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There’s nothing sensual here. Neither of us is interested in enjoyment.

I have to give him credit; he’s trying his best not to hurt me.

The way he’s managing this process, giving my body time to adapt to this invasion, seems far more considerate than I would have ever expected.

When he’s finally fully seated inside me, he executes three carefully disciplined thrusts, grunts no louder than a sigh, and completely retreats.

His mouth comes close to my ear, his furred, chest touching my back for the first time. His warm breath fans my cheek as his husky voice whispers, “I’m sorry.”

Chapter Two

Anya

I’m not sure my life could get any weirder.

The entire landscape of my existence has turned upside down in the last few hours.

I don’t have the heart to even think about the goal of this little exercise, which must be to impregnate me with lion-man sperm.

I don’t want to envision the half human/half lion whose cells might be multiplying in my uterus right this very moment.

Despite my efforts, my mind flashes me a picture of an alien baby. A frisson of fear bolts up my spine.

I’m trying desperately not to feel sorry for myself or worry about what the future holds or wonder where I am or where they’re taking me.

Forbidding myself to think of Mom, Dad, my two sisters, and my great friends back in Denver, I give myself permission to mourn their loss later.

I need to focus on this moment. Right now I need to pee, clean my leaky nether regions, and get back to the corner of my cell to take just a few minutes to cry. I think I’ve earned it.

After the peeing and cleaning, but before my well-earned complete nervous breakdown, I hear a commotion coming from down the hall.

The solid walls between cells only allow me to see the metal wall through the front bars of my cell.

It sounds like the guards are taking the girls out, then returning them.

Whatever is going on out there, and however awful it is to be in this cell, fear flares, clenching in my belly.

Lion guy is lounging on the bed, leaning against the wall again. I can tell by his blank expression that he’s checked out. I’m glad he wasn’t watching me on the toilet. I think I’ve had all the mortification I can stand.

“What’s your name?” If I don’t distract myself, I’m going to completely lose my mind. Besides, I’m tired of thinking of him as Lion Guy.

“Zar.”

“I’m Anya, thanks for asking,” I snap, then pause, wondering if more venom is going to spew out.

I’m hovering between two emotions. Part of me is on the cusp of unleashing a blistering tirade at him, blaming him for the fact his sperm is trailing down my thigh at this very moment.

But I know he was no more a willing participant in what just happened than I was.

The other part of me just wants to collapse in a heap on the floor and go completely catatonic.

“This is the worst day of my life.” I’m proud that didn’t come across as a moan or an accusation. It sounded factual, because it’s the truth.

I’m standing across from him, hands fisted to keep control of my emotions, which are toggling from abject fear to roiling anger. My teeth are clenched, and every muscle in my body is tightly coiled .

I’m about to launch into an angry monologue, then stop abruptly, like the wind unfurled from my sails.

It’s not his fault. He didn’t ask for this any more than I did.

Look at him. He’s in his own little world, no happier than I am.

My emotional rollercoaster speeds right past anger and stops at sadness.

“Don’t cry, Anya,” I whisper to myself even as hot liquid gathers behind my eyes and my chin quivers. “Shit.” I don’t want to cry. Crying feels like weakness, but I can’t control the tears now snaking down my cheeks.

He shakes his head, bringing himself back to the present, then gives me full eye contact for the first time since we met. He stares for a long moment, then leans toward me, elbows on his thighs.

“There’s no way to make this easy for you.

” His eyes search the ceiling as he appears to fish for something to say.

“Being a slave is a hard life. It’s unpleasant to know you have no choices, no control over even your own body, that you must do everything the guards order.

I’m sorry you had to endure…” His gaze flicks to the bed.

“I hate to be the one to tell you that your old life, whatever it was, will never return.” He looks at me directly and adds gently, “There is no escape.”

Two tusk guys appear at the cell door as if on cue. Zar is already on his knees, facing the back wall, hands on his head. Perhaps I’m crazy, but I think he’s doing it to protect me, not himself.

The tusk guys force me at gunpoint down the narrow metal-walled hall to an exam room. In one simple nanosecond, every single National Enquirer story I’ve ever read about alien abductions flashes through my mind. I can’t get the words “anal probe” out of my mind. My body shivers in fear.

The room is stark. Robotic, high-tech machines straight out of a sci-fi movie are attached to the wall. The alien doctor is waiting for me. He’s not wearing a white coat, just a navy-blue jumpsuit and the fakest, most smarmy smile I’ve ever encountered.

He’s way more humanoid than the tusk people. He’s human-sized, human-shaped, human in almost every way, except for the sky-blue skin. Slightly handsome, his face has those sunken cheeks and sharp blue eyes straight out of central casting for a generic movie villain of the good-looking variety.

“Hellooo,” he says cheerily. “Now, who do we have here?”

I give him an icy stare. I refuse to make this easy for him. He wants a complete chart on me? Wants my medical history? Well, they should have thought of that before they beamed me aboard.

“A first name at least,” he wheedles. “I’d hate to have to call you Patient C throughout the exam.”

Icy stare. Feet planted. Maybe it’s because we’re alone in this room with no boar people, or that his collar controller is sitting on the counter a few steps away, but I feel emboldened

“Well, let’s just get you up on the exam table.” He pats it twice, decisively.

Angry glare, feet still planted, I imitate Zar’s feral don’t fuck-with-me look.

What do you know? It works. His shoulders sag and his eyes inspect the floor.

I get the distinct impression he doesn’t want to be doing this any more than I do.

His attitude is nothing like the aggressive, threatening guards.

“Look, Patient C, it is my job to ensure that intercourse and ejaculation have occurred in the proper, um, place. It will make it easier on both of us if you just,” he pats the table again, twice in quick succession, “hop up here and let me take a quick look.”

He has a speculum in hand and quacks it like a puppet mouth to emphasize the words, “quick look. ”

“You’re a doctor? Where I come from doctors take an oath that says, ‘above all do no harm.’” I give him the full force of my patented stink eye.

“You went to school to be a doctor, a healer? And your mission on this ship is to examine my most private space to make sure the alien I’ve been forced to mate with has ejaculated in the correct hole? Really? You can go fuck yourself.”

He looks at me, stricken. “Fuck? Myself?”

He’s incredulous, obviously not understanding the idiom. My body hums with hope. I’m getting to him. Maybe there’s no way to break out and pilot an alien spacecraft back to Earth, but perhaps I can connect with this guy. Maybe trigger his guilt and garner his help.

“Seriously, you went to years of school. Even though you’re from a different culture, you had to have wanted to be a healer when you were younger, right?

You’re on a slave ship . You’re double checking the culmination of enforced rape .

You understand you’re actively harming sentient beings, right?

How do you look yourself in the mirror?”

Oh goodness, I really think I’ve gotten to him. His plastic happy look has completely evaporated, and his cheek muscle is twitching restlessly. He’s silent for a long while, his face stony. “Let’s get you up on the table.” He’s looking over my right shoulder, avoiding my eyes.

All right. I think I’ve pushed as far as I’d better go today if I want to stay alive. Perhaps, though, I’ve made him think.

After pulling off my pants, I hop up on the table. Although the doctor is blue and I’m on high alert, the procedure isn’t any more uncomfortable than my annual exam back home. The entire assessment takes all of two minutes.

“The guards, the Urluts, will order you and your cellmate to have intercourse every day, and will bring you to me daily to confirm it. It would be much more pleasant for us both if you were to be more cooperative in the future.” He gives a slight bow.

Still avoiding eye contact, he lets me pull my clothes back on and escorts me to the door.

S urprisingly, Zar’s facial muscles slacken in relief after the Urluts unceremoniously deposit me back into the cell.

He’s crouched in my corner, a silent invitation for me to have the bed.

I suddenly realize I haven’t slept in… I have no idea how long.

But I’m tired and ravenous, as well as scared and angry and lonely for family and friends.

I see some kind of food bars on the floor of the cell. They must have tossed them in when they brought me back. I grab them, drop half in Zar’s lap, and plop on the bed.

“Are these edible?” I ask.

“They are nutritious, not delicious.”

I doubt they rhyme in his language, but they do in mine and at the moment, sleep deprived and hungry, it strikes me as utterly hilarious. I laugh for at least a minute, feeling more and more insane as the seconds tick by, but I just can’t stop giggling.