MILITARY ROMANCE: The War Within Himself (Alpha Bad Boy Marine Army Seal) (Contemporary Military Suspense & Thriller Romance)

by Claire Branson

  He pursed his lips. “I don’t have that kind of capability.”

  “I thought everyone did!”

  Marak just shook his head, his jaw set and his gaze growing tighter and tighter. His sapphire irises shifted back and forth as if he was trying to read something, and yet nothing made any sense. “You can’t move a ship all on your own.”

  “Yes, I can!” Lacey barged through the cockpit, determined to do something useful.

  “If you tap into this energy like this, you’ll kill yourself!”

  “You’re not my dad!” she yelled back at him as she made her way up into the observatory. It was the best view she could find to use to direct them back down.

  “How are you going to navigate?”

  “I know the precise energies of my car. I spend almost all my time inside it. I’ll use that as a target.”

  “Lacey!” He grabbed her arm.

  “No!” She turned to face him. “You can’t talk me out of this! I will not die alone in space!”

  With that, she turned back to the large window. She stared at the stars until she couldn’t see them anymore. Then she shut her eyes and she listened. A force like a white wave slammed into her every orifice, captured every cell of her body, and ossified her.

  She could only manage one massive push before her body gave in.

  She had no way of knowing if she was falling, or if the entire space ship was.

  ***

  Marak stared down at Lacey’s sleeping body. After that whole stint with the spaceship, he’d had to rush her to the settlement so that he could use the commander and his physician’s help to save her life. Now all three of them stood in his bedroom. Since a hospice had not been built, it was the best place to keep her.

  “You presented your case?” The commander asked, his eyes trained on her.

  Marak gazed at her still body, at the curve of her lip, and the furrow of that critical brow of hers.

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  “She refused.” The words broke his own heart.

  “You know what you have to do.”

  Marak nodded. He had known it was coming, but even as he sent the command from his head to his foot, he just couldn’t make himself move.

  “Marak?”

  “I don’t think I can.”

  “You know how important discretion is to this mission and to our kind.”

  Marak nodded. All of those words made sense to him, and yet they meant nothing to him. “Yes.”

  “You know that to refuse a command from me is to refuse the will of Kahara.”

  “She wouldn’t want me to do it.”

  “What difference will it make to her?”

  Marak stared at her one last time. He tried to bring himself to move, but he couldn’t do it. This was important to her, and he needed to honor it and her. Even if she didn’t want him, even if she could never return his favor, even if he knew the commander would do it anyway, he just couldn’t let her go.

  The commander gave a curt nod. “You will be reprimanded for this.”

  But Marak hardly looked at him. He had eyes only for Lacey, who stirred as if she was waking up.

  ***

  Lacey’s eyes flickered open to the sight of a tall man wearing what looked like war decorations on a military jacket. He leaned over her, his hand hovering over her forehead. Her heart soared into overdrive as she glanced around the room.

  There he was, Marak, standing just off in the back corner, his head bowed. It took her less than a second to realize what was happening. There were three Kaharan men in the room and only one of her, so there was no question that she would be forced.

  “Marak?” Her voice sounded so small in that room.

  But he shot up anyway.

  They locked eyes, her gold ones with his sapphire ones.

  A feeling like burning rose petals shot through her whole body. Goosebumps sprouted on her skin.

  She gulped and then glanced at the commander. “Don’t do this. I don’t want to lose him.”

  As she said this, she saw Marak take a step toward her.

  The commander narrowed his eyes. “That isn’t an option. Close your eyes and relax.”

  “No!” She shot up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. “I don’t just mean in my head.” She kept her eyes locked on Marak. His stare grounded her as she made her way toward him.

  “I mean at all. This is real. I can’t lose you without losing myself.”

  Marak’s eyes went wide as she wrapped her arms around him.

  The commander cleared his throat. “Well. I am glad you came around. I’ll give you a moment while Turen and I discuss the particulars.”

  With that, the commander and his physician cleared out, shutting the door behind them.

  Marak’s chest rose and fell with one breath. “What changed your mind?”

  Lacey burrowed her face into that stupid turtleneck sweater of his. “Nothing. My mind was always set. I’m just finally embracing it.”

  Epilogue

  “All right, this is it. I think we’re finally ready.”

  Lacey watched Marak poke his head around their bedroom door through her mirror. A gasp leapt out from between her lips. “No way! I’m not ready!”

  Marak set his jaw, stepping all the way inside the room. “What do you mean? The commander is landing in three minutes.”

  “Relax!” Lacey said in a shaky voice as she went rummaging through her things for her favorite pair of earrings. She had thus far refused to move in with Marak, demanding that they go at a normal pace if they were going to stay together.

  But Marak impatiently tapped his snow boots.

  “Okay!” she exclaimed when she had finally made herself presentable. She took his hand.

  By the time he had managed to lead her outside, Turen and their collection of carpenters and builders had gathered outside as well. Lacey gazed up at the town hall she had helped Marak design and build. It was the best work either of them had ever created.

  They made a good team.

  A sharp wind caught Lacey’s attention. She turned just in time to watch the space shuttle touch down. They were greeting the commander for the last time.

  “It’s move-in day all over again,” Lacey said, giving Marak’s hand a squeeze.

  He tilted his head enough just to answer her. “I have no idea what that is.”

  Lacey laughed at this, her eyes trained on his escort as they exited the craft first. “Oh boy. Here goes nothin’.”

  THE END

  Enslaved by the Alien Lord

  Kahara Lords

  Book 8

  (Can be read as a standalone book)

  By: Lindsay Blanc

  Enslaved by the Alien Lord

  Chapter One

  Tarys ached all over. He lifted his right arm but something pulled against him. The burning in the pit of his stomach seeped up through his chest and down his limbs. They tingled with thick blood. He tried lifting his arm again. This time it was easier, but he trembled. His muscles rattled over his bones.

  He opened his eyes to a dark sky dotted with stars. He sat up, ignoring the pain in his abdomen. He licked his chapped lips.

  The air smelled different.

  He tried to remember everything about the last time they had been open. There were fires raging through his small village. Fear had gripped in his heart because they had been found out.

  But when the humans showed up with their torches and their crosses, they had it all wrong. Not aliens, witches. Tarys didn’t even really understand what a witch was and why they hated them so much.

  But they came for him and his family.

  They destroyed everything.

  Tarys climbed his way through the roots and dirt towards the surface he knew he would eventually find. He had dug himself this grave, hoping that one day he would wake up to a more peaceful time.

  Once he resurfaced, he glanced around him, following the hodgepodge noise of civilization u
ntil the dirt turned hard, pavement. He pressed his bare feet onto it, wincing at the warm, rough surface.

  He started walking.

  Dread seeped from the back of his head as he realized that he wasn’t in Salem anymore…and this wasn’t the sixteen hundreds. Even if his friends and family had survived the Purge, they would have all been dead.

  He arrived in a heavily lit area. He stared wide-eyed at the light poles and transportation devices that largely resembled what he remembered from his home planet. It had taken the humans nearly four hundred years, but they had finally caught up.

  “Hey.”

  He glanced up to find a group of four people standing on the edge of the street. He cocked his head at their clothes, but the glint of metal in their hands told him he shouldn’t trifle with them. So he bowed his head and kept walking.

  “Yo, asswipe!” one of the men barked as they took him by the arm.

  He stopped. “Is it I that you speak to?”

  A man with spikey hair and a knife lodged in between the fingers on his right hand cocked his head to the side. “The fuck?”

  Another, hidden in the shadows, mimicked him. Spiked Hair shoved him. “

  “I mean you no trouble.” Tarys massaged the sting in his shoulder.

  A man with a fire-red sweater gave him a quick nod. “Yeah? Then give me your necklace.”

  Tarys glowered at the man, his hand flying to his chest. “No.”

  “You got leverage?” Spiked Hair said.

  Tarys stared down the length of his sharp nose at the congregation of common criminals. He watched them fidget, their bodies like snakes. “I don’t bargain with people like you.”

  Spiked Hair laughed, his cackling sound echoing through the night. “People like us? What are you? Some fuckin’ Jesus type?”

  Tarys heard the distinct sound of a weapon being prepared. He looked up just in time to see one of the men point a gun right at him. He counted them one more time. Four men. Eight arms. Eight legs. Four weapons.

  One Tarys.

  One medallion.

  “So what’s it gonna be?” Spiked Hair gained on him. “That pretty little necklace, or your nut sack?” He flipped the knife in his hand.

  That medallion was the only piece of Kaharan metal in his possession. It had been a gift from his wife on the day of their desmoirie, blessed by the elders and confirmed by her parents. Now, his entire family had died off along with the first and only Kaharan colony on Earth. Tarys had always thought his unique affinity for herbs and medications, to which he owed his survival, was a blessing. Now, four hundred years later, confused and alone, it felt more like a curse. So, as far as Tarys was concerned, he didn’t really have a choice.

  He couldn’t help but to smirk at the ill-informed man. “Seeing as you can’t handle a piece like this, I’ll just have to offer up my—what did you call it?—nut sack.”

  Another man called, “You know that’s your balls, right?”

  Spiked Hair reached out for Tarys, his hand curled into a fist.

  Tarys dodged this blow and threw one of his own. One quick calculation and he landed his fist right in the man’s face. The next man came around the back of him and gripped him around the waist. Tarys slammed his bare foot into Spiked Hair’s chest.

  There it was, the blessed crack of the ribs.

  He had no time to revel in this triumph before the man that held him drove a knife into his torso.

  Spiked Hair cackled and writhed around on the ground, but his colleague stepped over him and trained the gun at Tarys’s face. Tarys bit his lip, grunting at the pain seeping throughout his abdomen. In one sweep, he stretched himself, kicking the gun out of the man’s hand before catching it in one of his.

  The man that held him ripped the knife back out of his torso.

  Tarys howled in pain, his blood splattering on the pavement and the dirt. Tarys acted without thinking, lifting the gun over his head and pointing it at the man’s face.

  One.

  Two.

  He pulled the trigger, hoping it functioned like he thought it did. The sheer force of the gun threw the man back and yanked Tarys with him. His skull hit the pavement with a hard thunk. With a ringing head, he sat up, pushing through the pain because he knew there were two other men he had to take care of.

  He trained his gun right at the two of them, but with nothing more than a knife and a crowbar, they knew better than to try to match him, so they scurried off. He dropped the gun before limping off.

  He had walked nearly half a mile when his coughing started to get more and more intense. The hacking echoed through the night and left blood splatters in his wake. He knew he wouldn’t make it far, and part of him wondered if he was going to survive this at all. But he kept walking anyway. The night grew lighter above him just when he started to see little houses separated by tracks of land.

  Tarys knew he would be safe there. He turned into the small community as a plan struck him. He dropped down onto all fours, the strain on his back and side far too much. He had grown lightheaded, the images blurring all around him. Suddenly the simple act of taking a breath was far too much for him to bare.

  He stumbled into the yard of something that looked like a small cottage, flowers towering all around him. The sweet scent almost brought a smile to his face. That is, before he collapsed entirely.

  He had already started to doze off when he remembered the last, yet most important, part of his plan: an enslavement charm. He squeezed his eyes shut and hoped to the gods that he had enough energy in him to do this correctly. He called on his own life force, feeling it ooze through the pores of his skin, letting it drive him to the point of no return.

  Sweat sprouted on his forehead as he did this, grunts slipping out of his lips until, finally, it happened. He felt the seal cover him like a layer of petroleum jelly ready to slip off onto the next person that touched him.

  Chapter Two

  Oh Tom Hiddleston. Moire sighed, her back arching, her neck stretching. A pulsating warmth had gripped her in the space between her legs and had dragged her to the moon and back. She imagined his voice, that adorable accent, that amazing lilt.

  Her right hand cupped her bare breast, her nipple falling in between her fingertips as she shoved her left middle finger into her cunt. The wetness spilled out under her, her own moans filling her bedroom as she thought of what it might feel like to have a man pressed down on top of her, to have his hands exploring the surface of her body, to have his penis shoved in her over and over again.

  She grasped the rail of her headboard with her free hand. She shoved another finger inside her and then another, feeling around for that special spot. She bit her lip so hard it drew blood as her eyes rolled back and she climaxed.

  She lay there for a little longer, the latent spasms coiling through her womanhood and down her legs. Then, when even that had faded away, she sat up, a little calmer than before, and opened her diary. It was a bright morning in Boston with spring well under way, but that only meant her job would get that much harder.

  So it was with great reluctance that she climbed out of bed and made her way to the bathroom, her shoulders hunched over and her gaze cast down. She stood barefoot on her plush rug and winced at herself, her face still flushed from her morning activities and her pixie hair distributed wildly around her face. She pulled at the short strands, a familiar thought coming to her head. Her hair had been her life, her signature. At multiple feet, it had flowed down her back, but she’d cut it all off. With cancer, what else was one to do?

  She ran a toothbrush through her teeth and pulled on her favorite pair of overalls a light wash style that hid the awkward, boyishness of her body, before heading down the hall to the kitchen. A smile played at her lips at the strong scent of the legions of flowers she had placed all over her kitchen. They shone brighter than she ever could. It was a perk of the job, never being the center of attention.

  As she watched the coffee brew, she clicked on her voicemail machine
…

  “Moire Brendan. Where the hell have you been? I have been calling you for two hours straight! We need to meet up immediately to talk about these roses. I can’t afford long stems for the entire reception hall, but I just don’t see an alternative. You have to help me. Now!”

  Moire frowned. Weddings were her money, but she hated them more than a person hated cockroaches. Long stems. How quaint. How cliché. She fingered her lilacs, listening to the air flow from its leaves as she shook her head. Flowers were like women: No one cared to look unless they looked like the cover of a magazine.

  She poured a cup of coffee and went out to her garden for some inspiration. The garden It was a mix of wild and planned, the flowers her artistic children who disregarded their lines in every sense of the word.

  As she surveyed, something caught her eye. She peered at the massive hole in her field of vision. Something had fallen into her garden overnight. She gulped, making her way through her flowers, her house shoes drenched in the moist dirt.

  It wasn’t long before she came upon a mound of…of man. A small voice in the back of her head told her not to go. This voice of reason explained to her that it would make more sense to call the police or something. That would be safer…for her.

  But what about him? What if he needed help? What would happen to him if the police came and took him away? The closer she got, the safer she felt. So, she kept walking. She leaned over him, but he looked like he was barely breathing.

  She jumped at the sight of blood all in her dirt. He had such a lithe, delicate frame. The furrow of his brow made him look like he had dropped into slumber only after laboring over a complex math problem. Who knew?

  She cradled her oversized cup of coffee in one hand and reached down toward him with the other. She just wanted to get a tiny look at his wound, just to see if it was really serious, like she would know the difference.

  So she reached down toward him and plucked the jagged edge of his tunic, part of her wondering if anyone even still wore those. She pulled it back, reveling at his smooth, olive skin but wincing at what looked like a painful knife wound. She gulped just as a bee went flying over her head.