by Lexa Lumos
With her frozen pepperoni and cheese, and a surprisingly decent bottle of Shiraz, she drove home. She sat in the driveway a few extra minutes, trying not to feel pathetic. Her sad little apartment was dark, as was the one next door. When she’d first moved in, there’d been an elderly lady living there, but she’d moved to a retirement facility a few weeks later. The other side of the duplex had been empty since. The owner wanted to market it as one of those vacation rental things, but apparently no one wanted to vacation in Hope.
Stunted marigolds lined the cracked walk, and the tiny patch of grass in front was perpetually brown. At least the rent was cheap, because cheap was all she could afford these days.
Inside she kicked off her shoes and padded into the kitchen. In no time she had herself a piping hot pizza, a single glass of wine, and an episode of NCIS on television. It was a sad life, maybe, but it was hers, and she’d live it how she damn well pleased.
Rain slashed against the windows, and the trees shook wildly in the wind. A storm was settling in. She did enjoy sleeping to the sound of rain.
She went to bed early, suddenly overwhelmingly tired. As she snapped off the light, she could have sworn she saw someone standing outside her window. Jumping from the bed, she raced to peer outside, but there was no one there. Just the trees thrashing in the wind as raindrops streaked down the glass panes and a pair of glowing gold eyes staring at her from the bushes. Probably somebody’s cat.
She laughed softly. “You’ve got an overactive imagination, kid.”
She slid back into bed and quickly fell asleep.
Chapter 3
Taryk stared at the house from the bushes. Her silhouette moved on the other side of the window. For a moment, he thought she saw him, then she was gone.
“You sure she’s on the list?” he muttered into the comm, though he already knew the answer. He’d known it when he made first contact inside the market.
“Yes.” Vane’s voice was scratchy in his ear. Something about the planet’s atmosphere screwed with the signal. It gave Taryk a sense of unease. “Make it quick.”
“Got it.”
Static crackled in his ear again, and another voice spoke, “You get her yet?”
He gritted his teeth. He knew his triad was impatient. From the moment he’d told them about Anya, they’d been bouncing around like younglings. “A moment, Zen. Let me focus.”
“Can’t wait until we don’t have to communicate this way anymore. It’s barbaric.” The static disappeared as Zen dropped the line.
Taryk sighed. “You and me both, brother.” Kiyrians were meant to communicate telepathically. If they’d bonded with their fourth, they would be able to. As it was....
Taryk refocused on the house. Recon had shown him she lived alone. The second unit of the dwelling was empty and hadn’t been lived in for some time. There were no animals. No alarm systems. He could be in and out in no time. Why was he hesitating?
Perhaps because of their meeting in the market. Or perhaps because he’d caught a glimpse of her face. She seemed so... sad. Nothing he could do about that now. Maybe when she got to Kiyria and finally joined with his triad, she would find something to make her happy again. She should be cherished, loved, revered, but what made him think he could solve her problems?
He hunched, waiting patiently as the minutes turned to an hour, then two. She’d be asleep by now.
He slipped from his hiding place. The lock on her door was no barrier. His eyes immediately adjusted to the dark, requiring no additional light as he made his way through her living room, down the hall, and into her bedroom. Her soft breaths caught his ear. Definitely asleep.
He inhaled. Her room smelled... womanly. Sweet and floral, just as she had at the market, even with the myriad other scents assaulting his heightened senses. He hadn’t smelled such delights in... too long. None of his people had.
Removing a hypo spray from his pocket, he leaned over the bed and pressed it to the side of her throat. Her already relaxed body went totally limp as the sedative kicked in. Last thing he needed was for her to wake up and lose her shit over being abducted by an alien.
Scooping her up in his arms, he strode from the house toward the woods at the edge of the property, where his shuttle waited. “Mission accomplished,” he said into his comm.
“Good. Bring her home.” This time it was Erys, the other member of his triad.
Taryk stared at the woman in his arms. Would she ever be able to think of Kiyria as home? Would she be able to care for them? Or would she always resent them for forcing this on her? Could she understand? Forgive? He prayed to the All-Mother that she would give him and his triad a chance.
If not, they were all doomed.
HER MOUTH TASTED LIKE dirty socks and wallpaper paste. Her head throbbed in time with the deep thrum of an engine beneath her. Holy Mary, mother of Jesus, who had bashed her skull in?
Wait. Engine?
She wanted to open her eyelids, but her eyes felt dry and gummy and she could only get them half open. Everything was blurred, out of focus. What had been in that wine? She was going to write a strongly worded letter to the vineyard.
She struggled to sit up, but her head hurt so bad, she nearly hurled the pizza she’d had for dinner. At home. Alone. She’d probably fallen asleep on her couch and had a bit of a hangover. From a single glass of wine. Except why was the couch vibrating?
Visions of little green men and alien probes flooded her mind, making the throbbing worse.
Get a grip, Anya. Your imagination is running away with you. Those damn women and their alien abduction fantasies. You’ve spent way too much time with that group of looney tunes.
After her husband dumped her for a much younger model, there’d been more than a few nights in front of the TV with a glass—or three—of red. It was how she’d ended up in this hayseed town in the first place. But she’d gotten her shit together. The pain and anger that had consumed her faded. She’d quit her binge drinking, settling for a single glass now and then. No way she could have a hangover.
She tried to sit up again and realized she couldn’t. Something held her down. “What the—” Her voice echoed as if she were in an empty cavern.
She stared down at herself. She was lying flat on a metal table, dressed in nothing but a thin white gown that hit mid-thigh. Silver bands were wrapped across her chest, arms, and midsection, keeping her strapped down.
“What the absolute fuck?” she shrieked, although what came out sounded a lot more like a strangled chicken, which only made her madder.
“You’re awake. Good.” The voice, low and husky, came from off to her left. She tried to turn her head, but the pain sent her stomach roiling again. “Sorry about the headache. You had a reaction to one of our chemicals, but you will be fine. I promise. We are not going to hurt you.”
Someone moved into her line of sight: tall, broad shouldered, and backlit. She couldn’t make out his facial features, but she recognized that voice from...somewhere. He was oddly familiar, though in her haze she couldn’t place him.
His right arm was bare, save for the tattoos swirling around it in some sort of pattern her fuzzy brain couldn’t quite make out. It was a very nice arm. Well-muscled. The skin golden and smooth.
Two more men appeared, just as well made and just as backlit. They wore strange jump suits that molded to their impressive physiques. White maybe? But kind of shimmery.
Around her, screens glowed with glyphs she didn’t recognize, and machines beeped and whirred softly. This had to be a hospital, although it was the strangest one she’d ever seen, and they were the hottest medical staff she’d ever met.
“Are you—” Her voice cracked, her throat dry. “Are you doctors?”
One of the men snorted. “She thinks we’re doctors.”
The first one shook his head, golden brown hair tumbling around his face. “Shut up, Erys. Now is not the time.”
The way the others deferred to him, it seemed the first man was in charge.
Was he the head doctor? His well-shaped hand was holding—
“What the fuck?” she shrieked again.
He held a gray cylindrical object. She didn’t recognize it, but she did recognize the item protruding from it: a needle. A very sharp needle.
“Who are you?” she demanded. “What do you want? Don’t you dare touch me with that thing.”
The needle pressed into the side of her neck. Surprisingly, she felt no pain. A surge of euphoria flooded her system, dulling her senses and turning the world into a wobbly haze.
“Don’t worry,” he said, leaning closer. He smelled of musky male and smoky nights and something green and growing. She knew that scent, if only she could remember from where. “It will all be better soon. I’m going to take care of you. We are going to take care of you.”
She tried to tell him to go fuck himself, but she couldn’t get her mouth to work. His face swam in and out of view. She knew that face, too. Where had she seen him?
Huh, she thought vaguely. He’s actually kind of hot for a psycho. I’m still totally calling the cops. Except... why are his eyes gold? Are they glowing?
Oblivion took her.
ANYA WOKE FOR THE SECOND time. She immediately glanced along her body. No straps holding her down. She sat up and jumped off the bed.
And nearly fell flat on her face. She sat right back down and sucked in a breath, waiting until the world stopped spinning. Once it did, she took stock of her situation.
Bed, not table, and she wasn’t wearing that short gown but proper pajamas made of a material so soft, it would have made silk seem scratchy. What the blue blazes was going on?
The room she was in was nothing like the one she’d woken in first. There were no beeping machines or screens with strange glyphs. The curved walls were a soothing, shimmery, pale pink. Like apple blossoms in spring. The ceiling curved, too, arching overhead in a dome. No straight lines. The graphite-gray floor under her bare feet was smooth and warm with a slight give. Like memory foam or something, but not quite.
“Where the fuck am I?” she asked out loud to no one in particular, since there was no one here anyway. Was she still asleep? Losing her mind? What was going on?
She turned in a circle. There was not a single door or window that she could see, nor was there any obvious means of lighting, yet the room was gently lit the perfect amount. It was almost as if the walls glowed.
Her bladder suddenly made itself known. “Hello!” she called. Surely there was someone here somewhere. “I’ve got to pee, and you shouldn’t keep a woman of my age waiting.”
To her right, a door slid open with a whoosh. She saw what looked like a sink. She made a beeline for it, not caring if anyone was watching or that the minute she crossed the threshold, the door slid shut behind her.
The bathroom looked much like hers at home, with a sink, shower stall, and a toilet—all white. There were an awful lot of buttons and lights, though. The walls and floor were identical to the other room.
After using the facilities—despite the buttons, the toilet flushed automatically, and the sink apparatus both washed and dried her hands—she turned to where the door had been. It had completely disappeared. The wall was seamless. “What the—?” She pressed her palm against the wall, then jerked away when the door slid back, revealing the room beyond, complete with rumpled bed. “Well, that’s just weird.”
She stepped through cautiously, and the door slid shut behind her. There wasn’t even a microscopic crack to show where it was.
“Oh, boy, I’ve lost it,” she muttered. “Too much time with those alien abduction fanatics. I’ve gone absolutely batshit crazy, or maybe this is a dream.” She pinched her bare arm. Ouch. Shit. Not a dream. This was real. She was really and truly in a shimmery pink room with disappearing doors. Did that mean the rest of it was real, too? The whole being-strapped-to-an-exam-table thing? And that weird-looking dude looming over her? What about the other two guys, hovering at the edge of the room, watching her?
She sank down on the edge of the bed. Surely not. That had to be a dream. She’d never seen men like that in real life. Not that hot. And there’d been something strange about them. Something almost... inhuman. Alien.
“For crying out loud, Anya,” she muttered to herself. “You’ve been listening to Brea’s nonsense too long.”
A chime sounded—light, bright, cheery to match the damn pink walls. She tried to figure out where it came from. Before she could zero in, it chimed again. And again.
Unsure what else to do, she shouted, “All right already. What the fuck do you want?”
There was a pause, almost as if the room itself held its breath. Then a door slid open. Not the door to the bathroom, but a wider door, leading into what looked like a hall. In the doorway stood....
“Oh, shit. It’s you.”
It was the hunky guy from the exam room. One of them, anyway. The same one she’d met in the pizza aisle at Morton’s Market, and he was most definitely not human.
Chapter 4
"Who the absolute fuck are you?" Maybe it wasn't the best thing to go on the automatic offensive, but Anya figured she had nothing to lose.
Hunky Dude stared her up and down. Was that amusement working his lips into a sexy quirk?
Sexy quirk? Anya, don’t be an idiot. You do not fall for men because they have sexy quirks. You learned that lesson the hard way, remember?
Her ex-husband had had a sexy quirk when she met him. Unfortunately, it hid a total asshole.
"I am called Taryk." Hunky Dude’s voice was low and husky, with an accent that didn't sound like anything she'd ever heard. It was sort of French, but not quite. Italian maybe? He looked like he could be Italian, although with a name like Taryk, he was probably from the Middle East or something.
Except she doubted he was from anywhere on Earth. Human beings didn’t have gold eyes, and they certainly didn’t have eyes that glowed.
She crossed her arms, suddenly aware she wasn't wearing a bra. "Taryk what?"
"Taryk, Lord Taul," he said, as if that explained everything.
She snorted. "Lord of what? Where am I? Who are you? Why have you brought me here? I should call the cops. Kidnapping is a federal crime, you know."
He held up a hand. "Please, one question at a time. Your language is still new to me."
She lifted a brow. "My language? You mean English? You learned it?”
“No.” He tapped his ear. “Universal translator implant. You have one too.”
She wiggled a finger in her ear but didn’t feel anything. Alrighty then. “Where are you from?"
“Kiyria."
“Is that in Russia?" she asked. What had been in that wine?
"I don't know what this Russia is," he said. "Is that a place on your Earth?"
"My Earth? Of course it is. How have you not heard of Russia?" She suddenly felt cold, although the temperature of the room hadn't changed. Had she fallen down a damn rabbit hole? How did this guy not know about Russia? "Where exactly is this Kiyria you’re supposed to be from?"
"It’s about 27,000 light years from Earth," he said with an absolutely straight face.
She laughed out loud. Part hysteria, part disbelief. "Don't be ridiculous."
"I assure you I am not being ridiculous," he said, taking a step toward her.
Despite her intentions to stand her ground, Anya stepped back. He was so big, so... imposing, so alien. God. She’d lost her fucking mind. He was not an alien.
"Please," he said, holding out a hand. "Do not be afraid. I have no plans to harm you.”
"No plans? Well, that's good." Her tone was sarcastic. "I'd hate to think what would happen if you did have plans to harm me."
"Believe me, on my world we cherish women. We do not hurt them. A man who harms a woman is no man at all. "
“You and I can certainly agree on that,” she said. He actually sounded like he believed what was coming out of his mouth. It was probably the craziest thing she'd ever heard. Where she came
from, men didn't care much whether they hurt women or not.
"All right then," she said lamely. "So you're this Lord Taul person from the planet Kiyria. What do you want with me?" It didn't escape her notice that the door behind him still stood open. She wondered if there was any way she could get past him and out that door, because this guy was Grade A crazy, and she needed out of here pronto.
"We need women." He gave her an earnest look she couldn't interpret.
"What do you mean, you need women?"
"It's a very long story."
"You’d better start explaining, because I can't think of a good reason why you’d need to go ’round kidnapping women."
"Trust me, it's necessary," he muttered.
"Yeah well, it's not okay," she said. "I need you to take me home now."
It was his turn to lift a brow. "Do you really want to go back? You did not seem happy."
Was she? No, she wasn't. Her life sucked. It probably sucked less than it had in California, but it still sucked. Still, it was her life, such as it was. He had no right to take her from it. "I said, return me to my home." Her tone was firm, brooking no argument.
"Sorry, I can't do that." He actually did sound sorry, which was odd. The guy had to be a few bricks short of a full load.
"What do you mean, you can't do that? What are you gonna do, murder me?"
He looked horrified. "I told you, we do not harm women where I come from. Women are.... Women are special. They're important. That's why we need you."
"Still not computing. Still don't care. Take. Me. Home." Not that she thought he'd listen, being a kidnapper and all, but it was worth a shot.
He shook his head. "I cannot. You don’t understand. I—"
An alarm sounded. The walls turned from soft, glowing pink to harsh, flashing red. Without another word, the man called Taryk turned and exited through the door.
Without wasting another moment or giving it a second thought, Anya ran for the door, squeezing through as it closed behind her. She was in a long tube-shaped hallway with the same flashing red walls as that of her—whatever it'd been. Bedroom? Prison cell? All the above?