The Alien Huntress Series

by Gena Showalter

  Breath caught in her throat, burning, blistering. Black and gold spots winked over her vision. The erratic pants in her ears became discordant bells. A goddamn panic attack, she realized as her diaphragm shuddered, petrified.

  “Le’Ace!” Jaxon barked. His voice boomed past the blood-roar. “Mishka!”

  “I’ll be all right in a moment,” she managed to push out her swollen throat. Dizziness slapped at her mind, her thoughts soon spinning out of control. Death, destruction, pain, darkness. Breathe, goddamn it. In. Out. “I just…I haven’t…done this in a long time. I just…need a moment.”

  Overriding system block. Emotional overload. You must calm.

  No shit. But knowing what she needed to do did not help. Panic continued to cascade through her, intensifying, growing, blooming. Her limbs shook so forcefully she felt as if she were having a convulsion. Her mouth dried, leaving giant balls of cotton. Her blood froze, yet her skin heated to a blaze. Vaguely she thought she heard Jaxon call her name again. Then again.

  Calm. Now.

  “I…can’t.” She couldn’t breathe anymore, not even a slight puff. Why do I fight death? Why? The world would be a better place without me. There’d be no more pain, no more jobs.

  No more Jaxon.

  Something strong and warm suddenly banded around her waist—Jaxon, she realized. Sweet Jaxon. But it was too late. Panic had already battered down every defense she possessed, consuming her. Her skin continued to heat and her blood continued to freeze, and the two temperatures created a wild storm inside her.

  Shutting down in five…four…three…two…

  Her entire world blackened into nothing.

  Jaxon carried Mishka’s limp body to the bed and gently laid her down. His own ravaged body had reached its limits, but he paid it no heed. A few minutes ago, he’d wanted nothing more than a nap, ten thousand painkillers, and his hands wrapped around this woman’s pretty neck.

  All three needs had vanished the moment he’d seen Mishka pale. Mishka. He’d called her by her first name only a few times, yet it was now branded soul-deep and he could think of her no other way, even though he’d tried. Le’Ace was too distant, too impersonal.

  When she’d paled, her skin had become so pallid he’d seen the blue veins underneath. So many veins, more than most humans possessed. Terror had glowed like twin stars in her beautiful eyes. Lines of tension had branched from her mouth. And then she’d begun wheezing, as if she couldn’t breathe.

  What had caused such an intense reaction?

  Concerned, he stretched out beside her and propped his head on his elbow, staring down at her. With the softest of touches, he smoothed the strawberry-blonde tresses from her sweat-glistened face.

  Her lush lips were pursed, and there were four teeth marks in her bottom lip where she’d clearly chomped. Her lashes were devoid of mascara, yet so long they cast those spiky shadows on her perfect cheeks. She’d never replaced the earrings, so her lobes were bare.

  Golden lamplight shone over her, illuminating the purity of her skin. Thankfully, color was already returning, leaving a sweet rose blush. He placed her at twenty-five or twenty-six, making her roughly six years younger than him. She possessed no age lines, no spots from the increasingly damaging sun.

  Then, his gaze caught on a small imperfection and Jaxon’s mouth edged into a frown. There, along the back of her left temple, was a white, puckered scar. Not a surgical scar, but one delivered by a serrated blade. That pissed him off royally because he knew exactly what she’d gone through. He had a similar scar on his left hip.

  What kind of violence had she endured throughout her short life? More than him, most likely, for this strong, courageous woman hadn’t blinked an eye at killing Thomas. She hadn’t seemed to give a shit about meeting Nolan, who could turn her into a cannibal with a single kiss.

  And yet, the thought of punishment nearly destroyed her. Her features had been drawn, her body tense. Like a warrior in battle who knew the deathblow was coming.

  Mad as he’d been with her earlier, he wanted to violently, coldly murder whoever had caused this reaction in her. Obviously, the…man? woman? people? Obviously, they had punished her before. Severely.

  I do what I must to survive.

  Her words once again echoed through his mind. What had she been forced to do to avoid this fear-inducing punishment?

  And why did she allow them to hurt her? Passively accepting castigation seemed completely out of character for her. Unless they were so strong she had no defense against them. He’d toyed with the idea of her being a victim of sexual abuse before, nearly discarded it as she’d lied to Nolan; now Jaxon reevaluated the notion. Had she been sexually abused as punishment? Physically abused?

  The hand at his side curled into a fist.

  He’d had a normal childhood. Well, as normal a childhood as the richest kid in the city could have. His family had loved him, perhaps too much. They’d spoiled him, given him anything and everything he desired.

  By the age of five, he’d developed a sense of entitlement. If he’d seen something he wanted, whether it belonged to someone else or not, he had taken it. By whatever means necessary.

  When he’d hit puberty, he’d begun plowing through girls like they were sexual tissue, his to use and toss at a whim. They’d let him, too. His cheeks had been smooth, not scarred, and his money had made him popular. He’d had no care for anyone but himself. No concern for other people’s feelings.

  Then, one night, he’d walked into his bedroom and found one of the girls he’d slept with and callously bragged about hanging from his ceiling. She’d snuck inside his parents’ house and killed herself. To teach him a lesson, her note had said. He’d ruined her life, now she would ruin his.

  She’d succeeded. Since then, the guilt had been a constant reminder that there were consequences for his every action. There were consequences for his every uttered word. That very night, he’d begun burying the wildest parts of his personality, morphing from talker to listener, user to used, bad-doer to do-gooder.

  A few months later, he’d even begun training to become an A.I.R. agent. Not the camp Mia sometimes taught at, but through his father’s military friends. Sleep deprivation, starvation, and intense combat sessions had helped further his change.

  Then, upon his acceptance into the elite force that patrolled the streets of New Chicago, the victims he’d interacted with had hammered the final nail in the coffin of his old self. Their pain, their endurance, their courage had humbled and shamed him. He’d wanted to be a better person.

  What had Mishka endured to shape her into the woman she was? he wondered again.

  “No one’s going to hurt you,” he assured her, even though he knew she couldn’t hear. “I’m here. I’ll protect you.”

  As if she did indeed hear him, her features smoothed and her color deepened. So badly he wanted to kiss her, but he didn’t. Not without permission.

  He remained in place, waiting for her to revive.

  He didn’t have to wait long. A few seconds later, her eyelids popped open and a gasp slipped from her lips. Bolting to a sitting position, panting, she quickly scanned her surroundings.

  “It’s just you and me,” he assured her.

  She stiffened, didn’t turn to look at him. “I passed out.”

  “Yes.”

  “You caught me? Carried me to the bed?”

  “Yes.” Be gentle with her. He’d once thought her tough, but now he suspected she was more fragile than any other woman he’d dealt with before. “Will you tell me what panicked you so badly? Please.”

  Still she did not face him. “Nothing good will come of telling you.”

  “How do you know? Have you talked about this with someone else?”

  “No,” she admitted hesitantly.

  “Then try me.”

  “You first. Tell me something about you. Something humiliating.”

  The rosy waves of her hair tumbled down her back like a waterfall of silk. He reached
out and sifted his needy fingers through them. “All right,” he said.

  Finally she twisted and eyed him. There was shock in her gaze. Shock that was soon hidden as her eyes narrowed. “I’ll know if you’re lying.”

  He didn’t see how, but he said, “Which means you’ll also know if I’m telling the truth.” He settled on his back and locked his hands behind his head to keep from dragging her into his aching body. She wasn’t ready for that kind of contact. Right now she resembled a snake ready to sink poisonous fangs into its prey. “What would you like to know about? One of my former girlfriends or my job?”

  “Both.” She flattened a hand on the mattress, the tips of her fingers brushing his hip.

  He had to bite his tongue to hold back a plea for more. He couldn’t hide the twitching of his cock, though. Being near her, breathing in her sweet scent, aroused him more than being inside another woman. Why, he still didn’t know. But there it was.

  “I went undercover once,” he said. “I was chosen because I’m good at getting answers out of the most closemouthed of people.”

  She pffed. “That tidbit is in your file, but I have to admit I haven’t seen this so-called ability of yours. You learned nothing new from the Schön.”

  Jaxon didn’t respond; he didn’t want to draw attention to the fact that he would soon have Mishka revealing her darkest secrets. Secrets she’d probably never shared with another.

  How was that for skill?

  “You want to hear this or not?”

  She gave an imperial wave of her hand.

  He wanted to kiss the pouty expression off her face. “As you probably know, some species, for whatever reason, are purely sexual.”

  She gave a very stiff nod as her gaze darted away from him.

  More telling than she realized.

  “I was sent into an interspecies bondage club. As a submissive.” He paused to give his words time to sink in. “My target liked human men, so I allowed myself to be used by her to gain access into her fortress of a home.”

  Once again, Le’Ace stopped breathing. This time, however, it had nothing to do with panic but with…hope? Hope that someone might understand her? Might care, might sympathize?

  She hadn’t given permission yet, but he reached out anyway and curled his fingers around the base of her neck. With a tug, he had her lying beside him, her head buried in the hollow of his neck. She didn’t protest.

  No, she snuggled closer.

  “You screwed her?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Were you disgusted with yourself?”

  “Yes, but not because I felt violated or anything like that. I went home and threw up because I had liked it, found pleasure in it. I let a criminal use me in every way you can imagine and I came. Over and over again.”

  “Truth,” she breathed, her shock mixed with wonder. “Have you acted as a submissive since? Of your own volition?”

  “No. Actually, I reverted to old habits and slept with as many women as possible. Prostitutes mostly, women who let me be in complete control. A bit later, I met Cathy. She was as feminine a female I could find, all into pink and glitter and ruffles, and very unassuming in bed. I think that’s one of the things that drew me to her and kept me by her side for so long. She didn’t remind me of my shameful behavior.”

  “Do I?” Mishka asked without missing a beat.

  “No.” And that was the truth. Not because she was unassuming, but because, with her, Jaxon so badly yearned to stake a claim. To possess. Nothing else seemed to matter. He’d take her however he could get her. If she wanted to tie him up and whip him, he’d agree. If she wanted lights out, missionary, he’d agree to that, too. “This is the only time I’ve even thought about the bondage club since meeting you. To be honest, you’ve been my single focus.”

  Silence surrounded them for a long while. She was thinking, lost in her thoughts. He waited.

  She began drawing circles on his chest. If he’d had the power, he would have stripped away his shirt with a single thought. As it was, he could feel the heat of her fingers like a live wire, sending tiny flickers of electricity through him.

  Then she spoke.

  “I live because I’m allowed to live. I’m a slave.” Next, a horrendous story of subjugation, her own sort of bondage—a computer chip that controlled whether she lived or died and the man who pulled her strings—flowed from her.

  Jaxon listened in horror, in fury, in helplessness. By the end, he was seething with the emotions, drenched in them. What she told him was worse than anything he could have imagined. Those men had treated Le’Ace like an animal. They had controlled her actions like puppeteers. They’d threatened, they’d punished, they’d exploited.

  One still did.

  Jaxon’s arms tightened around her, pulling her so close her heart was positioned just above his, beating in sync. He didn’t know what to say. Knew there was nothing he could say to make up for the wrongs done to her. The wrongs still being done.

  “Mishka,” he said, wanting to try.

  “I’m fine. I’ll be fine. I always am.” She chuckled, the sound a little shaky.

  Trying to comfort him? He sighed, the breath causing several strands of her hair to lift. On his next inhale, they fell onto his chin, tickling. “Is there any way to remove the chip?”

  “Not without killing me.”

  “How do you know?”

  “They told me.”

  “And you trust them?”

  She did not have an answer.

  “Any way to steal or disable the control panel?”

  “I’m sure there is, but I haven’t found it. And believe me, I’ve looked.”

  “Are they monitoring you right now?” he asked.

  “I never know. With only a glance, they can see where I am but they can’t really tell what I’m doing.”

  “That isn’t right. What about—”

  “Jaxon, stop. Just stop, okay? You can’t save me. Besides, that’s not why I told you. You’re just the first man I’ve…I’ve…I don’t know. You affect me. I don’t know why. I’d love for it to stop. Shit, I could barely do my job tonight.” She uttered another of those rough chuckles. “Before you got there, you were all I could think about. And when you got there, all I could think about was getting you the hell out so you’d be safe. But you know what? While I desperately want the madness to end, at the same time I think I would be devastated if it did. What the hell is wrong with me?”

  What she said devastated him. But before he could respond, her cell phone began vibrating on the nightstand.

  Both of them stiffened. She raised up, stared down at him. Her eyes glassed over, and he knew.

  “My boss,” she said, paling again.

  Her tormentor.

  CHAPTER 11

  Le’Ace withdrew from the warmth and firmness of Jaxon’s body. Hardest thing ever. She stood, swiped up her cell from the nightstand, and stalked to the bathroom, kicking the door closed behind her. All without a word.

  Jaxon made no move to stop her. A good thing, too. Vulnerable and raw as she currently felt, she might have clawed him a new eye socket. Now he knew her deepest shame. And yet, his treatment of her hadn’t changed.

  Wait. That wasn’t true. His treatment had changed. From anger to gentleness, almost…tender.

  How could she preserve any distance with him now?

  She’d always wondered how humans fell in love, how they remained emotionally close to each other in this world of chaos and despair, and now she knew. They shared their pasts and showed each other their internal scars, basking in the misguided belief that they’d protect each other from future pain.

  No one can protect me. Not really. Here was proof. She braced her free hand against the cold tile wall and held the phone to her ear with the other. Dread, terror, and resolve beat strong fists inside her chest.

  “Yes,” she said. Neutral tone. Good. She’d play this like she played everything else with Estap. Calm, cool, uncaring. She�
�d been trained well. Only time her training tanked was when Jaxon was involved.

  “You failed,” Estap told her.

  “How so?” I hate you. “I got you closer to answers than anyone else, even though the alien knew who I was the moment he stepped into the bar. He’d been waiting for me, asked for my help.”

  A crackling pause, laden with tension. “I was told the injured A.I.R. agent showed up. Did I or did I not tell you to keep him hidden?”

  “You told me to see to his care and learn his secrets.”

  “Semantics. Why did you allow him to leave the compound?”

  “I underestimated him.” Truth. “Trust me, that will not happen again.”

  A few seconds—an eternity—passed in quiet, the only sound Estap’s even breaths. He did this on purpose, she knew. He wanted her nervous, squirming. Bastard. Satisfaction was not something she’d give him.

  “I think you’re attracted to him,” Estap finally said.

  Her heart skipped a beat. “Please. He’s ugly.” Even uttering the lie was abhorrent to her.

  “You know my thoughts on this matter, Le’Ace. Attraction equals distraction.”

  She didn’t mention that Estap was married, that he often “conferenced” with his secretary, and that every one of his business trips included “decompression” time in his hotel room with an escort. He’d simply point out that he was human, she was not.

  She also didn’t mention that she’d followed him a few times, taken holophotos, and anonymously mailed them to his wife. Not that it had done any good. The wife hadn’t left him.

  “Nothing to say, Le’Ace?”

  “I told you. I’m not attracted to him.” She couldn’t bring herself to call him ugly again.

  “I was told he scared the Schön away,” Estap said, his chastisement clear.