Alien Romance: RETURNED: An Alien Warrior Romance: (Acarnania Warriors Book 1)
Read Alien Romance: RETURNED: An Alien Warrior Romance: (Acarnania Warriors Book 1) Online
Authors: Jane Hinchey
COPYRIGHTED MATERIAL
Copyright © 2016 by Jane Hinchey
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living, dead, or undead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from Jane Hinchey.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Writing a book is a solitary effort, but getting this book out of my head and into your hands takes a team. Amy Allen-MaCleod, my brilliant editor, I couldn’t have done it without you! And Jules, my dear friend and proof reader, you rock! The two of you saved me from some hideous grammar mistakes! To my beta and ARC peeps, thank you! Smooches to all.
DEDICATION
This is for you. All of my books are for you. When I write, I think of you, how you’ll laugh unexpectedly, feel anger, fear, regret, hope as the story unfolds, but most of all, I write so that you can lose yourself in my fantasy world, if only for a few hours. Enjoy. I truly love connecting and getting to know my readers – if you aren’t already on my newsletter list, sign up and say Hi.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Isn't it funny how life
can change on the basis of one small, inconsequential decision? For me, it was deciding to stop for coffee at the café on the corner of Myrtle and Kain, a bustling little place catering to the local crowd. I stood in line waiting to order while my partner snagged a table by the window. I glanced at him as I shuffled forward in the line. He was gazing out the window, his dark uniform pulling tight across his expansive girth, his face a little too full from the extra weight.
I'd been assigned to Sergeant Bob O'Flanagan since graduating from Redmeadows Police Academy. Bob was an okay guy, if a little sexist and severely lacking in career motivation. In Bob's world, it was get in, get the job done, get out. In other words, clock in, clock out, and more of the same the next day. It explained why he hadn’t received a promotion in the last ten years, yet Bob was exactly where he wanted to be. Patrolling the streets. I envied him that, for I had enough drive for the both of us. I was coming up to my one-year anniversary, which meant that, now I'd clocked twelve months with wonderful, plodding Bob, I could request a transfer. My goal? Detective in homicide.
“What'll it be, officer?” The petite brunette behind the counter eyed me nervously, waiting to take my order. Interesting. People who were nervous around police officers usually had something to hide.
“One double shot latte, one long black, to go.”
“Name?”
“Sierra.”
I moved off to the side, waiting for our order and observing the people in the café. A guy at a nearby table was ogling me, his eyes narrowing in on my breasts and lingering there. Pervert.
Our drinks were ready in record time; I was pretty sure the brunette had jumped our order to the front of the line to get rid of us. Some people loved cops, others hated us. Frankly, I didn't give a shit what anyone thought.
Carrying our drinks back to the table, I slid in opposite Bob, already sipping my steaming latte, closing my eyes on a silent sigh. We were almost at the end of our shift, it'd been a long day, and the caffeine jolt was welcome.
“Whatcha looking at, Sarge?”
His gaze hadn't left the window since I joined him, although what he could see through the gloom outside was beyond me.
“That guy.” Sarge nodded toward a man leaning against the wall of an alley diagonally opposite, one leg drawn up with his boot against the bricks, dragging deeply on a cigarette, coat pulled tight around him. He did an excellent job of blending in with his surroundings. I hadn't noticed him until Sarge pointed him out.
But now that I had, he looked as suspicious as shit. With a storm rolling in, a mist-like rain falling, it wasn't the type of weather you just stood around in.
My eyes met Bob's. We were thinking the same thing. A deal was about to go down. Possibly drugs. With a small movement of his hand, Bob indicated we should stay put and observe.
I knew Bob was right, but still I itched to take action. It was my downfall, one Bob had warned me about on more than one occasion, a rookie mistake he'd seen before. Apparently us new recruits were incredibly impatient. We had to learn to sit back and wait, allow the scene to unfold before charging in, guns blazing. Well, not literally. I'd never shot anyone and I hoped to God I never would.
The bell above the cafe door chimed and I glanced up to see a blonde woman pulling on her coat as she stepped outside. Juggling her coffee, she flipped open an umbrella and positioned it over her head before crossing the street and making a beeline for the guy in the alley.
Sure enough, she dug into her pocket, pulling out folded notes while balancing the coffee and umbrella in the other hand. The guy straightened and dug around inside his jacket, producing ... damn it, I couldn't see, but it looked like a small bag. My bet was pills.
Bob nodded and we rose, drinks abandoned as we hustled out the door. I kept my eyes on the couple exchanging cash for drugs across the road, cursing when the dealer spotted us and sprinted off into the alley. Shit, shit, shit. Without a second’s thought, I took off in pursuit. He looked scrawny, but he was damn fast on his feet.
Chasing him down a urine-soaked, stink-tank of an alley as nightfall approached was not my idea of fun, but a spark of anger at Bob ignited me, gave me an extra jolt of adrenaline. We'd waited too long and now the bastard was getting away. I bet Bob had collared the blonde, though; she wouldn't have gotten far in the high-heeled boots she was wearing.
My comms unit crackled at my shoulder. “Got him yet, Walker?”
“In my sights,” I said, puffing, spotting the guy scaling the chain link fence at the end of the alley. “Stop! Police!”
He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes widening as I rested my hand on the firearm at my hip. Instead of stopping, he scrambled faster. Crap.
Overhead, thunder rumbled. The storm that'd been circling all afternoon was closing in now. Although a light rain drifted down, settling upon the ground like mist, I hardly noticed getting wet. The thunder indicated heavy rainfall was almost upon us, and I didn't relish being out in it. A gust of wind ran down the alley, swirling up rubbish and tossing it through the air. The cold breeze sent a bitter chill down the back of my neck.
With a running leap, I launched myself at the fence, missing the dealer’s foot by inches. I was halfway up when he landed with a thump on the other side, scrambling away without looking back. A deafening clap of thunder, followed by a flash of lightning, froze me for a second. Shit, that was close! The lightning had been so bright it momentarily blinded me. Time to get out of here.
I didn't see the second strike coming. But I felt it. A surge of pain rocketed through my body, and then there was darkness.
My head throbbed. The pain
pulsated in time with my pulse. And whatever I was laying on was rock hard. Had I fallen asleep on the floor again? Too many wines after work? Wouldn't have been the first time I'd dozed off curled up on the plush rug in front of the fire, cosy, warm and sedated from alcohol.
Squinting one eye open, I scanned my surroundings. In front of me — a white wall, which was curious, since none of the walls in my place were white. So, I wasn’t at home. What had happened last night? The last thing I remembered was chasing a drug dealer down an alley. Did I catch him and celebrate a tad too hard afterwards? And who in God's name had I gone home with? I was fabulously single; there was no time for men, and going home with one was definitely out of character, yet I knew I wasn't in my own home now. Had I been roofied?
Easing up into a sitting position, I kept a hand to my throbbing head, gazing around. Holy mother of God! I was in a transparent room. The white wall I'd seen was in fact the base of a bed. Not that I'd been laying on it; I'd been on the floor, facing it, which explained my discomfort. But the floor, walls, and ceiling were all clear and suspended in the air. Looking out, I saw dozens more cubes, some occupied, others empty. Beyond us, surrounding the cubes, there was nothing but blackness.
I closed my eyes, trying to curb the panic that tightened my chest. Releasing a breath, I opened them again, heart galloping as I scrambled to my feet. I realised I wasn't in my police uniform anymore. Instead, I was wearing a white tunic and pants outfit that reminded me of hospital scrubs. What on earth was going on? Where the hell was I? Was this a medical facility? Did the drug dealer shoot me? No. There'd been a storm. Lightning. I remembered. I'd been struck by lightning.
Moving to the closest wall, I raised my hands and pushed against its clear surface. It didn't budge. Panic started to rise as I felt around for a door or opening, but couldn't find anything resembling an entrance. How could this be? With frantic movements, I ran my fingers around the entire cube. There was no way out.
“Hey! Hey! Let me outta here!” I slammed my hands against the wall, ignoring the pain in my head and stinging in my palms. Nothing happened. No one came, and the occupants of the other cubes didn’t even glance my way. Then it dawned on me, I couldn't hear anything beyond myself. Were these transparent cells soundproof?
Dropping my hands, I focused my attention on the woman in the cube next to me. Her long hair fell to her waist in a charcoal curtain. She was around five-foot-six and slim, a similar height and build to me, and dressed in the same outfit. As if sensing my gaze, the woman turned and her eyes met mine, only hers were a dazzling electric blue. So blue they glowed.
Without warning, the cubes jolted and rocked. Crouching to keep my balance, I watched as they began to move. My palms started to sweat as the blackness that surrounded us gave way to a grey metal wall. The cubes around me moved up or down to avoid colliding with the wall, until my cube came to a halt an inch away from it. Heart once again pounding, I held my breath when part of the grey wall slid away, creating a doorway. Standing in the doorway where three people, only they didn't look like anyone or anything I'd seen before.
Their skin was an unnatural shade of blue, darker than the sky but lighter than their navy blue hair. Aliens? Unable to believe my eyes, I blinked and peered again. Still there. This was crazy! Aliens didn't exist. This wasn't real, I had to be hallucinating. Obviously I was in hospital, high on morphine, and this drug-induced dream was the result. Either that, or I was being punked. I glanced around for hidden cameras, admitting that it was a pretty elaborate stunt. But if Kutcher was behind it, he'd have the dollars to make an alien abduction feel real.
I looked up at the ceiling, my hands on my hips.
“Okay, guys. This is a punk, I get it, you can show yourselves now.” My words sparked a response in them. They all began talking at once, only I couldn't understand the guttural noises they were making. I was impressed with the effort they were putting into their roles. The woman held an electronic clipboard type of device and appeared to be taking notes. One of the men watched me, arms crossed. The other kept speaking, his hands animated. How long had they practiced this scene? They were good, very convincing.
The front wall of my cube vanished. I remained inside, waiting. Was I meant to step out? Had the director even considered that with the language barrier, I wouldn't know what was expected of me? But that was what happened, I supposed, when you get punked—you didn't act, you reacted.
I must have dawdled too long, for the man with the crossed arms stepped forward and grabbed my arm, dragging me from the cube and gabbling in his strange tongue.
“Hey! Hands off!” I twisted and struggled in his grip, but he held me so tight his fingers left bruises. I was pretty sure he was taking his role a tad too seriously. My struggle seemed to upset the other two, whose raised voices joined in the racket. But they must have reached some sort of compromise, for the noises stopped and the other two turned and began to walk away. The blue man with the death grip on my arm followed them, dragging me with him whether I wanted to go or not.
“Dude, you're hurting me. Ease up.” I was almost jogging to match their pace. A metal door slid open and we exited into a corridor. They must have made a set especially for the punk. How cool! The set resembled a spaceship, with grey metal walls, a mesh floor, concealed lighting. They'd thought of every detail, even the fake space scenery beyond the portal windows. And it was big! I'd expected maybe a room or two, but we walked for ages, and all the while, the guy kept a death grip on my arm.
I began to tire. Being towed along at such a frantic pace was taking its toll. I was out of breath and a sheen of sweat bathed my skin. The woman stopped and glanced up from the gadget she'd been studying. Turning, she approached me and seemed to berate me, her voice raised as she pointed from the device to me and back again. It was all gibberish. The arguing picked up again, with the two males joining in. I didn't understand what was going on. This punk was extremely detailed and seemed to be going on for a long time. I wondered how much of the footage would end up on the cutting room floor.
Their disagreement ended abruptly as the whole ship lurched. I fell to my knees, but the others managed to keep their footing. Their voices, nearly drowned out by the blare of alarms, now had an edge of panic. The male holding my arm flung me over his shoulder and took off down the corridor. I tried to balance myself upside down, bracing my arms against his back to leverage myself up and look around. As we passed a portal window, I gasped. Another ship approached, moving in close.
A sliver of doubt trickled through me as I bounced on the man's shoulder. This was a punk, wasn't it? It couldn't be real. Could it? A thought crept into my mind, one that quickly took root when I realised I shouldn't be seeing CGI footage through the portal windows ... I should be seeing green screens. The CGI stuff always got added in later, during post production.
When we reached our destination, a door slid open to admit us, then just as smoothly whispered shut. Raising my head, I peered around, then wished I hadn't. We were in some sort of medical examination room, complete with an operating table fitted with restraints. I started to struggle in earnest, and the blue man grunted when I elbowed him in the back. Little good it did me. He flung me face-down on the table, the metal cuffs snapping closed around my wrists, ankles, neck, waist, and knees, leaving me powerless.
Panic and fear flooded through me in equal measure. This was not a punk, trick, or joke. This was friggin’ real. I jerked at the restraints, ignoring the way they dug into my flesh. My heart hammered so hard I was worried it would burst from my chest. Or simply stop. Neither scenario was good. I twisted my head, trying to see what the blue freaks were doing.
The man who'd carried me stood guard at the door. The other two were messing around at some sort of instrument panel, holding what appeared to be a cross between a scalpel and a needle. It looked big and lethal.
“NO. NO. NO.” I tried to heave myself off the table, the metal restraints biting deeper into my skin, my heart ready to explode. Someone pushed up the back of my tunic, and powerful, unseen hands pressed against my lower back, holding me still against the table. The blade stung as it sliced into the flesh at the base of my spine, pain scalding through me. The warm wetness of my blood ran down my sides and pooled beneath my belly, the coppery tang scenting the air. Gasping and panting I tried to stay conscious, the pain excruciating. Just when I thought I couldn't take anymore, the cutting stopped. My body limp, I drew in a ragged breath. It was over. Thank God.
The ship rocked again, followed by shouts and sounds of fighting. The blue people chattered again in their strange language, then there was a searing pain in the wound on my back, like a fist being forced into my spine. My scream echoed around the room, long, loud, and endless. I felt something wrap itself around my spinal cord, bonding itself to me, burning me from the inside out like the fires of hell, until I thought for sure I was going to die. I screamed until I had no voice, while the agony inside me continued to rage. It felt as if my blood was on fire. Exhausted, I passed out.