by Celia Styles
Copyright@2015 by Celia Styles
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.
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Her Sexy Alien Mate
By Celia Styles
My eyes flicked open, and I knew something was wrong. Call it intuition, but even before my eyes focused enough to take in what was going on around me, I knew somewhere in the back of my brain that something wasn’t right. I had always had a strong intuition for reading any situation I ended up in, and this was no different.
I propped myself up on my elbows and looked around. The room I was in was small and dark, and I had to squint to take in my surroundings. I was lying in a small bed with a metal frame, opposite a glass door. The only the light in the room came from behind the glass, but I couldn’t make out much of what was outside-from where I was lying, I could see a corridor and a similar door opposite mine. I tried to pull myself up to a sitting position, but my head immediately began to spin, so I gave in to my body’s protestations and lay back down on the soft pillow below me. Staring up at the high stone ceiling, I tried to figure out what the hell I was doing here.
I closed my eyes and tried to cast my mind back to what had brought me here, but my memory wasn’t cooperating. All I could remember was falling asleep in my bed after a long, dull day working the cashier’s desk at the local pharmacy, making a list of everything I had to do the next day in my head, my cat curled up next to me on the pillow.
And then—this. Whatever this was.
I felt a ball of hot panic build somewhere deep inside me, and took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. Whatever I was doing here, and whoever had brought me, I wouldn’t do myself any good by working myself into a frenzy. I focused on the sound of my breathing, trying to bring my pulse back down, as my head spun with the possibilities of what could have happened.
It seemed pretty clear that I’d been kidnapped. But why me? It wasn’t as if I was rolling in enough money to make abducting me worthwhile. And my family weren’t some bunch of major businessmen or minor royals. They wouldn’t be able to fork out thousands of dollars for my return, even though I knew they’d find a way if they had to. It just didn’t make sense to me.
A creeping dread began to worm its way up my spine as I considered the possibility that whoever had brought me here hadn’t intended for me to leave. What if this was the lair of some crazy murderer who went about picking up young women and dragging them back to…well, wherever exactly it was I had found myself?
But then, it seemed strange that nothing had been done to restrain me or stop me just straight-up strolling out of this place. Maybe it was a trap? Maybe that’s what they wanted me to do? Fighting my spinning head, I forced myself upright and placed my feet on the floor, testing to see if some crazy series of alarms would go off to alert whoever it was that I was trying to make my escape. But no—there was nothing. No noise, no lights, no screaming sirens. I stood up, wobbling slightly on my feet, and tried to put one foot in front of the other. It was then that I noticed what I was wearing.
If I hadn’t known any better, I would have said that it looked like some kind of medical robe, the type you see sad patients shuffling around in when you visit the terminal wards of hospitals. It was tied at the back, but when I reached behind myself, I could feel that some of my skin was still exposed. Okay, that was even weirder. When I went to bed, I’d snuggled up in one of my old band t-shirts from my emo-kid days.
Stupidly, I felt a pang of loss for the shirt I’d had since high school, and tried to push the thought from my mind. It was as if my brain wasn’t functioning properly, as if I was just trying to find ways to distract myself from the shock of the situation I’d found myself in. I managed to get to the glass door and I pressed my face up against it, trying to get a better look at my surroundings.
Outside, there was a long corridor that led off in both directions. It was crisp and white and clean, and didn’t look anything like the hospitals or doctor’s offices I’d been in before. I screwed up my eyes and tried to peer through the glass of the door opposite me—it looked like it was just another room like the one I was already in, although I couldn’t tell if there was someone else there or not.
I placed my hand against the door, and momentarily considered seeing if I could get out, but something told me that I shouldn’t risk that just yet. I wanted to get a good idea of where I was before I tried to make an escape—what if I was in the middle of the desert or something? Besides, my legs were still too wobbly for me to consider making a serious escape attempt, so I clambered back into the bed and lay down, trying to will myself into feeling stronger. When whoever it was that had brought me here came into this room, I wanted to have my full mental faculties available to question them.
I sat down, my feet on the cool stone floor below me, and tried to focus on the feeling as it radiated up my legs. None of this seemed particularly real. Maybe that was why I was having such trouble getting my head around the severity of the situation. It wasn’t that I didn’t feel angry and upset, and a little bit terrified, at whatever had brought me here, but I couldn’t process those feelings as long as confusion reigned supreme in my brain.
I tried to reason with myself—if whoever it was wanted to do something bad to me, they would have done it while I was still out cold, right? Or maybe they wanted me to be awake for it? I immediately cursed all those nights I’d spent up late watching all those gross-out horror movies, as my mind reeled with the possibilities of what was going to happen to me. The last thing I needed now was to get myself worked up over a situation that I didn’t know the full extent of yet.
As I tried to block out those thoughts from my head, one remained: why me?
It wasn’t as if I lived any kind of extraordinary life. In fact, it was quite the opposite—I lived the kind of functional life that so many people in my small town did. I graduated high school, did a couple of years at college before I got bored and dropped out, then resorted to working the cashier’s desk at a local pharmacy owned by the family of one of the guys I went to high school with.
I had most of my dating needs out of my system when I was in college, which was lucky in retrospect, because all the eligible bachelors in the town were either immediately pounced on by the handful of freshly-graduated high schoolers who wanted to settle down and start pumping out kids, like, right now, or I’d just grown up with them and had no intention of hooking up with the guy who used to pull my pigtails in grade school. There was no mystery with any of the guys in Harrow Falls, and that was the problem.
Well, the real problem was that I’d sacrificed my carefully planned career and life in the big city because…because, well, what? It was a question I found myself asking again and again and again. I went to college to try and get into fashion design, because I had always had a knack for putting together clothes for me and my friends. I had visions of myself showing collections at New York Fashion Week, of coming up with fabulous designs that I’d see worn down the runways in Hollywood, Cannes, London. I dove headfirst into fashion magazines and hungrily ate up all the trends, all the re-runs of old fashions and all the groundbreaking innovation of the new ones. My head was practically spilling over with ideas of what I would do and what I would create o
nce I’d learned the skills I needed to do so.
The first couple of years of college went by without incident. Well, not without incident—I always felt as if I was white-knuckling my way through classes, trying to keep up with whatever else the people in my group were coming up with. Back in Harrow Falls, I had always been the best at what I did, and it came as a shock to me to find out that I wasn’t. I know, I know—what did I expect, to stroll into the world of fashion and be hailed as a visionary? I wish I could say I didn’t, but a little part of me had always nursed that dream at the back of my mind.
Having to come up with new ideas for specific imaginary clients every month was exhausting, and I felt as if I’d drained all the power I’d once had. I used to try and encourage myself with the memory of past successes—the prom dress I’d made for Maisie, one of my closest friends in high school who hadn’t been able to find a gown to fit over the non-standard proportions of her gorgeous body. I was so proud to see her wear that, to see the look on her face as she posed for pictures and danced with her boyfriend. Whenever the two of us were drinking wine at her place, she’d always bring it out, running her fingers over the magnificent taffeta ruffling at the hem.
But I knew that constructing dresses for my friends wasn’t going to be enough. I needed a client base, someone who was actually going to give me money to create things for them, and all that my college experience told me was that I would never find someone who appreciated my clothes as much as I did.
So I dropped out. If that makes me a quitter, so be it. I just knew that I would never be able to live up to the standards that the fashion industry apparently wanted from me, no matter how hard I worked or how many nights I spent, hopped up on energy drinks, trying to put the finishing touches on a pantsuit or a perfectly-cut pair of suit trousers. I remember so vividly going to the office of my head of department, my eyes burning, my face towards the floor, as I told her that I was going to have to leave. I remember the way she furrowed her brow at me as if she was disappointed. I remember the way she tried to get me to stay, but my mind was made up. In my head, I would never be good enough, and that was just the way things had to be.
And so I left—I packed up all my stuff, and I moved out of the dorm room I shared with a couple of my classmates, and I went home. It took me a few weeks to find a place of my own, but before long, I found myself installed, in a cruel twist of fate, in an apartment that was directly opposite my old high school. It was as if destiny wanted to remind me of a time when I’d had the whole world out in front of me. Every day, when I left the house to head off to work, I saw a reminder of the place I’d been when I thought anything was possible. Now I firmly believed that this was where I was meant to end up all along.
Did I ever regret that decision? Of course I did. It was difficult, considering that I had been the first in my family to go off to college, and then became the first to drop out. Everyone was so proud of me, and even though they tried their best to cover up their true feelings when they were around me, I could tell that they thought I was throwing away an amazing opportunity. Maybe they were right—maybe I should have just stuck it out and seen where that path would have taken me.
But I couldn’t face the thought of spending another two years slyly checking out other people’s designs, comparing them against my own, and finding mine wanting. I might have had the raw skill, but I certainly didn’t have the vision of half of the people who were studying alongside me. Even though I held on to my sewing machine, it rarely saw the light of day now, languishing unused in the back of my closet where it wouldn’t serve as a daily reminder of my failure.
And so I returned to everything I’d promised myself that I wouldn’t. My high school job, my hometown. It wasn’t that I detested those things on principle, just that I detested the fact that I’d backed myself into a corner over them. I had no choice. That was all that was open to me, since I’d abandoned my plans to pursue the things I wanted to do the most.
I frowned up at the ceiling, annoyed at myself for basking in my own personal problems at a time when I needed to be focused on literally anything else. Now was not the time to get all introspective and focus on what I hadn’t done. Now was the time to figure out what I could do to get out of here.
The door suddenly slid open, and my head snapped up. I felt a surge of adrenalin pulse through my body, instinctively adopting a defensive position as my body tensed in preparation for whatever I would have to do. And then I saw the person who’d walked in.
Well, I say person. If I’d seen them walking down the street, I might have glanced back to try and place exactly what it was that wasn’t right about them. But as I was stuck in a room with them, I had an opportunity to truly take in their features, to figure out why something about them didn’t sit right with me.
They were tall—maybe a good six inches taller than me—with a mane of long, blonde hair that fell past their waist. Their eyes were strangely colored, a pale violet that looked as if it came from contact lenses, framed by long, long lashes. And their skin—it was deathly pale, as if they’d just risen from the grave.
I stood up, trying to look imposing, but I knew it was futile. Whoever or whatever it was scanned their eyes across my body and appeared unimpressed by what they saw. I bit my lip, hard, trying to suppress the urge to cry out for help, for anyone. For something human.
“Tessa?”
The thing spoke to me, its voice a melodic singsong that instantly calmed my overactive mind. I nodded, cautious.
“Yes?”
“Please, lay down. We need to perform some simple medical examinations on you to determine the state of your health.” It gestured towards the bed and I sat down, not thinking it worth my while to object or argue.
“Why?” I asked as the thing reached into its pocket and produced a stethoscope.
“We need to determine that you’re not suffering from any trauma or anything that may impose on your decision-making abilities,” it replied patiently as it placed the cool metal instrument against my chest and popped the buds into its ears.
“What…what decisions will I need to make?” I asked, watching it carefully as it pulled a notebook from its pocket and scribbled down something inside.
“We’ll discuss that with you in the briefing. For now, please try to remain calm. I understand that all of this comes as a shock, but you’re in no danger.”
I raised my eyebrows without thinking. The thing looked up at me.
“Do you not believe me?”
I weighed my options, wondering if it was wise to attempt getting information out of this…creature. It didn’t seem to wish any harm on me, but then, maybe it was just lulling me into a false sense of security before it pounced? I looked at its eyes, which were filled with a mild concern, and decided to take my chances.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I woke up with no memory of how I got here, no idea if I can get out, and you turn up to tell me that I can’t ask questions but that everything’s going to be alright?” I snapped, my temper getting the better of me for a moment.
“I understand that this may be unsettling for you, but you’re safe. That’s all I can tell you.” The thing looked at me regretfully, as if it wished it could tell me more. “Can you open your mouth?”
I kept my lips firmly sealed. The thing pulled out a torch and clicked it on and off impatiently.
“Please?”
“Not until you tell me what’s going on.”
It sighed and stepped back from me. “I’m not at liberty to do so.”
“Why not?”
“I’m just not authorized to talk to you about the reasons for your being here.” It replied, avoiding my gaze as if it was embarrassed by what I was asking.
“Please. Just give me one word. One word, and I’ll let you do all the tests that you need to.” I pleaded, desperate to know exactly what I was doing here. It was a little comforting to hear that I wasn’t in any immediate danger, but I t
hink I could be forgiven for not actually believing that.
It stepped back from me, and turned away, as if it didn’t want to have to look me in the eyes. “A study.”
“A study into what?”
“Human sexuality.”
I’ll admit, I was taken aback by that bit. Weren’t these the kind of things run by university students looking to bulk up their credit score for the term? Kidnapping seemed a little bit overboard.
“Why…why did you have to take me here without my consent? Why didn’t you just get me to fill out a survey or something?” I demanded. It still has its back turned to me.
“We’re looking into…interspecies sexuality.”
“Like bestiality?” I wave of horror coursed through my system.
“No. Like…extraterrestrials.”
The thing gathered all its belongings, stuffing them quickly into its pockets, and left the room. My head began to spin again as I tried to take in what it had just said.
When I thought I had been abducted, I assumed it had been by the traditional masked men in a shifty-looking van. Not by aliens. Surely, this had to be some kind piss-take, right? Whatever this was, it couldn’t actually be what that thing had said it was. That had to be a joke.
I glanced around, half-expecting to see the winking lights of prank-show cameras above me. I stared at the ground in front of me. I had no idea how to process this. Most of me wanted to dismiss it without a second thought but then, there was that thing. That thing…wasn’t human. But it wasn’t animal, either. Maybe that thing that I couldn’t put my finger on was…alien-ness? I shook my head. No. It couldn’t be. No.
I sat like that for a while, my mind going back and forth between believing what that thing said to me and refusing to believe it.
I took a deep breath and tried to calm my mind. Okay, so what if what it had said was really true? What kind of studies were they conducting? All that crap that I laughed off about 'probing', was that true? I cringed a little bit at the thought. Okay, okay, so that was…worst-case scenario. The best case, I guess, is that they ask me a few questions and send me on my way.
