Slag: Book Four in the Galaxy Pirates Alien Abduction Romance Series (Shifter) by Alana Khan (i like reading books .TXT) 📗

My mind refuses to function as I wait for the medic to arrive. I can’t even begin to assess what’s going on.

“What’s wrong?” Seneca asks as he bursts through the door and runs to Slag’s side of the bed.

“It’s not him. It’s me,” I tell him as I stroke Slag’s head. “I’m having a psychotic break.”

“What are you talking about?” His brow furrows and his head tips back. This was obviously not what he was expecting to hear.

“I was talking to him a moment before I called you. I saw him clear as a bell, and then all of a sudden I saw a . . . a God. An ancient God in one of our historic pantheons on Earth. Not really, but it was the way I always pictured him.

“Obviously I dredged it out of my subconscious. But it wasn’t a dream or a memory or an image I stole out of some book I read. I was having a hallucination.”

“And now?” he asks. “What do you see now?”

“You. Your regular self. And Slag, like he always is. I asked you to bring the stretcher so you could take him to medbay with you. Obviously, I’m too crazy to take care of him.”

“I’ll do nothing of the sort. We’re going to figure out what’s happening, but I’ll tell you one thing, young lady.” He points his finger at me. I can’t scold him for calling me a young lady. I’ve been told he’s pushing two-hundred-years old. Primians live twice as long as humans. I guess he’s earned the right to sound like an old grouch. “There’s no one on this vessel who can care for this male better than you. You love him.”

“I do?” That slipped out. Do I? Do I love him?

“Freeze,” Seneca commands. “Don’t move.”

I follow his order.

“Just look at you. Your posture.”

I’m as close as I can get to Slag, my hip resting on his mattress, my hand stopped in the middle of a gentle stroke of his pebbled green head.

“You’ve barely left his side since you came aboard. Maybe I’m the crazy one. Perhaps you don’t love him, but you certainly care for him. So no, I will not be taking him to medbay. Now let me do a full examination to see what’s going on with you.”

He uses his med-tablet to take every possible reading. “I don’t see anything out of the ordinary.”

“Well, I did doc. I saw this big green guy right here turn into a handsome golden humanoid male. I don’t have a medical degree, but I know visual hallucinations aren’t a good thing.”

“There are many reasons people get visual hallucinations, not just psychosis. And the fact that you know you didn’t see what you think you saw is a very good sign.”

That barely made sense, but I don’t have the energy to argue.

“Call me immediately if it happens again, but my scans indicate nothing wrong.”

As soon as he leaves, I shimmy under the covers and tuck myself next to Slag. I refuse to call him that one more time, even in my head. Maybe I should call him Helios. Nope. That’s too creepy.

How about John? Just a plain old American name that doesn’t signify a waste product.

Seneca’s pronouncement—that I love Sl . . . John, that’s crazy, right? We’ve been together weeks, but it’s only been a few days that he could talk—and we’ve talked about nothing of substance. And look at him, not exactly every girl’s dream guy.

But even if Seneca’s wrong about the love part, he’s not far off.

Chapter Five

Slag

I wonder how long it’s been since I was taken. I think it’s been years. Most of that time is filmy, like a hazy dream.

I remember the mine, though. That was too terrible to forget. And I remember our escape. I helped KJ climb out of the mine and knew she’d never come back for me. Why would she?

The first time I truly believed in God since my abduction was when I heard her call my name when she returned. I thought I was imagining things, then she leaned over the hole and blocked out the sun. That moment I knew two things for certain—the Gods are real, and I love KJ.

She’s cuddled against me, her back to my front. My cock is hard for her. Entering her in the cave, filling her with my seed over and over, making her come apart in my arms? I don’t think that was a dream. I’m a lucky male.

I ease off the bed, not wanting to wake her, and amble to the piss-hole. KJ went there many times over the last few days. I heard her. It will feel good to walk for the first time since I came aboard the ship and piss standing up instead of into the bottle she gave me.

I’m slightly unsteady, but I’m strong; I won’t fall. My attention is caught by the ugly picture on the wall. This vessel must be fancy indeed if the piss-room is adorned with art.

What sorcery is this? The picture moves! I approach it and the hideous male in the picture gets bigger. I step back and he gets smaller. When my nostrils flare, so do his.

I lift my arm to touch him and it’s as if he’s reaching out to touch me. I scowl. He scowls. This ugly thing is mocking me!

I’m not stupid. I know better than to think I can hit him, but he’s being disrespectful. I’d scold him, but don’t want to wake KJ. Cupping my chin, I try to think. So does the male in the picture.

It suddenly hits me like an arrow that this is me. A reflection like when I gazed