Total pages in book: 50
Estimated words: 46078 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 230(@200wpm)___ 184(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46078 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 230(@200wpm)___ 184(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
I met my human mate when she accidentally sold herself at an alien slave auction.
She’s half my size, and she's cute when she's wrong.
(And she's wrong about so many things, like who owns who.)
I'll thoroughly enjoy teaching this human of mine just who she belongs to.
And making the baby my pride demands of me? That's going to be a lot of fun too. But it's not all fun and games.
The world I come from is harsh, and the rules of my pride are vicious.
I cannot shelter her from every rough reality of Leonid life.
My mate will have to be as strong as she is soft. She will have to bend so she does not break.
I am alpha of my pride, and she will come to understand her place as my mate, or suffer the consequences. My Big Alien Owner contains many dark themes relating to a society of leonine aliens, and a very possessive alien alpha. Reader discretion is advised.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
PART 1
1
Ava
A large pair of handcuffs clanks at my waist. I tied them to my belt because carrying them made my arms hurt but they’re still dragging me down, making every step an effort. That makes my breath come in shorter gasps, which in turn feeds into the panic I have been trying to repress since I landed here. I have to be brave, even though every instinct I have is telling me to turn and run back to my ship. There’s nobody else do to this for me. I have to do this on my own.
I grunt as a creature twice my size shoulder checks me and knocks me out of their way. They don’t notice what they’ve done. I barely warrant attention here in an illegal alien slave market - or anywhere, for that matter.
I am in a crowded slave market, being pushed around by busy aliens who have no interest in me. I’m looking for somebody in particular. My alien. The one who belongs to me.
This is actually more of a pick up zone. The auction itself was conducted online. Selling sentient beings is illegal in every part of the settled universe, so that part doesn’t happen in person. However, you still have to come and get your goods, as it were.
The organization of the place leaves a lot to be desired. There are creatures in cages and other creatures walking around holding tickets with numbers and shackles. I’m glad to be a creature with a number, though I hope I won’t need the shackles. The cages don’t look comfortable, and the aliens inside them, they don’t look thrilled to be there. Except for one cage, where a tentacled alien is playing a harmonica in a cheerful kind of way.
“CLAIM YOUR ALIENS WITHIN THE NEXT HOUR OR FORFEIT YOUR PAYMENT!”
I’d say that the auctioneers were nicer before this point, but I conducted my business using a website that frankly had about the same attitude as the sharp, irritated voice coming over the loudspeaker. We’ll never know who is actually behind the auction.
“TO AVOID SCRUTINY FROM LAW ENFORCEMENT, TRY TO KEEP THIS PLACE A SECRET. IDIOTS.”
I have to wonder if the insults are actually necessary, and then I realize I’m in a big alien illegal slave trading depot where nobody cares about your feelings. Everybody with a ticket is scum, including me.
I’m a good person, or at least, I like to think I am. Desperation has driven me to this dark corner of the cosmos where souls are traded.
Most of the aliens here are so alien to me I’m not even sure what species they are, or how to speak their language. There is a sort of basic galactic tongue that the announcements are being made in, but people who frequent places like these aren’t exactly the sort to converse in tongues everybody can understand.
Twelve large Scythkin warriors come past, their legendary offensive blades retracted into their gleaming dark exoskeletons. They are given a wide berth by absolutely everybody, for we all know that they are capable of exploding any moment like a razor sharp Swiss-Army knife and becoming executors of absolute and certain doom. I make sure not to catch their eye. I’ve heard Scythkin have a thing for humans, and I don’t want to end up captive to one of those hulking beasts. One of them gives me a look as they pass, dark, serrated brows narrowing at me until I am swallowed by the crowd.
I’m starting to realize that I am a very long way out of my depth here. I should never have come. I never would have come if I’d thought I had another choice.
Another group of large aliens comes by. These all have eight eyes, sharp wings, and the kind of mandibles I’m used to seeing on very small critters, except these are so large that these aliens could quite frankly bite my head off. Suddenly, my neck feels very unprotected.
I should have worn armor, but I didn’t think about how I was dressed when I came to the illegal alien slave auction, and frankly, I don’t have any. When I look down at myself, I see my second best overalls, which have some mud and actually, I think, blood on them. When I fled the farm there wasn’t a lot of time for fashion. It was, is, an emergency.
Where is my purchase? I look up at the signs hung from the ceiling. I’m almost certain that I am in the right place. 42-Alpha D. That matches the tag on the lanyard around my neck. He should be right here in front of me in one of these enclosures. But all the enclosures are empty. I wonder if someone has taken my alien. I’m in a lot of trouble if so. I spent the very last of my life savings to come here and buy help.