Alien Romance: Rusneon Mates Boxed Set: A Scifi Alien Abduction Romance (Alien Romance, Alien Invasion Romance, BBW) (16 page)

Chapter 19

Their wedding was postponed to the very last part of the Night of the Falling star. Dom had insisted to put on a funeral for his brother, and even included Za’alua. A night that should have been full of happiness and joyful festivities was now dragged into a painful night of sadness.

Dom had covered up Soran’s death, saying that he had been aware of an underground attempt on Dom’s life. When the public cried out, Dom had said that those who were caught in the conspiracy were all killed in the scuffle and were shamed to never have their names be known.

The public believed Dom, saw how he held his brother’s body and honored in silence the fallen life of a Son of Rusneon. That night, they placed his body in a casket and sent him into the sky where a massive round of fireworks would signal the last flare of life before being extinguished in a deluge of beautiful colors.

Andrea watched sadly, holding on to Dom’s hand and supporting him with her heart and mind. It was all he could do to not break down and cry before his own kind.

As soon as the funeral procession concluded, they approached the stand of Vows, and it was there that Dom and Andrea exchanged their desire to be together forever.

A tall man, known as the Elder of the Council appeared to stand between them, and his words fulfilled a promise that the two of them held for one another.

“On this night, The Night of the Falling Star,” the Elder’s words were spoken clearly in honor of Soran’s death.”

We have witnessed a different fall. This holy day, has been delighted in the remembrance of the Armies that fell for our Peace, of the Stars that ripped through our Heavens to bring us salvation. It is on this night that we remember and hold the most significant Matrimonies… for it is with the seal of love that war can be conquered.”

That night, Andrea brought Dom into her arms.

“It is with this chosen significance, that we better understand our origins.”

And as they fell together into a passionate dance of writhing limbs and moaning voices…

“And yet the loss of our own continues to remind us of the frailty of this peace. Of those who threaten to destroy it. Of those who almost did.”

Dom connected with Andrea everything in his heart. The pain and loss of losing a brother was huge…

“Let us rejoice this time, and witness the Falling Star with not just joy in our hearts, but with a steady reminder,”

…But gaining a new love and a new happiness was sure to overcome all pains.

“That we are but stardust in this great universe… and with every fall there is a rise.”

You are my beloved.

And You are my own.

“Rusneon Rises!”

And the cries of the people were many and the unity of these two lovers, brought from different parts of the universe, was stronger than anything before.

***

Claimed By The Alien Alpha

Ashley Hunter

 Copyright 2016 by Ashley Hunter

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced

in any way whatsoever, without written permission

from the author, except in case of brief

quotations embodied in critical reviews

and articles.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any

character, person, living or dead, events, place or

organizations is purely coincidental. The author does not

have any control over and does not assume any responsibility

for third party websites or their content.

First edition, 2016

CHAPTER ONE

The hunt was on, and Cynthia was the prey.

She stumbled through the woods, her breath a brutal rasp in her throat. Every step was a hammer-blow through her body – a cruel reminder of her failed promise to eat less and exercise more.

But she kept running all the same, even though her bare feet slipped and skidded every time she took another step. The alternative didn’t bear thinking about.

Right on cue, a guttural grunt of men’s voices arose from behind Cynthia – and somewhere off to her left as well. They were gaining on her – worse, they were starting to surround her!

“Hey darling, don’t you want your shoes back?”

“What about your shirt?”

There was a burst of laughter like a pack of jackals cackling as they closed in on their prey. With a gulping sob, Cynthia veered off to her right and kept running.

They weren’t going to catch her! The jibe about the clothing renewed her determination to escape. The shoes, she’d taken off to make it easier to drive. Heels looked good, sure, but they were useless for maintaining control of a car.

The shirt, on the other hand, they’d torn from her back when she’d pushed through the ugly circle of leering men surrounding her and the broken-down car beside the road.

So now here she was, running barefoot and topless through the woods, alone and afraid and approaching exhaustion.

They’d even ruined her favourite bra, the bastards. One of them had grabbed her shoulder when fighting for her shirt, and now that bra strap kept slipping down. Cynthia shoved it back into place without breaking stride, and wondered just how much worse her night could get.

Right on cue, as if someone had been waiting for her to think that very thought, the ground under her left foot gave way. She tumbled down an embankment and landed with a splash in a freezing cold stream. It was only about knee deep, but that didn’t really make things better considering she’d landed on all fours.

Cynthia pulled herself to her feet and moved to the far shore. No matter what, she had to keep moving. Forward, and away from the jackals nipping at her heels.

Someone called out behind her. Close – far too close. With a gasp, Cynthia hurled herself through the underbrush clustered along the far side of the stream and threw herself flat to the ground.

Another jackal’s voice rang out, and Cynthia held her breath in her throat. What if they heard her breathing?

“You see her?”

Someone replied – a sound of disappointment and anger, bereft of words. There was a discussion, and then the voices faded away.

Cynthia rose slowly to her feet and peered up at the embankment. Had they really given up?

She waited a moment, unsure what to do now, and then became aware of the night air on her skin. It had been quite a splash when she’d landed in the stream, and now she was soaked through. She was cold – freezing, in fact – and if she stayed out here she was going to get hypothermia. She needed to find some shelter, she needed to –

She looked down at herself; at her beautiful broken bra, at her bare feet caked in mud, at the ridiculously short skirt that had hiked up to dangerous levels when she’d tumbled down the embankment –

She needed a change of clothes.

But shelter was the first order of business.

Cynthia moved away from the stream and then turned slowly in place as she tried to decide what to do next. Maybe if she waited awhile, she could go back to the car –

Except it would still be broken down, wouldn’t it? And it was still by the bar where all those jackals had coming pouring out of as well.

Cynthia ran a hand through her hair and let out a long, shaky sigh. She needed to find some shelter. Even a shack in the woods would be enough – just somewhere to get out of the cold air.

And that was when she saw the light.

It was faint, and far-off, and it flickered between the trees. It was clearly unnatural, which meant – to Cynthia’s exhausted mind, at least – an escape from the ugly, unfriendly woods all about her.

She took a deep breath, and set off.

It wasn’t as far off as she had first thought – merely a lot smaller
than she had first imagined. She hadn’t really thought about it that much, but she’d imagined the light coming through a window or something like that.

But now, here she was, standing in a small clearing staring at the source of the light, and she wasn’t quite sure what to make of it.

It was a dome – a very small one. Cynthia had already walked around it, and it was barely big enough for a single person. There was a door in it, or at least an opening. The light Cynthia had seen was spilling from that opening, a soft and gentle blue in colour.

Beyond the door was a corridor sloping downward. Warmth spilled out with the light, welcoming and comforting after the panic of the night behind her.

It was the strangest little house she had ever seen.

Cynthia stood in front of the opening, her arms wrapped around her waist as she chewed on her lip. Her hand fell on her hip, and she twisted her nose in a moment of self-loathing. There was far too much meat there, she thought –

She was procrastinating. It was warm and light in there. She took a deep breath, took one last look at the cold and dark forest around her, and stepped over the threshold.

The light changed as she stepped into the corridor, flicking from pale blue to a warm orange. Cynthia imagined it as a kind of welcome, as if the – house, dome, whatever it was – was happy to see her. Her exhausted mind didn’t take it any further than that. At least, not right away.

Cynthia trailed her hand along the wall, and let out a gasp as a piece of it suddenly slid back into a hidden recess. The door had been all-but invisible a moment before, and now she had opened it with nothing more than a soft caress.

She was starting to wonder just what kind of house this was.

Cynthia stepped through the doorway and peered cautiously about her. It was a small room, with a low, long shelf in one corner and that was about it.

“H-hello?” Cynthia said. Her voice cracked, and she licked her lips and tried again. “Is anyone there?”

There was movement from behind her. She turned, and came face-to-face with a god.

That was how Cynthia’s mind read it at first. The man’s frame filled the doorway she’d just come through; he was tall and broad and oh god he was glaring at her.

“Who are you, and what are you doing on my ship?” he demanded. Cynthia could only blink at him, taken aback by the perfect structure of his cheekbones and jaw. It was as if he’d been carved from stone and brushed with paint – he was perfect!

And she was half-naked and soaked through. She glanced down at herself, gasped, and gave a futile effort to cover herself up – one hand across her breasts, the other tugging at the hem of her skirt. She was a mess, she was indecently dressed –

“I asked you a question,” the man said. “Are you incapable of speech?”

He was looking her up and down, and Cynthia couldn’t read what was in his eyes. Whatever it was, they were lingering on her chest.

She blushed and ducked her head. It helped, a little, to not look directly at him.

“I – I’m – my name is Cynthia. Cynthia Withers,” she said. And then the second part of his question caught up to her shattered, frightened, and exhausted mind. Her head snapped up and she found herself staring into his eyes – dark brown, and widened in surprise at the sudden re-contact with her gaze.

“What do you mean ‘ship’?” she asked.

The man sighed.

“It is traditional among my people to give a name when one is received,” he said. “I am Archon Rushael of the House of Weyferi.”

He stepped into the room, and Cynthia drew back a step – then wished she’d simply held her ground. There was something about this man – Rushael – that sent little electric shocks down her spine all the way to her knees, and then back up the inside of her thighs.

She found herself wishing that there was a different reason for her being half-dressed.

He was looking at her again – not her face, but where her hands were. Cynthia drew back her shoulders and let out a cough. He raised his eyes to her face, and she felt herself blush. He was thinking similar thoughts, it seemed.

“You are on my ship,” Rushael said. “It travels between stars, and we are going home.”

Cynthia let out a laugh. That sounded more than a little ridiculous, and she almost dropped her hands to express her surprise.

Almost. His eyes were still on her, and now she was keenly aware of how tight-fitting his uniform was. She could make out the shape of his chest and stomach muscles, and even –

She blushed, then raised her gaze. She was getting distracted again.

“I live on Greenwood Terrace, just north of Culverton,” she said.

Rushael stared at her, and then threw back his head and let out a laugh – rich, deep, and full of all kinds of promises. Cynthia was glad he wasn’t looking at her, because that sound sent a delicious shiver through her entire body and she almost forgot how to breathe.

“I think you missed an important piece of information there,” Rushael said. “This is a starship.”

He walked over to the wall above the low shelf and made a sweeping gesture with his hand – almost as if wiping something away. The wall dissolved at his touch, going from opaque to translucent with a smooth movement. Cynthia found herself looking out a window, and what she saw made her gasp.

In the brief moment before the relevance of the view sunk in, she’d expected to see the woods where she’d found this strange place.

What she saw instead were stars.

“We are in space,” Rushael said, “And we are returning to my home planet.” He turned his dark eyes toward her, and Cynthia looked up at his chiseled, perfect face and found herself fighting to breathe evenly.

“We are going to Rusneon,” he said.

Cynthia laughed. “No,” she said, and he frowned at her. She fell back a step, then raised her chin and repeated herself.

“Take me back home. You have no right to kidnap me like this!”

Rushael laughed.

“It takes an incredible amount of energy to leave your planet,” he said. “If we were to return now, I would never be able to get home.”

His voice was deep and resonant and hypnotic, and Cynthia found herself unable – unwilling – to interrupt as he continued.

“No. You will not be returning home. We will travel to Rusneon, and your fate will be decided there.”

Cynthia was still caught in the haze of his voice and the warm, tingling buzz that was spreading through her body and focusing, yes, alright, between her thighs because of it. It took a moment for his words to sink in, but when they did the warmth was slapped away with the cold shock of horror.

“What – what do you mean?” she demanded.

But she knew exactly what he meant, even as he turned his gaze away from her for a moment and stared out the window. His jaw clenched, and then he turned his gaze back toward her.

“You are my prisoner, Cynthia Withers,” he said.

She let out a cry and flew toward the door, but he stepped easily past her and blocked her escape.

“This will be your room,” he said. “The journey will not take long.”

And with that, he stepped over the threshold and the door slid silently shut behind him.

Cynthia turned, and looked over her prison cell. Despair fell on her like heavy stones, and she fell to her knees even as her body pulsed with something else.

What was she going to do now?