Stolen by the Zandian: An Alien Warrior Romance

by Renee Rose

  Stolen by the Zandian

  Renee Rose

  Rebel West

  Burning Desires

  Copyright © December 2020 Stolen by the Zandian by Renee Rose and Rebel West

  All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this book ONLY. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Published in the United States of America

  Renee Rose Romance

  This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imaginations or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book contains descriptions of many BDSM and sexual practices, but this is a work of fiction and, as such, should not be used in any way as a guide. The author and publisher will not be responsible for any loss, harm, injury, or death resulting from use of the information contained within. In other words, don’t try this at home, folks!

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Epilogue

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  About Renee Rose

  Chapter 1

  Kailani

  If I don’t escape my jailers before tomorrow’s auction, I’m dead.

  “We’ll get a fortune for her. I can feel the stein.” The Caretaker’s gruff laugh makes my muscles tense. He waves his six-fingered hands as if ushering in the glittering coins.

  My stomach churns.

  “We can charge anything. The Ocretions are desperate to reverse engineer her for her antiviral properties to eliminate disease in their human slaves.” The Overseer giggles, a sound that doesn’t match his thick, warty body. “We can retire.”

  “We have the most valuable commodity in the galaxy.”

  The two Kraa eye each other across the battered table; despite their boastful banter and their matching green skin, it’s obvious they have zero trust. Their alliance is forged on greed and desperation–and I’m the unfortunate item they plan to sell at auction.

  I pull back from the peephole high in the wall of my holding cell and spider-walk down the cement walls by digging my bare fingers and toes against cracks in the rough texture. My bio-enhanced muscles and tendons allow me to climb surfaces that are unscalable by normal humans.

  When I’m three feet from the ground, I twist and leap silently to the packed earth floor, landing without effort, fingertips of my left hand just skimming the dirt. My curls swing and sway around my shoulders.

  My cell is pitch black, but my eyes were enhanced through a particularly painful procedure several sun cycles ago, so my new rods and cones can pick out the faintest traces of light. “Just like a wild animal,” the Medical Manager described me with pride as I was displayed to a secret group of Kraa politicians.

  I pace the room on soundless feet. The Ocretions are known to be brutal to their human slaves and are eager for ways to make them work harder, longer, faster. What the Overseer meant by the euphemism of reverse engineering: The Ocretions will perform experiments on me to assess my enhanced human functionality then dissect me.

  If I enter their custody, the rest of my short life won’t be good. Not that it’s amazing right now–

  I breathe deeply to force back panic, in and out, until my heartbeat is slow and even.

  “You can do this,” I recite the mantra inside my head. “There is nothing unreachable to those who have courage.”

  Another female human slave, an early prototype of me, whispered it to me one day during a lesson. That was prior to her death on the Kraa operating table.

  She said it was an ancient human phrase uttered by a wild and victorious king, and that from the earliest of origins, we had powerful ancestors who never gave up. She urged me to tell any and every human I ever found.

  I hear the rumble of continued conversation, so I clamber back up the wall to peek through the small gap between the metal beams.

  My owners stand together at the door, the yellow light making their skin sallow and accentuating the pocked eruptions on their faces. They may be the last few Kraa alive in this galaxy, but right now, it doesn’t matter if there are two of them or two million: While I’m locked up in their custody, I have no future.

  “Do you have the stash of her medicine?” The Overseer’s eyes dart around the room. “Without it, the buyers won’t pay top prices.”

  “Of course I have it.” The Caretaker is testy. “But you don’t need to know where.” He chuckles. “Don’t bother looking for it. You won’t find it.” He puffs up his chest, a typical Kraa display of power.

  “Withhold the drug for sundown.” The Overseer’s face goes from frustrated to neutral. “Without it, she’ll be incapacitated. We’ll give it to her while she’s in cuffs at the auction, so buyers can see that she’s functional.”

  “I concur.” The Caretaker laughs. “Let her suffer tonight. It will make her more pliable.” They leave the room, and the door clicks shut behind them.

  I suspected they were going to do this, and yet the burst of anxiety that floods my body is nearly unbearable. I barely make it to the floor this time and curl up on the hard cot.

  This cell may be imperfect, but it’s hardy enough to keep me captive, even with my enhanced strength. There’s no way I can tunnel or break through the thick walls, especially not once the crippling migraine headache begins.

  Already it’s starting to pulse behind my eyes, trickles of sensation flowing like ice water through my skull. Soon I’ll be writhing in pain, blind from the agony. They designed me this way, to be dependent on the medicine, and without it, I can’t survive.

  “There is nothing unreachable,” I mouth. I have about fifteen minutes before it hits, and I’ll use every single second to reformulate my escape plan.

  They designed me, but they don’t control my mind. And I’d rather die during a failed escape attempt than go into Ocretion ownership.

  I count the time even as I think, my neurons working overtime. I wind my fingers together and stare into the black. “There is nothing…”

  And then the wave of pain washes over me, and I’m gone.

  Khrys

  “I heard what happened.” Arnie, the Zandian warrior beside me shakes his head. “I wouldn’t want to be in your boots when you talk to King Zander.” He wipes his arm along his smooth purple forehead. One of his horns was smashed during the war to recapture our planet, and it leans to the left. “Especially with what’s going on with the King’s young—and all the half-breeds on the planet taken ill. He’s not going to have any patience for mistakes.”

  I swallow. It’s true—a sickness has overtaken most of the young on Zandia—all the half-breeds are ill with it, and despite the work of Dr. Daneth and all the medics, a cure hasn’t yet been found. Every being on the planet is on edge about it.
The thought of our already near-extinct population losing its newest generation is devastating.

  Veck.

  I glower at him. “It was an accident.” My voice is curt. I already can’t stand myself for the destruction to the Zandian ship while trainees were under my watch. I sure as veck don’t want to answer to this jaghole about it. Not when I’m about to face the king, himself.

  The truth is, It was an accident that could have been prevented had I not frozen.

  “It’s not the first accident under your watch.” He eyes me. “Maybe it’s time for you to find a new position.”

  “Veck off.”

  “No offense.” He shakes his head. “But it would be for the good of every being. Think of the damage done to the confidence of the trainees who wrecked. Your job is to provide them successes, not failures.”

  My fingers curl into fists, and I leave Arnie without answering.

  “It wasn’t your fault,” he calls to my back. “What happened to your brother. But this is. You need to get your head on straight, warrior.”

  I want to kill him for mentioning Kyl, my younger brother, who died during the battle to reclaim Zandia.

  It was my fault. I was the one who commanded Kyl, and if I’d done a better job, he’d still be alive now.

  Grinding my teeth, I head towards the royal dwelling, dusting off my tunic and straightening my sword as I enter the palace. I nod to the guards at the door. Better to get this over with.

  I wait outside the throne room until I’m summoned.

  “My lord.” I drop my eyes and lift my arm at a ninety degree angle in the traditional Zandian greeting, showing my deference and admiration for our fearless Zandian ruler. When I lift them, I see the king’s face appears older. He’s aged in the past six lunar cycles since the epidemic first hit our human population. His own daughter, Princess Kaylar, is said to be fighting for her life from the Z4-A virus. The adult humans have mostly been able to handle the virus, but it’s our halfling population that’s been hit hard.

  “Captain Khrys.” King Zander’s voice is sharp and serious. “What happened?”

  I look up and clear my throat.

  Veck.

  My species are known for being stoic and strong. Guided by logic not emotion. At least until they come in contact with a human female—or so the tales go.

  But since Kyl’s death, I’m constantly plagued with doubt. My decisions have become less logical and more impulsive, sometimes with devastating results.

  “It was an issue with the navigation settings. I let my newest trainee handle the landing on his own. He entered the numbers on the test run this morning. I should have double-checked them, but I wished to show my confidence in his abilities. Unfortunately, his coordinates were off, and we brushed the landing gear on the craft.”

  “By brushed, you mean crushed?” The king raises his brow at me, his voice stern.

  “Yes, my lord.” I wince, thinking of the awful screech of metal, the smoking damage, and worse–the fact that the crew were, for no matter how short a time, in jeopardy. “Repairs are underway, and we’ll be ready for testing tomorrow.”

  The king purses his lips. “This is the second incident of this nature under your command.”

  “Yes, my lord.” I bow my head. Veck. “It won’t happen again.”

  There’s silence for several seconds.

  “No, it won’t recur.” The king raises his hand and gestures. “I’m replacing you as the Spacecraft Training Commander.”

  His words hit me like a blow to my gut. “But my lord–” I break off. A Zandian does not contradict or argue with his king.

  “The team has lost confidence in you.” Zander’s voice is even, but it sends chills into my horns.“ Can you think of a good reason I should not remove you?”

  In my mind, I replay the cries of the crew and then their quick response. Luckily, the accident–as they go–was minor compared to what could have happened. But I didn’t miss the expressions on their faces afterward.

  I blink and meet his gaze. My voice is dull. “No. I cannot.”

  “Captain Rhob will take over, effective immediately. You will spend the necessary time to brief him. Then we will find you a position that better suits your talents.”

  “Understood.” I keep my expression impassive, but flames of shame and regret lick my skin.

  The king regards me. “We have no time for your deviations from protocol, Khrys.”

  “Yes, my lord. I will do better.”

  “See that you do.” He looks at me for a second. “You are dismissed.” He turns to his assistant, perhaps because he is truly busy but possibly to teach me a lesson about my place in his regard–which is clearly as low as a Zandian can fall.

  I stride from the building, cursing my impulsivity. “Veck, veck, veck!” I stop and punch a tree, shredding the purple skin on my knuckles and causing lines of blood to well up. “Veck it all.”

  Honor is everything to a Zandian warrior, and I just lost what was remaining of mine.

  I wipe the blood on my tunic and stare at the setting sun. My hand throbs, and I welcome the pain. I should cut my vecking arm off to teach myself a lesson about being a stupid idiot.

  “You all right?” My friend Gabin stands a few feet away, perhaps cautious about approaching me in such a wild and unpredictable state.

  I don’t look at him. “You heard.”

  “I did.” He shifts; I hear gravel crunch under his boots. “The crew will forgive you. They already have.”

  “King Zander reassigned me.”

  “Oh.” He steps closer. “I see.” He pauses. “Is there a way this can be a positive change for you?”

  “Yes. It’s a great thing when an expert training captain is removed from duty. We should have a festival. Celebrate my fall from grace.” I glower at him. Once, sarcasm would have been foreign to me, but now that we have humans on Zandia, I’ve picked up the technique.

  His voice holds reproach. “I thought perhaps the job was not a perfect fit.”

  “A Zandian does the job he is given and loves it because he is serving Zandia.” My tone is stiff. “My father wanted me to be a training captain all his life, like he was. He sacrificed everything to get me into it and then died saving my life in the raids. Zandia has spent much time and effort on my training.”

  “I know.” He comes closer.

  “I’ve betrayed my father’s memory. Let down my fellow Zandians.”

  Gabin stands beside me for a second, and neither of us speak.

  I sigh. “I must go clean up.” I look at my hand. “Then I’ll speak to–“ my wrist holo blinks green with an incoming message from– “Captain Rhob. He’s eager to get started.”

  Gabin claps my shoulder. “Khrys, you’re a good Zandian. You’ll find your place.”

  He means well. But the words twist a dull knife deep into my gut because they only cement into my mind what I and every being know: I don’t fit.

  “Regards,” I snap and stalk off. I don’t have the energy to show appreciation for his support.

  Back at my domicile, I rinse my fingers and apply the healing salve created by one of the humans who works with Dr. Daneth, and in seconds, my wounds have sealed over.

  The holo blinks again–veck that Captain Rhob. Of course, I correct myself, if I had such eager intensity for the job myself, I would probably not be in this excruciating situation of needing to train my own replacement. It’s my own fault I didn’t apply the right focus to overseeing my trainees. I don’t know why I can’t seem to stay razor sharp when I’m with the students in the craft–I know the rules; veck, I wrote them!

  I shake my head. Well, I guess I don’t need to worry about that any longer since I’ve been demoted.

  Before I connect with Rhob, I glance at my tablet monitor, checking the research which occupied my mind last night and filled my thoughts this morning before the unfortunate maneuver. It’s an image of a slave who’s up for auction soon; I found it by searching hidden
channels on the holo-stream.

  The human female looking back at me from the screen is gorgeous. Long black curls, eyes the color of the blue grotto waterfalls, and skin like a Chari fruit, an even golden brown, she’s one of the most breathtaking creatures I’ve seen.

  But it’s not her looks that have me hooked.

  “Human Female, age 28 solar cycles. Enhanced bio-abilities,” the dossier reads. “Muscle strength 1.75X strongest human female. Night sight ability. Lung endurance X 12. Fast twitch muscle reaction 8X stronger than best human on record. Gen-mod blood antibodies resist all known human viruses. Other details to serious buyers only.”

  Gen-mod blood antibodies resist all known human viruses.

  That was the part that caught my eye. What if this specially-engineered human held the solution to the Z4-A epidemic in her cells?

  The price listed makes me whistle and shake my head–it’s a fortune. One could buy a planet for the stein. It occurs to me that maybe the owners plan to do just that.

  The human’s gaze is strong and almost angry. She may be a captive, but there’s something in her expression that speaks to a strength that outlasts captivity–unless I’m imagining what I want to see.

  And what I see in her picture is freedom: My freedom as well as hers. Last night, it was a wild idea. This planet rotation, it’s my only chance.

  If I can get this human for Zandia and if her body does hold the answers to the epidemic plaguing our new generation, my honor would be restored. Instead of being the veck-up, I’ll be the brave warrior who sought a solution to a dire problem.

  We Zandians breed with human females since most of our own females are long dead. If I could bring in this human and give her to Dr. Daneth, he could figure out what was done to make her immune to human diseases.