Page 4 of Alien Prince

But so much has changed since then. That was nearly twenty-six years ago.

When the royals started smuggling in skins to replace their rotted ones.

Dad noticed the pattern almost immediately. Even in a state where crime was abundant, the royal assholes only took certain people.

People who wouldn’t be identified, wouldn’t be missed.

Years worth of research compiled by our soldiers tells us the royals haveclosetsfull of skins, or rather people that the royals use by possessing the bodies as their own to maintain the illusion they are not the monsters that are to blame. It’s absurd to justusepeople like parasites, discarding their shells when they’ve rendered enough use. Imagine someone climbing into your body and using it against your will. Every word, every touch, every action fueled and driven by some alien while you sit shotgun without any control.

And the public has no idea. They are all oblivious, despite the fact that one day, they might end up as one of the royal’s favorite outfits.The thought alone makes me shudder. These assholeshave entireclosetsfilled withpeoplethey possess. Although I’m sure the term “closet” was more for their benefit than anything else, because “prison” or “pen” just didn’t have the same zip.

I personally don't find the idea of wearing another person's skin fashionable, but I suppose it's only appealing to hoity-toity royals hiding their true identities. It’s concerning that the trendy children Kyron, Eros, and Sabella may have a sick desire to wear someone else's flesh beyond the palace walls. There are even rumors that the youngest, Raphael, is still alive and wearing a human skin suit since his supposed childhood death.

Even in death, these assholes take and take, and it has to stop!

Raif runs his tongue over his full, dark lips as he locks his deep brown eyes onto his target.

I wish he’d just do it already and stop stalling. If he can’t shoot me, how the hell is he going to make it in the resistance? I suppose you could make the argument that shooting your best friend is considerably different from shooting an enemy, but in the grand scheme of things, it isn’t. The only difference is the value you place on your target, and that’s where Raif and I differ.

If the situation was reversed, and Dad had made Raif the poster boy for Operation Royal Alien Invasion, I wouldn’t blink if I was the one tasked with shooting Raif anywhere I was asked to. Personally I’d go for the back, close enough to the central nervous system that would warrant modification, but not damage the system itself, so he could stay alert. While human bodies like ours aren’t as evolved as some of the species here, we are still pretty fucking resilient. Plus, it would give him a higher chance of getting picked up by one of the heavy hitters whose skins were likely seeing the end of their tenure.

But I don’t make the rules, I don’t call the shots. My dad does, and he rarely gives you the big picture—just what you need for the mission, for the moment. No questions. But hey, that's thejob. And if you want to survive, you keep your head down and your mouth shut. So here I am, following orders like a good little soldier, never asking too many questions. After all, ignorance is bliss, right?

This is the moment I've been relentlessly training for my entire life.

I smirk at Raif as I nonchalantly prop my leg out.

“It’ll go faster for both of us if you just do it. Don’t think about it,” I say with a wink.

Maybe I should have worn the red suit today, looked more like a target, and he’d have an easier time. But then again, where's the fun in that? After all, Raif spent a good portion of his life training the minotaur-like creatures that the royals like to show off in their twisted colosseum. Now it's my turn to be the showstopper, and I intend to give them quite the performance.

“Count to three?” Raif said with a sigh. I nodded in response as he blew out a breath.

“One, two—”

I barely register his call of three, because the moment the bullet hits me, pain radiates through me like an undulating wave. Up my leg, through my hip, all along my left side. Still, I can not show my fear, my pain, not even to my friend.

Pain is weakness, and I can’t afford that kind of trust or vulnerability to anyone. Just because Raif and I were raised alongside one another the majority of our lives doesn’t mean I trust him on that level. I’ve seen too many people fall victim to that kind of trust, give up a part of themselves only to be annihilated.

No, I will never let anyone see me cry, not even Raif.

I brace myself against the wall as my vision starts to blur. Raif’s voice sounds as if it is underwater, and I can hear the stomping of boots coming in. My shoulder brushing against the hard warm clay walls is a welcome sensation; soothing almost,despite the ever-growing numbness beneath my waist. Instinct fires up within me to move, to run, to find a way out; but I know I am not in danger, not really.

In fact, this is the last time I’ll ever be this safe again. In the confines of my home, in the underground valleys and tunnels that were once made for traveling, and now acted as our sunlight, the center of the resistance, and the center of my life.

No, after today I will be well and truly on my own in a world as foreign to me as these tunnels are to the royals.

My fingers seek purchase against the clay, tiny bits and pieces of dirt and rock crumbling from my clutching grasp as I fight to control my breath. Large hands grasp me by the arms, and though my world is fading in front of my eyes, I don’t have to see the person they belong to, to know who it is.

The steadfast grip, the heat of his palms, and how he holds me will always be burned into my brain.

“You’ve done well, Gemini.” My father’s cold, calculating voice speaks above me.

I want to speak, but I can’t find the words, my brain working overtime to manage the waves of pain running through me from head to toe.

I’ve shot a hundred paralyzing bullets, but I’ve never been on the receiving end before.

“Don’t fight it, sweetheart, this is the easy part,” he says as he scoops me up in his arms, holding me like I am a child and not not a twenty-six-year-old soldier.

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