Текст книги "Alien werewolfe"

Автор книги: January Bell

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ALIEN WEREWOLF’S PRIZE

STARLIGHT BRIDES

BOOK 2

JANUARY BELL

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ALIEN WEREWOLF’S PRIZE

Published by January Bell

www.januarybellromance.com

Copyright © 2024 January Bell

This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Cover design by Ozark Witch Cover Design

https://www.ozarkwitchcoverdesign.com/

Edited by VB Edits

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permissions contact: admin@januarybellromance.com

For sub-rights inquiries, please contact Jessica Watterson at Sandra Djikstra Literary Agency.

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CONTENTS

Author’s Note

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Epilogue

15. Sneak Peek: Bargain With The Rogue

Also by January Bell

About the Author

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AUTHOR’S NOTE

For a full list of content warnings, please visit my website:

www.januarybellromance.com.

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CHAPTER 1

AILEEN

How did my life come to this?

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying that deep breathing shit Bridget’s always rattling on about, but all it manages to do is highlight the antiseptic smell of the glass cleaner in my hand, the strange space-station recycled air, and the horrible pervasive unidentified odor of the freak-show that is my place of work. The only work option for a human on this godforsaken space station.

At least it pays the bills.

I guess.

I crack open one eye, as if slowly ripping the Band-Aid off to my grim reality will be better than opening both at once.

Nope.

Not better. I’m still here.

I’m still grudgingly cleaning the worst part of this place.

Horror washes over me—despite the fact that I should be used to this goddamned thing—and I stare at the sight on the other side of the glass before me.

A brain, floating in a viscous, unknown preservative liquid, hooked up to some kind of wiring. A screen adjacent to the horrible brain-in-vial situation reads out what the brain is thinking. Can a detached brain think?

I’m not sure if I’m asking for myself or the brain in the vial.

I can feel you out there, rubbing my glass, the screen reads.

Disgusting.

At least it doesn’t have eyes. Not anymore. Bridget has stories about when it did.

My own thankfully attached eyes narrow. I have my suspicions about what happened to its eyes. Suspicions that all end with pointing my also-attached fingers at Bridget.

She said the brain and eyes had an accident.

I doubt that.

I shuffle away from the offensive brain, going to my other least favorite attraction, which I saved for last, because touching it makes my skin crawl. My stomach churns, and I exhale through my teeth as I grip the last thing I need to clean.

The single sentient tentacle.

I grip it firmly, pulling it off its spotlit dais, and it squirms happily in my hands. God. It feels like straight-up muscle under a slimy sheath. I’m gonna hurl.

I gag. I can’t help it, and I feel a little guilty as the tentacle sadly droops in my hands.

“Sorry,” I mutter, then shake my head at myself, because I don’t think it can hear me. Maybe it can. I have no idea. I don’t want to think about it.

Maybe it would be better if I were a brain floating in a vial making lewd comments through my wiring. Then I wouldn’t have to touch the tentacle.

Vial or vile.

Heh.

The tentacle curls around my arm, pulsing happily as I clean it off carefully with a wet sponge and plain water. It’s a sensitive little thing, and it suckers on and off as I clean it.

Honestly, at this point, I don’t know if I’m anthropomorphizing it or if it really is affectionate.

That’s how fucked-up this job is. I’m assigning emotions to a tentacle. A single sentient tentacle. Normal. Totally fucking normal.

“Aw, he does like you. I knew it,” Bridget squeals.

Startled, I scream, my knee-jerk reaction to throwing the tentacle foiled by the way it’s completely suctioned on to my arm. It tightens its grip on me, and I get the sense it’s chastising me for trying to launch it into oblivion. Or the wall, if not oblivion.

“Don’t sneak up on me like that,” I wheeze, doubling over. Bridget’s at my side in a second, and the tentacle gladly goes to her, climbing up her arm happily. Her strawberry-blond hair is tied back in cute little buns. Her plump, pale skin practically glows in the dim light of the sideshow exhibits. Her coverall is tight on her curvy body, and it barely zips up over her enviable chest.

“I didn’t sneak up on you,” Bridget says snarkily. “You were so invested in cleaning Mr. Tentacle that you didn’t realize I was there. Not my fault you didn’t hear me. Stop staring at my boobs.”

“Sorry. They’re just there. They look nice,” I tell her.

She snorts.

A message beeps on the brain vial screen, and we share a tortured look for a moment.

“What do you want to bet that’s about your boobs?” I whisper.

“I don’t pay you two to chitchat.” A sonorous voice fills the room.

“Touch her boobs,” a mechanical voice says.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Bridget hisses at the brain. “I’ll make sure you have another accident if you don’t shut the fuck up,” she adds.

“That is no way to talk to my prize exhibits.” Our boss slithers into the room. Well, oozes. Ooze-slithers.

Frankly, I’m not sure I have a word for what the hell he’s doing. A cross between a blob of slime and a snake, our boss is one of the alien species that runs this station, an Oolasag.

They’re gross, and I’m sorry to say I’m pretty used to them by now.

They also think humans are gross, which is why our slimy, sluggy boss is staring at us both with derision.

The only way I can be sure it’s derision is because one of his eyeball stalks flops downward—a sure sign of the Oolasag’s displeasure.

Also, gross. Gross. My entire life is gross. Despair fills me. I just had to end up on this space station, where humans are a second-class species, not considered smart enough to do any of the jobs I’d really want. At least we’re not considered sexy here, which some of my friends from Earth have also had to deal with.

“You aren’t paying us enough for us not to chitchat,” Bridget says tartly. “Besides, we are capable of multitasking.”

“You are primates,” our bossy says, his second eyeball stalk flopping downward, too. “You are incapable of doing more than one task at once.”

Shit. He’s really pissed.

“Our opposable thumbs are really helpful, though,” I say with a smile, trying to smooth things over.

“You’re in trouble,” the brain’s mechanized voice says. “Monkey thumbs.”

“Rude,” Bridget says on a gasp. “Rude.”

“Enough.” The word pops and crackles out of the Oolasag.

I flinch at the force of it.

“No more. I am done with trying to help you humans out. Done. You are the most impolite, inconsiderate⁠—”

“But our opposable thumbs,” I say, my voice squeaky and high-pitched even to my ears. “You need us.”

“I pity-hired you,” the slug/snake alien seethes. His eyeball stalks are wobbling ferociously.

“We quit!” Bridget yells at him. The tentacle falls off her, landing on the floor with a wet smack of despair. “Come on, Aileen,” she says. “We’re outta here.”

“Bridget,” I say in a low voice, “we need this job.”

“No, we don’t.” She straightens up, her dual space buns bobbing. The tentacle bunches like an inchworm, slowly climbing up her calf. “I was coming here to tell you that we’ve both been accepted to the Starlight Lottery.”

I stare at her. She stares at me, her lower lip jutting out as if daring me to call her on her bullshit.

“No.”

“Yes,” she insists.

“Did we really?” I ask, holding one hand up in our boss’s squishy face. He burbles in irritation.

It’s too good to be true.

She nods, beaming at me. “We don’t need this job. We’re getting off this horrible space station.”

“We quit,” I yell at him. His eye stalks blow back from the force of it.

Ick. Blech.

“Yeah, suck it!” Bridget joins in, peeling off the tentacle and placing it back on its display column. “We’ve been selected for the Starlight Lottery, and you can get salty all you want.”

The Oolasag puffs its cheeks out in dismay at the insult, and Bridget winces. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. It’s a human saying. I didn’t mean the salt thing,” she backtracks. “I love the mucin. Great for the skin. No salt necessary.”

Horrified, I watch as Bridget scoops a hand over the Oolasag’s skin, pulling off a handful and smacking it on to her cheeks. “Love it. See? No salt.”

I grab Bridget’s elbow as she lets out a hysterical laugh, eager to get out of here before our boss truly erupts. Some of the green Oolasag mucin plops off her face onto the ground.

“Bye, thanks for everything,” I yell over one shoulder as I rush us out of the room.

“You will never match with a job, not if I have anything to say about it,” the Oolasag roars after us.

The door closes on him, and on the wretched brain and the sad tentacle. The stale, recycled air of the space station rushes over us as we practically sprint through the narrow alleys to our shared quarters.

“Starlight Lottery,” I finally breathe, my brain catching up to the events of the last twenty minutes or so. “We really got in.”

“We really got in,” Bridget squeals, throwing her arms around my neck. “We got in.”

“Never in a million years did I think we’d get in,” I breathe. “Humans are, like, everyone’s last resort.”

“Well, we did,” Bridget says, clapping her hands in glee. “We got in. Fuck you, Oolasag!”

A bit more green goo slides down her face.

“You still have, uh, some slug mucin on your face.”

“Oh. That was a dramatic exit, don’t you think? I’m like a heroine from one of those old Earth vids.”

“Was there one that put mucin on her face?” I ask, poking at one of the bigger blobs on her jaw. “I don’t remember that.”

“I didn’t mean it literally, Aileen. Sheesh.” She’s grinning at me, though, doing the little happy dance and shimmy she does when her body can’t quite contain all her excitement.

“When do we leave?” I ask.

“Tonight.” She takes my hands, guiding me around in a celebratory spin as I digest that.

“Tonight?” I repeat. My feet are suddenly leaden, the gravity of what we’re about to undertake settling in, some of the sparkling newness wearing off.

“Tonight,” she affirms.

“That’s really soon.”

“Yeah, which means we can get off this fucking station and get on with our damned lives.”

Suddenly, my throat goes tight, and I fight the urge to cry. “Right.”

“Oh, no. Aileen, don’t. Don’t cry.”

“I’m scared.” It comes out hushed, a whispered admission that fills me with sudden shame.

Bridget pulls me into a hug, and I rest my cheek on her shoulder.

“You’re the only family I have left,” I tell her. “You’re pretty much my only friend.”

“Oh, come on, now. That’s not true. That would hurt Tentacle’s feelings.” She rubs my shoulders, and I can’t help but let out a sniffly laugh. It would hurt his feelings.

“His feelings are always hurt,” I manage, tears finally flowing.

“We will stay in touch, okay? With all the money we’ll be making, I’m sure we can meet up at one of the resort planets. Imagine that. Sun, sand, salt water, and no Oolasag to yell at us. The dream.”

“I’m going to miss you,” I tell her, squeezing her tight.

“You’re going to make new friends. I am going to miss you, too, but we can’t let this opportunity pass us by, right?”

“I know,” I say.

And I do. I do know.

“I’m just going to miss you.”

“I’m going to miss you too,” Bridget tells me. “But listen. There is no life here for us. None at all. So we’re going to miss each other, but we can comm every day, right? I heard all the Starlight Jobs hires get a cutting-edge data pad. Plus, we’ll be making good money. And we’ll be off this damned station. We can talk every day. I’m never going to stop being your friend.” The last part comes out gently.

I cling to her for another minute, letting my tears run their course.

She’s right. Of course she’s right, and we said as much to each other when we signed up for the Starlight Jobs Lottery as soon as we were of age.

It’s a bizarre feeling, to hope so hard for something, then be terrified once it happens.

“Okay,” I finally say, pulling away with a watery smile. “Okay. Let’s get packed and get on the transport so we can get the hell out of here.”

Bridget yelps in excitement, stamping her little feet and chattering away as she always does when she’s hyper.

“Maybe we’ll even fall in love. Can you imagine? A whole new life, new rooms, new friends… a new adventure.”

I make an agreeable noise in the back of my throat, but I’ve never been a romantic like Bridget. I do what I have to do to take care of me, and romance has never once crossed my mind.

Surviving’s always taken precedence.

With any luck, this Starlight Lottery might just make that a little easier.

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CHAPTER 2

BREKKER

The morning wanes, the soft glow of the suns replaced by blistering heat as they reach their apex in the Wulfric sky. Most of the citizens of my domain have long been indoors, where the suns’ rays cannot harm them.

I blink as the automatic shutters fully close, my eyes taking a moment to adjust to the change in light.

I see better in the dark.

We all do.

The days on Wulfric are short, and the long nights are cooled and kissed by gentle moonlight—the only thing gentle about the planet where my people made a home.

The moon calls to us.

Especially to me—to my family.

Troubled, I blow out a breath, leaning back in the chair at my desk.

I should find a place to curl up and sleep during the Hallec, the name for the hottest hours of the day.

There is no doubt in my mind, though, that sleep would not come to me, not today, not when the latest results of the Scion test sit on my data pad, the same as they were the last three times I was tested for it.

The Scion test is required for a mating match to be made. It weeds out poor genetic matches, encouraging the strongest Wulfric bloodlines to blend and strengthen our people.

It also determines genetic markers for those who are forbidden from breeding.

The bloodlust gene is the anomaly most clans are concerned about spreading—no one in their right mind wants their beast or their offspring’s beast to manifest bloodlust.

I swallow, opening the test results on my data pad again. The joints of my fingers ache from clenching my fists, and I force myself to take a few deep breaths, stretching them as the data pad slowly loads the latest report. Technology doesn’t always work as well during the Hallec, the heat and proximity of Wulfric’s suns interfering with communication.

Another reason my kind sleep during these hours—there is no point in fighting the sun in addition to our biology.

“Fuck.” The word explodes out of me, and the chair goes crashing to the floor as I stand abruptly, pacing behind the desk.

The first time, I was sure the results were an error.

The second time, I tried to convince myself of the same.

The third time should have been enough—but I decided on one more test to rule out any errors, any possible contaminated results.

The latest results are the same.

I carry the bloodlust gene.

The Wulfric Scion system will never match me with a female, will never let my genes dilute another clan.

Any hope I had at offspring vanished as soon as the first test ran, and I’m the stubborn fool who made them test three more times.

A notification pings through my data pad, and I blink, surprised out of my reverie that the suns still allow any communication through.

It’s unlikely that it’s another Wulfric, as most are asleep now.

Intrigued, I stalk back to the desk and the damned data pad. A distraction is exactly what I need right now. I take a moment to put the chair back upright, breathing through the heightened awareness gripping me, the need to shift as my adrenaline spikes, riding me hard.

I control it, though. I always do.

A shiver racks me as the urge to shift heightens, goose bumps pebbling across my skin.

Closing my eyes, I breathe through my nose, concentrating on each millimeter expansion of my lungs, on purging the anger and frustration raging in every cell.

Finally, somewhat calmer, I pick the data pad up, my still-lengthened claws clicking against it.

The screen glows in the dark, and the comm that dinged in appears at the top of the inbox. I click it, confused to see it addressed to both my sister and me.

A hologram dances along the screen.

“Congratulations on being chosen as a recipient of the new Starlight Brides Lottery program!” a computerized voice tells me, antagonizingly loud in the silence of the room.

“What?” I growl.

“Your new bride will be delivered with the next light cycle, or twenty-four hours standard time. Thank you for choosing Starlight Jobs Lottery to fulfill all your needs. We hope to do business with you again.” The dancing animation finally ends, and I blink in confusion.

A moment later, the door to my office swings open, and a familiar bleary-eyed and panicked face grimaces at me.

“Tessa.” I hold up the data pad, and my sister cringes again. “What the fuck is this?”

“Okay, listen, listen⁠—”

“What does this mean?” I play the message again, the obnoxious hologram dancing across the screen once more.

At the mention of Starlight Brides, my sister lets out a pitiful whine.

“What did you do, Tessa?” I demand, staring at her. Her light blonde hair casts her face in shadows as she stares at the floor, a heightened reaction to the Alpha tone in my question.

“When you were upset about the, uh, test results last time… I thought you wanted a mate. So, I uh, I acted on behalf of the whole clan and you and, ah, I put in an application with the Starlight Jobs Lottery’s new, er, matchmaking service⁠—”

“No werewolf can be my mate,” I growl.

Does she not understand? Does she not understand that no offspring of mine that stands to mutate can be allowed to live?

“You would sentence me to a life of punishment,” I choke out, sickened by the thought of it. “To find a mate, willing, only to have our children taken away⁠—”

“Not a werewolf mate,” Tessa interrupts, taken aback. “Obviously not.” She tsks. “You matched with a human.” She flicks her hair behind her shoulder, her tone so matter-of-fact that it takes a moment for what she’s done to register.

I gape at her. “A human?”

“Yes, a human female. Breeding age for their species.” She grins at me, and I furrow my brow at her.

“What would I do with a human?” I’m agog. Aghast.

“You do know our species are genetically compatible, right?” Tessa gives me her patented you’re an idiot look, and I glare at her.

“I am the leader of our clan,” I growl. “I cannot take a human mate.”

“Well, she’s on her way here.” Tessa’s tone is light and breezy, as if we’re discussing what to have for dinner or the latest trivial clan gossip.

Not as though we’re discussing the fact that she’s essentially ordered a mate for me the same way she would order a dessert.

“Do you want to see her?” she adds, and before I can refuse, she’s whipping out her own data pad.

A hologram rotates on her screen.

My breath catches.

The human woman is lovely, with delicate bone structure and dark eyes. There’s something sad about her, something that begs for further inspection. A haunted look to her eyes paired with a ferociousness that calls to the wolf in me.

I clear my throat.

“Uh-huh,” Tessa says knowingly. “That’s what I thought.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.” She shrugs one shoulder, stifling a small yawn. “I can tell when you like something. Or, in this case, someone.” One eyebrow raises.

“A human?” I ask, but it’s not really a question. I’m intrigued by the idea.

A human woman, on Wulfric.

“Yeah, and you better be nice to her.”

“Do you think I would be cruel?” I’m genuinely curious. I have a reputation. Of course I do. When I was forced to step into the leadership of the clan as a sixteen-year-old, the only way I knew how to keep all the challengers in line was brute strength. It was all they respected, all they knew.

I didn’t think my own sister thought the same of me, though.

“Not cruel, no,” she finally answers, looking at me with narrowed eyes. Like mine, her eyes are the tawny shade of gold that’s one of the trademarks of our clan. “Iron-fisted? Maybe. Intolerant of dissent?” She shrugs a shoulder. “Probably. Mean-tempered? Sometimes.”

I huff, the noise somewhere between a laugh and a rebuke.

Tessa just tilts her head, a small knowing smile playing across her lips.

“I will be… nice,” I finally manage.

A human woman, brought here to be mine. I swallow hard, my claws lengthening, the pull of the moon strengthening as it approaches its apex, despite the Hallec’s typically calming influence.

“You should have consulted with me about this first,” I tell her brusquely.

“You would have said no,” Tessa says with a laugh.

“Exactly,” I say, my good humor souring slightly. “I don’t have time for a woman.”

“Right. That’s why you did the Wulfric Scion test. Four. Times.” She drags out the last words, glaring at me. “Because you don’t want a mate. Because you’re not lonely.”

A snarl slips out of me, and she averts her eyes, her gaze dropping to the floor at the unspoken rebuke.

“You cannot make decisions like this without me.”

“Do you want me to contact Starlight and tell them the position has been revoked?” she asks, her eyes fixed on the floor. “I can do that if you⁠—”

“No.” I say it too fast, and I catch movement as she smirks.

“I’ll just send you her information, then…” My data pad beeps as she does just that, the hologram image of the woman firing up and spinning across the screen of my own pad. “I’ll start getting her rooms ready and prepare to welcome her with a clan feast tonight,” Tessa says, edging out of the room as if she doesn’t dare show her back to a predator.

Smart.

I spend the rest of the Hallec awake, pacing, alternating between staring at the human woman with the haunted eyes and reading the too-short application she filled out several years ago.

By the time the Hallec is over and the city bustles with Wulfric as the suns begin their descent, I am practically vibrating with anticipation.

Tonight, I meet the woman who would be my wife.

Aileen McEllroy.

A human mate.

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