ALIEN ROMANCE: Captivated by the Alien Lord (Alien Invasion Abduction SciFi Romance) (Kahara Lords Book 7)

by Blanc, Lindsay

  It shimmers and hovers. It gathers. And then, suddenly, just as I am expecting that nothing else will happen, it condenses.

  “Aurelius!”

  It is her. At least, it is her form. It pulses and glows, as insubstantial as the mist. I strain to reach it. My heart aches.

  Then, the sparks of light pull together and are gone, and the warm, soft form of a girl stands before me, as natural as if she had just walked in through the door.

  “Aurelius? My love?”

  “Kiryla!” My heart feels as if it will burst.

  My arms find her waist and wrap around it. Her body is against mine. And, suddenly, the flesh knows its urgency and its desire.

  I am still so weak. I find myself laughing, if a little hysterically, as my wasted body teeters backward, far too weak for anything at all.

  I notice suddenly in that moment that my form has changed. I am in human form again. No wonder I feel so weak! I have never shifted so soon. Have never had the motivation, I suppose. I have it now.

  “Shall we go outside?” She smiles at me. “The sunshine will help us to get stronger.”

  I nod, fervently agreeing.

  “Come, then.”

  We walk out of the cave together, into the light of the spring morning.

  We spend each day together, and each night we sleep, sated, in each other’s arms.

  Each winter and each spring we change and transform back. And with all you know, we may be here forever. Life is cyclic, after all. And hearts eternal.

  THE END

  Love in Alpha Biker Territory

  A Biker Romance Collection

  I-Beauty and the Biker

  II-Wanted by my Biker Stepbrother

  III-Taken by the Alpha Biker 1

  IV-Taken by the Alpha Biker 2

  V-Taken by the Alpha Biker 3

  VI-Protected by the Alpha Biker

  Surrender to the Alpha Publishing

  Beauty and the Biker

  Love on a Two-Way Street

  Love on A Two-Way Street

  Chapter 1

  On any given day, I could expect to go home with snot, urine, and tears soaked into my clothes, having been touched by at least thirty pairs of hands.

  Such is the life of a kindergarten teacher.

  I had known from a young age that I wanted to teach children. Both of my parents were schoolteachers, so it made sense. Furthermore, growing up in a small, rural town, I didn’t see many opportunities to spread my wings. Once I accepted that teaching was the right path for me, it seemed pointless to question it, to rock the boat. I liked teaching. I loved it, really. But deep inside, there might have been some part of me that wondered what life would be life if I had ventured out and tried something different.

  We were nearing the end of the school year and on Friday, as with every Friday, my three girlfriends and I washed the child-residue off, put on our favorite unprofessional clothes, and hit the bars for Happy Hour. On this night, we were at The Bandit, a favorite of ours because it had cheap drinks and good music. It was a biker bar, full of rough-and-tumble men and their girlfriends. Most of the time they minded their business, choosing to play pool instead of bother anybody.

  “I am almost positive that Sean is gay,” said Meredith. We all worked at the same school, so we mostly gossiped about students and coworkers. The topic of students’ homosexuality was common. We had a running list of kids we thought would grow up to favor their own kind.

  “Definitely,” said another friend. “I just worry about him when he gets older and figures it out. His parents are so conservative. I think they go to church every day.”

  “Well, in any case,” Meredith said, “he’s a good argument against people choosing to be gay. He doesn’t even know what it is, but he does it better than most of my adult gay friends. He could write a book on it, once he finally learns his damned alphabet.”

  I liked to think I was the least catty of the group. The girls loved to talk about who in the office had body odor or a nice butt or bad dishwashing habits in the teacher’s lounge. I worried that it meant they talked about me when I wasn’t there. They were harsh enough when I joined them.

  “The real subject we need to discuss,” Meredith said, switching gears from work-based conversation, “is finally getting Lauren laid.”

  “Meredith, stop. I don’t want to talk about that again,” I said. They brought it up every time we went out. Kindergarten teachers, as a rule, loved to drink, cuss, and fuck. All of the pent-up energy from being G-Rated all the time needed a release, after all, and they couldn’t stand that I pretty much lived my teacher life outside of school too.

  “Come on, girl. You need to loosen up eventually,” Rachel said, teasing but serious. “For God’s sake, you’re drinking a virgin margarita. I know you’re horny, and I know you get mad sometimes. One of these days all of that pent up anger and sexuality is going to burst out at once, and I’m telling you, it won’t be pretty.”

  “I’m telling you, I’m fine.” I was tired of having this conversation every time we went out. “Just because I’m not with a different guy every Friday night doesn’t mean I am repressed.”

  “Ooh, where did this bitchy side come from?” Meredith gasped with laughter. “Rachel’s right. That anger is showing. You’ve got to loosen up”

  The harder they pushed me, the more stubborn I felt. In truth, I did want a man in my life, and I did have my fair share of unresolved frustration. My parents, both of whom taught young kids, persisted in treating me like a child, even when I moved out and became a teacher myself. The difference here was that I wanted to decide when I found the right guy. I didn’t want the girls to make the decision for me.

  By the end of the night, Meredith and Rachel had gone home with their chosen men. The other left early because she coached girls’ soccer on Saturday mornings. I was still at the bar, staring into a bowl of pretzels and wondering if they all had a point. I wondered if I should just get it all out of my system.

  I wasn’t a virgin—at least not in the technical sense. Some teenaged fumbling in the shed behind my church with a neighbor boy had gotten me past that hurdle, however unpleasant it was. Considering the splinters and the usual pitfalls of associating with teenage boys, that experience was so awkward and uncomfortable that it didn’t send me running to find my way into another boy’s bed.

  In the meantime, I was perfectly satisfied to take matters into my own hand, as it were. Watching my friends deal with all of their relationship drama helped me reach the conclusion that boyfriends simply weren’t worth the complications.

  I was gracelessly shoving a handful of pretzels into my mouth when I noticed that I was no longer sitting at the bar alone. I turned slowly to my right, cheeks full of dissolving junk food like a squirrel watching the Super Bowl. To my right, smiling amusedly at my state, was the most statuesque biker I had ever seen.

  I had noticed him before. Actually, in all honesty, I noticed him every time we came here. His height dwarfed most of the other bikers, and his shoulders were almost broad enough that he had to walk sideways through doors. His narrow waist gave him that upside-down triangle shape that men are supposed to have, or so I was told in my high school art class.

  All told, his magnificent physique managed to make him much less intimidating than he should have been. With arms, neck, and hands covered in tattoos and steel-enforced boots that elevated him even more, the man was an imposing presence. I was intimidated, but intrigued.

  “Settle a bet,” he said. “Would you call your hair strawberry-blonde?”

  It was only when he spoke that I realized I had been staring at him like an imbecile and with my mouth still full of soggy pretzels.

  I choked as I tried to swallow, which threw me into an awful coughing fit. He patted my back forcefully with a hand as big as a catcher’s mitt.

  “Easy there,” he said, “Let me order you a drink.” He turned to the bartender. “Whiskey here, Ron!”

  The barte
nder slid a glass of the brown liquor at my helper.

  When he handed me the drink, I refused, using body language because I was still coughing.

  “Here, Ron. Do you know what she was drinking before? Give me one of those.” He passed the drink back to the bartender.

  The bartender knew my drink well because I only ever ordered the virgin daiquiris. He usually rolled his eyes as though it were beneath him to make a fruity drink.

  My intimidating hero handed me the daiquiri, and I managed to calm my fits of hacking. When I finally settled, the embarrassment of it all set in, and I was grateful that the bar was too dark to betray my blushing.

  “There you go. Better? What’s your name, darlin’?” he said, his hand still on my back.

  “Lauren,” I said, unable to make eye contact.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lauren. I’m Mike.”

  My hand all but disappeared in his as I gave a feeble handshake.

  “So, as I was asking before, what color is your hair?”

  I couldn’t tell if he was flirting, but I knew my girlfriends would think the question qualified. My face grew hotter. “I guess . . . yeah . . .strawberry blonde.”

  “Ha! I thought so. Hey Scut!” He shouted to one of his friends, all of whom had apparently been dividing their attention between their pool game and this encounter. “It is strawberry blonde! You owe me a drink. While you’re at it, get the little lady one too.” He turned back to me. “How about we get you a real drink. You’ve looked like you need one all night, and these fruity things aren’t gonna do the trick.”

  “I . . .guess?” I was failing miserably at seeming cool and confident.

  “Ron, I’ll take that whiskey from before, and let me get a fresh one for Lauren here.”

  Mike gulped his down all at once, but I nearly resumed my coughing fit when I sipped just a little.

  “Lightweight, huh? That’s fine. Take your time. I’d hate to have you head home just as we’re starting to get acquainted. Tell me about yourself, Lauren.”

  “Well, there’s not much to say, really. I guess I’m pretty boring, hehe.” Inside, I was screaming at myself to at least try to be attractive to this muscular, handsome man, but my mouth wasn’t taking orders. “I grew up here. I’m a kindergarten teacher. That’s pretty much it.”

  “Aw, c’mon,” he said. “I’m sure there’s more to you than that. What do you do for fun, other than gossip with your lady-friends?”

  Don’t say it, don’t say it, I thought to myself. “Knitting?”

  He’d better be careful, I thought. I might be a little too much for him to handle.

  “Oh god,” I said. “I told you I’m not interesting!”

  “Bullshit,” he said, laughing at my embarrassment. “That’s plenty interesting. I’m sure that comes in handy. I have to sew my gear all the time. Plenty of fights and the occasional motorcycle skid mean that I’m always patching up my clothes. I’m sure that’s why you knit too, right? A few too many torn sweaters from all your rough-housing?” He winked.

  Coming from someone else, such teasing would have hurt. But he wasn’t mean-spirited at all. There was too much warmth, too much compassion in his voice, for me to do anything but smile and say, “I guess so.”

  I found myself growing more comfortable, more self-assured as the conversation drew on. Eventually, I felt more confident and more open than I ever felt around my girlfriends, who really did most of the talking for me.

  “Mike?” I said, stepping further out of my comfort zone, facilitated not only by liquor but by Mike’s open, accepting personality. “That doesn’t sound like much of a biker name. No offense.”

  “My friends over there call me Ox, but I think they just do that because they always ask me to help when it’s time to move apartments or fix a bike. I like to work with my hands, to do physical work. So, it fits, but I’m happy with my given name.”

  “Is that what you do for a living? Fix bikes and stuff?”

  I could tell he got a little tense at the question. His shoulders raised slightly, and he pursed his lips. “Well, I guess you could say I’m between jobs right now. You said you were a kindergarten teacher, right?”

  “Yeah. It sounds kind of lame, but I really like it. Hanging out with the kids all day helps me to get my own problems in perspective.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, for example, the other day one of my kids, Maggie, was distraught because I couldn’t find a crayon the color she wanted. She was drawing a picture of her family and their house, and she was inconsolable that I didn’t have a crayon that she wanted for her dad’s outfit. I thought it was silly, but to her it was a real problem. It pretty much ruined her whole day. When she came back the next day, she seemed fine, but the whole incident helped me to get a little more perspective on my own problems. They all seem so real and so awful to me, but in the scheme of things, they’re probably not much more important than not having the right crayon.”

  I noticed that, while I was growing more comfortable, he seemed to be growing tenser, more removed. He kept looking at the door.

  “What school did you say you work at?”

  “It’s called East Ridge. It’s just up the road.”

  “I see,” he said, more withdrawn than ever. “Hey, I’ve got to get going, but I want you to take my number. I’d like to see you again, if you’re interested.”

  “Sure,” I said, giddy at being asked but confused by his sudden distance. “Is everything OK?”

  “Fine, fine. I just see my friends are itching to head home. It’s been great, Lauren. I hope to talk to you again soon.”

  “Yeah,” I said, feeling disappointed and mildly defeated, having opened up more than I had with anyone in recent memory. “It’s been really great.”

  He went back to his friends and whispered something to Scut, who looked at me and then at the rest of the group. They abandoned their half-finished game of pool and left on their bikes.

  I walked the short distance home wishing that Mike was there with me, holding my tiny hand in his enormous one. I imagined that I was wearing his leather jacket instead of my cardigan. I thought about how much safer I would feel with someone like him to look out for me, to hold me, to defend me.

  Most of all, I marveled at how easy it was for me to take risks with him. Despite his size dwarfing mine, I somehow felt stronger around him, like I could sit up straighter and look people in the eye. Paradoxically, his intimidation made me braver. I wanted to call him. I wanted him to come home with me. I wanted to talk until morning, to get lost in his embrace. Ironic as it was, though, I worried I may have scared him off.

  Chapter 2

  “How long did you stick around after we left, Lauren? You looked super mopey. I was worried about you.”

  Meredith and I had the same planning period, which we spent in the teacher’s lounge, surrounded by piles of unclaimed copies and soiled coffee cups.

  “I stayed until close, more or less.”

  “Really? That was hours? Were you just sitting there with your face in the pretzels that whole time? You should have brought a book or something, you sad-sack.”

  Meredith was probably my closest friend of the bunch, but she had a funny way of expressing affection.

  “Actually . . .” I wasn’t sure if I should share the details of my time with Mike. It didn’t want to jinx it, and I didn’t want to make a big deal of nothing. “I spent that time talking with someone.”

  “Someone, huh? Wait, you mean with a guy? What! That’s great, Lauren. Who is he? Tell me everything! Did you fuck him?”

  I jumped to close the door. Kids were filing in and out of classrooms in the hallway, and Meredith had no censor when she was in the lounge, even when little one’s were within earshot. “No! No. We just talked. We talked for a really long time. It was nice.”

  “Well? Who is he? Out with it.”

  “He’s one of the guys who frequent that place. I’ve seen him there before. His name
’s Mike. Oh, but his friends call him Ox! Can you believe it?” I was unable to hide my enthusiasm. Meredith, on the other hand, had turned pale.

  “Mike? Ox? Is he the huge guy with the tattoos?”

  “That’s him! He’s so handsome!” I’m sure I looked like a preteen girl discussing her favorite boy band member.

  “That’s true. But Lauren. Listen. I’m sorry to burst your bubble, but you can’t see that guy anymore.”

  “What? Why?”

  “That guy is dangerous. Those bikers aren’t hobbyists. They’re a gang, and he is, like, the leader. I thought you would know that. He’s pretty much a local celebrity. Don’t you remember when he was on the news a couple years ago?”

  It was my turn to go pale. I felt the blood rush from my face into my stomach, which grew hot and nauseated. “That must be someone else.” I said, knowing that I was wrong.

  “Look, this guy right?” She turned her laptop around, showing me a mug-shot of Mike. He was younger looking, even though the picture was taken only two years ago.

  “What was he arrested for?” I asked, knowing I didn’t want to hear the answer.

  “Let’s see . . .” She was reading over what must have been a pretty impressive rap sheet. The longer she took, the deeper my stomach sank and the higher my heart moved into my throat.

  “You ready?” she asked. I nodded. “OK. Robbery. Breaking and entering. Carrying an unlicensed firearm. Possession with intent to distribute. Indecent exposure. Assault with a deadly weapon. Grand-theft auto. Resisting arrest. Attempted murder. And . . . failure to yield to a stop sign. That’s the most recent one.”

  My head began to ache. It felt big and heavy. “When did all this happen?”

  “It looks like this was all years ago. Except for the stop sign thing. I guess he spent time in jail.”

  “I’m sure he did.” I couldn’t believe that this was real. It seemed like such a cosmic joke that, when I finally connected with a guy, he would be a criminal. Maybe my friends were right. Maybe my good behavior meant I had too much negativity stored up. Maybe Mike was a way for me to come face to face with all of the trouble and anger I’d avoided throughout my life. Or maybe not. Maybe he was a handsome man who was genuinely kind to me and listened to me in a way that no one had before.