Star Crossed

by Heather Guerre

  Star Crossed

  A Sci-Fi Alien Romance

  Heather Guerre

  Contents

  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

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  THANK YOU!

  Chapter One

  Orion Molecular Cloud, Barnard’s Loop

  Research Vessel H8L7R

  IG Standard Calendar 236.44.18

  Among the known species within the scope of human exploration, humans came in second place in terms of technological advancement. The Ravanoth had them beat, and had been the ones to initiate contact nearly a century ago.

  While the two species had interacted peacefully, the Ravanoth hadn’t been keen to share their own advanced tech with the inferior primate creatures who hadn’t yet managed to venture beyond their own galaxy.

  But now there was a new player on the field. Their transport speeds and their cloaking tech were beyond anything Captain Lyra Hallas had ever witnessed. The cloaking itself worked by methods on which Lyra couldn’t even begin to theorize. None of her vessel’s highly sensitive systems had detected even a hint of the incoming ship.

  The alien vessel appeared first as a dark speck that Lyra couldn’t be sure she was even seeing. Only a minute later, it was large enough to visually identify as a ship. And a minute later, even larger.

  “Fuck.” Her First Officer, Tsende Rybak stood beside her on the bridge, staring out the windows into the yawning black maw of space. “What the hell are they?”

  Lyra shook her head. She had no answer. “I’m initiating the Defense Protocol,” she told Tsende grimly. The ship was not equipped for battle of any kind. It was a research vessel. It had all the martial capabilities of a turtle—little more than a thick shell.

  Lyra sank into the captain’s chair in front of the ship’s controls. The long panel glowed gently in the dim light of the bridge. She could see her reflection faintly in the windows above, pale-faced and clench-jawed.

  “Did you try hailing them?” Tsende asked.

  Of course she had. “If they wanted to talk, they wouldn’t have cloaked themselves.”

  She finished the command sequence for the Defense Protocol and keyed in her access code.

  Sirens blared through the ship. Hatches and airlocks thumped loudly as the internal locks engaged. The entire bridge shuddered as a reinforced security grid linked together behind the bulkheads and locked into place.

  Lyra activated the ship’s intercom. Her voice carried calmly over the alarms. “Attention crew: Code White. Unknown vessel approaching. Species unknown. Allegiance unknown. Purpose unknown. Contact in approximately fifteen minutes. Repeat: Code White.”

  Code White: Attack from unknown hostiles.

  Fear turned her thoughts to her sister. Sofie was her only family. She was eighteen years old now, away at university, but Lyra had been her guardian since the girl was ten.

  She’d left the military so that she could raise her little sister. She’d made a home and future for the frightened little girl—a girl she hadn’t even realized existed until word came that her father was dead and Lyra was the inheritor of all his estate, including the new daughter he’d never deigned to tell his old daughter about.

  But she’d taken that little girl in. She’d made her safe. She’d shaped a better world for Sofie, better than what Lyra’d had. And with a little time, Sofie had come to trust her. And with a little more time, they’d become true family. The shy, broken little girl slowly blossomed into a confident, acutely intelligent young woman.

  Lyra was prouder of Sofie than anything else in her life. None of her military honors, none of her professional accolades held a candle to the love she had for her brilliant, sensitive, big-hearted sister.

  “Better say any goodbyes you need to,” Lyra told Tsende, pulling her comm from the pocket of her flight suit and walking away to find a private corner of the bridge. She tucked behind a bank of computronic panels.

  Looking into her comm’s camera, she let her stoic self-control fall away to reveal the truth of her words. “I wish I didn’t have to do this, Sof, but it looks like I have to say goodbye.” She swallowed back the surge of emotion that threatened to squeeze her throat shut. “You know I love you. I love you so much.” Tears burned her eyes, but didn’t fall. “I’m sorry I won’t be around to watch you make your mark on the world. But I know you will make me proud. I’m always, always, proud of you. And I love you—so, so much. And I…” Lyra’s voice broke. She swallowed hard. “You’re strong Sofie. Keep being strong. I love you.”

  Lyra ended the recording and stored it with a conditional trigger—the message would only be sent if the biofeedback link severed. That is, if Lyra were dead.

  Straightening up, Lyra tucked her comm into the chest pocket of her flight suit. She took a second to get ahold of herself. When she emerged from behind the computronic panel, Tsende was ending his own transmission.

  The alien ship loomed even closer. Against the unmoving backdrop of empty space, the ship appeared not to move at all, but rather, to grow gradually larger. Lyra’s ship still couldn’t get a scan on it, so there was no way of knowing the exact speed of their approach.

  Fast. That was all. Faster than anything she’d ever seen before.

  When it was within flagging distance, the incoming ship sent out a targeted pulse that Lyra felt in her chest like the thump of a bass line. All of their tech — comms, screens, scanners, instrument panels, lights — blinked out. The ship shuddered, and fell still.

  Lyra and Tsende lifted gently from the deck as the magnetorotor whined to a halt, killing the gravitational field it generated.

  “The air recycler’s down,” Tsende said, reaching out for Lyra’s arm as they drifted away from each other.

  “We’ll have enough to last until they reach us,” she said grimly. The ship was as dark and silent as a tomb.

  Within minutes, the other vessel reached them. It was the size of a freighter, but structured with the sleek stealth of a warbird. The ship’s exterior was so deeply black, it seemed to consume the surrounding light, darker than the void of space itself.

  It continued to approach at such a high velocity that, for a brief moment, Lyra let herself hope it intended to bypass them entirely. But then, as the foreign vessel passed over them, it halted suddenly and cleanly.

  Their own vessel rocked and groaned as the other ship descended onto theirs. Lyra’d never seen an entire ship land on another one. She’d been aboard vessels boarded by pirates — more than once. But those had always been shuttles that invaded via the docking stations. This was something entirely different.

  The deafening sound of screeching metal rent the silence. The entire ship shrieked and groaned, shuddering under the assault. The other vessel was breaching their hull. Lyra and Tsende clenched onto each other in mortal fear—waiting for the instant death delivered by vacuum of space.

  But it never came.

  Instead, there were footsteps. A heavy, pounding tread, headed straight for the bridge.

  “How are they walking?” Lyra whispered. The gravity hadn’t been restored.

  There wasn’t time to guess.

  Another terrifying shriek of metal, and the doors to the bridge peeled back like crumpled paper. The metal security grid protruded from the damaged panel
s like shattered bones. In the open space stood three hulking strangers. Lyra stared, horrified and transfixed.

  Like the Ravanoth, and several other sentient alien species, the invaders shared the bipedal, anthropoid structure favored by humans. But unlike those other species, these strangers were terrifyingly large. The shortest of the three had to be at least seven feet tall, and they were all broad-bodied, heavily muscled.

  Their skin had the subtle gray luster of a polished meteorite. Their hair, worn long, but bound into severe plaits and tied with cord, ranged across a color spectrum from bone white to silver gray to ink black. Their faces were bold, sharply angled, with heavy square jaws and high, straight-bridged noses. Their eyes gleamed in shades of ochre, with predators’ elliptical pupils. They wore armored black flight suits and heavy gravity-boots that adhered to the ship’s deck like spiders’ feet.

  Lyra straightened her spine and released her hold on Tsende, trying to look as imposing as she could while floating helplessly in middle of the deadened bridge.

  “I am Lyra Hallas, Captain of this vessel.” She spoke in the Galactic Creole—it was a merchants’ language rather than a diplomatic one, but it was the most commonly shared language across all known species. “We are a scientific research vessel, protected under Intergalactic Council Provision 59. You have boarded illegally, and I demand—”

  One of the intruders moved swiftly, pulling an unrecognizable weapon from his hip and aiming it at Tsende. It discharged with a sharp crackle, and a bright net of white-hot light consumed Tsende’s body. He convulsed beneath the electrifying web. The light danced and snapped around him for a long, horrifying second and then flickered out. Tsende’s body was limp and still.

  Lyra clapped her hands over her mouth, too stunned to scream. He was dead. Cocky, competent, hard-working Tsende was dead. This wasn’t the first time Lyra had looked into the lifeless eyes of a fallen comrade. But after resigning her military commission, she hadn’t expected to have to do it ever again. A research vessel was supposed to be safe. Boring, even. And now—

  The invaders moved into the cabin, their boots trodding heavily on the deck. One of them paused to examine Tsende—pushing his inert body out of the way—while the other two approached Lyra. She windmilled her arms, struggling in the zero-gravity. There was nothing in reach for her to grab onto. She was a flailing, sitting duck.

  Those yellow, vulpine eyes raked over her body in a calculating, avaricious sweep. One of them spoke—a deep, rumbling language that sounded like a tiger attempting to speak Russian.

  The other one replied, a single syllable. His mouth, with its iron-colored lips, stretched into a terrifying smile, exposing eye teeth as long and sharp as a jaguar’s.

  “Get away from me,” Lyra snarled, kicking out as they neared. Her boot contacted with a rock hard chest, propelling her backwards. Big, gray hands reached for her, but missed. Lyra slammed up against the bulkhead with a force that rattled her skull. She didn’t waste time reacting to the pain. Bracing her hands and feet, she pushed off, sailing over the invaders’ heads and towards the ruined door.

  A big hand closed over her ankle, halting her abruptly. Her dead comm slid from her chest pocket, and her braid swung forward to hit her in the face. Lyra kicked and flailed and screamed, but the alien reeled her in like a hooked fish.

  “Let go of me!” she growled, lashing out with her booted foot towards his groin. Most species of anthropoid construction kept their delicate genitals in the same general region. Before she could connect and find out for sure, his other hand closed over her other ankle. She pedaled her legs furiously, but only succeeded in thrashing her body in a dizzying loop. Panting, she let herself be dragged in. When she was close enough, she curled in towards her captor, and raked her nails down his face.

  His skin was as hard as stone, impervious to her assault. But his corneas were not. He roared his pain, releasing Lyra to clutch at his eyes. She pushed off his body with her feet, soaring for the open door. Gravity boots clomped loudly, swiftly, behind her.

  Lyra flew through the door and into the passageway—and into the arms of another giant alien. She brought her knee into his groin, and was rewarded with a pained grunt, and freedom. She pushed off his body—and crashed into another alien.

  She twisted like an eel, avoiding his grasp, and found herself surrounded on all sides by massive, iron-bodied, cat-eyed raiders. She kicked against the handrail, sending herself shooting upwards, but more than one hand closed around her feet and calves, dragging her back down.

  She shrieked, she fought, but in the end, it was futile.

  When they’d pulled her back down, one alien held her in an unbreakable, constricting embrace. She panted, slick with sweat, straining against her captor’s unmatchable strength. As she struggled, she felt the press of something thick and hard rise against her ass.

  His cock. And it was huge.

  Lyra froze. “Please,” she gasped, her fury breaking down into mind-numbing panic. “Please don’t—”

  One of the other aliens came to stand in front of her. He licked the pad of his thumb, and before Lyra could react, he pressed it into her open mouth. His thumb, cool and wet with his saliva, swept over her tongue.

  She recoiled. The taste of him spread swiftly from her tongue, filling her mouth, then seeping through her throat. The taste became a feeling, and it filled her head—crowding out fear, and rage, and all thought entirely. It sank into her blood and hummed through her entire body.

  Drunken, languid, she sagged against the creature who held her in his arms. His erection still pressed against her ass, but instead of fear, a hot wash of desire bolted through her. She rolled her hips back, rubbing herself against him. His arms tightened on her, and he spoke a few guttural syllables in his strange, growling language.

  In an instant, she was wrestled from his grasp. Rough hands passed her along a line of alien men while the first one struggled to regain her, snarling in his language. Several of the other aliens rushed him, pinning him to the deck while he thrashed and roared. He was wrestled into submission, and hauled along the passageway towards the flight deck.

  The alien who held Lyra now, did so at arm’s length. His big hand circled her bicep, his arm fully extended from his body. The zero-gravity keep her aloft as he marched down the passageway with her. She was well and truly captured and she didn’t care. She felt nothing. No fear, no anger, no sadness. Only a languid headiness, and an aimless sexual arousal that grew more intense with each passing second.

  She turned a drunken, sloe-eyed gaze upon the alien who held her at arm’s length. He had to be nearly eight feet tall, and beneath the flight suit, he had a broad, thickly-muscled body. Never mind the snake eyes and the tiger fangs and nickel-gray skin. He was big and strong and everything about him projected maleness, and the intoxicating delirium coursing through her veins responded to that maleness with a surge of desperate need.

  She twisted in his grasp and reached for him with her free arm. But she moved slowly, clumsily, and he stopped her. He pulled both her wrists behind her back, and held her in front of him, far away from the press of his chest and his pelvis. She moaned softly, weakly, at the denial. Her blood hummed hotly beneath her skin. She twisted ineffectively. She needed him—needed any of them—to assuage the burning need.

  They reached the flight deck. With little interest, Lyra observed the breech their ship had carved into the hull of her vessel. It was a perfectly round, cleanly carved passage, smooth-walled and airtight.

  The invading aliens marched towards the opening, their gravity boots clanking loudly on the deck. There were a dozen or so of them, and among them, they held some of Lyra’s crew members in similar outstretched grasps. She saw Inri and Sanishe. Lyra’s captor stood beneath the opening, and looked up. Lyra continued to twist and pull against his grip on her wrists. Not to escape. Only to turn to him, to wrap her arms and legs around him, to—

  Her stomach dropped as they both surged upward, into the waiting m
aw of the alien vessel.

  Chapter Two

  The interior of the alien vessel was not significantly different from any of the hundreds of other vessels Lyra had been on in ten years since she’d earned her pilot’s wings. The layout seemed like that of a standard cargo hauler.

  Lyra was imprisoned in the cargo hold with the rest of the female crew members from H8L7R. In addition to the six women from her own crew, there were a dozen others—all human females—who huddled silent and defeated in the hold.

  The stale air smelled of unwashed bodies, but it would be some time before Lyra would become aware of anything other than the burning, clawing need for a male body.

  She had no idea how much time it took for the intoxicating delirium to lift. She and her fellow crewmates pawed helplessly at the hatch, begging their captors to come to them, take them, slake the maddening need. The other women watched quietly, pity and revulsion in their eyes.

  Lyra was one of the first to come down from the arousal. She was a tall woman, standing at six feet, and probably metabolized whatever venom the aliens carried in their saliva faster than the smaller women.

  She slid down the ladder and sank to her knees. The fear returned, and it warred with revulsion at the way she’d behaved towards the creatures who’d abducted her. Less than five minutes ago, she’d have happily fucked every single one of them, and thanked them for the privilege.

  “Got your sense back?” a nearby voice asked in the Creole.

  Lyra turned to look at a petite, brown-skinned woman sitting with her back against the bulkhead, her knees drawn up to her chest. Her pretty, almond-shaped eyes were lined with kohl and a delicate golden ring pierced the center of her full bottom lip. Her ebony hair was fashioned into hundreds of tiny braids, woven through with fine threads of gold and silver.