Alien Bond

by Tracy Lauren

  “I believe I have a solution…though it is going to be a tight fit.”

  Mel’s head pops up. “You’re not thinking what I think, are you?” Mel asks, laughing though her eyes are still red and puffy from crying.

  “Where did you leave that e-pod?” I ask.

  Mire scoffs. “That will be a tight fit.”

  “It’s that or the pirate ship,” I point out.

  But Mel shakes her head. “I don’t want to go back over there.”

  “Then it’s the pod,” Mire nods, agreeing with Mel.

  “I don’t care how tight a fit it is. We’re together and I’m ready to go home,” Mel says.

  “And what will you do with us once we are home?” I question. I am a patient man, but after today, after nearly losing Mel, I need to know where we stand. I need to know that this is forever.

  “You heard the part where I said we’re never ever splitting up again, right?” she asks with a smile.

  “I did.”

  “Is this still a trial run?” Mire questions.

  Mel shakes her head. “No more trial runs. I love you—both of you. And I don’t ever want to be apart again.”

  “What about the other humans? What will they think about all this?” I remind her.

  “For once, I’ll just worry about what I think.”

  “That sounds like a plan. You make a good leader, Mel,” I tell my mate.

  “I’m not the leader!” she complains, and I don’t argue, for now at least.

  Epilogue

  Allison

  My heavy boots echo on the bridge of the derelict pirate ship. Even though bioscans didn’t pick up any life I still keep my gun drawn as I frown at my surroundings. Though Gile and Mire had the courtesy of disposing of the bodies, this ship is still dank and filthy. And when I look around, I can’t help but think of death. Probably because this place belonged to pirates, alien men who came looking to claim the humans they thought were onboard the Sovolians’ ship. I can’t help but feel glad that the men who once worked here are dead. Whatever their end was, they deserved it. That and more.

  Da’vi sits in the captain’s seat, typing away at the computer. “I should be learning that,” I insist.

  “You say that about everything,” he huffs, ignoring my implied request. I don’t even bother rolling my eyes anymore. I expect Da’vi to shut me down. That’s all he ever does. I’d be more surprised if he invited me over for a lesson. Then you’d see me react.

  Things between us have been tense for some time, not that they were ever hunky dory. But ever since I killed that slaver on the Oscillion’s dusty gambling planet, Quar, I can tell that Da’vi’s been angry with me.

  It’s like he’s always expecting me to take some moral high ground. But he’s a hypocrite. All I ever see him do is the shit that needs to be done, morals be damned. And yet he faults me for the same behavior. I’m tired of it. Da’vi and I made a deal, he’d train me. I never asked him to be my moral compass or to judge me, because honestly, I don’t need either. I was abducted by aliens; I had my life and my future stolen from me. I think I’ve earned the right to not give a fuck about anything.

  Well, that’s not true. There is one thing I care about… I obsess about it really. I want to find more humans. I want to rescue them and bring as many back to Beacon as possible—or wherever they want to be. It’s a simple obsession really. I don’t know why it’s so hard for some people to grasp—Da’vi for example.

  I mean, it wasn’t long ago that I woke up helpless, destined to be raped and made into a sex slave, but instead I got lucky. I got rescued before anything bad could happen to me. But there were others, hundreds, maybe even thousands, who weren’t so lucky. I think about them constantly…or rather, I think about how easily I could have been one of them. And it makes me sick. My life was all about control, and then this happened and my safe walls got ripped down. I was left exposed. Someone’s got to pay for that.

  My dreams were ripped from my grasp, so I’ve rewritten them. I have nothing left, so I obsess. I will save the humans, I will kill the slavers, I will work until I’m dead. That’s my life now. That’s who I am.

  In the first few weeks after I woke from being abducted, I used to imagine going home. Now I know I never could, even if we did find the coordinates. I’ve changed too much. There’s no going back to my life there. Not that I had much, just my job. Though…I suppose that’s all I have here, too, I realize as I look over at Da’vi.

  It’s embarrassing, he doesn’t know this…but he used to be the closest thing to a friend I’ve ever had. Here or on Earth. But ever since Quar, there’s been this distance. Not that I care. As a matter of fact, I think it’s nearly time for me to move on. How long can he train me anyway? Eventually I need to find my own way in the world. Or space, as it may be.

  Da’vi leans back in the captain’s seat and exhales slowly. “You were right. They carried human cargo and it wasn’t long ago.”

  “How many?” I ask.

  “Many cryo units. Just one human it looks like.”

  “Doesn’t matter if it’s one or a hundred. It’s still a lead,” I tell him defensively.

  “I didn’t say it wasn’t. Of course it matters, every life matters.”

  “Every human life matters. But people like this—” I gesture to an old, dried spray of blood on the ground. “These ones got what was coming to them.”

  His scaled lips press into a frown and he assesses me with his reptilian eyes. I hate to see how displeased he is with me. I work my ass off for him—I mean, for me… I work my ass off for me—and still, it’s never enough.

  “What now?” I ask, holstering my gun so I can cross my arms over my chest.

  “We take this ship for salvage,” he says blankly, his eyes still on me…penetrating.

  “God damn it, Da’vi! We have a lead; I say we follow it!” I shout at him.

  He turns the monitor to face me. “These are their flight logs. They came from Makaan territory.”

  “So fucking what?” I shrug, still angry with him.

  “So, that is where we go to salvage the ship. We follow your lead.”

  “Oh. Okay, good. It’s the right thing to do.”

  “Hmpf, seems like right and wrong don’t usually hold much meaning to you. Still, it is what we will do. Take the con, I will lead the way in our vessel.” And just like that, he leaves me alone on this ghost ship.

  “Dick,” I whisper as I slide into the captain’s seat. Still…I can’t keep my eyes off him as he walks away.

  Author’s Note

  Deepest thanks to Aquila Editing, cover artists Madelene Martin and Maria Spada, and my dear friends Kate Botting, JM Link, Honey Phillips, and Bex McLynn. My eternal love goes out to the science fiction romance community—from authors to readers, I love ya’ll. Just so you know.

  And a secret thanks to a pair of outrageously sexy blonde men who came to my door one day and helped inspire this story. That scene where Mel opens her door and Gile and Mire are standing there, all giant, and sexy, and imposing… that sort of happened to me. Two guys came to my door at least, they just didn’t know how hard I was mentally perving out (don’t tell anyone). I looked at them and right away I thought: there’s a story there.

  Anyway, if you’re looking forward to what comes next, so am I. I’m working on a special project right now and I’m going to have to be a little hush hush about it for a while. But after that I am so torn on which book to start. Reagan and Kellan are fresh in my mind and Allison and Da’vi are as well. Then of course I want to finish the Hunting Series and continue with The Perished Woods—I’ve already begun writing the Half-Blood Orc’s story.

  As for the audio arena, my new narrator, Scott R. Smith, just completed Hunting Faith (due to release mid-June 2019). And let me tell you ladies, I AM ALL ABOUT THIS GUY. Working with Scott was like the difference between a cheap manicure and then finally splurging on a full-on luxury spa experience. I’ve been pampered by his profess
ionalism. You’ll have to let me know how you enjoy his work.

  And finally, my plea for reviews. Please take a few minutes to jot down a couple words, it doesn’t have to be long. Love it or hate it, I’m interested in hearing your thoughts. Reviews really do mean the world to puny little indie authors like me.

  Looking for more books by Tracy Lauren? Read on for an excerpt from TAMED BY THE TROLL.

  Excerpt from TAMED BY THE TROLL

  Adelaide

  I stare up at the sky, lost in thought. I shirked my duties to my household again, something I’ve been doing more and more lately. And when you look at the home I grew up in, you can see the neglect. You can see that those who cared about it are long gone and I am all that is left.

  I am not enough.

  I feel guilt when I look at that cottage, my childhood home. Guilt that I can’t keep it up the way Ma and Da had. The dusty windows are like sad eyes, watching me flounder. Still, I ignored the day’s work out of anger and spite.

  Cross after my encounter with Aunt Celia, I stole away from the garden and came down to the glen where the elderberries grow wild. No one comes here seeing as it’s so close to the border of the Perished Woods. Here I know I can be alone, unencumbered by the judgmental looks of the other villagers. This is the last place I’m free to be myself.

  I toy with an elderberry branch, heavy with fruit, and lay in the shade under a tree, popping berries between my lips and looking for patterns in the sunlight peeking through the leaves. The fighting between Aunt Celia and me is nothing new. She swept in upon my parent’s death, pretending to care about what I was going through, but that didn’t last long after she got her foot in my door.

  Celia stormed my abode, taking up residence in my parent’s bedroom. Very quickly she began treating me as if I were her scullery maid rather than her own flesh and blood. I’m no stranger to a hard day’s work, but when Ma and Da were alive, we were a team. Family or not, no one’s going to lord over me as if I’m their slave, especially not that wretched old witch.

  I’m still seething over Celia, my body tense with anger as the first screams ring out, breaking the quiet peace of the day.

  Abruptly, I sit up and the smell of smoke in the air hits me. Scrambling to my feet, I cling to my shade tree, praying it will conceal me from the dangers storming my village. I peer beyond the grassy knolls of my elderberry glen and see waves of grey-skinned beasts attacking the only home I’ve ever known.

  Orcs… a near army of them. Battle cries pierce the air in display of their ferocity. My village is nothing but farmers and aging craftsmen. There are none capable of defending against an orc horde. Hell, one orc could probably wipe us out. There’s no question in my mind as the smoke rises, marring the crisp blue sky. Everything and everyone I know will be dead before dusk--myself included, if I don’t make a run for it.

  To the south is the road to the next village, a half day’s journey on foot and likely the path the orcs will take once they finish decimating my home. To the north, the orcs block any passage. The west offers nothing but wide-open crops--they’d see me in a heartbeat. I look to the east, into the Perished Woods.

  I hesitate, all the stories of monsters and curses my parents told me as a child run through my mind. The tree line looms as shadowy and foreboding as ever. This place, it is not a typical forest. A forest is supposed to symbolize life and growth, but the Perished Woods are something different altogether. As children, we would play along the edge of the woods, tempting fate and testing our courage. Elders would warn us to stay clear and never to eat anything growing within the boundaries of the wood. For, it is the home to monsters, a doorway into their cursed lands, and perhaps my only means for escape.

  I look back at my burning village only once, the sound of my pounding heart drowning out the screams of my neighbors. Then I launch myself from my hiding place. Aimed for the woods, my mind recalls the young boy who was poisoned years ago after eating berries gathered too close to the blighted trees. I remember his family could hold no wake for him, his body too disfigured from the curse that claimed his life. They could not even bury him in the cemetery. Instead, priests from neighboring villages came and chanted prayers as they burned his corpse.

  The breeze carries smoke from the raid and I can smell charred flesh in the air. A sob threatens to escape me as I run in full sprint. As much as I hate Celia, my thoughts go out to her. I pray the old woman is already dead and not being raped by the horde.

  I race past the blemished tree line and in a few short strides I’m deeper into the Perished Woods than I ever dared play as a child. The darkness here is stark compared to the spot in the glen I abandoned and the chill snakes its way over my body, oppressive and suffocating. My breath puffs out into misty white clouds each time I exhale.

  The drive to escape hits me from all sides and I look up at the sun, my mind working to formulate a plan. I need to get out of this place as quickly as possible. The Perished Woods are deadly, perhaps even more so than the orcs--who I’ve heard like to keep women as slaves. Or perhaps more accurately, toys for their deviant desires. Given the choice between a quick death and rape, my answer is swift. Slim as they may be, I’ll take my chances in the woods.

  Logic tells me all the surrounding villages are likely to be decimated as well. There’s no safety for miles around and very few places I can think to go. An obvious answer rings in my mind. I have only one remaining relative. Ellyn, my father’s youngest sister. Only a few years my senior, Ellyn lives in the city of Pontheugh. While I have not met her many times, when Ma and Da passed, she came to check in on me. She even offered to take me back to Pontheugh with her. As intrigued as I was, I was too scared then to leave my home. Now, Ellyn is all I have left.

  If I continue to cut through the Perished Woods and keep my heading east, I might be able to find my way to the stream that leads to Willowbend. I know it cuts through these woods. From there I will be two towns ahead of the horde and perhaps I can trade something for a ferry ride to Pontheugh… though… I have nothing on me of value. It’s a detail I will have to consider later, for now I’m still trying to outrun death.

  I have never come face to face with an orc, but I’ve heard they have a heightened sense of smell and I worry they will come after me. So, even when my foot hits a muddy patch and I fall face first onto the cold, hard ground, I clamber to my feet as if death is in hot pursuit. And when an orc’s battle cry pierces the air--my darkest fears are confirmed.

  “Gods save me.” I mutter a quiet prayer while trying to keep my tears at bay.

  Another orc answers the screams of the first and I quicken my pace, my dress catching and tearing on branches as I run. The screams swim through the air, muddling my thoughts with a fear so base I feel primitive--like an animal trying to escape a predator. But the sound of rushing water cuts through the fog and I follow it instinctually. It’s not simply fear driving me forward, but hope as well. If it is the Willowbend stream, I might have a chance.

  Somewhere, far behind me, I hear more than just the calls of the orcs carried on the wind, I can hear them tearing through the forest as well. I cast a glance over my shoulder. While I cannot see them, I know they aren’t far behind.

  Then, glory of glories, I see the frothing white water ahead of me. It is wilder than the Willowbend stream from what I remember, but it still represents a safe haven in my mind and it spurs me forward. Forcing my way through a patch of dense brush, I scan the banks. Not far away there is a stone bridge crossing the raging water. Its roaring fills my ears and the sound drowns out all else.

  Once more I glance over my shoulder. In the distance I see movement, something grey and lumbering coming at me with inhuman speed. I turn and race for the bridge. It’s old and delipidated. Regardless of its disrepair and remote location, the passage over the waterway is still laden with ornamentation.

  For some reason I’m consumed by the idea that if only I can cross this bridge I will be safe--delivered from harm. I have no p
lan beyond the almost visceral draw of the bridge. Somewhere, in the back of my mind the intelligent part of me is screaming. Something is off… wrong in some way. I am pulled forward as if beckoned by the calls of a siren. Still, blind hope grips me as my feet hit the stones and I do not slow my pace. At least, not until I see a hand reach over, grasping the side of the bridge.

  My brain hardly has time to process what’s happening before a massive body launches itself over the stone rail and onto the path before me. The entire structure shakes with the force of the landing. I try to stop myself, but my forward momentum is too great. I tumble backwards onto my ass and skid the rest of the way to the being, coming to a halt at his monstrous, boot-clad feet. My eyes take in the sight of him, towering above me.

  I’m practically sitting on his heavy, leather boots. I skitter back, taking in more and more of his gargantuan frame. At first, I think he’s a giant, but my eyes skate over green flesh, covered only by an elaborate loincloth made from furs and hides. To my horror, a skull adorns the only piece of clothing he wears.

  The beast’s muscled chest is bare, save for the ridges of old scars. His shoulders are broad and his arms thick, thicker than my waist even. I can’t bring myself to look at his face. Instead my eyes lock onto the axe he grips in one mighty, four fingered hand. I can feel his gaze on me like a weight and when the orcs cry out, even closer now, I sense the troll’s attention shift to the trees.

  Without a word, he grabs me roughly and flings me over the side of the bridge. I scream in terror on my way to the ground. To my surprise, we miss the water entirely and though the troll lands on his feet, I fall gracelessly onto the muddied bank. He’s quick to stand me up however, his hand going over my mouth and cutting my scream short.

  Viciously, I kick at him, trying to fight free from his grip. But I’m weak and ineffective against his strength. I flounder as he drags me through the mud. It covers me entirely, even my face, and for a moment I think he’s going to suffocate me in it. With his hand still over my mouth, I fight to suck in air through my nose, clawing at his arm to no avail. Finally, he pulls me from the thick sludge, pinning me against the underside wall of the bridge--my feet not quite reaching the ground. The water roars in my ears and I suck in frantic breaths of air through my nose as I’m forced to look my captor in the eyes.