Page 11 of Captured By The Alien Barbarian
Correction: don’t piss off the alien guy with claws, pointy teeth, and bulging muscles that could probably squash me like a bug without breaking a sweat.
“I refuse to be your prisoner,” my voice cracks. My eyes threaten to spill over with tears, but I swiftly blink them away. There is no way I am going to let this extraterrestrial see me at my weakest.
I have endured quite a bit of misfortune these past few years, but I have not let it defeat me. When my husband passed away shortly after we moved to this strange planet, I coped. I resisted the advances of Walter and stood my ground, and now I will not allow this alien brute to dominate me.
My irritation bubbles over, and I blurt out, “What did I ever do to you? Why do you even care if I stay or go?”
Taccit fixes me with a thoughtful stare that sends a shiver down my spine. If I had hackles, they would be on the rise right about now.
“Because you are my mate,” he says simply, like the matter has always been decided and agreed upon. As if it were the most obvious fact in the galaxy.
Oh boy, I had it all wrong. I realize with a sinking feeling that I have been wrong about Taccit. He is not a misunderstood alien with a heart of gold. Rather, he is a very bad, very evil alien. A grade-A, villainous creep.
My mind races, trying to devise a plan. One thing, however, is crystal clear.
“I’ll never love a beast like you.”
* * *
A jolt awakens me.Again. If I were keeping count, this would be, oh, the five-thousandth time I’ve startled awake in a state of sheer panic. Ever since I moved to this confounded planet, it feels like every aspect of my life has been spinning wildly out of control.
Blinking my eyes to clear the haze, my vision focuses on the cave ceiling, and I groan. Instead of waking from my worst nightmare, I am, in fact, living it—complete with the role of a prisoner.
I glance around, half expecting the alien Taccit to be lurking somewhere in the shadows. The cave is quiet—eerily so. Even the fire has given up, leaving behind a pile of smoldering embers. What I do find, however, are a few pieces of dried fruits and nuts conveniently placed beside my bedding. At least my captor, bless his evil little heart, has thought to feed me.
My stomach chooses that moment to growl, loudly protesting its empty state. How long has it been since I last ate? I know at least a day has passed... but could it have been more?
Eagerly grabbing the familiar-looking food, I devour the berries—despite their dry, chewy texture, knowing they provide the energy I need to stage my daring escape. Beside the plate, a leather canteen with a cork stopper begs for attention. I sniff it suspiciously, but finding no sinister smell, I take a cautious sip. Ah, water. Just the sight of it makes my whole body sing with anticipation.
Guzzling it down, I feel it travel down my parched throat and settle in my stomach. By the time I drain the last drop, my stomach feels satisfyingly full—albeit slightly queasy. I can’t help but pray that my alien captor hasn’t spiked the water, cunningly taking advantage of my desperation. But that would be silly, right? I am already at his mercy, after all...
As if on cue, my eyes dart around the cave, searching for the elusive Taccit. I listen intently, but all it does is magnify the silence. No ominous alien footsteps or menacing laughter echo nearby.
Opportunities like this don’t come around often. It is time to plan an escape.
I pull hard at my binds, trying to tear myself free from this temporary prison. Unfortunately for me, they are securely tied to a metal ring. I scan the room and notice that there are many such rings, some of which are used to hang hides or display other decorative trinkets.
Taking breaks occasionally, I tilt my head as if it will magically make my ears more receptive to any sounds of someone returning. The world outside the cave is equally quiet. Even the birds have gone on strike. My anxiety levels skyrocket. If even the native creatures are giving Taccit a wide berth, what does that say about him? His name leaves a bitter taste in my mouth as my anger grows exponentially. How dare he treat me like this? How dare he tie me up and keep me prisoner? And worst of all, how dare he simply assume I would mate with him? Marry a monster like that? Not in a million years! Soon enough, I come to the sad conclusion that no matter how much I yank at the metal ring, it is going nowhere. So I switch tactics. If I can’t get the rope off the wall, then I will get it off my body.
A determined scowl mars my face as I strain once more against the ropes, desperately attempting to squeeze my fingers through the confounded loops. My thumbs, the bumbling buffoons that they are, prove much too large for the task and steadfastly refuse to slip through. I find myself cursing their very existence, blaming my thumbs for being a hindrance rather than a help.
As far as ropes go, the one that binds me is far from being soft and kindly—quite the contrary. Its construction appears to be from an array of lengthy, thick, and pointy strands of pale blue, dried grass which vaguely reminds me of an angry porcupine. The more I flex my wrists in an attempt to break free, the more those straw-like daggers dig into my skin. However, I am undeterred. Even if it means suffering a few scrapes and scratches, I am determined to seize this possibly fleeting opportunity.
Unfortunately, as I persevere in my efforts, the initially small abrasions soon become increasingly painful. Blood wells. Every attempt to slide my hands through results in a hissed exclamation of pain.
This isn’t working either. Appealing to both logic and desperation, I decide that a new strategy is in order. I resort to tearing at the bothersome rope with my teeth. I swear as a few strands wage a painfully prickly war against my gums. It does, however, prove to be far more successful. I can see the faint glimmer of progress toward sweet liberation.
With renewed fervor, I vigorously attack the remaining strands until at last, my hands are triumphant in their quest for freedom.
A small cry of elation escapes my lips, though it is short-lived as I promptly find myself cradling my wounded wrists and hands. Tears cascade down my cheeks, and I furiously scrub at them, despising myself for this show of vulnerability.
With lingering pain in each finger, I force them into motion, snatching up the blanket that had served as a shawl until this moment. I clutch it tightly, draping it protectively over my shoulders and body like a cocoon.
Without a single glance back, I dash headlong toward my freedom.
ChapterFour
TACCIT
