Page 11 of Alien Prince (Alien Abductions and Seductions #1)

Chapter Eleven

Gemma

The closet is eerily silent as I make my way through the aisles towards my cot.

A chill pervades the closet, and most of the skins in here are either resting or idle in some other fashion.

Some stare off into the empty shadows, and a part of me wonders if they have lost all sense of their humanity and become literal robots.

This is the reality of what he does. What they all do, and I need to remember that.

I find my cot, and waste no time crawling atop it, pulling my legs to my chest.

I bury my head in my knees and let out a deep breath.

When did everything become so complicated?

The unsettling silence does nothing to quell my wild thoughts. Thoughts I know I shouldn’t have, especially about the prince.

Even now as I lay here, squinting my eyes shut and trying to force out the memory of his possession, of his touch, I can’t.

I should be able to compartmentalize. Strategize. I’m here to bring down the fucking royals, not get all lovesick and swoony over one of them.

He touched me.

Outside of that possession, he touched me, and I know he shouldn’t be able to do that.

What does that mean?

Nowhere in any of my briefings was that covered. Cassie’s intel never specified that the parasites could touch you outside of their parasitic form.

I lay on my cot for what feels like hours, but because there are no windows here, I can’t discern what time it actually is. There is no movement, no acknowledgment that life exists beyond this closet. The people here are like shells. They barely move, save to sleep, bathe, and eat whatever is delivered.

Because they have nothing to do but wait.

I realize this as I watch them. Were they like me when they arrived?

Is this what will happen to me if I don’t follow my orders?

Is this what Ky will turn me into?

No, something tells me that despite everything I know, he wouldn’t. Maybe it’s naive to think as such, but my gut hasn’t steered me wrong yet.

My thoughts threaten to go down roads I don’t want, so instead of thinking about the alien prince who made me come earlier—using my body to do it— I think about something that is equally as unnerving, but less sexual.

Raif.

We’d discussed the details of this mission plenty of times before the day he shot me.

Once I ended up in the closet, I’d be out of touch until I made contact with our mole, who I still have no idea where the fucker is. All I know is I’m looking for a person with several arms, but this place is huge, and I haven’t had much time to explore the grounds with Ky hi-jacking me for a hot ride and all.

I’m not supposed to be thinking about him!

Raif knew I was going dark. He knew he wasn’t to contact me, for risk of blowing the whole fucking operation.

But he couldn’t fucking help himself, could he?

Why the hell did he have to be in that club?

Why did he risk our entire mission, just to follow me?

I know the answer, but I don’t want to admit it. Not now, and certainly not here.

Likely not ever.

Because that’s the difference between Raif and me. I know how to stuff my feelings down and focus on the mission.

I know how to be a good solider and do my fucking job.

No matter how I really feel.

I hear the unmistakable creak of the closet door opening. No one moves, frozen in their half-way states of being, and I fight to look up from my cot, because I don’t want to see him.

I don’t want to see the pretty alien prince who keeps trying to poison my brain.

The clatter of heels is unmistakable. I know I need to remain still, quiet, like the others, but every ounce of training and adrenaline in me spikes the moment I see her gold heels in front of me.

“Rise,” she says, her voice clear and crisp.

I should do as she asks, if only because it is supposed to be ingrained in me to bow, to obey our rulers, but as far as I’m concerned, I don’t owe this parasite shit.

But I stuff down my feelings once more, doing as I’m asked, because she is the queen, and I am supposed to be playing the part of a dutiful skin so I can gather intel, and tear this monarchy down.

“Come with me,” she demands. I hesitate, finding my resolve, but the queen is impatient. She grabs me by the arm, yanking me off my cot, and it takes every ounce of strength in me to not access my training and deck this fucking bitch right in her stolen face.

I purse my lips as she pulls me, her grip on my arm harsh.

She pushes me through the closet, dragging me out like yesterday’s fashion.

A terrible thought crosses my mind that maybe that is exactly what she is doing.

Maybe she is getting rid of me, and panic forms in my gut.

I wish I could say I was worried because that would mean I failed, but beneath that panic is something much deeper, and much more awful.

If she gets rid of me, I’ll never see him again.

Ky.

I let her drag me down the low-lit halls through the backrooms of the castle.

I’m acutely aware that this is how I came here, smuggled in. Even though I wasn’t awake at the time, there is a strange sort of familiarity about the place.

We come to a large, double sided onyx door.

Funny, that wasn’t mentioned at all in the blue prints or my training.

The queen places her hand on the door, and it opens softly. She throws me into the room, her force stronger than it looks.

I fall to the ground, bracing my hands out to break my fall. My leg thuds against the stone floor as I look up at her.

I have to steel my resolve, concentrate hard as fuck to not glare daggers at this bitch.

Keep up the cover.

“I told him you were trouble,” she says as she takes a step towards me, the gold of her shoe glinting off the low light and blinding me. “But he took you out for a spin, didn’t he?”

“No,” I say, swallowing harshly. The need for self preservation, the mission, and to protect my mate layer that one word.

“Liar,” she says as she reaches down, grabbing a fistfull of my simple, white shirt.

She’s strong.

Stronger than I thought she would be.

“You’re too perfect, Gemma. Like you were designed for him.”

My blood chills, and I wonder if this is it.

Is this how I fail?

Unable to speak, unable to complete the mission?

“I…I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I feign stupidity. She laughs.

Her laugh is sinister, dark, and unsettling.

Unhuman, despite the skin she wears.

“Oh, I think you do.” She pulls me closer. Her lips hover above mine, her gaze just as bitter as her breath on my skin.

“Tell me who sent you.”

I hold my ground, forcing myself to keep her gaze and never flinch.

“No one,” I breathe.

The queen shakes her head, clicking her tongue.

“If you’re not going to tell me the truth, I suppose we’ll have to do this the hard way.”

She lets me go, and for a moment, I think she’s going to kill me.

But what she does is so much worse.

The moment she leaves her skin, I know.

The cold slump to the ground, the chill in the air that permeates.

I can’t see her, like I see Ky, but I feel her all the same. I feel her spindly spider-like legs dancing on my skin, making my hair stand up.

I feel the frigid coldness in my blood as she sinks herself into me, and there is no stopping her.

Her possession isn’t like when Ky possesses me.

It’s cold, calculating, and utterly terrifying.

She presses on my psyche, and I try to eject her. She cracks our neck, and I can hear my voice, the same as always, but there is an edge to it.

“Oh, to be young,” she purrs, using my mouth. “I forgot how supple these young skins are.” She sighs.

I try to push back, try to force her out, but it’s no use.

I’m thrown against my own mind, caged in my own body, and I can’t gain control.

Panic floods me, because this…

This wasn’t covered in my training at all.

It was supposed to be Ky, and only Ky.

Fuck.

“Now let me in, Gemma,” she coos, using my voice. “Sing like a fucking canary for me, sweetheart.” She forces my legs to walk, heading through another set of doors and out into the palace once more.