Savage Prince by Alison Aimes

Free Book, STOLEN, Excerpt

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“I loved it! Stolen is well written, full of suspense, intrigue, romance, and HOT, Alien Alphas!”-5Star Reviewer

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This sexy, suspenseful enemies-to lovers romance is $4.99 at all retailers, but available for free through my newsletter. Just click I WANT STOLEN to start reading for free today.

Here’s a taste . . .

Earth 9079

“You’re not supposed to be here, DaKar. Go away.” DaKar Volkan, disgraced firstborn Executive to the Starlight estate, Warlord of nothing, didn’t move. Dirty feet planted on the cool balcony tiles that overlooked the ballroom, he let his half-brother’s voice roll right over him. His hands gripped the railing as his gaze locked on the gathering below— and one tiny, delicate figure in particular.

Despite his calm appearance, his heart slammed against his chest.

He leaned farther over the balcony railing, rising to his tiptoes, the strange heat rippling beneath his skin weird, but not unpleasant.

She’d been standing next to a nervous-looking female and smug Executive male who looked like a typical élithe asht-hole. The two adults had recently entered into a breeding contract by the looks of the bright, metallic sashes around their shoulders, and the girl had been crowded out by a steady stream of well- wishers. Until she hovered at the outskirts, her head cast down- ward, her tiny shoulders hunched. Alone. Like him.

He gripped the railing tighter, the bruises on his jaw and ribs throbbing a little less. He didn’t know how he knew, but she was the cause of the strange sensations. He was certain of it.

He’d been tinkering with his junk of a transpo floater, no intention of coming here, when the burn had snaked down his spine and propelled his feet forward, tugging him along until he’d stood at the edge of the balcony and his gaze had unerringly locked on her, everything else dropping to silence.

He had no clue why. Her hair was pretty, but there was little else of mention. She was skinny with big eyes and a large mouth that took up her whole face. She was also no more than seven, right around the same age as his annoying half-brother. And she was full élithe, like his stepmother, dressed in the same shimmering ornate white gowns required of all unbred females.

Svette, the eighteen-year-old girl from Orion’s belt who came with her father to deliver supplies and giggled and winked at him the whole time, was a far more attractive female. But his skin had never once hummed for her like it did for the golden-haired one.

His stepmother would probably say it was some disgusting Martian thing. She blamed everything she didn’t like on his Outer World blood. And maybe she was right, maybe whatever this was—

His breath left in a rush as the blonde’s head snapped up and bright green, defiant eyes zeroed in on him. Her fiery spirit, fury, and confusion slamming into him as if he’d stepped inside her mind. As if they were one. As if he knew this strange girl as well as he knew himself. And, for an instant he wasn’t alone, the heat inside him swirling and changing, snaking in golden tendrils that stretched towards her even as they wound tighter and tighter around his chest. Binding them together, two jagged pieces snap- ping into place. Inevitable. Right. Fated. Fused into one perfect whole. Filling the empty, bleak sky of his soul with a million sparkling stars more beautiful than any danashe stones.

Minel. The Martian word for “mine” ricocheted through his brain, a silent roar. Ancient. Primal. Out of context in the élithe world and his ten-year-old boy mind. And yet so right. As if he was finally slipping into the skin he was meant to wear, his chest expanding as the golden shimmer of his skin glittered brighter. Minel. He who’d had nothing he could call his, not even the clothes on his back, suddenly had everything he’d ever wanted. Minel. Her anger, fear, and loneliness pulsed in his chest as if she’d whispered her feelings straight into his ear, and a protectiveness he’d never known roared through him. His horns jutted from his head, his fangs lengthening. Keeping her safe, making her happy, suddenly all that mattered.

The railing bent under the force of his grip.

“Oh, look what you’ve done,” gasped Peller. “Mother will be furious.”

The humming beneath DaKar’s skin increased in tempo. The girl’s eyes crinkled at the edges as if she was trying hard to make him out and he realized she couldn’t see him nearly as well as he could her. Élithe sight wasn’t as strong as Martian sight and he was positioned far across the other side of the room, high above. And yet she still looked his way...her brow wrinkled, her expression uncertain, but curious.

Then, her face scrunched up, her tongue came out, and she made a silly face totally out of place with her fancy dress and proper bearing.

He locked his knees to stay upright. She was perfect. Minel.

The wild, uncivilized urge built inside. He needed to plant himself in front of the girl who’d tried to make him laugh and rip apart anyone who attempted to hurt her or take her from him.

He moved along the balcony edge toward the stairs, his stare never wavering from her.

All his life he’d heard his blood was tainted, that his mother’s Martian Warlord heritage was barbaric and not befitting of their family—and neither was he. He’d pretended not to care, but up until tonight, he’d done his best to prove them wrong.

Tonight, he needed to put ego aside and gladly prove them right. She was what mattered.

He prowled forward once more, following the railing that led to the stairs, his gaze still locked on her.

“Stop right there.” Another voice, higher-pitched and far more dangerous. “You were told not to show your face tonight and you will do as you’re bid for once. Turn around and crawl back to your hole. You are not welcome here. I have a reputation to uphold.”

He didn’t have to turn around to know his stepmother loomed behind, her streaked gold and black hair piled high on her head like a coiled snake and laden with glittering danashe stones while her meticulously maintained body was draped in the finest of iridescent red fabrics that fastened tight to her body and billowed out behind her like the echoes of a scream. Nor did he have to look to know her face was pinched in a sour expression. Or that she was surrounded by the same four burly, blank-faced guards with thick forearms and brutish knuckles that followed her every command.

Most of the servants were kind to him, sneaking him food or patching up his injuries on the sly, sharing what they had, despite having very little. But not these four. They served his stepmother with pleasure, and her pleasure was his pain.

She hated him for having Martian blood and golden skin. She hated him for his father’s refusal to remove him from her home. Mostly, she hated him because he was his father’s firstborn, and élithe rules were very clear on lines of inheritance. Her younger son Peller would never inherit the full title, lands, and shares of the Starlight estate. Half-breed or not, freak or not, that right belonged to DaKar.

“I may not be welcome, but I am still going.” His stare still on the girl, he suddenly felt far older than his ten planetary rotations, his blood pumping with an ancient impulse that gave him the wisdom of a thousand Martian Warlord ancestors. “This does not concern you or your precious reputation.”

“Everything you do concerns me.” A slight pause, her voice sharp with excitement as she issued her next directive. “Teach this half-breed some respect.”

It hurt to turn away from the girl, his soul ripping like shredded fabric as the connection severed, but he couldn’t protect her if he was dead. His fangs lengthened. His chest expanded, the seams of Peller’s old clothes giving way.

He ducked, air hissing against his cheek as he barely dodged the meaty fist slamming toward his jaw. He was not so lucky with the next kick to his stomach. His bigger body was unfamiliar and awkward, making it harder to avoid the blows, while the roar of possession and protectiveness in his blood made focusing difficult. He had the instincts, but not the skills or understanding— and despite the ancient drive throbbing through his veins, he was still only ten. Smaller and weaker than the handful of grown males closing in.

He went down hard, the railing and half wall hiding him from the ballroom below. His palms slammed into the tiles, along with his chin. His fangs punched into his lower lip. Blood splattered. Fists and boots battered him.

“Not here.” His stepmother’s hiss cut through the haze of pain. “Take him to his room. Make sure there’s no chance he can make another unwanted appearance tonight.”

Firm hands gripped his arms and jerked him upright and forward, his toes barely skimming the ground. Bucking and thrashing, he tried to escape the males flanking both sides. Minel. He needed to get to her.

“My Lady,” Tom, a hardworking servant in his mid-twenties who’d only recently been promoted from outside work to doorman and floater driver, appeared from behind the column, his expression a mix of nerves and determination, “the boy meant no harm. If you would show him some kindness, I—”

Before DaKar could even open his mouth to warn the man off, his stepmother flicked her fingers. “You’re dismissed.”

Her lackey’s brutal fist plowed into the brave male’s jaw. Eyes rolling back, he crumpled. “No.” DaKar fought harder.

“I do not want a scene.” His stepmother flicked her wrist once more.

A slight hiss of air and something hard punched the back of his head. His neck snapped.

Black dots danced in front of his eyes as his body sagged and his senses shut down one by one. Until all he knew was the grim beat of his heart and the knowledge that he’d failed those he should have protected, her worst of all.

The connection, the heat, the golden tendrils growing fainter with every step they dragged him away, until it was only a mocking echo, until he wasn’t sure it had even been real, and then, there was nothing at all.

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