Elara’s life was small. She liked it that way. Most days, she worked at the data port on Station Gamma-7. The hum of the computers was a steady song. She sorted information. She filed reports. The lights of the station were always the same. White. Clean. Her small room held her books and her tea maker. It was quiet. She was used to quiet.
The day it ended, Elara was checking star charts. Old charts. No one looked at them much. She found the patterns soothing. A red light flashed. Then another. Alarms blared. Loud. So loud. The station shook. Not a gentle rumble like a docking ship. This was violent. Wrong.
Elara stood up. Her chair scraped on the metal floor. Her heart beat fast. She ran to the corridor. People were shouting. Moving fast. Emergency lights pulsed red. The main lights flickered. Went out. Red. Dark. Red. Dark. The station screamed. Metal tore. A sound like a giant beast ripping its throat. Panic. Cold and sharp. Elara pushed through the running bodies. Towards the escape pods. That was the rule. Get to the pods.
A blast threw her. She hit a wall. Hard. Her head spun. Air rushed out. Screams cut off. Silence. Then, new sounds. Heavy. Measured. Footsteps. Not human. Big, dark shapes moved in the red glow. They were huge. Too big. Not shaped like men. Elara pushed herself up. Her arm hurt. She tried to be small. Hide in the shadows. Hands grabbed her. Strong. So strong. Not skin. Hard. Like rock. Cold. She screamed. The sound died in her throat. She was lifted. Easily. Like she weighed nothing. She saw a face. Not a face. Too many eyes. A mouth that wasn't a mouth. Then, blackness.
She woke up slow. Pain throbbed in her head. A dull ache behind her eyes. Cold. The floor was cold under her cheek. Metal. She blinked. The light was dim. Grey. Not red. Where was she? Elara pushed herself up. Her muscles screamed. Her body felt bruised all over. She sat. Looked around. A room. Small. Metal walls. No window. Just one door. Solid. Dark. Her breath came in short gasps. She touched her head. Her long brown hair, usually clean and tied back, was matted. Grime and something sticky made it stiff. She pulled her hand away. Her clothes. Her blue station jumpsuit. It was torn. A long rip ran down her right leg. From her hip to her knee. It showed the pale skin of her thigh. Her skin looked very white against the dark material. She felt a flush of shame. Exposed. She was tall. Always taller than most women on the station. She had curves. Hips that spread. Breasts that were full. She usually wore loose clothes. To hide them. To not be noticed. Now, in the torn jumpsuit, her body felt… bare. Revealed. She pulled the torn edges of the fabric together, but it was no use. Here, wherever here was, her curves felt like a weakness. Something to be seen. A shiver ran down her spine. Not just from cold. This was not a rescue ship. This was something else. Fear. It was a cold knot in her stomach. Growing. She stood up. Her legs shook. The room was empty. No bunk. No chair. Just the floor. The walls. The door. She went to the door. Touched it. Cold metal. No handle. No seam she could see. Trapped. Her heart pounded in her chest. A frantic drum against her ribs. She was a prisoner. The silence pressed in. Heavy. Waiting. What did they want? The aliens. The dark shapes. She remembered the hands. Strong. Not human. A shudder went through her. Deep. Uncontrollable. She wrapped her arms around herself. Tried to stop shaking. The air was still. Too still. It smelled of metal. And something else. Something strange. Faint. Musky. She closed her eyes. Tried to think. Gamma-7 was gone. The attack. The chaos. How long had she been out? No way to tell. She sank back to the floor. Leaned against a wall. The metal was cold through the thin jumpsuit. Every nerve felt raw. Exposed. Waiting. For what? She didn't want to know.
A sound. A hiss. Soft. From the door. Elara’s head snapped up. Her heart leaped into her throat. The door. It was moving. Sliding sideways. Smooth. Silent. A dark gap appeared. Grew wider. Light spilled in from beyond. Brighter than the dim grey of her cell. A figure stood in the doorway. Huge. It filled the entire space. Elara stopped breathing. The alien. It was one of them. He was tall. So tall his head nearly touched the top of the doorframe. Wide. Broader than any man she had ever seen. All hard muscle and sharp angles. Like he was carved from stone. His skin. It was the color of dark rock. A deep, matte grey, almost black in the shadows. It looked tough. Impenetrable. He wore something like a kilt. Dark leather straps crossed his massive chest. His arms were bare. Thick with muscle. His hands were huge. The same hands that grabbed her? She couldn’t tell.
Then she saw his face. Alien. Truly alien. His eyes. They glowed. Like hot coals. A deep, burning red. No white. No pupil she could see. Just that burning light. Fixed on her. He radiated power. Raw. Primal. It filled the small room. Pushed the air out. Elara felt small. Tiny. A speck of dust. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think. Just fear. Pure, cold, sharp fear. It pierced through her. He looked at her. His head tilted. Slowly. His gaze swept down her body. Over her torn jumpsuit. Over her exposed thigh. Over her curves. It was not the look of a man. It was… different. Like she was a thing. An object. Something to be assessed. A resource. Her skin prickled. Gooseflesh rose on her arms, on her bare leg. Her heart pounded. So hard. She thought it would break her ribs. This was a Warlord. She knew it. Somehow, she knew it. Kael. The name formed in her mind, a whisper of dread. He took one step into the cell. The floor seemed to vibrate. He was a predator. She was prey. Her mind screamed. Run. Hide. Fight. Her body was frozen. Stone. He stopped. Still looking at her. Those burning eyes. She could smell him now. The strange, musky scent. Stronger. Overpowering. It made her head feel light. He was the reason she was here. He was her captor. The silence stretched. Taut. Ready to snap. Elara stared back. Helpless. He was her new reality. And it was terrifying.
