by Elexis Bell
February 20th 2024
Genres: Adult, Fantasy, Romance, Science Fiction
Tortured by memories implanted by his captors, Krona knows only one thing. He must find Tenna, his partner, his Queen. She can’t be dead. But when Ricardo, one of his human guards, tells him she’s alive on another space station, the truth might be just as painful as their lies.
With her memories missing and her planet supposedly destroyed, Tenna struggles to acclimate to life among humans. Olivia, a spaceship pilot and hacker, does her best to help. When a guard shows up with an alien Tenna knows she’s seen before, it’s obvious things aren’t what they seem.
When they learn that family ties bind enemy and ally, Krona and Tenna can only hope the honor they see in their human friends is strong enough to overcome blood. Can they work together to save themselves, their minds, and their tribe? Or will they lose everything?
EXCERPT:
Ricardo
I sit on the bench in Francis’ quarters, peering out the window at the black expanse of space. I pull my leg up underneath me as she plops onto her bed. My eyes focus on her reflection for an instant, drawn to the flash of her red hair, but I return my gaze to the stars.
After working some magic on her Link to loop camera and recorder feeds from her room, she says, “Okay. We’re good. Now, what’s wrong?”
I turn to face her, stomach in knots.
“Something isn’t right,” I say.
And everything pours out.
The details that just don’t line up. All my questions about the prisoner, Krona. The oddity of his behavior.
“He doesn’t act like a Drennar. Hell, he said they’re his ancestors, that they’re dead.” Sighing, I run a weary hand over my face. “I don’t know if it’s a trick, if he’s toying with us, or what, but he doesn’t act like them. He’s… emotional. When he sings, I feel it. We all do, that’s why Garcia cracked. It was too much for him.”
Francis stares at me, uncertain, but she says, “He’s probably just trying to trick us.”
I shake my head. “I don’t know. If it was just the story about them dying off, maybe, but it isn’t. He’s different. He’s not one of them.”
Realizing the words that just crossed my lips, I rush to add, “Or… he might not be. I don’t know.”
“I think you might be reading into it a little too much,” Francis says, but her tone does little to back her words.
She’s perceptive. She must have questions.
“Then, explain the emotion? Explain the woman he’s clearly mourning, or the doubt in his words. The translator can’t be adding too much to that. Hell, it doesn’t have to add anything to it. Even in his language, I feel it. He’s mad and upset, and I don’t know why. But Drennar don’t feel. If they do, they don’t express it. You’ve seen the footage of them just as well as I have.”
Francis’ brows reach for each other, carving lines in her face, and a deep breath puffs out her chest for an instant. She purses her lips as my words sink in.
So, I forge ahead.
“All the times the Drennar came for us, did they ever sing? Even once?” I shake my head, answering my question for her. “If he’s one of them, why the weird renovations to his cell? Why a stone cell? He’s strong enough to get out. He showed Garcia that pretty clearly today.”
Recalling his words earlier and Garcia’s multiple dislocations, I ask, “What’s really keeping him in there? Because it sure as hell isn’t us.”
Giving in just a bit, Francis leans forward, propping her arms on her thighs. “Suppose you’re right, and he is something else. What are we supposed to do about it? What does that change? He’s a prisoner. We’re Guards. It’s simple. And why would they lie to us? If he’s not a Drennar, why would they say he is?”
“I don’t know,” I say. My stomach turns, and I look out the window again. “I don’t know what to do.”
But I do.
Defeated, I take a deep breath. “I need some answers. Something doesn’t add up.”
Shaking her head, Francis says, “I don’t like the sound of that.”
And if I’m being honest with myself, I don’t either. My gut tells me something’s wrong here, and it’s never steered me wrong.
But it has steered me straight into trouble, many times.
Ricardo
I sit on the bench in Francis’ quarters, peering out the window at the black expanse of space. I pull my leg up underneath me as she plops onto her bed. My eyes focus on her reflection for an instant, drawn to the flash of her red hair, but I return my gaze to the stars.
After working some magic on her Link to loop camera and recorder feeds from her room, she says, “Okay. We’re good. Now, what’s wrong?”
I turn to face her, stomach in knots.
“Something isn’t right,” I say.
And everything pours out.
The details that just don’t line up. All my questions about the prisoner, Krona. The oddity of his behavior.
“He doesn’t act like a Drennar. Hell, he said they’re his ancestors, that they’re dead.” Sighing, I run a weary hand over my face. “I don’t know if it’s a trick, if he’s toying with us, or what, but he doesn’t act like them. He’s… emotional. When he sings, I feel it. We all do, that’s why Garcia cracked. It was too much for him.”
Francis stares at me, uncertain, but she says, “He’s probably just trying to trick us.”
I shake my head. “I don’t know. If it was just the story about them dying off, maybe, but it isn’t. He’s different. He’s not one of them.”
Realizing the words that just crossed my lips, I rush to add, “Or… he might not be. I don’t know.”
“I think you might be reading into it a little too much,” Francis says, but her tone does little to back her words.
She’s perceptive. She must have questions.
“Then, explain the emotion? Explain the woman he’s clearly mourning, or the doubt in his words. The translator can’t be adding too much to that. Hell, it doesn’t have to add anything to it. Even in his language, I feel it. He’s mad and upset, and I don’t know why. But Drennar don’t feel. If they do, they don’t express it. You’ve seen the footage of them just as well as I have.”
Francis’ brows reach for each other, carving lines in her face, and a deep breath puffs out her chest for an instant. She purses her lips as my words sink in.
So, I forge ahead.
“All the times the Drennar came for us, did they ever sing? Even once?” I shake my head, answering my question for her. “If he’s one of them, why the weird renovations to his cell? Why a stone cell? He’s strong enough to get out. He showed Garcia that pretty clearly today.”
Recalling his words earlier and Garcia’s multiple dislocations, I ask, “What’s really keeping him in there? Because it sure as hell isn’t us.”
Giving in just a bit, Francis leans forward, propping her arms on her thighs. “Suppose you’re right, and he is something else. What are we supposed to do about it? What does that change? He’s a prisoner. We’re Guards. It’s simple. And why would they lie to us? If he’s not a Drennar, why would they say he is?”
“I don’t know,” I say. My stomach turns, and I look out the window again. “I don’t know what to do.”
But I do.
Defeated, I take a deep breath. “I need some answers. Something doesn’t add up.”
Shaking her head, Francis says, “I don’t like the sound of that.”
And if I’m being honest with myself, I don’t either. My gut tells me something’s wrong here, and it’s never steered me wrong.
But it has steered me straight into trouble, many times.
About the Author:
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I'm a nerd with a lot of hobbies and enough sarcasm and swear words to make a sailor blush, though, you'll never hear a word of it if I'm not comfortable around you. I've been an introvert since birth. When I'm writing, though, words come easily.
At the end of the day, I just want to write stories that make people feel something.
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