Page 1 of Abducting the Alien

CHAPTER 1

According to every measurable statistic, that landing had been a catastrophic failure. Things had been going just fine for the entire forty-eight-hour trip, until Clay hit the top of that big spiky plant. But why was this planet so dark in the first place? All his research on Earth—which, admittedly, had been hasty and not particularly in depth, mostly just continuing a years-long obsession with Earth media from the last few decades—had implied there was a solar energy source nearby. A star, providing the hot, bright light necessary to compensate for the human eye's unfortunate lack of night vision.

Not that his superior vision helped much with the landing.

Clay must have misjudged the timing of his trip, because that star was nowhere to be found. Now he stood in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by large, fragrant, spiky plants, through no fault of his own. It was dark, cold, and he had absolutely no idea where to go.

A quick scan of his ship showed that, while it wasn't destroyed, the damage wasn't something he could fix himself. He gave the hull a swift kick with his boot. Maybe if his parents had let him take the engineering classes he'd wanted instead of filling his schedule with diplomacy and political theory, he'd know what to do without calling for help. They’d insisted those classes were beneath him, since community education meant mingling with people they considered unworthy of his presence.

And now, he had to call his dad and beg for a ride home.

That was going to be a nightmare. Clay had been planning this trip for two years. Every stuffy, painfully boring date his parents arranged only made him more determined to leave, and after waking up from a bonding dream that took place on Earth, his destination was settled. In the dream, he'd seen a static image of a beautiful Earthling who offered the chance at a heightened bond—the strongest bond his soul could form.

His parents had laughed when he’d mentioned that dream, insisting it was the result of bad lumpmeat before bed. They warned him that true bonding dreams were incredibly rare, and that nothing good ever came from a visit to the wet, green and blue planet he was now stranded on, but he didn't care. He'd spent his entire life doing exactly what they wanted. At twenty-one, he'd never even gone anywhere fun by himself. When he returned home, he'd begin his career as an advisor to his mother, the ruler of their country. This was his last chance, and he deserved to find out whether the dream was real.

Clay felt the scales on his forehead and shoulders tighten and shimmer as he pulled out his communication device. One deep breath later—crisp and cold in the night air, the opposite of how it would feel at home—he sent off a message to his father.

Clay: Bad news. Need a ride.

He rubbed at the scales lining his forehead, willing them to turn back to their basic matte dull. The iridescence that appeared from stress was making him self-conscious, though there was no reason why. Nobody was around to see him. He just wanted to make a good first impression on any Earthlings he met. He was representing an entire species, after all. And, with any luck, meeting the love of his life.

Father: What did you do?

Clay: Clipped some plant matter on my descent. I’m fine, by the way.

Father: I assumed as much, otherwise I wouldn’t have heard from you requesting a tow.

Clay scoffed at his device, sending off his coordinates and some forced words of affection and appreciation, then slipped it back in his suit. The sound of rushing water rose over the clanking of his ship, still steaming and smoking in this patch of forest he’d landed in. If there was water nearby, that was good. It meant if he couldn’t find any buildings or Earthlings, he could at least stick around safely until his tow arrived.

He took a deep breath, enjoying the clean feel of the damp air on Earth, and started off towards the sound.

Only a few seconds had passed before he heard a new sound—a guttural groan, like the sound of a dying serali. Concern flitted in his belly, worried he’d injured some innocent being on his descent. He started walking faster towards the sound, glancing back at his ship occasionally so he didn’t get lost.

Moisture clung to the tight fabric of his suit until his body felt sticky and wet beneath it. As he hurried toward the sound, he peeled the top half of his suit down to let his skin breathe but regretted it immediately.

The cold air against his damp skin shocked his system, dropping his temperature to an uncomfortable chill. Each step made it worse, his skin pulling painfully with every shiver. The environment had fallen silent, save for the whisper of wind through strange plants that sealed him off from whatever lurked beyond them.

Before he could decide where to go, a voice cut through the vegetation. Ignoring his physical discomfort, Clay darted behind a large plant to hide, just as the voice let out another groan.

“Fuck, that’s good.”

* * *

August had been trying to escape for nearly an hour. He could feel his skin pulsing with need, discomfort settling low in his abdomen and worsening with every passing minute. Every time he thought he'd found an opening to slip away, someone stopped him.

August had spent the evening celebrating one of the biggest wins of his wrestling career, which meant everyone wanted to pour him a drink, shake his hand, or ask for advice on how to make it in the business. He loved attention, so normally that would've been great. But tonight was Halloween. Alcohol was flowing, costumes made every interaction take twice as long, and nobody actually cared about anything he had to say. They were just happy to be rubbing elbows with one of the hottest indie wrestlers in New England.

When he finally broke away from the crowds, he rushed to the bathroom to find a line of six people waiting outside it. Sure, it was his house, but cutting in line still didn’t feel right.

That’s why he loved where he lived. Living on a few wooded acres had its perks—usually, open skies for stargazing and daydreaming of travel he could never afford. Tonight, it also meant no waiting in line for the bathroom.

“I’m so sorry, but I gotta…” He threw his thumb over his shoulder and ran to the back door. A chorus of drunken protests followed him onto his deck and into the woods, but he stopped caring as soon as he found himself surrounded by trees and moonlight.

He made it to his favorite tree before an odd smell caught his attention. Smoky, but more acrid. Sharp and metallic, not the smell of trees or a neighbor’s burn pile.

But, God—that would have to wait. He found a tree, unzipped his pants, and groaned as he relieved himself.

“Fuck, that’s good.”