The Alien's Pet

  The Alien’s Pet

  By

  Loki Renard

  Copyright © 2015 by Stormy Night Publications and Loki Renard

  Copyright © 2015 by Stormy Night Publications and Loki Renard

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Published by Stormy Night Publications and Design, LLC.

  www.StormyNightPublications.com

  Renard, Loki

  The Alien’s Pet

  Cover Design by Korey Mae Johnson

  Images by 123RF/Andrey Guryanov and Bigstock/style-photographs

  This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults.

  Chapter One

  Furious yapping woke Serena Spiers from restless sleep. She opened her eyes to see the shadowy form of her black Chihuahua scratching at the bedroom door furiously, little paws scrabbling with all the canine fury that was his to muster.

  “Pogo! Quit it!”

  He ignored her. She switched the bedside light on and saw that every bit of fur on his back was erect. Whatever was bothering him, he wasn’t going to let it go.

  With an irritated sigh, the twenty-four-year-old veterinarian threw back the covers and crossed over to her bedroom door. Pogo’s yaps increased in excited, ear-splitting intensity as she opened it—and then he was gone. She could hear the tapping of his tiny nails on the wood floor as he rushed from her bedroom, down the stairs, to the door that led to the clinic.

  Wiping sleep from her eyes, Serena scuffed out of the bedroom and followed the yapping dog.

  “There better be a real good reason for this, Pogo,” she yawned as she reached the bottom stair.

  Pogo stood back, round eyes fixed on the door handle as he let out intermittently piercing shrieks of canine anger. There was light coming from all around the surgery door. Odd. She was sure she’d turned everything off before going upstairs to the apartment above the business.

  Serena crept up to the door and nudged it open ever so slightly, listening between the gaps in Pogo’s barks. There was a shuffling sound, which was fairly ominous given there were no animals spending the night. Something was definitely in there.

  Pogo didn’t waste time with timid inquiries. He let out a furious howl and rushed full-tilt into the surgery. She heard his paws skidding on the linoleum as he came to what must have been a very abrupt halt out of sight, and then a high-pitched yelp.

  Less than a second after he had entered the room, he came rocketing out and headed up the stairs at high speed. She knew where he’d be going: to the back of the closet where he dragged his bed every time she washed it. It was his safe spot, a place where he retired whenever the world became too overwhelming. Whatever was in the surgery was obviously far too much for his five-pound frame to handle.

  Expecting a raccoon, Serena picked up a broom and made her way in. Her clinic was in a remote part of the county. Being a country vet meant that her clients were spread out all over the rural area. There wasn’t another house for fifty miles, and the nearest town was half a day away. Farmlands and woods made up the surroundings of her idyllic little world, so whenever something went awry, a critter of some kind was usually at fault.

  She pushed her way into the room, broom held out in front of her to ward off whatever furry interloper had made its way into the clinic. She really needed to remember to start locking the doors properly, but it was hard to remember when the only people in the area were friends.

  Serena took one step into the room, stopped and stared. There was no raccoon. There was a very large, very naked man in her clinic, sitting at her operating table with a wide array of her suturing supplies spread out around him.

  Her initial spike of alarm at seeing a naked stranger was somewhat mitigated when she saw that he was wounded. He had a gash in his forearm about six inches long, which he was awkwardly attempting to stitch with his other hand.

  He ignored her as she entered the room, giving her ample time to stand there and stare.

  “Can I, uh, help you?” Serena finally found her tongue.

  He lifted his head and looked at her. In an instant, the illusion of normality, as stretched and frayed as it had been, tore completely. His eyes were golden. Not brightly colored like contact lenses, but a solid gold, which she somehow knew was as organic as it was foreign.

  His features were strange too. He had a broad, strong jaw, very high cheekbones, and a straight, long nose. His face was framed by thick dark hair that fell almost to his shoulders. His brows were broad and sloping, his eyes set a little deeper than most. She could have cut herself on his cheekbones, the hard handsome slabs somehow powerful. Either he was cold, or the fluorescent lights were on the fritz again, because there was just the faintest hue of blue about his skin. It was the oddest thing. He appeared almost completely normal, but somewhere around the edges of her consciousness there was something that made the little hairs on the back of her neck stand up and bristle just like Pogo’s hackles.

  “Come here,” he said in deep, resonant tones. “Suture me.”

  Serena blinked and shook her head. There was no mistaking it. She had been given an order. Weirder and weirder. Most injured men with the sort of lacerations this one was sporting would have been damn near crying. He wasn’t even wincing as he pushed the needle through his flesh. He was completely calm, completely in control, and completely unapologetic for having invaded her business and home.

  “I’m going to call for an ambulance,” she said, still holding her broom in front of her. “Stay there.”

  “Come. Here.”

  The words sank into her mind in a way mere words normally could not. She felt his will somehow inside her, his desire superseding her fear. It was the strangest thing, to find herself not turning and running upstairs for her phone, but actually approaching him.

  As she got closer she realized that he was even taller than she’d first thought, and broader too. His legs were stretched out under the table, thick muscular limbs seeming to go on forever. His wide, equally muscular torso was covered in bruises and grazes and he was suffering with several lacerations on his back and shoulders.

  She stopped about a foot away from him and bent over to peer at the wound on his arm. “Were you in a car accident? Why are you naked?”

  He put the needle and thread down, letting the hand of his uninjured arm slide from the table and sweep through the air. It connected with her pajama-clad rear in a hard slap that lifted her not just off her toes, but propelled her a step forward.

  “I said, suture me, girl,” he said chidingly. “Not question me.”

  Serena clasped her stinging ass, her mouth falling open in shock. “You can’t hit me and tell me to help you!”

  “You’re disobedient,” he said, frowning as if she had disappointed him in some way. “You have not been trained well. Or at all.” Those golden eyes swept up and down her pajama-clad body, taking stock of every inch of her.

  “Who the hell are you?” She stood back and scowled at him furiously, quite shocked at his behavior. It was one thing to have her clinic broken into, her supplies stolen. Something else entirely to have her rear smacked and her conduct chastised.

  “My name is Zed,” he said. “I don’t have time to train you, so please, if you would, suture these wounds. I don’t want them healing badly. There’s not much time before they begin to set.”

  The mention of his wounds took her attention off her own stinging rear. There was no doubt that whoever this guy was, he was a prize jerk, b
ut he was wounded and her instinct was to treat him.

  “Keep your hands to yourself,” she said. “Or I won’t help you and I will call the police. Whatever you’ve been up to, it’s obviously no good.”

  He flashed her a broad grin and she recoiled. For one shocking second, she saw his teeth flashing bright white, his canines sharp, more like a wolf than a man. She looked again and realized she was being silly. They weren’t that sharp; they were maybe a little pronounced but they weren’t that odd. She was letting her sleepy brain run away with her.

  As she moved closer to him again, she became aware of his scent. He smelled incredible, though she couldn’t quite place what he must have been wearing because no man smelled that good. He should have been stinking of dirt and sweat given his clearly battered condition, but instead there was a richness to his scent that made her want to inhale deeply.

  “Quickly, girl,” he said, insistence and command in his tone.

  He spoke with the oddest accent. “Where are you from?” She picked up the needle and threaded fresh suture thread through it. “Australia?”

  “Australia? No.”

  He watched as she unclipped the relatively clumsy stitches he’d already put in, then began to make her own. Once she started working, her practiced mind took over. She moved swiftly, stitching his wounds, which she couldn’t help but notice were already incredibly clean. His flesh was thick and dense, taking the stitches well.

  “So,” she said conversationally. “Where are your clothes?”

  “My armor was damaged in the crash. I had to remove it to avoid being burned.”

  “Oh, yes…” She almost carried on the conversation as if he hadn’t said anything of interest at all. But something in her brain clicked as she replayed the sentence in her head.

  “Your… armor…” She glanced up at him, met those golden eyes, and felt that prickling tingling sensation as every hair on her body stood erect. She looked back down at the wound she was stitching and noticed properly for the first time what she should have noticed right away: he wasn’t bleeding. He should have been covered in blood, but there was none, just a vaguely reddish but much too thin liquid that she’d first mistaken for blood, but plainly wasn’t.

  Her mind snapped to a conclusion that she should have realized instantly upon meeting Zed. Some part of her no doubt had, but the… thing sitting next to her clearly had some ability to influence her mind.

  “You’re… not human, are you?” Every part of her shook with a tremor of deep, primal fear. “What the hell are you?”

  “Relax.” He gave the command smoothly, his voice seeming to enter her thoughts and play with the locks of her consciousness. “You have nothing to fear. I will not harm you.”

  “What are you?” She repeated the question, throwing down the needle and suturing thread. “What the… hell are you?”

  He caught her hands in his and held her tight, his eyes locking with hers. “I’m just a man.”

  “You are not!”

  “I’m not from here,” he admitted. “There are a few things that make me a little genetically different from you, but I am a man.”

  Serena started to hyperventilate. She was being held by some man… no, some creature who was almost certainly not a human. An alien. That’s what he was. That’s what he had to be.

  While she panicked, he gently pulled her close until they were nose to nose, eye to eye.

  “Listen to me,” he said in deep, somnolent tones that were clearly designed to make her feel relaxed and sleepy. “What you’ve seen here today, you’re going to forget it.”

  Serena could almost feel the neurons in her mind shifting polarity and place to accommodate his demand. It took every shred of mental control she had to keep her wits about her. Anger helped, an outrage at having her mind messed with. How dare he break into her home, order her about, and then mess with her head?

  “No!” She shouted the word at him. “No! I know you’re here, and I know what you are, and I’m not going to forget. You are not going to hypnotize me out of my own memories, you… you jerk!”

  He took her disobedience in stride. “What is your name, girl?”

  “Serena,” she said. “My name is Serena.”

  “Serena,” he said, his voice taking on that deep, resonant tone again. “It’s for the best that you forget. I shouldn’t be here, and you won’t be safe if anybody finds out I was here. Let your mind flow with mine.”

  “No,” she scowled.

  “No? Oh, Serena, you are particularly strong-willed,” he noted in tones of displeasure. “You’re going to be difficult to deal with, aren’t you?”

  She stared at him with wide eyes, alarm bells of fear ringing harshly in her head. He was holding her with impossible strength, putting almost no pressure on her flesh, but not allowing her to move an inch.

  “I’m helping you,” she said. “It’s not too much to ask that you leave my brains unscrambled in return, is it?”

  His lips twisted in a slow smile as he released her gently. “Perhaps not. You may proceed.”

  How generous of him, to allow her to continue helping him with her mind intact. Serena picked up the needle again and frowned at his wounds. “How did these happen, exactly?”

  “It’s better for both of us that I do not answer that question.”

  Serena shot Zed an annoyed look, then wished she hadn’t as her eyes once more met his golden orbs and she felt an all-over body tingle at being in the presence of something more than human. It reminded of her of a time she had been called to a private zoo to tend to a lion. Although it had been sedated, she had felt a great deal of awe when working on the creature that was so very much more powerful than she could ever hope to have been, and so strange, even alien in its own way. It was a similar sensation being next to Zed—but very much heightened, because he was awake and though he was wounded, she had no doubt that he could inflict serious damage upon her both mentally and physically if he so desired.

  While she thought, her fingers were moving, doing their work. She applied the last stitch and stood back to check that she had not missed any of the deep lacerations. The focus that she had been applying to the task of stitching him together dissipated, allowing her to appreciate his naked form for the fraction of a second in which it felt appropriate to do so. What shreds of professionalism remained told her that it would not do to leer at his muscular body. It would certainly not be acceptable to lean over and look at the portion of his manly form hidden beneath the edge of the table, although she couldn’t help but glance…

  He was incredibly attractive, and the little peek she could not help but take seemed to indicate that he was fully anatomically correct too.

  “Is there some other part of me you would like to examine?”

  His deep, thoroughly amused timbre made her blush furiously.

  “No,” she lied. “I was just seeing if you have any other wounds to attend to.”

  “I think you have sutured everything that needs to be sutured. Thank you for your help. You have been exceedingly kind.”

  He spoke English with a certain formality that didn’t quite fit with any particular era or place, but that put Serena in mind of a Victorian gentleman. There was a refined quality to Zed, quite in contrast to his massive body and naked muscularity. She found her eyes drawn to his face, where the mane of dark hair framed his golden gaze. The image of the lion came floating back. If she was to stay safe, she had to do what she had done with that great beast.

  “You need an antibiotic shot,” she said. “There’s no telling what organisms might have entered your system.”

  When Zed did not disagree with her, she went to a cabinet, took out a syringe and a vial of sedative. Maintaining her professional demeanor, she moved around to the side of him and swabbed a patch on the inside of his arm. Just as she would expect in a human, there was a vein prominent inside his elbow, puzzling her slightly. Some of his physiology seemed so very human. She was deeply curious about him,
but her fear overrode her curiosity.

  “This may sting a little,” she warned.

  Zed let out a rumble that might have been a laugh. “I have borne more pain than your little needle can deliver, Serena.”

  Nodding, Serena inserted the needle and depressed the plunger, sinking enough tranquilizer into him to down an elephant. As the drug slid into his system, she felt mildly guilty. There was no real way of telling if it would knock him out or kill him. She desperately hoped it would not kill him. His respiratory system seemed strong and he was almost certainly stronger in constitution than the average person.

  Suddenly, Zed let out a growl, swatted her hand away, and tossed the syringe across the room.

  “What was in that?” His eyes locked on hers and she felt his fury. She didn’t really blame him for being angry. The drug rushing through his bloodstream, or whatever passed for a bloodstream, was powerful in humans, and it seemed, aliens too.

  “It’s a sedative,” she told him honestly. “It’s not a poison and it won’t have any long-lasting effect.”

  “You’ve made a terrible mistake,” Zed said as his eyelids began to lower involuntarily. “If anyone discovers me, lives will be lost. If there’s an antidote, you must give it to me.”

  “Time is the only antidote,” she informed him. “Don’t worry, you’ll be perfectly safe here.”

  Zed slumped against her operating table, his massive muscular frame going quite limp. In the silence that followed, Serena was suddenly struck by his vulnerability. He was a very long way from home, completely unconscious, and covered in deep scars.

  She took his pulse, finding it slow and steady. Then she lifted his eyelid and did a pupil reaction test with a penlight. His dark pupils retracted to angry little dots, just as they were supposed to. He was unconscious, but he could still make her quake.

  Moving quickly, she ran for a length of soft hemp rope. He needed to be restrained for his own good, she told herself. He needed to be kept safe, and in the animal world, safe meant behind bars or otherwise bound.