Page 14 of My Wild Pet

Panic wells in my chest, and I slam my hands against the forcefield surrounding me, sending frantic orange ripples cascading through it.

My time is running out.

“Come on,” I whisper. “Look at me. You’re human—Iknowyou are. Youhaveto be.”

Finally, his eyes meet mine, and my chest tightens. For a moment, my hope soars. He’s looking at me. I wait, breathlessly, for him to do something. Anything to acknowledge our connection, two humans surrounded by aliens.

But he doesn’t do anything to assure me.

I hit the forcefield again, harder this time, then drop onto my hunches, my legs still held tight by the stage roots, my hands trembling as I point to him slowly then point to me. This must have the same nonverbal meaning across the galaxy,I want to go with you. I repeat the gesture, over and over, desperately trying to make myself understood. Pointing to him, then to me.

“Please,” I say. “Grey sir, take me. I don’t want to be here anymore. Take me wherever you’re going. Please.”

I’ve gotten the grey man’s attention now. His gaze narrows, and I don’t move, holding still like a statue under his scrutiny. He’s assessing me. Calculating.Is this what you want?I think.Are you one of them? Or are you a buyer of humans too, even though you are human?

“Come on, do something. Please.”

He shifts in his seat, and for the first time, I think I see something flash in his expression—concern. But then he straightens, his face hardens, and he looks away.

“No!” I scream. “Look at me! Save me! Oh please, save me! Save me!!”

The booming alien clicking resumes, reverberating through the room as glowing orange hieroglyphs fill the air. My heart sinks like a stone. As the platform turns, I glance back at the grey-skinned man. He’s talking to someone else, not even looking at me.

The clicking grows louder, and then I see it—he nods, my grey human man nods.Is he agreeing to take me?A spark of irrational hope ignites, and I cling to it.

My handler approaches, tentacles curling around my arms as it pulls me from the T-shaped stage. My feet are sticky now from the substance that was holding me to the stage, but I don’t care.

“Did I just get sold to the grey man?” I ask my handler, but the alien doesn’t answer. Of course not, my language must sound like a dog barking.

The word runs through my mind again. Pet.

CHAPTER 6

Aefre

The auctioneer gestures dramatically to the human female on the platform. She stands rigid under the scrutinizing gazes of the crowd, her eyes darting around like a cornered animal. Physically, she’s striking, undeniably so, despite her body still bearing the marks of a fight some days ago. Her hair is a captivating blend of blonde streaked with violet and pink at the ends—a feature that would make her a prize under normal circumstances. But these aren’t ordinary circumstances.

A faint orange light flickers above the human female’s head, cycling through rows of data that scroll too quickly for any untrained eye. Of course, I’ve studied these readouts for years. They’re standard at auctions across the galaxy, even if the specifics vary by species.

Wild One’s physical stats appear first. A streamlined display outlines her musculature, bone density, and body composition. A pulsing figure indicates her hormonal balance, highlighting elevated cortisol, which the display interprets as 68% “distress readiness.”

A secondary panel shows her reproductive viability. Meddling with fertility is frowned upon in the Empire, but here,in the human pet circuit, that data is simply another bargaining chip.

My eyes narrow when I see an above-average reading on neural resilience—a measure of how quickly her brain recovers from shock. That stands out. Humans are notoriously variable in this regard, and I’ve learned that a high “NR” index can signal a mind capable of rebounding from trauma. Exactly what I want, someone who can endure A to Z of Kaelin’s more harrowing training methods without shattering.

There’s a chemical readout on her adrenal function, tinted in a faint red if it’s too high or too low. Hers is spiking—not surprising for a newly acquired human being sold at an alien auction. Fear is an excellent motivator, as long as it doesn’t become crippling.

The scattered indicators of trauma mean she’s experienced pain before, but she’s still standing. The psychological readout suggests a capacity for adaptability under stress. Combined with her fairly high resilience rating, she just might survive the rigors of the Grand Championships—but she bit off another man’s penis. I’ve seen a lot of aggression from humans in my time, but I’ve never seen that particular action. Humans love sex. So for humans to attack each other in that way, is not a good sign at all.

"Let us begin the bidding for this remarkable specimen,” the auctioneer announces with a flourish. “Subject 427-B—wild, untamed, and ready to be molded by the hands of a capable trainer. Do I hear an opening bid?"

Wild One’s green eyes lock onto mine, unflinching. I shift in my seat.I don’t want her. She’ll be notorious—the one who bit a man’s penis off. Human teeth aren’t even designed for that kind of damage. Only an Octopod buyer might consider her. But even they remain silent.

No bids.

Wild One hasn’t stopped staring at me. I’m the only Imperial here—the only one with a face and shape like hers. I imagine she’s clinging to instinct, recognizing me as her best shot at survival.

As I watch her, I note that she’s not foaming at the mouth or thrashing around like a rabid beast. She’s composed, vulnerable even.

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