Page 3 of Sold to the Nalgar (Stolen From Earth #3)

S he woke to a cold that wasn't born of wind or weather.

Not the casual chill of a drafty window, nor the familiar bite of a New York night.

This was a sterile, insidious cold, a vapor clinging to her skin, leeching the warmth from her bones.

She tried to move, a desperate twitch, but something held her fast. Tugging at her wrists, her ankles, her chest.

Restraints.

Her eyes snapped open, a jolt of adrenaline tearing through the fog in her mind.

The room was seamless, an expanse of gleaming, featureless white. No corners, no seams, no purchase for the eye. Light emanated from the walls themselves, an even, depthless glow that offered no shadows, no warmth, no escape. No door.

She was strapped down.

A flat, metallic surface cradled her spine. Cold. Unyielding. Not human. Wide bands pressed across her arms, legs, and chest, imprisoning her, restricting even the slightest turn of her head. The air was odorless, too clean, too precise, devoid of life.

She looked down…

And froze, the breath hitching in her throat.

Her clothes were gone.

In their place, a scrap of fabric, as thin and translucent as morning mist, clung to her skin, barely concealing anything. Not hers. Not chosen.

Something inside her recoiled, a visceral wave of shame and violation. A sickening certainty that unseen eyes had witnessed her vulnerability, that unwanted hands had touched her, perhaps done more.

Her voice cracked the sterile silence.

“Help!” she screamed, the sound raw and ragged, torn from her throat. “What is this?! Let me go!”

But there was no answer. The walls didn’t echo, as if the very fabric of the room refused to acknowledge her existence, her terror.

She screamed again, louder, pushing past the pain, tearing at her throat. She writhed against the restraints, her skin burning with the friction. Her chest heaved, her heart a frantic drum against her ribs, threatening to burst.

This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be real.

You were on your balcony. A glass of wine, its ruby depths catching the starlight. The case files, spread out before you. The stars, a familiar comfort.

Her mind flickered through memories, frantic and disjointed. The quiet hum of the city below. The taste of Shiraz lingering on her tongue.

The thud.

The hands.

Terror seized her, a cold hand tightening around her throat.

Another scream, desperate, pleading. “Somebody! Please!”

The wall across from her shimmered, the seamless surface dissolving into nothingness.

A figure appeared.

No, two.

Tall, far taller than any human she had ever encountered. Lithe bodies encased in skin-tight black suits that reflected the sterile light, turning them into liquid shadows. They moved with deliberate grace, silent and unnervingly fluid. And their faces…

Blank.

Smooth, oval plates of polished obsidian, gleaming and utterly featureless. No eyes, no mouths, no nose. Just void. Cold. Watching.

It was wrong. All of it. A violation of everything she knew to be true.

Cecilia's mind reeled, teetering on the edge of sanity. Her breath hitched, a ragged, desperate gasp.

Not human.

The thought didn’t compute. Couldn’t. This wasn’t science fiction. It wasn’t possible. Aliens weren’t real.

And yet, there they were.

She screamed again, a raw, animalistic sound of pure terror. “No… what is this?! What are you?! Please, please… this can’t be real!”

The figures didn’t answer. One of them glided closer, moving across the floor with unnatural ease.

In its hand, a slim, metallic device.

A needle.

Her body thrashed, a desperate, futile struggle. “Don’t… Get away from me! Don’t touch me!”

She pulled until her shoulders ached, the restraints biting into her flesh. Helpless. Trapped.

The figure stopped at her side. She couldn’t see eyes, but she felt it watching her, an alien scrutiny that chilled her to the core.

The needle plunged into her thigh.

She gasped, her back arching against the cold metal, then went still, all resistance draining away.

A rush of something cold flooded her bloodstream, instant, icy, paralyzing. Her limbs grew heavy, the muscles slackening, unresponsive. Her vision blurred at the edges, fading into soft, shapeless grey.

“No,” she whispered, the word barely audible. “No. Please…”

The ceiling spun above her, the harsh light folding into shadow, twisting into monstrous shapes. Her thoughts slowed, slurred, then collapsed, one by one, into the void.

And then…

Darkness.