by Kyle, Celia
“Honey, you should put on pants.”
“Right.” I’m treated to a comical scene of her trying to put on a pair of trousers while still staring at the tablet in her hand. Eventually, when Fiona begins to grow frustrated, I take the tablet and hold it for her while she finishes donning the garment.
Then we’re out in the passage, heading a short distance to Swipt and Ilya’s quarters. He’s definitely going to want to see this.
“Swipt.” I pound my fist on the door to his quarters. “Open up.”
The muffled perpetual squeak of his bed frame ceases for a moment. When he speaks, it’s with more than a touch of annoyance.
“Kind of in the middle of something, Monty.”
“Swipt, get off of me. Can’t you hear the urgency in his voice? This is important.”
“But—but…”
“I haven’t come yet either. Get used to delaying your gratification and put on some pants.”
Her voice increases in volume when next she speaks, this time addressing me.
“Don’t worry. I’ll have him on the bridge in no time.”
“Works for me.”
Since the forward weapons array is on the way to the bridge from our location, we stop there and check to see if Zander is present. Indeed, he’s working late as usual, though when we walk into his little workshop he quickly tucks something into his desk and refuses to turn his chair around.
“Ah…we’re all gathering on the bridge. Vitally important.”
“I’m on my way.”
He doesn’t move, and Fiona and I stand there a moment waiting for him to take action.
“Are you coming?”
“Yes, of course I am. I’m in the middle of—I need to clean up—just get out of here. I’ll be on the bridge shortly.
The door closes behind us, and Fiona and I exchange puzzled glances.
“What was that about?”
“I don’t know, but did you see what he tucked into the desk?”
“No, why?”
Fiona chuckles.
“It was the itty-bitty tunic Thrase wore as part of her slave girl costume at the bazaar.”
“Oh.” I start laughing even as we continue on toward the bridge. “Do you think he was…ah…”
“Yup. While he replayed the memory of her wearing it.”
“Fiona, you should have seen him in the cantina. Poor Thrase had him so worked up he couldn’t even stand.”
“Later. I can’t really appreciate how funny this is under the circumstances.”
She taps the tablet in her hand, and my smile fades.
“Indeed.”
After we get to the bridge, we have to berate Grantian into calling Solair as well since that’s the chain of command. But one look at the holovid recorded on Fiona’s tablet and he quickly becomes agreeable.
It seems an interminably long time before the entire senior staff, both human and Kilgari, reach the bridge. We’re all grim faced and tight lipped when the time finally comes to watch the holovid.
Fiona links her tablet up with the command console’s holonet display, and Grantian dims the lights. The scene that appears strikes all of us like a blow, most especially our pilot, Swipt.
There, dangling from metal chains in a dimly lit, windowless room, is our former navigator Lokyer. Even though his face is bloody and swollen, one eye a purpled-up ruin, it’s still obviously him.
A pair of muscle-bound thugs stand nearby, both human. They bear the Star Crushers insignia on their shoulder pads and chest plates. One of them is flipping switches on a portable generator used to recharge small ion batteries in various devices and consoles.
“You know, goldilocks, there are times that my job truly sucks.” The larger of the two men turns around, brandishing a pair of electrodes hooked up to the generator.
Lokyer lifts his gaze, staring at the man with his one good eye.
“I’m so sorry to hear that.” His voice is weak and thick with agony, but his irrepressible spirit still finds a way to shine through.
“Oh, don’t worry about me, horny.” The man brings the electrodes together, creating a shower of blue sparks that Lokyer does not flinch away from. “Today, I actually love my job.”
“Do you?” Lokyer tries to laugh but winds up coughing instead. Swipt’s hand goes over his mouth when blood spurts forth. “Guess you’re really into this sort of thing. Do you want me to call you Daddy?”
The man sneers and brings the electrodes close to Lokyer’s bare chest.
“Do you think this is a game? I’ll admit, I’m impressed. We both are. Aren’t we impressed with how tough this son of a bitch is?”
He turns to his fellow, and the other man nods.
“Oh yeah. Most people break when we take the first fingernail, but he didn’t, not even after the tenth one got rooted out.”
The second man gestures to a blood-spattered metal tin, which bears things I can’t quite stand to look at. At least, I comfort myself by thinking they took his nails rather than his actual fingers.
“But that defiance is at an end. You see, everyone has the same reaction to the juice. There’s no way to steel yourself against it. It’s pure agony. So I’m going to ask you again. Where is the Ancestral Queen?”
“Okay.” Lokyer shakes his head. “Okay, I’ll talk.”
His voice is barely above a whisper. The torturer looks over his shoulder, I believe at someone we cannot yet see, and offers a nod. Then he lowers the electrodes and leans in close.
“Go ahead. I’m listening.”
Lokyer opens his mouth, his lips move, but nothing comes out. The man moves in closer—only to have Lokyer spit a bloody, froth-filled gobbet right into his eyes. Then he laughs as the man staggers back and wipes his face.
“That was fucking stupid.” The man rushes forward and shoves the electrodes into Lokyer’s body, one at the ribcage and the other near his heart. Lokyer’s mouth flies open in a silent scream, his body frozen in agony by the current rushing through it. Solair leans forward, his hands clenching into fists, and I sputter in inarticulate rage.
“Stop.” Ilya pleads, though of course it’s not as if it’s a live two-way feed.
Finally the torturer pulls the electrodes away.
“You can’t say you haven’t been asking for that all night.”
Lokyer lifts his head, his chest heaving with pants. Then he breaks into his lopsided devil-may-care grin—the same one that used to give us hope in dark times.
“I’m begging for it. Who’s gonna give it to me? Your mom?”
The torturer sputters in anger and turns up the dial to maximum. Then he shocks Lokyer again.
“Stop.” Someone off screen shouts. “Stop, you fool. Can’t you see he’s baiting you?”
A man rushes forward and pulls the thug away, and Lokyer dangles limply from the chains. We fear he’s dead until he lets out a little groan.
“Ah…Solair?” Grantian points at the man on the screen. “Isn’t that the same scarred man you saw at the auction?”
“It is.” Solair grimaces. “Obviously he’s a more significant figure in all of this than we realized.”
The scarred man continues to berate his minion on the video.
“He wants you to kill him. That way we’ll never find out what we need to know.” The scarred man shoves the thug away, and despite the man’s size, he clearly fears the other. “Now we have to wait until he recovers enough to continue the interrogation, all because of your stupidity.”
The recording abruptly ends, and we all stare at each other with a mix of anxiety and anger.
“Fiona.” Solair’s voice is full of quiet rage. “Do we know when this vid was taken?”
“It’s time stamped yesterday, when we were on Perseus,” I offer.
“Then Lokyer could very well still be alive. And on M’Kal.”
“M’Kal? How do we know that?”
A shrill, percussive whistle goes off in the distance.
“Beca
use of the Capital Dock whistle,” Fiona says excitedly. “Lokyer is on M’Kal.”
Grantian turns to Solair and arches an eyebrow.
“Your orders?”
Solair stands up and glares at the image on the holodisplay.
“We’re going to M’kal to rescue Lokyer. Those are my orders.”
Grantian grins, a sadistic light in his eyes.
“That’s what I was hoping you would say. And the Precursors help anyone who gets in our way.”
I’m not bloodthirsty, but I have to share our first mate’s sentiment this time.
It’s time to go get back one of our own.
It’s time to go to war.
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Did you enjoy Hunted by the Alien Pirate? Not quite ready to let go of Fiona and Montier just yet? We couldn’t let them go either so we wrote a fun bonus scene for you guys and you can get it FREE here: https://bookbit.ly/kilgari4bonus/
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About the Authors
Celia Kyle
Ex-dance teacher, former accountant and erstwhile collectible doll salesperson, New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Celia Kyle now writes paranormal romances. It goes without saying that there’s always a happily-ever-after for her characters, even if there are a few road bumps along the way. Today she lives in central Florida and writes full-time with the support of her loving husband and two finicky cats.
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Athena Storm
Athena Storm is the pen name for two authors who fell in love with writing science fiction romance as they fell in love with each other.
She's the Athena. And he's the Storm. Athena hopes that one day it won't be a boyfriend/girlfriend writing duo, but a husband/wife team. But she's not pressuring at all. Not one bit.
Science fiction is the biggest love for the writing duo, and they've been doing the writing for quite some time now, building a universe that readers can get lost and explore in. Filled with big bad alien warriors, sassy human women who give as well as they get, hilarious situations, and enough steam to melt stars!
The duo have created the Athenaverse, where all books in all series are tied together. You can start anywhere but once you do, you'll want to explore them all!
When they get married, they plan to continue writing science fiction romance forever. But again, no pressure on the marrying part. Not at all. (Not like writing Happily Ever After ALL Day won't give you any ideas on its own, right?)
Sign up for Athena’s newsletter!
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Join the Athenaverse
Also by Athena Storm
Reaper’s Pet Series:
Caged Mate
Caged Prey
Standalones In Athenaverse:
Mercy’s End
Bride to Beasts Series:
Zuvok
Zerberu
Vyker
Soldiers of Hope Series:
Hope In A Time Of War
Marauder Mates Series:
Sorta Seized By The Alien
Totally Taken By The Alien
Untamed
Beauty and The Alien
Conquered Mates (An Athenaverse Collaboration with Tara Starr):
Warlord’s Property
Alpha’s Prey
Brute’s Challenge
Alien Torturer’s Pet
Champions of Ataxia Series:
Gladiator to Mate You
Hating You Mating You
Scent of My Mate
Warriors of the Alliance Series:
Yaal
Duric
Copyright © 2020 by Celia Kyle & Athena Storm
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.