Stolen: A SciFi Alien Warlord Romance

by Alison Aimes

  The trip was part of a wheekly shopping event with a handful of rotating élithe ladies, a political move by her stepfather to have her associate with the contracted breeders of Executives whose support he desired. Attendance was obligatory, her behavior expected to be above reproach.

  Today, she’d separated from the pack under the guise of an ankle twist that had miraculously improved once the crowd of élithe females, packages, and servants were several blocks ahead.

  Now, she only needed to lose her own watchdog. Big and bulky, with a neck as thick as his head, Collins was a recent hire by her stepfather who took his guard duties seriously.

  Nerves jangling, she forced her feet forward. The jewels weighed a stone and the mix of guilt and desperation weighing on her chest was even heavier. It didn’t help that she was exhausted from a night of tossing and turning, haunted by her confrontation with Warlord Volkan.

  He’d said some cruel things. So had she. They both had tempers to match.

  But he hadn’t been wrong. And neither had she.

  She was such a mess of jumbled emotions and sensations whenever he was near. The longing, not just for a physical connection, but an emotional one, was so foolish, and yet so hard to resist. The whispered promises that vibrated along the golden threads, pledging something beautiful if she’d only give in, punctured her logic and good sense.

  She wanted. But she didn’t. She needed. But she couldn’t.

  If all went as planned at the pawnbroker’s, she’d never need deal with the Warlord or that messiness again.

  The thought should have made her happier than it did.

  Her steps heavy, she maneuvered around a whirring group of tentacled, blue-skinned Wvarkers from Orion’s belt and strode closer to the margins of the Forbidden Zone.

  “My Lady, the group turned left here.” Collin’s suspicion was obvious.

  “This route is faster.” It wasn’t a lie. “We’ll be able to meet up with the others at the floater without inconveniencing them by making them wait.” She just didn’t mention that she’d be stopping off as well.

  As they walked in her chosen direction, the stores and the inhabitants became noticeably shabbier, and more alien in concentration. She preferred it. While the area wasn’t anything like home, it had a chaos she adored. She’d found a freedom here she hadn’t anywhere else in the dome city, which was how she’d stumbled upon Denard’s Shop of Unusual Goods in the first place.

  Still grieving her aunt’s death and reeling from her stepfather’s latest set of blows, she’d been on one of his required outings when she’d spied a landscape painting in the window of the shop that had reminded her of the northern sector countryside around her aunt’s home. Homesick, she’d gone inside, only to discover the store was a pawnshop.

  The foundation of a plan had formed in her mind. A half a planetary rotation later she’d become a thief.

  A few stalls down from her intended location, she spoke up. “Collins, I need to pick up a few female items.” His face blanched. “While I am gone, please take the packages you are holding back to the floater. I suspect you will have need of both hands shortly.”

  Her guard did not look happy. “I’m to stay with you at all times.”

  “These items are of an especially personal and private nature.” She injected as much command into her voice as she could. “I would hate to inform my stepfather you had overstepped and presumed an intimacy beyond what is appropriate for our association.” Obnoxious, yes, but it should get the job done.

  “Alright, your ladyship.” His resentment at her veiled threat was obvious. “I’ll return as soon as possible. I wasn’t trying to be inappropriate. Just doing my job. Your stepfather would demand nothing less.”

  Her stomach sank. She was a universal jerk. Plus, she’d have to be even faster than usual.

  She waited until Collins was out of sight to don her hood and unravel the attached veil so that it hid her face. Except for her first visit, she’d never entered the shop without concealing her identity. She could not afford to have the stolen jewels traced to her.

  A few hurried paces and she was through the door and inside Monsieur Denard’s shop, the sour dusty scents of hundreds of items from all over the universe hitting her lungs at once.

  She peeked out from under her veil. The odd assortment of items struck her anew. Callisto Moon crystals leaned against Jovian watercolors while exotic Outer World animal trophies hung on the walls. On the shelves, elegant golden Martian candle sticks sat next to rusting shuttle parts, gleaming blasters, molding tomes, and display upon display of old Earther snuff boxes and jewelry.

  Unusual Goods was a good name for the store. Lifted Goods would have worked as well. She suspected a good deal of the items had found their way to Denard’s by the same route as the jewels in her handbag.

  The proprietor of the store shuffled into view. She jerked her veil into place. Though the dense material made it difficult to see, she could tell he was dressed in his usual ill-fitting waistcoat and jacket, his thick lizard-like tail dragging behind him. Rings of all shapes and sizes adorned his long, four-fingered hands. His features and body were similarly large and bold, his jowls extensive, his skin mottled green and brown. All of which gave him a look similar to an old Earther lizard. Except for his eyes. They were narrow and cold and calculating.

  She had no idea what kind of alien he was or from where he came, but she often felt like an insignificant, buzzing fly when she entered his lair.

  She suppressed a shiver. “Friend of Earth,” she used the polite designation for non-Earthers living under the dome, “I have brought more jewels I wish to trade for cash.” She lifted her bag in front of her like a shield.

  “It is a pleasure to hear, Female…?” He paused, letting his hissed unfinished address hang between them. Only élithe females used the title of Lady and she always got the sense he was fishing for not only her name, but confirmation of her status.

  When she made no move to answer, his tongue snaked out, tasting the air before he resumed speaking as if the break in conversation had never happened. “It has been a few wheeks since you were last here. I wondered if perhaps circumstances had improved.”

  She placed her bag on the table and pulled at the strings with trembling fingers. “Here is what I have. I expect it will garner more than last time.” Each time she came, he acted more familiar, subtly pressing for information while pretending polite indifference.

  “We shall see.” He spread the jewels on the table, the pads of his fingers sticking briefly to the sparkling gems, the changing hues of the danashe stones blindingly beautiful alongside the rich blues, reds, and silvers of the other treasures.

  He pulled a jeweler’s monocle off the chain attached to his vest and held up a glittery earring. He studied the piece while she studied him. As usual, he gave nothing away.

  Finally, he leaned back, resting the piece on the table. “Well, I don’t need to tell you the danashe stone in this piece is a very nice fake. Very nice, indeed.” He gave her a sly look. “It is almost impossible to tell.”

  She deflated. Fake? Again? She affected a nod of agreement, while searching his eyes for some sign he was lying. If only she knew more about gems. He could be trying to see what she knew. Or he could be telling the truth. She had no idea and she couldn’t very well appear uncertain since she’d claimed the jewels were hers.

  He pawed through her entire stash, separating them into piles while noting a problem here or a scratch there. The minutes crawled by, especially with the threat of Collins’s return hanging over her.

  Finally, Denard removed the monocle and pinned her with a challenging stare. “Female, I complement you on a nice collection. Only an expert such as myself would be able discern how many of them are fakes.” He gestured toward the largest pile, including the glittery earrings, Lady Everly’s pendant necklace, and Lady Monroe’s bracelet inlaid with four danashe stones. “I will give you twenty chits for the lot of these fakes. A good pri
ce, indeed. I wouldn’t do it for anyone else, but you are such a valued patron.”

  Her eyes burned. That was nowhere near the amount she needed to purchase her ticket off world. Even with what she’d already managed to accumulate, Denard’s meager offer would mean continuing to steal. Worse, it would keep her under her stepfather’s thumb a good deal longer.

  “Friend of Earth, please.” She struggled to keep the desperation from her voice. “Don’t you think that’s a little low? Look how lovely these are. I am sure they will sell easily.”

  He didn’t even blink. “I am afraid I cannot go any higher.”

  The smug certainty in his voice awoke her ire. She hated being this powerless. “The bracelet alone is worth that price.”

  He shrugged. “Take it to someone else if you dispute my assessment.”

  The bastard. Did he think he was the only pawn dealer in the Forbidden Zone? “Alright. I will.” She stretched her hand forward to sweep the jewels into her bag.

  “Just be careful to whom you go. Others might not be as trusting.”

  She froze.

  “There is a lot of talk right now about a particular thief running amuck, stealing jewels not too different from these.” He picked up one of the glittering earrings and rolled it between his elongated thumb and forefinger. “He’s supposed to be some sort of élithe degenerate stealing from past lovers, but that story never struck me as right.”

  Her chest seized.

  “And, unlike me,” he flicked the piece onto the table, “others might be prone to jump to conclusions rather than trust your good word.”

  It took a moment to find her voice. “What are you insinuating?”

  “Nothing at all. That is my point. I have not insinuated anything. To anyone. Yet.”

  “Why would you? There is nothing to be said. I am sure people come to you daily to trade their goods for cash.”

  “Their own goods, yes. But what if some were found to belong to others? That would be bad for business and dangerous for me. That is why I only do business with clients I can count on to remain loyal.”

  She quit pretending. “You know who I am.”

  “Indeed, Lady Aurora Blake.” Secretions from his hand covered the gem, obscuring its color, as he tightened his grip on the earring. “I made it my business to follow you and discover your identity the first time you came to my store. I’d hate to break up such a productive relationship and seek out your stepfather in order to share such disturbing news.” Without warning, his hand shot upward, those same sticky fingers whipping the veil back from her face. “But I will.”

  She stumbled back, nearly tearing the thin fabric in her haste, but his grip remained tight, her face exposed.

  “Y-you are right to remind me of the importance of loyalty.” Her voice shook as their eyes locked. Her heart beating fast at the way his flat gaze assessed every inch of her features, as if she was already one of the items on his shelf. “Why should we break up a productive relationship over a slight disagreement in price? I will take the twenty chits.”

  Denard remained silent.

  Her heart leapt into her throat. Was he going to lower his offer now that he knew she was at his mercy? Or do something far worse?

  “Alright.” He said at last, his expression smug as his hand drifted back to his side and her veil fell back into place. “I will get the money.” For such a large man, he bounded quickly from the table into the back of the store.

  She refused to think or move. She merely waited.

  “It has been a pleasure to see you again.” He handed her the chits and walked her politely to the door. He acted as if their interaction had been an everyday occurrence, a pleasant exchange between proprietor and client. “I look forward to our next meeting.”

  She mustered a nod before moving down the street.

  The sight of Collins jogging down the sidewalk had her whisking off her hood and veil.

  They met a few stores down from Denard’s.

  “No packages after all, I see.” Collins, red-faced and hostile, stared at her empty hands.

  “No. There was nothing for me there.” She hurried past, doing her best to hide the tremors racking through her. “I am ready to return to the floater now.”

  “Of course, my lady.” His insolent tone sent a shiver up her spine. She ignored it. She had enough to contend with as it was. The walk back to the transport seemed endless. The wait for the other ladies even longer.

  Once inside, she clasped a hand to her roiling stomach, sank into the leather seat, and let their chatter roll over her.

  Now, she had two threats with which to contend: her stepfather and Denard. Either could ruin her at any moment.

  She rested her head against the seat and pretended to smile at something someone said.

  She had to think. Should she take the few chits she’d managed to pry from Denard and flee as soon as tonight? The tense, quivering muscles in her legs screamed yes. Run. Fast. Immediately.

  But her cautious mind wasn’t so certain. If she left now she wouldn’t have the funds to travel nearly as far or as fast as she needed. She’d have to stay on Earth. Where it would be far easier for her stepfather to locate her. And if he found her…

  A shudder coursed through her. She couldn’t even bear to think of what would happen.

  She needed to get off planet. It was the only real chance she’d have to escape.

  Tears threatened, but she forced them back. She had no time for such indulgence.

  The floater came to a stop. A few ladies, several servants, and numerous packages exited the transport. She smiled. Offered a polite, cordial goodbye. Exchanged pleasantries with the female still seated to her left.

  She had to plan. To adapt. To survive.

  Just as she’d done when her father died and her frightened, sickly mother had contracted to Whetherton not six wheeks afterward. Just as she’d done when she’d grown up in the harsh, desolate northern sector, part of a household that had consisted of an eccentric aunt who cared only for her gardens and little for the orphan girl she’d inherited. Just as she’d done when her aunt had died and she’d been thrust under Whetherton’s thumb.

  A wave of exhaustion crashed over her. Her breathing hitched.

  Goddess, she was tired of struggling. Of lying and scheming. Of being alone. Of never having anything or anyone that was truly hers. And, now, even her humble dream of finding a refuge where she could at least be safe appeared further away than ever.

  You can lie to yourself, but not to me.

  The Warlord’s words flickered through her mind. The memory of the exquisite completeness she’d experienced in that ballroom when she was a young girl so strong it seared her lungs and stole her breath. If only she could have that…

  But he wasn’t the same male he’d been.

  Nor was she the same the girl. She’d done terrible things since then. Lied. Stolen. Framed an innocent man.

  Whatever potential the Martian golden heat had seen in them so long ago had twisted into something else now.

  Heartsick and angry, she shoved the memory aside.

  Stubborn as ever, the Warlord’s image resurfaced a moment later. This time she let it remain.

  She couldn’t run yet, but she had to go soon. Which meant she needed to continue stealing, and at a more rapid pace than before.

  She couldn’t do that unless…unless she had a foolproof distraction. Something—or someone—who would draw everyone’s attention and ensure no one would even consider associating her with the thefts. Only then would she have the freedom of movement she needed.

  She sat up straighter. Ignored an attempt by the female on her right to try and speak to her.

  She had already begun to frame Warlord Volkan. All it would take were a few more whispers here and there, a tweak to a note or two.

  But was that a line she was truly willing to cross?

  The question—and the memory of the golden-eyed male looming over, his gaze hard and unyielding, the
very picture of a bully, like Denard, like her stepfather—followed her all the way home.

  14

  The meaty fist drove towards his chin so fast it was little more than a blur.

  DaKar steeled himself and stood his ground. The jarring impact threw him back, but he stayed upright. Even on tiles slick with grime, blood, and sweat. Even without calling forth his strength or elongating his horns and fangs. He’d already taken down a four-armed Oktesh from the Messier 82 Galaxy and two arrogant Karel warriors with toxic barbs on their backs and natural steellike plating on their necks and chests. It hadn’t been nearly enough to ease the storm of emotions raging inside.

  He swiped at a streak of blood on his lip, scraping his tongue over his fang to make sure it was still intact. “Nice jab.”

  “Ah…thank you?” His most recent opponent, Saman, was a giant Outer Worlder with a fierce expression, crooked nose, and the dark-brown skin that announced he came from a region on Phobos not far from where DaKar had been born. He was also as wide as a floater and clearly confused by the compliment.

  DaKar slipped into a defensive stance and gestured his opponent forward once more. “Come on. Let’s see if you’ll be the one to take me down.”

  With a roar, his opponent launched forward, his long arms outstretched.

  DaKar caught himself before his training took over. It would have been easy to grab the male’s wrist and leverage the joint above its normal range of motion, bringing him excruciating agony. But the giant Outer Worlder wasn’t the one who needed the asht whipping.

  You’re a bully. An angry fool. You’ve gotten just what you deserve.

  Lady Aurora was a hundred percent correct. He’d started out fine with an apology and then screwed it up. He couldn’t even blame it on his alpha tendencies. No, this lack of control was something darker and uglier, and it grew inside him with every lunar rotation he remained on Earther soil wearing the same ring his father had once imprinted on his skin.

  DaKar defended with a simple hand strike to his opponent’s side.