Read Online ALIEN SHIFTER ROMANCE: Alien Tigers - The Complete Series (Alien Invasion Abduction Shapeshifter Romance) (Paranormal Science Fiction Fantasy Anthologies & Short reads) by Tanya Jolie - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Tanya Jolie
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pressed his tongue through it from the inside of his mouth, flexing his jaw. “And you don’t have a lover?”
“She’s not my lover. But she also isn’t pawn for your petty revenge scheme.” But as Bruce said this, his body trembled with anger. The mere thought that Boris, or anyone, had laid a hand on her… The image of her delicate fingers running through his barbaric, blonde hair…
He squinted his eyes as he threw yet another punch, but Boris caught it in the air.
“She isn’t worth your anger. None of them are.”
Bruce ripped his wrist away from Boris’s hand, immediately driving a hook into his gut with his opposite hand.
Boris grunted, then grabbed his shoulders with both hands, shoving his knee into his torso.
Bruce staggered backwards, his head ringing from the pain.
But Boris followed after him. “You have a job to do… An allegiance to your own kind.”
“I don’t need you to tell me that.”
“Anita isn’t even worth being used as a pawn.”
Those words cut Bruce, but just as he tried to shove Boris, the man wrapped his hands around his neck in a chokehold so strong, it lifted him off the ground. “I am your handler, and it is my responsibility to make sure that you carry this out.”
Bruce could hardly breathe. The room was beginning to grow fuzzy around him. His hands clutched at Boris’s, trying everything to break away from them.
“Phase One is almost complete. No time for lovers… or even sex. You have a world to end.” With that, Boris released him.
Bruce fell onto the rug, coughing and spitting, his heart hammering at the thought of what would happen to Anita in all of this.
Chapter One
Anita cruised through the streets as soon as dawn broke. The protests seemed to have travelled over the course of the night. The asphalt was a carpet of broken glass. Only walls stood where the shops had been, reduced to tombs of the ash and ruin. Her heart dropped, like a useless dead thing, right into the pit of her stomach, her gut churning at the sight of it all.
The crimson sunrise bathed everything in red as the odd cop or two patrolled the streets. As she drove at a crawling speed, she caught sight of paramedic vans and protesters and rioters all mixed in together, trying to catch their bearings and attend to their wounds.
Even through the vent of her car, she could smell the funk of smoke and blood. The thick, rancid scent was so much to bear that she cut off her heater, more willing to deal with the cold than with the smell of a profound social failure. She finally turned off the main road and onto a narrower, much quieter one on her journey to Bruce’s house. When she had woken from her short catnap at the break of dawn, the first thing she had thought of was Bruce. Her gut had been flooded with a strange apprehension, as if whatever was going on between them would reach its tragic, natural end far too soon.
With the sound of his roar replaying over and over again in her head, she realized that she needed to see him. The last time they had talked, he had finally opened up a little. He said that he trusted her, counted on her silence. Now, she was impatient to test that trust.
As she pulled into his short driveway and cut the engine, she couldn’t help but to notice that his house looked far different in the daylight. She could see the fading, chipping paint, the aged wood that seemed to be falling right into itself, the unkempt yard, and the unhappy looking pots of dead flowers lining his walkway. “Strange,” she murmured to herself as she climbed out of her midsized sedan and walked up to the door, all the while wondering why someone who made as much as Bruce did, had the background that he did, and presented himself as totally put together could let his house go like this.
She knocked on the door, part of her expecting to be ignored. But much to her surprise, she immediately heard footsteps traipsing toward the front door.
In the next moment, the door yanked open,
“She’s not my lover. But she also isn’t pawn for your petty revenge scheme.” But as Bruce said this, his body trembled with anger. The mere thought that Boris, or anyone, had laid a hand on her… The image of her delicate fingers running through his barbaric, blonde hair…
He squinted his eyes as he threw yet another punch, but Boris caught it in the air.
“She isn’t worth your anger. None of them are.”
Bruce ripped his wrist away from Boris’s hand, immediately driving a hook into his gut with his opposite hand.
Boris grunted, then grabbed his shoulders with both hands, shoving his knee into his torso.
Bruce staggered backwards, his head ringing from the pain.
But Boris followed after him. “You have a job to do… An allegiance to your own kind.”
“I don’t need you to tell me that.”
“Anita isn’t even worth being used as a pawn.”
Those words cut Bruce, but just as he tried to shove Boris, the man wrapped his hands around his neck in a chokehold so strong, it lifted him off the ground. “I am your handler, and it is my responsibility to make sure that you carry this out.”
Bruce could hardly breathe. The room was beginning to grow fuzzy around him. His hands clutched at Boris’s, trying everything to break away from them.
“Phase One is almost complete. No time for lovers… or even sex. You have a world to end.” With that, Boris released him.
Bruce fell onto the rug, coughing and spitting, his heart hammering at the thought of what would happen to Anita in all of this.
Chapter One
Anita cruised through the streets as soon as dawn broke. The protests seemed to have travelled over the course of the night. The asphalt was a carpet of broken glass. Only walls stood where the shops had been, reduced to tombs of the ash and ruin. Her heart dropped, like a useless dead thing, right into the pit of her stomach, her gut churning at the sight of it all.
The crimson sunrise bathed everything in red as the odd cop or two patrolled the streets. As she drove at a crawling speed, she caught sight of paramedic vans and protesters and rioters all mixed in together, trying to catch their bearings and attend to their wounds.
Even through the vent of her car, she could smell the funk of smoke and blood. The thick, rancid scent was so much to bear that she cut off her heater, more willing to deal with the cold than with the smell of a profound social failure. She finally turned off the main road and onto a narrower, much quieter one on her journey to Bruce’s house. When she had woken from her short catnap at the break of dawn, the first thing she had thought of was Bruce. Her gut had been flooded with a strange apprehension, as if whatever was going on between them would reach its tragic, natural end far too soon.
With the sound of his roar replaying over and over again in her head, she realized that she needed to see him. The last time they had talked, he had finally opened up a little. He said that he trusted her, counted on her silence. Now, she was impatient to test that trust.
As she pulled into his short driveway and cut the engine, she couldn’t help but to notice that his house looked far different in the daylight. She could see the fading, chipping paint, the aged wood that seemed to be falling right into itself, the unkempt yard, and the unhappy looking pots of dead flowers lining his walkway. “Strange,” she murmured to herself as she climbed out of her midsized sedan and walked up to the door, all the while wondering why someone who made as much as Bruce did, had the background that he did, and presented himself as totally put together could let his house go like this.
She knocked on the door, part of her expecting to be ignored. But much to her surprise, she immediately heard footsteps traipsing toward the front door.
In the next moment, the door yanked open,
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