“You say that now, but what happens when they come after you and cart you off to a K torture camp”—my mom’s voice cracked on an exaggerated, hysterical sob—“and we’re left wondering how many aliens ate our little girl’s brains for supper?”

  With a poorly muffled wail of distress, she sobbed out a melodramatic goodbye and audibly stomped off.

  That was my mother. If there was one thing she could always be counted on for, it was her penchant for high doomsday drama and her knack for saying the most unhelpful, inappropriate, and terrifying things at inopportune moments.

  A long, awkward pause on the line followed. Twenty-seven years of marriage and my dad had never quite learned how to react to my mom’s special brand of crazy. It was an odd thing between the two of them that had grated on me immensely growing up.

  Eventually, he said, “I should probably let you go now.”

  “’Kay, Dad. Call you on Sunday.”

  “Talk to you then. Be careful, Amy.”

  Chapter Nine

  I disconnected the call and resumed typing, pushing my parents’ dysfunctional relationship and my mom’s crazy K fears far from my mind as I quoted research from the Weston A. Price Foundation extolling the merits of lard, full-fat butter, and cod liver oil consumption.

  The Krinar were a highly intelligent, ancient species that clearly held a genetic advantage over humans, given what we had witnessed as far as their physical capabilities, not to mention what we had been told of their extended life spans. They’d taken over Earth in a matter of weeks, wielding technology more impressive than anything our science fiction novels had ever contemplated. And although we were similar in appearance to them—albeit far less beautiful and perfect-looking—by the Krinar’s own admission, our human DNA was actually more similar to that of a gorilla than that of a Krinar.

  Therefore, who the hell were they to decide what we should eat?

  I chose to ignore the fact that gorillas were herbivores—because it was irrelevant to my point. Sort of.

  And besides, if a vegan diet was so fulfilling to them as a species, why did they crave our blood so much? Maybe it was they who were missing something from this perfect vegan diet of theirs that they’d now subjected our entire planet to. And what if the same missing link in their diet led to humans eventually craving blood as well?

  Fuck. I removed my glasses and rubbed my eyes. I was going off the rails and reasoning like my mother now.

  My mind drifted to thoughts of Vair—specifically, the way he’d bitten me that night at the club—and I wondered what my blood had tasted like to him. Just thinking about the way his bite had felt always got me uncomfortably aroused. It was a memory I’d pleasured myself to on more than one occasion—more often than I cared to contemplate.

  What if I was becoming a xeno?

  The notion terrified me—and turned me on.

  I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

  Too often I’d lie awake at night, wondering what he was doing at that very moment. I’d even go so far as to run through alternate scenarios in my head about how things might play out if I ever got the courage to get out of bed, get dressed, and go back to his club.

  Proof-positive I was going insane.

  In some scenarios, I imagined him being terribly angry with me for the article I’d written about his club—possibly reacting with violence. That potential alone was enough to keep me from ever venturing back. Other times, I envisioned him mocking me for coming back, laughing in my face and tossing me out of the club.

  Yet somehow I felt it was more likely he’d forgotten about me altogether by now—too busy sucking and fucking New York City’s finest supermodels, no doubt.

  Ironically, rather than ruin business for Vair, the article I’d written had made his x-club the most sought-after secret sex club in Manhattan. Instead of being warned away, humans were more curious than ever to explore the sexual proclivities of the Ks, resulting in more eager xenos than before.

  I shook my head. I’d inadvertently done Vair a favor with my article. He had no reason to be mad.

  But beyond that, I doubted he’d be too terribly concerned with me one way or another, based on the fact that I had heard from Vair—just once—right after my story was printed.

  An enormous exotic fruit basket had been delivered to me at The Herald. And by exotic, I mean the basket was filled with fruits that couldn’t have been grown anywhere on Earth. I’d been terrified to even touch it, but Jay had dug right in, rummaging through and examining each unusual, delicious-looking piece of edible perfection.

  There’d been a note with the basket. And the few words written in bold, black scrawl on the rectangular-shaped, cream-colored cardstock had nearly sent me into cardiac arrest.

  Delicious thesis, darling. Cheers to earning your Master’s!

  I’d reread those words only a few thousand times, making myself—as well as Jay—a nervous wreck by analyzing every possible overt and hidden message contained therein, only to resign myself to the fact that Vair was once again messing with me, teasing me and fucking with my head like the inferior human specimen that he clearly took me for.

  No wonder he’d seemed so amused when I’d lied about being a grad student earning my Master’s.

  I decided his note was Vair-speak equivalent for: “Congratulations. I was on to you all along from the moment you entered my club, and I played you right back.”

  Because he had played me.

  I’d succumbed all too easily to his undeniable sexual thrall.

  And he was letting me know that he didn’t give a fuck about my little article, while making it painfully clear that he still held all the power—and that he could use it to crush me if he chose to.

  He knew where I lived. Where I worked. He knew the truth of what had happened between us. He was above the law—as were all Ks—and far higher up on the food chain than I was.

  But he let the article run and my white lie stand because he simply didn’t care one way or another.

  That conclusion alone should’ve been a relief to me.

  But it wasn’t. For some reason, it infuriated me to my very core.

  Against Jay’s protests, I’d pitched that giant, fancy exotic fruit basket straight down the incinerator chute along with Vair’s mocking card that same evening.

  And I’d committed myself to writing any and every anti-K story that The Herald would print going forward.

  My fingers were flying over the keyboard when both of the computer screens in front of me flickered, then went dark.

  My palm connected with the wood laminate desktop as I silently cursed The Herald’s quest to cut costs and their ever-cheapening technology systems.

  I glanced at my watch. It was after seven p.m.

  Great. No one in IT would be around.

  Leaning forward, I reached behind the monitors to fiddle with the connection, hoping it was just a loose cable, when my screens abruptly came back on, along with my speakers—at max volume.

  I froze, my heart seizing in my chest at the sights and sounds that assaulted me.

  The right monitor displayed footage of me from my night at the x-club—my writhing body held high in Vair’s arms, dress hiked up to my waist, back pressed against the wall. My lust-dazed face was plainly visible, my plaintive cry of “Please, Vair” distinctly audible over the pulsing background beat of club music as the gorgeous alien ground himself rhythmically between my spread thighs.

  The incriminating scenes playing out on the left monitor were far worse, the sounds more embarrassing still. I stopped breathing as a high-def montage of our tangled, glistening naked bodies copulating in every manner and position imaginable streamed across my screen.

  I was so fucked.

  Chapter Ten

  “Cab!” I yelled at the security guys in the lobby downstairs over the file boxes balanced precariously in my arms. “Please,” I appended when out of the corner of my eye, I saw one of the guards literally jump and scramble for the phone next to him at the front desk.

  In my effort to keep my voice from cracking, I’d managed to sound like a royal bitch.

  The other guard rushed forward to help me with my boxes, and I lost my composure again, barking, “I got it!”

  I was too close to an epic meltdown for any sort of interaction, and the file boxes packed to the gills with my personal belongings were a physical barrier I wasn’t willing to part with at the moment. They were heavy and awkward, but I needed some sort of energy outlet for the adrenaline coursing through me.

  “I’ll wait outside,” I announced, cutting the first security guard off as he started to say that a cab was on its way.

  Utilizing what my ex-boyfriend had often said was my strongest asset, I hip-checked the swinging glass exit door wide—with more force than was probably necessary—before guard number two had a chance to get it for me.

  “Thanks,” I muttered in a belated effort at politeness as I plowed through, rear first.

  The scents of early fall in New York City filled my lungs as I backed my stack of haphazardly packed belongings out onto the sidewalk on wobbly limbs.

  “Hey! Watch where you’re going!” a woman snapped at me when I spun around without looking and nearly rammed into her with my awkward burden.

  “Sorry.”

  Jesus, I needed to pull it together. I had to figure out what to do next, where I could go for help.

  Could anyone even help me?

  How bad was my situation? How many news stations and social media outlets had already received that footage?

  Would my mother see it?

  My dad?

  My eyes burned with unshed tears, and my stomach lurched. Great. I was about to vomit all over Broadway.

  Where was that cab?

  I forced in a calming breath as a cool evening breeze whipped my hair. Peering around the side of my boxes as best I could to avoid colliding with another pedestrian, I inched closer to the curb. Twilight was waning, and while the street was active, I was grateful that there were far more popular spots than Lower Manhattan’s Financial District for the masses to seek early entertainment on a Friday night.

  Tires rolled to a stop a few feet from the curb in front of me, and I craned my neck enough to make out a black stretch limo—not the cab I’d been hoping for. I started to amble on farther down the sidewalk to where a cabbie would be better able to spot me, when I heard the sound of car doors opening.

  Sure, rapid footsteps fell smoothly upon the concrete in my direction.

  Too smoothly.

  Some innate self-preservation instinct made my pulse quicken. I had a mad compulsion to drop my boxes and flee, but I was wearing my practical two-inch heels paired with a very impractical pencil skirt. It was doubtful I’d be able to outrun a K.

  A second later, it was too late entirely as I sensed his heat at my back—running along the entire length of my body, blocking out any trace of the evening breeze. I froze as the familiar scent of inhuman male perfection assaulted my olfaction, bringing with it the memory of the most carnally gratifying night of my life.

  Oh, fuck.

  My stomach clenched. My nipples hardened. The rest of my body seemed to have a vivid memory of that night as well, judging by its immediate—and mortifying—Pavlovian response to Vair’s mere presence. My inner muscles fluttered in anticipation, slick heat rushing to lubricate my sex.

  I reminded my stupid sex that this was the same alien who had just destroyed my career and my life. He was the enemy who had invaded my planet. An enemy who was possibly about to kill me as well.

  Or worse—turn me over to Krinar authorities.

  But when warm, long fingers encircled my right bicep, another jolt of sexual electricity shot through me. And when his other hand latched onto my left hip, it felt oddly reassuring, momentarily calming and centering me as a second set of unseen hands pulled the file boxes from my grasp.

  “This way, darling,” Vair’s deep voice instructed from above my head as he bodily steered me in the direction of the stretch limo.

  To the person who had confiscated my file boxes, Vair spoke rapidly in a foreign, guttural-sounding language that I couldn’t place. Over my shoulder, I glimpsed a tall, beautiful male K in a black suit nodding in assent as he effortlessly hauled my boxes back in the direction of the building where I worked.

  Had worked. Wait…

  “That’s my stuff,” I protested a little too late. “Where’s he going? Why’s he taking my stuff?”

  “Get in the car, Amy.” The command was accompanied by gentle pressure at my crown as Vair physically maneuvered me into the limousine before I had sense enough to put up a fight.

  He followed closely behind, folding his huge form gracefully into the luxuriously upholstered passenger cab and taking the seat across from me. The car began moving while I remained stock still—frozen in place amid a mixture of heart-pounding shock, fear, and anticipation.

  The moment Vair was settled and his full attention was fixed upon me where we sat face to face, I blushed. And not just a little flush that could pass for nervousness or be attributed to recent exertion from the heavy boxes I’d carried, either. It was the kind that made my skin feel sun-blistered and my head dizzy. The kind that screamed “guilty” in a court of law.

  The sort of blush that broadcast exactly how well I remembered the sensation of him plunging deep inside me and the sound of his masculine groans and grunts as he spent himself in me… in my mouth... across my back, my stomach, my...

  I broke eye contact—for fear of passing out—and let my eyes roam about as if investigating my surroundings. But I barely took in any of it. Every cell and fiber of my being was too acutely aware of the god-like alien sitting across from me.

  Watching me.

  God, he was so much better-looking than my masturbatory sessions had given him credit for. So much bigger. More predatory.

  Way more dangerous.

  There was too much room in his enormous limo for just the two of us. Yet not nearly enough space for me to avoid the sight, the scent, the very vibration of his essence in the air surrounding me.

  He could be taking me anywhere. Planning to do any number of terrible things to me.

  Pull it together, Amy.

  “You look hot.” His deep voice was light and playful, but it startled me just the same. “Shall I adjust the temperature?”

  My eyes snapped back to him and found that he was staring down at his palm—tracing something there with the forefinger of his other hand and not looking at me at all. He was wearing casual slacks, a simple white T-shirt that accentuated his bronzed skin tone, and loafers, and he managed to look fresh and chic—more sophisticated than I’d looked first thing this morning in my pencil skirt and silk blouse… before I was rumpled and disheveled from my day.

  “What are you going to do to me?” My voice betrayed me, emerging too high-pitched and with a slight quiver. Pitiable-sounding. Damn it.

  He seemed taken aback by my question at first—or perhaps by my tone—as he returned his attention to me, but then a slow, sensuous smile spread across his wide mouth and full lips. “What indeed?” His forefinger brushed absently across those gorgeous lips, and I had to remind myself to focus on his mocking tone—and on finding a way to live through this.

  “What would you do if you were in my shoes?” He sighed, and his face was suddenly devoid of humor. “I’m afraid several very powerful Krinar Council members were rather displeased with your article.”

  There it was. My very worst fear realized. I was a dead woman.

  And it was bullshit. My mother could not be right about this.

  “What?” I feigned shock. “What do you mean?” I blustered, a surge of adrenaline fueling me. “I was simply presenting factual information about your club… about the sexual habits of your race. I mean… you can’t be serious? You’re not serious, are you?” I latched onto the offensive and ran with it. “My God, your club is now the most sought-after best-kept secret in town. I’ve got New York’s hottest supermodels calling me, begging for your address!”

  I’d failed to mask the jealousy in my voice at that last part, so I quickly rambled on. “And anyway, I was under the impression that your powerful Council members controlled our media. I thought they’d simply squash the article—erase it from online circulation entirely—if they didn’t like what I’d written.”

  Vair’s features remained impassive. Uncompromising.

  Fuck.

  Fear and panic had my mouth working overtime. “They let it run,” I emphasized, as if that alone signified their tacit endorsement of it. “Well, I’m sorry; I had no idea anyone would be offended.” I threw in a huff of confusion. “If they disapproved, why didn’t they just pull it? It can’t be my fault they failed to pull it? I mean, they could’ve just called The Herald and asked them to pu—”

  I stopped at the sound of Vair’s slow clapping and the look of mocking amusement in his dark eyes.

  “Thank you for that lovely, very insincere apology, Ms. Myers. A pity you didn’t take up acting while you were at NYU earning your degree in journalism.”

  Shit. I really was in trouble.

  He held my gaze in silence, and the air around me seemed to grow colder with each passing second.

  “So… what then?” I raised one haughty, exasperated brow and emitted a dry chuckle that came out sounding far too nervous to support my bluff. “You going to cart me off to K jail? Or is capital punishment customary for alien-sexing-n-telling?” Oh my God, shut up!

  “Mmm… a bit of torture, a decade in a Krinar hard labor camp, and then public beheading. Customarily.”

  This couldn’t be happening. My mother’s wacky sources could not be accurate. There was no way. He was messing with me. I was sure of it.

 

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