The Alien's Little Sister (Stolen by an Alien #8) - Amanda Milo Page 0,20

said she was abducted. “I was.”

I drag my teeth over my lower lip. “Yeeeah, tell me about that. Was it here?” I try to imagine what humans would do if they got a hold of Inara. Since nothing blew up on the news, I’m guessing it must have been a secret facility. An underground clinic with grotesque experiments, those evil fuckers—

“No, not this planet.”

My movie-montage of humans in biohazard suits with a tray of torture instruments and test tubes dissipates. “Whew.”

“I was watching one of my brothers’ matches—”

“What kind of match?”

“A gladiator match. Many of my brothers are gladiators.”

My eyebrows go up. “Wow. Your brothers are starting to sound cool as fuck.” Then I add, “Cool means ‘awesome.’”

Pride flashes across her face and warms her eyes, even though she sighs. “They are. They all are.”

“What happened?”

Her wholesome (I’m sticking with it) lips purse. “While he was in the ring, I was taken.” She peeks at me out of the corner of her eye and speaks fast like she’s suddenly pleading with me to understand. “You see, I’d begged to ride along with him to this match because I wanted to be off-planet. I’d never been anywhere but home, and it should have been safe enough. I just wanted to see his game and cheer for him the loudest.”

It should have been safe enough.

Words that become a little terrifying in the context of a conversation where the speaker was taken against their will. Because obviously, it wasn’t safe. My brain runs through every abduction story I’ve ever heard, plays every horror that the survivors had to endure at the hands of their captors. A mental alarm blasts between my ears.

See, I was raised to protect women, to watch out for them. Think an ultra LGD (livestock guardian dog) versus a Pomeranian. A Kangal shepherd, a Karakachan, a Cão de Gado Transmontano—something with serious instincts for protection and defense—as opposed to the average, I don’t know, an Italian Greyhound, maybe.

And human predators are coyotes. To compare society’s depraved to coyotes is probably insulting to coyotes—which is saying a lot, if you’ve ever seen them eviscerate sheep for fun, or pick off a cat, or take off with a chihuahua—but it’s an apt comparison, and my grandfather and my dad were like drill sergeants when it came to training me to watch out for my mom, my sisters, and women in general. I can’t just shake off all of their lessons.

Honestly, I do try to tone it down. I’m trying it right now. I fire up my parasympathetic breathing system by inhaling deeply through my nose and releasing my breath calmly, signaling to my body that there’s no need to turn into the Hulk.

Even if Inara was snatched right from the bleachers as she cheered her brother on during his game.

Because she’s clearly fine now. But man, do I feel for her brother. The guilt must crush him. I mean, who wouldn’t think it was safe to leave their kid sister to scream their name just a few seats away as they played? Deep breath, Hulk. She’s obviously in one piece. “But you weren’t.”

Her expression is sour. “It proved not to be safe.”

“Were you…” Steam should come out of my nose. Warning: tactical breathing exercises not effective. “Did your abductor... hurt you?”

She shrugs. “Not really.”

GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER, DR. BANNER. I want to press—well, actually, I want to shout—but it’s not really my business, and thankfully she doesn’t seem upset. Angry but not upset. “That’s…” I lick my teeth and force out, “...good.”

She nods.

I wrap my hands around the treadmill handles and apply my feet in a steady (pounding) forward manner, suddenly needing to occupy myself. “How did you get taken?”

She starts walking again too, her movements easy, although her tail makes an audible snapping noise as she flicks it behind her. “A group of Luvuuds sat down in front of me.” She throws me a glance. “They’re very tall.”

“Right,” I nod, having not the foggiest clue. But the curling sensation in my stomach tells me I get where this is going.

“Thus, I thought I’d go down to the side portico, where I’d be able to watch the fight at arena-level.”

“This does not sound good.”

She sighs. “It was perhaps not wise. But normally, only gladiators have access to that area of the arena. To my mind, it was a safe move, because nobody would be there to harass or harm me.”

Before I can say anything, she continues, “And I was allowed to take