Enslave Me Sweetly (Alien Huntress #2)(3)
Author: Gena Showalter

He answered after two rings. “What happened?” were the first words he spoke, his raspy voice upbeat. He clearly expected me to give him the usual “all went well” report. Over and over he’d advised me not to take this case. When he’d realized he couldn’t talk me out of it, he’d followed me here “just in case I needed him.”

Most important information first.“The target is on the run. I’ve got one human casualty, another wounded.” My self-disgust rang loud and clear in my tone.

“How in the hell,” Michael, my father, said haltingly, “did that happen?”

“I don’t know. I had him locked. I fired, and the next thing I knew, he’d switched places with his partner.”

“How?”

“I don’t know,” I repeated.

“Goddamn it, Eden F.” He only called me that when he was mad, or seriously worried. “I told you not to take this case. I told you to leave it alone.”

“I’m sorry,” I said on a ragged breath. And I was. Because of my failure, a human slaver was even now roaming free. Worse, he knew he was being hunted. He’d be more careful now. I’d just screwed the entire operation. “I think some of the slaves are in cells inside the Pit. It’s a bar on the east side of town.” I opened my mouth to tell him the rest, but my mind went blank. A thick fog covered my thoughts. I blinked, shook my head and beckoned them back. “Some are with a human, Sahara Rose.”

“I’ll put a man on it. You bring the survivor to me. Goddamn it,” he snarled again and disconnected.

Silence greeted me. And in the silence, I noticed that the throbbing in my arm had increased. I looked down. Though my vision was clouding, I studied the gaping, oozing wound. The bullet had done more damage than I’d thought. I was losing blood fast. Too fast.

Fighting past the pain and weakness, I pushed to my feet. My knees wobbled, and my bones liquified, and neither showed any sign of improving. Even my stomach battled a sharp pain. I stumbled over to the woman. She flinched as I reached out and cut her free. Then she sank to the splinter-sharp ground and sobbed, her dirty hair covering her naked shoulders. I tried not to think about the other one, the one who wouldn’t go home this night or any other.

The crossbow strapped to my back suddenly weighed me down like a concrete block, and the ache in my stomach intensified. It was becoming harder and harder to breathe.

A wave of dizziness assaulted me, heavy and strangely seductive…lulling me to the ground beside the woman. When our arms touched, she uttered a terrified gasp and hastily scooted away. Her movements were so jerky, she flung dirt onto my legs. I wanted to comfort her, but my mouth refused to form the right words.

What the hell was wrong with my stomach? Slowly, so slowly, I lifted my shirt. There, just below my ribs, was another bloody, gaping wound. When had I received that? I hadn’t even felt the bullet go in. Wait. Yes, I had. When I’d run with the mini-grenade. Damn.

I set aside my cell unit and reached inside my pouch, withdrawing a thin silver Extractor. Bracing myself for what I was about to do, I bit my bottom lip, centered all of my strength, and jabbed the damn thing into my stomach wound. Instantly the metal-sensitive prongs elongated and probed for the bullet. A scream ripped from me.

How much time passed before the small, round tip was removed, I didn’t know. I only knew desperation, pain. And fear. I wasn’t ready to die. Not here. Not now. I laughed humorlessly. Not as a failure.

Concentrate. I had to concentrate. Though I craved a moment’s rest, a single moment to close my eyes, I repeated the entire process, shoving the now bloody device into my forearm. When I pulled out the last bullet, my shoulders and back sagged in relief. Distantly, I heard the woman crying.

Quickly losing energy, I found the syringe in my pouch and injected myself in the heart with pure molybdenum to slow the spread of copper or brass or whatever the bullets were made of. Searing pain erupted. I screamed again, long and loud, until my vocal cords cracked.

The now-empty syringe fell from my suddenly limp fingers. I hurt everywhere, but a comforting lethargy was already working through me. A minute, maybe less, and I’d be out.

I reached blindly for my cell unit, my fingers somehow closing around it. “Boss,” I said. The word emerged so weak and broken, I experienced a moment’s surprise when the phone began to automatically dial.

He answered on the fifth ring this time. “What?”

“I’m hit.”

“It just gets better every time you call,” he said, his sarcasm heavy. I caught the thick undercurrent of concern, however. “Can you make it to the safe house?”

“I’ll…” A murky web of darkness wove through my mind, blackening my eyesight, paralyzing my muscles. “Try.”

Oblivion seized me in its demanding grip.

Chapter 2

Iwas floating.

No, not floating, I realized a second later. Strong male arms cradled me tightly, securely. The scent of pine and man wafted to my nostrils, and male strength radiated all around me. Someone was carrying me. Who? Why? A thick, smoky cloud blanketed and scattered my thoughts, keeping the answers just beyond my grasp.

“Is she going to make it?” someone asked. I recognized the broken, concerned voice. Michael, my boss. My father.

“Don’t know,” a second man said. I didn’t recognize his voice at all. The timbre was deeper, more raw than any I’d ever heard before. So distant, so uncaring. “She’s lost a lot of blood.”

Both voices seemed to drift from a dream, surreal and remote. Which man held me? My father or the stranger? Whoever it was, he emitted a kind of heat far different from any I’d ever encountered before. His warmth seeped into me, as soothing and gentle as a lullaby.

“We need to cut these clothes off her,” the stranger said. “Get her out of the mask so she can breathe.”

“Wait till we get her in the car.” Michael’s tone broke further, was more hurried. He always freaked when I was injured. Even the smallest scratch undid him.

Minutes passed. Maybe hours. I didn’t know, didn’t care. Time had long since become immeasurable. All I had was the solid embrace of my rescuer, but even that was soon denied me as my body was eased to the cool ground. Hands tugged and ripped my clothing, causing my wounds to throb. I gasped as air kissed my bare skin. In the next instant, the mask was jerked from my face.

Someone sucked in a breath, and it wasn’t me. Then…silence.