The Prey: A SciFi Alien Romance (Betania Breed Book 2)

by Jenny Foster

  “That hurt,” I snap, but he is already gliding towards the door like a black shadow and closes it behind him, but not without his first throwing Sherri an extra coin.

  For half an hour, Sherri shows me things I would have never thought possible. Some of them remind me more of gymnastics than erotic enjoyment, but they are interesting, nonetheless. Now that Johar is gone, she saves herself the seductive attitude, and I forget that she is being paid for her time. When I think the time is right, I ask her about contraception methods. “Your boss offered to sell me something,” I explain. “She said I could stop by any time.”

  She raises her red-gold eyebrows in question, and they form two perfect arches. I can practically feel her thinking. Once or twice, she starts to say something, but can’t get it out. “What?” I finally ask her, when I can’t stand it anymore.

  She looks at me thoughtfully. “It’s okay. You can tell me why you’re really here.”

  I am silent while thoughts race through my brain. Can I trust her? Will I endanger the success of our mission if I make my own inquiries and blow our cover? Nothing in my life as a scientist and as a daughter has prepared me to be able to make quick decisions – and basic training at the military base didn’t, either. It seems ridiculous in hindsight. This here is real life and the difference between it and simulated seductions and faked deals is like night and day. To buy time, I ask her a question. “What gave us away?”

  “You didn’t sleep together,” she answers. “And for someone who claims to be his lover, you don’t know his body, well enough.” I sigh and acknowledge defeat. We worked so hard on our plans, and after two hours in the bordello, they are null and void. “I assume the cyborg is trying to get some information at the bar downstairs?”

  “We are looking for a man named Hazathel Suk. He works here and he knows someone we want to meet.”

  “You want to speak with Hazathel?” Her voice is full of disbelief. “I wouldn’t recommend that. He is the most dangerous man I know, and he will never betray a friend. And …,” she hesitates and looks me in the eye, “he is unpredictable.”

  “It’s not about that,” I try to reassure her. “We are not expecting him to tell us any of his secrets.” I decide to tell her everything. “We are looking for a woman who was here on Betania a while ago. Hazathel’s friend, or acquaintance, knows someone who arrived here with her. That’s whom we are looking for. We won’t do anything to anyone. We just need information about the woman’s whereabouts.”

  “What do you want from her? What is her name?” Her questions sound calm, but I know that she is hanging on every word.

  “She is pregnant, and we are worried about the well-being of the child,” I offer. It’s the truth, or, at least, not a lie. “Her name is Cassie Burnett and she is traveling with a Qua’Hathri warrior.” I keep my eyes on her so I can see the smallest reaction, but it isn’t necessary. Her face contorts in anger when she hears the name Cassie Burnett. What did Cassie do to deserve such anger?

  “Is she a friend of yours?” What a strange question.

  “No. I don’t know her personally,” I explain. In her agitated state, Sherri doesn’t notice how strange it is that I am supposedly worried about the children of a woman whom I don’t even know. But then I realize that I shouldn’t have underestimated Sherri.

  “I don’t care what the two of you have planned with the child. If your assignment is to liquidate her, then every inhabitant of this planet will help you in any way they can. Come,” She throws on a robe that only covers what is absolutely necessary, while I force myself back into my dress. At the last second, I remember to put my leather jacket on. I hold her back.

  “What did she do?” I need to find out as much as possible about her. The better I know her, the easier it will be to trail her.

  “She brought death with her when she landed on Betania. Her space ship crashed here, and she was one of the survivors. She seduced our king to save her own pathetic life, and didn’t care one little bit who she left in her wake. Our king’s second wife died because of her, and two employees in his household died, as well. The next to go was Zeyliv, our leader.” She closes her eyes. “She took the first chance to flee with her lover and a few others, by instigating an uprising. In the end, it was our leader’s first wife whom we could thank for restoring some sort of order to Betania again.”

  I don’t think she realizes that she used a strange word. She said Cassie Burnett had fled. And fleeing, I think, is something someone can only do, if they are a prisoner. Why was Cassie held captive here? I concentrate on looking at Sherri, more closely. I can almost read her thoughts. There is something that she is hiding, or maybe isn’t even conscious of, herself. But what? I close my eyes for a moment, because I am getting dizzy. I can practically feel the hate rising in waves on Sherri, and, now, I am feeling nauseous, too. When was the last time I ate?

  But the red-head has arrived at the end of her tale and opens the door. Johar and a man whom I recognize as Hazathel, thanks to the scorpion on his shoulder, are standing in front of us. So Johar was successful, as well. He takes in the situation with one look and can’t help but give me a punishing look. I shrug my shoulders coolly and tell him with my eyes to not make such a big deal. There will be consequences, he tells me, equally silent.

  “Hazathel Suk, may I introduce Mara to you? She is with me.” Johar points formally to me with his hand and to my surprise, the giant gives me a toothless grin that is no less scary than the animal on his shoulder. My hand disappears in his paw, and I am afraid for my bones – unnecessarily, because he barely exerts any pressure on my hand. Sherri wants to push past us, but can’t fit through the door that is being completely blocked by Hazathel. He comes into the room and pushes the whore in front of him, and I understand why she is afraid of him. He towers head and shoulders over Johar, and is surely about twice as heavy, with not even an ounce of fat on him. His shoulders are so broad that he can barely fit through the door. In contrast, his scorpion is ridiculously small, but he definitely does not look harmless. His stinger tail is raised up high, and I think I can hear a quiet sound, almost like that of a rattlesnake. The agile animal runs across its owner’s bull neck, to the side where it can see Sherri better.

  Johar takes the opportunity to pull me to the side. His fingers close painfully around my naked upper arm. He is furious and doesn’t even try to hide it. “What did you tell her?” He leans down to me, and his lips, which had grimaced with lust earlier, are now pressed into a thin line.

  “Only that we are looking for Cassie Burnett. She apparently caused a lot of chaos here and has the ruler’s life on her conscience. Sherri will help us.”

  “She is a woman who can be bought. She would help anyone who pays her well, and tell the person with the money exactly what they want to hear.” His words hit me, but he lets go of me.

  “So?” I retort icily and hold my head high, without rubbing the painful spot on my upper arm. “The most important thing is to find out where Cassie fled to. Everything else takes a back seat.”

  He will not intimidate me this time. “And you? What did you tell Hazathel?”

  For a second he says nothing. “That we are looking for Cassie.”

  With my hands, I prompt him to continue. That can’t possibly be everything he told Hazathel. Why else would a man who is considered to be “dangerous” and “unpredictable” suddenly be willing to help Johar, while practically beaming with joy?

  “I will tell you later,” he mumbles, and I have to be satisfied with this for now, because the scorpion-armed giant is stomping out the door. Johar follows him, after pressing a small fortune into Sherri’s hands to buy her silence. When I turn to follow the men, she is still staring in disbelief at the shiny coins in her hand.

  Chapter 8

  I feel like we have been under way for hours, but in reality, it probably only takes 30 minutes for us to finally reach our destination.

  It is a bar, and, in contrast to the bordello, it
doesn’t have a lighted sign, nor is it hiding any pleasant surprises on the inside. It stinks, is dirty and my glass with liquor in it (there is nothing else here) has lip prints on it. The creatures who hang out here hide in dark corners. Many of them are wearing some sort of head gear, pulled down low over their faces. Despite everything, I am happy to have a place to sit down, because my slip-ons are falling apart. The floor is sticky, and I pull my feet up underneath me.

  Hazathel winks at the waitress and asks her to send a certain someone to our table. She chatters excitedly and crosses her arms in front of her considerable bosom, but a small coin exchanges owners and her tone changes from unwilling to benevolent. Not two minutes later, the dirtiest Sethari, I have ever seen, waddles over to our table. He looks so pitiful that I am not even afraid of him. His sucking snout, with which he takes in the energy of other living beings, is a stump. I wonder how he eats and why he hasn’t starved to death with such a joke of a sucking snout.

  He sits down right next to me and I scoot a little closer to Johar on the hard bench. The years, during which the Sethari subjugated the Earth, have left their mark on us. When the Qua’Hathri came and chased the Sethari away, we were able to breathe a little more easily.

  Not that much has changed in the very short time since our liberation. Our president is doing everything he can, but half a year is not enough time for even him to fix everything that was destroyed during the years of occupation. A thought crosses my mind, but it is so fleeting that I cannot grasp it. I try to ignore my surroundings, because I have the feeling that I have overlooked something important. It has to do with the Qua’Hathri warrior. Why does the file not mention his name?

  Back then, the Qua’Hathri offered their assistance under only one condition: for every fallen warrior, an Earth woman would go with the Qua’Hathri, to start a new life. My mind starts to race, as I realize that I am on the right track. Cassie and her warrior ended up here because their space ship crashed. Originally, they were headed to the warrior’s home planet. Johar puts his fingers on my hand casually, and squeezes it in warning. Damn, this cyborg knows me too well by now. He must have noticed that I have realized something important, and lets me know that we will talk about it later.

  Fine. Later.

  Then, maybe we don’t need this disgusting Sethari. I look at him out of the corner of my eye. Even with an intact snout, he would not have been a model specimen of his race. He looks tattered and scruffy, even though his skin is largely covered by lumps. Anyone who has ever seen a Sethari’s rubber skin can never forget it. His wide mouth and little, tiny eyes do not make him more likeable in my eyes. He sits next to me, swaying back and forth unstably, as if even sitting were difficult for him. When he speaks, he presents himself as a being with at least minimal intelligence.

  “What can Shazuul do for you?” It takes me a minute to identify the groaning, squealing sounds, which he squeezes out of his throat, as words. Even more time goes by until I realize that he is referring to himself in the third person.

  “Your name is Shazuul?” I ask, and in the way that both men roll their eyes, I realize that, in their eyes, I have asked a completely irrelevant question. But the creature’s eyes light up. “Yes! Yes! Shazuul!” he repeats and points to himself.

  I squint at him, until his compact figure is blurry in my eyes. With a little imagination, I could believe that he is a moth-eaten, old pet. This will help me keep my revulsion under control. He seems to be happy, in any case, that I am addressing him by his name, and from then on, he only speaks to me. Johar is not happy about it, because every time he wants to ask a question, he has to go through me. Then I pass it on to Shazuul, who answers it, sometimes more cryptically than others.

  “We are looking for Cassie Burnett. Do you know her?”

  The Sethari nods and hooks his two index fingers together. This sign probably means that they were close friends. In a strange move, he points at his head while repeating Cassie’s name. “Help,” he says, and “helping, Shazuul can help.” None of us understand what he is trying to say, and he seems almost desperate, in his efforts to make himself understood. At some point, he takes my hand and puts it on his forehead. I am so surprised that I am not even disgusted by his skin. “Read,” he repeats.

  And then, something strange happens.

  Similar to earlier, when I was speaking with Sherri, I first get dizzy and then nauseous. The longer I touch the Sethari, the more Johar, Hazathel and everything else in the background fades away, until even the loud cries for “more beer” are just dull murmurs. I look at the Sethari and notice how I am being pulled in. A gazillion feelings flow from him to me, and I have no way to resist them. His affection for Cassie is the most baffling thing I perceive. But there are also other things that hit me unexpectedly. A determined will to survive, and a melancholy that borders on resignation. And he knows where Cassie Burnett is.

  I realize that Johar is removing my hand from the Sethari’s forehead. Suddenly, everything is loud, dirty and smelly again. “What was that?” the cyborg growls at my back. I put a hand on his arm, reassuring him.

  “I’m fine, everything is as it should be,” I tell him. “We should offer Shazuul a spot on our space ship,” I say to Johar, who for once doesn’t contradict me. Maybe he is just speechless and doesn’t know how to deal with this insane decision. I have offered the Sethari the prospect of a spot on our ship as bait – and he reaches for it greedily, as if he were drowning.

  “Away. Shazuul wants away,” he buzzes. I stare at him hard, and he catches on quickly, this rubber-skinned energy vampire. Now Johar understands as well, that I want information first, before we drag a Sethari with us, because he is waiting calmly for the first nugget that Shazuul gives us. “Shazuul knows captain.” Great. Now we’re getting somewhere. I nod at him encouragingly, but suspicion creeps into his little, tiny eyes. “Name only when on ship.” He crosses his arms in front of his chest, which only emphasizes his missing sucking snout. I look at the cyborg and he gives me an imperceptible nod.

  “Fine. You can come with us,” I relent.

  I see Johar nod in satisfaction. Alarm bells are screeching in my head – rightly so, as he next words prove. “Under one condition. Hazathel here will come with us, too.”

  My first thought is to inquire about his mental health, but the scorpion’s quiet rattle brings me to my senses. I suppress the giggle that rises in my throat, when I envision my father’s face as I introduce our new team members. A toothless scorpion man and a crippled Sethari.

  I overhear Johar, the Sethari and Hazathel discussing the details of our departure. It is too late to go, today, so they agree to meet at the space port tomorrow at twelve noon. “Make sure your passes are valid. I don’t want any trouble with the authorities,” Johar warns them and gets up. He pays the bill and then we are finally outside in the street. At least the air doesn’t stink as badly, here, as it did in the bar.

  It takes some time for us to find a taxi. My feet hurt and I would kill for a bath and clean clothes. At the same time, I feel more alive than ever.

  Since I left with Johar to find Cassie Burnett, I have experienced more than I have, in all of the previous years of my life, combined.

  Chapter 9

  He lets me use the bathroom first, and I don’t even need to resort to violence.

  I feel like a human being again as I am drying off and putting on clean panties and a t-shirt. Johar takes his turn in the bathroom, and I decide on the left-hand side of the bed. I am not even conscious of him slipping into bed, that’s how quickly I fall asleep and am in the land of dreams.

  And such strange dreams they are! I see all of the strange figures I met today, gathering together and pointing at me. I am lying on a metal table and can’t move. This scares me, even in my dream. I see their mouths moving, but can’t hear them. My eyes focus on Johar, who is standing at the head of the table and talking to me in a calm voice – at least that’s what I think he is doing. Then my father pushes
into my line of sight and shoos everyone away with several energetic flicks of the wrist. “No, stay here,” I want to yell at Johar, but I can’t make a sound. He leaves the lab with all of the others, with one last desperate look, and his head down.

  I realize that I am in my father’s lab. Machines are whirring, and several hoses, with needle-sharp ends, are hanging from the ceiling. I see my father, who is much younger than he is today. His fingers reach for his surgical instruments.

  I scream. Something terrible is going to happen, and I know that there is nothing I can do about it.

  “Mara! Wake up!” someone is yelling, over and over, and with great effort, I open my eyes. My cheeks are wet with tears and the fear is still in my bones. I feel someone shaking me gently, and pulling me into a sitting position. Something cold and wet touches my forehead, and slowly my vision starts to clear.

  Johar holds me up against his chest. I can hear his mechanical heart beating, slowly and calmly, and I feel the heat emanating from him. “You had a nightmare,” he says. His deep voice sounds distant, but I nod and refuse to let go of him. Here and now, at this moment, he is my anchor, my protection against the panic that is still lurking in my brain. I am practically clinging to him, the only familiar thing in a strange world. He doesn’t let go of me. Slowly, incredibly slowly, he slides back down on the mattress and pulls me with him. He puts my head against his chest and puts his arm around my shoulders. We lie there like this until I finally stop crying.

  “Can you tell me what you were dreaming about?”

  I tell him about what happened in my dream. Thank God, he doesn’t comment on or interpret any of it. He just listens. He brushes the hair out of my face, and his fingers are so gentle that I can hardly believe that he is half-machine. I push the thought away. It has no place here, not now.

  “What are you afraid of, Mara?” he asks me.