Stolen

by Presley Hall

  But I watch him turn away, and when his gaze flickers up to the audience, I think for a split second that his gaze meets mine.

  A shiver goes through me.

  He’s magnificent, standing there in the gathering dark, his shoulder-length dark hair braided back for the fight, making his black horns stand out even more than usual. His leather shoulder armor is dark with sweat, his loincloth the only other piece of material on his body, and I feel my mouth go a little dry as I stare at him.

  Then I shake myself.

  Get a fucking grip, Harper. You watch one fight, and suddenly you’re drooling over him like Rose does with Tordax? You’re better than this. Besides, you have plans.

  I do. And falling in lust with one of these warriors is definitely not one of them.

  I push Malav and every thought I have about him firmly out of my head as we all gather to head back to our lodgings. Malav’s was the last fight of the night, and I see the Kalixians who fought in the ring bringing up the rear of our motley group as we begin the trek back through town.

  It’s quieter out now with the market stalls closed for the night. The only sound is the vague hum of music and laughter coming from the cantinas. I see a few of the warriors peel off and head toward them—something I’m not sure Tordax entirely approves of. I catch a glimpse of his furrowed brow as he looks after the five or so younger warriors who’ve gone off toward the promise of drink and the possibility of women.

  Then Malav murmurs something quietly to him, and Tordax seems to relent, falling back into step with the rest of us.

  Privately, I wish I could go off to have a drink too. The idea of going back to my small, bare room feels like going back to a prison cell. But even I’m not foolhardy enough to think that drinking in a cantina on a planet like this with strange aliens is a good idea.

  “What did you think of the fight?” Rachel whispers as we arrive back at the dwelling. “God, those Kalixians are hot as fuck. Especially fighting…” Her eyes gleam, and I think of my own reaction to watching Malav in the ring.

  A reaction I don’t want to remember.

  “I don’t think so,” I say flippantly. “They’re aliens, after all. I don’t know what Rose was thinking hooking up with Tordax.”

  Rachel frowns. “I mean, I guess. I just think they’re sexy.”

  I turn away from her, trying to pretend I don’t one hundred percent agree.

  The group is splitting up, everyone going back to their individual rooms, and as I see Malav start to walk toward his, I notice him stumble.

  And then, to my astonishment, he takes one more step and almost falls to his knees.

  2

  Malav

  The burst of pain that goes through me is so sharp that it almost brings me down. I can’t say it’s unexpected, but I thought that I could at least get to my room before giving in to it. But the shock of it is so strong, searing through me like a flame, that I can’t shrug it off.

  I stagger, keeping my balance at the last second, and turn my head quickly, hoping that no one has seen. Amazingly, both the women and my fellow warriors are so caught up in their own conversations or so busy heading back to their pods that no one has noticed.

  No one, that is, except Harper, who looked back at me just as I stumbled. My gaze locks with hers as I straighten, and panic flares in me, almost as strong as the pain from a moment ago.

  Desh. Anyone but her.

  All of our previous interactions go through my head in a flash, and I stiffen, certain she’s about to say something, to gleefully point out my weakness to the others. That would be the end of me.

  I fought well tonight. The Aurech was a challenge, but I won, as I’d hoped that I would. But I knew the price I would pay for that fight, and it’s making itself known now. I’d just counted on making it back to my room before it overtook me.

  This is Harper’s chance to get back at me for all the times that I put her in her place on the ship. But to my astonishment, she doesn’t say a word. Instead, she turns toward the wall and lets out a high-pitched shriek, drawing everyone’s attention to her.

  “What is it?” M’Xelni rushes forward, his hand at his hip where his sword is hanging. “Did you see something?”

  “There was an awful bug!” Harper squeals, in a voice that I know is fake. That woman has never un-ironically made that sound in her life. But she points a shaking finger toward the wall. “It was huge, and black, and looked like a cockroach crossed with a spider! Oh god, I hate this planet.”

  “Well, I think it’s gone now,” M’Xelni says as he scans the wall, a touch of laughter in his voice. “But be sure to let me know if you see another.”

  The crowd breaks up then, all heading back to their own rooms, giving me a chance to slip into mine unnoticed. I’m about to shut the door firmly and give in to the pain that’s burning steadily over my every nerve, but to my shock, Harper slips in behind me, shutting the door on her own.

  Hands on her hips, she glares at me with narrowed eyes. “What the hell was that all about?” She nods toward my leg, the one that gave out.

  “I saw a bug,” I say dryly. “It scared me too.”

  I try to walk toward the bed, but the pain flares again and I stumble, making a choking sound that I despise the moment I hear it. I almost go to my knees again, all the air knocked out of me by the force of the agony.

  Harper’s arm goes around me before I can catch myself, holding me upright. She’s stronger than she looks, I think as she helps me to a nearby chair, supporting me as I take step after agonizing step. By the time I get there, I feel as if I can barely breathe, as if every nerve ending in my body is burning up.

  “What is wrong with you?” she demands, and it occurs to me to wonder why on earth she cares. But she’s looking down at me, those hazel eyes every bit as angry as they ever were when we fought on the ship, and I sigh tiredly.

  “I just have something I need to take, then I’ll be fine.” I point toward the bed. My finger trembles slightly, and I grit my teeth in frustration. “I have a box under there, with medicine and syringes. Grab one of them, please. That’s all I need. I’ll be fine.”

  I sound as if I’m trying to convince myself as well as her.

  Harper, to her credit, finds the box and produces one of the syringes in a matter of minutes. She winces slightly at the sight of the long needle as I uncap it, and I reach down to inject it into my thigh, but my hands are shaking so badly that I’m afraid it will snap off as soon as I try to insert it into the muscle.

  Desh. I’ve waited too long to take the medication; normally I do it much sooner after my last dose. The fights ran longer than I expected.

  I close my eyes, trying to regain some control over my shaking hands. I have to do this, or I will die. I have to manage it. I’m stronger than this.

  But I’m not so sure anymore.

  A hand covers mine, and I open my eyes, startled to see Harper standing next to me, closer than she ever has been before.

  “Let me,” she says softly, taking the syringe out of my hand.

  I want to protest, to tell her that she doesn’t know how, that she might do more harm than good—but the simple fact is that I don’t think I’m able to inject myself at this point, and there’s no harm worse than dying.

  Without another word, she kneels down next to me and rests one hand on my arm. Then she deftly slips the needle into the muscle of my thigh, depressing the syringe as she keeps her other hand firmly on me—almost as if she’s trying to comfort me.

  It’s an odd thought, especially coming from her.

  But as the pain starts to fade, my singed nerve endings flooding with the relief of the temporary antidote, I’m suddenly very aware of how close she is.

  Of the pressure of her delicate hand on my muscled arm.

  Of the scent of her.

  She smells like raspberries and almonds, the scent of the soap by the baths, and I’m struck with a sudden image of her bathing in one of the pools. The smoothn
ess of her skin, the curve of her spine as she reaches over her shoulder to wash, her dark hair falling over her breasts…

  I feel my body react with an intensity that startles me, and I become even more aware of the fact that she’s kneeling next to me.

  She looks up at me as she pulls the syringe free, her fingers unconsciously stroking the inside of my arm. A heat flares up between us that’s never been there before—at least, not this kind of heat—and I realize how very obvious my reaction will become in a moment if she doesn’t step away.

  It’s just my annoyance with her, I think quickly.

  After all, regardless of how lucky it was that she did, considering my condition, she still barged into my room, not caring if she was welcome, not observing any kind of decorum. Just demanding answers, like she used to back on the ship.

  She’s been giving me and my men a hard time since the very first day.

  She’s bossy and domineering, careless of our rules and our customs, insisting on her right to do as she wishes at all times, and it irritates the krax out of me.

  What I don’t want to admit, even to myself, is that it’s also strangely attractive. Kalixian women, though strong in their own right, were usually quieter, more reserved. They kept to their own spheres, often separate from the men. I never saw a Kalixian woman, not even my mother with my father, speak to a Kalixian male the way Harper speaks to me and my men.

  Desh, I’ve even seen Rose talk back to Tordax. And it’s clear that he finds it arousing too.

  What I can’t understand is why Harper won’t just trust us—Tordax and me and the rest of the Alpha Force. We rescued them from the Orkun, after all. Without us, they’d be brides to some of the most disgusting, vicious creatures to inhabit the galaxy. They’d be nothing but breeding stock.

  We treat them with respect. Our commander has taken one of them as his mate. So why not trust us to have her best interests in mind?

  Harper stands up abruptly, taking a step back, and I’m glad of it, even though my brief arousal has dimmed. “What the hell was that all about?” she demands again, her arms crossed as she glares at me. “I’ve never seen any of you put so much as a foot wrong. What happened?”

  I say nothing. She might have been willing to help me on this occasion, but I’m not about to tell this strange woman my deepest secret. Trust goes both ways, and she’s given me none of hers.

  For a moment she looks as if she’s going to press harder, demanding answers. But then, just as quickly, she seems to pull back into herself. Her arms drop to her sides as she sets the empty syringe on the bed next to the box.

  “It’s fine,” she says in a light voice. “Keep your secrets. I’ve got plenty of my own.”

  I start to stand, and without thinking, she reaches out to steady me, her fingertips brushing against my arm again. She jerks it back the moment she sees me standing on my own, and the second her hand is gone, I can feel the absence of her touch.

  I’ve never in my life felt that—the need to have someone’s hands on me again—and I stiffen, pulling away from her.

  Her gaze locks with mine for the briefest moment, and then she strides toward the door without a backward look, shutting it hard behind her.

  I make it to the bed and sink onto the edge, my heart pounding in my chest.

  What did she mean? I consider her words as I shed my armor and loincloth and conceal the box under the bed once more. When she said we should each keep our own secrets… what does that mean? What is she hiding?

  I’ve never been one to stay awake nights. But I have a feeling that sleep will not come easily to me tonight.

  3

  Harper

  The moment I shut the door behind me, I lean back against it briefly, closing my eyes for a second. My own hands feel as if they’re shaking slightly. I can’t get rid of the feeling that struck me when Malav’s gaze locked with mine right before I left… or how I felt during that whole insane experience.

  It felt as if his eyes were burning into me as he watched me—the intensity in them like nothing I’ve ever seen or felt before. I was so focused on giving him the injection that he seemed to desperately need, but when I looked up, he was watching me so intently that it took my breath away for a moment.

  No one has ever made me feel like that. With just a look? It’s ridiculous. I’ve never experienced anything like it, as if for a moment there was some sort of indefinable connection between us.

  And not only that… but seeing him so vulnerable caught me off guard as well. It reminds me of the look in his eyes in the arena, the memory of a thousand battles crossing his stern face as he knocked the blue alien to the sand.

  I’ve spent my whole life around men who think they’re tough, who like to seem invulnerable, incapable of weakness. But Malav is the real thing: a massive warrior with strength and brawn and experience.

  Seeing him in that state, weakened and needing someone else—needing me—was a shock. It let me see that the shield of invulnerability is, to some extent at least, a mask that he wears, protecting him from…

  From what? The judgement of others who might find out about whatever is wrong with him?

  I don’t know the answer to why he’s hiding his vulnerability, but it makes me feel a certain connection to him.

  After all, as a businesswoman, I’ve worn that same shield my whole life.

  I push myself away from the door, walking quickly back down the hall to my own pod. It doesn’t matter, I remind myself. Whatever is going on with Malav, whatever secrets he has or whatever other side there is to him, it shouldn’t matter to me. I can’t get attached to any of these people. I don’t plan to be here long, and attachments and sympathies and emotions will just be stumbling blocks along that path.

  Although the path itself isn’t clear at all. I need to get out of here—sooner rather than later—but I don’t really have any idea of how to accomplish that. I have no money, either in American currency or the tokens that people use on this planet, and no means of earning any. I have no possessions, nothing to sell.

  My grand scheme seems more and more impossible the longer I think about it.

  But I have to figure it out somehow. The idea of staying with these people forever, of just following them back to Kalix and taking up their way of life, seems equally impossible. I have things to do back on Earth.

  The people who ruined my life can’t just get away with what they’ve done.

  It seems as if I’m the only one who isn’t adapting well, however. A few more days pass, and I’m amazed at how easily the other women seem to be settling into a routine as they wait for the Kalixian men to earn the tokens necessary to purchase a ship.

  The lodging doesn’t provide any meals, only the pods we live and sleep in, so for breakfast and lunch we tend to all meet up at the appropriate times and head out to the markets as a group, buying whatever is both inexpensive and appears edible.

  The only thing I have started to get over is my aversion to the strange food. Rose, never the most adventurous person, managed to convince me one afternoon to try a grilled meat wrapped in a flatbread with a tangy sauce… and it was delicious. It tasted sort of like a gyro I might’ve gotten from a food truck back home.

  Breakfast is usually some sort of flat bread with fruit and sour yogurt, and once I stopped thinking about what sort of creatures the milk might have come from or how strange the plants or fruit-bearing trees might be, I actually started to appreciate the food.

  As busy as I always was back home, I relied on takeout and restaurant meals and frozen foods far too much. Everything here, as simple as it is, tastes fresh and whole, the flavors not smothered by preservatives and sugar. Physically, I feel better than I ever have. The combination of fresh air, healthy food, and being outdoors in the sunlight seems to have been good for me.

  But I hate it, too. I don’t want to admit that anything about this situation might be good, that my rat-race life from before was unhealthy, that I might actually thrive in thi
s new environment.

  It still feels strange to wake up naturally, without an alarm shrieking in my ear. Instead, I’m awoken by the sun streaming in from the balcony and the heat of the oncoming day rousing me. It feels odd to set my own schedule, not to have deadlines or endless stacks of paperwork, meetings to rush to, and traffic to fight with. On Wauru, I spend my days walking through the markets with the other women, sitting out on the balconies in the sun, or dipping our feet in the small pool in the lodging courtyard—ill-kept but always full of fresh, cool water that feels better than sex on the blisteringly hot, dry days.

  And at night…

  Going to the fights has become a habit among the other women, and although I want to turn up my nose at it, I find myself agreeing to go with them again when Rachel knocks on my door a few nights later. I’ve barely spoken to Malav after the incident in his room, but although I’m loath admit it, I want to see him fight again.

  I catch myself watching him more closely during the match. I watch his movements, the way he steps, and when I examine the feeling churning in my gut as I observe his careful footwork, I realize it’s anxiety.

  I’m worried about him. I want to see that he’s okay, that he isn’t going to fall again. Not that there’s anything I could do about it even if he did, with everyone watching and him facing off in a ring with another vicious alien.

  That thought brings me up short, because I have no reason to worry about him. Why do I even care if I could do anything about it? Why does that matter?

  It shouldn’t. But I can’t tear my gaze away from his gleaming, flexing body as he moves through the ring, taking down his opponent with seeming ease. Despite his decisive victory, the expression on his face is the same as it was that first night that I watched him fight.

  It occurs to me that I don’t think he enjoys this. The Kalixians are a warrior race, so battle is part of their blood. But I don’t think he likes fighting for sport, for the amusement of strangers. And that makes me like him just a little bit more.