Captured By the Alien Dad (Single Alien Dads in Space #4)

Chapter 1

Ortak

Given how often I hear them, I should be used to the sounds of Kala and Iris mating. It is never my intention to listen, yet, somehow, I cannot escape them. The human female is exceptionally loud and clearly well-pleased.

We have all sworn to keep our knowledge of how vocal Iris is to ourselves, because none of our tribe would risk embarrassing our leader’s sivalla. We care far too much for her and what she has come to mean to the Krijese.

Envy pierces my gut. Not because I want Iris for myself. Only what it is she and Kala share. Pain swiftly follows, because I am aware I will continue to travel through this life without a female of my own.

“Gogo.” Gannen approaches on quiet feet.

Considering his small size, it is no wonder he barely makes any noise.

I cradle the back of his neck—the rope-like texture of his floks abrading my knuckles—and guide him away from our leader’s tent and closer to the edge of the small village.

We pass a few of the remaining warlords who rotate shifts, either keeping guard or leaving the village to hunt.

Otherwise, the rest of our small tribe remains within their tents.

“Is all well?” While Gannen is not my kit by birth, I have raised him . He is mine in every way but blood.

“This is the turn you are meant to check your traps. I would like to go with you,” he says, straightening his spine as though that will make him appear taller than he is.

Instead, it merely reminds me of how thin he remains despite the fact our food stores have increased drastically since our tribe became allies with the Tavikhi who live beyond the bari field at the base of the mountain we call home.

He has grown some in nearly three sun cycles, but I still see the weak, sickly kit he was and I have tried my best to protect.

“Please, Gogo,” Gannen says when the silence stretches for too long.

My hearts hurt that I have made him plead. There is no hesitation on Kala’s part in allowing his own kit to hunt with him, despite Sorin nearly dying several sun cycles ago. If not for the human healer in the Tavikhi village, he would have.

The two kits are nearly of the same age. The fact does not escape me that it is time for me to loosen the protective net I hold over my kit, but it is not an easy task, I am finding.

“Let me gather my war axe and other items we might need to haul back any kills that might have gotten trapped and we will go.”

“Thank you, Gogo.” Gannen does the strange “smile” Sorin was taught by the humans to express their happiness, who then proceeded to attempt to teach everyone in our village.

On occasion, Kala will demonstrate this thing, as do Moshi and Ashrif—two of our elders—but no one else.

It is not an easy movement for Krijese, due to the shape of our mouths.

Whereas the humans’ mouth slit is level with the horizon and curls upward, ours is upright, bracketed by upper and lower mouth claws, and folds outward.

Once I have everything I need, I offer a small axe and sheath to Gannen.

He is not fully skilled in its use—which I take blame for—but it is not smart to take him with me and not give him access to a weapon.

While there should be no reason for us to come across any danger, it is better to be somewhat prepared than not at all.

He fumbles with it until I step in to assist securing it across his chest and shoulders.

We make our way out of the village, farther up the mountain and through the trees in the direction of one of many traps I carved into the earth to catch large prey that roam our planet.

The trek is quiet aside from our steps, the sound of which we have not learned to mask despite all the teachings by the Tavikhi warriors.

The silence does not last long. Gannen breaks it in a harsh whisper. “Perhaps this warm season you will be able to teach me how to track and hunt?”

Not even I can miss the hopeful tone in the question.

As much as I wish otherwise, my kit will become a grown Krijese soon.

To my knowledge, every warlord in our tribe had gotten their first kill—not of game, but of enemies—long before the age Gannen is now.

I have done him no favors by holding back.

“Aye, perhaps it is time.”

He blinks as if surprised that I have given in with no argument, but then he bares his teeth with his smile and a small flicker of silver sparks in his eyes.

Perhaps because of their innocence, they have not lost that shimmer of color, unlike the rest of our tribe whose eyes are darker than even the night sky.

While Krijese were born and bred to do nothing more than kill our enemies, we have lived in peace—especially after the death of King Armik.

A few of our people still wander the planet who followed our king into the final battle against the Tavikhi, but they have not attempted to join us.

Nor, to my knowledge, have they attempted another attack against our neighboring tribe.

I do not assume they have let the hatred go, but it is no longer my concern. All I intend to do for the rest of the time I have left here on Tavikh is live in peace and teach Gannen how to be a good male. And that means one who can track and hunt.

While no one—not even Kala—has ever voiced out loud that I have done a great disservice to my kit, I am certain they have all thought it at least once. Not for the first time does guilt swarm me. However, beginning this turn, I will change that.

“Neither I nor Kala are experts at tracking prey, but there are a few things you must watch for.” While we walk, I point out various markings on the ground, scrapes along the trees, broken leaves, and twisted branches that indicate the different types of creatures that have passed through.

We come across scat from a dreri as well as claw marks of a dhembe.

Gannen absorbs every word I speak and with each step we take, he scans the area, intent on finding any markings and pointing them out.

I am impressed with his astute observations and pride rises inside at how smart my kit is.

This fact should not surprise me, and yet, it does.

Every so often, we pause and focus our senses.

The flapping sound of mellenje wings is overhead, while there is the skittering of tiny feet beneath the ground—most likely that of a burrow of ketri.

The sky is clear and bright and the sun shines through the fullness of the trees that are not yet in full bloom but soon will be.

It is early in the warm season and a chill still lingers in the air but will burn off the higher the sun climbs. At least the last of the cold dust has melted. A mild breeze blows and brings with it the scent of the many flowering bushes that are awakening after the long cold season.

I glance down at Gannen. “What do you smell?”

He inhales deeply, his narrow chest rising with the effort. His face twitches and he cants his head. “Nenuphar blooms. The lulebore bush.”

“What else?”

He draws in more scents. “I believe I smell a hint of dew that lingers in the trees as well as the bitter sweetness of their bark.”

“Excellent.” I am pleased with my kit. “Anything more?”

Once again, he inhales, closing his eyes as if to enhance his other senses. His eyes fly open. “Blood. Human blood.”

I jerk and breathe in the same air to discover Gannen is right. The scent is faint, but present. “Come, let us search out its source.”

We take off running—with me in the lead—as I seek it out. We are nowhere near their settlement. What is a human doing this far away from the rest of their kind? Have they wandered off? Or perhaps one has been banished?

Kala has shared with us the punishment the humans settled on when one of their own commits a crime deemed bad enough to warrant being exiled.

They are given the option to either live on their own or join us in the Krijese village.

If anyone has warranted that punishment, they have chosen to remain on their own, because no humans—aside from Iris—reside with us.

“Gogo, there.” Gannen points and my gaze tracks the direction of his gesture.

The ground is disturbed, and the hole I dug to trap large beasts and camouflaged with netting, twigs, branches, and leaves lies open and exposed.

No sounds come from inside, but the scent of human blood is more potent.

With my hand across his chest, I keep my kit slightly behind me and creep slowly forward.

I palm the handle of my war axe, but keep it sheathed.

A twig cracks beneath my foot. Gannen and I freeze.

An echo of silence remains. Then, faintly, there is the sound of shallow breathing.

Every few inhales, there is a hitch, and on the exhale, a wheeze.

Just beneath the blood is another odor. One that comes into focus and is barely recognizable.

It smells like a female. Similar—yet different—from Iris.

I scan the area, far more carefully than I have been.

No other human scents reach me. Only the one.

I jerk my chin in the direction of the hole and Gannen nods.

Treading softly, we move forward once more and do not stop until we reach the edge of the hole.

We both peer down and my kit releases a sharp gasp.

There, at the bottom of the hole, is a dirt-covered human female.

She is so filthy, I cannot discern the color of her hair.

Not that I know the names to call the colors.

Not like Sorin does. Dried blood is crusted along her scalp and one side of her face.

Her short, blunt claws are broken and covered in blood, as if she tried to claw up the sides of the hole toward freedom.

She also smells of not only blood, but waste.

It is an odor I have been smelling since before we stumbled upon her, but assumed it came from the forest animals.

Her lips are dry and cracked. One of her lower legs is twisted at a wrong angle.

If not for the slow rise and fall of the female’s chest, she would appear dead.

I turn to Gannen. “Go and gather the thickest branches you can find that are taller than you. Hurry.”

He races off to do my bidding. I yank the bladder of water from the belt at my waist and jump into the hole with the female, careful to not land on her. She does not stir. Closer I creep, fearful that if she does awaken, she will hurt herself further when she lays eyes on me.

“Female. Can you hear me?” I keep my voice soft, or at least as soft as one of my kind is able. “My name is Ortak of the Krijese clan. I will not harm you. You have my vow.”

I kneel at her side and draw a piece of leather from my pouch and wet it.

Once it drips with water, I place the cloth against her lips, guiding the liquid to spill into her mouth and praying she does not choke.

To my great relief, she swallows, but it is clear it pains her.

The tiny hairs around her eyes flutter and slowly they lift, exposing the tri-colored orbs humans possess.

She stares blankly at me at first, until finally, the female appears to focus.

I brace myself for the scream I expect is coming, and yet the only sound she makes is a rasping whisper I do not make out.

“Do not try and speak yet, female. Drink and save your strength. Gannen should return soon and we will get you out of here.”

She does as I say as sucks the water from the leather.

I give her more, but not enough that her stomach will revolt and expel it all.

Her eyes drift closed once more right as my kit returns, dragging with him far more branches than I assumed he could handle.

That has been one of my many failings, it would appear; underestimating what Gannen is able to accomplish.

“Has she awoken, Gogo?”

“Briefly. I was able to get her to drink some, but she is once again sleeping as one who is injured does.”

“What are we going to do with these?” He nudges one long branch with his foot.

“I am going to craft a sled to place her on and pull her out of this hole. Then, we will take her to the Tavikhi village. Hopefully Healer Sage can help her.”

Gannen glances down at us and back to the branches. His shoulders straighten and with determination, he nods. “I will help.”

“Let us get to work then.”