It’s strange,I’ve never fainted once in all my twenty-five years, and now I’ve done it three times in a row.
Then again, I guess being transported to another planet, getting chipped, and injected, then put on stage to be auctioned as a sex slave—not to mention then being captured by a creature whose delicious scent turns me into a ball of slavering lust—could all be considered fair enough reasons to black out.
It’s starting to feel a bit like déjà vu as I open my eyes and blink rapidly. Where on Earth—or rather,noton Earth—have I ended up this time?
For a nanosecond, I hope I’m actually home and back in my bed and that all this really was the most vivid, insane nightmare I’ve ever had, but that hope is quickly quashed when my eyes focus enough for me to be able to take in my surroundings.
The air smells fresher. A wild, piney scent mixed with that rich coffee and chocolate perfume that clung to the Alpha’s skin. His tattooed, pale purple skin. Each breath brings a fresh wave of the mouthwatering scent. Who would have thought I’d be so turned on by an alien? And not just any alien—aBrutal One. Now I’m surrounded by his scent. Either this is his lair, or he must be nearby. I’m surrounded by gleaming, blinding silver—the walls, the floor, the ceiling, everywhere—and there are no windows.
Is this a spaceship? Or am I still near the auction house? My first captors mentioned a space port. But this doesn’t smell anything like that reeking place. This smells like the Alpha. Maybe this place belongs to him.
I shouldn’t be comforted by that thought, but I am. I’m a tiny bit less freaked out, although that’s not saying much. This place is still foreign and strange and scary as all get out. And it’s not home.
I shift on the padded bench. I’m curled under a black blanket that’s light but kept me warm. It’s soft, and bears the scent of my new captor.
Sitting up slowly so I don’t get dizzy, I let the blanket fall away. And then I see him. The Alpha.The Brutal One.
He’s sitting in a large metallic stool, his large, tattooed hands resting on his knees. His midnight hair streams over his shoulder. He’s watching me.
For a moment we just stare at each other, the scent of him thickening until my thighs clench. My bladder complains as I move.
Everything the Ogsul told me about Alphas falls away in light of my pressing need. I put a hand over my heart to stop it from pounding out of my chest.I can do this. I can face him.I clear my throat. How do I ask for a bathroom in alien?
“Um,” I begin.Good start.
He rises off the stool, stepping closer to the bench. He’s enormous—easily seven feet, with broad shoulders that couldn’t fit through a standard sized door. He’s wearing dark, loose pants and no shirt—just some leather straps, one of which ends at his hip with the sheath to his sword. He has mostly humanoid musculature, except no man on Earth has that many muscles. With the pale purple shade to his skin and the dark slashes of his stripe-like tattoos, he’s an amazing sight. “Hoo-man,” he says.
“Emma.” I squint up at him. Are we going to have to communicate in monosyllables? I meet his dark eyes. His delicious scent makes me a little dizzy.
I don’t know why I want to communicate with him, but I do. Those Ogsul things were able to form complete—albeit basic—sentences. I’ll give it a shot.
“My name is Emma,” I clarify, clearing my throat a few times so my voice doesn’t come out raspy. “What’s your name?”
“I am called…” The rest of the reply he gives is a series of noises I have no hope of ever being able to pronounce. In fact, my translation chip doesn’t bother attempting to repeat it.
“Oh,” I mutter. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I can actually say that.”
The corner of his wide mouth lifts. He’s finding this amusing. “Not many can,” he says. “Call me Khan. You can sayKhan?”
“Khan,” I repeat obediently, like a child. “Okay.”
He’s hovering above me impatiently, as if he’s waiting for something.
“I…” I begin. Do Ulfarri have bathrooms? Similar bodily functions and requirements to humans? “I need to pee.”
He looks puzzled.
Shit.
“Urinate?” I try. “Bathroom? Go potty?” I slide off the padded bench I woke up on and do my bestwee wee dance, complete with pained, desperate expression.
Khan lets out a cross between a guffaw and a snort, and I feel my face get hot. “Make waste,” he says. “Over there.” He points to a door, and I’m off like a shot. To my immense relief, he makes no move to stop me.
The alien bathroom is fairly small, but luckily the facilities are pretty straightforward. It’s not until I pull my tiny thong down that I see how soaked it is, and remember the hot throbbing sensation in my sex when I was in Khan’s arms. I’m still embarrassed about my attempt to explain my need to pee, and my cheeks get even hotter when I remember how absolutely desperate with lust I was before I fainted. It was like the basest, most biological instinct—one I had no control over. Maybe I was out cold long enough that whatever was in that serum has worn off by now, as the urge is no longer nearly as strong, thank god.
I relieve myself, then run my hands under the tap. There’s no mirror, and I’m not sure whether that’s a good thing. After the evening I’ve had, it probably is.
This whole situation is too bizarre for words.
