Alien Desire (The Alpha Prince of Astia Book 1) Read online

  Hannah Haze

  Alien Desire

  Book One of The Alpha Prince of Astia

  Copyright © 2021 by Hannah Haze

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

  Cover designed by Merel.

  First edition

  This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy

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  Thank you to Jillian for the inspiration behind my alien alpha’s name. It’s always tough picking just the right name for characters and I think this name suits him perfectly!

  Thank you also to my wonderful beta readers, Hannah, Chloe, Liz, Sue and Stephy. This story is so much better for your input! You are super stars!

  And finally, as always, thank you to Mr D who has cheered me on from the sidelines and dazzled me with his sexy spreadsheets.

  Chapter one - Emma

  As we tear through the atmosphere of this planet, I know instantly that something is wrong. Before all the alarms start to ring and the lights flash, turning the cockpit into a cabin of disco lights, I smell it.

  I smell something in the air of the ship. Something wrong. Off. Different.

  We hurtle uncontrollably towards the fast approaching planet as Georgio screams instructions and Ling stabs at buttons and tugs at levers frantically. Jacob turns in his seat towards me. His mouth flies open and shut, but I don’t hear the words screaming from his lips, don’t comprehend what he’s trying to tell me by the wave and jab of his hands. I just stare back at him, frozen in my seat. Behind him is the window and the view of this world, an ice planet so white it’s blinding.

  It starts as a little dot, morphing and spreading, engulfing the whole of the pane of glass, bigger and bigger, brighter and brighter.

  Piercing white and Jacob’s frightened eyes are the last thing I remember, and then my world goes black.

  I don’t know how long I’m out, but I think it’s the cold that finally forces my mind back to consciousness and I wake shivering. The world is still dark and for a fleeting moment I wonder if I’ve died. But my heart aches in my chest and pain radiating through my still present body.

  I can’t see though. I can’t see a thing and I blink rapidly, fearing I’ve lost the use of my eyes before bright lights begin to appear in the surrounding blackness, emerging from the darkness. Pin-pricks of brightness scatter like rice and I understand I’m staring up at a moonless sky, at a galaxy of stars that are not my own, far from my own solar system and my own planet, Earth.

  I struggle to move, held in place by the strong straps of my pilot seat, and I scrabble with frozen fingers at the buckle, forcing my cold digits to work. Finally, the mechanism pings open, and I slump forward.

  “Georgio!” I yell, my voice loud in my ears, ringing through my head. “Georgio! Ling!”

  Running my hands over my body and my limbs, I pull myself up to stand. My body complains at the action, every part battered and bruised, sore and aching. But I stagger up regardless, trying to peer through the night.

  Around me is the wreck of our spaceship, smashed to smithereens by the impact of our crash. The landscape is littered with warped, jagged metal, twisted grotesquely out of shape, some of it simmering red, distant flames curling into the sky.

  Despite this dying fire, the air is bitterly cold and beneath my feet is compacted ice. I wrap my arms around myself, and stumble through the wreckage, calling the names of my crew mates. The carcass of our ship sprawls for what looks like a square mile, and fire flickers in the distance.

  I find Jacob first, close by, his lifeless body hanging from the straps of his seat. His eyelids remain open and he glares at me as if he’s still trying to make himself understood. I shudder and try to clamber up to free him and close his eyes. But it’s no use, I can’t reach, and I remind myself that the others might need my help.

  Focus on the living, Emma. The dead can wait.

  Georgio is next. Sifting through gnarled shards, I find his body almost severed in two, the white ice around him stained a sickly scarlet. I jump away, turning my back on him, and retching bile that burns my throat.

  He’s dead too.

  The blood rushes in my head, so loud it is almost deafening and my heart beats rapidly, my vision swimming.

  Ling, where’s Ling? She has to be here. She has to be alive. I can’t be the only one. I can’t be alone.

  I don’t want to be alone.

  “Ling!” I scream into this cold silent world as I race through the wreckage, my cumbersome space boots sliding on the ice; determined I’ve heard her groan, certain I’ve seen a movement.

  I have no idea how long I search. The black sky lightens at the horizon, and some other sun — so much smaller, feebler than my own — creeps into the sky. As its first weak rays spill over the jagged landscape, the ice sparkles to life and the shards of metal light up in golds and silvers.

  Then I find her, crushed beneath the weight of a fuel tank. One hand, her plain wedding band wrapped around her third finger, the only part of her that remains.

  I sink to my knees, defeated.

  Defeated and alone.

  I reach out and clasp Ling’s stiff hand, her fingers rigid in place. I don’t care. I grip it anyway.

  And I’m suddenly taken back there. To that forest. We’d gone for a walk through the countryside, me, my parents and my older brother and somehow I’d lost them. Probably it was for mere minutes, but surrounded by the never-ending trees, spinning around and around, so dizzy I hardly knew which way was up or down, every tree the same, crowding in on me, I’d tasted that first fear of being alone.

  It had been a premonition of what was to come. When I was to lose them for real.

  And here I am again, alone.

  Alone. Alone. Alone.

  My head spins rapidly, the same old fear engulfing me.

  Breathe, I tell myself. Just breathe. But this air feels different in my lungs, tastes different in my mouth, smells different in my nose.

  It only reminds me how far I am from home. How far I am from my destination. Stranded between the two, caught in some no-man’s-land.

  I force myself to take another deep breath. To put these thoughts from my mind and count to ten. I mustn’t let my imagination run away with me. There is a fuel station here. It’s why we came. To refuel the ship for the final leg of our journey. Someone else will come soon, to fuel up or to rescue me. There is somewhere to stay, somewhere warm with provisions and a communication system. I am not lost. Hope is not lost. The situation is salvageable.

  I release Ling’s hand and whisper a goodbye. Then I gather up what I can from the wreckage and walk towards the glinting cube I can see in the distance. As I do, the sun’s rays race outwards, lighting a fire across the ice, white morphing to yellow, red, and then pink. And I get my first view of the landscape: flat and scarred with sharp jabs of rock.

  The long trudge is never-ending. Wisps of cloud in the morning sky draw shadows over the surface of the ice, and in my dazed state, it almost appears like dark shapes swimming in the minerals beneath my feet. I shudder and focus on my destination.

  The first sliver of doubt infiltrates my bloodstream as I reach the fuel depot. The box of a building, large enough, appears as frozen as the rest of this planet. Frozen and eerily preserved. A building that has clearly not been entered, not visited, in a long, long time.

  Our journe
y through the universe was not a well trodden one, but I’d still expected this depot to be in frequent use. Isn’t that what Georgio had said? I wonder if we deviated from our path somehow, if something went wrong in the navigation. Georgio was an experienced captain. Our crash seems so unlikely. Any minute now I expect to wake in my cabin and find this was all a bad dream.

  But I don’t and I chop away ice on the control panel by the door and punch in the universal code. With a sputtering start, the panel whirrs into life, lights flickering on and a generator stirring with a grunt and a groan.

  “Initialising atmospheric preparation. Please wait.” The control panel tells me in a clipped, lifeless voice. It means the system is an ancient one. AI voices these days are as expressive and varied as their human counterparts. “Please state your name and ID code.”

  “Space Cadet Emma Steele. ID code 74685XTD.”

  Lights pulse across the panel as if the computer is digesting this information. Ancient and slow. Terrific.

  “Welcome Space Cadet Steele. Doors will open in five Earth minutes.”

  I decide to circle the station while I wait. It looks like every other lonely fuel station. Soulless. It could have been taken straight from the desolate stretches of the Americas and dropped straight here.

  To one side is the dock with its towering tanks and pumps with pipes snaking into the ground. At the back is a metal shed and through the frosted glass I can see two quad snow vehicles.

  These are the only things I find on my circuit, the dull white sun now high above my head and the fiery light now back to its bleached white.

  How much time has passed? Are the days and nights shorter here or longer? The midday sun is feeble, though, and I stamp my feet and blow on my numb fingers. This cold is bitter and biting.

  “Doors opening,” the computer tells me, and I sigh in relief.

  The inside, like the exterior, is ancient and clearly unvisited for some time. Still, it’s warm and working — although the stuttering and groans of the mechanics make me wonder for how long.

  I wander through the various rooms. There’s a well stocked medical bay, an equally well-stocked pantry and several cots in a sleeping bay. The vast amounts of dehydrated food packets and tins, rather than bringing relief, cause panic to rise in my throat and I swallow it back down violently. It’s another sign that no one has been here in some time, another clue this place is used rarely.

  It doesn’t matter. There is a competent looking communication system housed in the corner of the large communal area. I can make contact with Space Patrol, inform them of the accident, and they’ll send a rescue mission to come collect me. It’ll be a wait, but they’ll come.

  I want to head straight there now and send my SOS, but I am no fool. My body may seem unscathed, just a few bruises, scrapes and burns, and everything tender and sore, But I know of the dangers of internal bleeding, a potential unseen death sentence lurking beneath my skin.

  The medical scanner in this station resembles an ageing shower cubicle. I read the instructions printed on its glass walls several times to ensure I’m not mistaken and about to be doused in steaming water. Then, when I’m satisfied that this is indeed what I think it is, I strip off my suit, only then realising how strong it stinks of soot and smoke. I discard it on the floor and step into the cubicle.

  The tiles are cold on the soles of my feet and I feel strangely exposed as the blue laser beams skim from the top of my head, down my body, to the tips of my toes and back up again.

  “Scan complete,” the computer says. “Making medical assessments.” It hums for several minutes then concludes, “No damage detected. Human female in mid twenties. Health very good. Fertility sound, although currently impeded by contraceptive injection.”

  “Not sure why I needed to know that but thanks computer.”

  “You’re welcome,” she answers, sparkly.

  I allow myself a smile and find some bright orange overalls in the supply closets. They are unflattering, swamping my lean frame, but I assume the colour allows the wearer to be easily spotted out there in this world of white. Then I help myself to an energy bar and sit in front of the vast communication system.

  The computer is several decades old. I’m unfamiliar with the coding and infrastructure. It’s not like the simple radio processors we have today, ones which will let you speak to any human in the universe — well, just about anyway.

  This system won’t connect to any particular channel. It appears to want to route messages down various different webs and intricacies of satellites and space stations. It’s how communications were done in the old days. Messages taking days, weeks, sometimes even years to reach the intended receiver.

  At last, I make sense of it and shoot my distress signal into the vastness of space. Then I lean back in the chair and try not to cry. Who knows how long I will be here?

  By now the pale sun is sinking down below the horizon and once again this world turns a fiery red for several fractions of a moment and then seeps into a grey that falls darker and darker until it is night. I’m exhausted, barely able to keep my eyes from closing.

  Stretching and yawning, sending fresh jolts of pain cascading down my sides, I stumble to the bedroom. Here, I freeze. There’s a distinct rustling sound coming from somewhere within this room, a sound that is not the computer or one of the mechanics.

  I listen carefully, my blood running cold and my body stiffening. It sounds like the soft snufflings of a creature. Back on Earth, this would be no cause of concern. But here on an alien planet, where I have no knowledge of the friendliness of the native inhabitants, it could mean danger.

  Running back to the pantry, I find the store of weapons I’d clocked earlier and arm myself with a small blaster before venturing back into the sleeping bay. I chide myself for not searching the whole of the station for any such lurking dangers. A rookie mistake.

  Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I fling open the cupboard doors and am greeted by a giant ball of fluff with several pairs of eyes that blink. We stare at each other and it takes my brain several minutes to deduce that this is not one creature, but several.

  Dogs.

  Left behind by some previous space mission. There’re packs of them scattered all across the universe. Many are so far removed from the domesticated ancestors that were abandoned, they are now feral and wild. And sometimes dangerous, known to have attacked and killed humans.

  But before I have time to think further on this, the creatures streak past me, dashing for the door.

  “Hey,” I cry, chasing after them, only to see the last one squeeze through a small vent in the main communal area.

  Note to self: secure the vent. I don’t want them coming back and slaughtering me.

  I glance down at the blaster in my hand. Perhaps it is something I ought to keep on me until I know more about this planet. So I take it into the bedroom and place it on one of the small tables scattered in between the cots. Then I find a heavy crate and drag it across the opening of the vent.

  This little encounter peaked my adrenaline and now, as it fades away, I’m even more tired than I was before. I can’t be bothered to undress, crawling under the covers.

  It’s as I’m falling asleep that the faces of my crewmate finally creep back into my mind. I’ve tried to block them out, tried to stop myself from dwelling on their loss.

  But now I see them all clearly.

  Haunting images.

  Jacob’s frightened eyes. Ling’s small, calloused hand. Georgio’s bloody remains.

  They’re gone. All of them.

  The second family I’ve lost.

  Chapter two - Emma

  I wake to the faint sound of whining. At first it infiltrates my dreams and I mistake it for the drone of the spaceship. When I open my eyes, I’m completely disoriented until my brain pulls out the memories of the day before.

  Lying on my back, I gasp for air as a wave of panic and grief courses over me. I let it pass, and then my attention i
s drawn back to the noise.

  It’s coming from the cupboard again. Have those hairballs returned? I should have sorted out the vent properly last night.

  Picking up the discarded blaster from yesterday, I go to investigate.

  This time I find just one of the fluffy creatures, small and curled into a ball in the corner. His eyes are big and round but all his other features and limbs are lost under the matt of black fur. He quivers as I stare down at him and whines again.

  “Go,” I tell him, gesturing my blaster in his direction. “Go on, go. Your friends already left.”

  Or maybe they were his family. The dogs seem to have dragged the stuffing from one of the mattresses into the bottom of this cupboard, and formed a soft sort of den, almost like a nest.

  The fluffy thing lifts its head, holds my stare, and then sinks back down and whines a third time.

  Reluctantly, I poke out a foot in his direction and prod it gently with my toe. It merely watches the action of my leg, but refuses to budge. I try again with a little more force, the fur ticking my foot, but when he remains where he is, I give up. It’s not worth a bite or a scratch.

  “Fine,” I say, “stay if you want.”

  The thing will get hungry eventually, or realise his friends aren’t coming back (especially as I’m blocking up that vent) and then he’ll leave.

  Over the next two days, I occupy my time by making a detailed inventory of the supplies in the system, checking the fuel tanks and pumps, and fiddling with one of the snow mobiles. Once I bring it to life, I journey backward and forward to the crash site, sifting through the remains for anything of use. I hope that maybe I can salvage parts of the computer and use it to upgrade the communication system, send a more direct and efficient help signal. However, the ship’s computer is a burnt out husk, blackened and destroyed.

  On these journeys I try not to look at my crewmates. The ground is frozen and hard, and I have no suitable tool to dig graves. I suppose I could cremate their bodies instead, but I worry that the rescue mission will want to return their remains to their families.