Power: BBW Alien Lottery Romance (Chosen by the Karal Book 3) Read online

  “What does that mean?” Lytril asked impatiently, jogging along the road while he spoke.

  “That the basin will flood, sending water into the streets. It has already flooded the east side of the city, so it’s more of a certainty than a warning.”

  “I’m half a mile from the cruiser,” Lytril said, looking up at the sky, which had become darker, the air more oppressive. It took his breath away; no, it didn’t give him breath in the first place.

  “You don’t have time.” Okil’s voice more urgent now.

  He didn’t need to be next to Okil to sense his fear. Lytril realised the impending danger he was in. “Thank you, Okil.”

  “Find shelter. Quickly.”

  Lytril stopped running and looked around him. Of course, he had no notion of where anything was. The buildings surrounding him seemed to be industrial, no houses or stores. Heading for the nearest door, he tried to push it open, but it wouldn’t budge. As he moved on to the next one, the first drop of rain spattered onto his hand, and unless it was his imagination going wild, he felt a faint sting where it touched his skin.

  Going to the next door, he tried to push it open, this time putting his shoulder against it and heaving with all of his strength. It didn’t give. More spots of rain, bigger, and now he was sure he could feel the faint tingle as his skin was burned with poison.

  Lytril tried to make sense of what was happening. How could it be that he might very well die here? That the ruler of Karal would die in such a way, in such a place? It was inconceivable.

  Just as he was about to move on to the next door, a figure approached him. He could tell it was a woman from the way her body moved, soft and rounded, like a ripe fruit. With her sweater pulled up over their head, her long auburn hair streamed out behind her as she ran, a flash of colour in the fading light. For a brief moment, she paused, looking up into his eyes. His heart jolted, a thing he put down to the poison rain entering his system, because a human could not have this effect on him. Not with one glance, not with a thousand glances.

  Then she spoke, “Come on. We need to hurry. We need to get inside.”

  With that, she shifted the pack she was carrying over to one arm, took his hand in hers and dragged him along the road. His feet were not his to control, neither was his heart. The poison rain was working to shut down his nervous system, although she seemed unaffected.

  Only when they stopped outside a door and she released him, while she put the key in the lock and opened the door, did it stop. In that split second, he gained a new awareness. Of her. He stood staring at her, like a fool. What had he done? Coming here was a mistake; she must have drugged him, the rain must have impaired his senses.

  Something must have happened to him, Lytril, Hier Ruler of Karal. Because he didn’t believe in love, especially not at first sight. As she opened the door and led him inside, he knew he had to bury those emotions. The lottery winner was already chosen. He needed to block this female out. He wouldn’t be here for long; he could control himself. He could.

  Chapter Four – Vanessa

  What was she supposed to do? Leave him on the street to die? OK, so that might be a little bit of an exaggeration, but he would have received chemical burns and if this part of the city flooded, as it had on several occasions, he might have drowned.

  Anyway, it was done; he now stood in her apartment, which was actually a warehouse where she had converted a small corner into a living area. It had a sofa, bed and kitchen. What else did she need? Oh yes, a bathroom. That was the only thing that wasn’t open plan.

  “Are you OK? There is some liquid soap in the bathroom which will get rid of any residue if you need it.” She should be using it herself, but she had escaped the worst of the rain. After she got the old lady to safety, she had turned and run. Dodging into any shelter she could as the first showers began. When there had been a brief respite, she had run as fast as she could for home.

  He looked at her and then down at his hands, examining them. She tried to catch a glimpse of his face, but his hood was still pulled up around it. Turning to hide her smile, she wondered if he realised how ridiculous he looked in one of those shirts that made him look like the men used to centuries ago.

  It was the only way, these days, that men could look strong, toned and muscled. The food and air stopped men being men; there was not enough goodness in either, so they went for the next best thing. They faked it. Vanessa was the kind of woman who didn’t like to fake anything.

  Her eyes caught the vibrant colours of her paintings lining the walls of the warehouse. Apart from her art. She painted pictures to inspire and give hope. Trying to capture the world as it was, the creatures that walked the Earth centuries ago. The flora and fauna of a different world, one full of life, not choking to death in its own effluence.

  “Where?” he asked, his voice deep and rich, matching his physique. She wondered if that was false too.

  “Here.” She walked over to the bathroom door, tucked away in the corner of the warehouse. The light came on automatically, illuminating the small room. “It’s not much, but it is functional.”

  “It is very small,” he said, looking inside. “I will need to remove my clothes before I go in there.”

  “Sure,” she said, intrigued to see what he looked like without the shirt on.

  Pushing the hood down off his head, she looked at his face for the first time, gasping at his healthy complexion and smooth toned skin. He didn’t look like any man she had ever met, not in the city anyway. But then the surprises stacked up even more. Removing his shirt, he proved there was nothing false about him. Nothing at all. The big, bulking muscles were all his own.

  His hands went to his zipper, and she realised he was about to drop his pants. She covered her eyes and turned away. “Whoa, I’ll give you some privacy.” Shielding her eyes, she headed for the kitchen area, only letting out her pent-up breath when she heard the bathroom door shut and the shower start.

  Great. She had a naked stranger in her bathroom using up all of her hot water. But oh, what a man he was. Or was he? She began to question what exactly she had let in to her apartment. A sneaking suspicion bubbled up inside her. He looked just like one of the aliens.

  “Right, and you just happened to find him outside on the street,” she said to herself as she filled the kettle and put it on the stove. She tried to light the gas, concerned when it took three attempts. With the heavy rain, there was a good chance it would go out and she would be left with nothing to cook on.

  She mentally went through her cupboards. They wouldn’t starve, but if he was an alien, she wasn’t exactly going to wow him with her culinary skills. Crackers and synthetic cheese were about as appetising as they sounded.

  Wrinkling her nose, she left the kettle to boil and went back to her pack. Opening it, she surveyed the paints she had traded her coins and coat for. Taking them out one at a time, she carefully placed them on the small table. New paints were getting harder to come by and finding any used tubes that weren’t totally dried up was almost as hard.

  The used tubes she had bought today were red and blue, the tubes malleable, leaving her to think they would be of use. But the yellow was her biggest prize. It was what had made the trade worth the high price. She wanted to paint the sun in an azure sky. Something she hadn’t seen for years under all the smog that covered the city. But she had dreamed about it.

  Now that dream burned in her head so badly she had to paint it. It was a way of exorcising it from her mind. If she didn’t, there would be no peace.

  Behind her, she was aware of the shower switching off. At least she might have some hot water left to wash her clothes. If not, she might have to wait another day. The rain outside could be heard hammering down on the roof two stories above. It would only be a matter of time until they lost electricity.

  Setting her paints down, she went back to the kitchen. Time to prepare for the imminent blackness that would engulf the building and the rest of the city. Vanessa always k
ept the candles handy; it wasn’t often that she would go more than two days without a blackout. A shiver passed through her. Not cold, but excitement. It was ridiculous, but it felt somewhat romantic, the thought of being here in the dark with him.

  The him she was thinking about had just exited the bathroom. Wet hair slicked back, making it look darker and glossy. And sexy. Damn, this was going to be a long night.

  “Hi. Tea?” she asked.

  His face darkened. He opened his mouth to refuse, but then he paused, perhaps hearing the rain on the roof, and then said, “Yes.” Although she imagined he was saying yes from a need to drink rather because he wanted to accept her hospitality.

  She turned and placed the tea bags in the cups and poured on water. Stirring them, she smelt each cup to try to gauge the strength. The tea bags were laced with chamomile, a treat she saved for special days. This felt like one of those days, or maybe she wanted to impress him. Just as he impressed her.

  “Here,” she said, turning to pass him a cup, but he had moved across to the other side of the warehouse.

  Taking the two cups, she watched him as he looked at her paintings. She wanted to say admired them, but she wasn’t sure; his expression was flat and unreadable. Placing the two cups down on the table next to her new paints, she impulsively picked up her sketchpad and began to draw him.

  He was as close to perfect as she had ever seen. His posture strong and upright, his muscles toned but not bulging as some of those stupid fake shirts made men look. With dark features, he looked brooding and when another shiver travelled through her body, she acknowledged she found him almost menacing. Perhaps being here alone with him might not be such a good idea.

  However, a rumble above told her they were trapped together, unless she wanted to hand him a death sentence. She thought of the boy and the old woman under the arches, and knew there was a good chance that tomorrow she could go and reclaim her coat from the dead woman’s body. If other scavengers hadn’t already beaten her to it. The market was going to be thin on traders if the storm swept rain down to fill the tunnels.

  Realising she was staring, she ducked her head and pencilled in some more lines to complete the rough sketch. When he left she would fill in all the details and keep it as a reminder of the day she played host to an alien, for that was most definitely what he was.

  Chapter Five – Lytril

  The paintings were breath-taking. Full of life and colour, all the more extraordinary because he knew that hardly any of either were left on this Earth.

  “I like your paintings.” He should have been more human and told her how he admired the way she captured the very soul of what she had painted. Especially the sorrow of the elephant, he thought that was what the extinct creature was called in human tongue. It was like the arundas that roamed his planet in large herds, only arundas had long necks for eating the treetops.

  He saw pictures of humans too, their expressions happy, a stark contrast to the scenes of desolation which filled the canvases behind them. And then there were pictures of mountains and trees, an image of an Earth long gone. But so similar to Karal. He flicked his attention over to her. She sat scribbling for a moment before placing the paper down and getting up to stand near him.

  Too near. His heartbeat quickened as he caught a wave of emotion. It didn’t sweep over him, it hit him square in the chest. Almost imperceptivity he reached out his hand, trying to catch hold of the wave and read it. He wanted to place his hand on hers, to feel everything she felt. Emotions so strong, so powerful and vibrant. How could a spirit be so strong, so powerful, in amongst such desolation?

  “When I was a child, my father used to show me pictures of all the life that used to live on Earth. He was one of the last conservationists. Ironic really, because already most of the wildlife had gone from our land. But he campaigned so hard to save what little habitats were left. He gave me dreams, dreams I learned to turn into paintings.” A wave of sadness swept over her and out to him; he caught it, revelling in the depth and strength of her passion.

  She stirred up sensations in his body and emotions deep in his brain, feelings that he never thought himself capable of experiencing. It resonated with the paintings in front of him. Passion. Pure and raw, and it made him want to experience life on her level.

  However, he could not be open to so much. Only by shutting down his emotions, could he deal with his people. If he could not switch off all the emotions Karalians experienced, it would exhaust him, drain his very soul from him. It had taken many years for his father to teach him how to shut other people’s emotions out at will; he could not abandon that training now.

  “You love your father.” He wanted to examine her, interrogate her, to find out how she could cope with being this passionate in every moment.

  “Loved. He … died.”

  More sadness and loss. “Died?” He wanted to push her, to make her open up the wound that had never healed. He wanted to put his fingertips to her pain and experience it with her.

  But she moved away, and the connection dulled. She picked up her cup and sipped the hot tea, wincing at the heat as if she hoped to cauterise her hurt. “He was killed when he tried to protect the last of the ancient trees. The bulldozers went right through the trees … and the protestors.”

  As she spoke she shut down her emotions, becoming unreadable to him, and the room seemed darker somehow. She was a light, a beacon in this depressing world. And he wanted her, wanted to possess her. To take her to his world and give her life and colours, and allow her to be happy and heal.

  Lytril, Hier Ruler of Karal, turned from her and went to see if the rain had stopped. He had to escape her and the power she had over him. In two days’ time he would leave this awful planet with his lottery winner, breed with her and then send her away. Then his life would return to normal.

  However, as he heard her moving around behind him, he knew that she had taken normal away from him and it would never be his again.

  Chapter Six – Vanessa

  Vanessa had not thought of her father for so long, it was easier just to push him out of her mind, out of her memories. He had taught her how to dream, how to see the beauty in everything. Encouraging her to paint, to use her art to show the world what they were in danger of losing.

  And then it was all lost, her career pointless. There was nothing left to appreciate, and for Vanessa there was nothing left to love. Her mom had died when Vanessa was only six years old, so her father had become her world. They had travelled together under the dull skies, as he tried to show her what was left of the planet.

  When he died, a part of her was lost forever. The only thing she had left was her painting, a thing she had put away, unable to even think about colours and life when death surrounded her.

  Then the dreams had started. Nights where she woke up hot and feverish, where the only escape was to get out of bed, drag her easel out and paint. The first painting had been of the trees and her father; it had purged the loss from her mind, replacing it with an almost irrational urge to paint vibrant colours and life, mostly at night. In some way, she thought her father connected to her in those twilight hours and planted the pictures in her head.

  It was the thing that had kept her sane as the rest of the world slipped further into madness. Madness fuelled by the arrival of the aliens, the Karal.

  “What’s your world like?” she asked, turning to where he stood.

  His hand pressed against the door, as if hoping to keep out the flood which must be flowing down the street. But she had seen worse and knew the warehouse wouldn’t leak. Although, as a protective measure, most of her paintings were stored on the next level. Everything else on the ground floor could be moved quickly upstairs if needed.

  He whirled around to face her, and at first, she thought he was going to deny who he was. Then as his face darkened. She wondered if instead he might simply kill her to keep his identity a secret. After all, why was a Karalian walking past her home on a night like this? He
had a secret. One he could keep. She wanted no part of him, only for him to give her new dreams, new life to paint.

  “Alive,” he answered simply.

  “Will you tell me? About your world? I’ll find some food, it won’t be much, and you should drink your tea before it gets cold.”

  “I do not need your food,” he answered, but he came back towards her.

  “You probably wouldn’t want to eat it anyway.” She smiled, hoping he would still tell her about his world. The lights flickered and she moved to light the candles; the dark spells became longer than the light as the power faded from the grid. “Here, help me with these.”

  He hesitated and then took the unlit candles from her and she showed him where to place them while she lit each in turn. The flickering electric lights gave the whole apartment a strobing effect, disorientating her. She should be used to it by now, but she never was. She hated the dark; it reminded her of how her life felt when her father died.

  As they lit the last candle, the electricity finally flickered out for the last time. Vanessa went to the switches and turned them off; she had known fires break out when the electricity surged back into old wiring. She didn’t want to risk anything happening to her paintings.

  “Is it always like this?” he asked.

  “The lights? Yes.” She went to the table and sat down on one of the sofas surrounding it. “You might as well make yourself comfortable; it will be hours until it’s safe to go outside again.”

  “How do you live like this?” he asked, disgust lacing his voice.

  “Because there is no other way to live.” She tried to collect her thoughts and explain it more clearly. “We all cling onto a hope it will get better. Although we know it’s not going to. Or at least that’s what people believed before you came. Now they cling to the hope that you are our saviours.”

  “I am not.”

  “I know.” They were beyond saving; she might be one of the only humans to realise that as fact. “But you cannot stop people from hoping. Especially when you have given some women the chance to escape, with your lottery.”