Free Captive by K. M. Fawcett

stepped through the cloud into his living room, took off a silver ring from around his head, and tossed it on the side table. The gas crackled as it transitioned back into its solid state. Even if there had been enough time to jump off the couch and run through it, she couldn’t. Her legs were frozen. Her breath came out in quick puffs of smoke.
    The creature approached slowly—probably so he wouldn’t frighten her (too late for that)—and picked up Duncan, embracing him. Duncan returned the hug, and Addy sensed the alien’s happiness. It gave Duncan a pat on the head and set him down on the couch’s seat.
    “It’s okay, lassie,” Duncan called from below. “He won’t harm ye.”
    Before she could say anything, the monster picked her up and cradled her in his arms. Squirming made her hood fall back and the cloak twist and tighten. The alien untangled the material and repositioned her before drawing the fabric around her again. His grip was firm so she couldn’t get away but not tight enough to cause pain. His soft, furry body emanated warmth and the scent of black licorice.
    She hated black licorice.
    His long spindly fingers stroked her hair, and she couldn’t stop wondering if her cat, Zira, had felt as uncomfortable in her arms as she did right now in the alien’s.
    “Can ye sense it, lassie? Ferly Mor cares for ye verra much. Ye’re no’ just any human to him. Ye’re his human.”

Chapter Eight
    I t wasn’t long before the monster had lost interest in petting her, and returned them to Duncan’s house. With its one-way transparent walls for the alien’s viewing pleasure, it was more like a fishbowl.
    The door crackled closed behind them. Duncan hung their cloaks. “Ye’ve already seen the common area.” He indicated the room she had woken up in earlier today.
    A whoosh of cold air startled her. She glanced toward the hutch. Ferly Mor’s hand reached through a smoky window and placed bowls of food on the sideboard next to a giant hanging water dispenser. Could she feel anymore like a caged rat?
    “Suppertime,” said Duncan. “But first, let me show ye the rest of our home.”
    He pushed opened the middle door she had noticed after waking up on his couch, and then turned on a little flashlight-looking thing. The closet-sized room brightened. Straight ahead was a familiar orange flowerpot. To the left, a pitcher and bowl sat atop a wooden table. “The privy.”
    “No shower? No sink?”
    “No, lass. Ye can wash up in any one of the bathing pools in the Yard.”
    “Great,” she mumbled. “More being naked in front of strangers.”
    “Ye’ll find towels under the privy table.” He left the bathroom and entered the open doorway to her right. “My chamber.”
    The room, no larger than seven by ten feet, felt cramped with the overfilled bookshelves, knickknacks, and stuff jammed in every conceivable space. Did the Hyboreans take these things from Earth? If anyone back home was missing something, she knew just where they could find it.
    In the far corner loomed the same pillow bedding as in the breeding box. Addy’s stomach turned. She backed away from the bedding in case Duncan suddenly got the same idea Max and Regan had.
    “This is your home now, so ye’re free to go anywhere ye wish. Except in here.” He retrieved a key from his pocket and unlocked the door at the rear of his bedroom. “This is my private horde of the malt.”
    Duncan cracked the hinged door open only enough to fit through. Not that she’d be able to see inside, anyway, since the door opened out in her direction. She heard the shuffling of boxes. They were, no doubt, the tower of boxes she had seen through the transparent wall while in Ferly Mor’s apartment. More boxes shuffled and glasses clinked before Duncan emerged with three bottles of whiskey. He shut and locked the door.
    “If anyone asks ye for some, ye must fetch me. I’ll no’ have ye accidentally giving away the good stuff to just anybody. And if Regan