by Kali Argent
HEAT RISING
City of Hope
by Kali Argent
HEAT RISING
Copyright © November 2016 by Kali Argent
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal, except for the case of brief quotations in reviews and articles. Criminal copyright infringement is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
HEAT RISING
Escaping a war-ravaged Earth, Mesa Adair has made her home miles below the surface of Aleucia in the underground city of Hope. But salvation comes at a price. Her life is no longer her own, her every move monitored, and her freedom limited by the alien warriors who rescued humanity from their dying planet. The only bright spot in her new reality is her position as a personal assistant to the most powerful male in the city, but even that is about to come to an end.
From the moment the raven-haired beauty stepped into his office, Director Raxcor Wyeth knew he had to have her. The more she challenges him, the more he wants her, but lately, something has changed. She’s distracted, guarded, and when she requests a transfer to a different level of the city, he knows he’ll do anything to keep her, anything to protect her. Mesa might be human, but she belongs to him—whether she realizes it yet or not.
NOTE TO READERS
This book was previous published as Nero’s Protection under a different pen name. There have been no significant changes made before republication.
PROLOGUE
Alarms blared from the overhead speakers, and a robotic feminine voice followed, announcing the beginning of the day. After nearly a year in the underground city—optimistically named Hope—the once grating noise of the sirens barely fazed Mesa Adair.
Throwing back her white blanket, she sat up on the side of the minimalistic bed—a cot with a mattress that resembled a long couch cushion—and stretched. Catching a glimpse of herself in the vertical mirror on the opposite wall, she rubbed the goose bumps on her upper arms and snorted when she noticed her nipples tenting the thin, white fabric of her tank top.
White.
Everything in the fucking city was white. Her sheets, her clothes, the walls, the floors, the furniture. Even her skin had become milky pale from the lack of sunlight, creating a somewhat gothic contrast to her raven hair. She missed colors, variety. Everything within Hope was the same, right down to the daily routine.
Pushing to her feet, Mesa stood beside her cot and rubbed her left wrist, fingering the raised scar where she’d been injected with an Aleucian MINT chip. The Monitoring and Identification Neurological Transmitter acted as an ID, allowing her to make purchases and access certain locations with nothing more than waving her hand over a scanner. The chip also transmitted her vital signs and location to a specialized network that permitted the guards to monitor her every move twenty-four hours a day.
The Aleucians had first made contact with Earth in the late twenty-third century. As a race of warrior beings with long fangs and ethereal, sapphire blue eyes, most humans had feared these massive aliens at first. The males stood well over six feet tall, most reaching closer to seven feet, and even the females towered over many of the humans.
In time, however, the Aleucians had proven to be great allies to Earth, despite their intimidating size. Unfortunately, their continued presence on the planet soon attracted other visitors from across the galaxies, and not all came in peace.
Wars ensued.
Cities burned.
By the end of the century, only a fraction of the population remained, and Earth had been reduced to nothing more than a barren wasteland. The Aleucians offered refuge and safe passage to their homeworld, and as their own planet died, humans had no choice but to accept their generosity.
Still, survival came at a cost.
The arid surface of Aleucia reached deadly temperatures during the daytime hours, and its thinner atmosphere meant the sun produced third-degree burns in humans within a matter of minutes. The nights, on the other hand, turned bitterly cold, well below freezing, with brutal, arctic winds.
While covered in thin, transparent scales that protected them from severe temperature changes on their homeworld, the Aleucians quickly realized the environment would be uninhabitable by what remained of the human race. In response, they’d built a vast, underground city that reached seventeen levels and nearly two miles below the planet’s surface.
They provided safety, stability…survival. But their hospitality extended only so far. Having witnessed Earthlings’ penchant for violence and destruction, their hosts offered sanctuary with one important condition—all humans would be chipped and monitored, no exceptions.
Sighing, Mesa slapped her palm against the button over the bed, flipping the mattress back into its hiding place in the wall. Then she pulled her hair into a high ponytail as she toggled the switch beside the mirror with her elbow, activating the revolving closet. The mirror, sink, and vanity disappeared, lowering into the floor to make room for a single rack of clothing to descend from the ceiling.
Efficient.
Carefully, she removed a peasant blouse with long sleeves and a pair of flowing pants—both in white—from their hangers and spread them over the circular leather chair in the corner. Rubbing her hands over her face, she yawned widely and flipped the switch on the wall again, lowering the vanity so she could begin preparing for her day.
Every adult human had been assigned a job within the city based on their age, knowledge, and experience. After a short probationary period, they could request a reassignment, but since everyone received the same pay regardless of their position, few actually did. For reasons she didn’t understand, Mesa had been selected by Director Raxcor Wyeth to be his personal assistant. She loved what she did, and she couldn’t imagine working anywhere else in the city.
Of course, it hadn’t been her life’s dream to schedule appointments, bring coffee, or keep a stubborn male on task. Her love of being the personal assistant to the director of Hope had little to do with her duties, and everything to do with the man himself. While the Aleucians offered refuge for her race, many of them viewed humans as pets, kind to them, but with an undertone of superiority.
Not Raxcor. Not with her anyway. Like all Aleucians, he valued order and efficiency. They were bred for it, after all. Evolution had hardwired their brains to translate and understand languages after only one encounter. They spoke telepathically, finding the time it took to speak aloud to be unproductive and wasteful. Idleness was not tolerated, and questions were considered a sign of a weak mind.
Raxcor never treated her that way, though. He took the time to answer her questions, to explain things about his world, his race, and everything in between. He truly seemed to care about her opinions, often seeking her counsel on matters relating to humans, and more importantly, he listened…really listened. In his own way, he treated her with respect and gentleness, possibly even a modicum of affection, that was absent from most other Aleucians. Seeing him every day was the best part of living in Hope, and the only truly bright spot in the underground city.
Today would be different, though. Today, everything would change.
CHAPTER ONE
“You have an interview in ten minutes and another in an hour.”
Raxcor Wyeth frowned as he watched his assistant flick her finger across the glowing screen of her digital organizer. In fact, he hadn’t been able to wipe the scowl from his mouth since Mesa had walked into his office at the beginning of the week and requested to be reassigned to
Level 13—Resource and Development.
“I’ve prepared questions for you to ask, and of course, I’ve already prescreened the applicants.” Her pretty pink lips pressed together in a thin line, and her bright green eyes sparked with warning. “Do try not to be a dick.”
A quiet ping announced the arrival of a new communication, and he tapped the display in the center of his glass desktop, opening the interview questions Mesa had transferred to him. With a cursory glance at the detailed list, he leaned back in his chair, templing his index fingers together and touching them to his lips.
“I will be charming as always,” he answered, sending his words directly into her mind.
Many of the humans he’d met since becoming Director of Hope preferred the Aleucians to speak aloud. Apparently, it unnerved them to have a stranger invade their minds, but Raxcor had neither the time nor the patience for such inefficiency. Thankfully, Mesa never complained.
“Right.” With a derisive snort, she seated herself on the oversized sofa—oversized for the human female anyway—pushed her ebony hair out of her eyes, and began packing away her things into a surgically white messenger bag. “Let me know how that works out for you.”
No one else would dare speak to him in such a way, but Mesa’s fiery attitude had been one of the main reasons he’d chosen her as his personal assistant in the first place. She challenged him. She made him look at things differently. Mostly, she made him crave things he had no business wanting.
Moving to the edge of his seat, he rested his elbows on the desk and arched an eyebrow. “Meaning?”
“Meaning you’re not an easy male to work for,” Mesa answered without looking up from her packing. “You’ve already chased off half a dozen acceptable applicants, and those who actually lasted until the end of the interview will probably need therapy to sort through their newfound feelings of inferiority.”
Raxcor shrugged and ran his tongue over one, pointed fang as he pushed away from the desk and swiveled his chair around to look at the cityscape depicted on the floor-to-ceiling mod-screens behind him. He didn’t know which Earth city was depicted, and watching the hordes of humans scuttling about the paved sidewalks held little interest for him. Mesa liked it, though. It reminded her of the home she’d lost, and he wanted her to be happy.
“Seeing as they were inferior, perhaps I did them a favor.” He didn’t want acceptable. He wanted perfection. “I don’t understand why this is necessary in the first place.”
“Because,” Mesa stated pointedly from behind him, “I’m transferring at the end of next week, as you very well know.”
With a low growl, he turned back to face his assistant. “I’m not stupid or forgetful,” he replied, enunciating each word aloud. “I am well aware that you’re leaving. What I meant, as you very well know, Miss Adair, is that I do not understand why you feel the need to transfer.”
Mesa finally looked up at him, her expression almost pitying, and sighed. “I’ve been your personal assistant since I first arrived in Hope, so almost a year now. While it probably makes me insane, I actually enjoy working for you.”
“Then, what’s the problem?”
“This is just something I need to do.” Mesa had been saying the same thing since she’d asked to be reassigned, but she never elaborated further. “You’ll manage.” One corner of her mouth quirked upward in a fond, half smile. “Everything will work out. It’s going to be okay, you’ll see.”
Again, Raxcor didn’t want “okay.” He didn’t want fine, acceptable, or even satisfactory. He didn’t keep the city of Hope running smoothly by surrounding himself with mediocrity. If that made him a dick, so be it.
“Is there a problem in the office?”
Though not in his nature to compromise, he had no reservations about resorting to bribery or manipulation. Her sudden and inexplicable desire to transfer to a different level wasn’t about credits, work hours, or benefits. If he could only discover what Mesa needed to be happy, what she needed to stay, he’d give it to her. Whatever it took to keep her, he’d make it happen. If there was a problem in the office, if someone was harassing her, he’d have them shipped off to the Rock in a heartbeat—if he didn’t kill them first.
Mesa tensed, and a nearly imperceptible darkness clouded her expression, but it was gone too quickly for Raxcor to pinpoint the emotion that had caused it. Still, her reaction piqued his interest, finally giving him some idea as to what had elicited her sudden desire to leave.
Before he could question her further, however, she stood, slinging the strap of her messenger bag over one shoulder and tossing her long, dark hair over the other. The corners of her eyes softened, and she looked back at him with a sympathetic tilt of her head.
“Try not to worry so much. I’ll help you find a replacement before I leave.”
“I’m not worried.”
Irritated, yes, but not worried. He needed someone who wouldn’t fracture under the pressure and demands of the job, but not one of the candidates he’d interviewed so far had measured up to his standards. In fact, each and every one of them had left him feeling nothing short of utter disappointment.
Then again, he doubted anyone could measure up to Mesa Adair.
Most positions in Hope were assigned automatically, but because of the importance and responsibility of the job, Raxcor had decided to conduct interviews before selecting his personal assistant. Metaphorically speaking, he’d chased many, many comets before Mesa had waltzed into his office, laid out her credentials, and proceeded to tell him in no uncertain terms why he’d be an idiot to pass up such an opportunity.
She’d been aggressive, maybe a little too bold, and Raxcor had liked her instantly. Fortunately, she’d also far exceeded his expectations. While Mesa took direction well, she also showed initiative, and she consistently went above and beyond what the job required of her. Finding a replacement would be impossible, and to say he anticipated the endeavor to be painfully disastrous didn’t begin to cover his feelings on the matter.
He didn’t even want to contemplate how it would feel to never see her walk into his office with her coy smile and those bright green eyes that utterly captivated him.
“I’m going to lunch.”
“You’re leaving?”
Mesa glanced down at the bag draped over her shoulder and then back to Raxcor with an arched brow. “Yes.”
“What about the interview?”
The muscle in her jaw ticked, and the slender fingers of her left hand curled against her palm. “Her name is Charity Swain, and she comes with an impressive list of qualifications.”
“Your point?” Raxcor didn’t care if Chancellor Darkyn Pisa—ruler of Aleucia—had recommended the female.
He didn’t want to suffer through the monotonous routine of an interview, and he certainly had no intentions of doing it on his own. Besides, if he couldn’t find a way to convince Mesa to stay with him, he wanted to spend as much time with her as possible while he still could.
“I’m going to lunch,” Mesa repeated, and her tone held a note of finality. “You don’t need me here for this, and frankly, it will just be awkward if I stay.”
“No.” Rarely did he deny her requests, and even more infrequently did he do so without a damn good reason. “You’ll stay.” The right side of his mouth quirked into a crooked smile when she glared at him. “Who better to judge the person taking your place?”
The corner of Mesa’s eye twitched, and her nostrils flared as she dropped her bag to the floor, leaning it against the leg of the glass accent table.
“Yes, sir,” she answered tightly as she lowered herself onto the corner cushion of the sofa.
A moment later, his intercom buzzed, and the new receptionist—Cindy? Sandy? Sharon?—announced the arrival of Miss Charity Swain in her quiet, lilting voice. Standing, Raxcor plastered a gracious, though entirely fabricated, smile on his lips just as the frosted glass door of his office slid open. A slim female a few inches taller than Mesa, with an oval-s
haped face and a pointed nose, marched into his office with her shoulders back and her spine rigid.
“Miss Swain, how are you today?” Rounding his desk, he offered his hand, vaguely noting the contrast between her ivory skin and his rich, caramel tone as they shook.
“Very well, Director Wyeth. Thank you for meeting with me today.” She tucked a flyaway strand of sandy hair—a shade darker than Raxcor’s own wheat-colored locks—behind her ear and motioned toward the armchair beside her. “Shall we get started?”
His expression impassive, Raxcor glanced toward Mesa before finally nodding. “Yes, please, sit.”
Charity eased daintily onto the chair and crossed her legs as she pulled a stack of papers from a gleaming white organizer. “A hardcopy of my qualifications, recommendations, and experience. A resume, so to speak.”
When Raxcor didn’t take it from her, she shrugged, just a small movement of her shoulders, and placed the papers on his desk.
Growing more annoyed by the second, Raxcor moved to stand beside his office chair, but he didn’t sit. The interview would be over shortly. With his back to her, he folded his hands together at his waist and watched the bustling cityscape on the mod-screen as he continued.
“Tell me about yourself.”
After babbling on about the degrees she’d obtained on Earth for twenty minutes, she then proceeded to inform him of all the ways Mesa had been doing her job wrong. “For example,” she continued, pulling a tablet from her bag and sliding her finger across the screen, “this calendar is a mess. Look at these appointments. This system—if you can call it that—isn’t efficient in the least.”
“My receptionist schedules my meetings,” he informed her through gritted teeth, irritated enough to speak aloud. “How did you get access to my schedule?”
“By turning over all scheduling to me, it would minimize confusion and overscheduling.” She tapped the screen to enlarge the calendar while ignoring his question. “If we block off a four-hour period in the mornings for meetings, it would leave you free in the afternoons to be more productive.”