Page 66 of Sold to the Alien Smugglers

The Bullfrog senses Marcel’s hesitation, and changes his tune – adopting a more respectful, submissive tone of voice.

“Honored guests,” he gurgles. “Come.”

Marcel nods. This is a more acceptable invitation.

But then the Bullfrog insists:

“Must see.Mustsee the women! Bring them.”

To the Bullfrog’s credit, he doesn’t step back as he makes this demand.

Marcel’s broad back faces me, so I can’t see his reaction to this – but I imagine it’s not good. I watch as his fingertips graze the hilt of his Orb-Blade. I know he’s just aching to draw it, and cut down this disgusting, insolent creature.

As much as I’d like to witness that, I pray Marcel won’t succumb to the temptation – and, in doing so, kill us all.

Instead, he growls: “What if we don’twantto bring our women?”

The Bullfrog looks left and right again, counting the Aurelians ready to rip him apart. They still number just two – Lucius and Quint.

His jowls jiggling, the Bullfrog gurgles:

“Lord Oblog orders you. I just deliver order.”

As he says that, the Bullfrog backs away slowly. Once he’s safely out of immediate reach of the Aurelians’ Orb-Blades, he turns and lumbers down the corridor.

Fuck.

Fuck!

When the Bullfrog said ‘honored guests’ he wasn’t referring to the Aurelians, despite the luxury of their living quarters on board this ship. Whoever these ‘guests’ are, I’m willing to bet they’re arriving right now, in that sleek, green ship we saw through the viewport.

Just a day ago, the news would have floored me. Now, I take action, instead.

The second the exterior doors hiss closed, sealing us from the Bullfrog and his entourage, I burst out of the room.

The sudden movement makes Marcel turn sharply around, his Orb-Blade activating.

I freeze.

Suddenly, I’m face to face with seven-feet of bloodthirsty, indignant alien warrior – ready to kill at a moment’s notice. Marcel’s Orb-Blade hums with energy and nothingness – a blue-black field that crackles and fizzes malevolently.

Malevolent is the only way to describe it – malevolent and endless.

I find my eyes drawn to the blade, and within it I can see the deepness of the universe; sinking endlessly into darkness, and coaxing me to follow it.

I can’t tear my eyes away. It captures me in the same way it must have caught the Toads and Scorp – the ones who’d lain eyes on that same blade just moments before getting cut down by Marcel.

Then, just as instantly, the blade blinks out of existence.

I’m free.

I shake my head, feeling as if I’ve just snapped out of a trance.

“My apologies,” Marcel says coldly – but not so coldly that I can’t read the emotions behind his slate-grey stare. He’s losing his composure.

“It’s okay,” I raise my hands. “It’s okay – I know you didn’t mean to scare me.” My eyes narrow. ”Are you being summoned to the Great Hall to take a new shipment?”

I ask the question out of hope – sweet, poisonous hope that this is merely a routine request.

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