Her Alien Beast

by Presley Hall

  Her Alien Beast

  Voxeran Fated Mates #3

  Presley Hall

  Copyright © 2020 by Presley Hall

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Sign up for my newsletter to stay updated on all my latest releases!

  Fated Mates of the Kalixian Warriors Series

  Claimed - Book 1

  Stolen - Book 2

  Rescued - Book 3

  Bound - Book 4

  Broken - Book 5

  Consumed - Book 6

  Damaged - Book 7

  NOTE: Each book in this series can be read as a standalone, but for maximum enjoyment, it’s recommended that you read the series in order.

  Voxeran Fated Mates Series

  Her Alien Prince - Book 1

  Her Alien Savior - Book 2

  Her Alien Beast - Book 3

  Her Alien Warrior - Book 4

  TBA - Book 5

  NOTE: Each book in this series can be read as a standalone, but for maximum enjoyment, it’s recommended that you read the series in order.

  Contents

  1. Elizabeth

  2. Axen

  3. Elizabeth

  4. Axen

  5. Elizabeth

  6. Axen

  7. Elizabeth

  8. Axen

  9. Elizabeth

  10. Axen

  11. Elizabeth

  12. Axen

  13. Elizabeth

  14. Axen

  15. Elizabeth

  16. Axen

  17. Elizabeth

  18. Elizabeth

  19. Axen

  20. Elizabeth

  21. Elizabeth

  22. Elizabeth

  23. Axen

  24. Elizabeth

  25. Axen

  26. Elizabeth

  Epilogue

  Also by Presley Hall

  1

  Elizabeth

  Another day in paradise.

  My lips twist into a wry smile as the thought flits through my head. “Paradise” isn’t exactly the right word to describe an alien prison planet filled with dangerous creatures and intergalactic criminals. But there’s a roof over my head, and I’m about as safe as I can be, all things considered. That counts for a lot.

  Over the past several weeks, I’ve survived a spaceship crash, fended off an attack by dangerous raiders, and made a hazardous trek across a savage wilderness. About two dozen other women survived the crash too, and if it weren’t for the Voxeran warriors who offered us a place to live, I don’t know what we would’ve done.

  Turning around, I examine myself in the polished metal sheet in front of me. It’s the closest thing the Voxerans have to a mirror in their little village, and it reminds me of looking at funhouse mirrors in the fairs I used to go to back on Earth when I was a kid. My reflection looks a little warped and blurry, but it does the job.

  I adjust the strap over my shoulder and tug down the skirt I fashioned using strips from the clothes I was wearing when the Foreigner II crashed. It’s crude, and definitely not fit for polite Earth society with so much skin on display, but I’m not exactly in polite Earth society anymore, and as the saying goes, “when in Rome.”

  I can practically hear my mother’s voice in my head making some snide comment about how skimpy my outfit is, and I grimace at my reflection in the makeshift mirror. I haven’t actually spoken to my mom in over a year, and I wonder if she has any idea that I’ve left Earth and likely won’t ever return. The space exploration mission I was sent out on was highly classified, so I couldn’t have told her anything about it even if we were the type of mother and daughter who actually kept in touch.

  God. The fucking mission.

  Little did I know when I signed up to take part in the US government’s first attempt at alien contact, it was all just a front. The real purpose of the mission was to trade human women in exchange for advanced alien weapons and tech. The people who set up the mission were happy to turn a few hapless women into sex slaves as long as it gave them something to barter with.

  I didn’t find out about the human cargo hidden aboard the ship until just before we crashed on Nuthora. In the days following the crash, I still occasionally found myself hoping that someone would send a rescue team after us, that they’d find a way to get us home.

  But of course, that’s an insane thought. Most of us were never supposed to return home anyway, so why would our government try to rescue us?

  The truth is, we’re not going anywhere. All we can do is accept our new circumstances and keep plowing ahead. Keep adapting.

  And today, I’ve decided that means updating my wardrobe.

  I tug the skirt down a little bit more so that I can safely bend down and crouch without giving the Voxerans, or the other women who crashed with me, a show. Modesty seems like such a silly thing to cling to after one gets stranded on an alien planet and moves into a settlement of giant, muscular aliens who walk around wearing nothing but loincloths, but old habits die hard.

  I’m not the first to have started dressing more like the Voxerans. Charlotte and Sadie have been wearing makeshift clothes like this for a while, but that’s partly due to the fact that they’ve each fallen in love with one of the Voxeran warriors.

  This outfit is a world away from the white coat and blue scrubs I used to wear in the hospital I worked at back on Earth. I barely recognize myself in the burnished metal, and I certainly don’t look like the old “Doctor Elizabeth Banfield” anymore.

  Biting my lower lip, I reach up and make one more adjustment to my shoulder strap.

  “You look nice.” A soft, quiet voice comes from behind me.

  I smile and glance over my shoulder at Gemma, who’s sitting on her pallet as she looks up at me. The Voxeran men who rescued us and welcomed us to their small village have been more than accommodating, donating spare blankets and furs from various animals to me and the other women who crashed in the Foreigner II.

  Most of us are staying in this large hut near the center of the village, which used to function as their meeting house. It’s big and comfortable, and I know it makes the other women feel safe to all sleep in the same place, where we can all leap into action and help each other if we need to.

  Charlotte and Sadie share huts with their mates, which makes sense, but the rest of the women and I are definitely still stuck in the tribal mentality of sticking close to our own kind.

  “I like the new outfit. It suits you,” Gemma adds shyly, her brown eyes shining.

  I grin. “Thanks.”

  She’s such a sweet girl. She has warm brown skin and a heart-shaped face, and I think she’s one of the youngest of all the survivors. I feel so awful that she’s trapped here with us. Of all the women who survived the crash, Charlotte and I are the only ones who were even aware we were on a spacecraft. The rest woke up in cryo-pods with no idea how they’d gotten there. I can’t even imagine what a mindfuck that must’ve been.

  After our crash landing on Nuthora, Charlotte and I freed all of the surviving women from their cryo-pods, and it’s been a long road toward any sense of safety on this dangerous planet. Some of the ladies are still adjusting to the idea of living in this primitive settlement with these large alien men, even though the Voxerans have been nothing but kind and respectful to us.


  I do hope the holdouts will warm up eventually, but it’s human nature to be suspicious and nervous in a foreign environment.

  Gemma is still watching me, and I spin around in front of the makeshift mirror, chuckling softly as the skirt rides up from just that small movement. “I wish we had salvaged some elastic or something from the ship. I’m not used to wearing anything this tight. Or this short. You really think it’s all right?”

  She grins more widely, tapping her chin and pursing her lips as she cocks her head to one side. “Yes,” she finally assures me. “It definitely suits you. You look like you belong here now.”

  There’s something almost wistful in her voice as she speaks the last words, and I wonder if it’s because she doesn’t feel like she belongs. Gemma is one of the women who still wears clothes we salvaged from the ship. Maybe she’ll decide to join those of us who have embraced this new life, or at least accepted it, sometime soon. But I’m not going to rush her.

  “I suppose it’s not bad, for my first try,” I tell her. “If you ever want help figuring out how to fashion something of your own, let me know. I can try to give you a hand, although I’m far from a great seamstress myself.”

  She runs a hand through her dark hair. “I will. Thanks.”

  After giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze and taking one last peek at my reflection, I head out of the meeting house. I won’t be of any use lounging around inside all day.

  I’m not used to lounging around at all, to be honest. Life as a doctor back on Earth meant I was constantly doing something, and since we settled here, I’ve been feeling antsy with the need to be useful. I’m hoping that Droth or Charlotte will have some ideas about how I can help out around the village.

  Charlotte was the first of us to meet the Voxerans, and she ended up mate bonding with their leader, a man named Droth. He also happens to be an exiled prince, banished to Nuthora after starting a rebellion against his tyrant uncle, but that’s less important in the grand scheme of life on this planet. He’s now just the guy in charge, the one who looks after us all, and Charlotte’s mate. Since they met, she seems so happy and carefree, and judging from the sounds that come from their cabin at night, she’s very well satisfied.

  These aliens make the inquisitive side of me perk up at attention. It’s not every day I get to study something completely new, after all, and I find their culture and dynamic fascinating. Not just this mate bond, but everything else. It’s clear that everyone in this settlement would lay down their life for the other. They’re a warrior species, every single one of them well-trained in combat. They have oval irises like a cat’s, and markings on their skin that look almost like tattoos, but aren’t. I’m positive the Voxerans are born with those markings, and the ornate, twisting patterns sometimes glow slightly.

  I can’t help wondering what their home planet must be like, and I wish I could have a chance to see it.

  Charlotte is coming out of the hut she shares with Droth when I approach. She blinks at me in surprise as she takes in my appearance, and then her face splits into a wide grin.

  “Hey! Look at you,” she crows, clapping her hands together, her green eyes sparkling with delight. “You look fantastic!”

  I smile and give her another small twirl like I did for Gemma. The skirt rides up a little again, and I roll my eyes, tugging it back down.

  “Not bad for a woman who wouldn’t know a sewing machine if it fell on her head,” I reply with a laugh.

  Charlotte jogs the final distance toward me and pulls me into a tight hug. “I think we’re all getting a crash course on survival skills here,” she says when we break apart. “But what inspired the new look?”

  “I felt like it was time to make the change.” I shrug. “The way I see it, we’re going to be here for the foreseeable future. Trying to cling to the past, especially with something as silly as clothes, seemed unnecessary.”

  Charlotte hums in agreement and makes a gesture for me to walk with her. She’s taken up walking the perimeter of the encampment when the weather is nice, while Droth goes and catches up with the night watch, organizes hunting parties, and does whatever else it is that banished princes do on prison planets.

  I fall into step beside her, and she sighs a moment later. “I know it’s still hard for a lot of the others. But the more of us who make the switch and lead by example, the easier it’ll be for the rest.” She shoots me a look out of the corner of her eye. “They look up to you, so I’m sure a lot will follow now that you’ve taken the leap.”

  “I hope so. At least they have you and Sadie to look up to as well.”

  Charlotte’s cheeks color in a light blush, her eyes shining as she thinks of the reason why she’s settled in on this planet so quickly.

  “Yeah. I get that mating with Droth gave me the edge,” she admits. “It was a lot easier for me than it was for everyone else. But you never know. Droth tells me that this mate bond thing isn’t always a ‘love at first sight’ kind of situation. Maybe some of the others will find mates too, and it’ll be easier for them.”

  I consider that, absently wondering if, one by one, the rest of them will be matched up with the Voxerans. At least it would give me a chance to study the mate bond a little more deeply. I’d love to understand how it works.

  “I’m happy for you,” I tell her. “Truly. I might not’ve known you well before all this happened, but I can still see the change in you. You’re practically oozing joy. It’s a little sickening.”

  I wink at her to let her know I’m teasing, and she laughs.

  “Good thing we have a doctor who can help with nausea,” she teases back. Then her expression turns a bit more serious. “It really is incredible. Like nothing I’ve ever felt before. It’s like…”

  I tilt my head, waiting for her to continue. The mate bond of this species fascinates me, and my analytical brain can’t help but want to pick it apart and examine the how and why of it.

  “I can’t explain it, really,” she finally says, shaking her head. “Just that I had no idea what love felt like, what it could feel like, until I met Droth.”

  That’s not quite the analytical and scientific answer I was hoping for, but I can’t fault Charlotte for that. There are a lot of things that are impossible to describe to someone who has no frame of reference. Like trying to describe a sunrise to a blind person.

  I’ve never been in love myself. Not even close. My work and career were my only priorities back on Earth, so I never gave myself time for anything more than the occasional fling, and those usually petered out within a few weeks. I barely even had time for one-night stands, and the only recent exception to that rule was a night I spent with some guy whose name I don’t even remember shortly before the beginning of my mission on the Foreigner II.

  After another few moments of walking, Charlotte and I come to a halt outside a small clearing within a circle of huts. Two Voxerans are sparring inside it, their blueish skin shining with sweat, highlighting the pearlescent white color of their markings. I’ve seen them glow before during times of high emotion, and wonder if it’s an evolutionary reflex in order to distract or intimidate an enemy, like how cats will puff up or cobras flare their heads.

  I recognize Droth, as well as Axen, locked together in a vicious training bout.

  They collide like wildcats, exchanging savage blows amidst the grunting and snarling. I’ve seen enough of these practice bouts to know that they’re not trying to actually hurt each other, but this planet is deadly, and they need to keep their skills sharp as a matter of survival. Every Voxeran here is well over six feet tall and muscled in a way most men on Earth would spend their life trying to be, just naturally more fierce as a species.

  The two alien men continue sparring, and I can’t tear my gaze away from the display.

  Droth and Axen are pretty evenly matched, with no major difference in height or weight, but Axen’s amber eyes shine with something wild in them. Something primal. I watch him bare his teeth at Droth, ke
eping his knees bent to take advantage of a lower center of gravity. He lunges for Droth, and they both go rolling, trading blows and harsh jabs that make me wince.

  Charlotte’s breath hitches, and I glance over at her. Her eyes are dark, pupils wide, cheeks flushed at the display. She’s biting her lower lip, and it takes me a moment to realize that I am too.

  I turn back to look at the men. Axen is on all fours, gaze fixed on Droth as he prepares to lunge again. Dust sticks to his sweaty skin, and his white markings are glowing, shimmering like liquid silver.

  He lets out such a raw, aggressive noise that I feel it in my stomach, and a shiver runs through me as I watch him lunge at Droth with a roar, taking the prince down onto his back as the two go rolling again.

  My heart starts to race in my chest. The brutality, the feline movement of these two men, is mesmerizing.

  Axen seems to fight as though his very life depends on it, like he lives and dies on the merit of his performance. He’s like strength personified, his muscles rippling and thighs bulging with strain as he fights to take Droth down. At some point, they managed to nick each other—surface-level cuts and bruises, nothing life threatening—and their blue blood mixes with the dirt spread across their skin.

  He’s wild. Untamed. Like a living gladiator.

  My heart won’t calm down, and I can feel myself getting lightheaded from watching them. Thinking of all that power, I can’t imagine how Charlotte handles it. I’m suddenly very aware of how little I’m wearing, how easily my clothes could be ripped from my body if Axen decided to turn that fierce, predatory nature on me.