Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
Well, it’s all pink.
The planet below us and the vaguely feminine alien buckled into the seat across from whatever trap I’m strapped into.
My brain buzzes, a dull roar echoing inside it so loudly, I can hardly think. I try my best, taking my first opportunity to look at the lady who gave the final word on springing me from the Alien Pound.
By human standards, she would be hideous. Regally so. Wrapped in a shimmering white sheet, with a collection of purple gemstones dangling from her thick neck.
Her forehead seems to have a layer of armor beneath textured light pink skin. Her large silver eyes are narrower than mine, with bigger irises and pinprick pupils. A long, straight nose manages to make her wide mouth and—oh God—fangs a bit less prominent.
My whole life, my size has been a thorn in my side; yet this alien is nearly twice as thick as me and easily a foot taller.
Is she average? Will the men be even bigger? How on not-Earth will I survive that?
No one seemed at all concerned as they ironed out terms over the top of my cage. Apparently, humans aren’t good for much, other than our own destruction and breeding. “Omega humans” can allegedly “stretch” to take a “Mynturu.”
Whatever that is, it seemed to appease the stressed-out pink guy. He and his companion listened as the Booboos (seriously, who gives a shit what they’re called) relayed a handful of stats on my alleged fertility.
While humans rank pretty damn low in every other category used to assess the might of a species—speed, strength, intelligence, scientific prowess, and “universal” attractiveness—we apparently rate in the very highest percentile for breedability.
At least whatever information they dumped into my brain truly gave me the ability to understand every word spoken over my head.
If I wasn’t so pissed off about it, I would be amazed.
No matter which language they spoke—the fluid Galactician or the pink aliens’ rhotic barks—my mind heard it as plainly as I would my own.
The Boobies made sure of that by using a small scanner device to send one last “upload” to my gray matter.
According to the brief explanation they gave before sending us on our way, I should now comprehend everything these strange beings say, aside from slang terms, some curse words, or anything “obscure.”
Which I might appreciate more… if they said anything nice.
“—she may be useful enough, I suppose,” the muscled, blush female grumbles. “For a pale, gelatinous bag of breeding organs.”
Huh.
Well.
Now I know what to put on my next dating profile.
Addy would have laughed at that, I think, my mind drifting in a dream-like fog I can’t understand. Why am I not panicking? Or sick over how my friends must be handling my disappearance?
“—has no plates anywhere,” the dismayed male replies, somehow much closer than any other voice I’ve ever heard. “How does she protect herself in battle?”
My bleary brain replays his words, perplexed. Battle? Plates?
The female shifts in her seat. Her dress splits into two slits, pooling over her crotch. As her muscles stretch and tense like a human’s, I note how stacked her bare thighs are. Like they’re covered in slabs of rock. Or plates of armor.
Ah. Okay.
Yeah. I don’t have those.
As if reading my muddled mind, the male rumbles, “She’s so… soft.”
That musky spice swells around me. It glides into my airways, somehow soothing the screaming throb stuck left in my throat.
The female stiffens as the air warms around us. Her silver eyes flash dangerously. “Rask,” she snaps. “No.”
I still don’t know where the male—Rask—is. But the straps around me flex tighter as the buzz in my brain deepens.
“I know,” he rasps. So close, I swear I hear the words inside my body. “I know.”