Unexpected Read online

  Unexpected (Her Illusian Warrior #1)

  Copyright ©2019 Annalise Alexis

  All Rights Reserved.

  Unexpected (Her Illusian Warrior #1) is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover designed by Kasmit Covers

  Editing by The Novel Fixer

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  This book contains content for adult audiences.

  For all those who believed I could. This one’s for you.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Unwelcome - Sneak Peek

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Annalise Alexis

  Chapter One

  Jayla

  The anticipation is killing me. Arching my back off the bed, I wrap my hands around the hard planes of his abdomen and dig my nails in deep, giving him a not-so-subtle hint to move on. He’s spent what feels like forever kissing on my neck, and I’m bored.

  A hiss escapes his lips as he gives the delicate skin one last nibble, then flicks his tongue out, teasing the hard peaks of my nipples.

  That’s it, keep going.

  Even in my dreams, I’m impatient as hell. Finally catching on, he moves his lips down the length of my abdomen. My muscles tremble with excitement as I spread my legs wide, eager to enjoy the warmth of his tongue.

  Still unable to see his face, I’m not prepared for the feel of his rough fingers sliding into me. I buck my hips, urging him deeper, and gasp at what feels like multiple hands all over me. He’s pinching. Teasing. Rubbing. All the combined sensations bring me close but aren’t enough to shove me over the edge. I need more. Wrapping my hand around him, I tense as his moans shift from deep masculine grunts to much harsher wails that threaten to steal my concentration.

  What the hell…? Whatever, just get to the good part.

  So close, but still so far away, I know the only way I’m going to climax is if he shuts up and puts his mouth to better use. Attempting to ignore the increasingly loud and obnoxious change in his moans, I focus on the invigorating sensations still spreading over my well overdue body. Tired of waiting, I boldly grab the face still hovering over my navel, fully prepared to shove it where it needs to be but stop in shock as a familiar pair of eyes come into view. My passion dies abruptly, and my libido shrivels up with the revelation of my mystery lover’s identity.

  Oh sick. What’s wrong with me?

  Yanked out of my sleep-induced sexcapade by a combination of embarrassment, disappointment, and whatever the hell noise is screeching in my ears, I’m instantly pissed.

  “Rett, I swear on everything high and holy, if you don’t turn off your watch, I’m going to end you!” I yell, still stuck somewhere between awake and asleep, assuming my best friend forgot to silence his work alarm. After a few seconds of waiting with no answer, I force my right eye open, trying to figure out what the hell is going on. Oh, great. The general security tones are going off. Again.

  Well, that explains the awkward moaning…

  Extending my hand, I feel the bed beside me. The sheets are smooth and cool from disuse. I let out a sigh of relief. Thank goodness Rett wasn’t here to witness my failed wet dream. He’d never let me live it down, especially once he found out which of our friends was in it. We’ve been inseparable since we first met, spending almost all our free time together. I’ve even become resigned to him coming and going as he pleases. Despite my numerous failed attempts at establishing boundaries, it isn’t all that uncommon to find him passed out in my bed after he’s slipped in during the night. At least he doesn’t steal the covers.

  I’m so tired, I don’t want to move. Looking around, all I can see is a room swathed in darkness. The only source of light is the halogen bulbs casting a glow under my door from the hallway. Being one of the only two people willing to accept a medic position on this technologically challenged station and the only one able to speak over fifteen languages, I rarely get a day off. This is the first time in weeks I’m not expected to report to work at 6:00 a.m. and being woken prematurely by a malfunctioning alarm is irritating as hell.

  Picking up my comm watch, I check the time, tapping on it several times before it finally uploads the latest available data. Rolling my eyes at the threadbare network that rarely works properly, I can see it is 2:00 a.m. and exactly three hours since I crawled into bed after completing this week’s physicals.

  Awesome.

  This is not the first time the alarms have gone off by accident. The faulty wiring was supposed to have been replaced last week after the shipment of tools from UCom headquarters finally arrived. But apparently, that never happened. Being stuck in the ass crack of nowhere and not being a major hub of, well, anything, makes the work station I’m currently assigned to of little importance to the powers that be. Rarely getting anything but leftovers and bare necessities, the Universal Community—or UCom for short—personnel who live and work alongside me have learned not to expect much. You’d think after more than two hundred and fifty years of space exploration and the discovery of countless races and species of beings, a simple supply delivery system would’ve been created to ensure all employees are provided the basic necessities they need to do their day-to-day jobs. Not so much.

  Designated as experimental, our station simulates what life was like a hundred years ago before AI superseded man’s ability to think. In an effort to justify replacing all human tasks with a machine-driven workforce, the governing body of UCom forces everyone on board to carry out their jobs manually and submit weekly efficiency stats for comparison. I can’t imagine those reports read well. Most of the time we just sit around doing nothing.

  In an effort to drown out the ear-piercing warning bell, I cover my head with my standard-issue pillow. Frustrated, and growing pissier by the second, my irritation erupts into anger when my comm watch starts to ring. I answer without looking, the predawn hours inhibiting my already non-existent filter. It’s Brandon, the only other medic assigned to Station U, and my night relief.

  “Who’s dead? Someone better be dead or about to meet Jesus, because, I swear, if you’re waking me up for any reason other than to say you’re about to fix that ridiculous alarm, I’m going to lose it.”

  “Get up. Get here now.” The tone in his voice is serious and not dripping with its usual amount of sarcasm and i
nappropriate sexual humor.

  “Get where now? What in the hell could be that serious at 2:00 a.m.? You know nothing ever happens here.”

  The static on the call mixed with the volume of the alarm make whatever he’s trying to say inaudible. I take a few steps to the right, hoping to improve the reception. “You there? Are Serena and the rest of the female mechanics threatening to strike over the tampon shortage again? Tell them they’ve been in the queue for a month and a half. They can just get over it and make do like the rest of us until they come in.”

  “What? Gross. No. I’m serious, Jayla. Fucking get up and come to the landing bay. We’ve got incoming, and they aren’t answering our request for identification. No response on the comms at all. It could be a legit Unwelcome. Everyone who doesn’t have an assigned role has been instructed to take cover. Haven’t you noticed all the people running around like crazy?”

  This is most likely a false alarm, but he thinks we’re on the brink of a possible invasion, and is still uncomfortable at the mere mention of menstruation? Men.

  “Shit, are you serious?” I flop out of bed and run to my door, peering out just to make sure this isn’t another one of Brandon’s less than humorous attempts to get a rise out of me. Rushing into the hall, I knock straight into Leandra—my favorite of the aforementioned mechanic bitch brigade. Her blond hair is dirty and thrown up into a messy bun, and her dark uniform is rumpled like she fell asleep without bothering to take it off. Abruptly closing the open comm line with Brandon, I make sure she’s okay.

  “Oh damn, girl I’m sorry. Are you all right?”

  Getting up off the floor, she leans closer. “Yeah, yeah, all good. You hear what’s happening? I’m on my way to the armory now. Me and the other mechanics have to load all the weapons in case things get bad.” Her lips pull into a tight smile as she scans my face. “I’ll see you out there.”

  She starts off slowly down the hall, then jogs up the stairs to my left. The bright red lights embedded high in the monotone gray walls are flashing rapidly, but their position makes it impossible to see them from inside the pods. What the hell is the point of that? If my sex dream hadn’t sucked so bad, I might have stayed asleep.

  Leandra pauses briefly at the top of the stairs, waving to get my attention. “Be careful, Jay,” she says and turns the corner out of sight.

  There’s a strict protocol for ships seeking entrance into one of UCom’s protected zones. If you don’t answer the scripted questions, you’re treated as a hostile or an “Unwelcome.” It’s pretty simple. Comply and receive protection. Refuse and get left for the wolves and space scavengers who go planet-to-planet raping and pillaging like the old-world Vikings did on Earth.

  Completely militarized, UCom spans multiple planets and even galaxies. They’ve managed to maintain peace between numerous races of beings, all while protecting those who seek asylum—as long as they’re willing to successfully integrate into the population. Unfortunately for us, since we’re largely off the map, we don’t have a military presence and have been given very little instruction on what to do in case of an emergency. The military officer in charge of our little heap of metal never checks in, and the only time anyone visited in any official government capacity, they arrested someone for letting their official work license expire.

  Shuddering at our lack of preparation and disturbed by the possibility of a credible threat, I retreat back into my cabin and throw on my uniform. I allow myself another brief look down the hallway for Rett, making sure his nosey ass isn’t skittering around. He should be in his pod safe and sound since his culinary skills aren’t deemed necessary in an emergency. Sprinting up the four flights of stairs and six hallways between my quarters and the landing bay, I arrive just in time to see guns being distributed to the untrained group of blue-collar workers who make up our population.

  The large open area surrounding the landing strip is still unoccupied. A small wave of relief washes over me at seeing the ship hasn’t shown up yet. We still have a little time to figure this out. With no other way in or out of the station save for the waste removal hatch on the lowest level, the upper deck is only used to house three things: spacecrafts that arrive for transport and supply drop offs, my office and makeshift medical bay, and the main control hub for the doors, which everyone is currently huddled around. As usual, Brandon’s sitting there being completely useless, letting his long, lanky arms hang at his sides while he watches everyone else work.

  “What took you so long? What are we supposed to do?” Brandon snaps. My eyes narrow at his accusatory tone. Of course he expects me to take the lead and tell him what to do. As medics, we’re both assigned to keep things orderly in times of an emergency, but since he spends his shifts sleeping or watching porn and has never bothered to participate in monthly crew meetings, it’s obvious he has no intention of sharing our assigned task.

  Staring at the sweat collecting in his busy eyebrows, I shrug my shoulders. “How the hell should I know? I’m just a medic.” Brandon huffs. “What? I got the exact same training you did. You know, those two videos on the importance of maintaining ‘community relations’?” I find the whole idea completely ridiculous. Getting along with other species isn’t difficult; you just can’t be an asshole.

  “You better figure it out. There’s a ship one hundred and fifty kilometers outside our entryway that isn’t responding to our demands to alter its trajectory. I double checked the logs, Jay. There are no scheduled drops and no cleared asylum claims needing temporary placement. They haven’t slowed or made any attempt to steer out of our path. We either have to open up or risk them smashing into us. You know this rust bucket can’t take that type of impact. It would kill us all!”

  Annoyed by his overly panicked state and my rudely interrupted beauty sleep, I lose all remaining patience. There’s something that’s always bothered me about his face. Individually his features aren’t bad, but his wide, slightly upturned nose and thin lips paired with the way he squints his eyes when you ask him to do anything really grates on my nerves.

  “Seriously, get yourself together, dude, and grow some balls. Maybe they’re friendlies and just don’t speak Meta. Have you bothered trying any of the other languages?”

  “Why would I need to do that? Everyone within the boundary speaks Meta. Don’t be stupid.”

  “Don’t be stupid? You asshat. You know just because fluency in Meta is required for permanent acceptance doesn’t mean every single being who’s attempted to learn it understands like we do.”

  “Well, then I guess it’s a good thing you’re our fearless translator, huh? Why don’t you go stand up front and center and greet them when they arrive?”

  “Oh, come off it, B. I don’t know what has your panties in such a wad, but we’ll figure this out.”

  Speaking of panties, I really should have changed mine...

  I close my eyes, trying not to let the panic that’s spreading like wildfire affect me. We’ve never prepared for anything close to this. An Unwelcome forcing their way onto a UCom-owned station is practically unheard of.

  “Where’s Ven?” I ask, his brotherly face fresh in my mind. A familiar tingle creeps into my cheeks, warming them. I don’t need a mirror to know they’re blood red. I have no idea how I’m going to face him after he starred in my dream. Brandon’s eyes narrow, then scan the room around us trying to discover the motivation behind my blush. “Get him up here. He might be the softest Sinoa in existence, but he looks mean as hell and might be enough of a deterrent against anyone acting aggressively. How much time do we have before they get here?”

  “About five minutes,” he says staring at his feet. At least he has the decency to look embarrassed by his pathetic lack of manhood. Grabbing the black square comm attached to his wrist, he calls Ven to our location.

  With Ven’s pod only one floor down, he arrives quickly. Sinoans are an asexual race of gentle giants that hail from the outermost planet in the Andromeda Galaxy. Mostly farmers and artisans, they
’re the quintessential example why you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover. With a form built for hard labor, Sinoans are made of layers upon layers of muscle. Add in their naturally weathered skin, large stature, and the extra set of hands, and they give off an intimidating vibe. Ven stands at least six-foot-eight and has to weigh close to two-hundred-and-eighty pounds. Too bad he wouldn’t hurt a fly. I once caught him mourning the death of a rat he befriended after it stowed away in a compost fertilizer delivery from Earth.

  I guess that explains the feeling of multiple hands in my dream…

  Wondering how in all the worlds I was unofficially elected the person who makes the big decisions, I greet Ven in Meta and give him a quick rundown of what’s happening. Still uncomfortable maintaining eye contact with him, I shift my focus to the rest of the now-armed rag-tag security squad and attempt to brief them on my “stand there, look intimidating and try not to die” plan, hoping everyone can hear me above the continued blare of the sirens.

  Not successfully capturing their attention, I hop up on top of one of the empty plasma gun boxes and repeat myself. “Look, we all know there’s a risk in opening the bay door, but there’s an even greater one if we don’t. Whoever has breached our perimeter may take our lack of response as an act of aggression and decide to openly attack. I think it’s better to let them in and see what happens. There’s always a possibility this is just someone who needs help.”

  Stepping forward with a pinched expression, Serena glares at me with a look of challenge in her eyes. Of course, she wants to argue. I square my shoulders and ready myself for whatever nonsense she’s about to spew. Serena might get away with treating everyone else like a peon, but that shit doesn’t fly with me.