Stolen: A Science Fiction Alien Mail-Order Bride Romance

by Lisa Lace

  Maxine held up a hand to silence the women. Gradually they wound down and grew quiet.

  “We were shot down by an enemy tribe. Women on this planet are scarce. They likely heard that the Apaknor Tribe had made a deal with my company.” She sighed. “I personally vetted the Apaknor Tribe. They are honorable men who are able to provide for your every need. They have rescued you and will take you to your new home. This was not how things were supposed to go, but we are now safe.”

  Zandra fought the urge to correct Maxine. She knew that as long as Maxine was safe, the callous woman considered the day saved, even if most of the transported women had been killed as well as the entire crew of the ship.

  The women, as a group, looked over to the alien men, who stood in a cluster of their own, about twenty feet away. That is a lot of man meat, Zandra thought as she looked at the group of muscle-bound and tattooed alien warriors. Apparently they had been following the matchmaker’s speech.

  One alien—Zandra’s alien—stepped forward. He spoke in Standard.

  “I am Jurgen, chief of the Apaknor,” he said. His voice was deep, his diction refined. “The Saavi Tribe broke the Peace of Erusha. We have wiped out as many of them as possible. We are…pleased at your arrival. We had festivities planned to welcome you. However, when we saw on our radar that the Saavi had attacked your ship, we came as quickly as we could. We will celebrate properly upon our return to the settlement. It is only a few hours away.” He paused.

  The women said nothing.

  He nodded. “Let us see to the injured.” He spoke in the manner of one who expected to be obeyed.

  Maxine stepped forward. “There will be a ship coming for me,” she said.

  Zandra’s ears perked up.

  “Will the Saavi attack that as well?”

  The alien—Jurgen, Zandra reminded herself—turned back to Maxine. “The Saavi are broken and scattered, and we have destroyed their settlement,” Jurgen replied. “You have nothing to fear.”

  The matchmaker nodded, crossing her arms as she walked over to the cave wall, where she lowered herself to the ground and sat in silence. Zandra wondered if she could befriend Maxine—get herself a seat on the ship back to Earth.

  Jurgen had turned back to his tribe. “Check the injured,” he repeated. “I need a group to go hunt.” The men carried out his commands with military precision. It was clear they knew who was expected to do what task. There was neither fumbling nor disagreement. Zandra stood with the other women, none of them seeming to know what to do. They all looked lost.

  “Alright,” she said, clapping her hands. “We should learn names.”

  They nodded.

  “I’m Zandra. I’m from Allston-Brighton, near Boston.”

  Maddie stepped up next. “I’m Maddie. I’m from Southie,” she said. “South Boston.”

  “I’m Clara,” Blondie said. “I’m from Jamaica Plain.”

  “Brice,” the Latina said. “I live…lived in Harvard.”

  “Ashton,” the final woman said. She was tugging on a strand of her long black hair. “I was vacationing in Boston. I’m from Missouri.”

  They were all from the Boston area, Zandra mused.

  “And I am called Auslur,” a muscle-bound alien stepped forward. He seemed a bit older than the others, his gray hair streaked with white. His features were still chiseled, but he had the beginnings of crow’s feet at his eyes.

  “Hey,” Clara replied softly. From the look on her face, she clearly found Auslur a calming presence.

  “I am to see if any of you need medical assistance,” Auslur said kindly. He towered over the women.

  “I’m fine,” Zandra told him. “I just have a few aches and pains.”

  He looked at her. “Where?” he asked. His manner was congenial, but she wanted him to focus on the others.

  “Ribs and shoulder,” she finally muttered.

  “Okay. It is likely that the bones are bruised. We can have our doctor look at you when we return to the settlement,” he told her.

  She nodded with a grateful half-smile. He turned his attention to the others. Zandra stepped away from the group. Things were beginning to settle down in the cave as the aliens went about setting things up for cooking and giving aid to those injured. She noticed Jurgen standing off to the side, his arms crossed as he quietly oversaw the activity.

  She walked over to him. As she approached, he looked at her. He said nothing. She wasn’t sure how to read his glance—it was both human and not human at the same time.

  “Hey,” she said, biting her lip.

  He exhaled and nodded his head. She waited for him to say something, but he just watched her. His gaze was calm, appraising. “I just…I just wanted to thank you…for saving me.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said simply.

  “I’m Zandra,” she said awkwardly. “Zandra Zane.”

  “Jurgen Apaknor,” he replied. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Zandra Zane.”

  “Yes,” she breathed. She looked around the cave, trying to think of something to say. She wasn’t sure she liked how nervous she was, while the large alien beside her seemed cool, calm, and collected. It made her feel off-balance. Stalactites and stalagmites covered the ceiling and floor. They were made of a glowing, glittery stone. “Where are we?”

  “We call it the Border Cave,” he said easily. “It is where we sheltered during the wars. Now that the Peace of Erusha is in effect, we only use it for hunting.”

  Zandra nodded.

  “So, you’re chief,” she said, searching for something to get him to talk. She needed information about where she was so she could begin to find a way out.

  “Yes,” Jurgen replied. He was still looking openly at her, his demeanor still cool, slightly distant.

  She bit her lip, nodding. Was he being difficult on purpose? Hadn’t he and his tribe ordered human women?

  He watched her, mild curiosity on his face, or so she read. Zandra’s eyes traveled back to the ceiling, where the stalactites glittered and glowed a strange bluish color, reminding Zandra of the glow of a cellphone or a television.

  “Bioluminescence,” Jurgen said quietly.

  Zandra nodded. She was surprised he knew scientific terms. He seemed…barbarian. Until you spoke to him. Then you could sense there was a deep intelligence behind his words. It was…sexy. She shook her head. Keep your cool, Z, she reminded herself.

  “Of course,” she replied, realizing her own prejudice. She looked around again. “So, is there anything I can do?”

  Jurgen looked at her, raising an eyebrow. “We have everything handled,” he told her gently.

  “Of course you do,” she mumbled.

  Jurgen laughed, causing Zandra to glare at him. He paused mid-laugh. “We were led to believe that Earth women would need to be taken care of,” he told her. “That was in the agreement with the matchmaking agency.”

  “Well, that’s not me. I’m a doer,” Zandra informed him. “I need things to do. At least until I can return to Earth.”

  He frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean the matchmaking agency kidnapped me. I’m not supposed to be here,” she explained.

  His demeanor darkened. “That’s a crime,” he said.

  Zandra’s heart leapt—she had found a way past Jurgen Apaknor’s defenses.

  “Help me get back home,” she asked in a low voice. She grabbed his arm. It was like stone beneath her fingers. Warm, smooth stone.

  He tensed, seeming taken aback by her touch. She wondered if she was breaking some type of alien taboo. It was a beat before he nodded. His gaze was on her hand. She removed it quickly. He seemed to relax.

  “I will do what I can,” he promised her. “I can ask my technology expert to make contact with authorities on Earth. Until someone comes for you, you are under my protection. I promise.”

  “Thank you,” she said, relief flooding her.

  He merely nodded. Despite his savage appearance, Jurgen seemed…kind
. And smart. And sophisticated. Regal and dangerous at the same time, like a despot, but not a despot at all. If only I wanted to be here, she thought. Jurgen doesn’t seem like a bad choice. But, no. I’m going to get out of here. I’m going to return to Earth…if I can survive the brutality of the planet until the ship comes for Maxine.

  There was a flurry of activity towards the mouth of the cave as the hunters returned with fresh meat. Zandra’s stomach growled. But when the aliens dropped the carcasses with a soft thud, she had a hard realization—there was still fur on the creatures. The aliens began to skin the animals, working quickly and efficiently. She watched as one slid his knife beneath the hide of an animal—it was an unfamiliar creature with blue-gray fur, hooves, and crooked horns. When the alien began to peel the skin back, Zandra’s stomach roiled queasily as blood poured out on the cave floor. There was a soft laugh beside her.

  She turned to Jurgen. “What?” she asked, her voice sharp.

  “Have you never hunted meat before?” he asked.

  “It comes already skinned and carved where I come from,” she informed him coolly.

  He frowned, seemingly perplexed. “I see,” was all he said, his gaze on the meal preparations.

  Zandra glared at him, feeling judged. A tribe member walked over to them. He knelt down before Zandra, holding out a portion of raw meat as blood dripped down his greenish-blue arms.

  “For you,” he said, clearly filled with pride at his ability to provide. “I would claim you as my mate. I am called Aphelion.”

  Zandra just about jumped out of her skin as Jurgen stepped between them, growling and baring his fangs. The younger male’s grin faltered.

  “Zandra is mine,” Jurgen stated, danger lurking in his tone. The other male backed away, leaving the meat behind. Jurgen looked at Zandra, gesturing with his chin in the direction of the meat, which lay on the ground. “You can eat that.”

  “I am not yours,” Zandra fumed. “You just promised to return me to Earth.”

  “I told you that you were under my protection,” Jurgen explained. “That means you are mine until you leave.”

  He walked off, leaving Zandra simmering angrily and staring at the raw, bloody meat. She now doubted her favorable impression of Jurgen. How dare he? she thought.

  Jurgen

  As the suns rose over Erusha’s plains, Jurgen set a grueling pace for his Alpha warriors. He needed to get his people back to the safety of the settlement as quickly as possible. The women, unable to run as fast as the Erushan males, were being carried. The warriors who had been killed or wounded had been packed into the three trucks that had been brought. Zandra clung to Jurgen’s back like a youngling. He could smell the scent of her hair as it blew around his shoulders. It was sweet, feminine, and made his blood race. He didn’t want to betray Lilat, but his body was a traitor—it reacted to Zandra, turning toward her like she was a sun that the planet of his being revolved around.

  Utyi approached him. The scout held his blaster unholstered. He made a sign with his free hand. We are being followed. Jurgen nodded. He raised his free hand, twirling a finger for his warriors to see. Keep your weapons ready. Then he opened his hand, spreading the fingers wide. Danger. He pulled his own blaster.

  “What’s going on?” Zandra’s voice was low, her lips tantalizingly close to his ear. He felt her warm breath against his skin.

  “We are being stalked,” he replied grimly, trying not to betray any hint of his anxiety. Zandra’s legs, which were wrapped around his waist, tightened, and her arms were like a vise at his neck. He felt his manhood stiffen. He exhaled, reminding himself to maintain his cool.

  They were in sight of the Apaknor settlement—it was perhaps two miles away. The land in between was flat. Jurgen made another sign with his hand so the others would know what to do. The enemy was likely to attack at any moment. He pointed toward Zandra, then pointed two fingers in the direction of the settlement in quick motions. Get the females to safety. He raised the hand again, a stop. Then he made a fist. All others remain and fight.

  Just then, there was a war cry—the deep whoop of the Junta Tribe as warriors broke out of their hiding spots. They had dug foxholes in the ground, covering themselves with dirt. Another contingent was running up behind the Apaknor troops. Jurgen picked up his pace, breaking into a sprint. Behind him, the Apaknor Tribe formed a wall, preparing to fight and make a cover for the males carrying the human females.

  The other Alphas carrying human women ran with Jurgen. Behind him, he heard the clash of battle. In front of him, several more Junta exploded from the ground, hidden in more foxholes—a clever trap. Zandra screamed, clutching at him tightly. His body burst into motion, acting entirely out of his well-trained instinct to protect. He pulled his scimitar from its sheath. There was no way he was going to have Zandra in danger. Two Junta warriors bore down on him.

  “Hold tight,” he warned Zandra.

  She said nothing. Her grip was iron as the two Junta neared, blades flashing murderously as they whirled in his direction. Jurgen responded, his scimitar moving rapidly as he parried their assault. He kicked one in the groin. The attacker bent over, gasping in pain. With one momentarily distracted, Jurgen raised his blade to meet that of the other. The metal of his scimitar hissed against the other man’s weapon. He put his whole weight behind his blade, growling as he met the pale, yellow eyes of his opponent. The Junta bared his pointed teeth.

  Jurgen shoved, using all of his considerable strength. The Junta was forced stumbling backwards. Spotting his opening, Jurgen made the most of it, snapping his blade around and slipping it upwards, pushing it into the space between the Junta warrior’s ribs. He pulled his blade out as the warrior gasped, his lungs filling with blood. He kicked the Junta to the ground. Jurgen turned in time to catch the first warrior, who was recovering from the low blow. He began to raise his sword, but Jurgen was faster, swinging his blade and lopping his head from his shoulders. Bright arterial blood sprayed across Jurgen and Zandra. He looked around, seeing that his warriors were easily making their way through the guerilla attack, so he began to sprint for the southern gate.

  As Jurgen ran, he kept his scimitar unsheathed in his hand, just in case. His pulse slowed as he reached the gate, which stood open in anticipation of their arrival. Once inside, he placed Zandra on her feet. He watched her as she looked around. Her face was peppered with the blood of the Junta warrior. Her hair was messy, and she was dressed in a blood-and-dirt-stained white jumpsuit. Deep within him, Jurgen felt a surge of pride in his settlement—it was well-built and obviously cared for. It was a far cry from the ramshackle hovels that the Saavi lived in. He eagerly awaited her response, but her face was impassive. Her eyes traveled his settlement tiredly.

  “What do you think?” he asked at last.

  She shrugged, wincing when she moved her injured shoulder without thinking. He felt deflated.

  “It’s a bit primitive,” she replied. “But clean. It’s clean.” She nodded, then moved off in the direction of the other women, who were being taken to the medical pavilion.

  Jurgen watched her walk away. Deep feelings of disappointment flooded him. How was he to know what would impress her? He had never met anyone like her in his life. Usually, his settlement was met with approbation from delegates of the other tribes of Erusha. Even Maxine had approved, and that woman was near to impossible to please. Zandra both mystified and bewitched him. He shook his head.

  Turning away, Jurgen ran back out of the settlement, where his Alpha males were finishing off their pursuers. He crossed his arms when he saw Aphelion and Mutorn leading the Junta general who had led the attack on the Apaknor. His hands were tied in front of him. They were leading him to Jurgen, who would mete out justice. The general’s eyes were resigned. He held up his chin in defiance. Jurgen knew this warrior would meet his end with honor. He unsheathed his scimitar.

  “Why have the Junta attacked the Apaknor?” Jurgen asked.

  The man looked at him, anger
flashing in his eyes. “The Apaknor have committed an act of war,” the general spat. “Against the Saavi.”

  “The Saavi were the ones to commit an act of war,” Jurgen responded. “By siding with them, you are complicit in their crimes.” He needed to hear nothing more. The Peace of Erusha had been broken, and now sides were being chosen. He raised his blade. The Junta had made their choice. They were now enemies of the Apaknor.

  Zandra

  Zandra sat up and stretched. She had slept late. Her bed was deep and her blankets were thick and soft. She threw her legs over the side of the bed and stood to stretch some more. She wore a soft, gray set of clothes comprised of a short-sleeved top and a pair of formfitting pants. The other beds that lined the bachelorette mansion, as they had come to call it, were empty. She grabbed the workbag she had made for herself and flung it over her shoulder. She pulled some strips of dried, jerky-like meat out of the bag and popped them in her mouth. As she chewed, she padded to the door in her bare feet, pushed open the heavy wooden barrier, and walked outside.

  She looked around. There was a thick wall surrounding the settlement, made of the same dark stone as the buildings. In the distance, she could see mountains, and a forest of dark trees sat about a mile off. In between were the fields where the Apaknor herds grazed and some sort of vegetable garden and orchard had been started recently.

  The weather that day was bright and sunny. There was a cool breeze, which set the purple-green grasses swaying. Maddie, Clara, Brice, Ashton, and Maxine sat outside the bachelorette mansion on the ground in a circle. Three others—Marlene, a brash ex-club promoter from Dorchester; Carly, a quiet, middle-aged high school teacher; and Lily, a bubbly new college grad—had recently recovered and were sitting with them. Six women still lay in comas in the medical pavilion. Maxine was at the center of the circle. She was the only one not working on anything…Maxine merely lectured.

  “Marriage on Erusha consists of a ritual where the male must prove to his chosen female that he is strong enough to protect her and their children,” she pontificated loudly. “Strong children are highly valued here. Strong boys, are valued in particular, as they need to grow powerful enough to advance from the status of Beta males to Alpha warriors.”