XAV: An Alien Romance (Pleasure Invaders Book 1) Read online

  Copyright © 2019 by Rebel Moon

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Epilogue

  Also by Rebel Moon

  Chapter 1

  Xav

  “Hard right!” Aris shouted as he braced his hands on either side of the control console. Xav grabbed the yoke and wrenched it as far as it would go.

  The ship shuddered, metal bolts popping and shearing off as the planet’s gravitational pull tossed them around like a young one’s circloid toy.

  “We will not survive this, Aris,” Xav said as he fought for control. “Our entrance angle was incorrect. You must give the order to harden.”

  Fear lent a tremble to Xav’s voice, though he tried to force it away, to be the strong second in command his leader needed.

  Aris’s gaze traveled across the helm, his generals all waiting for his orders.

  “Harden. Now.” He jabbed the comms button and relayed his order to every male on the ship. More than two hundred of them, seeking an inhabitable planet before theirs was absorbed by its sun.

  Xav clasped Aris’s shoulder and stared down at his boots. “I have failed you, my friend. Failed our people. I will remain in this form as long as I can.” Risking a glimpse into Aris’s gray eyes, he saw the forgiveness he did not deserve. Along with a desperate need to live. “Now harden.”

  As he strode over to his compartment, Aris’s massive form shrunk down into the solid, bronzed column their people used for protection from hostile environments. One by one, the others followed as Xav struggled to keep the ship together.

  They bounced off the planet’s atmosphere. Once. Twice. Three times. And then, with a deafening metallic scream, the vessel yielded to the forces of gravity, and a great gust of frigid air washed through the room. Xav could not draw breath, and as he attempted to harden, darkness consumed him.

  His vessel trapped him, pressing in on him from all sides. How was he still alive? He had no memories after the freezing gusts of this planet’s atmosphere had torn through the ship. Xav tried to connect with the others. Only vague sensations of pain and fear reached him, and those faded with his sanity as he attempted to break free from his vessel.

  He could not. Whatever sun warmed this land, it did not hold the unique qualities he needed to replenish his strength. This planet was not what he had expected. What their people had hoped for. Even consciousness seemed to drain him. Was this to be his end? What of Aris? Kek? Coxto? So many of his brethren. And what would become of him?

  Xav did not know how long it had been. How many times this planet’s sun and moon had risen and set. He could not see in his vessel, but he heard scurrying claws, high-pitched cries from far above, and felt the heat wax and wane over his bronzed shell. And then, the world tilted and spun as something gripped his vessel.

  Energy seeped through where this…being held his protected form. Four long swaths of warmth and one short. Their research had indicated that this planet had species similar to their own. Fingers, Xav thought.

  If he could absorb enough, he could break free. The energy was not pure, though. Not as strong or intense as he needed.

  Voices now. Something he recognized as words, but not a language he knew. Excitement. Fear. Need. Emotions buffeted him. His unique ability to empathize with those around him had always been a blessing, but now…he feared it would drive him mad.

  Too much. It was too much. Xav let out a roar, though it did not permeate the world beyond his vessel. Moving again. Chants. Vibrations. Intense searing pain.

  And then a surge of energy thrummed all through him. Slick heat surrounded his vessel as it was thrust back and forth, and the power built inside him until a high-pitched scream pierced his ears, and he burst forth into his natural form.

  Xav’s legs did not want to work after so long confined, and he landed on his ass with a slick weight on top of him. A thick, coppery odor filled the air, along with smoke, and a sweet and spicy scent. Blinking against the bright lights flickering around him, he focused on the being in his arms.

  Female. Her small breasts were covered in blood streaming from a large gash between them. She gasped for breath, her dark brown eyes wide with shock.

  Shouts surrounded him, angry and afraid, and the female’s fear seeped through his skin and settled in his heart. She was dying. She knew it. A male stood over them with a large spear-type weapon, the sharp tip dripping with the female’s blood.

  They were in an arena of sorts. Hundreds watched, cheering, shouting, and chanting, as the male advanced on them once more, the spear pointed at the female’s belly.

  “No!” Xav growled in his native tongue, but the male did not seem to understand him. Still too unsteady to rise and flee with the female in his arms, he did his best to shield her, but rough hands grabbed him and pulled him away.

  As the naked female whimpered in a language he still did not understand, Xav fought the males holding him, but he was too weak, too deprived of the energy he so desperately needed.

  When the spear pierced her belly, she screamed, writhed for a moment, and then lay still. The crowd cheered, and several of the males surrounding the pit fell to their knees, then raised their hands to the sky.

  “What is this madness?” Xav asked the males as he struggled to free himself. But his energy was waning, and he felt the tug of his vessel pulling at him. “No. Please.”

  As the tip of the spear rushed towards him, Xav retreated back into his vessel, and the weapon bounced off the hard exterior, making him dizzy and bursting his one of his ear drums. The sounds all around him muffled, dimming as his attackers continued to pound on his vessel, and Xav screamed in silence as his hearing faded away.

  He did not know how long he’d been trapped by these barbarians. Xav only knew that more than thirty times, he’d been forced to violate a female while in his vessel form, giving him just enough energy to free himself for a few moments. Long enough to try to run, to try to fight.

  But he always failed. The last few times, he’d emerged inside a cage. Once, the male with the spear had managed to jab him in the shoulder. And after so many blows to the outside of his vessel, most metal upon metal, he could no longer discern anything but the loudest sounds. Still, in the few minutes he spent in his true form, he’d managed to piece together bits of the humans’ language by reading the shape of their lips.

  This race sacrificed a female every moon cycle to their gods, believing if they did not, their food sources would die out, the rains would no longer come, and their people would perish.

  So primitive.

  And every time, the female’s terror, sadness, and desperation would consume him, leaving him with nothing but nightmares and endless silence for the rest of his days.

  For many moons, no one had come. The vibrations he could sometimes discern through the vessel’s metallic exterior had stopped long ago.

  He drifted, almost in a state of hibernation, his body trapped, his mind withering away. Sometimes, he felt the call of his people. So very faint. Without sexual energy—not even the ugly, horrid energy he’d absorbed from the race’s barbaric rituals—he was too weak to respond, and hope withered, along with awareness, unti
l he no longer cared if he lived or died.

  And then, suddenly, power poured into him, infusing every part of him. It was like the light of his planet’s largest star bursting over the horizon, flooding the landscape. After so long trapped, he did not know what to do. His battered mind would not allow consciousness to return—not truly.

  Until shock and amazement flooded his senses, along with a hint of fear. This was not the brutal race’s ritual. This was something…new.

  Air tickled his naked skin, and he forced his eyes open. He could not see the sky. Nor the craggy rocks. Nor fire. Nor the colorful clothes the elders would wear when they performed the ritual.

  This…everything was pale. Walls. A floor. A clean, sweet scent overlaying that which he now associated with unwashed members of this violent race.

  Vibrations reached his ears, and he turned his head. The female behind him showed very little skin. Layers upon layers of fabric covered her, except for her large breasts, which heaved like she could not catch her breath. He watched her lips, but this was a new language. He could not understand it.

  “Where am I?” Xav asked in the language of the others. Those he never wanted to see again. She shook her head, then her lips moved again. He tried his own language, but that caused a wrinkle between her blue eyes.

  No matter. He did not care where he was. Only that he could move. Walk on two legs. This female’s energy had been pure and strong and golden, giving him enough strength to flee. But he’d learned one thing about this race in his years of forced servitude. They did not walk around naked.

  Snatching up a large piece of cloth from the soft platform he’d found himself lying on, he wrapped it around his shoulders and ran.

  His power did not last long. But he made it outdoors, found ornate structures carved from rock and planks of wood, large animals pulling other humans in some sort of wheeled conveyance, and the stench of fires burning.

  Ducking between two structures, he let his legs buckle and sank to the ground. He would be forced to return to his vessel soon, but he had to perform the ritual first.

  Slamming his fist into the side of the structure he was leaning against, he chipped off a shard of stone. Yes. That would work.

  “Ancient ones,” Xav said in his native tongue, “grant me the grace of regeneration. Let this damaged, defiled vessel be shattered, and allow me to reclaim my honor.”

  With a low growl, he used the sharp rock to slice off his thick, ridged member. Green blood flowed over his hand, and the agony of losing the source of all of his power made his vision darken. He could not draw breath, could not move. He sensed, rather than saw, the now severed appendage crumble into dust.

  So weak, he could do nothing but lie on the dirty ground, he drew the blanket over him. His vessel was gone. Scattered by the breezes in this odd place that smelled like the sky was on fire. His muscles stiffened, frozen in time, and Xav let himself shrink into the smallest of vessels, one no bigger than a pebble.

  The ritual could kill him. If he was discovered in the first fifty moon cycles, he could be crushed by the gentlest of touches. Those who performed the fracturing often went mad from the pain. Or came back…malformed. Powerless. Unable to do more than send the briefest of signals to their brethren.

  Xav did not know if he should hope for a quick death or survival. But he had at least atoned for his unwilling, but heinous sins. With his last conscious thought, he hoped none of his brothers had suffered the same fate.

  Chapter 2

  Gerti

  Layers of gaudy pink lace dusted the floor. Each delicate curve had been restored to perfection, then draped over a nineteenth-century chaise the color of warm pea soup.

  Some people had way too much time on their hands. And such poor taste.

  Enid’s Antiques and Oddities didn’t exactly cater to her tastes, but Gerti found the idea of selling off all of Charles’s things and having them stored next to such atrocities incredibly satisfying.

  “They’re art,” he had told her. Priceless pieces of history meant to be displayed inside their thousand square foot cottage. Her hate for that particular period in history had blossomed the second he’d brought in the first chair, and after he’d spent nearly twenty-thousand pounds on the whole collection, she hated him, too.

  Two dirt brown couches, one armoire, and six chairs the color of orange sherbet had all been shoved in the back of a moving van ready to be disposed of. Her first thought had been to burn them. Set them ablaze and watch them turn to ash with her favorite bottle of Champagne, but after she’d remembered how much her idiot, cheating, soon-to-be ex-husband had spent on them, she ran next door to her neighbor Sharon’s and begged her sons to load them all up into the rented van.

  Fifteen years. Nearly two decades she had wasted on that man—cooking, cleaning, and tending to the pathetic cold spells that left him useless for days at a time. He had allergies for crying out loud, but more than two sneezes and a sniffle and he’d call in sick and feign death. She had met him at sixteen, married him right out of high school, and all she had to show for devoting the best years of her life to that dolt was a house on the verge of foreclosure and the hastily scrawled note he’d given her the day he’d left.

  Fallen out of love, my ass. More like fallen into his secretary’s muff.

  As her toe caught on the edge of a hideous oriental rug, she reached out to steady herself and knocked over what appeared to be a collection of very expensive pens. Two hundred pounds? That was pure insanity!

  Scurrying to pick them up, she nearly smacked her head on the edge of the counter when she stood up.

  “It’s all right, dear, it happens all the time,” an older woman called out as she pulled aside the curtain shielding her office from customers’ eyes.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry, Ms. Godfrey. I didn’t mean to disturb your things.”

  “Nonsense. You did no such thing. How can I help you? We have a lovely new shipment of porcelain dolls. If you’d like I can take them out of the case—”

  Gerti politely waved her off, trying to suppress her cringe. The dolls’ beady little eyes stared down at her, threatening to steal her soul. She could never own one of those devilish things. With her luck, it would murder her in her sleep.

  Always keen, Ms. Godfrey’s gaze lingered on the white line on her finger giving away the collapse of Gerti’s marriage, then on the truck parked right outside. “Ah, you’re selling. One man’s trash is another’s treasure.” She winked at Gerti and reached across the counter to squeeze her hand. “Let’s go see what I can do to rid you of those memories.”

  The bronze apothecary with an inlaid clock in the left corner of Enid’s read fifteen past three. She’d been waiting for at least half an hour for Ms. Godfrey’s final offer, but the woman had been caught up in a parking dispute with the barber in the shoppe next to hers. He’d called to have three of her customers’ cars towed for occupying the shared spaces closest to his door, though he’d apparently neglected to post a sign.

  Gerti had ducked into the store’s back aisle as soon as Ms. Godfrey championed a duck-shaped umbrella and ran out of the store to confront the tow truck driver. Most of the wares inside didn’t hold Gerti’s attention, but she did have an appreciation for lost civilizations. There was something mysterious about ancient Central American societies, and she devoured every documentary she could find.

  The shelves in the back of the shoppe were thick with dust, and as Gerti traced a finger through the layers, she wondered how they had managed to sit undisturbed for so long. Enid’s was fairly small, but it always drew a good-sized crowd on the weekends. She ran her fingers along the statues and clay pots with a reverence. So many lonely nights and days she’d spent feeling neglected while Charles scampered around, treating any number of undeserving tarts to extravagant dinners on her tab. No one deserved to feel unwanted. These priceless objects should be no different.

  As she gave the small display one last glance, a warmth ran through her that stopped
her in her tracks. Drawn to an aged wood and bronze box hidden behind a rather large clay mask, Gerti eased it forward, admiring the worn exterior. It was plain, save for the lid, but there was something exciting about it. Dangerous, even. Something that stirred the free spirit inside her that had been repressed for so long. She longed to open it, but it appeared to be sealed with a set of aggressive looking symbols. She should put it back, but when Ms. Godfrey called out in her grandmotherly voice, Gerti couldn’t bear to set the box down.

  “Ms. Godfrey, what is this?” Gerti asked as she set the box down on the counter.

  “Oh, I don’t know, dear. It came in with a number of relics from Brazil, but the markings defy all attempts at translation. I even had my son take photos and send them off to that Google thing.”

  “Does it open?” Gerti gently caressed the wood and bronze lid, tracing the symbols, aching to know what was inside.

  “No, unfortunately. I gave it a good shake when it arrived, and something rattles around in there. But I’m afraid we’ll never know what it is.”

  As Ms. Godfrey went over the offer for all of Charles’s “precious antiques,” Gerti let her words fade into the background. This…this box was hers, and she wasn’t leaving without it.

  For the first time in ages, she bought something simply because she wanted to. Not for Charles. Not as a gift for someone else, or as a centerpiece for her neighbors to fawn over, but because after what she’d been through, what she’d sacrificed, she deserved to be happy.

  And today, happiness was as simple as a small, mysterious piece of history and a check for five hundred quid.