VORIK
A Scifi Storm Dragon Romance
By
Natalie Kristen
Copyright © 2017 Natalie Kristen
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the author's written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the author's written permission.
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are used fictitiously or are the products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual locales, events, establishments or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
The author does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for third-party websites or their content.
About this Book
Cassandra Day is a survivor. At just twenty-three years old, she has met more than her fair share of monsters. The worst part was, those monsters wore human faces and behaved like humans to the outside world.
Cassie has learned not to trust anyone. It's the only way to protect herself…
When she runs into another of those dreaded monsters in a dark alley one night, a big, handsome male comes swooping down from the lightning-streaked sky to rescue her. Nope, it's not a drill and it's not a dream.
She has finally met her dream man, for real. Vorik is strong, protective, sweet and sexy. And he's an alien storm dragon. A hot, fierce dragon who wants to win her heart and trust, protect her and mate her—not necessarily in that order.
When Vorik takes her to his planet, Cassie realizes that there are monsters in every corner of the universe. And these monsters have their sights trained on the human female who holds the fate and future of the alien dragon race in her hands…
* * * * *
CHAPTER ONE
Cassie
There is no way that this night can get any worse.
I kick an empty drink can out of my way and wrap my coat tighter around myself. The street is empty and the only sounds I hear are my angry footsteps and the whisper of the wind.
I huff and turn up the collar of my coat. This thin, fraying coat which I got at a thrift clothing store does little to keep out the cold, but I can't afford to buy a new coat. I promised myself that if I had enough money left this month after paying my rent and expenses, I would go shopping and buy myself something nice to celebrate my birthday. In my twenty-three years, no one has ever given me a present on my birthday. So I buy my own presents. No biggie.
I was thrown into the foster care system after my grandma died when I was three. Some kids were lucky. The foster homes they were sent to could at least be called homes.
I wasn't one of the lucky ones.
I got sent to hell, to live with monsters wearing human faces.
But...it's not all bad. At least I got out alive, eh?
These days I don't think too much about my non-existent childhood. I'm an adult now.
I survived.
Ah, well. No point dwelling on things I can't change.
I blow out a long sigh. It seems I won't be able to afford a birthday treat for myself this year.
No shopping trip for me. No new coat, no new anything for me.
Until I get a new job, I will not be buying anything new for myself.
Yup. I just got fired. Tonight.
I grind my teeth and mutter some choice expletives under my breath.
If I knew I was going to get fired for standing up for myself, I would have done more than just pour wine down that jerk's shirt.
And I thought that jerk was such a nice gentleman at first. He smiled and chatted politely to me as I served him his dinner. People rarely noticed the wait staff. The posh, wealthy patrons usually treat us as if we're invisible or somehow less than human. So I was pleasantly surprised when this customer actually smiled at me and didn't speak to me in that snooty, condescending manner favored by the rest of the well dressed, well heeled patrons.
He was an older gent, with salt-and-pepper hair and horn-rimmed glasses. He looked like a respectable college professor. Mr Professor was friendly, too friendly come to think of it, as I poured his wine. When his hand brushed against my breast, I didn't react right away. But his smirk told me that it wasn't an accident.
I didn't want to make a big deal of it. But I wasn't going to pretend it didn't happen either. So I straightened up and waited. If he apologized, I would let the matter drop. I needed this job, and I'm actually a pretty good waitress. Prompt, efficient, attentive, professional. I do my job well, but letting a customer cop a feel was definitely not part of the job description.
Mr Professor looked at me and smiled slowly. “I apologize. That was an accident.”
It wasn't, but I gave a curt nod to show that I accepted his apology. Stiffly, I stepped forward to resume pouring his wine. And that was when his expression changed.
His smile twisted into a sneer and his hand shot out. He actually managed to grab me between the legs and squeeze viciously before I upended the bottle of wine on him.
The restaurant manager witnessed the whole incident, but instead of throwing the customer out of the restaurant, she grovelled like a dog and kept apologizing to that piece of shit. Then she fired me right there on the spot and threw me out on the street.
So here I am, without a job, walking home alone in a badly lit, badly patrolled part of the city. Even the cops have given up on this neighborhood.
The scenery here isn't great—moldy buildings, bags of rubbish along the alleys, all artfully illuminated by dim, flickering streetlights. But hey, the rent in this area is to die for. Literally. The crime rate in this neighborhood is the highest in the city.
I don't look forward to going back to my tiny, ratty rented room, but at least I'd get out of the cold.
A homeless man shuffles out of an alley and flashes me a toothless grin. His eyes gleam under the streetlight as he scratches his crotch and starts to follow me.
I don't turn around but I quicken my steps determinedly. I pass no one else on the street, and my footsteps are unnaturally loud. Even if I screamed, there would be no one to hear me. Or worse, my screams might attract even more unsavory characters out of the woodwork.
Nothing like a fallen prey to attract greedy, opportunistic predators. And in this neighborhood, if you weren't a predator, you were prey.
As I reach the end of the street, I dart into an alley and flatten myself against the wall. I hold my breath and wait.
My heart is thumping too loudly in the agonizing silence. I can hear the homeless man muttering and cursing as he comes closer, “Where is that sweet piece of ass?” He laughs, but I can hear the anger and frustration in his voice.
He thinks I'm an easy prey. They all think that. Maybe it's because I'm barely five foot three with large, hazel eyes, wavy brown hair and a slight, petite frame.
I've got that sweet, doe-eyed, innocent look. I've been told that I look like a doll. Maybe that's why men seem to think that I'm a toy.
I scowl and ball my fists.
I, Cassandra Day, am nobody's toy.
And this creepy, homeless perv is going to find out that I am not prey. Been there, done that.
I give my head a quick, hard shake to dislodge the nauseating memories and focus on the situation at hand.
I can hear the homeless guy shuffling nearer and nearer. He is still cursing and swearing as he looks for his “sweet piece of ass”.
I tense, every cell in my body vibrating with pent-up rage. If he walks away, no one will get hurt. But if he touches even a hair on my head, I'm going to teach him a lesson I'm sure his momma never taught him.
I am not about to let this shitty night get any shittier.
CHAPTER TWO
Cassie
The footsteps stop suddenly.
I frown and slowly inch closer to the edge of the wall, near the mouth of the alley. Where is that perv? Has he decided that I am not worth the trouble and gone running off after easier prey?
But—I didn't hear him leave. I should have heard his departing footsteps. Right?
I prick my ears, but the only sound I hear is my own unsteady breathing.
I gulp and wait for a few more seconds. Then I stick my head out to check that the coast is clear.
Big mistake.
I should have heeded my instincts.
A big, dirty hand grabs me by the throat and slams me against the wall. I hear a dull thud as my head smashes into the wall. For the next few seconds, I see nothing but flashes of light. The throbbing pain at the back of my head intensifies and starts radiating down my neck.
The homeless guy is chuckling as he wrestles me into the alley. As I struggle and try to kick him in the groin, I realize that I have grossly underestimated him. The stringy, matted hair, missing teeth and stooped posture led me to believe that my stalker was just a slow, feeble, dirty old man.
But now that his face is just inches from mine, I can see that he is not that old. He is still dirty, but he is certainly not feeble and slow.
The guy is strong, and a full head taller than me. Shit! Maybe he isn't homeless and destitute either. He's just a thug, lying in wait for his next victim.
“You're a cunning little cunt, aren't you?” the thug drawls, gripping my face. He grabs my breast with his other hand and squeezes hard.
“Fuck you!” I scream as I try to fight him. “Let me go!”
“Oh, I will let you go—” He leans in and hisses in my ear, “After I fuck you.”
I shriek and thrash wildly. Inwardly, I am cursing and berating myself for not thinking this through and letting my anger and battered pride get the better of me.
I thought I could take the guy down with just my fists and a whole lot of righteous rage. I was too rash, hasty and stupid!
“What a firecracker,” he says, giving me an ugly smile. “Let's see if your cunt is as hot as the rest of you.”
He shoves one hand down the waistband of my pants and tries to rip my blouse off with his other hand.
When I feel his filthy hands on my body, something snaps in me. The memories which I have tried so hard to repress flood through my mind. I remember the stark horror and revulsion I felt when those predators opened my bedroom door and slipped into my room at night. They tried to make me do things, things which no child should do. But I soon learned to defend myself and fight back.
I fought them. Those monsters.
The fight never left me. Never!
Never again.
Fury and terror surge through me, filling my veins with red hot fire. At least it feels that way. My entire body is shaking, pulsing with raw, blind rage and pain. The scream that fills the alley sounds like the cry of some wild animal. I don't even recognize my own voice, and I am only vaguely aware of my actions.
I lash out in a frenzy, and my fist connects with the man's nose. I hear a crunching sound, and blood spurts down his chin. The sight of blood emboldens me, maddens me, blinds me.
I rush at him, teeth bared and fingers curled into claws. I latch on to him and use my teeth and nails on him. I put my knobbly knees and elbows to good use, and once he drops to the ground, I smash his nose in with my boots. This pair of hardy, second-hand combat boots are my favorite shoes ever!
The man tries to hold me off with one hand while shielding his bloodied nose with the other. But I won't be stopped. This fucker attacked me. He was going to put his filthy hands on me and his disgusting dick in my mouth, in my body and fuck every part of me.
Well, fuck him!
With an anguished, angry screech, I charge at him. I kick, scratch, punch and headbutt him, ignoring my own injuries and pain.
The bastard scores a few blows, but I don't let the pain and blood distract me. I keep fighting, drawing as much blood as I can. I don't see his fist coming at me until it is too late.
The brutal blow knocks me off balance and before I know it, I am flat on the ground.
I hear the man curse viciously as he kicks me in the face. The pain stuns me, rendering me temporarily immobile.
The bastard grabs me and yanks at my zipper. My whole body hurts and I can't even think straight any more. My mind floats away for a minute, and I gaze up at the stars above me in wonder. They look so bright, and one of them looks as if it is coming nearer and nearer. There is a red glow around that star. I've never seen a star like that before.
Maybe it's a plane, or a spaceship.
Why am I thinking about spaceships?
There's a man on top of me, attacking me and hurting me.
I snap back to the present with a roar.
The bastard stops trying to pull my pants down my hips and freezes.
That roar.
It didn't come from me.
There it is again. The roar is powerful, ferocious, and not at all human.
I clap my hands over my ears at the deafening, terrifying sound and look up at the sudden crack of lightning. The sky which was clear and speckled with stars just a minute ago is now covered with dark clouds. Storm clouds swirl overhead, blocking out the stars and lightning zigzags through the angry, churning clouds.
Another bolt of lightning rends the sky and there is another booming roar. Or maybe it's just the thunder, but I swear I can feel the ground quaking beneath me.
The weight lifts off me suddenly and I see that bastard fly through the air and smash into the far wall. It looks as though someone has picked him up and thrown him against the wall. But who can throw a man that far?
A shadow falls over me as I am pushing myself up. I look up and bite down a scream.
CHAPTER THREE
Vorik
I never intended to breach the cloud cover and land on the Earth's surface. But something, a scent which I cannot ignore, makes me fly lower and lower.
The rest of my soldiers have already returned to the ship. We have only recently found this strange new planet called Earth. The inhabitants of Earth, the humans, are physically so similar to us, except for one vital point. They cannot change into dragon form.
We have been studying these humans for a while now. In dragon form, we can summon storms and control lightning. The storms give us good cover while we fly through the skies and observe the humans up close. We observe their behavior and learn their language and technology.
We have been copying technology from other worlds, and adapting it to rebuild our world. We do what we need to survive. There are only twenty of us left. Twenty storm dragons left in the entire universe.
I glide above the confusing maze of streets and buildings, determined not to lose that unique, female scent. I have to find her. I have to return to the ship soon but I will not leave until I find her.
Finally I see her.
And she is...beautiful. Fierce, tough, warrior-like. For a moment, I wonder if she is part dragon, but her scent reveals her to be fully human.
She is fighting a male of her species, and making him bleed. She is unstoppable and her fighting technique is impressive. She uses no weapons, just her bare hands and she shows no mercy to her opponent.
I can only assume that they are fighting for sport, since the area they are in isn't war-torn and overrun by soldiers. The buildings are standing in orderly rows, not bombed to ugly heaps of rubble. There are cage fights in all cultures, across the galaxies, and I know the humans have their own version.
But the human male and female are not in a cage. And sporting opponents are usually o
f the same gender. Unless...the male is fighting for the right to mate with her?
The thought sends a sharp jolt of pain and rage right through my heart. I can't bear the thought of another male touching her. The protectiveness and possessiveness I feel towards this woman baffles me. Why should I feel so strongly for an alien female?
I observe their strange sport with a growing sense of unease and anger. This may be just a sport, a blood sport, but I don't like to see the female getting hurt. I want to fight for her, protect her and win the right to mate with her.
Is this fight a mating ritual which we have not observed before? Every race has its own practices and rituals and the humans are an intelligent, complicated, ambitious race.
I can see them clearly, even from this vast distance. The female is holding her own and then some. It looks like she is going to win the match.
But then the human male delivers a blow to her head and she goes down. He doesn't wait for her to get up. He kicks her and attacks her when she is down.
I roar in fury. This is not a blood sport. Neither is it a mating ritual. The female does not want to mate with him, but the male is trying to force himself on her. The woman is hurt, wounded, highly distressed but the male doesn't stop. He is struggling to remove her clothes and mate with her against her will.
No worthy male will take a female against her will. But this human male is trying to cause as much damage to the female as possible, and he is taking pleasure in hurting and humiliating her.
I can scent the female's blood. She is wounded and bleeding but she doesn't give up. She continues fighting, trying her best to hold him off.
The scent of her blood ignites my own blood lust and fury. Wrath clouds my mind and I dive towards them, shifting out of my dragon shape as I descent. I drop to the ground in a crouch and enter the dark, narrow alleyway.
I tap the Commlink on my wrist and my battle uniform materializes over my human body. The plates shimmer as they form and click into place over my chest.
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