Enslave Me Sweetly (Alien Huntress #2)(4)
Author: Gena Showalter

“Shit,” the stranger exhaled, his tone laced with…awe?

Fingers coasted gently over my cheekbone, then through my hair, comforting and soft. Sleep…I’d sleep a little longer.

I’d missed EenLi. I’d failed.

Over and over, those words echoed in my mind. I’d missed EenLi. I’d failed.

His smug face drifted into my thoughts, shimmering just beyond my consciousness. I reached for a pyre-gun, but managed to grab cool, soft sheets instead. The events in the warehouse flashed, playing out like an old video. The gunshots. The blood. The blinding pain. Is that why I felt so empty and hollow, like a nocturnal phantom whisking from cloud to cloud?

EenLi’s image wavered, then disappeared. I raced after him, but my limbs were suspended in motion, and I remained in place. He laughed. The sound taunted me.

You’re a failure, Eden. A failure.I’d had one job. Just one. And he had walked away from me without a single scratch.

When aliens first arrived so many years ago, humans had tried to destroy them all. They almost destroyed themselves instead, or so I’ve been told. To survive, a sort of peace was reached between the different races on the condition that agents be allowed to kill predatory other-worlders. My target had been predatory, no doubt about it. I should have destroyed him, but I’d let him get away.

Failure, failure.Failure. The word rang in my head and jarred me awake. My eyelids popped open. A gasp lodged in my throat. Deep breath in. Deep breath out.

I lay still for several moments, trying to calm my racing heartbeat. Shadows enveloped me. No, wait. Small streams of moonlight danced from the window, revealing a lacy canopy and high, vaulted ceiling. Where was I? I struggled to turn my head, to scan the rest of my surroundings, but my muscles refused to obey, keeping me in the same chin-up position. Using all of my energy, I tried again.

Still nothing.

What was going on? Why couldn’t I move? Sparks of panic lit inside me but were quickly extinguished by confusion. I heard the beep-beep of…something. Smelled the sharp tang of antiseptic. On a wave of relief, my shoulders sagged into the softness of the mattress beneath me. A hospital. I must be in a hospital.

Relaxed now, I licked my lips, realizing my mouth felt dry and cottony. Thirsty. I was so thirsty. My tongue flicked out, moistening my parched lips. “Thirsty,” I croaked out.

No one was there. No one could hear me.

“Thirsty,” I gasped again.

Perhaps a heartbeat later, a man stood beside my bed. I couldn’t make out his features, only that he was tall and muscular. A drugging warmth radiated from him and slid along my body. I wanted to turn toward him, sink into him. Inside him. I shivered.

“Where’s Michael?” I asked.

“Sleeping.Finally. Here,” he said, his deep, raw voice familiar to me. He held a cup and straw to me.

I drank deeply, the cool, sweet liquid flowing down my throat. Never had anything tasted so wondrous.

“That’s enough,” he said and tugged the straw from my mouth. “Sleep now.”

A direct order. His tone left no room for argument. Usually I didn’t respond well to that type of “do what I say or suffer the consequences” command. This time, however, I was too tired to argue.

I closed my eyes. The last thought to drift through my mind was,I’ll instruct that man on how best to speak to me tomorrow.

“Wake up.”

The strong, determined voice prodded at me relentlessly.

“Wake up.”

A callused hand shook me, working in sync with the voice. Evil. They were both evil and deserved to die a horrible death.

“Wake up, sweetie.”

I attempted to roll over and bury my head in my pillow, but my sore, tired limbs resisted. That caught my attention in a way nothing else could have. I jerked at my arm. Nothing. I kicked out my leg. Nothing. Panic rushed through me, and I struggled to open my eyes.

“That’s my girl,” the man said, relief heavy in his tone.

Stark white light pounded into the room, its unwelcome fists leaving nothing untouched. Too bright, I thought, squinting, still struggling. But slowly, very slowly, my eyes adjusted. My gaze locked on the glowing restraints that bound me, on the plain white T-shirt I wore and the white silk sheet that covered my lower half. Then I narrowed my gaze on my uninvited guest. Michael Black. My boss. My adopted father.

The panic dissipated completely, leaving me weak, and I settled back into the auto-adjust mattress, my spine stiff with anger.

Every line of Michael’s weathered face was etched with concern, from his piercing hazel eyes to his broad, unsmiling mouth. His graying hair, usually styled perfectly, fell in disarray around his temples, and his expensive suit possessed more wrinkles than a Genesi.

“Why am I banded?” I asked, my vocal cords hoarse. Bands were stronger than handcuffs and could not be removed without severing an appendage. They bonded to alien skin, locking the prisoner in place.

“You were thrashing uncontrollably, which kept opening your wounds.”

“Unband me. Now.” I gave the order, making sure there were no emotions in my tone. I would not show weakness. Not to this man who seemed to have no weaknesses himself. But Michael knew me better than anyone, and he knew I didn’t like the feeling of helplessness. I never had. Besides, I doubted I had the strength to move upon threat of death, so the bonds were unnecessary.

He did as I requested, pressing an ID button and causing the lasers to unwind from my skin. He settled back into the plush azure chair beside the bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Good,” I said, surprised that I meant it. Except for a sense of weakness, fragility, and the dull ache in my side, I remained mostly unscathed. “Thirsty, though. Will you get me some sugar water?”

A cup was perched on the nightstand, and he handed it to me. I downed the cool, sweet contents and closed my eyes in surrender. Sugar acts as a revitalizing agent for my kind. Though there aren’t many Rakas left, the ones that are here are probably responsible for consuming three-fourths of the earth’s annual sugar crop.

“That copper really worked you over,” he said.

“It always does.” I scanned the room. Thick crimson and navy carpet adorned the floor, and several imperial gold floor lamps climbed toward the arched ceiling. There were three open windows, the holographic shade turned off. The walls boasted bronze stucco and ornately carved, gilded mirrors. Obviously, this was not a hospital. Even my coverlet shouted wealth. Soft emerald velvet and white silk sheets surrounded my skin in a delicious cocoon.