Randar (Intergalactic Soulmates Book 1)

by Annabelle Rex

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Epilogue

  Available Now

  About the Author

  RANDAR

  Book One of the Intergalactic Soulmates Series

  Annabelle Rex

  COPYRIGHT © 2020 ANNABELLE REX

  ALL rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, events or locales is purely coincidental.

  Reproduction in whole or part of this publication without express written consent is strictly prohibited.

  Chapter 1

  “YOU KNOW WHAT YOU NEED?” CHELSEA said, a grin spreading across her perfectly made up face. “Shots.”

  Angela knew shots were a bad idea, but she was in the mood to make some mistakes. So, when the other girls cheered and clapped, Angela grinned and grabbed a bottle of vodka from her liquor cabinet. Chelsea lined up a row of shot glasses and slopped the vodka into them, passing one to each of the girls then lifting her own.

  “To forgetting all about assholes who don’t know a good thing when it’s standing in front of them,” Chelsea said, before knocking her drink back.

  Angela swallowed her shot down. The expensive vodka didn’t have the paintstripper taste of the stuff she got in clubs sometimes, but it still burned all the way to her stomach, leaving her with a warm feeling at her core and a sensation of cleansing, as if the alcohol was already wiping the memory of Luke away.

  He’d seemed so perfect when they’d been chatting over the dating app. Funny, cute, considerate. He told her how attractive she was, made her feel girly and desired. She warned him she was tall, and he made out like he was man enough to be with a woman who had a few inches on him. He even joked that they weren’t the most important inches on a man, anyway, and sent her winky faces. Angela had such a good feeling about him.

  But then they’d met, and the public jeers had started. The same old jokes about being the same height lying down, questioning who wears the trousers, that Luke trying to get his leg over would be like mountain climbing. Angela let it all wash over her. She’d been tall from a very young age - always being mistaken for an older child. At fifteen, she enjoyed a brief moment of popularity as she looked more than old enough to buy booze, and her classmates took full advantage. But as they’d all hit adulthood she’d become a novelty again. The giantess. Luke said he didn’t care, but Angela saw every jibe hit his pride like a cannonball, until, at the end of the night, he told her they didn’t have chemistry in real life, that they should stick to being friends. Angela had told him that would be nice, and agreed to chat to him later, then gone home and blocked him on every platform.

  Chelsea poured out a second round of shots, and Angela threw hers back straight away. Her head was starting to buzz, cotton wool settling in her brain, separating her consciousness from the pain. The memory of Luke was still present, but the hurt accompanying it seemed more distant.

  “Poor Angie,” Kimberly said, wrapping her arms and a cloud of perfume round Angela’s shoulders, planting a wet kiss on her cheek. “You have the worst luck with guys.”

  Angela tried not to notice the massive rock on Kimberly’s finger. Her long time boyfriend had proposed last month while they’d been travelling in Thailand. He’d organised a beach to be filled with candles for when he went down on one knee and presented Kimberly with a ring that cost more than the average person’s yearly salary. Kimberly and Adam were the perfect power couple - everything about them absolutely complementary from personality to skin tone. All Angela’s girlfriends had guys like this. Kimberly and Adam. Chelsea and Mark the Architect. Susan and her childhood sweetheart James. Zenab and Nadeem. All of them perfect matches.

  Meanwhile, Angela was forever alone - no one to match her six foot three frame.

  After the third shot, her friends were discussing who they could set Angela up with next.

  “Henry Bowles is recently single,” Susan suggested.

  Chelsea made a striking motion with her hand, nearly toppling what was left of the vodka. “He’s recently single because he’s a dick,” she said.

  Kimberly cackled, and Angela found herself laughing too.

  “What about Mark the Architect’s cousin?” Zenab said. “He was tall, dark and handsome.”

  “Angus is all those things, and Scottish to boot,” Chelsea said, then grinned wickedly. “But I heard a rumour…”

  She held up her hand and wiggled her pinky finger. The girls shrieked with laughter.

  “I would like to point out,” Chelsea said, raising the vodka bottle again. “That this is not a problem Mark the Architect has.”

  “Are you going to stop calling him Mark the Architect any time soon?” Kimberly said.

  Chelsea quirked one elegant eyebrow as she poured out the next round of shots. “When I can call him ‘husband’ instead.”

  Once that shot had settled in her stomach, Angela found herself feeling morose.

  “There isn’t anyone out there as perfect for me as Mark the Architect is perfect for Chelsea,” she moaned.

  Her head was in Susan’s lap, and Susan stroked her hair, making soothing noises.

  “You just need to find yourself a basketball player,” Zenab said.

  “Jamal was a basketball player, I’m put off basketball players for life.”

  “Which one was Jamal?” Kimberly asked.

  “Foot fettish guy,” Chelsea, Susan and Zenab said in unison.

  “Ah,” Kimberly said, then shrugged. “He did get you a super cute pair of shoes.”

  “That I can never wear because I’m already taller than everybody,” Angela moaned.

  “I hope you at least kept them to wear in your bedroom from time to time,” Chelsea said. “For your own pleasure, of course.”

  Angela gestured vaguely to her wardrobe, where the offending shoes were stashed. Chelsea went over and pulled out the shoebox, opening it and peeling back the tissue paper to reveal the shoes within. Angela still salivated a little to look at them. They were black at the heel, blending down to a bright red at the toe, patent leather, with a stiletto heel. Flirty, sexy, and a perfect fit. But she could never wear them, because the last thing she needed was another five inches.

  “So pretty,” Susan crooned, running her finger along the side of the shoe, tracing the blend from black to red.

  “If I were you I’d just wear these all the time, every first date,” Kimberly said, her eyes shining with want as she took the shoe from Susan. “Because Mr Right is definitely the guy who can handle you while you’re wearing these babies.”

  “Shoes bought for me by another man?” Angela raised her eyebrows.

  “Shoes donated to the cause of you looking fabulous by an idiot who was only interested in your feet,” Susan corrected, patting her on the head.

  Angela pushed herself upright out of Susan’s lap. The room tilted a little, before settling back in its place.

  “I appreciate you guys trying to make me feel better,” Angela said, “but I’m starting to realise there is no man on Earth who is going to be perfect for me. It’s okay. I’ve decided. I’m going to start my cat collection tomorrow.”

  “No man on Earth?” Zenab said, eyes glittering with mischief.

  Chelsea pulled the website up on her table
t. Angela pushed her mane of blonde hair out of her face and tried to get her eyes to focus on the screen as Chelsea pushed it into her hands.

  FIND YOUR PERFECT MATCH, the headline screamed in bright pink letters.

  Susan snatched it from Angela’s hands before her eyes could fully focus on a secondary headline - something about intense sexual chemistry.

  “That’s not the main website, that’s just some advertiser trying to sell the service,” Susan said, punching in a different search and pulling up a new website that was all clean white lines and classy images. “This is the official website, none of that bawdy nonsense.”

  The Intergalactic DNA Matching Database, Angela read, her eyes swimming just a little.

  “Here,” Chelsea said, taking the tablet back and clearing her throat. “‘DNA matching is a commonplace process in the Intergalactic Community. Most citizen of the known universe submit their DNA at the age culturally accepted to be ‘adulthood’. For Humans, this would be eighteen, or sixteen with parental consent. The Database searches your DNA against others recorded and finds your perfect match.’ This sounds very dry and scientific.”

  Susan rolled her eyes. “That’s because it’s the official website. Where they talk about the science behind it and stuff. Not just some sensational blogger talking about falling madly in lust with your match.”

  “Do you fall madly in lust with your match?” Angela asked, thinking vaguely that she might like a bit of madly in lust.

  “Nobody knows yet, there haven’t been any successful matched pairs,” Zenab said.

  “I thought there had?” Chelsea said.

  “People have been matched,” Zenab said, “but none of those matches have met yet, because they all live a long way away. Like, lightyears or whatever.”

  “I’d like to be lightyears away from Luke,” Angela muttered. Her head felt heavy now, the kind of lead weight feeling that came only with tiredness or far too much alcohol.

  “Then sign up,” Kimberly said. “Maybe you’ll be matched with an alien hottie.”

  “But what if he has tentacles?” Susan said.

  Kimberly waggled her eyebrows, smirking. “I can think of a few things I could do with tentacles.”

  The other girls cackled even as Susan protested that Kimberly was a pervert.

  “Have people really signed up for this?” Angela said, taking the tablet back and scanning through more of the website.

  Like any human website trying to sell something, it had case studies, with pictures of matched pairs and little quotes from them talking about their happiness. It was exactly how Angela would have structured the website, bar one small detail - none of the matches were Human.

  When the aliens had arrived a year ago, there had at first been panic, but after several months of establishing communications, peace treaties and some basic rules of engagement, they had been allowed to start integrating with society. They brought some incredible technological and medical advancements, and the DNA matching program.

  The website started autoplaying a video of the main alien Ambassador, Prince Cael, Crown Prince of the Allortasian royal family. He was human-looking, except for his hair which blended from black to bright blue, and his eyes, which were also blue, but far too bright to ever pass for Human.

  “He is so attractive,” Zenab sighed, speaking over whatever the prince was saying in lightly accented English about DNA matches bringing the Human community closer to the Intergalactic one.

  “If it weren’t for Mark the Architect, I would definitely be up for getting down and dirty with that,” Chelsea said.

  “No tentacles,” Susan said.

  “He’s too pretty,” Angela said.

  “Girl, if he’s not making your ovaries do a little dance, you aren’t going to be matched with him, are you?” Kimberly said. “It’s about your perfect match.”

  Perfect. Angela couldn’t even imagine what perfect would be. Perfect right now would be the room not spinning. Not needing Chelsea to help her up and take her to her room. The other girls not saying goodbye and heading back to their perfect partners. Someone other than Chelsea tucking her in to her bed and kissing her on the head.

  “Someone who makes me feel small,” she murmured.

  “What’s that?” Chelsea said.

  “That would be perfect. Someone who makes me feel small. And who’s really good in bed.”

  Chelsea said something else, but Angela was out.

  Chapter 2

  AN INSISTENT BUZZING SOUND BARGED ITS way into Angela’s awareness. She cracked open her eyes, the sunlight breaking through the gap in her curtains cutting into them like a knife. Her head pounded, her mouth felt full of fuzz, and someone would not stop texting her phone. She grabbed the device, hitting the silent button, then slammed it back down on her dresser, before burying her face in her pillows. She didn’t have anything to get up for today, thank goodness, she would just stay in bed until she could face the world.

  But of course, she was awake now, and that meant her bladder, her stomach, her pounding head were all making themselves known. She dragged herself out of bed, used the bathroom, brushing the disgusting taste out of her mouth, before heading to the kitchen for some toast and a strong coffee. Only after she’d eaten four slices and nearly finished her drink did she venture back into her bedroom and pick up her phone.

  There were so many notifications they were all stacked on top of each other. Angela could only read the last message sent by Chelsea.

  R u awake yet? Pls call me :(

  Angela snapped to alertness, clicking through to Chelsea’s messages, reading through the thread.

  So…. I did a thing

  Sorry

  I thought it was a good idea last night when I was drunk

  I’m so stupid

  Sorry sorry sorry

  But… I took ur sample to the DNA Match clinic

  Stupid drunk brain wanted u to b happy

  Stupid drunk brain is an idiot and I never should have done that without ur permission

  I’m a dick

  I’m so sorry

  Ange?

  Pls talk to me Ange

  :(

  :(

  :(

  R u awake yet? Pls call me :(

  Angela’s hand shook as she turned to the other messages on her phone. They were from an unknown number.

  Congratulations! You have been Matched. Please report to the nearest DNA Match clinic for information on next steps. To acknowledge this message, please reply YES.

  Angela put the phone face down on her bed as if doing so could take back the message. Matched? To an alien?

  She picked up the phone and read the message again. It hadn’t changed.

  Panic rose in Angela’s throat and she dialled Chelsea’s number.

  “Ange, oh God, I’m so sorry, thank you for calling me back, I was worried…”

  “Chelsea, I’ve been matched.”

  Silence fell for a long moment.

  “Oh, shit,” Chelsea said.

  “I mean don’t they have any protections against this sort of thing?” Angela said, a note of hysteria in her voice.

  “Uh, I think they’re desperate for people to sign up. They didn’t even ask me any questions. Just gave me a form to fill in. I put your details and signed it with a squiggle. Ange, I’m so sorry.”

  “But if I go and tell them what happened… they can’t make me move across the Universe, right?”

  She looked round at the flat she’d called home for the last ten years. Her father had all but bought it for her when she got her job in the city and needed somewhere to stay, not wanting his ‘precious daughter’ to have to slum it, but equally not wanting anything to do with her most of the time. That was fine by Angela. She took the flat, knowing he could afford financial investments far more than he could emotional ones. But while she hadn’t had to pay much for the walls, she’d worked hard to earn every single lovely thing she’d put inside them. So it was a small place, bar
ely more than a bedroom, bathroom and kitchen-diner - it was hers and it was in a nice part of the city, close to her job and her friends. She didn’t want to leave any of it behind.

  “Don’t do anything, okay?” Cheslea said. “Stay there, I’m coming to you now. We’ll go down together and explain what happened. They can’t make you do anything.”

  This is what Angela liked about Chelsea. She might be the first to make a mess of things, but she was also the first to come round with a broom. When she turned up fifteen minutes later, wearing a large pair of sunglasses to hide her hungover eyes, she had two large cappuccinos in hand. When Angela took hers, she caught the smell of Hazelnut syrup. Her favourite.

  “This is begging for forgiveness coffee, followed by begging for forgiveness whatever else you need,” Chelsea said, lifting her glasses up to rest atop her head.

  Angela just sat mutely, her mind spinning too fast to think clearly. She sipped her coffee and the heat and caffeine and sugar did help a little.

  “We are going to get this sorted out,” Chelsea said, all business. “They have CCTV footage of me signing you up. You’ve never signed up for anything, so they can’t contractually make you do anything. Their security practices are, frankly, disgusting if it’s that easy for a drunk idiot to walk in and sign up. They aren’t going to want this to get out, so we have the position of power. A couple of threats to expose them, or sue them, should make this go away. They aren’t going to want any damage to their precious program…”

  Angela half listened to her talk. Chelsea had a law degree and worked for multinational businesses, making sure their dealings were on the right side of legal and countering any lawsuits brought against them. If anyone knew how to worm their way out of a contract, it was Chelsea. But between the panic and the fear, another thought kept coming into Angela’s mind.