The Alien Huntress Series

by Gena Showalter

These otherworlder men were, apparently, so lovely to gaze upon, human women were throwing themselves at them. And every woman who did so ended up in the hospital with grade-nine hallucinations, losing touch with reality more and more every day until finally developing a hunger for human flesh they couldn’t suppress.

  Jaxon had interviewed them in both the beginning and ending stages of the sickness. His stomach rolled with the memory. He hadn’t told anyone what he’d learned and wasn’t going to until he’d processed the information himself. Panic? Jack had no idea.

  After the interviews, well, the women had needed to be put down like animals and Jaxon had been the one to do it. He’d hated himself for it, still hated himself, but there’d been no other recourse. Those females would have eaten their own young—literally—if they’d been allowed to live.

  He should be on the streets right now, hunting the Schön. Until they were destroyed, more and more victims would surface. Didn’t take a psychic to figure that out, just a person with half a brain. Jaxon qualified. Right now, he felt like only half of his remained. If he didn’t get out there soon…

  You know Jack. He’s got someone on the streets already, doing what you were supposed to be doing. Jaxon tried to take comfort in that.

  “What thoughts tumble through your mind, hmm?”

  Jaxon blinked, the woman inside his cell coming into gradual focus. He must have drifted, because he hadn’t heard her move, yet she was now crouched in front of him. Her long legs straddled his and she was gently cupping his cheeks in her soft hands. One of her palms was warm, the other cool and silky, as if it were covered by some kind of material and ice was packed underneath.

  Though his vision was murky and distilled, he was quite certain he’d never been closer to perfection. Her eyes were mesmerizing onyx and framed by midnight. Her skin was pale and smooth, lickable cream. Her nose perfectly sloped. Her cheekbones a work of art. Her lips a fantasy come to life. Plump, red, luscious, the kind of lips a man usually had to pay for to enjoy.

  Her scent was stronger now, all the better, and he thought he caught a hint of jasmine. Wild, exotic. Like the woman herself?

  Like it mattered. Much as he wanted to, he didn’t delude himself. She was a professional torturer and killer, had probably studied the human body so that she knew every sensitive place and the best ways to enforce maximum pain.

  “You won’t even give me a tiny little hint?” she beseeched, her long lashes fluttering, beckoning him deeper into the black sea of her gaze. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “Hint?” He played stupid. Sadly, it was not a difficult task. “Hint about what?”

  What was she wearing?

  Finally, a silver lining to his ravaged face. He couldn’t see clearly enough to discern her clothing, which meant, in his mind, she was wearing lingerie. Black, like her eyes. With sheer lace. She had small breasts, but they were soft and pink-tipped.

  Despite his condition, his dick lengthened, thickened, hardened.

  Marie gave a sweet little gasp, as if she felt that hardness, but didn’t move away. “I didn’t expect such a response from you. You’re surprising me at every turn, Jaxon Tremain.”

  She spoke as if she were weaving a spell, soft and melodic, her voice lulling him, drawing him in and holding him under. What would she sound like during orgasm?

  Damn, where were these thoughts coming from?

  He heard Thomas groan impatiently, but he didn’t care. “You should unchain me,” he told Marie, using his most seductive voice. “We should go on a date.”

  A pause, a frown. Her head tilted to the side as she studied him more intently. Frown deepening, she reached for his left wrist, caught herself, and stilled. She gulped and licked her lips. “And what would we do on this date?”

  Jaxon imagined he heard a wistful note in her tone. “We’d have lots and lots of fun.”

  “Oh, really.” Her frown softened at the edges, adding all kinds of sexy to her expression. “My type of fun or yours?”

  He knew what she was asking: pain or pleasure. “Mine, but I’m sure we could incorporate some of yours if you asked me nicely.”

  “Marie, this is—” Thomas interrupted.

  Her entire body stiffened, and her chin whipped to the side as she pierced the alien with a fierce glare. “Shut it, Thomas. You’ve already pissed me off once. Want to make it twice?”

  Silence.

  Jaxon latched onto the chance to examine her more closely. In profile, her chin had a stubborn jut to it and her ear was studded with multiple diamonds. She had shoulder-length hair, straight as a ruler, and he wished he had the strength to reach up and sift the pale velvet strands through his fingers. Wished he had the good fortune to have the strands spread over his thighs while she sucked him dry. Like you can handle that right now, idiot.

  “I’m losing you again.” Facing him once more, Marie stroked her fingers over his cheeks, careful, so careful of his bruises. “Blood loss affecting your concentration, sweet?”

  “Sorry. What?”

  She uttered a warm chuckle. “An apology, after everything that’s been done to you. How surprising.” Another chuckle. “You were about to give me a hint. About the Schön, their virus, and the women they’ve infected.”

  When he pressed his lips together, her warmth vanished.

  Tick. Christ! Not the clock. Shut up, shut up, shut up.

  “You look like you’re in a lot of pain, Jaxon.” Her voice was all business now. “Tell me what I desire, and the pain ends. The agony stops. You have my word.”

  As they had every other time he’d been asked, fifteen years of fieldwork and a year of training kicked into gear. Always deny. A single detail can blow an entire case. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Tock.

  There was a heavy pause. “Would you know if I cut off one of your testicles and you had to watch Thomas eat it?” Violent as the question was, she asked it with the sweetness of an angel. One of her brows arched as she waited for his answer.

  “Ouch.” How many times had she performed that little operation? “Nope. I’m afraid that wouldn’t jog my memory. How could it? I don’t know anything.” Tick.

  “Is it bad that I was hoping you’d say that?” She didn’t wait for his response. “Thomas, be a dear and hand me Damocles.”

  “Mmm, excellent choice,” the alien said happily. A few seconds later, metal whistled against syn-leather, and then Thomas was grinning and clomping to Marie’s side.

  Now Jaxon arched a brow. Or rather, hoped he did. Most of his facial muscles were currently unworkable. He hoped he looked interested rather than terrified. “Damocles? You name your weapons?”

  “You mean you don’t?” she asked in surprise. She gripped the hilt of a sword, and he could see sharp, curved steel glistening from the only bulb hanging from the ceiling.

  At least it was clean, no rusty, metallic aroma wafting from it.

  “No,” he said. “Never have.”

  “A shame, since they can be a person’s best friend.”

  “Or worst enemy.”

  She tapped the end of his nose with her free hand, the one uncovered. Warm. “Had you been armed at your home, you might not have been taken. Best friend.”

  At the patient censure in her tone, he barked out a laugh. “Lesson learned, believe me.”

  “Sadly, it’s too late.”

  Ticktock, ticktock. For some reason, all of his emotions drained from him. He should have been more afraid than ever. Should have been trembling, pissing his pants. Something. Instead, the only emotion that returned and stayed was a curious sense of relief.

  Finally, the beatings would stop. The rape wouldn’t happen. And maybe the afterlife would pair him with an angel who looked just like Marie. Minus the penchant for killing, of course.

  When did you become such a pussy? Fight this! Fight her.

  “Last chance to tell me what I want to know,” she said, pressing the cold steel to his neck.

  One second pa
ssed. Another. When he continued to remain silent, she nicked the skin until a bead of blood trickled. Thankfully the ticking did not resume. Odd, though, since these were most likely his last moments on Earth.

  She pressed harder.

  He gave no reaction to the sting. Hell, a little prick was nothing compared to what he’d already endured. Slowly she lowered her hand, gliding the blade over his bare chest, cutting skin along the way. She reached his navel, twirled paper-thin slices all around, then stopped right between his denim-clad legs.

  Thomas, who’d remained at her side, chortled with glee. Probably had a hard-on.

  God, I hate making him happy. Jaxon swallowed a sudden rise of anger. Not so relieved anymore.

  His fight reflex sparked to life, blending with the anger and warring with his need for closure. Sweat poured down his chest.

  “Well,” Marie prompted. The tip nicked his pants and pressed between his balls. “Anything to say?”

  Closure won. Without him, these people would never be able to find the Schön. And if they couldn’t find the Schön, they couldn’t use them as a weapon against humans, or whatever else they were planning.

  Jaxon closed his eyes and said good-bye to one of his favorite body parts. I love you little guys. We had some good times together.

  “Last chance, Jaxon.”

  His gaze met Marie’s, locking, clashing. Unflinching. “I told you. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Her lush lips rose in an exquisite smile, lighting her entire face. Just then she was the perfect blend of good and evil, innocence and absolute wickedness. His traitorous heart skipped a beat in total, masculine appreciation. Her teeth were straight and white, the pink tip of her tongue peeking out the center as if she were nibbling on it. “That answer just saved your life,” she said, and then her arm lashed to the side and she stabbed Thomas in the stomach.

  Blood sprayed Jaxon’s face as Marie moved her blade in and out. The alien jerked and gasped in pained shock. Jaxon could only watch, morbidly awed, utterly confused. That death blow had been meant for him. Hadn’t it?

  Smile becoming dark, lethal, Marie rose on her knees, twisting her wrist to drive the blade even deeper while hacking at every organ she could reach. “Enjoy hell, you sick fuck. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

  Thomas collapsed in a motionless heap, convulsing to his death, and all Jaxon could do was stare over at him, wondering what the hell was going on.

  CHAPTER 2

  Mishka Le’Ace—aka Marie—stuffed her hands into the dead alien’s pants pocket, searching for the key to Jaxon’s chains. Thomas had a deathly fear of ID scans, which would have been needed to open and close a good pair of lasercuffs. A.I.R. could, theoretically, capture the signal and hunt him down. Not that she’d ever seen it done.

  But fears were universal, unreasonable, and sometimes uncontrollable. Usually she whined about the lack of technology, practically begging Thomas to try it. Today she was thankful for his continued refusal, for it saved her a hell of a lot of time. Rather than disable wires, burning both her and Jaxon, all she had to do was insert a piece of metal and twist her wrist.

  When her fingers curled around the key, she tugged it out and rushed to the agent she’d been sent to rescue. Or kill. Everything had hinged on his ability to keep a secret.

  Amazingly enough, he’d kept his mouth shut. She’d expected him to break the moment she placed the blade to his dick. But he hadn’t, shocking her to the core, and now she would save him.

  She wondered what he knew, what surreptitious things danced inside his head. Had to be valuable, perhaps life-altering, otherwise she wouldn’t have been pulled from another job for a simple extraction.

  “Think you can walk?” she asked him.

  “Who are you?”

  His words were slurred, barely understandable. Anger, confusion, and uncertainty pulsed from him. “I’m your new best friend, honey.” Within seconds, she had his ankles and wrists free and was jerking him to his feet. “Your boss sent me.” Kind of.

  A hiss of agony escaped him, and he quickly bent one leg at the knee, keeping his foot elevated. “Broken,” he grunted.

  She glanced down…down…damn, he was tall. Finally she saw the ankle in question and winced. Broken, yes. Ravaged, most definitely. That ankle was going to make her job more difficult. “Gonna make me carry you out, then?” The words were a challenge, meant to goad him into hopping out if he had to.

  “Fuck you,” he said. At least, that’s what she thought he said. Hard to tell.

  Her gaze slid over the rest of him. He was well over six feet of pure muscle and brawn. Could she carry him? She was strong. Her creators had made sure of that, but…

  His head angled toward her, and his discolored, mutilated lips edged into what might have been a frown. Le’Ace was machine, animal, a bit human—though many would disagree about the last, and all three parts of her sensed his affront.

  In this, at least, he was predictable. Alpha male that he was, he couldn’t handle a blow to his masculinity.

  But it was something else in a long line of somethings that she hadn’t expected from him. Alpha. His file had said “gentle” and “unflappable.” Even “calming.” The man glaring down at her was none of those things. Guarded, determined, easily razzed. Yeah, he was those.

  “Well,” she insisted. “Much as I’d like to take you up on your offer, you didn’t really answer my question. Shall I carry you?”

  “What do you think?” he asked in that damaged voice. “Never mind. You might try. No. I’ll walk.”

  “Good boy.” She released him.

  He swayed to the side and would have fallen if she hadn’t grabbed him again. Le’Ace sighed. Nope, he wouldn’t be walking. The spirit might be willing, but his flesh was too weak. What was the best way to handle the unpredictable Jaxon and the upcoming battle with his other captors? Her mind raced with options. There weren’t many.

  All the while Jaxon stared at her, disquieting her, clearly trying to take her measure.

  “I guess I need to switch to plan B,” she muttered.

  “What’s plan B?”

  “I haven’t decided yet. All I know is the ending.”

  “And that is?”

  “We get out safely.”

  “I don’t trust you,” he gritted out. “This could be a trick.”

  Great. He was going to be difficult.

  Part of her was relieved. Finally, he was acting like the humans she dealt with on a daily basis. Which meant she knew how to handle him.

  “Could be a trick,” she told him. “Only time will tell.” Leaning sideways, she tilted him toward the crumbling wall. Weak and damaged as he was, he could do nothing to stop her. She propped him there, made sure he was steady, then strode to her bag of tools and towels.

  Statistical read of the surrounding area, she demanded to know from the chip implanted inside her brain. A chip that monitored her activities as well as the energy pulses of everyone around her. She cleaned her bloody hands with a rag. Thankfully, the chip was programmed to only give knowledge when she asked. Otherwise, constant streams of information would bombard her at all hours of the day and night.

  The reply was instantaneous, not a voice, but a sudden realization. Four Delenseans and two humans. Upstairs.

  Likelihood of attack within the next few minutes?

  Eighteen percent. No hostility detected.

  Good. Warn me if someone approaches.

  Sensors on…now.

  Le’Ace reached back into the bag, withdrew a syringe and a bottle of black-market rinaloras.

  “What are you doing?” Jaxon demanded.

  “Helping you. No need to thank me.” She couldn’t believe how much stamina he possessed. Anyone else with those types of injuries would be dead or sobbing. He had teased her; he now refused to back down. She could only imagine what he’d act like when fully healed and almost wished she’d be allowed to find out.

  Tr
uly, she’d never encountered a man quite like him. So strong, so irreverent, utterly capable, unerringly honorable and loyal, yet a little dirty-minded. Where was the reserved and respectful man A.I.R. touted him to be?

  Perhaps the torture had changed him, she mused, but she wouldn’t have placed money on that. He’d been gone eight days. That wasn’t enough time to transform a trained agent drastically, no matter what had been done to him. After all, he’d endured similar torture before and hadn’t morphed into irreverence incarnate.

  Was she being given a glimpse at the real man, then?

  If so, that begged the question of why he usually hid who he really was. And why he was now revealing his true colors. She was intrigued, and she hated being intrigued. He was a job. He could not be anything else.

  Her owner would not allow it. Fucker.

  Once she had Jaxon safely tucked away, she’d call Estap, her boss and current owner, and Jaxon would be picked up. Most likely, she would never see him again.

  “Marie,” he snapped. “You’re drifting now. Do you name your needles?”

  “No.” Slowly she turned to him. She held the now full syringe in the light, checking for air bubbles. “And look. My name is Mishka, but everyone calls me Le’Ace.” The moment the words left her, she cursed under her breath. She shouldn’t have told him that. Her real name was privileged information, and he wasn’t privileged. So why had she just blurted it? Why did she suddenly long to hear this amazing man say it? Just once?

  “What kind of name is that?” he asked.

  Sooo not the response she’d secretly craved. She ran her tongue over her teeth in an effort to hide her irritation. “Appropriate.” She was her creators’ ace in the hole.

  “What the hell are you doing?” he asked. “Answer me this time, at least.”

  “Or what?” When he offered an angry hiss in reply, she sighed and said, “I’m putting you to sleep, okay?” Anyone else she would have left down here, awake—why waste good drugs?—then she’d go upstairs alone and dispatch the enemy. Jaxon, however, she didn’t want to leave suffering.

  Besides, weakened as he was, she suspected he still might be able to drag himself into hiding while she was distracted.