The Alien Huntress Series

by Gena Showalter

  “I said I’d walk,” Jaxon said, determined. “I won’t fight you.”

  “Your ankle is wrecked, and I can’t take the chance you’ll remain calm.” Just as determined as he was, she approached him. “I’ll get you out of here, don’t worry. And just think, when you wake up, your wee fairy Cathy might very well be at your side, kissing your brow, sprinkling you with her magic dust.”

  He tensed, his broken body somehow the picture of absolute menace. “How do you know about Cathy? I haven’t seen her in months.”

  One of her shoulders lifted in a shrug as she stopped in front of him. Only a whisper separated them. “I know a lot about you, and I know a lot about Cathy. You called her fairy, she called you agent.” Le’Ace had liked nothing about Cathy and almost everything about Jaxon. Brave, loyal, fearless. Rare qualities in a man, as she well knew. “When I take a job, I learn everything I can about everyone involved. What I don’t know is how you spent a year of your life with that girl. Five minutes in her presence and I wanted to slash my own wrists. Every word out of her mouth is a complaint. She’s condescending and frigid.”

  The last sentence had barely left Le’Ace when she realized Jaxon had curled his black-and-blue fingers around her gloved wrist in an effort to prevent her from moving her arm, keeping the syringe a safe distance away. He shouldn’t have been able to move so quickly or without her knowledge. His touch shouldn’t have so entranced her, but it did.

  He couldn’t know that the arm he held was mostly machine and he couldn’t have stopped it with a bulldozer. He couldn’t know she allowed the touch, unable to force herself to pull away.

  “Let’s talk about this,” he said.

  “No time.” Usually Le’Ace hated being touched and would only endure it when ordered for a job. Because when her boss commanded her to do something, she did it without hesitation. Always. The little chip in her brain allowed nothing less, the consequences for disobeying too severe.

  Just thinking about the chip’s capabilities swept a wave of bitterness through her. I’m just a pawn. She hadn’t been ordered to let Jaxon handle her, but she was somehow more helpless than ever. There was warmth in his touch. Warmth and inexorable strength that seeped past her glove, the metal—all the way to her marrow. For a moment, she entertained the fantasy that he could defeat her demons and finally free her.

  Wishful thinking only led to disappointment. That she knew well.

  “You’re drifting again,” he muttered.

  Shit! She never drifted when in the presence of another. Yet she had with him, several times. There was something calming about him, just like his file claimed. Her eyes narrowed on him. “If I’m worrying about you trying to hurt me or trying to escape me,” she found herself telling him, even though she’d told him they did not have time to discuss this, “I won’t be able to fight your captors to the best of my ability.”

  “You’re not fighting them alone.”

  Concern? For her? Totally unnecessary, a first, and absolutely surprising, but sweet. She frowned. “Believe me, it’s better this way.” She flexed the coils in her metal wrist, a silent command for release.

  His fingers spread but he did not let go.

  “You don’t want to drug me, Le’Ace.”

  He said her name as if it were a prayer, and she shivered. Not again. Earlier he’d told her that she should unchain him and his voice had been mesmerizing. Like now. Some deep, hidden part of her had reacted, wanting to give the man whatever he asked for. Like now.

  Again, she found herself asking the chip: is he alien?

  Zero possibility. Only human chemistry detected.

  What was he, then, that he could compel another’s actions with this voice? What was he, that he could heat her blood and entrance her body? “I may not want to, honey, but I’m going to.” Her free hand hung at her side, and she worked her fingers over one of the rings she wore, exposing the tiny needle under the enlarged diamond.

  “I’m not letting go. I’ll stay here, like this, all night.”

  “You don’t have to let me go,” she said. Act. Do it.

  She didn’t.

  She stared up at him. I need a tune-up; I’m slipping.

  What would it be like to kiss him? The question flooded her unexpectedly, rising from the same hidden place affected by his voice. Desire swirled and mixed with her blood, infusing throughout her entire body.

  This has to end, before you do something stupid. Forcing herself into action—fast, no pause—she lifted her arm and jabbed the ring into the thick vein fluttering at the base of his neck.

  His eyes widened, and he hissed.

  “I’m sorry,” she told him. “Just so you know, I don’t name my rings, either.”

  “You…bitch.” His eyelids flapped closed, open, closed.

  “The syringe contains the painkiller and antibiotic solution, nothing more. The ring has the sleeping aid.”

  “Tricked me,” he accused, his voice all the more slurred.

  “Saved you.”

  His muscles were loosening, his lids now sealed shut. He fought the intoxicating slumber to the last, trying to hold on to her, tight, so tight, but finally he drifted off, chin falling to his collarbone, fingers disengaging, and arm falling to his side. Again, she was amazed by his fortitude.

  Le’Ace gently eased him to the floor, careful of his broken bones. “I really am sorry.” So much strength. A shame to take it away, even for a little while. Sighing, she jabbed the syringe into his upper arm, emptied it, then tossed it aside.

  She wanted to linger, to study him more fully. Truly, he was a puzzle, a sexy puzzle at that, and leaving a puzzle unsolved was abhorrent to her. Just a job, she reminded herself. Had to be that way. She was no good, tainted, and had more baggage than a world traveler. She was bad for men, because the longer she stayed with one, the greater chance there was of being forced to screw him over.

  She’d been raised in a lab, had never had a boyfriend. Hell, had never wanted one. If she were ordered to kill him, or worse, if she were ordered to fuck someone else while dating him…

  She hated those jobs the most, vomited every time they were over.

  Enough. If she continued down memory lane, she’d end up screaming uncontrollably, current job forgotten, the past a whirling vortex of misery, sucking her into darkness.

  Scowling, Le’Ace popped to her feet and strode away from Jaxon and back to her bag. Thomas and company had known her as Marie the Executioner, one of her many aliases. They’d trusted her implicitly, for she’d done many jobs for them over the years, always with success. To sustain the identity, she’d had to. A murder here, a torturing there.

  “Marie” was privy to the information the government couldn’t get any other way—such as Jaxon’s kidnapping and location—so she’d done everything required for the identity with a happy, I’m-loving-this smile.

  Well, Marie had been privy.

  No one would trust her now, but the sacrifice had been deemed worth it before she’d ever stepped foot onto the compound. Her bastard of a boss had wanted Jaxon alive if possible. Not for Jaxon, of course, but for himself. Estap desired the very secrets Jaxon had so far kept hidden.

  If Thomas hadn’t broken him, she doubted Estap could. Which meant she was saving him now only to, perhaps, kill him later.

  Statistical reading.

  No change.

  Excellent. She withdrew several pieces of her guns from a strip of black cloth. While Thomas might have trusted her, he hadn’t allowed any type of guns inside his home. Like ID scans, they scared him. She’d had to disassemble both of hers and hide the sections between her knives.

  After slapping them together, she checked the detonation crystal in her pyre-gun and the magazine in her Glock. Good to go.

  She set them on top of the bag and sheathed a blade at each wrist, under her shirtsleeves, then two at her waist. Finished, she once again palmed the guns. With one last glance at Jaxon—his chest was moving steadily with deep, even
breaths—she strode from the cell.

  Has anyone else entered the home?

  Negative.

  Four aliens and two humans to take care of, then. Not bad numbers. She eased up the stairs and shouldered open the door that led to the first floor of the home. A quick visual scan showed the room was empty. The furnishings were old and well used but clean, and all the windows were heavily curtained.

  Location of the occupants?

  All six are still in the southeast quadrant.

  Southeast quadrant meant the kitchen. Good. A contained area. Turn sensors off.

  Sensors off…now.

  She didn’t want her mind screaming they were near as she approached; she wanted clear thoughts, total concentration.

  Le’Ace quickened her steps through the living room and down the hall, bypassing another staircase and a door that led to a well-tended pavilion. The double doors to the kitchen came into view, and then, suddenly, she was there. She stopped, squared her shoulders, and quietly placed her hands on the wooden planks, guns flat. She listened.

  Laughter, shuffling paper.

  Slow and easy, like this is any other day.

  Forcing her expression to soften, she pushed the planks open. Silent, confident. Thick smoke instantly billowed around her, a cloudy haze. Perhaps later, she’d think of this as a dream. Unreal.

  Laughter still resounded, louder now.

  Unnoticed, she dropped her arms to her sides, behind her back. “Gentlemen.”

  Five men stood at immediate, surprised attention—three aliens, two humans—and faced her. Only five. That meant one alien was missing. Damn. Where had he gone?

  With the precision of a CPU, she sized up each of her targets in less than a second. They surrounded a poker table. The male farthest from her was Jacob, Thomas’s right-hand man. His skin was a lighter blue than Thomas’s, and he had seven arms rather than the standard six. Every race had its oddities, she mused.

  Right now, two of his hands held cards, one held a beer, one a cigar, two massaged his shoulders, and one clutched a knife that was pointed at her.

  Jacob relaxed and lowered the weapon to the table. “Everything all right, Marie?” He’d lived on Earth all his life, so he sounded completely human.

  The others also held cards, beers, and knives. She hadn’t worked with them nearly as much, so they weren’t as comfortable with her and didn’t lower their blades. “Yes,” she said. “Everything’s fine. Where’s your friend? The tall male I saw you with this morning?”

  “Bathroom.”

  “Upstairs or down?” she asked.

  “Up, I’m sure. In the guest room.” Jacob’s face scrunched in confusion. “Why does it matter?”

  “Doesn’t. Are you expecting any more guests today?”

  “No. Tell me what’s going on. Where’s Thomas?”

  “In hell. Tell him hello for me.” Both of her arms lashed up, wrist crisscrossed over wrist as she hammered away at the triggers. Boom, boom, boom. Slowly she uncrossed her arms, blasting every inch of the room in a steady rhythm. Bullets slammed through one-half of the room and pyre-fire through the other, bright beams of yellow and orange that blistered.

  Just a dream, just a dream.

  All five men jerked in pain. Some screamed, some moaned. Knives, beer bottles, and cards clattered to the floor in a discordant dance. Blood splattered from the wounds caused by the bullets and flesh sizzled from the fire. She would have gagged, but sadly, she was used to the sickening smell.

  Only when every man had collapsed, expressions frozen, did she relax her fingers.

  Without the roar of the Glock, there was deafening silence. And as the smoke continued to waft, the deadly scene retained that faraway, distant-from-reality feel.

  Sensors on. Energy levels?

  Four extinguished.

  The fifth?

  Far right. Weak, but still alive.

  Le’Ace checked the Glock’s magazine. One bullet left. She loaded it into the chamber, lifted the barrel, aimed, and fired. Boom. The bullet plowed directly between the man’s eyes, brain tissue jetting behind him and onto the wall. He defecated as his body spasmed a final time, and this time she did gag.

  Above her, heavy footsteps sounded across a hallway. Le’Ace closed her eyes for a moment, wanting the job done. Now. But reality, like dreams, was often rebellious.

  Likelihood of attack?

  Twenty-three percent. Target seems to be in the process of hiding.

  Increase ear volume. A second later, she heard the hinges of an upstairs bedroom door creak open. Step, step, step. Pause. Swoosh. Step, step, step.

  Thirty-two percent.

  More footsteps.

  Thirty-eight percent. Thirty-nine percent. Forty-six. Swiftly rising. No longer hiding but approaching. Gear for confrontation.

  Le’Ace sheathed the empty Glock at her waist and pushed herself flat against the wall. Adrenaline zinged through her bloodstream, her heart a vibrant drum inside her chest. So far, the job had gone smoothly. Yet, over the years she’d noticed that every job came with at least one complication.

  This must be it.

  Closer and closer those footsteps came. There was another pause, long and heavy. A muttered curse. And then, as if the Delensean had changed his mind about checking on his friends, the tiptoeing steps moved farther and farther away.

  Thirty-one percent and swiftly declining.

  Her teeth gritted together. Damn him. He was going to make her play chase. Pyre-gun extended, she moved slowly and silently out of the kitchen. Her gaze darted left, then right. Clear.

  Above, a door eased shut, a lock turned. Her ears caught every minute sound as he hid.

  Just get it over with. Le’Ace sank into the shadows underneath the staircase. She kept her pyre-gun at the ready and used her free hand to reach into her boot and withdraw a small, thin box. She’d trained her fingers to work the device without the use of sight, so they flew to the proper buttons and pressed.

  A clear holoscreen soon dappled a small patch of air directly above the keyboard, slowly solidifying into a square. Black lines and blue lights flashed over the surface as the wireless system scanned the house for body heat, movement, and voice. Each light finally congealed into a single dot, pinpointing the alien’s location in the room at the end of the upstairs hall.

  He was in the middle of the room. She knew the house, knew there was a bed in that location. He must be crouched under it.

  How can I do this? Play evil cat to his innocent mouse?

  You know your orders, Le’Ace, common sense piped up. No survivors. Besides, he wasn’t innocent. Every man in this house had taken a turn using Jaxon as a punching bag. And judging by the extent of Jaxon’s bruises, they’d enjoyed every moment of it.

  Some of her self-loathing and reluctance faded. She switched the scanner off and returned it to her boot. Up the stairs she quietly moved, gun steady. Down the hallway, eyes alert. She wondered what Jaxon would have thought if he’d been here, watching her. Would he have been impressed or disgusted? Praised her or lectured her for being cold-blooded? Men could do any dark deed, and it was for the good of mankind. Yet with the slightest hint of a woman’s malevolence, no matter the reason, she was utterly wicked. Eve with the apple. Pandora with her box.

  Jaxon had an impressive kill list—over sixty predatory aliens—though he usually opted to deliver a deathblow only as a last resort. He preferred to capture. He would lecture me, she decided. Perhaps interrogate me to find out why I’m like I am.

  Interrogation. He was, his file said, a master at it. Through sugarcoated words, or pounding anger and intimidation, he got what he wanted. That drugging voice and lazy nonchalance had probably helped him a time or two, as well, coaxing victims to willingly spill their darkest secrets.

  If otherworlders reacted with even half the intensity she had, they’d tell him anything and everything he wanted to know and smile while doing it. A few more minutes with him and she might have caved.

&
nbsp; Admitting it was difficult; she despised weakness in herself.

  She’d scolded Thomas for letting Jaxon’s eyelids puff, because Marie was a sadistic bitch who liked to see every flicker of pain, but Le’Ace had been disappointed for another reason. She knew his eyes were blue, but photographs and holoimages could not capture a man’s raw masculine intensity. She would have loved to see just how intense a man he really was, even though she suspected seeing those eyes of his would have weakened her more than a bullet to the brain.

  A whimper echoed in her ears, cutting into her thoughts.

  Stop thinking about Jaxon and get this done. She was so close to finishing she could taste it. At the closed doorway, she paused, listened. No movement. He was still under the bed, then. Go time.

  One. Two. Three. With a hard kick, the hinges shattered and the door burst open. From under the bed, just as she’d assumed, there was a gasp, another whimper. Her gun was already raised and aimed, so she simply squeezed the trigger.

  A split second later, yellow-orange flames were incinerating a hole in the mattress and melting several of the springs. Realizing he would catch fire if he remained in place, the Delensean yelped and rolled from underneath. One of his arms snagged on the carpet and became trapped under his body, pinning him in place. He struggled, flicking her horrified glances.

  “D—don’t. Please,” he begged, as if he hadn’t done worse things over the years. She knew better.

  “Have to.” Once again she applied pressure to the trigger. There was no recoil; the bright yellow beam simply jetted out and slammed into the alien. He screamed a sound of such agony, even she cringed.

  Over and over his body convulsed, his legs kicking. Where the beam hit him, his shirt had burned away and she could see a hole where his heart should have been, the jagged ends sizzling. Had he left Jaxon alone, she might have cut his throat to quickly end his misery. Since he hadn’t, she remained in place.

  When he stilled, she asked, Energy level?

  Extinguished.

  Done. It was done.

  She breathed a sigh of relief. Her arm fell to her side, the gun suddenly heavy, a thousand-pound weight. A bead of sweat trickled between her breasts, down her stomach. Mission complete, and she hadn’t sustained a single injury. Injury.