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

  The light is gone and I’m just standing here in the driveway, a small disheveled stack of boxes in front of me.

  “Hello?” I call out, but there’s no answer.

  I look all around, but there’s no sign of anyone. What I’m feeling isn’t so much fear as it is confusion. For a second, I consider the possibility that my headlights hadn’t switched off yet, but if that was the case, I wouldn’t have cast a shadow.

  Whatever it was, it was behind me.

  It’s got to be the stress. I’m losing it.

  I bend down and get the boxes stacked again nicely so I can pick them back up and get back inside before my brain tells me I’m having a conversation with someone.

  “Hey!” a man’s voice comes, and I drop the boxes. My first instinct is to run into the house, grab what Gramma used to call her “Rod of Discipline” and hope for the best, but the voice is familiar.

  I can’t see anyone through the darkness, but I can hear the footsteps approaching. Having nothing else close at hand, I pull my cellphone out of my pocket and turn on the screen, facing it outward. It doesn’t help even a little bit.

  “You left so quick I forgot to tell ya,” the voice comes again.

  “Marty?” I ask.

  “I didn’t know if you wanted to or not,” Marty says, finally coming forward and into enough light to prove that it’s him, “but I just thought you might like to try a couple of those granola bars I was telling ya about. They taste like athlete’s foot, but they should probably help ya keep up the energy to do what ya need to do.”

  “Did you drive here?” I ask as he approaches, stopping a few feet in front of me, the boxes between us. He bends down and starts gathering them.

  “Nah,” he says. “It ain’t that bad a walk.”

  “Who was—did you see the car?” I ask.

  He glances up at me, his brow furrowed. “Which car?” he asks. “Was it Mr. Edelman cruising around again? Her age, I’d probably wanna hang onto my license, too, but this goes on much longer, we’re gonna have Green Peace up here on account of all the trees that lady’s run into over the years. You know—”

  “Marty?” I interrupt. I’m trying to be polite, but seriously.

  “Right,” he says, shaking his head. “Anyway, here are the granola bars,” he tells me. He removes a backpack from his back and hands it over to me. “You can just bring that back after you’re done with it,” he says. “Anyway…”

  He hands me the backpack. It’s heavy.

  “How many are in here?” I ask.

  “Oh, not that many,” he says, putting his hands in his pockets.

  I open the bag. It’s full.

  “Okay,” he says, looking away, smiling, “maybe a little more than that. I didn’t know how long you were gonna be here, and I wanted to make sure you had something in case you needed some extra—”

  “Thanks, but I’m actually allergic to kale,” I lie. “I appreciate the offer, though.”

  “Oh,” he says, lowering his head. “Okay.”

  With that, he reaches out, takes the backpack, zips it up and walks away without another word. There’s nothing left, but to pick up the boxes, get inside and just hope that the rest of my time up here is a bit less bizarre.

  I’m ready for a long night of packing, but the boxes are filled past capacity within five minutes and I’m just stuck here in this cabin without anything to do. Again.

  Now, I’m looking at the amber prescription bottle containing my sleeping pills, wondering if maybe I should try two tonight. I just don’t want to deal with this anymore. I know I’ve got nothing to go back to, but that doesn’t mean I’m looking to relocate. For now, I’ll take a pill (just one) and then, just as soon as the grogginess fades in the morning, I’m calling movers and I’m getting the hell out of here.

  The thing with Marty wasn’t a big deal by any means, but the guy’s married. Maybe it was a little sweet that he’d make a gesture like that but, again, the guy’s married. That on top of Gramma’s death, Mrs. Blaylock showing up to make sure I don’t go anywhere near “her lake” and that light—whatever it was—are a bit much.

  I pop the pill and lie down, but I’m back on my feet a moment later, walking over and turning on the radio. Like last night, though, I can’t find the jazz station or any other station for that matter.

  It’s so quiet up here.

  I pull out my phone and put on the only album I have stored on it: Madonna’s Like a Virgin. It may not be my first choice for settle-down-music, but it beats the silence. Before lying back down, I put the album on repeat, set my alarm and plug in the phone.

  It takes a while, but I finally drift off to sleep.

  ***

  I wake, but my eyes don’t want to open. One pill is too much. As much as I want to get to sleep right away—someone’s talking.

  “…has not been under our supervision for most of her life,” the voice says. “How do we know we can trust her?”

  Another voice, a deeper voice, answers, “We can trust no one, but we must persist.”

  Ah, the joys of sleeping pill nightmares. On the bright side, I know I’m going to wake up soon. That thought no sooner enters my mind than my eyes fly open, only I’m not in the cabin. This must be a nightmare.

  Standing in front of me, in a semi-circle, are seven… things. They’re very tall—the shortest one being, at least, two feet taller than I am. I’m 5’7”—and whatever they are, they are not human.

  It’s time to wake up now.

  “There is no need for fear,” that deeper, second voice comes, but not a mouth is moving. The voice is in my head. “It is not our intention to bring you harm.”

  I try to respond, but I can’t move my mouth, my tongue, anything.

  “Do not expend your energy fighting against something you cannot possibly overcome,” the first voice says. What surprises me more than anything is that I can somehow tell which one of them is speaking. The one with the deeper voice is standing on the far right of the group, my left; the other is standing in the middle.

  “Be still,” a new, third voice says.

  It’s not like I really have any choice, but if it’ll make this dream end a little quicker, I’ll play along. The beings turn a little to face each other, but I don’t hear—if that’s the right word—anything. While they’re having their voiceless conversation, all I can do is watch.

  Along with being much taller than me—or anyone I’ve ever met, for that matter—these beings are all completely bald. Their skin color ranges from a pale blue, almost white to green to an almost coffee-like color. Their eyes are large, dark, though not completely black. They have no noses, but almost horizontal nostrils which flare slightly every few seconds as, I’m assuming, they breathe. Apart from their skin color and a few other minor differences, though, they all look remarkably similar.

  It helps to know this is just a dream. After all, what could aliens possibly want with me?

  As if they’d heard the question, the beings or aliens or whatever they are, turn back toward me.

  “Are you of a pure heart?” the first voice asks.

  Again, I try to answer verbally, but not a single muscle under my control will budge. Am I of a pure heart? What does that even mean?

  “She is clearly unprepared for such responsibility,” the second voice says. “We must return her.”

  “You speak with haste,” a new, fourth voice comes and everything is silent again.

  After a few more minutes being forced to endure this interminable dream, I try to force myself to wake up. The beings glance in my direction, almost simultaneously, and in the next moment, I’m staring up at the ceiling of the cabin.

  My body’s heavy from the pill, but I force myself to sit up just to prove to myself that I can.

  It’s still dark outside. My phone’s about halfway through playing “Love don’t live here anymore,” and I slowly rise to my feet. I’m a little off-balance, and every step seems to take a much greater amount of
exertion than usual, but I make it to the light switch.

  For a while there, I was starting to think it wasn’t a dream.

  Chapter 4

  Morning finally comes, though I hardly slept. Even with my larger-than-usual dose of my sleeping pill, I couldn’t get that dream out of my head. It’s not until the sun is up that I start thinking about getting going.

  This whole place is too much. I was nowhere near prepared to do this when Mr. Wills called me into his office, and I think I’m even less prepared now.

  Even though I had my eyes open almost all night, stirring whenever the wind caused a branch to come into contact with the roof, there has been no sign whatsoever of anything amiss in the cabin. Still, though, I grab Gramma’s discipline rod—a wooden shovel handle grandpa used to use to prop up the hood of their ’63 Studebaker Avanti—and go through the cabin, room by room, looking for what exactly? I’m not entirely sure. I just know I’m not going to be able to relax until I know it’s safe.

  After adding closets, cupboards, and the empty space under Gramma’s old bed to the list of places searched, I start to breathe a little easier though I’m not quite ready to drop the Discipline Rod just yet. It’s still in my hand as I pick up my phone, stop the music and call information.

  There aren’t any moving companies in the immediate vicinity of Lake Vespertine, but there’s one in a town, Greenville, about twenty miles away. They connect the call and after I agree to pay what they call “a premium rate” for them to come all the way out here, they agree to come and pack up the house. The only problem is that when they ask where I want the stuff moved, I don’t have an answer.

  I just say, “I’ll call you back,” and I end the call.

  I’ve got about a week before my next month’s rent is due, and I don’t have anywhere near the money to pay it. After paying the movers, I’d end up with about twenty, maybe thirty bucks in my account. I seriously doubt my landlord’s going to accept that as good enough.

  If I suck it up and pack and move everything myself, I’m still not going to have enough for rent, but at least then, I’d have a few bucks to live on. It wouldn’t be much, but it might get me through the next couple of weeks. Either way, though, I don’t see any choice that doesn’t end in me losing my apartment.

  I call information again, having neglected to write down the number for Dylan Sons Moving. They put me through.

  “Dylan Sons, where can we take you today?” the same disinterested voice answers.

  “Yeah,” I say, “I called a few minutes ago about a move from Lake Vespertine?”

  “Right,” the man says. “Did you figure out where you want us to take everything, or did you just want us to drive around a while so you can figure it out?”

  I don’t remember him being so rude a few minutes ago. Of course, I have heard that people don’t like being hung up on.

  “You haven’t sent anyone out yet, have you?” I ask.

  “Yeah,” he scoffs, “I sent everyone we got. I’ve even got some kids out front, holding signs trying to find more people—listen, are you moving or not?”

  “I won’t be needing your services,” I tell him. “Thank you.”

  This time, he’s the one that hangs up.

  Well, I’ve saved the cost of hiring movers, but the money’s not going to last. I’m going to have to sell this place or else I’m going to end up living here. Even though Gramma’s gone, her house is every bit as terrifying as it was when I was a child.

  I guess the first thing I’ve got to do is see if Max has a list of people looking to buy. I don’t think there’s a real estate agent anywhere near here. I don’t even know who would cover a place like this. Still, Max and Marty, even grandma would go on endlessly about how many times they’d gotten calls, sometimes in the middle of the night, from people offering “the best deal you’ll ever get” on their old, crappy cabins.

  If Max doesn’t have a list, I’m sure he knows some way I can get this thing closed before I run out of money completely and have to survive off of Marty’s suddenly-free granola bars. Maybe I could even close on this before I’m formally evicted from my apartment.

  Maybe things aren’t so bad after all.

  I grab my keys but decide it’s probably a better idea to walk as I’m still feeling a little off. I should probably make some coffee. I bet Max’s got some coffee.

  I’m walking to the door and my vision goes dark. Not dark exactly, I can still see where I’m standing, but it’s like the sun decided to go back to bed for a little while. I take a couple of steps forward, but in the added darkness, what slight vertigo I’m feeling from the lingering sleeping pill makes walking impossible. That is, assuming I don’t want to fall over and break a hip or something.

  That must be one hell of a cloud.

  Suddenly, it’s light again and I’m walking down the road, only I’m a very long way past Max’s place. I don’t remember getting this far. Maybe I should just stop taking those sleeping pills altogether.

  I’m on the far side of the lake from Max’s, but the road circles around. If anyone asks why I decided to walk the road one-and-a-half times, I’ll just tell them I was enjoying the morning air.

  Only, the farther I walk, the darker it’s getting. I don’t have my purse. Did I grab my purse? I have my phone. I check the time.

  It’s eight o’clock. That wouldn’t be so frightening if it was eight in the morning.

  I’ve lost a whole day.

  I check my phone to make sure that it is the same day, but thankfully, I haven’t lost it that much. How would the pill do this? I’ve had after-effects, even fallen back asleep, but my legs hurt and I think I’ve got a sunburn.

  Why hasn’t anyone stopped me? They must have seen I wasn’t myself.

  I cross my arms over my chest and start jogging because my legs are too sore for me to run. I’m thirsty, I’m hungry. The sky is visibly getting darker now, almost with every step.

  I’ve got to find Max.

  It’s so dark now, I stop jogging. After a few more seconds, I stop walking entirely.

  What is happening to me?

  I pull my phone back out of my pocket and press the button on the side, but it doesn’t come on. It was on the charger all night. Unless I was using it all day, the screen should, at least, turn on.

  A sound like someone taking a long, slow breath of air comes from all around me, and I’m spinning in place, trying to see anything, but there’s only blackness.

  “Stop,” a voice commands and without even thinking I stop moving. A moment later, there’s a small light on the horizon. “Go,” the voice speaks.

  I’m not moving. I’m not going anywhere a man in my head is telling me to go. I’m clearly having a psychotic break. I can’t even see reality. I’m not moving from this spot until Max or someone else in town comes to get me.

  The only problem is that without me taking a step, that light is growing larger. It’s big enough now I can see its shape. It looks like an open doorway.

  “Go,” the voice says.

  My legs start moving beneath me. I’m not moving them.

  “Go,” the voice commands again.

  My legs start moving faster the more I try to stop them.

  The light ahead is bright now, blinding.

  I think I’m dying.

  The voice doesn’t have to tell me again. I stop trying to fight whatever is drawing me forward.

  The light ahead is blinding. If I can’t stop it anyway, why fight it?

  Now, surrounded by light, I come to a stop.

  “You have to take the next step,” the voice tells me.

  I’m filled with a strange sense of peace. I never thought I was ready to die. I never thought I’d really started living, but here I am anyway. I may as well make the best of it.

  I take a step forward.

  My foot comes down and I’m standing in the center of an empty, gray, windowless room.

  “Sit,” the voice tells me.

&nbs
p; I sit.

  “Are you ready to see?” the voice asks.

  “Yes,” I answer, and as soon as the word passes my lips, I can’t move.

  Somewhere behind me, I hear the sound of footsteps.

  This isn’t death. I’m not dying.

  I must have fallen asleep again. It explains everything, because now, walking into my field of vision, is a tall, pale green, eight-foot-tall, hairless thing—the same kind of creature that was in my nightmare last night.