Page 9 of Alien Kraken's Prize

He’s got sexy-time mucus secretions, just like the slug aliens had on the space station, when they wanted to, at least.

We’re both in a cage, and we don’t speak the same language.

The timing of this period is the annoying cap to this fan-fucking-tastic encounter.

He points a finger at my crotch, a questioning look on his face, then points to my nose. Right. It was bloody, too. From that incredibly embarrassing moment where I ran smack-dab into the terrarium barrier.

“You are worried about my blood?” I blink. Maybe he smells it in the water like one of those old Earth fish that ate people. I saw a vid about one once. Terrifying things. Huge.

He points at my lady business again, and my eyebrows shoot up.

My period, it turns out, is what’s worrying him. Though, I suppose I could be assigning human expressions to his very alien face.

He does, however, seem acutely concerned. Huh. Octopus-man and human expressions: not that different. Who would have thought?

Most of the non-human species on my old space station couldn’t stand us and certainly didn’t look anything like us. Thisguy, though—if I covered up his bottom half with my hand, he could almost pass for human. Almost.

A stream of unintelligible words comes from his mouth as he points at me again urgently, sliding closer to me.

“Lemme guess,” I say, slightly resigned, my hands on my hips, “your species doesn’t menstruate. Why would they? Why should anyone? It’s outdated. Very gauche. Very physical. You’d think we’d be past this, but noooooo.”

He tries to say something else, but I hold my hand up to stop him.

“Not interested in translation games right now. In fact, I am thirsty, and hungry, and very, very cranky. So unless you can get me the fuck out of this cage, I do not give a shit about what you have to say. And do not try to ooze sexy all over me again.”

I blow out a breath.

He’s staring at me with wide kaleidoscope eyes.

“Literally or figuratively,” I say, then shoot a finger gun at him. “Come back when I’m bored. Thanks.”

I touch my nose, which has blessedly stopped bleeding, and take my cranky self to the very edge of the beam of the heat lamp and curl up in a ball, ignoring my tank companion completely.

When my tentacle comes back, I give a long look at the octopus-man and tuck my tentacle under my head like a pillow.

What the fuck ever. I am not in the mood.

I am not in the mood for anything but a goddamned nap.

CHAPTER

FIVE

BORUMOR

It’s intelligent.

Not an it, either. A female. A female, who is intelligent enough not only to create a binding of sorts for her horrifying wound, but also appears to be able to communicate.

Even more startling—appalling, even—is that she caused my mating secretions to flow.

Something none of my species or any of the species on my planet have done.

Ever.

I can’t stop staring at her, utterly flummoxed by this terrible turn of events.

She is not a pet. Not at all.

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