Page 104 of Sold to the Alien Smugglers

It’s difficult to believe that I’d only experienced the power of the Bond mere minutes earlier, but already I can’t imagine what it would be like without Marcel, Quint, and Lucius inside my mind.

Inside my soul.

“Go. Now.”

Oblog’s voice snaps me from my thoughts.

All around me, the Sentinels march forward. The one who’d restrained me releases my bruised arm.

Reluctantly, I follow the clanking robots so they won’t force me to come with them – gripping me again in their vice-like grasp. Any struggle I attempt would be meaningless, so I have to play it smart – just like Ling taught me.

I’m forced forward by four of the deadly machines – two in front and two behind me. It’s chilling. So far, I’ve only had to face the rage of Bullfrogs, and the Machiavellian cunning of the craven Toads. Both are terrifying in their own way – but the behavior of those creatures is driven by emotion, which I can understand.

Sentinels, though, have no such compunction. They are dead and cold – existing only to follow the orders of their owners, with ruthless and merciless efficiency.

The four robots lead me up the stairs of the amphitheater, while Oblog looks on – suddenly deep in thought. He remains chewing on the fly he sucked into his maw with that obscene tongue – savoring the flavor.

I turn forward, and watch the doors open wide in front of me. The Sentinels lead me through.

The robots wade through the ankle-deep water in the corridor beyond, and tadpoles slither away from their clanking, mechanical feet. Toads technicians and engineers press themselves against the walls as we stride past.

I’m shivering with nerves. Despite the reassurance of the three Aurelians, still present in my mind, I feel strangely alone – and then I understand the reason why.

The fabric of the pleasure dress I’m still wearing clings to my sweaty body – but the thousands of volts of electricity the Sentinel zapped me with must have fried whatever made the dress feel alive. I’d grown used to the constant, squirming sensation of that sheer fabric – growing used to the way it would respond to my emotions, and heighten my arousal.

Now, all I have left is those three men in my mind.

As if on cue, I hear Marcel’s voice in my head.

Keep calm. We’ll get you out of here – that I promise you, my Mate.

The rational part of my brain accepts that Marcel’s words have no basis in logic – I truly don’t see how we’re getting out of this situation. Nevertheless, they sooth me all the same. He’s confident, and it’s infectious. Marcel truly believes we’ll escape, and he makes me believe the same through his conviction alone.

And perhaps I should have more faith. Those three Aurelians have surely been in worse situations and survived. You don’t make it through the hundred years of service in the Aurelian Army if you’re not extremely adept at survival.

The warm water swilling around my ankles makes it feel like I’m wading through piss. I feel so dirty – more so than sweaty, rough sex with the Aurelians could ever have done.

As if attracted by my sweat, fat flies buzz around me, beating their wings and looking for a bite. They buzz around the Sentinels, too – but the robots ignore them completely.

The four Sentinels lead me wading through hallway after hallway. Each corridor looks the same, and I know how easy it would be to get lost in the labyrinth of this Toad mothership and never be found again.

But Ling taught me better than that. As I’m led through the filth, I deliberately memorize each turn we take, and each doorway we pass. I use the techniques Ling taught me to create a mental map, leading me from the amphitheater to…

…to wherever we are right now.

We’ve arrived.

The Sentinels come to a halt before another towering set of doors. The Sentinel in front swipes his mechanical hand across the sensorpad, and the doors open.

Beyond is a room about a third of the size of the Aurelian’s luxurious chambers - with nothing but a big bed in the middle of the room, and a stone set of drawers next to it.

I gasp. On the bed is a sobbing form covered by blankets.

“Go away!Go away!”

It’s Tessa, and she sounds terrified. I suppose I can’t blame her. Before Oblog cleared the theater and sent in the onslaught of Bullfrogs, Tessa had been forced to watch me get fucked by the Aurelians – claimed and seeded in front of a crowd of hundreds of jeering, cheering Toads and Bullfrogs.

Then, when the spectacle was over, she must have been brought here – not knowing her fate.

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