Page 3 of Tempted By the Alien Warrior

But she was with me when I was abducted, and I clearly remember her being abducted, too. I remember the fear in her eyes, the way her fingers clung to mine before everything went dark. And yet, when I woke up in that cold, metal cell on the Zyfeliks’ ship, she was gone.

At first, I thought she might’ve been placed somewhere else on the ship. But the days stretched on, and there was never any sign of any other humans other than the ones held in the cargo bay with me. Even though I quickly became friends with the other women who were with me, a gnawing emptiness lingered inside me. It wasn’t just fear or anger. It was loneliness. A profound, aching loneliness that nothing could touch.

Now, as I stand on the edge of the celebrations, trying to blend into the background, the weight of that loneliness feels unbearable. My fingers clutch the fabric of the dress the Anuriix tribe gave me as I try to ground myself in the present even as memories threaten to overwhelm me.

The sound of excited chatter and laughter swirls around me, but I barely hear it. My ears catch something else instead—a low, quiet conversation between two warriors passing by.

“An anuroi took one of the females,” the warrior says. His voice is a quiet rumble, meant to go unnoticed. “Sorrin said they searched for her but couldn’t find any signs.”

The other warrior makes a sound deep in his throat. “Not surprising. They usually don’t leave much behind. The humans are so small. There wouldn’t be anything left.” His voice brightens as they continue walking past. “Did you hear about Melloc and Razir? The amoris bond appeared between them last night.”

Fuck.The air leaves my lungs in a sharp gasp. My body stiffens and goosebumps prickle my skin as the coldest chill I’ve ever felt runs through me.

No. No, it can’t be.Tears sting my eyes, hot and sharp, but I blink them back furiously.

Not here. Not now.My breath comes in shallow bursts as I fight to keep myself from breaking down in the middle of the crowd.

They’re wrong. Theyhaveto be.

I would know if my cousin was dead. I would know if she had been taken by some alien pterodactyl and torn apart, her life snuffed out in the blink of an eye. I would feel it, wouldn’t I? There would be an unbearable void hollowing me out from deep inside. A pain so deep it would leave no room for doubt that she was gone.

But there’s no void. No crushing, undeniable grief. Only this aching, stubborn hope I cling to and the fear that stalks me like a shadow.

She’s not dead. She can’t be.

I wrap my arms around myself as though I can hold myself together through sheer force of will and keep the fear from swallowing me whole. My breath shudders, but I swallow the rising panic and force the tears to stay buried.

She’s out there. She has to be. I refuse to accept any other outcome. Maybe she’s waiting for me to find her, and I will. Because that’s exactly what Lily would do for me, not just because we’re cousins and best friends, but because we’re the only two people left in our family.

My mom had me young, and in a lot of ways, we grew up together. She was just nineteen when I was born, barely more than a kid herself, but she loved being a mother.

My father, on the other hand, was a monster, plain and simple. He broke more than just dishes and furniture, he broke her. Her spirit and her laughter and the light in her eyes. And when he wasn’t tearing her down, he turned his rage on me.For years, we walked on eggshells, holding our breaths, doing whatever we could to avoid setting him off.

It wasn’t until I was eleven that things changed.

That night is still written on my memory with the thick scent of rain and the loud rumble of thunder. A severe thunderstorm had rolled in early that evening, turning the dark February night deadly. Still, my father insisted on having a night out on the town, which meant a trip to a dive bar with my mom serving as his designated driver.

They left me at home, alone, doing my homework.

I don’t remember falling asleep, but I remember the knock at the door that shattered the silence like a gunshot.

I remember the cop on the other side of the door and the way his voice wavered when he saw me. And I remember the cold, creeping realization that nothing would ever be the same.

The car my mom was driving had hit a tree head-on. Neither of them made it out alive. It was ruled a tragic accident that took both their lives.

And I should have been sad. Iwassad that my mom was gone. But I couldn’t shake the small thread of relief that filled me with guilt.

For the first time in my life, I could breathe without fear. I could speak without wondering if every word out of my mouth was wrong. I could relax and not dread the sound of his truck pulling up outside or the thud of his footsteps.

My mother—my sweet, gentle Mama—was finally free. No more bruises. No more whispered apologies. No more pretending things weren’t as bad as they really were.

And me? I was free too.

I moved from the big city of Charlotte to Alabama to live with my grandparents. They were strangers, really, because my father had made sure we lived far enough away from them, far enough they wouldn’t visit. Far away from any questions they might ask.

Life with them wassafe. Quiet. Predictable.

But it was also lonely.

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