Tempted Read online

  Tempted

  Fated Mates of the Kalixian Warriors #8

  Presley Hall

  Copyright © 2021 by Presley Hall

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  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

  Keep in Touch

  1. Brooke

  2. Zhori

  3. Brooke

  4. Zhori

  5. Brooke

  6. Zhori

  7. Brooke

  8. Zhori

  9. Brooke

  10. Zhori

  11. Brooke

  12. Zhori

  13. Brooke

  14. Zhori

  15. Brooke

  16. Brooke

  17. Zhori

  18. Brooke

  19. Zhori

  20. Brooke

  21. Zhori

  22. Brooke

  23. Zhori

  24. Brooke

  25. Brooke

  26. Zhori

  27. Brooke

  Epilogue

  Also by Presley Hall

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  Fated Mates of the Kalixian Warriors Series

  Claimed - Book 1

  Stolen - Book 2

  Rescued - Book 3

  Bound - Book 4

  Broken - Book 5

  Consumed - Book 6

  Damaged - Book 7

  Tempted - Book 8

  Tamed - Book 9

  TBA - Book 10

  NOTE: Each book in this series can be read as a standalone, but for maximum enjoyment, it’s recommended that you read the series in order.

  Voxeran Fated Mates Series

  Her Alien Prince - Book 1

  Her Alien Savior - Book 2

  Her Alien Beast - Book 3

  Her Alien Warrior - Book 4

  Her Alien Rogue - Book 5

  TBA - Book 6

  NOTE: Each book in this series can be read as a standalone, but for maximum enjoyment, it’s recommended that you read the series in order.

  1

  Brooke

  The warehouse where we’re being held is cold.

  It’s frigid and dark, and the stench never seems to let up. The chill is worst at night, creeping into my bones and settling there.

  Trying to stay calm as I huddle in one corner of my cage with my thin blanket, I hum quietly to myself. It’s an old tune that I remember my grandmother teaching me when I was younger. I keep the sound very quiet, just barely enough for me to hear, so as not to attract the attention of the guards. I don’t want any of them to use it as an excuse to harass me.

  Not that they really need an excuse.

  I’ve lost track of how long it’s been since I was dragged back here from the spaceship that was supposed to rescue us. I think it’s been a couple days, based on the small bit of light that filters into the warehouse when the sun is out. I know it’s nighttime now because the doors are open, and all I can see outside is shadowy darkness. More slaves are being funneled in by the alien guards.

  Most of the guards seem to be the same species. They’re hulking and massive, with thick muscles, pale blue skin, and knobs of bone protruding from their shaved skulls. Despite the cold, they don’t wear shirts, just leather pants and some kind of dark metal armor lined with fur.

  They’re nearly as ugly as the aliens who abducted me the first time, although not quite.

  God, how did this happen to me? How is this my real life?

  Just a few months ago, I was living a completely unextraordinary life in a small town in Arizona. My craziest and most outlandish dream back then was to move to Nashville one day and pursue a career as a singer.

  None of my dreams involved being snatched from Earth by a band of disgusting, hunchbacked alien warriors. Never in my wildest imaginings did I foresee my life turning out like this. But after the initial shock and denial, the desperate certainty that none of this could possibly be real, I’ve had to admit the truth to myself.

  It is real.

  Aliens exist.

  And I was kidnapped from Earth and am now bound for a slave auction.

  The fact that I almost escaped this fate is still hard to swallow. The other Earth women who were kidnapped by the hunchbacked, pig-like aliens and deposited on this freezing planet to be sold were rescued a few days ago. I’m still not entirely sure why, but a group of bronzed aliens with dark, curving horns and swirling marks on their skin broke into the warehouse and set all of us free. They had a human woman with them, and they managed to get us out of the warehouse and to a ship that was waiting in a docking bay on the other side of the city.

  Well… most of us.

  I didn’t make it onto that ship.

  The sharp sound of flesh hitting flesh jerks me out of my thoughts. As they pass my cage, the blue-skinned guards manhandle the new arrivals, viciously shoving or striking the male prisoners and groping or making lewd comments to the female ones.

  I notice they’re careful not to leave marks on the prisoners’ skin, or at least, nothing too obvious. They’ve probably been instructed not to do anything that would spoil the captives’ value or leave them permanently scarred. Still, it’s clear that our guards have some leeway as to how they can treat us—how much abuse they can get away with.

  My stomach twists as two guards shout at a female alien who tries to slip out of line and dart toward the door. I don’t understand what they’re saying in whatever alien language they’re speaking, but their actions are easy enough to interpret.

  Two hulking guards grab the pretty, pink-skinned alien and shove her back into line. With a rough jerk, one of them strips away the thin tunic she’s wearing, leaving her bare and vulnerable to the cold. The raucous laughter and comments that come after that need no translation. They’re understandable in any language, to any woman.

  Fear rises up inside me. I know we’ll be put up for auction soon. The warehouse is almost full again, and the cages that the bronze-skinned aliens broke have been repaired and filled with new stock. It’ll be a matter of days before we’re sold, if that.

  It still hurts to remember how close I came to escape.

  I wonder how the other human women who were with me, the ones who did escape, are faring. Are they better off with those horned alien warriors who burst in and fought so fiercely?

  The bronzed warriors were gorgeous as hell, barbaric and savage in their ferocity. They took down the guards and broke the locks on our cages, but still, I found myself doubting their motives.

  What if it was all a trick? An abduction disguised as a rescue? Maybe the whole thing was just a cover to get the women into their custody without having to pay for them. Are the other ladies truly free now, or did they just trade one captor for another?

  I’ll probably never know.

  I’ll probably never see any of them again.

  Because one tiny moment of hesitation on my part was all it took for the guards to snatch me back. They caught me just before I could board the bronze-skinned warriors’ ship, and now I’m stuck in this cage again.

  A shiver wracks my body, and I tug the flimsy blanket tighter around myself. I can’t change what happened in the past, and I can’t let fear take over.

  No one else is coming to rescue me, so I’m going to have to fend for myself and figure out how to get o
ut of this mess.

  Somehow.

  Since the other human women got away, security around the warehouse has been tripled. There are guards everywhere—stationed along the rows between the cages, at the doors, and outside the warehouse. Whoever runs this operation, they’re clearly not willing to risk another attack like the one that happened a few days ago.

  The constant vigilance of the guards means my chances of escaping this warehouse have dwindled down to practically nothing.

  But no matter what it takes, I’ll find a way. I won’t be enslaved for the rest of my life.

  I won’t let it happen.

  I can’t.

  That mantra stays with me all night, through the little bits of sleep that I manage to get while curled on the frigid floor. It’s the first thought I have when I wake up, pounding against the inside of my skull like a drumbeat.

  I won’t be a slave. I won’t.

  I’m shocked out of my groggy half-sleep by the sound of rustling chains and the clanking of the locks against the bars of the cages. I jolt upright, clutching the thin blanket against my chest as the guards start dragging the prisoners out of their cages, roughly chaining their wrists with heavy shackles. My heart drops into my stomach as my blood runs ice cold.

  Oh fuck. Fuck. The auction is starting. It’s here—it’s really happening.

  Please help me, I think, praying silently to my grandmother’s spirit for some kind of help, even if it’s just the strength to be brave.

  My grandma raised me, and she was the strongest woman I’ve ever known. She was my rock, my biggest supporter, and my best friend.

  I try to summon her memory as a burly guard strides toward my cage, making fear rise up in my throat like acid. I try to remember warm summer afternoons, the sweet taste of tea, and the little lemon cakes she used to make all the time. I think of her perfume and the rose-scented candles she loved. I try to summon the sound of her voice, to hear that instead of the rough alien tones of the guard who yanks my cage door open, muttering something as his eyes skate greedily over me.

  He tries to grab a handful of one breast as he chains my wrists, yanking the blanket away from me. For a second, I’m afraid he’s going to strip off what I’m wearing the way they did to that pink-skinned alien. It’s nothing but a gauzy nightgown-like piece of clothing that clings to my skin, something that the aliens who stole me from Earth forced all their prisoners to wear. It offers no warmth and not much in the way of modesty, but at least it covers me.

  The idea of being stripped bare in front of the crowd that’s gathering for the auction makes me shudder.

  The guard says something else I don’t understand, leering at me as I dodge his hand. He starts to try again, backing me toward the wall, but another guard yells at him—probably telling him to stop dawdling and get me in line with the other prisoners, based on how quickly he backs down and drags me out of the cage.

  I’m shoved in between a very short, broad alien with nubby horns on his head and arm muscles that look as if he’s been doing hard manual labor for a long time, and an extraordinarily beautiful alien woman with skin the color of milk, still wearing the dancer’s outfit that she must have had on when she was taken. She has cat-like features and perfect proportions, and when she moves, the soft fuzz of fur over her skin shimmers in the dim light.

  I shudder to think of what’s going to happen to her. What’s going to happen to all of us.

  We’re forced out into the light, blinking and unsteady in the sudden brightness. The guards surround us, forming a blockade on every side as we’re herded toward the auction block, making escape impossible. There’s no way I can get out of the line, no way to slip away without being seen.

  I’ll escape when I’m being taken up to the block, I think frantically to myself. Or while they’re distracted with another prisoner. Or maybe after, when I’m being handed over to whoever bought me—

  I can feel my hopes of escape dwindling, though. There are too many guards, and they’re vicious and vigilant.

  The crowd comes into view as we’re led to the side of the stage, next to the steps where we’ll each be led up individually for the auction. I feel like I’m being led to my execution, and part of me wishes that’s what this was. I’d rather be dead than enslaved.

  And that will probably be my fate, if I attempt to escape and fail again.

  The crowd is big and raucous, cheering loudly as we’re led around the stage. My stomach clenches. The way they look at us makes me nauseated—especially those of us who are female.

  There are a variety of aliens in the crowd. Some look slovenly and unkempt, while others are dressed in fine fabrics and elaborate outfits that scream of wealth. I shiver in the cold as the prisoners are led up one by one, and the noise of the crowd grows louder and more excited with every sale.

  My feet, protected only by thin silk slippers, are freezing in the snowy slush. The wet fabric of my nightgown sticks to my skin. I wonder what will happen if I get frostbite. Will my new master demand a refund?

  The thought makes me almost burst into hysterical laughter. The sound bubbles up in my throat, but I choke it back with a gulp.

  I can’t understand what anyone is saying, but I see the auctioneer showing off each captive before the bidding starts, highlighting whatever is the most desirable thing about them.

  For the women, it’s obvious. For the male aliens, it’s usually muscles good for hard labor, although some of the more attractive ones receive similar treatment to that of the women. Whatever scant clothing the slaves have on is pulled this way and that, showing the crowd what they want to see most.

  My heart lurches in my chest when the short, stocky alien in front of me is dragged up.

  Fuck. It’ll be my turn next.

  I look out wildly over the crowd, barely able to comprehend the fact that one of those aliens will soon own me. As my gaze slides over the individual faces, I jerk with surprise when I realize I recognize one of them.

  It can’t be.

  But it is. One of the bronzed aliens from the attempted rescue a few days ago is standing in the crowd.

  He’s wearing a heavy fur-lined coat that’s open in the front, leaving almost all of his skin bare to the cold. But he doesn’t seem to notice or care, his face set in stoic lines. He has short dark horns that curl close to his skull, almost lost in the long luster of his jet black hair.

  My breath catches, a wave of adrenaline pouring through my veins.

  Is he here to save me?

  Leaning forward a little, I try to get a better look at him, hoping to catch his gaze. But he doesn’t make any move to come toward where we’re being held or start a disturbance, and I’m the next one up on the stage. The bidding for the stocky alien is reaching a fever pitch by now—it’ll be done any second. The bronze alien is barely even looking at me.

  My stomach tightens as the bronze-skinned warrior stays stock still, his gaze focused on the stage and the short, defiant-looking male alien.

  Is he… a buyer, not a rescuer?

  Did he come back here to purchase me? Was I right to distrust those men all along? My hands clench into fists at that thought, and at what it would mean for the other women who did trust them. Who believed in the hope of rescue.

  “Ahook! Ge’tar bekaska tevuk!”

  A guard prods me sharply in the back as he speaks, digging his baton into my spine and jerking me out of my thoughts. I flinch. I know from experience that those batons electrify after the first prod, and I’m in no hurry to feel that pain again.

  With no other choice, I move forward as I’m shoved up the steps onto the stage. The guard grips my shoulder hard as he manhandles me into place. My heart starts to race so fast I can’t distinguish the individual beats, my pulse thrumming in my throat.

  The auctioneer leers at me, saying something to the crowd that I don’t understand.

  He doesn’t expose me, thankfully, but he pulls at the gauzy garment that covers me, ripping the tie at my breas
ts open and yanking the neckline down to show the swell of my cleavage, all the way down to the tops of my nipples. Then he grabs the back of the nightgown, tightening it around me so that the crowd can see every bit of my figure. He shouts something over the resulting roar from the crowd.

  My stomach hardens into a tight knot. He’s driving up my price, and the bidding hasn’t even started yet.

  People begin calling out words I can’t understand as the auctioneer keeps me in his grasp, turning me this way and that and yanking at my clothing to pull it tight against my curves at every angle, leaving absolutely no doubt as to how I’m being marketed.

  I want to throw up. I want to scream. I want to run—but there’s no chance of getting away right now, I know that.

  I have to be calm and smart and think of some way out of this. But it feels impossible in this moment, with the din of the crowd filling my ears and drowning out all thoughts except the one that keeps screaming inside my head.

  I’m being sold. I’m being sold. I’m being sold. I’m a slave.

  How could this have happened? How did my life swing out of control so wildly?

  My nerves skyrocket as the bidding war goes on, and even though I can’t understand what they’re saying, I can tell three aliens who have pushed their way to the front of the crowd are the ones driving up the price, screaming their bids as they keep going. The auctioneer looks thrilled, and I wonder darkly if he gets a commission.