Alien Romance Box Set: Alien Heart Complete Series (Books 1-4): A SciFi (Science Fiction) Alien Warrior Abduction Invasion Romance Box Set

by Patricia Moore

  “Erien, there is something growing inside of me. I feel it every day and I am so…. so scared…” Tears involuntarily fall from her face. I rush to embrace her. I kiss her forehead. The amount of anxiety and joy I feel is electrifying. She is pregnant with my child.

  “Alice, this is beautiful.”

  “It doesn’t feel like it. I feel like someone else, I am living a lie, these castle walls are a prison and now I am heavy with child.” Sniff. Sniff. “This is not the life I wanted. I am sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry.”

  “Just take me home, please.”

  “How can I send you to Earth when you are carrying my child?”

  “How do you know it’s yours? You accused me of sleeping with your brother and father.” At least, she finally hugs me back. I let my hand slide to her belly. It is slightly round.

  “Considering the amount of time I have been inside you, I don’t think there was a chance for any other man to take my place.”

  Alice manages a small laugh.

  “And you, did you sleep with someone else?” she asks me.

  I swallow hard. I am not proud of what I did, yet it proved beneficial. She is alive and well. She is becoming a Soleroid.

  “When I thought you were dying, I was ready to do anything to save you. The crone did her spells to save your life and I had to pay for it.”

  “What now?” she asks.

  I lock my lips into hers. I taste her tongue. She bites my lower lip with desire.

  “Let us go to a place far, far away, where no one will subject us to cruelty. Alice, come away with me to a private island on Solasis; just me, you and our daughter… or son.”

  Alice laughs. “I accept.”

  “But first, let’s get you out of these clothes.”

  “Do you just want to see my belly?” she teases, smiling again.

  “No. I’ve just always wanted to make love in my brother’s bed.”

  We jump into bed together. Soon, our clothes are abandoned and I am thrusting deeper into her to replenish the growing seed inside her.

  And if anyone ever asked me if I would rather gain the world’s wealth or choose loyalty, I will pick loyalty on any day. After all, it is royally certified, loyalty gives the best orgasms.

  ••• THE END •••

  Thanks for reading my story “Alien Love”

  I hope you really liked it!

  Scroll one more page if you want to read another exclusive Alien Romance story. “Alien Lake”

  Alien Lake

  THE COMPLETE BOX SET

  AN ALIEN SCI-FI ROMANCE SERIES

  PATRICIA MOORE

  Copyright © 2015 by Patricia Moore

  All Rights Reserved.

  This book may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form without the written permission of the publisher.

  In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher.

  Facebook: Patricia Moore

  Chapter 1

  I’m sweeping the old tile floor of the little shop on Monroe Avenue. Wiping my forehead, I look at my work. There’s no noticeable improvement. There never is.

  It could be that the broom is almost down to the nub, or it might be the fact the floor is three times my age and looks like it’s been corroded over endless exposure to some sort of corrosive agent.

  Undaunted by the little things—like the inescapable knowledge that what I’m doing isn’t going to make the slightest difference to anyone ever—I press on. It’s better just to focus on my work. If nothing else, it’ll get done quicker and then I can go home. Of course, I am working the early shift in the morning, so that plan offers little relief.

  “Kate?” Mr. Willis’s voice comes through the open office door.

  It takes a minute to realize he’s talking to me. Usually, he either sticks with a pronoun, generally “you,” but when he’s really feeling like making me feel special, he butchers my last name. In the three years, I’ve been telling myself I’ll find another job just as soon as I get caught up on bills “next month,” I can’t remember Mr. Wills ever calling me by my first name. I just figured he’d forgotten it shortly after hiring me.

  This is either a really good thing or a really bad thing. History has shown that any kind of special attention from Mr. Wills is generally a sign that someone’s about to be fired. Me, I’ve never missed a day of work, I’ve never been late for a shift and I certainly lack the self-confidence to ever seriously look for something better: I’m the perfect employee. Still, it was my name he said and there’s no one else in the store for him to fire.

  Now, I’m standing outside the doorway to my boss’s office, lightly knocking on the jamb. “You wanted to see me?” I ask.

  He’s reading a magazine but sets it down when he sees me. “Yeah,” he says, his voice soft, his eyes big. “Come in and close the door, would you?”

  This must be how it happens.

  On a day-to-day basis, Mr. Wills prides himself on treating everyone equally bad. The first time I’d heard him announce that fact, and he would come to say it often, I thought he was joking. That should have been an indication that the job I was interviewing for wasn’t the right one for me, but there’s that self-confidence again.

  I take three slow, measured steps forward and close the door behind me.

  “Have a seat,” Mr. Wills says, indicating one of the chairs across from his desk.

  I furrow my brow. The chairs must have been upholstered at some point, but now the legs are rusted to the floor and the seats are shredded foam wrapped in blandly-colored spider’s webs.

  But he’s not saying anything. Mr. Wills just stares up at me, occasionally glancing toward one of the seats and then back. I finally sit down, the few strips of upholstery finding all the wrong places to devote all of their support. I’ve never been given multiple wedgies at once, but if I had, it would probably feel something like this. If I get out of this office with my job, I’m seriously considering springing for the twenty or thirty bucks it would take to get some less offensive furniture in here.

  “There’s something we’re going to have to talk about, and it’s not something I ever like to do,” Mr. Wills starts.

  I brush a strand of long, blonde hair from my face. It would be less unnerving if the hair was mine. I’m a brunette. “Mr. Wills, before you start, I just want to say that I’ve really given a lot to this place, and—”

  “This is one of those things an employer really should never have to do,” Mr. Wills interrupts, looking off into the distance. “If I’m ever elected mayor, I’m going to put that as a central point to my platform.”

  I start again, saying, “Sir, if you’re going to fire me, could we just—”

  “If you wouldn’t mind,” Mr. Wills interrupts again. “Now, as I was saying, I think there should be some sort of mechanism for relaying this sort of information that doesn’t have anything to do with the employer of the bereaved.”

  “Bereaved?” I ask. “What do you—”

  “The person who’s lost someone,” Mr. Wills says quickly. “These types of personal issues really shouldn’t be going through my office. Don’t misunderstand, I don’t necessarily blame you in this situation, but—”

  “Excuse me, Mr. Wills?” I interrupt and then hold my breath.

  He lowers his head, peering at me. “Yes?” he asks.

  “I’m sorry,” I stammer. “It’s just, I don’t—”

  “You don’t what?” he asks.

  That’s when something happens. Maybe it’s the accumulation of thousands of smaller slights over the years, or maybe it’s the strong evidence that the man’s talking about someone in my life dying and complaining that he has to do it. Whatever the reason, the last three years finally aren’t worth dragging around anymore.


  “I don’t understand what you’re trying to tell me,” I tell him, hoping he doesn’t see my fists clench as I hide my trembling fingers from his sight. “Could you maybe get to the point?”

  It may not be the vitriolic diatribe I’ve been fantasizing about ever since I realized I was stuck here, selling old furniture to a never-ending stream of college students that don’t yet realize when they look at me, they’re looking at their future. For me, though, it’s a pretty big thing.

  Mr. Wills gives a long sigh and rolls his eyes. Then, in the same businesslike fashion, he’d gone on about he shouldn’t have to be the one to tell me, he finally tells me. “You’ve got a grandmother named Amber something, right?”

  “Ambra,” I correct. “She was born in France.”

  “Yeah, someone from wherever just called. Looks like she’s been dead a while—I guess no one noticed anything until the mail started piling up and all that, but yeah,” he says.

  “But yeah?” I ask, blowing what very well may be that same mystery hair away from my face.

  Mr. Wills slumps, sighing again. “Yeah,” he says. “You can take a few days or whatever. I guess they said you’re her next of kin, so I can’t really—”

  “Could you just stop talking for a second?” I ask, putting my hands to my temples.

  It doesn’t feel real. My boss is telling me that my grandmother died, and all I’m thinking about is who might have grown and subsequently shed the hair that’s trying to land on me for the third time.

  I close my eyes. “She’s gone?” I ask.

  “That’s what they said,” Mr. Wills answers. “But hey, it looks like she left you her place, though. That’s got to be pretty exciting.”

  I bite the inside of my cheek; otherwise, I don’t think I’d be able to keep my mouth shut. It’s no great distinction that Gramma left me the cabin. There’s no one else to take it.

  Gramma Ambra was the last bit of family that I had left. Though we’d never really been particularly close, I do still go up to her cabin just off of Lake Vespertine once a year to visit and check up on her. We never had much to talk about; it just seemed like the kind of thing families are supposed to do.

  “Have they already had the funeral?” I ask, trying to keep my eyes as dry as possible. “What am I supposed to do?”

  Mr. Wills shrugs. “I don’t know. Either way, I guess you gotta go up there and take care of the old lady’s stuff,” he says. “As far as what you’re supposed to do, like I said, that’s really not my area of expertise. If you don’t mind, though,” Mr. Wills starts, “I really would like to get out of here, so if you could finish up sweeping the floor before you head off to Lake Vest Pocket or whatever…?”

  It was that last bit that convinced me I was never coming back to Wills’ Thrift, Pawn and Used Furniture Mart. I was never supposed to be here this long anyway. This was supposed to be something to hold me over between high school graduation and college. I was supposed to be able to pay bills and put money away to pay for tuition. It never quite worked out that way.

  “Kate?” Mr. Wills asks, his voice that same tone of concerned it had been when he’d called me into his office.

  I look up at my boss, hoping for some sort of comfort or at least some kind of insight. “Yeah?” I ask.

  “The sooner you get started, the sooner you’re gonna get done,” he says. With that, he lifts the wrinkled magazine from his desk and goes back to reading.

  I get up, turn and walk out of the office.

  Mom died when I was about five. Dad went just a few years ago. Gramma Ambra was the only person left.

  I have my friends, but they’re not really the type to expect much out of in an emotional crisis. When dad died, Charlotte, arguably my best—or at a minimum, least-worst—friend told me to “find a hobby: Something where you’ll meet some guys. You just need to get plugged a few times and you won’t even remember you had a father.”

  I didn’t appreciate the thought.

  The last time I had sex, I was getting ready to graduate from high school. It lasted about forty-five seconds and finished with my then-boyfriend, Nick (stupid Nick,) saying something about having to get up early for soccer practice and not-so-politely showing me the door. I didn’t say anything; even though I knew for a fact Nick (stupid Nick) had never willingly played organized sports in his life.

  Nick (stupid Nick) was that guy in high school who’s not really the popular one, but the one that all the girls won’t admit that they want. On the surface, Nick (stupid Nick) was that bad boy who said what he wanted and did what he wanted. The unfortunate thing was that there was nothing beyond the surface, and that “bad boy” routine was garbage. The guy was just a jerk.

  I spotted him later that night making out with Chelsea from Life Sciences, third hour. With that as the most solid personal experience from which I can really draw, I don’t really care to hear about how sex is somehow going to solve anything.

  Walking away from this job is the same thing as finally breaking up with Nick (stupid Nick) a week or so after catching him macking with Stupid Chelsea. There’s no longer any way gloss over how bad things are. Denial is overcome by reality though it may have taken a while. So I’m ready, finally, to say goodbye to this terrible place and the terrible man who runs it.

  First, though, I really should finish sweeping the floor…

  Chapter 2

  It’s late when I pull up in front of the cabin.

  The plan was to come up here first thing in the morning, but I couldn’t sleep. I toyed with the idea of heading up to the lake right then but knew I was in no mindset to drive.

  Morning came and still, I hadn’t slept. Regardless, I got out of bed and put everything together for the trip. Gramma’s place is only a few hours from town, but every time I went to leave, I realized I’d forgotten something else. Then there was an errand I had to run before I left town and then another. By the time I finally got on the road, it was already getting dark outside.

  For whatever reason, it’s comforting: Getting in so late. It almost makes it seem like I didn’t visit more than once a year for logistical reasons.

  The truth is that Gramma could be a bit eccentric. For my birthday one year, she gave me a shoe box filled with coupons for fabric softener. The woman insisted the box was a family heirloom going back generations, even though none of the coupons would expire for another two weeks. It didn’t help that I was just turning seven at the time.

  That sort of thing would make for a funny anecdote over Thanksgiving dinner, had I anyone to share it with other than Gramma, herself. That didn’t really bother me. That was just one of her quirks.

  What kept me from the cabin were the countless memories of going up there to visit a month out of every summer. Sometimes there were just sounds. Some nights it would sound like a door was being opened to my room, only when the hinges started to creak, the door never moved.

  In the morning, I would walk outside the door to the guest room where I slept and tried to find if I could try to piece together what Gramma had been doing the night before. The only problem was that the sounds never came from anywhere near the existing doors in the house.

  It wasn’t until a few years ago I found out about the hiding spots, the secret compartments, the trap doors… Gramma had always been a little paranoid, but that was unexpected.

  Those last few years, all Gramma ever wanted to talk about was this neighbor of hers, Mrs. Blaylock. According to Gramma Ambra, Mrs. Blaylock was some sort of criminal or evil sorcerer or, at one point, a tax cheat.

  I’d met the woman. I’d even talked to her once or twice. Lake Vespertine doesn’t have many full-time residents. Mrs. Blaylock always seemed a little nervous, but given how frequently (and loudly) Gramma would denounce the woman, that was hardly suspicious behavior.

  What really frightened me the most about my grandmother was that she’d show up in the oddest places after dark. I’d go to the kitchen in the middle of the night for a glass of
water and I’d notice a figure just standing in there, not saying anything; not moving. Until I was older, I learned to just hold it if I had to go to the bathroom.

  The first time I screwed up my courage enough to flip on the light, the revelation that it was only Gramma, not whatever phantasm my young mind had made up, was hardly comforting. The funny thing was that it never happened anywhere but at the cabin. When Gramma came to visit her son and grandchild (me) she never left her room at night.

  I stayed up more than once to be sure.