Page 11 of Claimed by the Alien Warrior Triad

I pull my jacket off, my armpits sticky. The eyes of the three aliens – and I’m convinced now that’sexactlywhat they are – widen as they drink in the sight of my exposed arms.

“It’s just an arm, don’t act like you’ve never seen one before,” I mutter, shaking my head in disbelief at the situation.

The leader stands easily, and points to himself. “Stray-ker,” he says slowly, in his rumbling voice.

It takes me a second to realize he’s telling me his name.

“Stay-ker,” I reply, and his stern face softens for a moment in the hint of a smile.

“Stryker,” he says again, quicker.

“Stryker,” I answer, and his smile broadens.

The one with the buzzcut points to himself, his finger touching the top of the vicious scar that somehow doesn’t mar the perfection of his body – only enhancing his physique. It’s so proud and distinct; utterly unlike the pitiful, tiny little scars that shamefully crisscross my thighs.

“Brigg. Kara dum maka, Brigg.”

I have no idea what ‘kara dum’ make means, but I’m glad his name is simple.

“Hello, Brigg,” I reply.

He shakes his head. “Brigg. NodahelloBrigg.”

If the situation wasn’t insane, I’d laugh. I nod. “Brigg,” I reply, omitting any other pleasantries – so heknowsI can at least figure out his one-syllable name; and that I’m not a complete idiot.

Out here on this warm, luscious planet, I guess I don’t have my law degree or prestigious position in the firm as proof of my intelligence. Out here, if I’m not careful, my abductors might think I’mstupid.

Abductors. That’s how I have to think of them. Because if they’re real, that’s what they did to me. It doesn’t matter that they’re so fucking gorgeous it’s not fair.

The huge warrior with the mohawk – the one who fought off the enormous eagle – returns from retrieving his axe, deactivating his weapon as he nears. The blade disappears into nothingness, and the eagle’s blood that coated it suddenly splatters on the ground; with nothing to hold it up any longer.

“Haleon,” he says, his voice dripping with need for me. His name fills my mind – like dark, sweet molasses. There must be some evolutionary instinct deep inside of humanity, born from prehistoric times, to instantly get turned on when a guy saves you from a gigantic fucking monster – because despite him being myabductor, the way he’s looking at me makes me shiver.

“Thank you, Haleon.Haleon,” I say again, making sure he knows that I understand his name.

I’m grateful for the mohawked warriors’ protection for a second – before I remind myself,again, that he’s one of my abductors. That these bastards are the reason I’m on some jungle planet far away from… Well, if I’m being honest, far away from nothing but the tattered ruins of my former life.

Haleon just keeps looking at me, licking his lips. Whatever culture these aliens come from, they obviously have no social norms against leering at women there – since the three of these magnificent bastards have had no embarrassment about the obvioussituationsin their loincloths.

By situation, of course, I mean their enormous and barely-concealed erections.

I narrow my eyes. I need to give at leastsomeindication that I don’t appreciate being pulled away from New York and into their reality.

Then I sigh, letting some of the tension out. Whether I’m imagining this, or it’s real, itfeelsas real as anything I’ve ever experienced before – and if I want to stay alive, I better damn welltreatthis as real. The thought is rebellious in my mind; and I force myself to nip resistance to it in the bud.

Don’t for a second entertain the possibility this is real. Crazy people have no idea they are crazy. As long as I understand that this is fucking insane, I’m still a sane person who’s just hallucinating. The moment I accept this as truth, I’ll be lost forever.

I gaze past the warriors, trying to find an indication of a way back to Earth. All I see are rolling plains and a verdant jungle, miles away. The grass we are standing in is tall and lush, grazing against my legs gently in the warm breeze.

“Aubrey,” says Haleon, his flint-grey eyes – speckled with that beautiful green – lighting up as though my name is his favorite word.

Brigg, Haleon, and Stryker. My subconscious sure came up with some interesting names.

Alright. Think, Aubrey! How do I get out of this? Piece it together logically. Could it be that my brain is somehow… Testing me? If I can find out what my subconscious wants, then maybe I can get out of this delusion! Oh, God – this is insanity…

I fight back despair. It isn’t just the names of the warriors that are so out-of-this-world. Seven-feet-tall humans exist, but they end up playing basketball; and they sure as hell don’t look likethesethree.

There’s no possible way for a human to have that much marble-colored muscle packed onto their frame, even if they injected themselves with all manner of harmful steroids to get it.

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