like when I gazed into the waters of the Malee River back home.

  I’m not stupid, I saw my arms and legs over the years. I convinced myself the green tone of my skin was a trick of the light in the mines. I reach to touch my reflection’s face. It looks sad, like it’s going to cry.

  Is this really me? The young male who’d barely become a shifter? The son my mother said looked like my father? A male with golden skin and a long braid? Could this ugly male in the reflection be me?

  Bald. Green. Pebbled skin. And look at his eyes. Once I get past the glowing green irises, I see the pain. So much pain.

  KJ’s beautiful face never hinted that she saw this. How did she hide her revulsion?

  “Kai-Lee,” I whisper, trying to conjure a shift. “Kai-Lee,” I chant over and over, hoping to evoke a change as I repeat the magic words the high priest said to me the day I became an az’rah. I close my eyes tight and imagine I’m flying, or loping through the meadows on four hooves. Nothing.

  I’d like to be A’Zul again, but I’d be happy to be a stallion or a dragon or even a little chukka loping through the purple grasses toward its hole in a tree.

  I’d thought she was falling in love with me. When she threw her head back in physical ecstasy and called me that abominable name, I’d convinced myself she had feelings for me. One look at my reflection belies that fact.

  I’ll look for a doorway to step off this vessel. I don’t want to see KJ again. She doesn’t have to be kind to me anymore or pretend she likes me. We both know what we shared in the darkness of that cavern was because of the reds, not true attraction.

  “Are you alright in there?” she calls through the door.

>   I freeze, not wanting to leave the room.

  “Have you . . . seen me?” Drack, that was stupid.

  “Is this a riddle? Are you lost?” her voice is so happy. She thinks I’m joking. She must not have seen me. “I’m . . . different. You won’t like what you see.”

  “Another riddle. Come out and talk to me. And I need to know your name. I’m not calling you the s-word one more time.”

  “KJ. Something’s changed. I don’t want you to see me.” So much has been consumed by the dark corners of my mind, but I remember bits and pieces of my capture from my homeworld. I’d been running on four legs in a meadow when I was stolen onto a ship and thrown into chains. It’s a dim blur, but I remember the miserable pain of the loss of everything I’d ever known—my family, the temple, my whole world.

  It feels like that now. Everything I thought I had is crashing down. I thought I was free and had a female who cared for me. I turn from the door and stare at the green monster in the mirror. How could she care for this?

  “You’re scaring me. Come out. Talk to me,” her happy, carefree voice is gone. She’s clearly worried.

  “I’ll come out if you close your eyes.”

  She pauses, then, “I’m sitting down. My eyes are closed, but I’m not happy about it. And please, tell me your name.”

  “A’Zul,” I say, then feel like it’s a lie. I’m not A’Zul anymore. He died. I am Slag. “Call me Slag.”

  She says nothing.

  I open the door, step into the room, and see her. She’s beautiful, just as I remembered. Her shoulder-length hair is pale like mine used to be. Her features fit her face perfectly. I picture her face next to mine in the mirror. Opposites. Beautiful and beastly. We don’t belong together.

  I consider turning toward the door and running, but I know we’re on a ship. Although I don’t know how big it is, I know there’s no way off a space vessel. There’s only one other way to get out of her sight. I’ll stay here and make her leave.

  “Keep your eyes closed,” I order in my sternest voice. I’ve never used it with her before.

  Her face falls, telling me just how much my behavior hurts her. It’s better than her seeing a monster at such close range.

  I approach her, put my hands on her upper arms, and encourage her to rise to her feet.

  “Is this a game?” she asks, but she doesn’t sound happy. She’s wary.

  I escort her to the door, then lift my hand to the plate to open the door as I’ve seen her do.

  As I’m about to force her into the hallway, she opens her eyes, turns in my grip, and looks at me.

  “What’s going on A’Zul?” Fear and distress cloud her pretty gray eyes. I’ve hurt her. This was all about not hurting her.

  “Look at me,” my tone is forceful. “Have you not noticed what I look like?”

  “You look like A’Zul, the male I’ve known for a month—a lunar. My best friend. The male who saved me from those beasts in the mine. The male,” her voice lowers, “who made me scream in pleasure ten times a day. What am I missing?”

  So it wasn’t a trick of the lighting in the mine. My skin has been green for a long time.

  “Since you’ve known me, I’ve had no hair?”

  “Right.”

  “My eyes have glowed?”

  “Yes.”

  “My skin’s been this disgusting texture? Like a warty water animal?”

  “Uh . . .”

  Obviously, there’s no kind way for her to answer that.

  This is about gratitude. I understand now. It makes me love her more and makes me that much more determined to force her to leave. I don’t want her to stay a moment longer out of obligation.

  “You saw yourself in the mirror,” she says matter-of-factly. “It didn’t occur to me that you have never seen your reflection. The water in the cavern was too dark and was in constant motion.”

  I nod.

  “You didn’t always look like this?”

  “No.”

  “You’re shocked.” It's not a question, it’s a statement. “But I’m not.” Her glance is hard, compelling. It holds mine.

  “This is the male I’ve been with since the first day. The one who saved me and rocked me and played his beautiful flute for me. This male right here.”

  She cups her soft palm on my rough cheek.

  “This male went out in violent winds and risked getting swallowed by the wraiths to save people he didn’t even know. This one,” she pokes her finger at my chest, “walked through a thousand-pound wall of alien muscle so he could welcome Allura into the safety of the group.”

  “This one,” she pokes me again, harder, “took ten lashes for me because I couldn’t mine enough ore.”

  Her lashes are brimming with tears. My chest tightens in confusion—this doesn’t seem like obligation to me.

  “This male, this one right here,” she skims her fingers along my lips, “is the male I’m falling in love with. So shut the fuck up and kiss me.”

  She throws her arms around my neck and pulls me to her for the kiss, allowing no argument. I swallow, then have to swallow again as it hits me with the force of a Rhoid windstorm that this is what everyone wants, isn’t it? To be seen, really seen for who they are? Not for the bag of skin that covers their bones? To be seen for their character and their heart?

  And I have that from my KJ.

  She’s kissing me like we did in the cave, with the force of someone desperate to be filled. I often wondered if her frenzy was because of the reds, but right now there isn’t a red in sight.

  “I want to make love to you, A’Zul, but if it’s not the right time, if you’re too freaked out by what you saw in the mirror—”

  I cut her off with another kiss. I want her more than I’ve ever wanted her, and it has nothing to do with the reds.

  I don’t want to do it like animals in heat. I want to do it like two people who desire each other.

  “Not like before,” I tell her as I shake my head. “I want to show you my feelings.”

  Lifting her, I carry her to our bed. It’s soft and big enough for two. I remove her clothing, one item at a time, not like in the mine where it was pitch black, or the cave where it was frenzied. I do it now like a male who is unwrapping a present.

  Straddling her on the bed, my knees at her hips, I lean to kiss her. Slow, easy kisses, our mouths mingling and speaking their own language. Keeping my ass in the air, away from her, I try not to touch her with my cock. I just want to focus on our mouths, this kiss.

  Her hands lodge on my shoulders and rub up and down where my wings used to erupt from my skin when I flew in dragon form. Too bad she’ll never see me like that.

  Before my mind got lost, when I was still capable of clear thought, I tried to shift a thousand times. At first, I thought the slavers gave me a chemical to control my shifting, then I decided it was the fumes in the mines. Then I thought . . . nothing—I couldn’t think at all. I just woke up and mined ore and went to sleep only to do it all again the next day. I was too fuzzy-headed to even dream.

  My tongue strokes her, it’s like stoking a fire. Her hands move more wildly now. She cups my ass and pulls me closer.

  “Slow,” I caution.

  She leans up and nips my bottom lip. It feels good, so I nip hers in return. We play, taking turns being the aggressor. We’ve never played before, it was always urgent and serious. This feels better, natural.

  Dipping my head to the tip of her breast I lick then bite the tip the way I know makes her moan. She bends her head to kiss wherever she can reach—my forehead and eyes and nose. I thank the Gods I don’t repel her. I’ll work on accepting myself as fully as she accepts me.

  “I worry that I won’t be able to accommodate you, A’Zul,” she whispers into my ear. “I think the reds helped open me to you.”

  “We’ll see. Just tell me to stop and I will.”

  Slipping a finger into her channel, I notice how slick and ready she is. A small smile lifts my lips
as I delight in the fact that although I may be too big for her without the reds, her desire for me is just as strong without them.

  A second finger slides in easily, followed a few moments later by a third.

  “Should we try, KJ?” my voice is husky with desire.

  “Yes,” she says as she eagerly reaches between us and places my cockhead at her entrance.

  In the cave we often coupled out of desire, but sometimes out of drive, just doing the bidding of the reds. This feels different. Saner. Deeper. I press in, so gently I wouldn’t think she could feel it except she exhales on a soft moan.