Power: BBW Alien Lottery Romance (Chosen by the Karal Book 3)
Read Power: BBW Alien Lottery Romance (Chosen by the Karal Book 3) Online
Authors: Harmony Raines
Power
Chosen By The Karal
(Book Three)
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Note from the author:
My books are written, produced and edited in the UK where spellings and word usage can vary from U.S. English. The use of quotes in dialogue and other punctuation can also differ.
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All rights reserved. This book, or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner without the express written consent of the author or publisher.
This is a work of fiction and is intended for mature audiences only. All characters within are eighteen years of age or older. Names, places, businesses, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, actual events or places is purely coincidental.
© 2015 Harmony Raines
Silver Moon Erotica
Kindle Edition
“That is the female?” Lytril didn’t hide his disdain. He had come here to sample the human world, to see how bad it was. He never expected to find it like this. The air choked him and the food sickened him. He couldn’t wait to get this stupid lottery over with and go home.
The only downside of his return was that, once back on Karal, he would have this female to contend with.
To mate with
. A thought he didn’t find appetising at all. Although he knew it was his duty to father a child, a son to replace himself. He had to set an example to his fellow Karalians. If they didn’t all comply with mating, to produce the next generation, the population on Karal would drop and be unable to sustain itself.
It was a pity the human population hadn’t abstained from breeding so many offspring. The Earth could not support them all, hadn’t for centuries, but still they had carried on. With the uncontrolled increase in population, it was too late to stop the Armageddon which would be upon them so very soon. This generation might well be the last on Earth.
Sighing, resigned to his fate and the woman he didn’t find attractive, he turned to walk away. He had to accept her. Genetically, she matched his DNA and was due to ovulate in the hours after their return to Karal. At least if he impregnated her quickly he could be rid of her. She would go to the breeding house and give birth to his son. Lytril would never have to see her again.
Unlike the two previous Karalians who had taken the human females who had won the first two lotteries to live with them, he had no intention of doing so. No intention at all.
“I am returning to the space cruiser,” he said to Okil, the Karalian who accompanied him.
The woman who would be his mate sat with her friends, laughing, unaware that she was the next winner in the lottery. The notion that it was rigged in her favour would never enter her head. And when she won, she would leave Earth never to return, so if she ever grew suspicious, she could never tell anyone her secret.
“But, Hier Ruler…”
“Lytril,” he corrected his fellow Karalian. “When we are on Earth, Okil.”
Now, Okil, he loved coming to this forsaken planet, he had empathy with these humans. Lytril could see it in his eyes, feel it in his emotions as they passed from Okil to him. As the ruler of Karal, Lytril had unique abilities, which enabled him to read the emotions of his people. These emotions were often displayed as colours skimming across their skin, but here on Earth they were kept in check and hidden. Instead, Lytril had to depend on the more subtle energies which the receptors along his skin picked up.
“Apologies, Lytril. I thought you wanted to experience life here. You suggested a date with one of the women of Earth, so that you could find out what they think, how they feel. They are not like us.”
“I can see that, Okil. And yes, I had come here to do some research, but now I find the whole thing distasteful. I will take the female to my bed, but I do not care how she thinks.” He brushed his hands against his clothes as if trying to wipe away hidden dirt. “Or feels. Once she is with child, she will be taken to the breeding house. I do not intend to have anything more to do with her. It will only cause my judgement to fail. I am the leader of our people and I have no wish for my decisions to be tainted, in any way, by one of
these
alien creatures.”
Okil walked with him, slightly behind, as was customary on their planet. A sign of respect. “I think you might find these people are better than you think. If you try, you might actually enjoy their company. Their music and art is stimulating.”
“There is nothing stimulating about this dead planet, Okil.” He extended his senses and allowed himself to access Okil’s emotions. Sadness, hopelessness and something else. Lytril had to concentrate on this evasive emotion for a few minutes before he could dredge it up from his subconscious. Affection, bordering on what? Love.
“I wish there was a way we could help them. It will be a sad universe when they are gone.” Smiling, Okil looked up at the large StreamScreen above their heads. It streamed images 24/7, news, interviews and advertisements, a never-ending garish vision of life on Earth.
“It is their own fault, Okil. Never forget that.” Lytril stopped; the sensations and emotions coming from Okil were too much. He wanted to be alone, back in the space cruiser where he could imagine for a few moments that this hell wasn’t real. That he had simply taken the cruiser across to the deserts of Karal. He could shut the door and pretend he was forced to spend the freezing night in his ship. Not some forsaken planet. “Why don’t you spend some time enjoying this human civilisation?”
“Are you sure?” Okil visibly brightened, his emotions rising. Lytril told himself he would have to find a new post for this impressionable Karalian. He needed to be weaned off the Earth and its dreadful people.
“Yes. Make the most of your time here.”
It will be your last.
“Do you want me to escort you back to the cruiser?” Okil asked, but he had already taken two steps back, away from Lytril.
“No. I know the way. I have my tracker if I get too lost.” He looked at the watchlike communicator he wore on his wrist. It flashed comfortingly, showing him the route he had to take to the almost disused airport where his cruiser was securely parked in its own compound. “Yes. You go.”
“Very well,” Okil said and left, looking up and down the street to see if there were any of those smelly gas-powered cars coming, before crossing and becoming lost amongst the crowds of humans.
Vanessa took in the sights and sounds of the stalls. She knew she wouldn’t find what she wanted here, she never did, but still she came. Today looked particularly poor: there were rumours a big storm was heading their way, and many stallholders hadn’t shown up. She could hardly blame them; there was little shelter here if the rain came down hard.
“What can I interest you in?” One of the stallholders, a middle aged man with pale skin, who looked as if he would wash away if he were caught in the rain, grabbed at her coat.
“Nothing,” she said, slipping out of his weak grasp. She had already given his wares a cursory glance and knew he had nothing to offer her.
As she moved along the ragtag line of stalls, she wished she had enough money to buy something off each of them. At least it would put coins in their pockets and feed their families. Some of the traders had children about their stalls, thin faced and dull eyed. Vanessa sometimes wondered if they kept them like that on purpose, to make the passing city-dwellers take pity on them and buy something from their stall.
But pity was in short supply in the city, just as it was everywhere on Earth. Indeed, everything was in short supply, except for hunger and misery. Quickening her pace as the first warm wind blew its warning across her face, taking a stray wisp of her hair with it, she moved from stall to stall, weaving her way through the other people. Most of them had come to look and touch, showing interest with no intention of buying.
There was no spare coin for the bunches of faded heather sold by the travellers. They might call it lucky, but a piece of dead plant was not going to change what everyone in the city knew: their luck was running out. However, as the air grew increasingly warmer and the breeze dropped, Vanessa thought she would have to disagree. Their luck wasn’t running out.
It had run out.
The stallholders had sensed the turn in the weather. One by one, they began to pack up their wares. It was time to move. Most of them would go to the arches, a place of imagined safety under the railway tracks that no longer carried more than the occasional freight train. It would keep them out of the worst of the weather. But if the rain poured, they would be swamped, their goods ruined, their lives possibly lost.
Vanessa had learned not to think like that; people died everyday of hunger, thirst and disease. If she allowed herself to empathise with each one of them, she would go mad. Her past had taught her that lesson well. Hating the way she was dismissing suffering, she turned to help an old woman and a young lad who were desperately trying to pack their goods into a small handcart.
“Here, let me help you,” she offered.
“Get your hands off,” the old woman said, smacking Vanessa’s hands away.
“I only want to help. You need to hurry. Listen, I’ll help you.” Her words were firm, conveying the possible danger they were all about to find themselves in.
The old woman eyed her with distrust, but then looked at the sky and the gathering storm with fear and nodded. “Very well. But I’m watching you. I know every single item on my stall and I’ll curse you if any of it goes missing.”
“I think we are all cursed already, but whatever makes you feel better.” She helped pack everything away, the old woman telling them exactly how everything had to be placed, just so. Vanessa kept glancing nervously overhead at the black night that was about to invade the day. The clouds were bad. They threatened death.
“We need to hurry,” Vanessa said, grabbing the old lady’s hand and indicating the sky.
Old features creased in fear, she looked at the young boy placing pretty hairpins in a box. Vanessa read her thoughts. She grabbed them off him, threw them in the cart and scooped up everything else. The old woman, finding a sudden vigour through her fear, began to do the same.
“Send him on ahead,” Vanessa said urgently.
“Yes, Goran. Go on ahead.”
“But I want to stay with you.” The young boy looked at the old woman with such love.
“No, boy. You go on.” Her voice was harsh, and she shoved him away.
“No, you need my help,” he insisted.
Old worn fingers gripped his wrist savagely, making him cry out. Normally Vanessa would have objected; even in these times there was no reason to abuse a child. However, Goran had no idea of the danger they were in. “Go now and save us a place for the cart. Do it, Goran, do as I say or I’ll be fetching the belt to your hide.”
