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  “Are you insane? Just let them in? We have no idea who the hell they are or what they want. In case you didn’t notice, we don’t have an army.” She holds up the gun in her hand. “We don’t even know if these actually work. This is a fucking nothing station in the middle of nowhere.” Looking around at everyone as if they’re completely ignorant, she zeroes in on poor Zone, who’s standing closest to her.

  “If we were supposed to take in strays, we would’ve been cleared for it. There are protocols put in place to handle them. The UCom board would have sent all the necessary screening tools, supplies, and security to keep us safe. Do you see any of that?” She cranes her head dramatically. “If we open those doors, we could get slaughtered.”

  Staring at her ridiculously perfect creamy skin and long red hair, I’m annoyed. I can’t help but agree with her logic. It’s her blatant disregard for any life outside of her own that has me wanting to slap her upside the head. “Yeah. We could,” I deadpan.

  Throwing her hands up in exasperation, she turns to another one of her groupies beside her and continues to complain loudly.

  Unable to think over the noise, I stalk over to the main control hub and start yanking out wires I’m pretty sure have something to do with our alarm system. The sirens cut off abruptly, and for the first time since waking, I can hear myself think.

  “Ah, all better now.” The disruptive chaos falls silent, and all heads turn my way. Judging by the large number of open-mouthed stares, most of the crew find my actions extreme. I’m not trying to make a statement; I’m just sick of all the damn screeching.

  Zone, one of three electricians tasked with keeping our shitty floating paradise running, looks stunned. His lips are pursed in disapproval, but his perfectly smooth ash-colored skin shows no sign of wrinkling. Not even the blare of the red warning lights bouncing off the walls can compete with the irritation gleaming in his neon yellow eyes.

  “You know that’s going to take me a week to fix right?”

  “Well, you’re in luck. Dead people don’t have to fix things, and we’re probably all about to die.” He nods his head in agreement at the absence of humor in my tone. We really could die, but what would freaking out about it do? “So, is everyone ready or what? Because by the looks of the radar, we have exactly forty-five seconds to open those doors or this place is going to get an unintentional facelift. Let’s get this over with.” I sigh as the group continues to squabble amongst themselves.

  “It’s against protocol Jayla,” Brandon says, shuffling backward, away from where the master key rests inside the door lock.

  “Of course it’s against protocol! It’s stupid! Why is this such a hard concept to understand?” Serena continues to gripe from the back. If her eyes roll any further back in her head, she’ll be staring at her brain. Well, that’s assuming she has one.

  “They could need help. Jayla’s right.” Finally chiming in, Leandra moves from the outskirts of the group and inches closer to the center.

  Serena snorts. “Oh, shut up Lea. We all know why you agree with her. I can feel you pining after her from here.”

  Leandra’s brows shoot up. Balling her fists, she stomps forward. “No, I’m not. What the hell, Serena? Why are you such a heinous bitch?”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake, move over!” I yell, pushing my way through the two bodies separating me from the control panel.

  Determined, I turn the key. The group stares at me with a mixture of surprise, shock, and anger as they look back and forth between the entrance and me. Unable to hear anything outside of the eerie silence betraying the group’s collective dread and the erratic rhythm of my pounding heart, I keep my gaze locked on the aged metal hatch, waiting for whatever potential disaster the next few minutes have to offer.

  Chapter Two

  Jayla

  The rough clamor of grinding gears puts everyone on high alert as the worn-out joints of the bay door squeal under the strain of lifting its enormous weight. The previously smooth, gray metal, now rutty and rusted with age, moves slowly, almost ominously as it creaks and shakes to life. Standing in the middle of the room, alongside Brandon and Ven, I watch the others spread out evenly, flanking our left and right, anticipating the worst. Our unimpressive group of twenty is all that defends the remaining one hundred souls taking shelter in their pods.

  I lean forward, trying to get a closer look, as the foreign ship comes into view. Its large, patchwork body hovers loudly as it putters its way into our terminal. Like a child’s art project, it looks thrown together, piece-by-piece, and part of me wonders how it sustained the flight necessary to get here. Risking a look at Leandra, I see her green eyes narrow in confusion as she studies the bizarre exterior. She’s no doubt cataloging all the safety regulations this thing is breaking. As its large, angular hatch rises, Ven’s hands visibly tremble around his guns in my periphery.

  So much for intimidation. What does a girl have to do to find a guy with some balls around here?

  Shaking my head, I position myself in front of Ven, all five-foot-two inches of me, hoping to provide some comfort to the big guy. Reaching behind me, I offer him my hand. Taking it with no hesitation, he drops his gun and holds on for dear life. With the ship’s main hatch now open, we’re all stiff with anticipation, impatient for our potential enemies to reveal themselves. After five minutes of waiting with no explosions or knife throwing, I risk a side glance at Brandon.

  “Well, this is anti-climactic as shit,” I whisper with tight lips.

  “Seriously, Jay. Do you always have to make jokes? This isn’t funny. Why don’t you think they’ve come out yet?” he asks.

  “I don’t know, asshole. Maybe they’re waiting for us to approach first? We’re all standing here with giant guns. Not exactly the friendliest way to receive guests, if you know what I mean?”

  “Well, no one here wanted to receive anything. You made that choice for us, remember? This is your mess to deal with. Go say something.” He taps his shoe in an erratic rhythm as we continue to argue.

  “What do you mean ‘say something’? Like what?’ Welcome, please don’t murder us’?” My tone rises in pitch the more annoyed I get.

  “Shit, I don’t know. You’re the one who speaks a billion languages. Try to get them talking. Figure out what they are before someone gets trigger happy and blows a hole in our wall and we all get sucked into space!”

  “Fine. Give me a minute to think of something.” Uneasy as I move into the line of fire, I start to hum under my breath until I’m twenty feet from the open spacecraft. One of my more annoying habits, I hum when I get nervous and always revert back to the song my grandfather sang to me as a child. Lyrical but completely foreign to everyone but me, it was something only the two of us shared. A long-forgotten nursery rhyme sung in a long dead language.

  Close enough to hear the ship’s occupants shuffling around, I stand tall and open my hands in the universal gesture of peace. Letting the melody calm me, I close my eyes and take in a deep breath, trying to dispel my anxiety. A cold burning sensation shoots across my neck and steadily spreads down to my toes.

  What the hell is happening?

  The smell invading my nose is incredible—a cross between earthy and sweet. My instincts are screaming for me to flee, but my limbs are heavy and immobile. Unable to control myself, I give into the scent swirling around me and let go of reality. I can hear someone in the distance yelling at me, but with my eyes still closed and completely relaxed, the rational part of me couldn’t care less. I just want to wrap myself in whatever this is and stay here forever. Not until the cool nothingness relents do I notice the hand wrapped around my throat and the blade pressed against the side of my neck. The voice in my ear, cold and beautiful, whispers in a dialect no other living being should know.

  “Move and I will end you. Speak, and I will relieve them of their lives.”

  Impossible.

  Unmoving, I wait as whatever neutralized my instincts fades away.

  “You und
erstand me? Nod only once,” the female asks.

  I move carefully, wincing as the severe edge of her weapon cuts into my neck. The smell of iron and sweat overpower the blissful scent that enveloped me before. My captor leans in and runs her nose up the length of my neck, sucking in a deep breath. I tense at the feel of her rough tongue as she licks the blood slowly dripping from the wound. My skin prickles as her warm breath teases my skin and, despite being terrified, I fight against pressing further into her.

  What the hell? Why are my nipples hard?

  “You do not smell of our enemies and you do not contain the taint of their blood. How is it you possess knowledge of our language?”

  Completely off kilter and confused by my feelings, I speak without restraint, my memory of the ancient language allowing for broken answers at best.

  “I speak many languages, including yours, thanks to my father and grandfather. How the hell do you speak it? All your people are supposed to be dead.”

  Her grip suddenly tightens. “I should gut you for your disrespect,” she hisses. “You think a group of simpletons like the Inokine could destroy a race as fierce and superior as the Illusians? We exist, as we have always existed, outsmarting our enemies, until they lie screaming beneath our feet.

  Holy. Balls. If she’s telling the truth, then this situation just got a whole lot more interesting.

  Releasing her grip on my throat, she places her hand in my hair and curls her fingers through the long black strands, twisting until my scalp burns. Forcing all one hundred and thirty pounds of me toward my crew, she yanks my head back, keeping her blade firmly pressed against my throat.

  “Have them drop their weapons. They are no match for me and I do not wish to shed any more blood on this day,” she says, sighing.

  I search the group for Ven and Brandon. Shock registers in their eyes—and something else. Desire, maybe? It’s obvious neither of them plan on helping me.

  How annoying. Guess I’ve got to save myself.

  “If you can kill us all in a millisecond, why are you even bothering to talk?” I ask, pissed and completely over the confrontation.

  “We are here for asylum. We only wish to seek temporary shelter until our males arrive. Our enemies discovered our location and launched an all-out assault. I have only females and their young onboard. Some are injured and need assistance. Lower your weapons, and I will release you. Keep them up, and I will dismantle every living creature on this ship piece by piece, starting with you.”

  Ugh, couldn’t she have just started off with that?

  Knowing what she is, at least who she claims to be, not only validates the painful clench of dread in the pit of my stomach but threatens to send me into an all-out panic. I’m not about to fuck around and get murdered.

  “You’ll agree not to harm anyone if they lower their weapons?” I ask, hesitant to believe her.

  “You have my word. But none of your males are to touch my females or their offspring. It is strictly forbidden. I will not hesitate to end the lives of those who choose to violate our most sacred of laws. We will deal with you, and you only. Now have them stand down. I am losing my patience.”

  Speaking in Meta, I address the armed group in front of me. With guns aimed and steady, they almost look intimidating. Almost.

  “Listen. I’m fine. Don’t lose your asses okay? Don’t panic, please.”

  Brandon is the first to respond, whisper-yelling like a complete moron.

  “What do you mean, ‘don’t panic’? Did you see how fast she is? Have you seen what she looks like?”

  “Does it look like I can see her, dumbass? They’re just here for aid. They were attacked, the men stayed to fight, and the women escaped. Enough with story time. Just drop the damn guns so she’ll let me go!”

  “Drop our weapons? Are you completely botched? I’m not dropping shit!” My captor’s head dips to the right as Serena’s raised voice echoes through the mostly silent room. More than half the group nods in agreement, and my heart beats wildly in my chest. That bitch is going to get me killed. I swear I’m going to shave her head in her sleep if I get out of this still breathing.

  “Look, I don’t know what she’s capable of, but from this sweet little intro, I can tell you all of us are dead if we refuse. Stop trying to be a hardass, Serena. You’re going to get everyone killed.”

  I search their faces, mentally willing them one-by-one to stand down. After a moment of hesitation, weapons start to lower, and I exhale in relief. Clutching her gun to her chest, Serena steps forward and juts out her hip.

  “I’m not getting anyone killed, Jayla. That’s on you. I hope you know what you’re doing. Don’t come crying to me when she slits your throat in your sleep.” Heaving the gun over her shoulder, Serena huffs. “I’m taking this with me. No way I’m letting some sketchy-looking space skank tell me what to do.” With her gaze locked on the being behind me, Serena backs away slowly until she reaches the stairwell.

  If she slits my throat, I won’t be able to go anywhere, idiot.

  Finally releasing her hold, apparently satisfied that everyone is complying with her demands, the Illusian female shoves me forward, hard. My knees grind against the rough, sandpaper-like surface of the floor as I lose my balance. Turning to finally catch a glimpse of the hard body that held me captive so easily, my mouth drops open in shock.

  Expecting to see a terrifying space creature spawned from the depths of hell, I’m awestruck by the stark, almost comedic contrast in her appearance. At no taller than five-foot six, with a lithe, toned frame, her sun-kissed skin is covered in open wounds and bruises—clear evidence of the attack that led her to our door. With tightly rolled, shoulder-length dreads and a face that would put even the most beautiful human at a disadvantage, her crimson eyes scan her surroundings for any hint of a threat.

  I have no doubt she’s ready to unleash deadly force at a moment’s notice. Her thin, stately nose, high cheekbones and full, silky lips are sensual, save for the razor-sharp teeth barely visible under her impressive pout. She’s pure predator and can probably monopolize the attention of any being—male or female. Every part of her is designed to draw in her prey and appeal to the primal sexual need that calls to us all. Understanding now what my grandfather meant when he described this lost race of beings, I come to a harsh conclusion.

  We are so fucked.

  Chapter Three

  Jayla

  Sitting by while the wounded female unloads her people has me feeling like a miserable hag. She winces as she escorts them—even carrying them at times—one by one to the medical bay. No one else is willing to help. Despite feeling drawn to her physically, something inside of them, inside of me as well, knows to get the hell away from her while they still can. There’s something unnatural about her. The skin-tight, head-to-toe animal hide she wears is enough to make anyone slap their momma for a chance to get her naked. But the way she carries herself, her movements smooth and effortless, exudes unadulterated lethality. I shift, trying to ignore the cold, wet reminder of my pathetic sex life riding up my ass.

  If the females are that hot, what do the males look like?

  Resting my head on the worn plexiglass of the adjoining office door, I attempt to ignore my urge to help her. As one of the only medical personnel on base—and the only female—it’s obvious I’m going to have to suck it up and go assess them. They need help. But I’d be a fool not to acknowledge my screaming desire to hide. If the red-eyed female is truly an Illusian, if they all are, we’re literally about to rewrite history.

  The mystery of their disappearance is a bit of a family-inherited obsession. My great-grandfather James disappeared when my grandfather was just a boy. James was a pioneer in the scientific community, and when space exploration really started to advance, worked directly with many of the newly discovered species. No one fascinated him more than the Illusians. My grandfather latched onto the stories his father used to tell and when old enough, researched them relentlessly. Convinced the
y had something to do with James disappearance, my father and grandfather compiled hundreds of manuscripts chronicling the series of events that surrounded the Illusians suspected demise. It seems the rest of the universe forgot they ever existed—or maybe they never knew. Too bad all those books are stored away in boxes on Earth with the rest of my dad’s effects.

  Knowing there’s only a slim chance in hell she’ll receive it anytime soon, I access my comm and send a quick message to my cousin Brittany—my only living family member. If anyone is willing to drop their plans and go digging through the mounds of crap my childhood home contains, it’ll be her.

  I can’t recall much of what was spoken between my grandfather and I, but his tales of the lost warriors of Illusia stand out best. Thinking back to the many nights his outlandish stories lulled me to sleep, I can only assume the psycho I met earlier is what he referred to as a Keeper.

  Romanticized as they were in his mind, Keepers are brutal; their violence and combat skills are only exceeded by those of their males. A group of huntresses whose sole purpose is to protect those of their clan who can’t defend themselves. The ultimate warriors, they can slice a man in half before he can register their presence. Fundamentally designed to be irresistible in order to draw unwanted attention away from those in their charge, their appeal can be measured on a molecular level. Their scent, appearance…everything is used to lure in their mark.

  Annoyed at the sudden emergence of my do-gooder side, I reluctantly leave the faux safety of the office and enter the poorly lit medical bay. Careful to make full eye contact with the Keeper, I move slowly. The last thing I want is to look aggressive and get my ass handed to me again.