by Presley Hall
Her Alien Rogue
Voxeran Fated Mates #5
Presley Hall
Copyright © 2021 by Presley Hall
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Keep in Touch
1. Raina
2. Kaide
3. Raina
4. Kaide
5. Raina
6. Kaide
7. Raina
8. Raina
9. Kaide
10. Raina
11. Kaide
12. Raina
13. Kaide
14. Raina
15. Kaide
16. Raina
17. Kaide
18. Raina
19. Raina
20. Kaide
21. Raina
22. Kaide
23. Raina
24. Kaide
25. Raina
26. Kaide
27. Raina
Epilogue
Also by Presley Hall
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Fated Mates of the Kalixian Warriors Series
Claimed - Book 1
Stolen - Book 2
Rescued - Book 3
Bound - Book 4
Broken - Book 5
Consumed - Book 6
Damaged - Book 7
Tempted - Book 8
Tamed - Book 9
TBA - Book 10
NOTE: Each book in this series can be read as a standalone, but for maximum enjoyment, it’s recommended that you read the series in order.
Voxeran Fated Mates Series
Her Alien Prince - Book 1
Her Alien Savior - Book 2
Her Alien Beast - Book 3
Her Alien Warrior - Book 4
Her Alien Rogue - Book 5
Her Alien Protector - Book 6
TBA - Book 7
NOTE: Each book in this series can be read as a standalone, but for maximum enjoyment, it’s recommended that you read the series in order.
1
Raina
Sweat trickles down the back of my neck, dampening the fine hairs at my nape and making them cling together. The blunt end of my walking stick thuds rhythmically against the mossy ground as I make my way through the forest.
My life back in Los Angeles didn’t exactly prepare me to become the type of person who has to forage for her meals, but if there’s one thing I’ve always been, it’s adaptable. And considering I’m light years away from LA now, stranded on an alien prison planet, I figure there’s no point in clinging to my old habit of getting dinner from the taco truck on the corner four nights a week.
Oh god. Tacos.
My steps slow a little as I allow myself to get lost in memories of spicy beef and cheese for a moment, then I shake myself out of it quickly and refocus on my surroundings.
The forest is dangerous, and it’s definitely not the kind of place where you can afford to let your guard down. Most of the other human women who live in the Voxeran village with me won’t even step outside the settlement walls without one of the massive blue-skinned aliens escorting them. But I make it a point to go out foraging at least once a day if I can, gathering up the vegetables, nuts, and fruits that I’m certain aren’t deadly or poisonous. Any plants I’m not sure about, I leave alone, since there’s a good chance they’ll try to kill me.
I huff a laugh under my breath. “There’s something I never thought I’d say.”
But murderous flora and fauna are hardly the strangest things I’ve encountered since the ship I was in crashed on this desolate prison planet. Nuthora is home to criminals from all over the universe, all sentenced to live here together as if this place is some sort of dumping ground for the worst scum imaginable. There are no guards on the planet’s surface, but they’re not really needed. The solar council that’s in charge of Nuthora doesn’t seem to care much if prisoners live or die, or what they do down here, as long as they don’t escape.
From what little I know about the inhabitants of this planet, I realize how insanely lucky the other women and I are that when our ship crashed here, it was the Voxeran warriors who found us. Their leader, Droth, is a prince, and rather than being sent here because they’re thieves, murderers, or rapists, they were banished to Nuthora after attempting to stop Droth’s uncle from stealing the throne back on their home planet.
So while they’re prisoners, they’re not exactly criminals.
And they seem to have a strong sense of honor, which led Droth to promise that we’d all be kept safe and protected if we decided to live in their small village with them. The fact that he formed a mate bond with Charlotte and fell in love with her probably helped too.
None of us could come up with a good reason to reject his offer, so the two dozen stranded women who survived the crash have all been living here ever since. And so far, Droth has proved to be as good as his word. We’ve definitely faced threats, but never from the Voxerans themselves, and they’ve done what they can to keep us safe—a daunting prospect in a place like this.
Still, I learned the hard way a long time ago that the only person you can rely on is yourself. I grew up in foster care, bouncing around the system like a pinball, and it gave me a healthy appreciation for the importance of self-reliance. That’s why I’ve made a point of learning how to forage on my own, figuring out which plants are safe to touch and which are best left alone. If the other shoe were to drop and our circumstances changed suddenly, I like knowing that I’d be able to survive without the protection of the Voxerans.
Besides, I don’t like owing anybody anything. I worked three different jobs back on Earth just to make sure I could always pay my rent and didn't have to borrow money to cover my bills. Doing my part to keep the village fed helps balance the scales at least a little and makes me feel less deeply indebted to the Voxerans.
I won’t let myself become weak and complacent here.
That’s just asking for trouble.
I sigh to myself, wiping sweat from my brow with my forearm as I crest a small hill where a copse of yeggin trees stand. I’m not stupid enough to wander too deep into the jungle on my own, so I’ve got a few favorite spots I like to return to when I can, and this is one of them.
The yeggin fruits remind me a lot of peaches, at least in texture and sweetness, although their flavor is closer to apples. Either way, they’re delicious and plentiful around the settlement, and a good supplement for the meat-heavy diet the Voxerans seem to prefer.
“All right. Come to momma,” I murmur happily, dropping my satchel on the ground and propping it open so that I can drop the fruits in as I pluck them.
I work one-handed, keeping my walking stick gripped tightly in the other. The top end of it is sharpened to a point, so it could double as a weapon if I need it. It’s nowhere near as impressive as the spears the Voxeran warriors fight with, but at least it’s something.
It doesn’t take long to fill the large bag with fruit, and when I get a little juice on my fingers and automatically move to wipe them off on my pants, I
grimace. I’m still wearing clothes we salvaged from the ship, but they’ve definitely seen better days. They’re ripped in some places, stained in others, and just generally nearing the end of their lifespan. They never even fit me all that well in the first place, since they’re not actually mine.
When I woke up after the crash in the cryo-pod where I’d been kept in stasis, I was only wearing a tiny pair of underwear-like shorts and a tank top. I guess the government officials who stole us from our lives back on Earth so they could sell us to aliens in exchange for advanced weaponry must’ve figured we’d fetch a better price if we were barely dressed.
My jaw clenches at the thought.
Fuck those assholes.
It’s been months since the Foreigner II crashed on this planet and I woke up to discover that I’d been abducted by my own fellow humans to be used as intergalactic currency, and I’m still pissed about it.
I’ll never stop being pissed about it.
That level of calculated evil is almost hard to comprehend, and it validates every trust issue I’ve ever had in my life.
No one will ever look out for you like you’ll look out for yourself, and in the worst-case scenario, they’ll actively try to hurt you to make their own lives better.
Blowing out a breath, I reach down to grab the strap of the satchel, hefting it over my head so that it lies crossways over my torso and rests on one shoulder. I turn to start heading back to the village, but before I make it three steps, movement in the undergrowth catches my eyes.
My heart lurches as a small furry creature the size of a raccoon darts out from beneath a bush. It has yellow striped fur and big green eyes, and it bares its teeth as it leaps for me.
I react on instinct, swinging my walking stick at the creature as it hurtles toward me. I have no idea what this thing is, but it definitely looks like a threat.
The brightly colored animal chitters like a squirrel as it lands a few feet away from me, shaking its head as it rolls around on the mossy ground to right itself. I figure the blow might’ve scared it or stunned it, but as soon as the creature is on its feet again, it puffs up like a porcupine and rushes at me once more.
Adrenaline surges through me as I flip my stick to the sharp side and give the charging animal a warning jab in its back. The animal whines, jerking away from me, its ears flat to its skull and teeth bared, dripping saliva.
“Take the hint, buddy,” I say, making my voice loud and hard. “Fuck off.”
I tighten my grip on my stick, prepared to strike the damn thing a third time if it hasn’t learned its lesson yet.
The creature stares at me, vibrating and snarling. I lift the end of my stick in warning, prepared to jab it again, and it scurries away with a hiss, disappearing into the brush. I wait for a few seconds to make sure it’s really gone before I let the tip of my stick rest on the ground and let out a long, shaky exhale.
When my heart is calmer, I take another deep breath and start back toward the village. My sack is full, and while I don’t need some big Voxeran man to come rescue me, I don’t want to push my luck by staying out beyond the walls longer than I have to. I don’t have a death wish.
You probably weren’t in any real danger, I remind myself. And your reflexes were good. You’re getting better at navigating this new world.
Still, I pick up my pace a little as the village wall comes into sight. Once I reach it, I head through the front gate, then veer left toward the communal storehouse. The settlement is fairly small, with about fifty Voxerans and two dozen human women living in it, so it didn’t take me long to learn my way around.
I catch sight of a few of the big warriors near the storehouse as I approach, all three of them deep in conversation.
“Droth approved the trading mission to Pascia?” one of them asks. Zayre, I think. He and his brother Rath are among the youngest of the warriors, but they look a lot alike and I sometimes confuse the two of them.
“That’s what I’ve heard,” another Voxeran named Talik replies. “He’ll be gathering a group of volunteers soon.”
I can’t slow my pace too much without making it obvious that I’m eavesdropping, but I crane my head a little to listen as I walk by, catching a few more snippets of their conversation before I pass out of earshot.
Pascia.
The idea of going to the city where the Voxerans sometimes trade for goods intrigues me. I’m sure it’s dangerous, but I’m curious to see what a city on a planet like Nuthora is like. With aliens from so many different cultures all thrown together—and none of them honorable or good people—what kind of place would that create?
Shaking those thoughts away, I drop off my fruit in the storehouse and then leave, wandering slowly back toward the meeting house that’s become the women’s barracks.
On my way, I walk past the area where the warriors train. It’s close to the center of the settlement, a wide oval that’s been flattened by many, many hours of lunges, blows, rolls, and whatever else happens when the warriors spar. The Voxerans are almost pathological in their need to train with each other, though I have to admit I understand that impulse completely. It’s the same reason I want to learn how to defend myself and get better at surviving on this planet.
If I allow myself one moment of softness or weakness, that’s when Nuthora will open its jaws and eat me alive.
Two of the warriors are locked in an intense match, and I turn my head to look at them. I recognize Kaide, mostly because he’s the loudest of the Voxerans I’ve met so far, always telling jokes and talking shit, so it’s hard to forget him. He’s locked in a fierce bout with another man I recognize as Strome.
I feel my feet slow of their own accord as I watch their muscles flexing and coiling beneath their skin, which shines with a pearlescent blue sheen in the sunlight.
Every Voxeran has markings on their chest, shoulders, and arms, a silvery-white pattern of swirls and lines that sometimes glow with a blueish light.
The glowing thing seems to happen most often when they’re in a heightened emotional state. I’ve seen them glow during battle, and I’ve also noticed several of the mated warriors glow when they kiss their mate.
My heart picks up in my chest as I watch Kaide circle his opponent. He’s smaller than Strome, but he fights with a speed and ferocity that reminds me of a jungle cat. His lips are curled back, showing the sharp canines that all Voxerans have. His markings glow faintly, and even his cloud-gray eyes seem to be lit from within. His brown hair is darkened with sweat, a few strands of it clinging to his face and neck. Streaks of dirt and a few smudges of blue blood are smeared across his shoulders and chest.
He lunges at Strome again with a loud growl, going low while the bigger Voxeran goes high, and I bite my lip as the two of them collide again with a single-minded ferocity.
It’s brutal and vicious, but beautiful in its own way.
I shouldn’t be watching.
I’ve made it a point to avoid drooling over the men as they train, like some of the women in the village do. I don’t want any of the Voxerans to think I’m interested in them or to get the wrong idea.
But even though I tell my feet to start moving again, I stay rooted in place.
2
Kaide
I love a good fight.
The feel of my blood rushing and my adrenaline surging is more satisfying than nearly anything else in the universe. And sparring with Strome is particularly gratifying.
He’s one of my best friends among the other Voxerans who were banished to Nuthora after the failed uprising against Droth’s usurping uncle, Drokar. He’s a lot like me, which I think is one of the reasons we get along so well. He’s fearless, a bit boastful, and he likes to leap before he looks like I do.
He’s also one of the best people for me to train with because he’s bigger than me, which gives him a longer reach, but I’m faster, which means he has to work harder to keep me out of his range. We’re a good balance for each other, and he’s often my first choice of
sparring partner when I get the itch.
As we fight, trading solid blows and brutal shoves designed to knock one another off balance, I feel a prickling along the back of my skull that tells me someone is watching us. I twist away from Strome as I block a strike he tries to land on my shoulder, glancing over to the side of the training circle to see who it is.
Raina, one of the Terran females, stands to one side with her gaze locked on us. She must’ve stopped to watch the fight.
I’ve noticed a lot of the Terran females tend to do that. The males of their species must not fight publicly back on their planet—or if they do, it must not be very exciting to watch.
I grin to myself. I’ve always enjoyed showing off, and if these Terran women like to watch men fight so much, I’m more than willing to give them a good show. Droth has told us in no uncertain terms that the women are to be respected—as though any of us would behave otherwise—but there’s no harm trying to tempt one to my bed. I can tell that a lot of them are attracted to us Voxerans, and not just because of the mating bond.
Turning my attention back to Strome, I up the intensity of my attacks. It takes him a moment to recover, huffing in surprise as he starts blocking my blows, but the advantage has already been gained. I’m beginning to win the fight against my friend, and I laugh when his eyes narrow in aggravation.