Her Alien Rebel by Presley Hall
Felicity
No matterhow hard I try, I can’t shake the unsettled feeling that Ren left me with. I feel itchy and jittery, needing some kind of release for my nervous energy, some way to take my mind off what happened and how it threw me so completely off balance.
Back on Earth, this kind of antsy feeling would have sent me straight to the nearest bar or casino. Since I lived in Vegas, places like that weren’t hard to find. They were literally everywhere. You couldn’t get a drink at a bar without a screen in front of you, blinking with bright lights and the promise of a big jackpot. You could gamble away more money than you could possibly spend on booze in a matter of minutes.
If I had lived somewhere else, maybe my addiction would never have gotten as bad as it did. Who knows?
All I know is that every time something went wrong—if I had a bad night at work or got into an argument with a friend or one of the few guys I ever dated—I’d go to the casino. It was my “self-care,” my means of “blowing off some steam.” I came up with a thousand excuses. A lot of the casinos would let patrons drink free as long as they were gambling, even if it was just nickel slots, so I told myself that it wasn’t any different than drinking out at a bar. I was just spending that money on something else. And if I had stayed at those nickel slot machines, maybe that would have been true.
But the nights always went the same. I’d start out at the slots, telling myself I was just going to have a couple drinks and play a few rounds. Once I got a good buzz going, I’d move on to the craps table, or blackjack. If I was winning, I’d keep going. If I started losing, by then I’d be at the point where I was in too deep to back out. Instead of admitting that the house always wins in the end, I’d tell myself I was just playing the wrong game. So I’d switch to poker, or heaven forbid, roulette.
The night would always go downhill from there. I’d stumble out in the early morning, drunk and having drained my savings account, sometimes my checking account too, after spending my cash tips from my shifts at the bar.
All the money I’d saved for tuition, gone.
The money for the electric bill, the groceries, gone.
I’d wake up hours later in my own bed, ashamed and swearing that I never would again, that I’d save up for school, for my dream of being more than just an armchair therapist for barflies. That I’d be a real therapist.
Maybe I’d even help people with addictions like mine, once I beat it. Once I graduated.
For a while, I would hold myself to that promise. I’d try to do better. Until the next bad day happened, or the next argument, or the next low point.
And then it would start all over again.
I haven’t felt the urge to gamble in a long time. After all, I was forced to quit cold turkey when I crash-landed in the middle of an alien forest. That helped break the addiction, something I never managed to do on Earth.
The only way I would’ve been able to scratch that itch here would have been to go to Pascia to gamble, and I’ve never had any desire to do that. Stepping into an alien gambling den doesn’t have quite the same appeal as the lights and glitz of Vegas—and I don’t think any of the Voxeran warriors would have let me get that far, either. I might not have a mate here, but they protect me and the other unmated women all the same.
But now, I feel that itchy sensation again, the anxiety that makes me antsy and fidgety, and I don’t have any outlet for it.
I wander over to where some of the other women are talking, mostly unmated ones, since we all tend to group together. They’re chatting animatedly, and I can tell that they’re all excited about the arrival of the ship and this new development.
“We’re one step closer to getting off Nuthora,” one of them says, a tall brunette named Demi. “And then what? We’ll probably go to Vox, right?”
“Did you see the one who brought the ship?” Gwen, a freckle-faced redhead, asks. “He looked so dangerous. More serious than Droth, even.”
“We’re going to meet a lot of other Voxerans soon,” Ivy says with a grin. She has an infectious smile that makes twin dimples appear in her cheeks. “If we’re headed to Vox, that is. I wonder if they all look like the warriors we’ve met here?”
“Oh my god, if they do…” Gwen trails off, a dreamy look stealing over her features. “If they’re all this tall, and ripped, and just so fucking—”
“Sexy?” Demi helpfully suggests, and the women dissolve into laughter.
I don’t join in. I can’t shake the feeling that Ren left me with no matter how hard I try, that strange unsettledness that just won’t leave.
I’m angry about the way we met, the way he treated me, the fact that he threatened me with no just cause. Even when I tried to tell him the truth, that we human women are with the Voxerans, he acted as if he didn’t believe me. He was dismissive and suspicious, as if I was lying to him.
“Well, at least we know all the Voxerans don’t look like Ren,” I comment with a snort, not even sure where the rude words are coming from or why I’m saying them. “Old and scarred. No wonder he wasn’t with the others.”
Even as I speak, I know that what I’m saying is a lie. A little silver hair at the temples hardly makes him old, and the scars don’t make him ugly. If anything, they enhance his sharp, handsome features, making him look even more deadly and dangerous than the other warriors.
The women all go quiet at once, glancing over my shoulder nervously, and I realize too late that Ren is walking past us—close enough to have heard my jab.
His green eyes meet mine, and I immediately feel like the universe’s biggest asshole. A flash of guilt washes over me as I watch his face go hard, and he turns to walk away, his strides quick and angry.
“Shit. Excuse me.”
Shooting an apologetic glance at the other women, I turn to hurry after him, wanting to apologize.
I didn’t mean it, I really didn’t, and I don’t want him to be hurt. I didn’t even really think that someone like him could be hurt by a careless comment, no matter how cruel. He seems so detached and hard—and I’m still upset with him for the way he acted when we first met.
But I didn’t mean to cut so deeply either.
I jog after him—it seems to take three or four of my strides to match one of his—and manage to catch up after a few moments, panting and slightly out of breath.
“Hey, wait,” I call out as I reach him. “I didn’t mean—”
The apology is on the tip of my tongue, but before I can utter another word, Ren wheels around, pinning me with those cat-like jade eyes again.
“Is it true?” he asks abruptly. “That you and the other Terran women here aren’t actually criminals?”
I pull up short and blink at him, startled by the sudden question. He must’ve been asking about us, and one of the other warriors probably told him our story.
“Yes, it’s true,” I manage finally. “Our ship crash-landed here. We were never meant to be on Nuthora. Most of us didn’t even realize we’d left Earth until we woke up in cryo-pods on a wrecked spaceship we didn’t recognize. We were snatched from our old lives and put into cryogenic sleep so that we could be traded in exchange for alien tech.”
Ren nods, but nothing about him seems to soften. His face is still hard-edged, and I can see the distrust in his eyes. “I was surprised to see a Terran on this planet when I landed. Your kind isn’t common, especially so far out.”
“The surprise was obvious,” I point out dryly, thinking of his arm at my throat and his knife at my ribs. It’s meant to be a joke, an attempt to lighten the mood, but Ren’s mouth doesn’t so much as twitch.
Wow, tough crowd.
“I was surprised about the mate bonds too,” he says after a moment’s thought. “But it makes sense, I suppose.”
“Oh? Why is that?” I cross my arms under my breasts and level a look at him, my apology long-forgotten. I’m pretty sure he’s gearing up to say something rude, and I’m not even a little bit wrong.
“Well, my fellow Voxeran warriors thought they’d be stranded here forever,” Ren says coolly. “So of course they formed mate bonds with you Terran women when you appeared. After all, it’s not as if they had many other options. From what I’ve gathered, women aren’t often dropped off here as prisoners—the solar council tends to find more lucrative sentences for them.”
My eyebrows both shoot up at once, almost into my hairline, it feels like.
Did he really just say that the Voxerans settled for their human mates?
What a fucking asshole. Screw it. I’m not apologizing to him for anything.
I glare at him. “Well, the women didn’t exactly have a smorgasbord of options either, buddy. So maybe they settled for you guys.”
Even saying it out loud, I know it doesn’t make much sense. Mating with the tall, gorgeous, shredded Voxeran warriors is hardly settling, definitely not in the Earth sense of the word. I’ve heard plenty of gossip about everything else these warriors have going on too, right down to their massive—
I force that particular train of thought off its tracks before a blush can creep up my cheeks. The only massive thing Ren has going on, I’m pretty sure, is his ego. And I’m over it.
The stoic warrior in front of me doesn’t look amused either. “According to Prince Droth, my rescue mission includes not only the Voxerans, but now you Terran women as well.”
“And you have a problem with it?”
“I will always do as my prince commands.” He inclines his head slightly in a gesture of respect. “But no one ever said I can’t form my own silent opinions on the matter.”
With that, he turns and stalks away, leaving me seething even more than before.
It’s clear that he’s skeptical about our presence here at all, and dismissive of us in general. If it wasn’t for the fact that Droth has Charlotte as his mate, I wouldn’t put it past him to try to convince the Voxeran prince to leave us all here.
Thankfully, that option isn’t on the table. But as I stride angrily back to camp, I hope that this is going to be over soon—the rescue mission, whatever plan Droth has cooked up, the flight to Vox, all of it.
Once we land there, hopefully I’ll never have to see or speak to Ren again.
