Stolen: A SciFi Alien Warlord Romance

by Alison Aimes

  2

  Earth 9094, fifteen planetary rotations later

  Time was running out.

  Aurora hovered over the scattered earrings, pins, and necklaces on the vanity. Which to steal?

  Gems in all shapes and colors glittered back at her. Stunning rainbow-colored danashe stones that shifted in color with the light lay side by side with bold red rubels and deep blue saphirets, each more gorgeous than the last—and potentially just as fake. When she’d been young, she’d been in awe of their splendor and never dreamed how many were just cheap glass, posing as something else. Now, she knew different.

  If she chose a true danashe stone from among Lady Everly’s possessions, she would be set. Their beauty and rarity would mean a windfall on the black market, but going back to Denard, her contact, and hearing she’d chosen another fake would be devastating. Apparently, even after a full planetary rotation of thievery, she still couldn’t spot a counterfeit. Each gem looked as magnificent and true as the real thing—just like everything else in the élithe world.

  With a curse, she swept up a sparkling pendant as large as her thumb and thrust it under the shimmering white silk of her gown, the scrape of the stone loud as it slid into the pocket strapped to her thigh. Sadly, the glossy vanity—made of wood, a far rarer Earther commodity in the dome—was worth a thousand times more than the gem, but it definitely wouldn’t fit discretely under her dress. Especially not one as tight as the one she’d been instructed to wear, its glittering, metallic threads molding tight to her arms, breasts, and hips before rippling to the ground in constant motion, as if the fabric itself were alive—and running. Just as she wished she could do.

  In place of the necklace she dropped her note, careful not to leave ink smudges on her ridiculous matching white gloves. The paper was signed for services rendered in the name of love. She’d crafted the wording to boost the rumor the thief was an élithe stealing trinkets in exchange for work performed in the bedroom. It was exactly the kind of sordid silliness the repressed élithe ate up. But the real reason her notes worked to divert suspicion from the servants was because only those with resources could obtain paper. Few grunts—the name for non-elites living under the dome and working for the Corporation—even knew how to read and write.

  Her kind preferred to keep the masses uneducated. It made subjugating them that much easier.

  With a deep breath for courage, she bypassed the automatic opener and cracked the door open manually. A quick peek to either side and she was through, the thick exported Martian carpet of changing red and orange hues muffling her steps. Earthers might dismiss the Outer planets as savage, lawless realms, but they coveted their goods nonetheless.

  Growing more confident, she sprinted down one winding staircase. Then the next. Élithe homes were giant, pristine compounds unto themselves. When she’d first returned to the dome a planetary rotation past, the excess wealth had shocked her. Outside the dome, life was much harder and she and her aunt had scraped by on very little. Even within the dome, non-élithes lived hand to mouth, barely surviving. Yet here, among this small group of insular families, were excesses beyond the imagination, hoarded for their exclusive use. But what had once horrified her had become something she was grateful for—as it meant more chance to steal.

  Just a few more twisting corridors and she’d be back among the milling party guests, her distracted chaperone none the wiser. Then she remembered who was waiting for her and her pace slowed, ice sliding down her spine.

  The last thing she wanted was to hurry back to her stepfather, High Executive Johnas Whetherton.

  Few deserved the esteemed title less.

  Tittering voices sounded from around the corner.

  She froze, her gaze shifting left and right.

  A door stood open a few feet away. She raced over and, quietly as possible, peered inside. A sliver of moonlight shone through the outer door’s privacy shields revealing metallic couches, ornate tufted chairs, and neon-lit shelves crowded with bottles of illicit Other World spirits. She’d stumbled upon an unlocked drawing room, an attempted replica of the kind of space a wealthy female from before the wars might have used to entertain. The élithe were weirdly obsessed with such things—as if adopting the sheen, grace, and respectability of a time long past would somehow rub off on them.

  Thankfully, the room was empty. Aurora slipped inside. Just in time.

  “That wide mouth makes her look like a whore.”

  Aurora recognized that biting voice. It was Lady Sutherton, a young female not much older than she who was part of her stepfather’s social set. She’d had Aurora over for tea and ghrave, an Off-world Phobos delicacy, two lunar rotations past. It hadn’t been a pleasure.

  “Maybe we’ll be fortunate and the monster murdering those pleasure sluts will take her as well.” This cruel remark issued from another familiar voice: Lady Hamilton. Her high-pitched squeak was unmistakable.

  “I don’t know why High Executive Whetherton puts up with her. He should have secured her breeding contract long ago. He indulges that brat far too much.”

  They are talking about me.

  Pain bit into Aurora’s palm, her grip clenched around the skirt of the gown her stepfather insisted she wear. She forced her fist to unlock.

  Goddess, she hated skulking. She hated clinging to the darkness like a frightened mouse.

  A planetary rotation ago, she would have stormed forward and told them flat out to stuff it and that they hadn’t a clue. Because the truth was she would have gladly contracted with anyone, including the door she was leaning against, if it meant escaping Whetherton’s grasp.

  But she’d learned quickly the cost of straightforward resistance.

  Her mind shuddered at the memory.

  Sometimes surviving felt a lot like cowardice.

  For comfort, she brushed the pocket strapped to her thigh. Lies. Trickery. Deception. Those were her new weapons.

  A flurry of footsteps signaled her luck was still crap. The women were coming closer.

  Ducking behind the heavy privacy shields, she waved her hand in front of the exit panel leading to the balcony, hoping to flee before they entered—only to be brought up short by their arrival.

  A frantic survey of her dress and slippers confirmed everything was tucked out of sight.

  “Honestly, who cares about stuck-up Lady Aurora Blake? I much prefer to discuss DaKar Volkan.”

  Aurora’s eye went wide. This time the speaker was Lady Everly, the hostess of tonight’s ball—and the owner of the necklace strapped to Aurora’s thigh. The woman was supposed to be at the head of the receiving line with her husband, greeting late arrivals. She must have slipped away for a quick chat with her friends.

  “After fifteen planetary rotations without a word, the eldest son of the wealthiest élithe has returned to claim his father’s Executive title now that the older man is dead.” Glasses clinked as Lady Everly sipped her drink. Aurora pushed at the outer door slowly, attempting to widen it enough to slip through. “It’s rumored Volkan intends to make an appearance tonight.”

  “I hear he once ate a man’s eyeballs for breakfast,” squeaked Lady Sutherton.

  “That’s no surprise. His mother was an Outer planet heathen.”

  Aurora’s ears perked up, curiosity mixing with an odd sense of protectiveness. She didn’t know the male, but a part of her chaffed at the way they spoke of him. Still, she couldn’t even speak up for herself these rotations.

  She went back to pushing at the door.

  “He was no more than sixteen when he left the dome, but I remember him well.” Lady Everly’s voice had grown husky. “All that golden skin stretched across hulking muscle. Those glittering Martian eyes and flashing fangs…he was exquisite, savage, untamable.”

  “I hear he takes a new lover each night.”

  “I hear he killed a man for suggesting a female would prefer a full élithe over his half heritage.”

  “He’s unstable.” Lady Sutherton’s dis
dain was obvious. “He should stay away.”

  “What male would?” snapped Lady Everly. “Volkan could rule almost all the Corporation if he inherits.”

  “A half-Martian savage as one of our main Executives? Shameful.”

  Yes! The door opened wide enough for Aurora to slip through.

  With a silent shout of triumph, she half fell onto the small stone balcony. Above, hazy stars twinkled in a muddy sky. The dome might have started out transparent, but it had long ago been covered by enough dirt and dust to produce a film that obscured everything beyond.

  Still, it was pretty out here, the thin rays of the moon strong enough tonight to cast everything in a soft glow.

  Sagging against the outer stone wall, her heart rate slowed. The sting of the women’s chatter erased as the soothing scent of honeysuckle and orange blossom, piped in to all the wealthy neighborhoods, filled her lungs.

  If this past planetary rotation had taught her anything, it was to take the good where she found it.

  Tipping back her head, she drank it in, the slight breeze from the air generators winding around her bare shoulders and neck, a caress as soft and tantalizing as an imagined lover’s touch. A strange heat built at the base of her spine and curled upwards. Simple overexcitement from her close call? Maybe. There was something faintly familiar about the sensation, but she couldn’t recall from where.

  Whatever the case, she wouldn’t be out here very long. Already, she could hear the ladies gathering up their belongings, stealing a last sip, and making their way out of the room to return to the party. Just as she needed to do. Soon.

  Warmth spread through her belly and up her limbs, the faint exotic scent of licorice and spice mingling with the floral smell and prompting her to breathe deep, a strange, pleasant heat pulsing in her belly and chest.

  Everything was going to work out. She wouldn’t allow it to be any other way.

  A noise disrupted her reverie.

  She looked down. Froze.

  In the garden, against a marble column, two writhing forms were locked together. The female’s bare leg wrapped around the male’s waist while one large hand gripped her bottom through her dress and propelled her upward. The other hand clasped her wrists above her head and locked her in place.

  Aurora’s palm slapped over her mouth.

  Maybe she was still more of an innocent than she’d realized. Never in her life would she have imagined two people doing that right outside a crowded ballroom.

  She scarcely remembered what it was like to be so bold.

  She held her breath and listened, the mingling of the woman’s moans and the deeper whispered growls of the man floating up to her. Her body vibrated in response, her body pulled like a magnet toward the scene below.

  Careful not to make a sound, she crept closer to the railing’s edge—and bit back a moan.

  3

  The heat simmering inside Aurora sparked hotter. A baffling sense of jealousy slammed through her, too.

  The neckline of the fortunate female’s emerald ball gown was pulled low, exposing pale white breasts tipped by dusky nipples. Eyes closed, her dark-haired head thrown back, she writhed and moaned as her partner drove her up and down his shaft. The man was more massive and muscular than any Aurora had ever seen, his wide shoulders and chest dwarfing the female in his arms.

  In contrast to the female, he was fully clothed, only a thin sliver of golden skin visible where he’d unbuttoned his trousers. The rest of his powerful body was encased in the usual élithe formal wear, except whereas most élithe males donned bright peacock colors, this male’s clothing was a dark jacket and trousers. It struck her as elegant rather than showy, his broad chest and muscled thighs so massive they strained the seams as he moved.

  He hadn’t even bothered to remove his weapon and the strange golden dagger at his hip—one she’d never seen before—quivered with every rough thrust. His hair was dark and thick and tied loosely at the nape of his neck, but with his head buried in the woman’s neck, Aurora couldn’t see his face. And she wanted to. Badly.

  The oddest perception of familiarity wound through her—as if she could somehow see beneath the dense sinew and muscle to the honor, arrogance, and pain that pulsed at his core. But, of course, that could not be. She knew nothing about the male. She was almost certain she’d never even seen him before. She shouldn’t care who he rutted with or where. And yet…

  A hank of his thick midnight hair slipped forward to brush the woman’s cheek and Aurora’s fingers twitched in response, wondering at the hair’s weight and texture. Unlike the short style popular these rotations, his was longer, less civilized. It suited him perfectly.

  Then his big hand slipped from the female’s wrist to palm her breast, startlingly golden against milky white skin, and Aurora forgot her musings, her nipples hardening in response. His pleasure mingling with her own—wait, no. That could not be, either.

  She fought to focus. Martian. His shimmering skin was a clear giveaway, but if she hadn’t been so distracted she should have known from his size alone. Now that she knew what to look for, she saw the thick black horns nestled at the side of his head like a crown, just visible beneath his thick dark hair.

  Her excitement grew. She was fairly certain she’d never seen an actual Martian before. The Corporation did their best to discourage his kind from coming to Earth. Their reputation as aggressive, warlike, and sexually uninhibited made them personae non gratae on a traditional, rigid planet like this one.

  But not to her. For some inexplicable reason, she had always been fascinated by all things Martian.

  That he was here at all was fairly astonishing. At an élithe ball even more so. Was he the male the women had been discussing? It was hard to believe there was more than one Martian running around here tonight. She tried to recall the details she’d overheard, but the heat licking at her skin made it hard to think at all.

  She’d never had such a reaction to any male before.

  She wanted to be the Earther female down there. To be held tight against such a bold, powerful male while he stroked her fevered body, his touch sure and commanding, intent on bestowing pleasure rather than pain.

  She wanted to press her skin so tight against his that their hearts beat as one. Fused. Inevitable.

  It was her right. Not any other females.

  It was a fanciful longing, but also too much to resist.

  Closing her eyes, she trailed her palm up her stomach to cup her breast. It had been ages since anyone touched her without causing pain, but high on this balcony she was safe. Free. She could pretend for a short time that she could be with someone like him—connect with someone like him—unbound by the harsh strictures of life under her stepfather’s thumb. For once, no one could stop her from doing as she liked.

  Blood pounding white-hot, she imagined it was the golden male’s fingers tugging at the tight bud inside her dress, toying with her, making her hunger.

  Her center swelled, a foreign pressure building inside.

  She pressed her thighs together. The action only intensified her need. The weight of the jewels strapped to her leg burned like a hand on her inner thigh. His rough hand.

  She reopened her eyes to see what her imaginary lover was doing next—and wished she hadn’t.

  Because the male’s face was no longer buried in the other female’s neck.

  Now, he was looking up. At her.

  Aurora’s skin flashed hot, then cold. She braced for his shout of outrage.

  It never came.

  Instead, the hint of a smile flickered across his unbelievably beautiful face, the moonlit shadows granting his exotic features an otherworldly cast.

  Her breathing hitched.

  He winked.

  Could any real flesh and blood male truly be so magnificent? Or so arrogant? Chiseled cheekbones, a proud square jaw, and a long, thin nose blended with full, sensual lips and hooded golden eyes to create a portrait of fierce sensuality. His features were rougher and
bolder than most élithe. He was the most in-your-face handsome male she’d ever seen.

  Such a curious kitten. His smile grew, fangs flashing, as he mouthed the words. I’d begun to doubt you were real.

  Just as she doubted her sanity. But she couldn’t look away. Couldn’t stop staring. Defiance. Independence. Confidence. It poured from him as naturally as the primal sexuality that held her in his thrall.

  Here was a man who would never skulk around in silence and shadows. Here was a man who would take what he wanted and be damned.

  Gooseflesh rose over her skin, making even the breeze’s slight caress almost painful. She wanted…

  As if she’d spoken aloud, he responded. His knowing stare never wavering from hers as he skimmed his hand up the female’s thigh—and shoved it beneath her bunched skirt.

  Without thought, Aurora’s body arched toward his touch.

  It was easy to imagine him forcefully cupping her mons. Sliding his thick fingers into her wet slit. Making her purr as he petted and stroked her and made her hips jerk in time with his hand.

  Off balance, she gripped the railing, unable to remain standing on thighs gone liquid with want.

  A soft plea erupted. She required his touch as well. Craved the pleasure-pain bite of his fingers working her clit as she trembled and moaned.

  At the sound, his nostrils flared. His leisurely pace disappeared. He thrust faster, harder, his stare fused with hers.

  “Touch yourself, female.” His low growl rumbled upward and over her skin like a caress. His partner might not have known it, but she knew exactly who he was commanding. “Get that curious chanti wet and ready for me—and every raw, dirty thing you’re going to let me do to you next.”

  Her heart rate quickened, her body pulsing with the same fierce rhythm as his thrusts.

  Her hand slid over her stomach. Pressed into the aching, damp V at her thighs.