Stolen: A SciFi Alien Warlord Romance

by Alison Aimes

“And even if Lady Aurora did somehow see the Warlord,” said another, “how do we know he is the thief? He could have just been walking about the grounds.”

  “He is half Martian though,” volunteered Lady Sutherton, as if that bit of information confirmed his criminal propensities.

  “A heathen capable of anything,” added another.

  “Actually, Lady Hamilton is right.” Finally, Aurora was able to cut in. “The male I saw was just—”

  “If Warlord Volkan is involved, I will find out.” Lady Everly cut in without apology. “Thank you, Lady Aurora. You’ve been most helpful.”

  A sick feeling wormed through her stomach. “I really don’t think it’s wise to leap to any kind of rash judgment. I’m fairly certain that male I saw was not the one you’re referring to,” she lied.

  It was too late. No one heard her. They were too busy rushing after their leader, Lady Everly.

  “Where are we going?” Lady Hamilton’s excitement was palpable as she caught up with her friend. “The ballroom is the other direction.”

  “I am going to see if Warlord Volkan is still lurking about.”

  “But what if Lady Aurora is right and he is the thief? What will you do then?”

  Lady Everly’s gaze turned predatory. “Demand compensation, of course. In the bedroom.”

  A shocked gasp from Lady Sutherton and then the whole bunch surged forward, leaving Aurora in the hall alone.

  Bile burned at the back of her throat.

  In a moment of panic, shame, and spite, she’d turned those vipers loose on an innocent male. Were he still alive, her gentle father would be horrified.

  Her hand brushed her thigh, the pads of her finger tracing the outer edge of the stolen necklace. It had seemed a heavy burden before. Now, it felt light, insubstantial, and unbearably fragile.

  Because the fact was her father wasn’t alive. None of her family was.

  There was no one to help—or to judge her. She was on her own.

  What she’d done wasn’t right, but there was nothing she could do about it now. Plus, someone like the notorious DaKar Volkan could weather the consequences of such speculation far better than she would if she was discovered. Blessed with wealth, position, and the freedom that came from being a male, he probably had no idea of what it was like to be afraid or helpless.

  Wrong. A voice from deep inside her objected. She squelched it immediately.

  Surely a man bold enough to rut in someone else’s gardens wouldn’t even care about such a rumor. Perhaps he really had killed a man over a foolish insult or eaten his enemies’ eyeballs for breakfast. Were her misdeeds so bad in light of that?

  No. She refused to let it be so.

  Back straight, she marched toward the crowded section of the ballroom where her stepfather waited. She couldn’t let what had happened tonight hamper her plans.

  Whatever was necessary. She’d do whatever she had to do to get away.

  6

  DaKar strode to the top of the grand staircase that led to the main ballroom. He hadn’t attended an élithe party in decades, but the cloying smells of too much piped-in perfume, over-the-top decadence, and unwashed, perspiring bodies crashed over him with unwelcome familiarity. The fluorescent, glittery flashes of color that splashed on the walls and floor in random intervals only added to his sense of disorientation.

  Then, the weight of a hundred stares slammed into him as the mass of attendees noted his arrival and the familiar itch between his shoulder blades grew even more pronounced.

  All talk halted, then recommenced at a roar. Business as usual.

  Reoriented, he kept his grin to himself—and not just because of his fangs. He’d been back on Earth for seven lunar rotations seeing to his estates in the eastern sector, but his old cohorts only just seemed to be coming to terms with the fact that he was reinserting himself into their lives.

  He wondered what his mother would think. According to the diary vids she’d left behind, this planet and its people had called her back time and again. Gentle and kind, she’d wanted to help the non-élithes struggling to live here. A worthy goal that had brought her into contact with his sire and ultimately destroyed her dreams and her life.

  Now it was up to him to finish her work.

  He strode down the almost nonexistent staircase, the tiny steps a challenge for his big feet. Juno help him, he preferred the flat terrain of open-concept homes on Mars and Phobos. Now there was a place he could move about freely.

  Scowling at each miniscule step, he reached the bottom and cut through the crowd, trying not to laugh out loud at the way the other guests scattered at his approach—as if they expected him to start throwing punches any moment. If he were home, he might have. Martian parties were known for being a lot rougher—and a lot more fun. But this was Earth and like the Big Bad Wolf in those fairy tales of old, he was trying to appear harmless enough to be let into their imagined safe haven—until he could rip them to shreds with his fangs.

  For fun, he let one low growl slip past his lips.

  The crowd gave him an even wider berth.

  He was battling a wave of nostalgia when he felt her. His voyeur.

  Skin heating, he swiveled to bring her in sight. She was maneuvering through the worst of the crush. Alone. From the way her eyes flitted back and forth, she appeared to be looking for someone.

  The primal instincts inside him roared to be set free, fire curling at the base of his cocksto and gripping his balls in a red-hot grip.

  Damn mating heat. He breathed through it.

  Up close she was even more magnificent. Her features—surrounded by that stunning halo of golden hair—delicate and fine, while the succulent tits and full hips beneath her sleek, shimmering ball gown were far more profane. To top it all off, her cool demeanor shouted stay away. Which, of course, had him howling to hunt.

  Warlords loved a good chase—and the benefits of the surrender that came after.

  “Volkan.” A deep voice sounded behind him. “I take it from the makeup on your collar you’ve waded straight into trouble per usual.”

  He swiveled around to find Sebastian Anderson Grayson, Executive of the Western sectors one through five—and one of the few élithe he genuinely liked. Despite the male’s corporate holdings and pale Earther skin, he had a Martian spirit, his ruthlessness and blunt honesty not at all typical of an élithe. He was also almost as tall and thickly built as a Warlord, another point in the man’s favor.

  “Grayson.” DaKar seized the Executive’s hand in a warm grip while tapping his chest with the two fingers of his other hand, the Martian greeting of respect. “It has been awhile. How are you?”

  “Well enough.” His friend mirrored his greeting, drumming his chest with his usual brisk efficiency. “Just recently returned from a United Federation meeting.” His scowl deepened as his voice lowered. “They asked me to look into the deaths of a few dome pleasure workers. Nothing said about the poor females who actually died, but it’s depressing business in the Forbidden Zone and you know how worried the Corporation gets when profits decline.” He shook his head, his disgust obvious. His friend’s relationship with the galaxy-wide law enforcement company he consulted for was a fraught, complicated one. “No leads yet, but I’ll get there.”

  No surprise. All the male did was work, much to the chagrin of females the universe over.

  They would have flocked to the wealthy Earther for his title and pedigree, but DaKar had heard enough sighing over the male’s saphiret-colored eyes and muscled frame to know Grayson’s appeal went deeper than his fortune. Grayson wasn’t interested. He’d lost the person who mattered to him long ago. It was no wonder he threw himself into the job.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t here to welcome you when you arrived.” Grayson stepped closer, his usual solemn expression in place. “It can’t have been easy to return.”

  “Settling in was no problem. Plus, I’ve been busy dealing with lawyers and debtors. I don’t know how you handle all the bull
shanus.” Realizing he was pulling at the collar of his shirt, he forced his hand to his side. “I’d forgotten how uptight most of the people on this planet are.”

  Which reminded him…he shifted, rotating to face the expanse of the ballroom. No luck. His voyeur was no longer in sight. So much for working off his restlessness.

  “You could use the practice at restraint.” Grayson was one of the few unafraid to call him out. “But I had hoped that sniveling Judge would have already settled the case in your favor.”

  “He should have.” Judge Ratchet, the magistrate in charge of settling the inheritance dispute, had made vague references to other cases and a lack of precedence, but he was deliberately dragging his feet.

  “If you were anyone else…” sighed Grayson.

  “Then,” DaKar winked, “I wouldn’t be the amazing male you see before you.”

  “Braggart.” A rare smile from Grayson, quickly gone. “Still, it boggles the mind you could have a mountain of evidence on your side and still he delays. It’s contemptible.”

  That was true as well. The “recently discovered” codicil written at his sire’s deathbed naming his half brother Peller heir was an obvious fraud. Two well-respected Earth doctors had already verified that a revised deathbed will was not possible since the former High Chancellor had been comatose, unable to speak or open his eyes, much less write, since his drunken fall from his floater six lunar wheeks before. But élithe’s were a bigoted, insular lot and there were enough of them willing to lie for money just to keep a half-Martian from gaining the title.

  “At least, you are here to fix things now.” Grayson’s confidence was unwavering.

  “For the moment.”

  Disappointment flared in his friend’s gaze. “I thought maybe we’d finally gotten you back here for good. The dome could use you.”

  “The dome already feels too small and I’ve only been here one lunar wheek.”

  Grayson smiled. “Pennington and Zhang have been pressing for an introduction. They want to offer their support in swaying Judge Ratchet and urge you to take a more active role in the Corporation shareholder meetings.”

  “Interesting.” The idea that two such prominent Executives might court him was unexpected, but gratifying. This place could use some serious reforms.

  No. He squelched his train of thought. Earth wasn’t his home. Never had been. Never would be. He was a Warlord. Not a pencil pusher. Once his debt was paid, he was done with the miserable, backward planet forever.

  “Unfortunately,” he told his friend, “I won’t be around long enough to sit in on shareholder proceedings. Soon enough, the Starlight shares and lands will be your problem.”

  “We’ll see.” Grayson’s tone was annoyingly smug.

  The male could be as smug as he liked, though. Plans were already in motion. As soon as the lands and shares were his, DaKar would sell them to Grayson. The profits would be split among Tom and the other servants who’d taken care of him when no one else would. They’d suffered, just as he had, under his father and stepmother’s thumb. They hadn’t been lucky enough, however, to escape to another planet. Purchasing a ticket off world was difficult and expensive and it was illegal for a servant to seek work within another élithe home without the written consent of his or her current employer. But DaKar would make things right. Those servants who wanted to leave Earth would be able to do so. Those who wanted to stay would be rehired by Grayson, who was well known for his fair dealings with his employees.

  It was a win-win for all—except for the bastard who’d be rolling over in his grave at the destruction of his legacy. But that’s what makes it even more of a win.

  But before he could sell it to Grayson, DaKar had to secure it.

  “I know you’ll make the right choice in the end.” Grayson clapped him on the back. “And as long as you stay scandal-free and start using that infamous face and charm, that title will be yours before the lunar wheek is out. I vow it.”

  DaKar opened his mouth to respond and then snapped it shut, spine tingling.

  There she was: his voyeur. She’d retreated to the outskirts of the dance floor and was standing with some seriously dour-looking types. Not the people with whom he’d assumed she’d be socializing.

  “Who’s that?” He nodded in her direction.

  Grayson’s jaw clenched tight. “Why do you insist on finding trouble everywhere you go?”

  “You expect me to just ignore such beauty?”

  “Yes. Without question. That’s Lady Aurora Blake.”

  Aurora. Her name simmered beneath his skin, as powerful as a siren’s call. After so long, he finally knew her identity.

  “And, more importantly,” continued his friend, unaware of the impact of his words, “standing next to her is her stepfather, High Executive Johnas Whetherton, a rising star within the anti-Martian trade council who’s currently gunning to replace your sire as High Chancellor.” Grayson’s scowl indicated just how little he liked the man. “He’s big on the lack of morality outside the dome and the need for revamped, harsher trade deals with Mars and the rest of the outer ‘savage’ planets.”

  “Asht-hole.” There’d been more such bigoted talk across the universe on both sides recently. Everyone seemed to have forgotten that was exactly how the last wars had happened.

  “Well said.” Grayson flicked a nonexistent speck from his jacket sleeve. “But for better or worse, he holds sway over many within the élithe. Gaining his support could clinch your claim for the Executive title.”

  DaKar studied the other male, battling the surge of blood that had his horns aching to jut out and impale the male standing far too close to his voyeur. With only a few strands of grey in his dark brown hair and a solid muscular physique, the male was younger looking than expected given his old-fashioned policies. He was also likely the indifferent jerk who’d failed to keep watch as Aurora was pushed to the outskirts of the ball all those planetary rotations ago.

  “Did you just growl?” His friend’s shock was obvious.

  DaKar recovered fast. “I sensed a ‘but’ at the end of your sentence.”

  “You sensed correctly. Because gaining his support will be hard enough without you eye fucking his stepdaughter. If gossip is accurate, he is a friend of your stepmother and currently supports Peller’s suit to claim the title.”

  “I should have known. Where is Lady Aurora’s mother?”

  “Dead.” His friend eyed him. “Why?”

  He barely contained his snarl. When it came to her, he’d be the one asking the questions. “Is the young lady friends with tonight’s hosts as well?”

  “The Everlys?” Grayson looked surprised. “I don’t think so. I’ve never heard them mentioned as anything more than passing acquaintances.”

  The question of what his beautiful voyeur was doing on that balcony, so far from the ballroom, prodded at him, a mystery as intriguing as the female herself, but Grayson’s next words proved equally distracting.

  “I do know she made quite a splash when she arrived from beyond the dome a planetary rotation ago. Her stepfather fielded something like a record fifteen breeder contract proposals in a month. She turned every one down.”

  Good. That news pleased his inner beast. Fewer males to kill.

  “According to what I’ve heard, that extraordinary beauty is only skin-deep,” finished his friend. “Underneath is a cold, selfish female.”

  DaKar’s gaze returned to his voyeur, the image of her hands gripping the railing as she arched toward him sending another bolt of arousal straight to his shaft. Cold? He didn’t think so.

  She just needed a hot-blooded Outer Worlder to warm her up.

  Soon she’d be on all fours, back arched, legs spread wide, dragged back and forth on his swollen cocksto as she surrendered to his every demand.

  As if she sensed his thoughts, her gaze found his. For an instant, raw sensation flared between them. Just like that night so long ago. A single golden strand snapping into place without
warning and linking them—her lust, her longing, her fear and confusion slamming into him. Along with her defiance. She refused to be cowed by him, or anyone else.

  He prowled forward, ready to claim.

  Until her stepfather leaned down and whispered in her ear.

  She flinched, her face going pale.

  Before he could wonder what the other male had said, she turned away, severing their stare-down.

  The single golden tie stretched taut between them snapped, curling onto itself and burning into ash, leaving behind only a raging cocksto, the taste of cinders, and the echoes of the female’s fear and disgust.

  Had that been for him?

  Beastly instincts clawed at his chest, demanding answers, roaring with the need to destroy whatever had caused her fear, even if he was the cause.

  But the sane part of his brain, the one that recognized the power of this particular mating heat and the will it would take to master it, warned that it was better to stay away. This was a complication he didn’t need.

  “Come on.” He nudged Grayson’s shoulder as he strode past.

  “Wait.” His friend caught up. “Where are we going?”

  DaKar tilted his head toward the topic of their recent conversation.

  “You’re joking.” Grayson’s expression, now colored neon green by the flashing lights, appeared close to sick. “After what I just said?”

  “I heard every word. I’m going to speak with the stepfather.” DaKar smiled wolfishly, knowing his fangs were showing. He’d never been one to run from a fight, even one with himself. “I came to this ball to demonstrate I’m here to stay, and if I can’t find my stepmother or Peller, one of his supporters will suffice.”

  Forcing his voyeur to rub elbows with him would be an added benefit.

  7

  Aurora’s heart hammered so fast it hurt.

  Warlord Volkan swaggered in this direction, but he couldn’t be headed here. Even he wasn’t audacious enough to saunter right over and out her in front of a hundred curious eyes, was he?