Her Strict Captor
(A SciFi Alien Romance Novel)
Heather Holden
The Story
Sirah is a young, fiery woman determined to stop the Tyrian invasion against her human army. Her head-strong mentality soon gets her into trouble, and she finds herself struck down… only to be saved by a hulking figure – the leader of the enemy army!
Ronan is an irresistible, strict muscular being. One who Sirah instantly feels herself attracted to, no matter how hard she tries to control her emotions. But soon thereafter, she is overwhelmed by passion and cravings – Ronan’s unique mannerisms and stern behaviors are entirely foreign to her, in a way she cannot repel. His virile, large manhood is also something she can barely handle…
Sirah must fight to protect her home, her people, and most of all… her heart!
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 1
A loud crashing sound preceded the sharp whistle of the poison dart that flew past Sirah’s head as she ducked into the trench just inside the tree line. That had been too close, and she turned her head to face Beaver, her best shot, her lungs heaving from the sprint she’d made to this poor excuse for shelter. “Are you ready?” she half screamed over the din of the battle in full swing around them.
The young gunman nodded shortly, not breaking his focus through the sight of his laser. She could see his chest moving with each breath, knowing he was nervous, and she didn’t blame him. Just the three seconds it would take him to spread the ray across the enemy’s line gave those Tyrians plenty of opportunity to take him down. Still, they had to try, and Sirah gave him a signal.
She jumped up with him, determined to offer him as much cover as possible in the short spurt of laser fire that should halfway annihilate the Tyrian stronghold across the battlefield, cutting down some of their warriors in the attempt. She didn’t just want to win the battle, or even the war. She wanted to show the sons of bitches that they’d chosen the wrong planet to invade and make them think twice about ever setting foot on Earth’s soil again.
Sirah shot her fully automatic weapon, spraying bullets through the air toward anyone she could see with a gun that wasn’t human, and the clip emptied in seconds. She was back down in the trench, gasping for air with the surge of adrenaline running through her as she smiled at Beaver, who had set a large amount of the infrastructure the Tyrians had created on fire. “Nice job!” she told him, watching him beam as hope flitted back into his eyes. He’d been concerned about this attack, and she knew this went a long way in a personal victory over fear for him.
The cacophony of constant fire slowed, and Sirah motioned to her troops to prepare to advance. They gathered around, weapons poised and faces filled with determination, fear only showing in the depths of their eyes. This was home, and you didn’t join the HPF – Human Protective Force – unless you were truly willing to lay down your life to retain possession of this planet. Although, admittedly, Sirah had never believed she’d have to truly defend her turf from an alien invader.
The Tyrians had arrived without warning, without an attempt at peace. They had landed like some War of the Worlds tribe, weapons charged, locked and loaded—or sharpened—and they’d taken to the battlefield. No one knew who they were or where they came from at first; it was just frenzied attempts at defense and organization, and it had taken months to start offensive attacks against the strong, cunning race of humanoids.
Sirah and her troops were exhausted. They’d been close to the front lines for nearly a year now, having volunteered when the war broke out. They were some of the strongest and best trained, and Sirah was a born leader; both her parents led armies before her. She prided herself on her skill and strategist prowess, as well as the loyalty her men and women showed her. Best of all, in a year of fighting these beasts, whom they had labeled the Tyrians after Tyr, the Germanic god of war, she had only lost six of her men.
Of course, Sirah felt the name too generous – why name the enemy after a god? That was a bit too reverent for a race that came in blasting away a native species without explanation. It gave her a sick feeling, and her hatred for these aliens tasted tangy and sharp in her mouth, making her grimace. Certainly, several of her followers had their own vendetta against the interlopers, but she doubted any hated them on principle with as much force of will as she did. This was her home, and the turmoil and upheaval of this war was going to tear it apart before her kind could win it back all because these attempted conquerors felt a sense of entitlement toward a planet they barely knew.
This time, there were instructions beyond attack. This time, she wanted to take one alive. She wanted a prisoner, someone she could question about the reason they fought so hard, so desperately, for a home they didn’t even know. Why had they come, and what exactly did they want? She would find out, and while she wasn’t a fan of torture tactics, she wasn’t above engaging in them to get her answers after the hell she’d already been through just to get this far.
They’d been chasing this particular faction of Tyrians for a month now, backing them up inch by inch through the forest until they had finally forced the foreigners to bunker down in their camp. Now, though, Sirah and her men knew where that encampment was, and they could follow the trail back to the larger group where the powers that be awaited to confirm that bunker could be the turning point, the chance for the human race to take control of the war entirely and evict the unwanted visitors.
Excitement coursed through Sirah at the thought of leading the charge that would give them such an upper hand with multiple victories. They’d gone over the plan well, over and over, until each member of her team knew exactly what to do and could determine alternate scenarios for multiple iterations of the outcome. She trusted them as much as they had put their trust in her, and now, it was just about execution.
Taking a deep breath, Sirah nodded to Ever, her second in command, and the team split, half of her soldiers following Ever to the left down the length of the trench while the other half drew up behind her toward the right. Their watches were synced, and they would move out in three minutes, encircling the remainder of the encampment to assure that no surviving Tyrians escaped to headquarters without a human military presence on their trail.
She crouched, poised and ready to launch at a tiny beep from her watch, feeling the pent-up energy of her followers. Weapons ready, they surged from the trenches as the alarm sounded, moving nearly in silence, despite being nearly sixty strong. They covered half the distance in less than a minute, their speed incredible, and she knew Ever’s group moved with the same efficiency.
Suddenly, the silence exploded—the head splitting crack of a land mine. “Get down!” she cried, hearing the whistling of darts through the air. Those darts were close-range deadly weapons, and that meant they’d walked right into a trap. She could see the smoke rising between her and the other half of her troops, essentially not killing anyone but to ensure the two segments were wholly separated so they could be picked off more easily.
She hit the ground on her stomach, eyes sharp as she searched the trees for the hidden shooters. She growled in disgust. Like chameleons, Tyrians had evolved with the ability to camouflage their skin, and it made this game incredibly difficult. But she could
spot movement, could see when one of them lifted a dart gun. She took aim with her semiautomatic and sprayed a few rounds toward the slight shift, but so many darts were flying she couldn’t keep her head raised to see if the bullets hit the target.
“I’m leading a few men back to the trench, and we’re going to sneak in from the side,” Beaver spoke into her ear, having landed next to her. “We’ll clear a path.”
She started to protest, but even Sirah knew they didn’t have a lot of choice. The darts carried a debilitating poison that crept through the veins and muscles, acting like snake or spider venom. It was quick and effective, and she couldn’t risk losing too many men to those devils. She nodded. “I’ll cover you. But move fast. It’s too risky to stay within sight for long.”
He nodded sharply and motioned to several others, all of them crawling on their bellies out of the direct line of fire.
As they stood to run, Sirah gave a battle cry, standing and spraying more bullets across the enemy line. Several others did the same, dropping back to the ground after mere seconds, and she tucked behind a tree at her back. She took a few gasps of air, waiting as some others took a turn covering the men who were trying to launch another sneak attack, and then she stepped back out, pulling the trigger again and arcing the gun across her body. She turned to duck behind the wide trunk again, but something sharp stung her shoulder, and she winced.
Her face burned, and something like a cold fire spread through her veins. Horrified, she realized what had happened and reached behind her, tearing the dart from her shoulder. “Retreat!” she called, her head already swimming and her tongue thick. They needed to get away. These shooters had stellar aim, and she couldn’t afford to lose anyone else. She also had to get back to the camp before she lost consciousness, or she couldn’t guarantee they could save her.
Gritting her teeth and trying to maintain focus, she cried out, “Go! Go! Go! Back to camp!” Trying to heft the gun again, she pointed it toward the Tyrian militia as she watched her troops turn back toward the trench, running and firing wildly toward the enemy. It would take less than a minute for her to get back to the trench, where they had some emergency medical supplies. If she counted accurately, she had about a minute and a half left before the world went black. She had to make sure her people got back safely, and she would follow behind, arriving barely in time to get the antimicrobial shot administered that would keep the poison from taking a full hold.
“Let’s go!” Del stepped up to her and tried to pull her along, but she shook him off.
“I’m coming. I’m hit! Go get the shot ready!” The wide-eyed look Del gave her told her he understood how close she was cutting it, and he didn’t argue, sprinting away with such speed even the best sharpshooter wouldn’t be able to hit him.
Sirah’s arms were heavy, her knees weak, and she knew it was time to go. She got off a few more shots as she started running. Or trying to, her motions sluggish and her steps trudging. The trees swayed, but she felt no breeze, and the ground seemed to pulsate, rising up in waves at her. Come on! She squeezed her eyes shut for just a moment to gather the last vestiges of strength and perseverance, but when she opened them, everything was a green blur. The world seemed to tilt, and then something slammed into her hip, shoulder, and head.
This wasn’t so bad, she supposed. It didn’t hurt. In fact, it was somewhat euphoric. If she had to die, this was a good way to go. She’d fallen in battle, and she could just drift off in this peaceful bliss.
Something touched her, and she struggled, trying to open her eyes. Or where they open already? Was she blind? She didn’t know, but her body jolted, and she was floating. So this was it, Sirah thought. She had good men. They could handle themselves, and they would win this war. As she felt her consciousness slipping, her last thought was of the Tyrians and how they would rue the day they’d entered this atmosphere.
Chapter 2
Aching.
That was Sirah’s first conscious thought as she came to slowly. But that didn’t make sense, she argued with herself. She had died, and there was no pain in death. Instantly, the ache receded, leaving only cloudy confusion and an overall fuzziness.
The poison shouldn’t have worked so quickly on her. She should have had at least another full minute. But it didn’t matter, did it? She’d succumbed, and now, she’d entered whatever afterlife existed.
“You’re not dead.” The deep, resonating voice cut through some of the fog, and she finally managed to open her eyes to darkness. As she turned her head, searching for the source of that smooth voice, Sirah realized she was lying on some sort of cot, military style and collapsible. Frowning to herself, she forced her vision to focus, and she nearly gasped when her eyes landed on the man across the small, dark space.
Maybe she was in heaven; she couldn’t remember ever meeting a man so gorgeous. His dark hair was cropped fairly short and mussed upon his head over a face filled with sharp angles and flat planes that created a perfect image. He stood tall and broad with a certain prowess that spoke of confidence and pure masculine strength. And he wasn’t one of her men.
In fact, the more she studied him, her heart began to pound. His clothes were thin and fitted of a foreign material, and as he lifted his head to meet her eyes with a piercing cerulean blue, she watched the shadows play across his face and realize it was more than just shadow. His skin was changing color. Camouflaging.
If she was dead, then this was Hell.
Sitting up in one jerking motion, she fought the swimming dizziness in her head and the resulting nausea in her gut. “If you took me prisoner looking for information, I won’t talk. You’ll just have to kill me.”
He raised one brow, a smirk crawling over thick, full lips as he crossed his arms over that hard, sculpted chest. “That would be a shame, considering I just got through saving your life.”
But as her heart palpitated with fear, Sirah jutted her chin and shook her head. “You wasted your time. I’m not saying anything.”
“I didn’t ask you to.” He started to pace with long, slow strides across the small space. Sirah noted that they were in some sort of bunker or shelter, a lean-to of sorts full of supplies that was maybe ten feet across and twelve feet deep. Too close a space to share with the enemy. She searched for an escape route from the corner of her eye, but he paced in front of the door, and even if she managed to dart past him, his long muscular legs would carry him much faster than her sore, weak ones.
“If you didn’t take me captive for information, why did you take me?” she asked harshly. And then it dawned on her. Leverage. She gave a smile that had no humor to it. “My men won’t surrender to save me. They’re mandated against it.”
His head swiveled around, and he fixed her with a stare. “I didn’t count on it.”
Exasperated, she asked, “Then why? You should have just let me die.”
He didn’t say anything for several tense moments. Then, “I mended your shoulder, and I administered a hefty antimicrobial that stopped the progress of the poison. You should be good as new by morning.”
That didn’t answer her question, and she stood, ready to demand answers. That was a mistake, and she lost her balance instantly as the room swirled around her. She toppled forward, but he stepped in, catching her with thick arms before she hit the ground. Instead, she was pressed against his hard chest, her erratic breathing taking in the scent of him. He smelled like pine and sage, a pleasant, soothing aroma, and her head swirled for an entirely different reason.
It made her angry, and she pulled out of his grasp, dropping awkwardly back to the cot. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, sounding frustrated, and Sirah couldn’t fathom his motives. “In the morning, I’ll send you back to your camp. But tonight, you stay here. I have food and water that will help remedy the lingering effects of the poison. You need rest.”
She scoffed. “Right. I’m going to eat food prepared by the enemy. A member of the alien race that wants to destroy humankind and take over
the planet. How stupid do you think I am?” She was far too intelligent to trust anything he said, and he was giving her no credit whatsoever.
He threw his head back and laughed, a sound that raked down her spine with absolute intensity. It was deep and rich and buttery, and she found herself wanting to hear more of it. Which only made her anger double. “You really think I would have taken the time to care for you, to make sure you lived, just to poison you with food? What purpose would that serve? Let’s try to be civil, alright? I have no secret intentions here. I found you near death and thought maybe a good deed would go a little ways in showing that not all of us are monsters.”
His speech was flawless, and Sirah realized suddenly how long the Tyrians must have been plotting, studying them, and planning their attacks. Did they all speak such good English? “Who are you?” she asked, suspicious.
“My name is Ronan, and I’m the general in charge of the brigade your men attacked today.”
Ronan. She’d done her homework. He was a new leader, having replaced the existing general when General Coran had been taken down in one of the first waves of defensive attacks. He wasn’t as experienced in war and battle as many of his kind, but the Tyrians worked on an alpha system, like so many animal species on Earth, and Ronan was apparently the strongest alpha of the group.
Of course she would have been taken into his presence. She couldn’t have more of a pushover as a captor.
But then she realized with a start that he probably wasn’t sanctioned to take captives, much less to treat their injuries, and she marveled that someone so high ranking would have broken one of the species’ cardinal rules. And even more that he wanted to prove something to her. It didn’t make sense, and she couldn’t quite wrap her head around the situation. Then again, she was still a bit fuzzy, and she let her head fall forward as she tried to remedy that so she could think clearly.
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