B is for Bonded (The ABCs of Alien Abduction #2)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Even through her closed eyelids, Polly could tell that daylight had begun creeping into the sleeping cave, but she refused to acknowledge it. She screwed her eyes shut and burrowed deeper into her pillow—her big, warm, breathing pillow.

Somehow she had ended up in Njkall’s bed again.

Not that she minded. His body radiated heat like a banked fire, and the steady thump beneath her cheek had lulled her to sleep the way it did most nights.

She had her own little sleeping cave, tucked into an alcove off his quarters, with soft furs and a woven curtain she could pull across the entrance.

She usually started the night there. She rarely finished it there.

She couldn’t quite remember making the walk across the cold stone floor in the dark. Her feet seemed to do it on their own, dragging the rest of her into the warm hollow of his side before her mind had a chance to object.

“I know you’re awake, little one.”

His voice rumbled up through his chest and into her ear, deep and unhurried.

“No, I’m not,” she mumbled into his fur.

“Yes, you are.” A hint of amusement warmed the words. “Your breathing changed a few minutes ago. And you stopped snoring.”

“I don’t snore.”

“A small, ferocious snore. Like a karlil cub.”

She cracked one eye open, then the other. His face swam into focus above her, all strong bones and deep-set blue eyes. His face could have been carved from stone, except for the way his eyes twinkled at her.

“That’s not a real animal,” she said.

“It is. And it snores exactly like you.”

She pressed her forehead against his ribs to hide her smile, and that was when she noticed how she’d draped herself over him during the night.

Normally she curled into a ball by his side, but this morning one of her hands rested on the broad plane of his stomach, and her bare leg was hooked over one of his thick thighs.

Every soft part of her seemed to be pressed against every hard part of him, and heat suddenly pooled low in her belly, unfamiliar and startling.

Oh.

She snatched her hand back as if the fur had scorched her.

“How did you sleep?” he asked.

Like she always did when she was in his bed. Deep and safe, without the nightmares that haunted her too often when she tried to sleep alone.

“Fine,” she said. “You?”

“Very well. Thank you for joining me.”

His big body shifted beneath her, and she realized he was achingly hard.

Again. Her fingers twitched nervously, curiosity and fear and desire all jumbled together.

She’d tried to touch him once. She’d gathered her courage and reached for him in the dark.

But he’d gently caught her wrist and murmured no, little one, and then the enormous, fearless clan leader had fled his own bed.

She still didn’t understand it. Her friend Yasmin said he was frightened, but the idea of Njkall being frightened of anything was absurd. The male had faced down raiders and beasts and offworld officials without so much as raising his voice.

“Time to get up,” he said, but his voice had gone lower. Rougher.

He sat up in one smooth motion, dislodging her gently onto the furs, and the sudden cold where his body had been made her shiver.

She watched him swing his legs over the side of the sleeping platform.

Over seven feet of powerful, white-furred warrior, with shoulders wide enough to blot out the light.

His size should have intimidated her. Instead, he made her feel safe, a feeling that still did not come easily. Then again, being kidnapped by aliens, sold, and thrown into a cell to be used by whichever miner produced the most ore that day did make you afraid of almost everything.

But I’m not afraid of him.

She never had been. Perhaps it was because none of the males who had abused her had been anything like him. Perhaps it was because of his deep voice and calm presence. Perhaps it was simply because it was Njkall.

Her gaze traveled admiringly across his broad shoulders and muscular back as he reached for the leather belt that served as clothing for most Hothian warriors.

As he picked it up and turned around, her gaze dropped to the patch of longer fur over his lower abdomen.

She’d learned enough from Yasmin to know that a Hothian’s shaft remained concealed within his body until he released it.

Probably just as well, she thought. Despite her curiosity and the heat that still lingered in her body, she wasn’t sure how she’d react to the sight of it.

“You’re staring,” he said, adjusting the small charm she’d carved for him on his belt.

“I’m not.”

“You are. I can feel it. Like sunlight on the back of my neck.”

“That’s very poetic for a male who just called me a snoring cub.”

His shoulders shook with a low, quiet laugh. He looked up then, and she saw his eyes drop, just for a heartbeat, to where the furs had slipped down and left her bare from the waist up.

Then his jaw tightened, and he looked resolutely at the ceiling.

“You need to start wearing something to bed, little one.”

She blinked at him, tugging the fur up around herself more from confusion than modesty. “But why?”

Perhaps because she’d been kept naked for so long, clothing still made her skin crawl.

It made her feel trapped in a way she couldn’t quite explain.

Ironically, he had been the first one to convince her to wear clothing.

But he’d also understood how she felt, and he never once commented on the way she peeled off her gowns the moment she was safe inside their inner cave.

“Have I done something wrong?” she asked.

“No,” he said immediately. “Never. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Then I don’t understand.”

He dragged a hand down his face, and when he lowered it, his bright blue eyes were unusually troubled.

“Because you are a desirable female,” he said, each word deliberate, as though he’d weighed it before letting it go. “And I am not carved from stone, little one. There’s only so much a male can pretend not to notice.”

“Oh,” she said, her cheeks flaming. A strange, dizzy warmth rushed through her, part pride and part something more apprehensive.

He wants me.

She wasn’t completely clueless. His body had revealed his desire more than once. But hearing him say it out loud made it real, and real was frightening, because wanting had always come attached to hands that took and voices that decided things for her.

But this was Njkall.

She looked at the careful distance he’d put between them and the way he still would not look below her chin. He was holding himself back so hard it looked like it hurt, and she didn’t know what to do with that.

She opened her mouth, even though she had no idea what she meant to say—

“Right,” she said, losing her courage, and bolted.

She scrambled off the sleeping platform, clutching a fur against her front, and hurried across the cold stone into her own little cave. She yanked the woven curtain shut behind her and stood there in the dimness, heart going like a trapped bird.

He wants me. He said it. Out loud.

She pressed her hands to her hot cheeks and made herself breathe.

The small sleeping cave he’d given her was cluttered with half-finished projects, everything from jewelry to baskets. She had more time than she knew what to do with. What was the point of days without work or danger or the constant fear of being dragged out of her cell and used?

She dug through her chest and pulled out the longest gown she owned, a soft grey thing that fell to her ankles, and dragged it over her head. The fabric settled around her like a curtain, hiding everything, and for once she didn’t mind the covered-up feeling nearly as much as she expected to.

Because he asked. Because knowing he was watching made the cloth feel less like a cage and more like a shield she’d chosen to raise.

She smoothed the gown across her hips, took one more breath, and pushed back the curtain.

The main room of Njkall’s quarters was a wide, high-ceilinged cavern warmed by a cooking pit at its center and softened by furs and cushions.

The far side opened onto a broad ledge that overlooked the main cavern, and there was a smaller meeting room to the right.

Along one curved wall ran a low stone shelf where he kept the mixture of carved tablets, scrolls, and datapads that contained the clan records.

The technology the clan had resisted for so long—at least for anything other than weapons and security—was finally making its way into their everyday life.

He was already standing at the cooking pit, stirring the thick grain porridge that was their usual morning meal.

“You didn’t have to start cooking without me,” she said, crossing to the low table where roots waited to be peeled.

“You were busy fleeing.”

“I wasn’t fleeing. I was getting dressed. As instructed.”

He glanced sideways at her, and the corner of his mouth twitched. “It’s certainly very concealing.”

“You said clothes. This is clothing.”

“It is definitely that.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, but there was no heat in it, and her nerves eased when he huffed that low, rumbling laugh again.

She knew how to handle the safe, familiar rhythm of their life together.

She liked their mornings, with their quiet conversation and the way he always made sure she had eaten before he left.

The other thing, the hot, humming thing that had woken in her body, she folded up small and tucked away where she didn’t have to look at it.

Instead she picked up the small bone knife he’d made especially for her, the handle carved in a snowflake pattern, and set to work peeling the pale roots.

The strips curled away neat and thin. She’d gotten good at this.

Good at a lot of things, actually, though she never quite believed it when anyone commented.

“Yasmin’s coming by later,” she said. “She wants to show off the baby again.”

“Again?” he teased.

“She’s a very interesting baby,” she said defensively, thinking of the adorable half-Hothian, half-human infant.

“She sleeps and screams and leaks.”

“Interestingly.”

That earned her the full, warm laugh from deep in his chest that always made her feel like she’d won something. She was still smiling down at the roots when the entrance chimes rang and a shadow fell across the entrance.

“Clan Leader.” A young warrior stood at the threshold, breathing a little quickly, as though he’d hurried up from the lower caves. “May I speak with you?”

Her knife slowed as she looked at the stranger from the corner of her eye. Aside from the fact that he was male, the presence of another Hothian didn’t trouble her. Despite that, Njkall took a step forward, angling himself between her and the newcomer.

“Enter, Sorrath,” Njkall said. “Have you come from Port Eyeja?”

“Yes. Baralt sent me to report.” Sorrath stepped inside but stayed near the entrance, giving her a wide, deliberate berth that she appreciated more than she could ever say.

“The Kaisarian trade envoy left on schedule with the latest shipment of sothiti. And new visitors for the resort keep arriving. Three shuttles yesterday. Two more this morning.”

Njkall nodded thoughtfully. “We’ll be fully booked this cycle.”

“The resort is proving to be most popular.” Sorrath shrugged. “These offworlders are willing to pay a great deal of credits to sleep in soft beds and stare at our snow through glass.”

Rich offworld visitors came for the views and the carefully curated experiences of skiing and skating and pretending that a dangerous ice planet was merely a winter playground.

“Good.” Njkall’s voice held a great deal of satisfaction. He had fought for the resort, not only as a way to pull Hothrest out of its isolation, but to give it a wider presence in the Kaisarian Empire. “This is what we wanted. Careful growth.”

“Yes.” Sorrath hesitated, and shifted his weight.

“But,” Njkall prompted.

“But the wealthy don’t travel alone, Clan Leader.

” Sorrath’s jaw worked. “Where there are credits, there are those who come to take them. The resort manager reported two guests this week with false travel papers. The landing field is experiencing more traffic and—” He stopped, glanced at her, and lowered his voice, though the cave carried it clearly anyway.

“Many of the ships are less than reputable. No cargo manifests. No trade registrations.”

The knife stilled completely in her hand.

She knew that kind of ship. She’d been carried through the black in the belly of one, in a cage that stank of fear and rust, stored like cargo alongside the others they’d stolen. Illegal traders.

The pale root slipped from her fingers and rolled off the table onto the stone floor. The small sound seemed enormous in the sudden quiet, and both males looked at her.

Njkall crossed the room before she’d finished drawing breath, his huge body crouching down in front of her, blocking the doorway and Sorrath and everything else from view.

“Polly,” he said, his voice low and steady. “Look at me. You’re here. You’re safe. Nothing on those ships can reach into this cave.”

She nodded. Her lips shaped the words I know even though her heart was slamming against her ribs and her hands had gone cold and useless in her lap. She did know. He would protect her. The clan would protect her. That truth was carved into her deeper than any fear.

But another truth had just walked into her safe little world and sat down at the edge of it, and it wouldn’t leave. Port Eyeja was no longer an isolated little outpost. The wider universe was coming to Hothrest, whether she was ready for it or not.

His hand covered both of hers, warm and enormous and impossibly gentle, despite the deadly black claws. His voice hardened as he looked back at Sorrath over his shoulder.

“Tell Baralt to send me everything he knows about the new ships and the activity in the port. Everything.”