Portal to Passion: Science Fiction Romance

by Amber Stuart

  “You do have a good memory,” Eric said. Smartass. “But I also figured you wouldn’t let me go off to my death without coming with me, and you’re forgetting one of the most significant things that happened there.”

  I didn’t look down to see if he had finished cutting through the zip tie, but I didn’t have to. Eric’s hands were free.

  “I learned how to use these.” He lunged across the table and stabbed Judge Willis McGrath in the throat. Perry Dennison still had a gun, and neither of us had forgotten. My hands were still bound behind my back, but my legs were free.

  I jumped up from the chair I had been sitting in and kicked the gun out of Perry Dennison’s trembling hands, his eyes wide with shock. From behind me, I could feel Eric sawing at the zip tie around my wrists, then felt the snap of the plastic as it came loose. Eric and I were both free.

  Eric was on the ground again on top of Willis McGrath; his severed carotid artery wasn’t killing him quickly enough. Perry was watching me, wide eyed, and the strong odor of urine filled the cabin space around us. Perry Dennison had just pissed himself. I threw myself at him, the force of my elbow shattering into the side of his face, and felt the familiar sensation of bone and cartilage crushing beneath my arm, under the weight of a man who knew how to use his entire body to throw as much force as possible into these blows. That’s why using our fists was avoided when we could; we had far too high a risk of breaking the bones in our own hands.

  Blood splattered across the tan-white walls of the interior of the yacht, leaving drops of red dots all the way to the ceiling. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Eric heading toward the stairs. I wanted to call out to him, tell him to wait for me, but I didn’t expect to be much longer. After all, we were in control now, able to work together in that way of ours without speaking, as we so often did, knowing what needed to be done without having to give voice to it or decide who would do what. Eric was going to find David and I would be right behind him.

  I turned my full attention back to Perry himself who had just had half of his face broken, shattered, unrecognizable underneath the blood and exposed bone and muscle and tattered skin. He was trying to talk to me. Beg me. He had been willing to kill my best friend so he could sell his body – I could only assume two different payments would have been made, one on both sides - and he thought I was going to have pity on him?

  Maybe if I had rescued a stranger; maybe if he hadn’t bartered the life of the only person I had ever known that I honestly, truly, idolized. So many maybes. But he had evaluated Eric like a head of cattle, a prized breed and put a price on him, was willing to deprive this world of a man that had helped me learn how to become a man myself. I had never had that in my life before. He wasn’t just my best friend; he was family. The only family I’d had after Lottie died, and these fuckers mocked him. For Perry Dennison, there was no saving himself now.

  I stepped over the lifeless body of Willis McGrath and pulled a limp Perry to his feet, slammed him against the wall of the cabin and heard the back of his head hit the wall with a sickening crack. Then just like Jackson, Perry Dennison died of a broken neck.

  The motor of the yacht was still running, so I moved cautiously up stairs. I couldn’t hear anything except the motor and the waves hitting the side of the yacht as it continued cruising farther out into the lake. I stepped a little higher and saw David, his gun pointing at Eric, and Eric, holding a gun pointed back at David.

  Shit. I was unarmed. Eric had taken the gun Perry had been holding. I held my breath. Eric was a better shot, better able to anticipate any movement of David’s, anything David might be planning or thinking just by watching his eyes. Both of us had been in similar situations before. Eric could get out of this.

  But we had never been in this situation on a moving boat before. And no one was driving this yacht anymore. I crept onto the deck as noiselessly as I could, staying as hidden as possible, wondering if I could get to the controls of the boat without getting myself killed. But I never had a chance to find out.

  Whether it was something in the water we hadn’t seen because no one was watching the water, or a wave or the universe just fucking with me again, the yacht suddenly jerked, a violent jolt that sent all of us sliding across the deck. David, by pure luck, had been closest to the starboard railing and had something to grab onto. Eric had fallen.

  There are so many things that I could have done then, but life is like that I guess. We are cursed with hindsight and forced to examine our mistakes, to wonder what would have happened if we had made different decisions. But sometimes, we don’t have time to think. We don’t have the luxury of examining all of the potential consequences of our actions or even what alternatives we have. We see someone we love in danger, someone we love about to die, and we act. Eric, my best friend, my brother, who was trying to pull his arm around him with the pistol he still held to reach back toward David, was about to die. And so I acted.

  He was closer to me than David, so I sprang at him, knocking him out of the way just in time to hear the unmistakable sound of a bullet discharging, feel the searing hot pain ripping into my body, and I was stumbling backward. I only vaguely registered Eric charging David, tackling him to the ground as another shot went off. I don’t know where it went.

  I was in so much pain. There was so much blood. My hands were covered. I had a flashback to being a three-year-old child, hurt with a bleeding hand, and going to my mother for comfort, for assurance that everything would be all right. She wouldn’t give it to me then. There was no one to give it to me now.

  I was leaning against the port side of the yacht, leaving bloody handprints as I held onto it, trying to stay upright, knowing that if I fell down, if I closed my eyes, I would never open them again. But the blood on the railing made it slippery and I leaned over. I don’t know why I had the crazy thought that the water would wash away the pain, a baptism, a new beginning, a rebirth. I let myself fall into the water.

  Around me, a red cloud began forming, and for a brief moment, I wondered, what is this? It was eerily beautiful, this crimson red mixing with the mud brown water of the lake, swirling around me like I had been trapped in a vortex of colors. Then I remembered. It was me. It was my blood. I was dying. I closed my eyes.

  Lottie. My love. My world.

  I had promised her I would come home. I should have never made a promise I couldn’t keep. I was sinking. The pain. So penetrating, so encompassing. Come on, Death. I’ve been waiting for you. For over two years, I’ve been waiting for you. My afterlife is over now. I have been reborn.

  EPILOGUE

  Lottie collapsed next to me on the living room floor of our new apartment in the Prenzlauer Berg neighborhood of Berlin. Her cheeks were flushed and she had strands of wavy brown hair that had escaped from her ponytail framing her face. God, she was so beautiful.

  We were surrounded by unopened boxes, and I swear, half of them were bookshelves we still had to put together. We had just carried the last of our boxes up four flights of stairs. Lottie put an arm around me and kissed my cheek, my forehead, my lips. She was glowing.

  “You ok?” She asked me that a lot now.

  “I’m fine,” I assured her.

  Her hand reached down and lifted my shirt, feeling the smooth white scar where the bullet had entered my abdomen. I think she still expected to wake up and find me bleeding, to find this scar a new wound, to find me dead. I took her hand and brought it to my lips.

  “Lottie,” I said softly, “I’m fine. Really.”

  And somehow, I was. I don’t remember anything after passing out in the water of Lake Charles. Nothing: no memories or feelings or sensations, not until I woke up, several days later, in a hospital. St. Elizabeth’s of all places. Eric and Lottie were both with me. Eric had told me if I ever scared him like that again, he was going to kill me himself. Lottie had threatened to disembowel him on the spot if he ever even tried it. And as confused and disoriented as I was, as much pain as I wa
s in trying to recover from a gunshot wound that had nearly killed me, I knew right away that I had survived; that I was still me and just me; that Lottie wasn’t the only one who had been given a second chance.

  There were some things I knew without having to be told: Eric had jumped in the water to find me, to save me; Lottie had insisted on being brought to Lake Charles immediately to be with me. And neither of them would have left me.

  Eric told me it was a pretty dramatic rescue – I was airlifted and everything. I got a lot of blood transfusions, surgery to clean out the wound, but I had apparently been quite lucky. No major organ damage. No sepsis. I mean, I did fall into a lake that’s known for being polluted and all.

  They had found Lydia easily by tracking the car. She had been to the hospital several times to check on me but she was anxious to leave Louisiana once and for all; Don had offered to sell his store and move with her. I knew better than to think it was a sexual interest – he thought of Lydia like a daughter and wanted to make sure nothing like this ever happened to her again.

  Lottie told me Lydia was overjoyed about the idea of moving out of here with Don to look after her. I’m sure Mark wouldn’t be deterred by distance; wherever they moved, he would find a way to keep seeing her.

  And there was one other thing I absolutely knew when I woke up in the hospital several days after being shot and thinking I had died: I could tell by the look on Lottie’s face, that look of such absolute sorrow and heartache and pain, that I was done. I would never work this job again. I would never do this to my Lottie again.

  So once I was released from the hospital, we went back to Baton Rouge, and I asked Lottie to move to Berlin with me. This time, it wasn’t an impulsive decision, but one I had been thinking about ever since I woke up in the hospital, realizing I was still alive, I had another chance at life with the woman I had always loved.

  We had lost each other – twice – and yet, we were still here. I wouldn’t fuck it up again. I would go back to where my story began, back to the city where I had been rejected, where no one had loved me or wanted me, with the woman who had always loved and wanted me since the night we met.

  Lottie thought it was one of the best ideas I’d ever had. She didn’t care if I sold used cars or taught physics at a local gymnasium. I had actually decided to go to graduate school. She thought that was the second best idea I’d ever had.

  So we lay in our new apartment together in Berlin, ready to start our new life together. I was trying to be judicious with our money now, so while the neighborhood was an upscale one, because I wanted Lottie somewhere safe, the apartment itself was small. But we were together. And God, were we happy. There was actually only one other thing that could have made me any happier.

  It wasn’t romantic, it wasn’t much of a gesture at all, actually. But I rolled onto my side to look at her, smoothing those curly strands away from her face, those big hazel eyes so full of love and peace.

  “Lottie,” I said tenderly, “you told me I would know and I know.” I had her ring in my pocket. “I have always known since the night that I met you that I want you to be my wife. And I knew that night in Baton Rouge when I had to leave you that I wanted it more than ever.” A tear escaped her eye, but I knew what it was for. “Charlotte Theriot Martin, will you marry me?”

  Lottie smiled and wrapped her arms around my neck. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  THE END

  ALIEN PRINCE’S SOULMATE

  By

  TESSA THORN

  JUNO WELLS

  CHAPTER ONE

  Tal

  I sighed as I listlessly scrolled through the images on the screen, my eyes flickering over the colorful videos of women from the planets our species had colonized. They were all beautiful, with curves and bright smiles, but to choose one of them would be to close one chapter of my life and open another. And it wasn’t one I was ready to experience just yet.

  My name is Tal. I’m a warrior prince of the Mirrotirik species. I always thought my life was wonderful, and there was never anything that I wanted to change about it. I had my own awesome spaceship and was respected by my fellow soldiers and my family. I bedded the servants around the palace when I wanted female companionship, and as a prince, I enjoyed the best of what my planet—and the galaxy—had to offer.

  But it was all about to come to an end. As a prince, I eventually had to become a king. And to do that, I had to take on a wife. I could have any woman I wanted, which some would consider a dream come true. But it wasn’t for me. I didn’t want to be tied down in a monogamous relationship, eventually becoming the father to children I didn’t want to care for. I liked children well enough, but the thought of taking on the responsibility of caring for them—much less my entire region—was overwhelming.

  It wasn’t my choice, though. Being royal was like being in a gilded cage. So much of my life was planned for me. I even envied my servants; it was that bad. I dreamed of turning into a kerktak bird and flying away, living a life in the forest.

  But if I did that, I wouldn’t have my ship. I wouldn’t give her up for anything. If I wanted to maintain some semblance of my previous lifestyle, I had to settle down—at least a little bit—and pick out one of these women.

  In their time as a spacefaring species, the Mirrotirik were wildly successful. We had an empire of a hundred planets that supplied us with resources of all kinds, including ones I’d never have been able to imagine as a child. Exotic foods, exotic metals, exotic animals, and of course, exotic women, many of whom were displayed to me right on my screen.

  I could see them as they were in real life, thanks to video technology and the floor-to-ceiling screen that spanned my room. Sunlight from another world lit up their faces and smiles, making them seem ethereal and incredibly appealing. I’d have liked to take any of these women as my lover, had they been palace servants. But to be restricted to one of them forever—it was upsetting to think about.

  I had no idea how the company vetted these women. All I knew was that there was a rigorous application process and the women and their families were compensated very handsomely. The company was reputable as well and specialized in finding mates for royalty and other wealthy types.

  I finally settled on one profile to look at more closely. My indecision was obviously caused by my lack of motivation to move on with my life. I had to get this over with. The woman I had selected had pale green skin, mottled with brown, almost reptilian in its coloring. But her hair was lush and beautiful, a shade of dark green that complemented her burgundy dress wonderfully. She was soothing to look at, though she had a spark in her eyes that belied a feisty personality. I read the description on her profile more closely.

  It turned out that she didn’t like animals, which would be a huge hindrance in my line of work, and for the Mirrotirik in general. We were a race of zoologists—we all loved animals and found them interesting to study and interact with. I couldn’t believe that anyone could dislike them, but apparently she did. I immediately closed her profile.

  The Issirin don’t really seem to like animals overall, I thought as I kept scrolling. Perhaps it was because they didn’t have much biodiversity on their planet. I was glad that our planet, Tirik, wasn’t like that at all. We had thousands of species—animals that flew, animals that swam, animals that clambered around the tall plants in our forests. The only planet that beat the level of species diversity was Earth.

  Unfortunately, the matchmaking company didn’t have a lot of luck selecting females from Earth. It wasn’t because they weren’t suitable—many of them would be. But the women of Earth didn’t apply to this company often. Because they were not yet a spacefaring species at the time of their colonization, the humans seemed reluctant to commit their lives to people and places beyond what they knew. Some did, of course, eager to leave Earth and find their fortunes elsewhere. But on the whole, many of them seemed content to stay on their planet.

  It made some sense, at l
east, considering how their fortunes had changed when the Mirrotirik discovered and colonized them. The humans still had their own intra-species problems, but things like medical care and pollution were no longer issues, thanks to us. Once the Mirrotirik annexed a planet, they were generous with sharing their technologies.

  I had seen all of this happen as I was growing up; my family had been stationed in Earth’s solar system during the first decade of colonization because my father was the king who was chosen to oversee it. Since then, I had gone back to Tirik to prepare for my new role in life.

  The next woman I selected seemed almost like a human woman, but when I looked closer, she had ridges along her back. This piqued my interest. The Qualion females were known for their savagery on the battlefield and in the bedroom. The thought of having a wife who could fight beside me was suddenly very appealing. As I kept reading, the woman’s recorded introduction began to play.

  She sat down in a chair and regarded me, the viewer, a sharp-toothed smile on her face. “My name is Milqualia,” she started. “I’m the best fighter in my class and I love to continuously hone my skills on the field and off.” She picked up an unfamiliar weapon that was propped against the chair and twirled it easily in her fingers.

  On second thought, I closed the profile. I didn’t need a woman who made me feel threatened. The Qualion would be fine mates for some people I knew, but not me. I wanted a woman with spirit, but not one who would be combative.

  I started to get a little bored; I had been scrolling through these profiles for far too long. But I had a time limit. My mother and father had told me to have my selection ready by dinnertime, so I didn’t want to leave my room until I had made it. It was difficult to make such an important decision so quickly, but I didn’t have a choice. I had put it off for too long, so my parents had given me an ultimatum.