Series: Charmaine Pauls
Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 70056 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 350(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70056 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 350(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
“I’m Elsie from Cleveland,” I shout back at her. “And I don’t know any of—
The deep voice of my rescuer drowns out the rest of my words. This time, his tone is unmistakably sharp as he stops before the portal, facing the barge. All the humans freeze, staring at him, and he repeats whatever he’s just said, his voice even harsher.
The blonde, who seems to be the bravest of the bunch, bobs her head, even as she shrinks back under his glare.
He seems to be satisfied with that.
Glancing down at me, he says something in a softer tone, and before I can blink, he walks into the portal, holding me clasped against his chest like some kind of prize.
Chapter 5
Elsie
This isn’t Earth.
Not even close.
For one thing, I didn’t feel like I was breaking apart as we went through the portal. It felt more like a big sneeze, one where your whole body convulses and you lose sight of the world for a second, but then everything is the same except your nose is wet with snot. My nose isn’t wet, thankfully, but that’s the general sensation—like I winked out of existence, only to come back with nothing substantially different.
I run my tongue over my teeth.
Yep, two are missing, and my face still throbs painfully where I was hit, so I haven’t been magically healed.
My surroundings are another big clue to my non-Earth location. I’m inside a cavernous chamber, the walls and ceiling of which glow with some inner light despite appearing to be made of wood and stone. In the middle of the chamber is a wide, shallow pit, lined on the inside with a soft-looking silvery padding. A bed of sorts? There are no pillows or blankets, so it could also be what passes for a couch in these parts.
I don’t get to inspect the rest of the chamber because of big clue number three: the fact that I’m not alone.
In addition to my rescuer, who’s still holding me in a bridal carry, there’s a woman sitting in a lotus pose on the floor and staring at me with wide silver eyes.
She must be one of “them” because not only does she strongly resemble the man who came for me, but she also gives off that distinctly unearthly vibe.
Not bothering to set me down, my rescuer addresses her, rattling off what sounds like a series of commands. She jumps to her feet, nodding, and I watch in shock as the seemingly solid wall behind her dissolves, forming a curved entrance some eight feet tall. She disappears through the arch and down a dimly lit corridor, her steps driven by urgency. The entrance closes as fast as it appeared, abruptly cutting off the view of the hallway.
Now that we’re alone and the initial shock of landing here is wearing off, my fear spikes. The man holding me against his chest as if I’m easily breakable—which I suppose I am to someone of his sheer size and strength—killed my captors and stole me. Why? Am I his slave now? Is that why he melted those lizard dudes? But then why didn’t he take the other humans on the barge as well?
I clear my throat. “You can put me down now. And I wouldn’t mind some clothes.”
He arches a dark eyebrow as he stares at my face, his expression so intently focused it makes me uncomfortable. And… uncomfortably warm.
I fight the urge to squirm in his embrace. There’s no way I’m turned on by the way he’s staring at me. He’s just probably staring because he doesn’t speak English and he’s confused by what I said.
Sure enough, he makes no moves toward putting me down. Or giving me clothes. Instead, his arms tighten around me, locking me into an inescapable cage of muscles, and the intensity of his stare impossibly heightens.
Shit.
What does he want? Why did he bring me here?
Am I going to end up as a guinea pig for some obscure alien experiment after all?
I’m about to hyperventilate from the disturbing scenarios running through my head when the wall opens again, and the woman returns with a stone bowl in her hands. She possesses the classical beauty of a Grace Kelly or Marilyn Monroe. Crisscrossing laces tie the bodice of her silver dress. A long black braid hangs down her back.
The wall closes swiftly behind her, the stones knitting together once more as if with a magic trick.
My captor barks out something in his language, at which she replies in a patient tone.
While they’re conversing, I take stock of the sparsely furnished space in the hope of identifying any weapons I can use. Against the far wall, there appears to be some kind of tall cabinet made from a black stone. A portion of the wall is polished so smoothly it shines—like a mirror, I realize. A huge wooden trunk with a stone lid stands next to it. Sadly, no knives or sharp objects are lying around.