by Anna Zaires
In the near future, the Krinar rule the Earth. An advanced race from another galaxy, they are still a mystery to us—and we are completely at their mercy.
Shy and innocent, Mia Stalis is a college student in New York City who has led a very normal life. Like most people, she's never had any interactions with the invaders—until one fateful day in the park changes everything. Having caught Korum's eye, she must now contend with a powerful, dangerously seductive Krinar who wants to possess her and will stop at nothing to make her his own.
How far would you go to regain your freedom? How much would you sacrifice to help your people? What choice will you make when you begin to fall for your enemy?
* * *
Breathe, Mia, breathe. Somewhere in the back of her mind, a small rational voice kept repeating those words. That same oddly objective part of her noted his symmetric face structure, with golden skin stretched tightly over high cheekbones and a firm jaw. Pictures and videos of Ks that she’d seen had hardly done them justice. Standing no more than thirty feet away, the creature was simply stunning.
As she continued staring at him, still frozen in place, he straightened and began walking toward her. Or rather stalking toward her, she thought stupidly, as his every movement reminded her of a jungle cat sinuously approaching a gazelle. All the while, his eyes never left hers. As he approached, she could make out individual yellow flecks in his light golden eyes and the thick long lashes surrounding them.
She watched in horrified disbelief as he sat down on her bench, less than two feet away from her, and smiled, showing white even teeth. No fangs, she noted with some functioning part of her brain. Not even a hint of them. That used to be another myth about them, like their supposed abhorrence of the sun.
“What’s your name?” The creature practically purred the question at her. His voice was low and smooth, completely unaccented. His nostrils flared slightly, as though inhaling her scent.
“Um . . .” Mia swallowed nervously. “M-Mia.”
“Mia,” he repeated slowly, seemingly savoring her name. “Mia what?”
“Mia Stalis.” Oh crap, why did he want to know her name? Why was he here, talking to her? In general, what was he doing in Central Park, so far away from any of the K Centers? Breathe, Mia, breathe.
“Relax, Mia Stalis.” His smile got wider, exposing a dimple in his left cheek. A dimple? Ks had dimples? “Have you never encountered one of us before?”
“No, I haven’t,” Mia exhaled sharply, realizing that she was holding her breath. She was proud that her voice didn’t sound as shaky as she felt. Should she ask? Did she want to know?
She gathered her courage. “What, um—” Another swallow. “What do you want from me?”
“For now, conversation.” He looked like he was about to laugh at her, those gold eyes crinkling slightly at the corners.
Strangely, that pissed her off enough to take the edge off her fear. If there was anything Mia hated, it was being laughed at. With her short, skinny stature and a general lack of social skills that came from an awkward teenage phase involving every girl’s nightmare of braces, frizzy hair, and glasses, Mia had more than enough experience being the butt of someone’s joke.
She lifted her chin belligerently. “Okay, then, what is your name?”
“It’s Korum.”
“Just Korum?”
“We don’t really have last names, not the way you do. My full name is much longer, but you wouldn’t be able to pronounce it if I told you.”
Okay, that was interesting. She now remembered reading something like that in The New York Times. So far, so good. Her legs had nearly stopped shaking, and her breathing was returning to normal. Maybe, just maybe, she would get out of this alive. This conversation business seemed safe enough, although the way he kept staring at her with those unblinking yellowish eyes was unnerving. She decided to keep him talking.
“What are you doing here, Korum?”
“I just told you, making conversation with you, Mia.” His voice again held a hint of laughter.
Frustrated, Mia blew out her breath. “I meant, what are you doing here in Central Park? In New York City in general?”
He smiled again, cocking his head slightly to the side. “Maybe I’m hoping to meet a pretty curly-haired girl.”
Okay, enough was enough. He was clearly toying with her. Now that she could think a little again, she realized that they were in the middle of Central Park, in full view of about a gazillion spectators. She surreptitiously glanced around to confirm that. Yep, sure enough, although people were obviously steering clear of her bench and its otherworldly occupant, there were a number of brave souls staring their way from further up the path. A couple were even cautiously filming them with their wristwatch cameras. If the K tried anything with her, it would be on YouTube in the blink of an eye, and he had to know it. Of course, he may or may not care about that.
Still, going on the assumption that since she’d never come across any videos of K assaults on college students in the middle of Central Park, she was relatively safe, Mia cautiously reached for her laptop and lifted it to stuff it back into her backpack.
“Let me help you with that, Mia—”
And before she could blink, she felt him take her heavy laptop from her suddenly boneless fingers, gently brushing against her knuckles in the process. A sensation similar to a mild electric shock shot through Mia at his touch, leaving her nerve endings tingling in its wake.
Reaching for her backpack, he carefully put away the laptop in a smooth, sinuous motion. “There you go, all better now.”
Oh God, he had touched her. Maybe her theory about the safety of public locations was bogus. She felt her breathing speeding up again, and her heart rate was probably well into the anaerobic zone at this point.
“I have to go now . . . Bye!”
How she managed to squeeze out those words without hyperventilating, she would never know. Grabbing the strap of the backpack he’d just put down, she jumped to her feet, noting somewhere in the back of her mind that her earlier paralysis seemed to be gone.
“Bye, Mia. I will see you later.” His softly mocking voice carried in the clear spring air as she took off, nearly running in her haste to get away.
* * *
If you’d like to find out more, please visit my website at www.annazaires.com. All three books in the Krinar Chronicles trilogy are now available, and Close Liaisons is currently FREE at most major retailers, including Amazon US (http://www.amazon.com/dp/B009MNXWMO) and Amazon UK (http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B009MNXWMO).
Excerpt from White Nights
Author’s Note: This is a contemporary erotic romance. The excerpt and the description are unedited and subject to change.
* * *
A Russian Oligarch
Alex Volkov always gets what he wants. Once an orphan on the streets of Saint Petersburg, he’s now one of the wealthiest men in the world. But one doesn’t rise that far in Russia without crossing the line . . .
An American Nurse
Kate Morrell has always been capable and independent. She neither wants nor needs a man in her life. Yet she can’t help being drawn to the dangerous stranger she meets in the hospital . . .
A Deadly Game
When Alex’s past threatens their present, Kate must decide how much she’s willing to risk to be with him . . . and whether the man she’s falling for is any different from the ruthless assassin hunting them down.
* * *
“Kate, I’m sorry, but we really need you right now.”
June Wallers, the nursing supervisor, burst into the tiny room where Katherine Morrell was quickly finishing her lunch.
Sighing, Kate put down her half-eaten sandwich, took a sip of water, and followed June down the hall. This was not the first time this week her allocated lunch hour had turned into a ten-minute snack break.
The recession had taken a heavy toll on New York hospitals, with budget cuts leading to hiring freezes and staf
f layoffs. As a result, the Emergency Room at Coney Island Hospital was at least three nurses short of what it needed to function properly. Other departments were also short-staffed, but their patient flow was somewhat more predictable. At the ER, however, it was almost always a madhouse.
This week had been particularly horrible. It was flu season, and one of the nurses had gotten sick. It was the absolute worst time for her to be out, as flu season also brought a greater-than-usual influx of patients. This was Kate’s fifth twelve-hour shift this week, and it was a night shift—something she hated to do, but couldn’t always avoid. But June had begged, and Kate had given in, knowing there was no one else who could replace her.
And here she was, skipping her lunch yet again. At this pace, she would be skin-and-bones before the flu season was over. The ‘flu diet,’ her mom liked to call it.
“What’s the emergency?” Kate asked, walking faster to keep up with June. At fifty-five years of age, the nurse supervisor was as spry as a twenty-year-old.
“We’ve got a gunshot wound.”
“How bad?”
“We’re not sure yet. Lettie’s kid got sick, and she just left—”
“What? So who’s with the patients?”
“Nancy.”
Shit. Kate almost broke into a run. Nancy was a first-year nurse. She was trying hard, but she needed a lot of guidance. She should never be on her own without a more experienced nurse present.
“Now you see why we need you,” June said wryly, and Kate nodded, her pulse speeding up.
This was why she’d gone into nursing—because she liked the idea of being needed, of helping people. A good nurse could make a difference between life and death for a patient, particularly in the ER. It was a heavy responsibility at times, but Kate didn’t mind. She liked the fast pace of work in the ER, the way twelve hours would just fly by. By the end of each day, she was so exhausted she could barely walk, but she was also satisfied.
The ER was teeming with activity when Kate entered. Approaching one of the curtained-off sections, Kate pulled back the drapes and saw the gunshot victim lying on the stretcher. He was a large man, tall and broad. Caucasian, from the looks of him. She guessed his age to be somewhere in the late twenties or early thirties. He had an oxygen mask on, and was already hooked up to the cardiac monitor. There was an IV drip in his arm, and he seemed to be unconscious.
Lettie, the first-year nurse, was applying pressure to the wound to stop the bleeding. There were also two other men were standing nearby, but Kate paid them little attention, all her focus on the patient.
Quickly assessing the situation, Kate washed her hands and took charge. The patient’s pulse was strong, and he appeared to be breathing with no distress. Kate checked his pupils; they were normal and responded to light stimulation properly. There was an exit wound, which was lucky. Had the bullet remained inside the body, it could’ve caused additional damage and required surgery. A CT scan showed that the bullet had just missed the heart and other critical organs. Another inch, and the man would be occupying a body bag instead of this stretcher. As it was, the main challenge was getting the wound clean and stopping the bleeding.
Kate didn’t wonder how, why, or who had shot this man. That wasn’t her job. Her job was to save his life, to stabilize him until the doctor could get there. In cases like this—true life-threatening emergencies—the doctor would see the patient quickly. All other ER patients were typically in for a longer wait.
When Dr. Stevenson appeared, she filled him in, rattling off the patient’s vitals. Then she assisted him as he sutured and bandaged the wound.
Finally, the victim was stable and sedated. Barring any unforeseen complications, the man would live.
Stripping off the gloves, Kate walked over to the sink to wash her hands again. The habit was so deeply ingrained, she never had to think about it. Whenever she was in the hospital, she washed her hands compulsively every chance she got. Far too many deadly patient infections resulted from a healthcare professional’s lax approach to hygiene.
Letting the warm water run over her hands, she rolled her head side to side, trying to relieve the tension in her neck. As much as she loved her job, it was both physically and mentally exhausting, particularly when someone’s life was on the line. Kate had always thought full-body massages should be included as part of the benefit package for nurses. If anyone needed a rubdown at the end of a twelve-hour shift, it was surely a nurse.
Turning away from the sink, Kate looked back toward the gunshot man, automatically making sure everything was okay with him before she moved on to check on her other patients.
And as she glanced in his direction, she caught a pair of steely blue eyes looking directly at her.
It was one of the other men who had been standing near the victim—likely one of the wounded’s relatives. Visitors were generally not allowed in the hospital at night, but the ER was an exception.
Instead of looking away—as most people would when caught staring—the man continued studying Kate.
So she studied him back, both intrigued and slightly annoyed.
He was tall, well over six feet in height, and broad-shouldered. He wasn’t handsome in the traditional sense; that would’ve been too weak of a word to describe him. Instead, he was . . . magnetic.
Power. That’s what she thought of when she looked at him. It was there in the arrogant tilt of his head, in the way he looked at her so calmly, utterly sure of himself and his ability to control all around him. Kate didn’t know who he was or what he did, but she doubted he was a pencil pusher in some office. No, this was a man used to issuing orders and having them obeyed.
His clothes fit him well and looked expensive. Maybe even custom-made. He was wearing a gray trench coat, dark gray pants with a subtle pinstripe, and a pair of black Italian leather shoes.
His brown hair was cut short, almost military style. The simple haircut suited his face, revealing hard, symmetric features. He had high cheekbones and a blade of a nose with a slight bump, as though it had been broken once.
Kate had no idea how old he was. His face was unlined, but there was no boyishness to it. No softness whatsoever, not even in the curve of his mouth. She guessed his age to be in the early thirties, but he could’ve just as easily been twenty-five or forty.
He didn’t fidget or look uncomfortable in any way as their staring contest continued. He just stood there quietly, completely still, his blue gaze trained on her.
To her shock, Kate could feel her heart rate picking up as a tingle of heat ran down her spine. It was as though temperature in the room had jumped ten degrees. All of a sudden, the atmosphere became intensely sexual, making Kate aware of herself as a woman in a way that she’d never experienced before. She could feel the silky material of her matched underwear set brushing between her legs, against her breasts. Her entire body seemed flushed, sensitized, her nipples pebbling underneath her layers of clothing.
Holy shit.
So that’s what it felt like to be truly attracted to someone. It wasn’t rational and logical. There was no meeting of minds and hearts involved. No, the urge was basic and primitive; her body had sensed his on some animal level, and it wanted to mate.
And he felt it, too. It was there in the way his blue eyes had darkened, lids partially lowering. In the way his nostrils flared, as though trying to catch her scent. His fingers twitched, curled into fists, and she somehow knew he was trying to control himself, to avoid reaching for her right then and there.
If they had been alone right now, Kate had no doubt he would be on her already.
Still staring at the stranger, Kate started to back away. The strength of her response to him was frightening, unsettling. They were in the middle of the ER, surrounded by people, and all she could think about was hot, sheet-twisting sex. She had no idea who he was, whether he was married or single. For all she knew, he could be a criminal or a total asshole.
Or he could be a cheating scumbag like Tony. If anyon
e had taught her to think twice before trusting a man, it was her ex-boyfriend. She didn’t want that kind of complication in her life again—didn’t want to get involved with a man so soon after her last disastrous relationship.
But the tall stranger clearly had other ideas.
At her cautious retreat, his eyes narrowed, his gaze becoming sharper, more focused.
And then he began walking toward her, his stride oddly graceful for such a large man. There was something panther-ish in his leisurely movements. For a second, Kate felt like a mouse getting stalked by a big cat. Instinctively, she took another step back . . . and watched his hard mouth tighten with displeasure.
Realizing she was acting like a coward, Kate stopped backing away and stood her ground instead, straightening to her full 5’7” height. She was always the calm and capable one, handling high-stress situations with ease—and here she was, behaving like a silly schoolgirl confronted with her first crush. Yes, the man made her uncomfortable, but there was nothing to be afraid of. What was the worst he could do? Ask her out on a date?
Nevertheless, her hands shook slightly as he approached, stopping less than two feet away. This close, he was even taller than she’d originally thought, probably a couple of inches over six feet. She was not a short woman, but she felt tiny standing next to him. It was not a feeling she enjoyed.
“You are very good at your job.” His voice was deep and a little rough, heavy with some Eastern European accent. Just hearing it made her insides shiver in a strangely pleasurable way.
“Um, thank you,” Kate said, a bit uncertainly. She knew she was a good nurse, of course, but somehow she hadn’t expected this stranger to acknowledge that fact.
“You took care of Igor well. Thank you for that.”
Igor had to be the gunshot patient. It was a foreign-sounding name, maybe Russian. That explained the stranger’s accent. Although he spoke English fluently, it was obvious he wasn’t a native speaker.
