Page 1 of Beauty and the Alien Beast
1
Ella
My eyes snappedopen as I woke from the weirdest nightmare I had ever experienced in my life.
A moment later, I discovered I was in a cage. Pale metal bars, very shiny and set in a wide mesh pattern, surrounded me on five sides. The sixth was a narrow door and frame made from some thick, transparent material. The bottom, made of the same stuff, was on casters and seemed locked in place.
Oh God, what the fuck is this?
I was too uncomfortable for it to be a dream. My knees were tucked too hard against my full breasts. My belly, back, and shoulders ached stiffly.
My heart started to pound with terror, and it took all I had to keep quiet and not panic.
I’ve been kidnapped… but by whom?
Using the bars, I pulled myself to my feet and felt my joints crack from being balled up on the bottom of the cage. Seeing a small fold-down seat attached to the inside of the cage, I flipped it down, perching my ass on it uncomfortably, barely fitting a cheek and a half on the damn thing.
Fear died back a little as I caught my breath, eyes still blurry. I felt off-kilter.
Have I been drugged?
I looked down at myself and realized the tank top and fleece sleep shorts I remembered going to bed in were gone. Now I was dressed in a translucent cream-and-gold gown that accented my dark skin perfectly and clung to my ample curves. Beneath the dress was a gold harness that held up my large breasts, while a gold-belted loincloth matching the gown was the only thing that covered my ass—barely.
Shit. I’ve been kidnapped and turned into eye candy.
To make matters worse, I couldn’t remember how I’d gotten here. My last clear memory was of dozing off under my fluffy comforter with an open book on my chest.
I gave myself a quick once-over. No injuries, but I could tell I’d been bathed, perfumed, and my thick, curly hair was now pulled back from my face, allowing the tendrils to tumble loose down my back. My nails were clean and gilded. My feet were bare, and someone had painted my toenails gold.
What the hell?I felt like an involuntary model in a lingerie show.
I looked out through the bars at a gleaming, well-lit space with a mirrored ceiling, shiny black floor, and walls made up entirely of flat-screen panels.
For a moment, I looked up at my reflection. I was covered in sparkly gold dust, with more of the glittery substance coating my lips and eyelids.
I focused back on the walls. Shimmering golden lettering in a language I didn’t know scrolled across some of the panels, and other surfaces displayed scenes of a beautiful, pristine landscape. Drinking it all in, I tried to glean some information on where I was being held.
The scenes being shown on the walls didn’t look like Earth.
My stomach plummeted.
The scape depicted towering, conical mountains and a purple-tinged sky set with a small blue-white sun. A cluster of four jewel-colored moons rode the track of a faint, shimmering Saturn-like ring. In the foreground, there was a shining city with slim towers composed of a reflective metal-like surface studded with multicolored lights. And a flock of heavy-bodied, alien-looking four-legged birds soared through the air.
My body shook, and the dizziness intensified.
Oh God… am I dreaming? Or… am I really on an alien world?
I shut my eyes, trying to gather my shattered memories.
Okay… think, Ella…
I remembered lying in bed at Mom’s cabin upstate, where I’d come to enjoy one of the last warm weekends of the year. I had been sleepy from too many glasses of wine and a lot of good food, so I’d decided to go to bed earlier than usual. My mind locked on to those memories of normalcy.
I smiled slightly just thinking about Mom. Coming up to the cabin with her had done a lot to help me decompress from a long week of work in Manhattan. She and I had spent hours just sitting on the porch, talking and sipping wine while quietly regretting that summer had faded. We shared hilarious yet nostalgic stories about Dad, who had been gone three years now.
Of course, true to form, Mom had asked if I was happy being single. It had been the subtlest, most easygoing sort of pressure I was used to, so I didn’t complain. Mom just didn’t get why I hadn’t dated in years, and she refused to accept my insistence that I just plain didn’t have time.
At twenty-nine years old, I’d made my career a priority, and I didn’t have time for the bullshit drama associated with dating in Manhattan. I had stopped looking for a Sunday-afternoon man in Saturday-night places. It didn’t help that I was picky as hell and was simply exhausted of suited, thirtysomething men who were still trying to fuck everything that moved and wanted nothing to do with relationships. I wanted something “real” with a partner that was interested in me. A man I’d feel safe with at all times and who could accept me as is, not constantly trying to upgrade or improve me.
