Page 55 of Captured By The Alien Barbarian
What greets me is a sight I haven’t laid eyes on in an eon—plush couches encircle a gleaming tea table, a luxurious rug begging to be walked on with bare feet, and there’s even large artwork adorning the walls.
“Sit,” James commands, flippantly gesturing at one of the couches. “Wait there.”
I gracefully stumble over to it and sink down, moaning as my body sinks into the soft pillows.
James disappears into another room. He speaks to someone, voices muffled.
I wind up waiting far longer than anticipated. Are they summoning a doctor? Or maybe arranging for some food and drink? Anything would be great right about now.
Barely managing to keep my eyes from slamming shut, I fight the urge to lay my head on the enticing pillow beside me and just pass out. Adjusting a fancy red pillow adorned with golden stitching, I wince at the dirt trapped under my fingernails, the scratches and grime covering my whole arm. I’ve even left a dirt trail from my shoes. Pretty sure they won’t be thrilled about that.
As exhausted as I am, sleep seems impossible now. After spending recent days in a cave, this pristine environment feels almost surreal. I feel so out of place. So unwelcome.
“Thank you for returning her,” Walter’s voice snaps me back to reality. I attempt to rise, but apparently my legs have filed for early retirement. They are honestly so sore that I don’t know if I’m even capable of standing on my own at this point. All I can muster is a weak smile, which isn’t exactly reciprocated—he barely looks at me, no sign of happiness to see me or maybe just disappointment at my awful condition. Ouch. I try not to let the rejection and dismissal hurt.
James paces into the room after him. He shrugs off Walter’s praise. “Good work for good pay.”
Walter’s lips purse. “Of course.”
I watch with curiosity as he moves over to the wall opposite us. He flicks open a small wooden box, ornately carved, and rustles about inside it. He turns and hands a small pouch to James, saying, “At least I know where you stand.”
James opens the pouch’s drawstring and allows several shiny objects to fall into his hand. Gems! They’re small, about the size of my fingernail, and emit a faint glow as he shuffles them around in his palm.
He’s holding an absolute fortune in his hand.
I struggle to my feet to get a better look. How did they manage to get so many refined gems away from the tightly controlled mine?
Catching me gawking at his new treasures, James quickly pours the gems back into the pouch and stuffs it into his pocket.
“You have your wife back,” he says, “so that concludes our business.”
James pauses at the front door and shoots me an unreadable look. “I expect Maya will be happy to see you returned. I shall send her to you tomorrow.”
And with that, the door slams behind him. The room falls into an uncomfortable silence.
I stare at the door he left through, my brain rushing through a hundred scattered thoughts and unanswered questions.
“Why did he call me your wife?” I say before I can stop myself. Of all the things to pick up on, and that’s what my brain fixates on? Sheesh. It’s not even true! That word, that claim... It feels so wrong for Walter to use it.
Walter, ever the multitasker, locks his treasure box without even glancing my way. “You’d fall for my charms sooner or later,” he says, “I just pushed the timeline forward a bit.”
I practically choke on my indignation. Who does this guy think he is? Here I am, fresh from weeks of living like a fugitive outside the colony, probably beaten and battered by my captor, and he has the nerve to act like he’s done me a favor? Where are the questions asking about my health? Does he fuss over me? No.
“It’s so nice to see you too,” I say, laying on the sarcasm. If he expects me to swoon into his arms in gratitude, impressed by his orchestrated rescue, he’s got another think coming. He should have at least pretended to care.
At least Taccit had the decency to clean and treat my wounds.
Walter’s eyes snap to me, and for the first time, he looks me up and down properly. His eyebrows shoot up, and I hope it’s an expression of surprise. Had he seriously not noticed how rough I looked when he waltzed in?
“Now, if you don’t mind,” he says with a disdainful sniff, “could you please remove your dirty body from my furniture? We’ll have to get you cleaned up.” His voice drips with condescension—and something else. Disgust? He talks about me like I am some puppy that’s just come inside from playing in the mud, not like I am a human being bleeding out in front of him.
Contrary to his oh-so-subtle put-down, it’s not like I’m covered in grime by choice. I was pretty clean before James dragged me through a forest and up and down cliff sides, thank you very much.
But fine. Two can play this game. If he’s not going to be polite, then I see no need to be so myself.
“I’d like to see a doctor now,” I say, gesturing to my injury-ridden legs and the dried blood staining my clothes. “I can get clean afterward.” If he even does this much, I’ll also clean up my act.
“I’m not footing the bill for a doctor unless it’s absolutely necessary,” Walter says dismissively.
