Flame: Galaxy Alien Mail Order Brides (Intergalactic Dating Agency)

by Michelle M. Pillow

  Vin smiled, happy to know he was making a good impression on her.

  Chapter Three

  Angela tried not to look at the man sitting in the temporary holding cell as she wrote up her report. There was something about him, beyond the fact he was the first man she’d ever handcuffed while on the job. She’d been given basic training provided by Metro police before being allowed into the J.O.R.S. pilot program, Junior Officer Recruitment Search. As a push to strengthen their numbers, it had been decided to recruit from within the ranks of casino security. Security officers knew Vegas, knew casino policy, proved they weren’t afraid of confrontation, and the program hoped to build upon the relationship between the major casinos and the police force.

  “All right, Mr. Flame.” Angela dared a glance in his direction. This might be a strange case to start whatever future career this program might lead to, but she was going to do everything perfectly and show the bosses that she could be trusted to handle her business no matter how bizarre things became. And in Vegas, bizarre was something they had an abundance of. Talking as she typed, she said, “Hair, brown. Sex, male. Height, approximately seven feet. Eyes…” She studied his face. “Metallic contacts? Are your eyes brown?”

  “They are my eyes,” he said.

  “Eyes, brown,” Angela said as she typed. “So, care to tell me why you decided it was a good idea to push your way behind the ice cream counter and help yourself?”

  “Sure.” Flame grinned, standing as she addressed him. He moved in front of the bars, and she was glad they were there as they kept him from coming too close to her.

  When she’d touched him, the heat from his body radiated down her fingers and into her stomach. The adrenaline from her first real call under the watchful gaze of Officer Harris could attribute a little to the reaction, but she’d be an idiot not to recognize the attraction for what it was. This Vinglarken-Flame was definitely a person of interest.

  Oh, great, now my fantasies are starting to sound like cop talk.

  Angela took a deep breath, attempting to center herself and concentrate on the task at hand. A tiny bit of napkin where she’d tried to wipe off his face clung to his beard. A black tribal tattoo appeared from beneath his right neckline and also from beneath the sleeve. Now that the situation was calmer, she found herself looking at his chest. It was nothing but muscle. What the hell had she been thinking, approaching a man like that? One smack and he could have ended her life.

  Oh, but there was something virile about a man like this—sexy, strong, powerful, confident.

  This is going to look great on your record, she assured herself. Well, done, Ang. You handled yourself like a pro and got him in without incident.

  Don’t you mean luck, you dumbass? Herself seemed to mock back. What the hell are you doing playing cop? Flame? Sounds like a biker name if I ever heard one. His buddies are probably going to come looking for you now.

  I need this promotion. I need this raise. I need to get my mom out of that place and into somewhere that can provide her with the therapies she needs.

  The reminder of her mother steeled her resolve, and she shook all thoughts of desire out of her mind. When he didn’t elaborate, she prompted, “So, why did you decide it was a good idea to push your way behind the ice cream counter and help yourself?”

  Angela held her hands over the keyboard and prepared to type his answer.

  “I needed it,” Flame said.

  “Needed ice cream? How so?”

  “I’m having a period. I was craving sugar.”

  Angela automatically began to type, I’m having a period. I was craving…

  As his answer sunk in, she stopped with a surprised laugh before regaining her composure. So, Mr. Flame wasn’t going to take this seriously. “You are having your period?”

  “Yes.” He looked completely serious. “I am.”

  Multiple personality disorder? Wait, no, they call it something else now. Dis. Dis. Dis-something. Shit, I know this.

  The door opened and Mags, the night receptionist, entered. She blinked in surprise as Angela lifted her hand in greeting.

  “I see we have a guest.” Mags had been working for the casinos for so long the lifestyle seemed to seep out of her wrinkled pores. Her smoky breath reeked of the years spent on the casino floor. Her short skirts and black pantyhose called to her youth as a waitress and a cigarette girl, and her over-sprayed hair appeared as if its style hadn’t changed since the 1950s when she’d attended her last Elvis concert.

  “Mags, meet Flame,” Angela said, looking more at her computer than the two she introduced. She deleted the line about the period. Maybe with an audience, he’d give her a real answer. “Flames, this is Mags.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Mags,” Flame said, completely polite.

  “Likewise,” Mags answered. When Angela glanced at the woman, she was placing her transparent red scarf on her desk. Mags smiled, reminding Angela of the stories the woman told from her years working as a bartender during the exotic male dance shows. It would seem age did not limit a woman’s appreciation of the sexy male form. “What you in for?”

  “Angela asked me to step in here,” Flame answered.

  Mags laughed. “That’s quite an accent you have, there, Flame. Not from these parts, are you?”

  “No. I am not,” Flame agreed.

  “Anyway,” Angela stated to end Mags’ flirting, even though she probably had no reason or right to be jealous of the woman getting the crazy man’s attention. “You were saying, why did you decide it was a good idea to push your way behind the ice cream counter and help yourself?”

  Mags laughed, and commented under her breath, “Been there.”

  “I told you, I was craving sugar because I’m on my period,” Flame stated.

  “Definitely been there,” Mags put forth.

  Dissociative identity disorder. That’s what they called it.

  “Are you currently undergoing sex change treatments?” Mags inquired as if she didn’t understand her question could have been construed as rude. “Because from where I’m sitting you, sweetheart, look all man.”

  “Thank you,” Flame said.

  “You’re a man,” Angela insisted, trying to gauge his state of mind.

  “Yes. I am,” Flame answered. Dark eyes stayed steadily on her, slowly traveling up and down her body as if he could feel her with his gaze.

  Angela shivered, fighting sexual awareness. “Men can’t have periods.”

  “Not true. I have periods all the time,” he countered. “We are having a period of time now.”

  “Oh, sweetheart, I think you got that lost in translation,” Mags stated. “That is not what having a period means. It means your baby growing tunnel is shedding its inner lining and you’re bleeding out of your—”

  “All right, Mags, thank you,” Angela interrupted the inappropriate description of menstruation. “I have an interview to conduct.”

  “Sorry, Officer Wet Blanket.” Mags didn’t sound at all upset. The phone began to ring again, and she reached for it. “You really aren’t as much fun now that you’ve gone all official on us.”

  Mags picked up the phone and began her normal back and forth as she talked to the caller.

  Angela took a deep breath. Mags was right. No, she wasn’t as much fun since the nursing home raised their rates beyond what Angela could afford and moved her mother to a substandard facility. There was nothing fun at all about her life right now.

  “Mr. Flame, if you insist on claiming to be part woman with a menstrual cycle as your defense, I’m afraid I’m going to have to order a psych eval.”

  “What is that?”

  “A psychological evaluation,” Angela stated. She stood from her desk and slowly approached him by the bars. She kept her voice down, trying to keep their conversation as private as possible in front of Mags. “It’s where they determine your mental health and whether or not you are a danger to yourself or others. If they find you are, you could be detained in
one of their facilities. Now, my gut tells me you’re not crazy, but I need you to help me out here.”

  “What does it mean to be detained in a facility? Prison?” His smile finally faltered as if he realized the extent of the trouble he was in. “You are saying if I don’t tell you the truth, you will have people put me in prison? My brother told me of the wax prison you have on the strip where they encase humans in wax in strange poses so they are unable to move, and the families come to visit and take pictures with the people they know.”

  Wax museums?

  “Please, I need you to take this seriously,” she insisted. “All I need is an honest answer. Right now I don’t think the charges are so severe that you can’t get away with just a slap on the wrist.”

  Mags hung up the phone. “Some guy is peeing in the fountain.”

  “Dispatch it to someone on the floor. I can’t leave right now,” Angela said.

  “Aye-aye, captain.” Mags’ chair creaked as she moved to grab a walkie-talkie.

  “Honesty? And then I can avoid the wax prison?”

  “Yes.” Angela nodded.

  “What would you like to know?” He reached a hand forward through the bar but didn’t get very far with the handcuffs still on his wrists.

  “Let’s start with your real name. It’s not Flame, is it?” Angela studied his face. Normally she could tell when people were lying, as this man obviously was, but she couldn’t read his expressions. He’d make a great poker player that was for sure.

  “No.” He seemed to contemplate his answer, before saying, “But I am not allowed to tell my true name to just anyone. I can only tell the woman I am to marry.”

  “I seem to have read something about certain cultures thinking it is bad luck to use a person’s real name. I can’t remember what, though. Is this a Native American tribal thing?”

  “No. It is a contract,” Flame answered.

  “You good here?” Mags asked. “I need a coffee. Want one?”

  “No, nothing for me,” Angela said.

  “How about you, stud? Coffee?” Mags offered.

  “No. But I would like a chocolate ice cream cone, please,” he said. Mags laughed as she left the room.

  Angela tried not to respond, but she couldn’t help the little half-laugh that escaped her. “I don’t want to go against any religious doctrine or contract that you follow, but I do need a name for the system.”

  “You want my name?”

  “Yes. I would like your name.”

  Flame grinned. “Vinglarkenbauer.”

  “Vin Glarken Bauer?” she repeated slowly.

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you, Vin. Now we are getting somewhere.”

  Vin glanced up at the ceiling and wrapped his fingers around the bars. “We are moving? It does not feel like we’re moving.”

  “You said you had a brother here in Vegas with you. What’s his name? Would you like me to call him?” she offered. “Where are you staying?”

  “Here he is called Blaze. I also have a cousin we call Spark. We are staying in a suite at the top of a big building. I can take you there.”

  “Do Blaze and Spark have real names as well?”

  “Sevglarkenbauer and Kalglarkenbauer.”

  “Sev and Kal? See, this isn’t so hard,” Angela said.

  “Will you let me out now?” Vin asked. “I am not having fun in here, and I would like to leave this room and go to my suite, please. I wish to make sure Brett brought my ice cream like I asked. I did not find him to be a very capable man.”

  “I’m sorry, I can’t do that,” she said.

  “But you said if I told you the truth.” Vin frowned. “And I no longer wish to be in here like a caged human. Let me out.”

  “I promise to do what I can to help you if you tell me the truth.” Angela crossed her arms over her chest. “Now, what are you doing in Vegas? Business? Pleasure?”

  “I seek pleasure. I am taking a break from work. I do not think the humans here know how to have real fun, but I won’t let that stop me from enjoying things while I am here.”

  “Where do you call home? What do you do for work?”

  He hesitated.

  “Is English a second language? Do you need me to slow down or anything to make me easier to understand?” Angela didn’t think that was the case, but she wanted to be thorough and do a good job.

  “I understand English perfectly.” Vin pulled his arms off the bars. “My people are Killian. We come from a planet called Bravon. It is in the Solarus Quadrant, but I do not think you will have knowledge of this space unless you are part of the secret Earth government group who knows of alien existence. Are you?”

  Angela slowly shook her head and took a step back.

  “There is one settlement on Bravon called Frxsolis. It is where I am from. I am supposed to say I am from Canada, but I am not. Bravon is not like Earth. The temperature there is not cold like Las Vegas. It is so hot that protective gear is needed to breach the surface and we rely on turbines to pull air and energy from above to the settlement below. Most people cannot take the harsh existence that is life there, but we are used to it. We import much of our supplies, and in return, we export the ash we mine from the underground shafts. Some alien cultures use it for medical purposes, others sell it to galactic tourists, and then there are those who believe that the ash brings significant luck to the bearer because of its rarity and they use it in religious ceremonies. As I said before, I wish to start a new way of life and get out of the mines. Life expectancy in the tunnels is low. My parents died from a heat blast when there was a malfunction in—”

  “Stop,” Angela interrupted. “Please. Just stop talking.”

  “You asked for the truth.”

  “I, ah, yeah.” Angela took another step back. She had so wanted him to be normal. She could allow herself to be secretly attracted to normal. “I did. And now I’m going to ask you to stop. You make yourself comfortable. I’m going to call a professional to come and talk to you now.”

  “But you said if I told you the truth, you would not give me a psychological evaluation.” Vin frowned. Had this woman lied to him? “I do not wish to be detained.”

  Vin contemplated using force to free himself from what he considered to be an unnecessary confinement. It wasn’t his fault the ice cream workers couldn’t fulfill a simple order. He remained seated. The allure of being so close to Angela made his will to flee futile. He realized the irony of being imprisoned by her was exactly what he wanted.

  “I said I’d try to help you.” Angela slowly reached for the phone on her desk. “If you tell me you think you’re an alien, then I don’t have a choice. The best way for me to help you is to contact the professionals.”

  Chapter Four

  Vin watched Angela dig her fingers into the hair on the back her head as she pressed her forehead against the top of the desk. The strands at the back of her head were lighter than the top, an integrated progression of color he’d seen on several of the Earth women. But none of the women he had seen looked as beautiful as she did. She had been in that position for some time. An occasional sigh or mutter would sound, but she didn’t look at him again.

  Vin was disappointed. He really thought he could trust her. But she did not keep her word and instead left him locked in a cell. The idea of a wax prison did not settle easily within his mind, but he wasn’t too worried. This wasn’t the first planet that had tried to lock him up. He knew that his brother would find him and rescue him. That is what Sev always did.

  “It shouldn’t be too much longer now.” Angela finally lifted her head to look at him. Her gaze moved over his face, down his neck and body, before making its way once more to meet his eyes. “Are you sure that you don’t want to tell me you were joking? This is your last chance to tell me the truth. You’re not really an extraterrestrial, are you?”

  “You asked me for honesty, and I gave you honesty. It is you who didn’t keep your word.” Vin frowned.

  “Very
well then.” She sighed heavily. “I wish you luck, Mr. Vin Glarkenbauer or Flame or whatever you wish to call yourself.” Angela pushed up from the chair. She leaned over to look at a small monitor that showed a picture of the hallway. Several men approached. “This must be them.”

  Vin watched as she walked toward the door. He glanced at the monitor and chuckled, seeing his brother’s stern face. Sev was mad as hell.

  “Hey, guys,” Angela said, pulling the door open to invite the men in.

  Two short, stocky men entered. Their heads were a little too big to be considered normal for humans and the fact was barely hidden by the tightly pulled skin suits they wore over their alien forms. Their smooth, black haircuts consisted of the same length hair all the way around their heads. They wore silver uniforms that looked suspiciously close to the Galaxy Alien Mail Order Brides’ logo color.

  “I am Bob. This is Gary. We are here to acquire your prisoner,” Bob said. He recognized him as one of the ship’s intercom voices.

  “You’re from…?” Angela prompted.

  “We have orders to acquire your prisoner, Flame Glarken.” Gary rudely pushed past Angela and moved toward the cell. His long arms swung by his sides.

  “Wait a minute,” Angela protested. “I’m going to need some ID. You can’t just…”

  Her words trailed off when Sev stepped into the office. Her eyes flew to Vin, and he knew she understood what was happening. Sev fixed her with a hard stare, and she stumbled back.

  “You are not authorized to keep him,” Gary stated. “Open the cage.”

  “He’s not in that much trouble,” Angela said. “This is a mistake. You don’t want to do this. He’ll probably just get a slap on the wrist.”

  Sev turned his eyes to Vin in question. “Vin? They want to beat you?”

  “They wish to give me a psychological evaluation and put me in detainment,” Vin explained. “Get me out.”

  “That makes sense. I often believe you need evaluated for your psychological, but not by primitives.” Sev turned to Angela and in his most intimidating tone demanded, “Release my brother.”