Chevepak's Cherished - A Sci-Fi Alien Romance (The Quasar Lineage Book 11) | eBook

TWO WEEKS AGO
“Miss Hanin! Miss Hanin! Can you hear me?” 
The muffled yelling sounds far, far away.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Now that’s a little clearer. It’s the second time I’ve heard them knocking, but just like the last time, there’s no way I’m getting up to answer it. The blood I’m lying in is cooling, forming a sticky, almost glued-to-the-floor sensation. 
I just don’t have the energy or desire to pull myself up.
I don’t know exactly how long I’ve been sprawled here on the floor of my place, but it only feels like a minute. Of course, that could have something to do with the fact that I’ve probably been in and out of consciousness the entire time.
“Miss Hanin! We had a report from your landlord, and she’s here with us. If you don’t answer, we’ll be coming in.” 
There are lowered voices I can’t understand before I hear the familiar sound of a key in the lock. “Miss Hanin? Hello? Anyone home?” 
The male voice is clearer now. Definitely inside and less than fifteen feet away. Just around the corner. Ignoring the indistinct murmurs, I think back to Tommy… 
Tommy! Is he still here?
Pain flares through my head as I try to open my eyes. The bright, unforgiving fluorescent fixture in the middle of the kitchen ceiling shoots darts of pain directly into my skull. Groaning, I give up, letting my eyes sink closed just as I feel heavy vibrations under my cheek that still feel fused to the vinyl flooring.
I can’t even shift to see if it’s the voice that’s been calling me, and actually, I really don’t care. Drifting off, I think about how innocently the evening began. I was… happy. 
Well, maybe more relieved, since I was just glad work was over.
After walking home from my shift at the Dairy Queen just down the road, I’d planned to take a nice hot bath to soak my aching feet. But as I rounded the last corner in the tiny back stairwell leading up to my second-floor apartment, I’d come face to face with Tommy. 
My ex.
His smile should have been a tipoff that he wasn’t planning on being nice. We’d only dated for about two months, but I was stupid enough to think we might last. I should know better considering my track record with long-term relationships.
“…three… lift.” A flare of pain so bright it feels like I’ve touched the sun blasts through my head and neck, and the moan that borders on a scream doesn’t even sound like me. “April Hanin? I’m Dean, a paramedic here to help you. Try to relax. We’ll have you comfortable in no time.”
His actions are a contradiction as I lose comprehension of what he’s said or what he’s doing as he and his helper strap me onto what feels like a narrow board. 
Mother fucking cock sucker.
My survival instinct is beginning to kick in as I think about how much I’d love to kill Tommy. It’s laughable, really. That’ll never happen. 
Tommy’s six-foot-three and built like a football player. What originally made me feel so safe about him was used against me so quickly, that I never had a chance.
Technically, we’d known each other since high school. Of course, he’d never noticed me before. I was two years younger, and he was the captain of the football team. Imagine my surprise, two and a half months ago, when he’d started coming into Dairy Queen and waiting for my shift to end. 
He’d been so attentive and kind… and persistent. And I’d been an idiot.
Even with all my continual warnings to myself to not trust men or let them into my heart, I’d managed to fall within a week. Before I knew it, he’d practically moved in. I didn’t mind at the time. My place isn’t big, just a tiny one-bedroom on the second floor, but it was nice to have the company. 
The single mother with two girls who lives below me is my landlord. Even now, I hear her frazzled voice shooing out her children, and their soft crying fades. On the south side of the city, the neighborhood was rough, so I knew I was lucky to have someone keeping an eye out for me. Look where it’s gotten me now.
Jostled back to consciousness, I realize the throbbing pain in my head is gone. In its place is a floating, disconnected sensation. Yes. This is so much better.
“…Miss Hanin! Please, try to focus on us here. Have you been taking your Desmopressin?” 
As if. The drug’s super expensive and not exactly something I can afford on my income. Health insurance… yeah, right. What a joke!
I don’t remember answering, but I must have because the speed of the stretcher picks up as they run me through the halls of the hospital. The bright lights and echoing voices as the public address system drones in my ears. It’s both familiar and horrifying. 
I can’t understand anything. It’s background noise to the squeaky wheels and urgent voices running beside me.
I was diagnosed with hemophilia when I was born, right after my mother discovered she was a carrier and had complications that caused severe bleeding leading to her death. My parents were young. At twenty, it didn’t take long for my father to lose custody to the state. When I entered the school system, he was constantly investigated because of the bruising that regularly showed up on my body. 
My father never hit me. His abuse was neglect. I was young at the time, but even I understood his relief and could see it on his face as the social services lady helped me pack up my meager belongings in the corner of the living room where I slept on the sofa. 
That was the last time I ever saw him. He could have exercised his visitation rights, but he never bothered. Just like I never bothered to look for him when I hit eighteen. 
He doesn’t deserve to know me.
Multiple sets of both old and warm hands shuffle me from the stretcher to a bed, and the room gets brighter with the addition of glaring spotlights they position over me. Someone lifts my lids and shines a light into each of my eyes. Impersonal touches poke and prod, and I know they’re trying to save me. Just what I don’t need.
I’m tired. So tired of everything. 
A week ago, I sprinted home on my break because my period started. As you can imagine, having your period as a hemophiliac is a nightmare. The flow is like super heavy. Even the jumbo maxi pads they supply for emergencies at work would not cut it for me, and I knew it.
Even though I had cramps like a motherfucker and certainly didn’t feel like running, that’s exactly what I did. Hoofing it home, I went all out, figuring, that as long as I’m going home, I can change my pants too. By the time I’d huffed and puffed around the side of the house and into the dark, narrow stairwell leading up to my place, I was winded and almost dying. 
But the ibuprofen in my medicine cabinet was calling my name.
As I slid the key into the lock, a rhythmic staccato drowned out the sound of my panting. But all I could think about was how fast I could strip off my pants and underwear to wash up, get a mega tampon plugged up there, and then change into fresh work pants. Imagine my surprise when I rushed into my tiny kitchen to see my co-worker splayed across the flimsy kitchen table while my boyfriend held her ankles high in each hand.
My eyes zeroed in on his pants around his calves as his black ass flexed and twitched. Neither one of them noticed me as I cut across the side of the kitchen to go into the bathroom, slamming and locking the door behind me. I thought I was breathing heavily before—that was nothing!
Ripping my pants and underwear off, I started the hot water to get a warm cloth, staring at myself in the mirror as I listened to them question each other through the hollow door about whether or not it could be me in there. Who the fuck else would it be?
Carrie, the fucking tramp getting banged in my kitchen, works almost exclusively on night shifts, so our interaction is limited. She hasn’t been at the DQ as long as I have, but always seemed like a decent person. She always does her job okay, anyway. 
But I’m not mad at her. In fact, I’m not even that mad at him. I expected it. 
Isn’t this how it always is? And always ends? 
Promises… lies… cheating… why did I think he’d be any different? I didn’t, really. But I just can’t help hoping. 
A buzzing, high-pitched noise fills the room, bringing my attention back to the present. Despite the drugs they’re pumping into me, I can still feel every bruise from the pummelling I received from Tommy earlier. Supposedly, he just stopped by for his stuff.
“She’s flatlining!”
“Clear!”
The teeth-grinding pressure that brings me back to the present is horrible. The annoying electronic sound has subsided, and all is quiet except for some heavy muffled breathing and the slow methodical beeping of machinery. 
After a few seconds, the frantic poking and prodding begin again as they decide I’m not going to take off on them again anytime soon. What I wouldn’t give for this all to be over. 
I know, I know. That’s a terrible attitude to have.
I’m an independent, self-sufficient, African American woman. I have a job and a home… but I’m tired. 
Tired of never fitting in, just like all the years in foster care. Tired of being lied to over and over again by men who’re only interested in getting into my pants for a limited amount of time. They say whatever it takes. 
They love me, want to be with me, blah, blah… snore. 
But here I am.
This is the second time a boyfriend has put me in the hospital. The last time I was still in foster care. Clearly, it doesn’t take that much of being knocked around for me to get here, but still… 
I promised myself that next time, I wasn’t coming here. I hate the pitying looks and everyone shoving pamphlets at me about meetings and domestic violence. Not again.
When Tommy buried his hand in my braids and yanked me toward him earlier, I thought he’d force me. Rape—now that I can deal with. But when his fist hit my face, and I flew to the floor to his feet, I knew this would be different. It was, too… because I learned that being kicked in the ribs really fucking hurts, in addition to taking my breath away. 
Yes. I’m ready for this to all be over. What’s the point?
I’ll never do anything but work at the local fast-food joint. My life has no meaning… no excitement. I’m waiting to die. 
This is what I thought would happen. I’d be injured and die alone.
As the surrounding voices continue to hook me up to machines, providing fluid and medical care that I’m never going to be able to afford, my mind runs on repeat. 
“Why can’t they just leave me alone?”

FOURTEEN DAILY ROTATIONS AGO
My skin prickles as the scratchy white robe I’m wearing flutters against me. A brief pressure change makes my ears pop as I adjust to how deep in the catacombs I’ve come. “They’re right on schedule. I spoke with my contact on the Discovery, and everything is falling into line for them to be here during the Presentation Holiday as planned.”
Looking up as I enter the room, my eyes flicker across the six males lounging around silently. They don’t look surprised to see me because I’m right on schedule. They’ve been living here in these underground rooms for as long as thirty-eight daily rotations. But none of them say a word as I continue my conversation on the private communication link implanted in my head.
“They’ll be meeting up with me here. And no, I’m not willing to bring you, as well.”
“Come on, Chevepak.” The male’s voice has turned cajoling. “I have a lead on one more male. He’s skittish, but I think we can beat the Discovery’s arrival. You know, you’re going to have to trust me sometime.”
“I understand that.” My voice comes out harsher than I intended. 
I can’t help it as my eyes travel across the tired and battered-looking males around me. Most of them have been beaten—literally. More than once. 
“I just can’t take a chance right now. It took my contact risking his life to set up the place we’re staying in now. He told me under no circumstances to let anyone besides the males I bring here to know about its location. Someday… maybe.”
Greeco, my contact at the Proscribe Movement, lets out an exasperated breath that echoes through our connection. His voice drops, sympathy coloring his tone as it reverberates through my head. “You shouldn’t have to be doing this all alone. You need more support. How many do you have there now?”
“Six.” 
I feel guilty as they all look at me with questioning eyes. They know I’m discussing them, and their lives are in my hands. 
I can’t take any chances. We’re so close…
Larseff pulls himself from the floor where he is sitting, most likely performing his daily reflections. 
“Be thankful you don’t have to be here, Greeco. There’s a reason these males are here, and I won’t do anything to jeopardize them in any way.”
“I know, I know. I wasn’t saying that.” 
I hear movement around Greeco before it’s silent again on our connection. “I just really wish you’d let me help. This means a lot to me, too.”
Nodding, even though he can’t see me, I turn away from Larseff, who’s clearly ready for an update. It’s been three daily rotations since I was here last. Set up in one of the most abandoned areas of the old, underground city, the only other occasional males I see around appear homeless—just as these six do. 
They aren’t, though. Not only are they not homeless, but at this point, they’re wanted. Their Ermadas have bulletins out to apprehend them and to bring them back to their homes, including with force, if necessary. Not surprising, considering the undue oppression used against them, is what had them running in the first place.
I can’t believe how quickly the news traveled. Not only of the Proscribe Movement but also my name as a viable option for escape from an abusive Ermada and dire Family Commitments. 
I can only pray to the Sacred Mother that she protects me from my name ever being tied to any of this publically. It’s one thing for the Proscribe Movement to know, but if my Ermanda, Vina Likana, ever finds out… 
“I know you’ve lost a brother too and understand exactly what’s at stake. But all the more reason we should speak of this as little as possible. Share as little as possible. Understand?” 
Larseff nods his agreement to my statement in front of me as Sevan and Rill come up behind him. 
“Yes, yes. I know you’re right. I just wish…” 
When I say nothing after a long pause, Greeco finally continues, “…I just want to help.”
“I know.” Holding up a hand, I let the males in front of me know with a signal that my conversation is coming to a close. “But this is the most delicate time. We’ve so many lives at stake. Not only these males but also our own. I’ll be in contact with you later. Be patient, my friend.”
I can envision his eager expression as he answers. “I will. I mean I am.”
“I have to go now.”
“Of course. Be safe, and I’ll check in with you later to let you know whether this male is ready to come in. The timing couldn’t be more perfect, and I’m trying to use that as leverage. He could be off the planet before the formal bulletin is issued to find him.”
The silence in my head is welcome as our communication ends, but it’s short-lived as Tisil questions me. “What’s going on? Is everything alright?”
He’s the youngest and most easily rattled. I have to keep reminding myself that he doesn’t mean to sound like I’m incompetent—he’s just scared. If I were him, I’d be scared too. 
As it is, I’m worried all the time. This is the most controversial and illegal thing I’ve ever done in my life. It reminds me of my youth, but it’s so much worse. 
My mother enjoyed rivalry. Competitiveness was encouraged among her males, and my father was the family champion in hand-to-hand combat. It wasn’t until he was almost killed in a friendly challenge with another Ermada, that things fell apart for me at home. 
I let what had happened slip out to Helper Sareth at the Sanctuary when she’d found me crying over my afternoon meal.
I don’t know how or who told my mother, but the entire household backed her in alienating me for the duration of my life spent at home. Four long annual rotations. I never want something like that to happen to me again.
Pulling up my robes, I begin unfastening the food that’s strapped to my legs. “Everything is fine, Tisil. That was just one of my contacts at the Proscribe Movement. He has another male that he thinks may need help in the next rotation and wanted to see if the Discovery is on schedule for their arrival.”
“They are, right?” Tisil crouches down in front of me, taking the parcels as I remove them.
Not even looking up, I nod and start passing over the energy bars that the Proscribe Movement was able to add to the meager scraps I’ve collected from my dwelling. Vina doesn’t keep a tight inventory of food provisions, but there’s only so much I can skim from the kitchens. 
Tako would definitely notice. As the lead male in the household, it’s his responsibility to help Vina manage things, and that includes all purchases and their distribution. I’ve had to be very clever and do a lot of sneaking around late at night. At this point, I’m hoping any additional food missing is just considered part of overzealous snacking.
I hear a gasp as I pass over the soap. No doubt, they’re thankful. I’m sad I can’t put them in better surroundings, but quickly squash the feelings of inadequacy that spring up. I’m doing the best I can with what I’ve been given. Or stolen.
Matthias began this endeavor with one contact at the Proscribe Movement. It was while he was waiting for his brother Bren to arrive with his mate almost seventy-five daily rotations ago. In an effort to notify the news centers of what was occurring, he inadvertently ran into a contact—that even now—I’m not sure exactly who it is. 
Of course, that’s to be expected. Everyone involved in the Proscribe Movement uses aliases and doesn’t discuss who their Ermada or Family Commitment is with. At least then it buys you a bit of time if a spy infiltrates their midsts. It’s unlikely but could happen.
“Matthias has a plan. The group of males that’ll come to retrieve you will arrive at the crack of dawn on Presentation Day. While everyone’s making their way to the Presentation Ceremony, they’ll be appearing here. During the Celebration, we have the best possibility of moving through the streets and airspace with as little chance of being caught on recordings as possible.” 
The six males scattered around the room seem to understand. Even Fastin, whose eyes can barely open, nods. He’s our most recent addition, added at my last visit three rotations ago. I had to practically carry him here. His bruised and battered face is just starting to turn yellow and reduce in swelling.
It’s interesting because as the time for their retrieval has gotten closer, the number of males has increased quickly. “Do you have enough provisions for the next two to three rotations?” 
What I brought wasn’t much, but as long as they’ve been careful, they should be fine.
“Yes. Don’t worry about us.” Larseff’s calm voice is even as I straighten up, dropping my robe to the floor. “If they’re coming within ten rotations, we may even make it until then. Go. I know how dangerous it is for you to be here with us. Bring more when you can, but don’t push it. It won’t be any good for any of us if you’re followed.”
He’s right. It’s gotten harder and harder to make excuses for the times I’ve been out of touch. The additional mouths to feed over the last rotations have made my provision runs more often too. “I’ll be back when I can.”
“Are you coming with us? When we leave, I mean?” Tisil’s innocent question has me thinking about my newest worry. If he’d asked me a few days ago, I would have immediately said no. Not only am I needed here, but really, I don’t have any major complaints about Vina.
Sure, she’s a control freak, but she’s never targeted me specifically. In fact, in the seven annual rotations I’ve been with her, she’s lost interest. I can’t remember the last time she wanted me on her sleeping platform.
Shaking my head, I turn away. Instead of answering, I open the manual door, sliding it across the debris-riddled entry. “I have to talk to Matthias. It’ll be his decision. Stay safe, my brothers.”
Pulling my hood over my head, I hurry off as my skin flushes with tingling frustration. What I haven’t shared with anyone—and have no intention of discussing with them—are the flushed pink mating marks that materialized on my skin yesterday.
Hurry back, Matthias!
I’ve no idea what will be done to me if the mating marks are discovered. 
Will I be shipped off to the Mating Re-emergence Program? And if so, who’ll bring my fugitives their provisions?