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  Sold to the Alien Soldiers

  A Curvy Girl Reverse Harem Romance

  Corin Cain

  Contents

  Foreword

  1. Evander

  2. Ashley

  3. Conan

  4. Ashley

  5. Conan

  6. Augustus

  7. Ashley

  8. Conan

  9. Augustus

  10. Evander

  11. Conan

  12. Ashely

  13. Augustus

  14. Ashley

  15. Evander

  16. Ashley

  17. Conan

  18. Ashley

  19. Evander

  20. Ashley

  Foreword

  Welcome to the Aurelian Empire, where the dominant, powerful alien warriors come in threes!

  This steamy reverse harem alien romance is for adult audiences, and is heavy on the action and adventure! It is quite dark and intense at parts.

  - CC

  1

  Evander

  Conan and Augustus’s eyes are stretched so wide, I can see the whites all around them. When I look in the mirror, I see that mine are just as wide.

  I share the exact, same horrified gaze as my battle-brothers.

  I can still remember the screams. They fill my dreams.

  “Calm,” murmurs Augustus, his voice tremoring .

  I try to control myself. On the outside, we’re seven-feet-tall killing machines. We were taught from a young age to hide our emotions. I tighten my fists until I’m convinced nobody can see the turmoil inside me any longer – not unless they notice the slight tremble in my hands, or the way my eyes continue to dart back and forth.

  I take a deep breath. I have to remain in control. I was the one who chose this path for my triad. They will follow me, but I must control my emotions to be worthy of serving as their leader.

  “Keep your eyes trained.”

  My reminder is useless. I know that Conan and Augustus are already watching the dead, empty space ahead for any sign of danger. We’ve been fleeing for four days now, and we’ve been on the lookout for every waking moment.

  We have to keep a lookout, because we’re not using our Orb Drive – the powerful engine that can rip us from one part of the galaxy and spit us out in another in the blink of an eye.

  No, to keep our signatures concealed, we’re doing this the old-fashioned way – by impulse drive only. We’re flying blind, too. I destroyed anything that could lead to our ship – ripping out the black box, flight recorder, nav-box and the communications array.

  As far as the Aurelian Empire knows, this ship doesn’t even exist anymore. According to a cursory examination of the evidence, they’ll assume we died down in that hole.

  Maybe we did. Maybe the three creatures that emerged were not the same ones that had entered those caverns. They say a coward dies a thousand times, and I’d lost count in the darkness of that Scorp nest.

  What I do remember was watching my brethren turn to animals. I witnessed one the toughest, most ruthless warriors I’d ever known begging for mercy; screaming like a baby as the Scorp venom burned and twisted in his veins, the sheer agony turning him into a whimpering animal.

  That memory fills me with guilt – more so than the other grim recollections. I’m ashamed that I didn’t stop to slit that warrior’s throat and end his pain. Instead, I turned tail and ran.

  I didn’t have time. That’s what I keep telling myself. I owed it to my triad to get us out of that hellhole without a pause – and that warrior’s suffering would have been short-lived anyway.

  I did what I had to do.

  As I keep repeating – that’s what I tell myself.

  “It wasn’t your fault,” Conan admits grimly, knowing exactly what’s weighing on my mind without even sensing it through our Bond.

  Anger builds up in me. It was my fault. I made the choice. I am the one who bears this burden.

  I told my triad to run, and as a result, we were the only ones who made it out of that Scorp nest alive. The rest of the warriors in my company? They were picked apart by the enormous half-reptile, half-mammalian Scorps – torn to shreds by their pincer claws, ripped to pieces by their hissing, fang-lined mouths…

  …or worse, crippled and writhing when stung by those darting, deadly, venom-filled tail barbs.

  “It’s my shame to bear,” I snarl back, and now Conan can feel my pain through the Bond. We can hide it from the outside world, but we’ll always feel each other’s auras. Ever since our first campaign, when in the blood of battle we became linked forever, our Bond has ensured we can keep nothing from each other.

  Even my shame. Even my disgrace.

  I squeeze shut my eyes and recollect the events that led us to this moment.

  Our general had told us to go in and clear a Scorp nest – a standard mission for those Aurelians fulfilling their hundred years of service to the Empire.

  Only, there was nothing standard about what we discovered in that Scorp-infested hellhole.

  They… They had an Orb.

  Orbs – the mysterious, otherworldly things that power the universe. There’s one in our Reaver, which allows us to jump through reality – disappearing from one point in the universe in a sickening moment of emptiness, to appear somewhere else. They also power our devastating Orb-Beams, and shards of Orb-material form the signature weapons that every Aurelian warrior carries.

  Orbs are ubiquitous among the citizens of the Empire, and owned by the more affluent humans and Toads to power their weapons and ships…

  …but I’ve never seen Scorp worshiping an Orb before, or even heard of such a thing. I’d never have thought those mindless killing machines were capable of any other thought except killing, feeding, and dragging those victims unfortunate enough to still be alive back to their lair; where their still-living bodies would be offered as hosts to their egg-laying Queen.

  But that is what we saw – and it terrifies me.

  Something horrific has changed in our universe. Something dark is taking over. The Scorp within that nest moved so quickly. They ripped through us so effortlessly. Those killing machines have already proven themselves to be lethal adversaries… but never like this.

  There was something different about them – that’s why, to my shame, I gave the order to flee.

  It’s as if… As if the Orbs are starting to exert their will over the universe, in preparation for some great change.

  I know, I know. Such thoughts are ridiculous. Orbs aren’t sentient – they’re just things.

  Right?

  Even in my head, I can detect the falseness in my thoughts. It’s like I’m trying to convince myself of that fact; even though I’ve long suspected otherwise.

  When I activate my Orb-Weapon, I can feel it… As if that shard of Orb hungers for blood… Has a will of its own…

  There’s something ungodly about the nature of Orbs… and I have a feeling we stumbled across it in that Scorp lair.

  Gods… Just the thought of that dark, dank cavern makes me cringe with shame.

  My own commander watched me turn tail and run. The other Aurelians were honorable. They stood their ground…

  …they died screaming.

  Now we carry the shame of survival.

  But our shame extends further than that. Today made me realize that our Empire is a lie.

  Ever since our people followed a human female – the Bonded Queen Jasmine – the Empire has become fractured. We loyal warriors are listening to the commands of a human female – a wench, who belongs in an Aurelian harem, not on the throne of our great Empire!

  If we’d been guided by General Asmod – the late, great warrior whose valor is immortalized
in legend – my company of warriors would have been victorious today. We’d have been together, toasting our victory over the Scorp, instead of my triad fleeing alone, filled with shame and regret.

  Maybe there’s still hope. There are rumors that speak of a secret child – a strong Aurelian born of Asmod’s bloodline. I pray to the Gods that the rumors are true – and that this heir to Asmod’s legacy will soon rise from the confusion and agony our Empire has descended into and give us a true purpose.

  The rules of honor and nobility – the rules our Empire is supposed to be built upon – have been proven to ring hollow. I see that now.

  Only Asmod’s heir could lead us from this despair. Humanity is rebelling against the protection of the Aurelian Empire, casting off Aurelian rule in all corners of the universe. How can we burden the shame of our child-like wards choosing to turn away from us?

  There was once a time when the Aurelian Empire took slaves. There was a time when humanity was our possession, not our squabbling child. Once, we Aurelians were strong. We guided the universe, and our will was absolute.

  “The old times will live again,” I snarl, and with those words I feel my strength and courage coming back to me.

  When I imagine taking and owning a human harem, the thoughts of the horror and fear I’d felt in the Scorp nest – when those beasts ripped my brethren apart – become less sharp.

  Coward.

  The thought suddenly rings in my mind.

  Back in the caverns, when I’d told my triad to run, we ran.

  Everything I believed – or thought I believed – melted away in an instant.

  This was our first fucking week of our hundred years of service – the century of duty that every Aurelian pledges to his Empire. We’d been armed, equipped, and trained – and out there to fulfil our obligation for less than a week…

  …and now every other member of our company has died. My triad are alone. Right now, as we flee through space, we might as well be as dead as the rest of them.

  The rest of them – a whole company of fresh-faced Aurelian warriors. Many were new to the Aurelian Empire. Some were veterans, hand-picked to lead the new recruits. In the end, though, it did not matter.

  They all died the same way.

  When I chose to run, the teachings of a lifetime crumbled. Everything I’d learned as part of the Empire shattered.

  I’d been taught from birth to be strong – to never disobey my commander and to be brave in the face of battle.

  I’d broken all three of those tenants within minutes of encountering the Scorp – and, to my shame, it’s the only reason we’re still alive.

  Now, everything is gone. The rest of our company. Our honor. Our faith in the Empire.

  My triad and I are done protecting humanity from the threat of Scorp. It’s time to claim our birthright, instead. It’s time to turn our backs on the weak and self-serving teachings of Queen Jasmine’s Empire and look to the old ways instead.

  And the oldest way is the simplest one – the purpose all Aurelians are born for:

  To find our fated mate.

  The Bond. That’s what forges together three Aurelian warriors – to turn three individuals into a triad. It’s why Conan, Augustus and I can hear each other’s voices in our heads. Feel each other’s emotions. In the heat of battle, we forged a connection deeper than blood.

  There’s one more person out there who is destined to share the Bond – our fated mate.

  The one human female in all the universe who is coded to our DNA – to our souls.

  She, too, can join our Bond. That’s what binds us to our fated mate.

  It’s also the only way our dying species can grow and prosper – because only our fated mate can bear our children.

  All Aurelians are born male. Without a fated mate, when an Aurelian is close to death the only chance for him to continue his lineage is to enter a cryo-chamber and produce a single clone; gleaned from his DNA.

  But that can only happen if he’s close enough to medical facilities capable of performing the cloning process; and they are few and far between.

  This is why, over the last thousands of years, our species has dwindled. Most Aurelians die in combat – and as such, never have the chance to be cloned. For that reason, despite our long lifespans, our people are slowly dying out.

  Just think of our own company – all those warriors who died beneath the ground in that Scorp nest. They’ll never be cloned or resurrected. Their bloodlines are gone from our species forever. Only our triad survived – and in doing so, it clarified our purpose.

  There is only one way for our Empire to grow – for us to produce more heirs.

  And there’s only one way we can do that naturally. The Bond.

  The link between an Aurelian triad and a human female. Only when we find a Bonded human female – our fated mate – can we reproduce the way that the humans do; through breeding and seeding our fertile mate and impregnating her with our sons.

  Aurelians conceived naturally are born strong. The Bond helps human females live for centuries, to produce countless heirs. One triad, with their fated mate, could rebuild a whole generation of new warriors.

  And just as our encounter with the Orb-worshipping species suggested; something is changing in the universe. There has never been a better time for my triad to fulfil our purpose, and find our fated mate. Now we know she’s out there.

  Somewhere.

  Before now, our species had thought the Bond had left us forever. For over a thousand years, there were no fated mates; no Bonded females to produce new, strong Aurelian heirs.

  But in the last hundreds of years, the Bond has become active again. More and more Bonded females have been discovered by their triads. There is no doubt in my mind that now is the time for us to seek our fated mate. The universe is entering a new phase of existence. Everything is cyclical – and the old ways will become anew.

  I will own my mate.

  2

  Ashley

  A tremor runs through me as Peter Paradooli strides into the main room, snarling.

  At his side are his two advisors, chattering away and feeding him information. He’s clearly fuming, and he slaps aside the drink offered to him by one of the slaves.

  I stand stock-still, hoping that if I don’t move, Paradooli won’t notice me. My feet are cemented to the floor as I gently dust between the cracks of an antique brass statue, trying desperately not to be seen.

  I can hear the conversation as they approach, though – and I wish I couldn’t. Peter stops suddenly, and his two advisors cower in fear as he wheels around to snarl at them.

  “You’re telling me that the pilot we hired went through Aurelian space to save time? We lost thirty women, Gods be damned!”

  Thirty women. Not lost – but freed by the Aurelian Empire.

  Those seven-feet-tall aliens are the only reason slavery doesn’t exist in the civilized part of the universe; and is punished severely when those who break that fundamental rule are caught.

  Unfortunately, I was unlucky enough to be born into the uncivilized outskirts of the universe – where ‘might makes right’ and slavery is just part and parcel of our experience. That’s why I’m not a person – I’m just property.

  At least I was lucky to have been considered pretty enough to be taken into a mobster’s personal service, rather than sold for hard labor, or to a frontier brothel… or worse.

  I don’t even want to think about that.

  “Boss, we can recoup this.”

  Peter steps forward, grabbing his advisor by the throat. The gangster has a quick temper and nobody ever feels safe around him – with good reason.

  “I have four important Bullfrogs coming in, you cretin. Bullfrogs who were promised the first pick from the most beautiful slaves for their personal harems.” He looks around in frustration. “Now what do I offer them?”

  My breath catches in my throat. There could be no worse fate than being sold to a Bullfrog. The huge, bulky
creatures are the bigger version of the Toads – the most disgusting of the dominant species in the universe.

  Whenever Peter has Toads enter the house, I do everything I can to hide out of sight – and when their gaze does come over me, I feel slimy afterward.

  If I feel dirty and disgusting just from the gaze of a Toad… Imagine what it must be like to be part of their harem?

  Shudder.

  “Please, boss,” gasps the advisor, and Peter releases his throat with a disgusted expression. The second advisor catches me glancing over, and I turn instantly away – my heart pounding as I focus all my attention to dusting the bronze figurine in front of me.

  Too late.

  I can feel the advisor’s eyes on me.

  The thin slip of a dress I’m wearing, pure white, hugs my curves. It’s meant to show off my ample body to Peter and any of his guests who want to look. In truth, he could have robots cleaning his manor. Peter Paradooli just prefers to show his affluence, by demonstrating that he can afford slaves.

  “Sir, if I might offer a suggestion?”

  My heart starts. I’m scared I know what his advisor is about to suggest.

  “Offer a suggestion? You fucking better. That’s what I pay you for.”

  “Ahem,” the advisor clears his throat. “This slave auction was a show of opulence. We went far and wide to acquire… exquisite beauties. Thirty in total. But of these thirty, the Bullfrogs would only have bought one or two each – just enough to broker a connection between their outfit and our organization. It was meant to show that we have influence and power, not to generate any real profit.”

  Peter looks as though he doesn’t know whether to kill his advisor, or continue to let him talk.