Alien Romance: Rusneon Mates Boxed Set: A Scifi Alien Abduction Romance (Alien Romance, Alien Invasion Romance, BBW) (19 page)

Cynthia blushed, and the reaction did not go unnoticed.

“Over-emotional, and weak. They are not fit for us.”

Rushael began to bluster, but Verek held up a hand.

“That thing –” he gestured at Cynthia – “is not fit to be your trophy. She is not fit to stand on Rusneon.”

Verek looked around at the other archons, and the smile on his face grew. When he returned his attention to Rushael, the expression was undeniable.

The zai-archon was gloating.

“The Perataik cannot allow this to continue,” he said.

Rushael went to interrupt, but Verek spoke over him. He was
relishing
this situation, savouring the words that he was about to say like fine cuisine. He rolled them around his mouth, then let them fall out to poison the air with tiny, jagged stabs of pride and hatred.

“She must die.”

What??

Rushael turned his face toward Cynthia, and she felt the world drop away beneath her feet. The expression on his face matched the feelings churning through her body. She felt like she’d just been hollowed out – there was nothing there but a howling void, screaming in her ears and leaving her shocked and unable to move. Verek was still speaking, but she could barely hear his words. He repeated himself, and the meaning finally bled through into her mind. And, somehow, it was even worse.

“She must die, and you must kill her by your own hand.”

CHAPTER FIVE

It was a joke. It had to be a joke.
Cynthia kept repeating that to herself over and over as Rushael led her up a winding staircase.

“It will be painless, I can promise you that much,” Rushael said. He refused to look at her, refused to even slow for her when she began to struggle with the stairs. He obviously meant the words to be comforting, but their content was so cold that Cynthia couldn’t help but shiver at them.

“It is a
kindness
for them to let me do it this way,” he continued. There was the whip crack of anger in his voice, and Cynthia wasn’t sure if it was directed at her or someone else. It only compounded her misery either way.

He stopped, and she nearly walked into his back. She drew back at the last moment, and he turned and looked at her.

“We’re here,” he said.

They were standing in front of a blank wall – another one of the hidden doors, Cynthia presumed.

She desperately wanted that door to stay closed. Even as Rushael raised his hand to make the now all-too-familiar gesture, she prayed for him to stop.
Change your mind
, she thought.
You don’t really want to do this
.

He waved his hand once, and the door slid open. He stood to one side, and Cynthia realised she was supposed to go in first.

Her feet didn’t want to move.
She
didn’t want to move. Maybe she could turn and run and –

And then what? Fight her way back to the ship? She didn’t have any weapons – she didn’t know how to fight – she was doomed.

This was her fate now.

She raised her chin and refused to look Rushael in the eyes. At the very least, she could go out with some dignity.

The door slid shut behind them, and Cynthia found herself in a small, circular chamber. There was a raised dais in the middle of the room, and above it was a matching shape descending from the ceiling. Another shape rose from the floor opposite the door, on the other side of the dais. It was about waist height, and its surface was angled away from the dais.

Aside from that, the room was utterly empty.

“They are watching,” Rushael said from behind her. “Please stand in the circle.”

Cynthia refused to look at him. Her blood was ice, even as it surged through her veins. She took a breath, and hated herself for letting it shiver.

She stepped up on the dais.

To her despair, Rushael moved around to the only other shape in the room – the waist-high table. It was a computer, she realised, and it controlled this execution device.

He looked up at her. She tried to look away, but it was too late. Their eyes locked, and a flash of heat ran through the ice in her veins.

She’d assumed his expression would be cold and distant – that he would look at her the same way she’d look at a bag of rubbish being dumped in the trash. But that couldn’t have been further from the truth. His eyes wavered with an ocean of emotion, and she wanted to reach out to him and touch the side of his face just to reassure him.

And then she remembered what he was about to do.

Her control snapped.

“You don’t have to do this!” Cynthia cried. “Please! Rushael, listen to me –”

But he pulled his attention away from her and back to the computer. He talked over her, drowning out her voice with his bass rumble.

“This machine is used to teleport non-organic goods across the city,” he said. “It renders them down to their component parts and then reassembles them elsewhere.”

He hesitated, then looked up at her one last time.

“It will be painless. I promise you that.”

Cynthia fell to her knees and started sobbing. She wrapped her arms around her torso and stared helplessly at Rushael. He clenched his jaw and drew in a deep breath, then shifted his weight. He tried to pull his gaze away, but the struggle seemed too much.

“Rushael, please –” Cynthia begged.

He dropped his gaze and activated the execution device.

It didn’t hurt. He’d been honest about that, at least.

Light rose up around Cynthia, golden and gentle. It tingled and tickled, but there was no pain at all.

And then she started to dissolve.

She felt it in her hands first of all. She held them up in front of her, and realised she could actually see
through
her fingers. The transparency spread up her arms and across her body, and the entire time it didn’t hurt at all.

She looked up at Rushael one last time, and he met her eyes – and winked.

Something flickered in Cynthia at that: a little ember of hope, barely acknowledged. Was there still a chance?

And then Cynthia dissolved entirely. Her vision went completely gold, and that was the last she saw of the teleportation chamber.

And then her vision came back, and with it all Cynthia’s other senses as well. She was warm – she could feel damp heat on her skin.

She fell forward and let out a sob of air. She was still alive! He hadn’t killed her!

But where was she?

The question prompted Cynthia to try stand up. She raised her head, and decided she would stay where she was for awhile.

She was surrounded by luxury. It looked like a greenhouse; there were plants all around her, and bright golden sunlight fell on her from above. She was inside – there was white stone under her feet, and she could see white stone walls beyond the plants – but great care had been taken to make this place look like it was outside. There was even a small stream chuckling past just a few feet away, its water bright and burbling.

Cynthia stood up and wandered over to it. She dipped a hand in, giggled, then splashed her feet in it. It was icy cold, a welcome contrast to the heavy heat around her.

She was alive! Three simple words, repeated over and over in her head. It didn’t matter where she was, not right now. Rushael had done … something … with the teleporter, and he’d saved her life.

He’d
spared
her life, she reminded herself. They’d ordered him to kill her, and he had refused.

That thought sent a warm shiver through Cynthia’s body, and she ran a hand along her other arm as she pondered its implications. A grin spread across her face as she dared to let herself daydream. She’d seen the wink, but she’d also seen the other times he’d looked at her, and the naked hunger in his eyes.

She shivered, but it had nothing to do with the temperature. She had to be honest with herself; despite the confusion that ran jagged and shrieking through her mind every time she thought of Rushael, she had to admit it was more than a little flattering to be wanted by him.

She let out a long breath, and found her mood fading just a little. She was still a prisoner, she realised.
His
prisoner.

CHAPTER SIX

As far as prisons went, Cynthia decided, this one wasn’t so bad.

The greenhouse was only one part of the whole complex. She discovered that fact quite by accident; after an hour or so of wandering back and forth she found a smooth expanse of wall behind a huge tree. She glanced around, then wondered just who she was looking for. She hesitated a moment, then waved her arm at it.

The wall recessed and slid open, and she laughed. She’d done that all on her own!

More than a little proud of her accomplishment, she stepped over the threshold and went exploring.

It was his house, she realised – or, rather, his mansion. She found a library, with actual books, and overstuffed reclining couches and the heady smell of old paper and years-dried ink.

She stayed there for far too long, running her hands over book-titles engraved into leather covers in languages she couldn’t understand and wondering if there was a way of translating them. Eventually she drew herself away with a long lingering sigh and carried on throughout the rest of the mansion.

There were no windows. It took Cynthia awhile to realise that, but when she did the sensation of being trapped – of being imprisoned – only rose within her. She almost fled back to the library, but she gathered herself together and pressed onward.

She found a kitchen, with food laid out on a table. She hesitated, and then realised she was hungry, and decided to eat a little.

She ended up clearing off the plate, and carried on exploring.

She found an empty hall, which she assumed was for entertaining guests. She thought of Rushael hosting a party, glass of red wine in his hand as he entertained a crowd. What would he do? Tell stories? Wear a funny hat?

She giggled, then bit her bottom lip as the sound echoed around her. She didn’t even know if Rusneans
threw
parties.

She shrugged off a shiver, and carried on exploring.

And that was when she found the bedroom.

The
bedroom. There was only one that she could find. It was huge – as big as her entire apartment back home – and the bed seemed sized to fit. It could fit at least half a dozen people, Cynthia thought.

Did Rushael sleep in it alone?

The thought stung her mind at the exact same time the bedroom door slid open with a hushed hiss. Cynthia jumped and yelped, and the sight of Rushael standing in the doorway did nothing to slow her heart rate down at all.

He saw her, and something remarkable happened.

He smiled.

It was a vanishingly trivial movement – a mere twitch of the facial muscles, nothing more – but he was ordinarily so impassive that it was as if he had thrown back his head and burst into maniacal laughter.

In reality, he regained control almost instantly. He crossed the threshold and came toward her, and for a moment Cynthia convinced herself he was going to pick her up and throw her on the bed.

If it came to it, she wasn’t sure she wanted to stop him from doing so.

He stopped a few steps away from her, and Cynthia felt her shoulders dropped. She’d at least been prepared for him to pick her up, it seemed.

He was holding out his hands – palm up, and open. Cynthia stared at them for a moment, and then took a hesitant step forward.

She put her hands in his, and it was like touching her fingers to electric wire. She had to struggle to keep the sensation from showing in her expression.

Rushael let out a long breath, and that flicker of a smile taunted his face once again.

“I’m glad you made it,” he said, and there the sound of his voice sent a shiver through Cynthia’s body. She coughed to cover it, and raised her chin.

“You sound like you weren’t sure I would,” she said. He frowned, and she smiled to take the edge off her words. The frown vanished, and he gave her a short nod.

He dropped her hands from his and took a half-step away, then turned to face her again. He was uncertain, Cynthia realised – almost nervous, in fact.

She tried to make her expression open. He wanted to say something, but was obviously having trouble with it.

He raised a hand again – it looked like he was going to touch Cynthia again – but then he dropped it back to his side.

“I … I have decided to try find a way to return you home,” he said.

Something crashed inside Cynthia. She let out a surprised sound, half sigh and half moan. Something flickered inside her, then crackled to life and began to burn.

Was it hope? She couldn’t be sure. It might be.

But there was something else, too. Somehow, in the midst of the flickering fire, there was a sliver of ice.

Cynthia had no idea how to deal with it.

So she kissed Rushael.

It took her by surprise as much as him. One moment, his words were still settling on her. The next moment, she had taken the three steps necessary to reach him, stretched up on her tip-toes, and laced her arms around his neck. He opened his mouth to challenge her, but she was already leaning in.

Their lips met. A storm erupted from the caress of their mouths and surged down Cynthia’s spine. She let out a murmur, and felt her knees start to give way. Rushael’s hands circled her waist, then slid lower. He cupped her backside and pulled her close. She could feel the immediacy of his body pressing against her as if their clothing wasn’t even there, and that thought alone only made her temperature rise. This was it, she thought.

He broke away from the kiss. Cynthia chased him for a moment, and then laughed and let him withdraw. She opened her eyes and let herself gaze on him, awash with the heat of the fire of her hunger. But it wasn’t just hunger: she wanted more than just his body. There was more to him than a cold, emotionless façade. Why else would he have spared her? He wanted more, Cynthia knew it. She searched his face for the confirmation of what she felt –

And found it absent.

He wanted her. She could tell that, simply by pressing up against him and feeling what pressed back. But, so far as she could tell, it was only lust. There was no kindness or empathy to his expression – nothing there at all, in fact – and all she had to go on was the way his body was reacting to her touch.

It was lust. That was all.

She dropped down from her tip-toes. The moment had passed, and Rushael realised it as much as she did. He untangled his hands from her and pulled away.

The absence of his immediate presence left an ache in Cynthia’s mind, and she spoke his name. She didn’t want him to go, but she didn’t want to give herself to someone that only wanted her for her body.

Her
body
. She glanced down, and felt a moment of self-loathing. What would he want with this?

The fire was thoroughly dampened now, the moment long past.

But Rushael was still there, watching her.

She couldn’t read his expression – mainly because he didn’t really
have
an expression. The mask was back on; his face was impassive and unmoving.

Cynthia wanted to tear at her hair. Desire still flickered in her – the fire could still ignite far too easily. But it wasn’t enough. She needed more than just a quick fix; she needed someone who wanted
her
, not just her body.

But she
really
wanted him. The memory of his body pressed up against her, the way he held her and pulled her against him, glowed in her mind. The thought alone was enough to start the fire flickering again, and Cynthia had to force herself to stay calm.

She drew in a deep breath and clenched her fists, then raised her chin and stared Rushael right in the eyes.

“What do you want from me?” Cynthia said.

He tilted his head to one side.

“You’re angry,” he said, and Cynthia let out a snort of air. Anger was not the right word for what she was feeling.

She unclenched her fists.

“No,” she admitted. “Not angry. Just … confused.” She laughed, but it wasn’t because she found the situation funny. There was just too much going on in her head, and she needed some way, any way, to push it away. Even if it was only for a little while.

Rushael studied her for a moment, and then nodded.

“I … cannot help with that,” he admitted. It was the first time Cynthia had ever seen him hesitate. His eyes widened as he realised what had just happened, and then he clenched his jaw and regained control.

“You will be safe here,” he said. “I will not allow harm to come to you. I –”

He stopped.

His expression changed. He
had
an expression, and to her surprise Cynthia realised it was a warm one.

He was looking at her, and he was almost smiling.

“I will protect you,” he said. “No harm will come to you while you are here.”

It was a promise, and it sent a warm rush through Cynthia’s body – quite aside from the heat gathering between her thighs and sizzling along her spine.

He did care for her, she realised. But he was probably never going to say it – and hearing the words, having him actually articulate what he was thinking and feeling, was the important part.

Cynthia nodded. “Thank you,” she said.

There was a long silence, protracted enough that it actually started to become awkward. Rushael took in a deep breath.

“Have you seen the library?” he asked.

Cynthia nodded. Again. Awkwardly, and very much aware that she was simply bobbing her head at him right now.

“Yes, I have,” she said. Rushael deflated a little, and Cynthia felt a pang of sympathy. “But I’d love to see it again.”

Rushael recovered, and nodded at her.

“Follow me, then,” he said. And he turned and waved the door open without even checking to see if she was obeying him. Clearly he just assumed she would do as she was told.

After a moment’s hesitation, Cynthia let out a huff of air and followed along after him.

At least she could check him out without him noticing from this angle, she thought.