Alien Captain's Prisoner Read online

  Alien Captain’s Prisoner

  Captive Mates 2

  Corin Cain

  Contents

  Foreword

  1. Tasha

  2. Tasha

  3. Tasha

  4. Tasha

  5. Aelon

  6. Tasha

  7. Aelon

  8. Tasha

  9. Vinicus

  10. Tasha

  11. Aelon

  12. Tasha

  Foreword

  Welcome the world of the Aurelian Empire, where the dominant, powerful alien warriors come in three!

  This is a steamy reverse alien menage romance, which features submission, punishments, and Fated Mates. It is for adult audiences.

  I truly hope you enjoy!

  CC

  1

  Tasha

  “They’re gaining on us!”

  I jam forward the thruster stick, feeling the ship rumble as the engines power our ship forward at maximum boost. As the hull rattles, we’re rocked by another barrage of las-fire.

  Despite the increase in velocity, I still can’t shake our pursuers – and our shields are waning.

  “Divert thirty percent power from shields to engines!”

  I scream the order through gritted teeth, grasping the controls with white knuckles as I struggle to maintain course. All the while, I’m just waiting for the next volley of laser blasts.

  With a quick glance to the tracking screen, I follow the icons that represent those three Toad assault ships, hot on our tail. According to the heads-up display, they’re closing the distance between us slowly, but surely – and each time I have to deploy evasive maneuvers to escape another barrage of las-fire, they take advantage and get even closer.

  At this point, our shields are going to be gone soon enough already. We’ll just have to hope we can outrun the bastards.

  “Divert power from the shields? Are you crazy? We’ll be shredded by the next barrage!”

  There’s naked fear in the voice of my novice technician. He’s trying to weasel out of complying with my orders; foolishly praying that our shields will hold.

  But I’d rather get blown out of space than risk being captured by those Toads, and unless we can pull ahead of them, that’s the inevitable outcome. All that relying on our shields will do is make sure those warty bastards have a less-damaged prize to claim at the end of this chase.

  “I told you to divert thirty percent power to engines,” I growl back, “so just fucking do it!”

  I’m trying to keep my voice relatively calm and certain, despite the fear that’s churning in my belly.

  On my heads up display, I see the power bar of the engines rise upward, while the one indicting our shield strength plummets downward.

  Thank the Gods I kept my cool. If I’d sworn or lost my temper with him, my entire crew might lose faith in me in an instant. I’d lose all the respect I’ve built up – wiping out my record of three years of flawless command aboard my Wayward Scythe.

  I tighten my grip on the controls. With the extra engine power, I’ve now got more room to play with…

  …at great cost.

  If the Toads hit us with the next round of las-fire, our shields will buckle instantly. We’ll lose all six souls under my command as those laser beams punch through our hull as if it was tissue paper.

  “You’ve got this, baby.”

  The reassuring voice of Sawoot murmurs in my ear. She’s standing right behind me at the helm, her hands massaging my shoulders. That’s the best place for my first officer and weapons specialist right now, because we long since diverted all the power from her station to the engines. Now, she’s filling an even more important role – that of moral support.

  Her voice allows that relentless thread of courage inside me to burn brightly.

  “You fucking know I’ve got this.” I force myself to grin, and my voice sounds much more courageous than I feel inside – but that’s the trick, isn’t it? Emotions don’t drive actions; actions drive emotions.

  If I act brave, I will be brave – not betrayed by the cold terror I feel inside.

  As our velocity increases, I yank the controls hard to the right, predicting the next round of las-fire. If I guess wrong, we’re dead.

  The three Toad assault ships fire in unison. Las-beams arc out – sending searing flashes of light through the vacuum of space.

  If I’d remained on the same course, those laser beams would have carved through our ship like a knife through a cut of freshly-roasted womp – but the Toads weren’t expecting me to gamble on the extra boost of speed, and the beams arc past us instead. If I hadn’t diverted the shields, we would have been ripped to shreds.

  From behind me, Chris woops out.

  “Nice one, cap!”

  He’s the head of my “mining crew” when we do legal jobs, and the head of my strike crew when we’re making our money in less reputable ways. He can cut through an asteroid or a cargo door with equal accuracy. He’s a jerk, but he’s my jerk; and I’m buoyed by his praise.

  I pull back on the controls. Our new path is looping us closer and closer to the massive, green planet below. It’s a world called Tarrion – although the name matters less to me right now than the pull of the planet’s gravity.

  The ship’s HUD labels the planet as barely populated – a resource-rich giant that’s a little too remote to have been plundered by greedy miners yet.

  But it’s the moon that orbits Tarrion that draws my attention more than the planet. If I can just get to the other side of that, we could lose the Toads in the asteroid field that’s clumped around the gravitational centrifuge.

  I announce to the crew: “We’ve just gotta get around that moon…”

  Sawoot’s fingers tighten on my shoulders. The pressure focuses me, and my attention jumps back to the display. Our extra speed has pulled us out of range of the las-blasters; but the Toads aren’t done with us yet.

  Those warty bastards have switched to missile fire. I know their greedy species hates to waste expensive, combustible weapons – we should be honored they’ll spare that expense to blow us out of the sub-atmosphere – but their shift in deadly tactic gives me hope.

  The fact that they’re switching to missile fire means they know once we get around that moon, we’ll have a better-than-even chance of escape…

  …if they don’t blow us out of orbit first.

  At this point, those slimy sons of frogspawn must be weighing that option. Capturing our ship and crew would be a profitable endeavor for them – but it’s not what they’re really after; and they know the valuable contents of our illicit cargo is indestructible. To get their webbed hands on it, they’ll be willing to reduce my ship and crew to atoms.

  Sawoot grabs my shoulders tightly, steadying herself. She’s holding on for dear life as I start this suicidal aggressive evasive maneuver.

  I cartwheel the ship left, closer and closer to the gravity well of the moon. Just as I predicted, the idiots pursuing us hadn’t calculated the impact of the moon’s gravity correctly. Their heat-seeking missiles are veering slightly off target – the sensors sending signals to the rockets that don’t compensate for the inexorable tug of the moon’s immense mass.

  We’re not immune to it, either. My vision blurs as I spin our ship harder and harder to the left. I had to cut our own gravity stabilizer to a mere ten percent – in a desperate attempt to free up even more power to the engines – so now we’re bearing the brunt of the immense g-force.

  The lure of unconsciousness is seductive – but if I pass out, I’m never waking up.

  “Brace yourselves!”

  I meant to yell that command, but it comes out more of a drunken mumble. I can barely form words as my visi
on goes black. Behind me, I can hear Theme - our new recruit – trying to scream, but his own yell emerges as more of a gurgle; mangled by the stress of the maneuver.

  I pull back on the controls right before I lose consciousness – and that’s when the explosion fills my vision.

  For a split second, I thought that was going to be the last thing I’d ever see. A flash of light and heat; silent in the vacuum of space.

  But, instead, the Wayward Scythe bucks and twists, the controls shuddering in my hands. My reckless plan worked. Those missiles were sucked too close to the moon and exploded – and instead of reducing our ship to atoms, we were instead blasted away by the inertia of the explosion. I literally ride the energy wave – like some kind of cosmic surfer – as it carries us towards the moon and our last, desperate chance at salvation.

  “We’re venting! We’re fucking venting!”

  Sawoot releases what had turned into a death grip on my shoulders. As we level out, she stumbles across the cockpit to the engineering station and grabs the new recruit – wheeling Theme’s chair around to face her, before slapping him hard across the face.

  For a second, Theme sits there, stunned – and then Sawoot gives him a backhand for good measure.

  If this wasn’t the most anxious situation of my life, I’d probably laugh at the gunshot-like cracks that fill the cockpit as Sawoot delivers her double dose of shock and pain. It works, though – instantly breaking the novice technician out of his panic and centering him back in the moment.

  It’s an old technique – the old ‘slap and tap’ – but it works especially well for calming a new recruit when they’re facing their first life or death situation.

  Sawoot shoulders Theme aside and checks the readout, before turning to me.

  “We’re venting, sure – but the replicator can handle the air loss. Just get us around that moon!”

  I nod, and then turn my eagle eyes back to the controls.

  I shove the thruster stick forward, feeling the ship rumble as all available power surges towards the engines. The momentum of the gravitational pull slingshots us around the moon, and the Toads are instantly lost behind us.

  We almost passed out from the dizzying g-force of the ‘sling’ – and now we’re all thrust backwards by the momentum of the ‘shot.’ Like a meteor, we’re flung away from the moon into the blackness of space; where I’m already prepared for the next battle ahead of us – against that asteroid field…

  …but there’s no sign of it.

  We hurtle through empty, safe space instead; like an arrowhead through water.

  “Captain!”

  Sawoot’s voice alerts me to the behemoth before us. There’s an unmarked warship ahead of us, resting in space like a sleeping kraken.

  Where the fuck did that come from?

  There’s no question – as soon as I run my eyes across the sleek, predatory design of the hull, I know we’re in trouble. This is no merchant’s vessel, fat with cargo for a long-haul flight.

  The warship ahead of us is a killing machine.

  The warning systems suddenly go haywire, overloading me with feedback as they beep and chirp loudly, blinking red and amber warning signals.

  The HUD automatically tracks the artillery that’s suddenly pinpointed right at us. Batteries of Orb-Beams, no less; weapons that could shear through our hull as if it was butter.

  I freeze. For the first time in my career, I’m petrified – completely lost as to what to do.

  We’ve lost the hunters for the moment – but there are still three Toad assault ships in hot pursuit. Unless I get some distance between us now, we’re toast…

  But to do that, I’ll have to fly directly past this ominous warship – and Toad assault ships are going to be the least of my problems if we’re blasted into nothingness by the overwhelming firepower of that hulking battle-craft in front of us.

  I press on the transponder and attempt to open a communications channel with the ship – but instead of answering, the ship’s loading bay door merely opens up in front of us; gaping like a massive maw of some gigantic space whale.

  Then, suddenly, our whole vessel rocks and shudders. The controls jerk in my hand, as our ship starts moving towards the warship.

  “What are you doing?” Theme cries. “Why are you heading toward them?”

  “I… I don’t have any choice!” I struggle with the controls. “They must have a tractor lock on us.”

  I feel like our vessel is a tiny minnow, being swallowed up whole as we’re pulled closer and closer towards the loading bay of this gigantic warship.

  I try to correct our course to take us away from the ominous hulk, but the ship’s HUD reports that we’re already accelerating far beyond our engine’s capability to break free. We’re like a fish on a line; being slowly drawn toward that gaping, menacing, mouth-like abyss.

  For the first time in my life, I’m at a loss at what to do. I’ve never been in such a hopeless situation before – utterly at a loss as the sinister ship’s tractor beam pulls us in. As the captain of the ship, I’m supposed to be in charge – supposed to be in control…

  …but right now, I have no choice but to let go.

  I finally release my hold on the controls, snarling as the full weight of the situation hits me.

  It wasn’t meant to be this way! We were supposed to be rich after pulling off our last job.

  Now, it looks like we’re going to be the opposite – prisoners, and totally at the mercy of whoever or whatever is in command of that sinister, unmarked ship.

  2

  Tasha

  Our vessel is finally brought inside the gaping maw of the ship’s loading bay. The immense doors shut behind us with a menacing clunk.

  The tractor beam continues to carry us across the landing bay – presumably to some spot large enough to place our ship.

  I sit at the helm, watching my ship move without my touch on the controls.. The rational part of my brain knows that trying to fight the tractor beam of a behemoth ship like this would have been foolish – but it still doesn’t make me feel any better.

  Likewise, trying to fire our weapons at this warship might have been as futile as throwing darts at the chitinous armor of a Scorp; but at least we would have been doing something...

  But both actions would have been useless at best – or suicide at worst.

  So, instead, we just have to sit there at our stations, helpless.

  All our energy is diverted back to our shields, at least – even the power from our now useless engines. Breaking through our deflectors might be little more than an inconvenience to whoever commands this ship; but I’m certainly not planning to make it easy for them.

  As we’re carried across the loading bay, I scan the innards of this ship that’s just gobbled us up.

  My throat closes up.

  It’s bad news. Really bad news.

  There are two functioning Reavers resting in the loading bay – the assault class ship of the Aurelian Empire. Three more, in various states of repair, are being attended to by a triad of towering, marble-skinned aliens – the Aurelians themselves.

  None of the aliens down below seem the least bit concerned that our vessel still has two functioning las-cannons at the ready; either of which could turn them into meat. The three towering aliens seem completely at ease, attending to the repairs of the battle-ravaged Reavers as if our captured vessel is no more threatening to them than a housefly. They’re practically ignoring us.

  But if the Aurelians are treating us like we’re not a threat to them, it’s because we’re not. If there’s one thing I know about Aurelian warriors, it’s that they don’t bluff, and they don’t make idle threats.

  “Keep the weapons offline,” I command the crew – knowing that any one of them might be so scared they’d try something desperate and foolish – like try to shoot our way out of this. “Don’t put a single percentage of power into them.”

  A vessel like this will be scanning our energy signal
s – alerting them if we plan to fire up the engines and try and break out of the tractor beam, or if we start charging our weapons to begin shooting.

  Either move would be suicide. Right now, our only chance of survival is to make sure these Aurelians don’t consider us a threat.

  Fucking Aurelians!

  I’ve done my best to avoid their species entirely during my three years as Captain of the Wayward Scythe – my battered, but trusty little ship.

  I dealt with a triad of the fuckers once – and that was one time too many. They’d been Rogue Aurelians – exiles from the Aurelian Empire who’d accepted a lifetime of being hunted by Aurelian Law Enforcement in exchange for abandoning the Empire’s stringent rules and the promise of illicit profits.

  I barely got out of that encounter with my life. Those three Rogue Aurelians had wanted more than just trade with me; they’d tried to force me into their harem.

  Almost all Aurelians create harems – groups of human women they use as concubines. For the most part, these harems are filled with willing volunteers – but the collection of this Rogue Aurelian triad consisted of female slaves; forced to live serving the dominant aliens, whether they want to or not.

  I almost became one of them – and I might not have escaped if Sawoot hadn’t come in, las-cannons blasting, and used the Wayward Scythe to chase the Rogue Aurelians off.

  We still got the payment for that job – but perhaps equally valuable was the important lesson I’d learned: Never be foolish enough to deal with that sex-mad species again.

  Aurelians are dangerous – as warriors, leaders, and even lovers. Their kind is known to lose control during sex – descending into a fabled ‘mating frenzy’ that transform the haughty, imperious creatures into mindless, rutting beasts.