Voxx: Book One in the Mastered by the Zinn Alien Abduction Romance Series Read online

  Table of Contents

  Day One

  Day Two

  Day Three

  Day Four

  Dear Reader, Newsletter signup, Request for Reviews

  Voxx Book Two Sneak Peek

  Acknowledgements

  Copyright

  Voxx: Book One in the Mastered by the Zinn Alien Abduction Romance Series

  By Alana Khan

  Present Day

  In Space Aboard the two-person vessel the Drayant

  Day One

  Victoria

  I bolt out of deep sleep bombarded by a dozen things at once. My head is throbbing, it’s so dark in here I can’t see a thing, and I can’t move. But overriding all the other input barraging my brain is the fact there’s a vibrator on my clit.

  I struggle to sit up but I'm locked down tight. I’m bound at my ankles and wrists. Fabric covers my eyes and binds my head to my bed. The only parts of my body I can wiggle are my hands and feet.

  “Help!” My voice sounds hoarse, as if I’ve been screaming for hours. “Help!” Where am I? Was I roofied?

  What’s the last thing I remember? I came home after my last class, studied all night except for my one allotted program on Netflix—Season Two, Episode Six of Dexter—had hot cocoa, and went to bed. Did someone drug my cocoa? That doesn’t even make sense.

  I examine the facts that are in evidence: I am tied down, I’m blindfolded, my throat is raw, and a powerful vibrator is definitely nestled between my legs.

  “Help!”

  “There, there, Victoria. Calm yourself.”

  Victoria? Nobody calls me Victoria. His voice doesn’t sound familiar. Oh my God, is this man going to kill me?

  I read that telling a perpetrator about yourself might help. It makes you into a human being so they can’t objectify and kill you.

  “My name’s Victoria, I like to be called Tori. I’m a second-year law student at the University of Iowa. I was born in Des Moines. My parents are still alive and will be very worried when I don’t make my weekly phone call to them this morning. Look, I won’t call the cops. Just let me go and—”

  “Please calm yourself. I won’t harm you.”

  “Won’t harm me?” My voice isn’t verging on hysterical, it is hysterical. “You’ve tied me up and you’re raping me.”

  “This isn’t rape. I have not entered your body.”

  Considering I’m the one in law school, this guy certainly knows how to stick to the letter of the law. Could he be one of my classmates? There’s this older blond guy in my Corporate Law Class who I always catch staring at me.

  “You’re right. This would never be considered rape. And I don’t think it qualifies as kidnapping since technically I haven’t left my house. So if you just leave right now, you won’t even go to jail.

  “I’ll give you a hint. Use alcohol or bleach to wipe down everything you’ve touched. That way even if I’m lying and call the police—which, trust me, I won’t—they’ll never get your prints. No harm. No foul. I’ll just contact my parents—by the way, they’re expecting my call any minute—and pretend like nothing happ—”

  The stimulation to my clit jumps up a notch. No, it goes up ten notches, and an orgasm rushes at me with the speed and power of an 18-wheeler.

  How could this be possible? Half the time when I’m with a guy and the mood music is playing in the background, and I’ve been plied with wine, and he’s plucked my nipples just right and gone down on me for long minutes, I still have trouble coming. How is it I’m being held hostage by a mass murderer and my body’s on fire?

  The orgasm barrels down on me. It starts with quivering thighs and muscle spasms that ripple from pelvis to belly. I don't have a clue how to stop it. An explosion bombards my core and clit and boils down to the tips of my toes and roils up to the top of my head.

  I scream a long, shuddering no-holds-barred, totally unladylike wail that burns my throat. Is this why my throat hurts? Was this not my first orgasm at the hands of this madman?

  “That was your most powerful release yet, Victoria. I hope you enjoyed that.” His voice is deep and sincere, which actually makes the situation even more insane.

  “You’re crazy. Let me go. Orgasms are like sneezes. Sometimes you can’t stop them. That doesn’t mean I’m enjoying them. Me, the person inside this objectified body, I don’t like this. I don’t like you, and you need to let me go.”

  Long, strong fingers stroke my head, sliding from scalp to the ends of my waist-length, chestnut hair. Tears snake down the sides of my temples. One thing is certain—this isn’t a dream.

  “Please turn that off,” my voice doesn’t sound strong and commanding anymore. I’m pleading. That’s right, I’m begging my kidnapper to turn off the vibrator pulsing between my legs. The one that is ramping up my body even though I just had a mind-bending orgasm. Even though the last thing I want is carnal pleasure.

  “What do you want from me?” I’m frantic.

  “I want you to have one more release, Victoria. I want to give you one more spasm of pleasure.”

  “And then you’ll leave? You’ll let me go?”

  “And then I’ll turn off the vibrator.”

  As I lie here debating whether I want to give in to the orgasm that even now is building deep in my pelvis, my body takes on a mind of its own. He must have turned up the dial on the machine because my back is arching as far as possible against these restraints and my toes are curling. A category 5 hurricane blasts through my body in spasm after spasm of pulsing, quivering physical bliss.

  I sag onto my bed. No, it’s not my bed. It’s firmer than a bed but softer than a table. It’s angled so my head is up, and my ass is down, and my legs are splayed wider than at the gynecologist’s.

  Those long fingers comb through my hair, and warm gusts of his breath caress my face. He smells good. Do kidnappers/abductors/mass-murderers wear cologne for home invasions these days?

  “You’ll let me go now?” My lips are parched, and my throat aches from the scream that just ripped through it.

  The vibrator stops and I take a deep breath.

  “I promise I won’t tell anyone. You were brilliant to blindfold me. You said you hadn’t penetrated me, there will be no bodily fluids to test. You did everything right. Don’t tell me your name, just clean up the crime scene, partially untie me, and be on your way. By the time I’ve worked my way out of these restraints—”

  “Victoria, let me explain what’s happening.”

  “No explanation necessary. The less you talk, the less I know. The less I know, the less I can tell the police. That is if I were to tell the police anything, because believe me, my lips are sealed.”

  “You’re beautiful and so smart. I picked well when I chose you. If I had invaded your home and done this, your instructions would most likely keep me from being incarcerated. Brilliant. But since I’m not human, none of your coaching is necessary.”

  Oh my God. He’s insane. Wasn’t it the movie Red Dragon where the crazy guy killed people because he thought he wasn’t human? Shit. That movie didn’t work out well for anyone involved. I need to remind him of his humanity.

  “Of course you’re human,” I hope my tone is warm and encouraging. “Things might have happened in your past that make you feel less than human, but we can overcome our traumas. They have really good forms of therapy these days. There’s no stigma in needing help.”

  His chuckle, deep and rich, rolls over me. Fuck. He’s not buying what I’m selling.

  “You’re very bright, Victoria. I can se
e your anxiety is rising. Let me explain what’s happening. It will be a good way to begin our relationship.”

  Yeah, a far better way to begin than for me to wake up blindfolded with the world’s most powerful vibrator dancing on my clit.

  Oh, but he said the word relationship. A relationship implies another hour or day to live. Perhaps I can talk my way out of this. I’ll listen to every word, every intonation. I’ll find a crack in his armor and exploit it. I’m not giving up.

  “I’m from planet Zinn. Similar to your Earth, my people poisoned our planet before we made necessary changes to protect it. It’s beautiful now, healthy to live on, but due to the aftereffects of the heavy pollution, our race has all but stopped producing female offspring. Only ten percent of our children are female.

  “Hundreds of years ago our government contacted yours. We showed them our scientific advances and our military capabilities. We made an Interstellar Compact so we could harvest a specific number of women each Earth year in exchange for military technology.

  “Eligible Zinn males aged thirty to thirty-five are entered into a lottery each year. The lucky minority are allowed to choose a mate, bring her aboard their space vessel, and court her for fourteen days. At the end of the period—we call it the Quest—the female can choose to stay with the male or return to her home.

  “We’ve developed techniques, with the help of your government, for you to return seamlessly to your old lives. All memory of our two weeks together will be wiped from your mind.”

  Holy shit. This is worse than I thought. He’s totally looney tunes. How do I reason with batshit crazy?

  “You know, Mr. Spaceman, if I get to decide whether to stay or go in two weeks, why don’t you just save yourself some effort? You see, I have a life here on Earth. I’m sure you’re nice and everything, but I’ll never agree to go to your… planet with you. Just release me now, okay?”

  “I’m Voxx.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Voxx. What a great story. You’ve got a wonderful imagination. Can you just let me go?”

  “My people have been doing this for centuries and less than three percent of females return to Earth after two weeks with their male. I assume the ninety-seven percent who stay felt as you do right now. The agreement gives us fourteen days together. That is what we shall have.” His voice is hard as iron.

  I read about this when I studied case law pertaining to the criminally insane. He’s got what they call a fixed delusional system. These beliefs can’t be broken. I could ask him to look in the mirror right now and he’d say he sees a little green man. I could tell him our government would never do such a thing and he’d cite the Tuskegee experiment where the U.S. government injected its own healthy citizens with syphilis and left it untreated for decades.

  I won’t be able to convince him he’s nuts. I’ll have to figure out how to escape.

  “Can I pee?”

  “Certainly. Give us a moment to become better acquainted. I don’t want to frighten you too badly when you see my form.”

  Riiiight. When I see him in his ever-so-special Zinnian form he’ll have some reasonable explanation for why he looks like every other Earth male. Oh, and what about his English?

  “So, Voxx, how is it you speak perfect English?” I can’t wait to hear how he explains this.

  “My mother is Earther. Actually, she’s from Adel, Iowa. She tells me it’s a small town outside of Des Moines. It’s one thing about you that caught my interest as I searched for a possible mate on Earth social media.”

  Good job, Voxx. Clever. You didn’t even need to invent imaginary high-tech subdural translators.

  “You speak perfect English. Tell me something in Zinnish.”

  He talks gibberish for half a minute. I’ve got to hand it to him—he’s inventive. Gibberish is hard to do. I tried it in drama class as an undergrad; it wasn’t as easy as I thought. He imbued his nonsense with sentences and syntax. It could easily pass as a real language.

  “What did you say?”

  “It’s a speech I’ve practiced since childhood when I dreamed of meeting my Earth mate. I will translate for you when you agree to call me Master and become my mate.”

  Call him Master? Become his mate? Fucking delusional.

  “Are you ready to see my true form?”

  “Can’t wait.”

  I sense him stand from where he’d been sitting at my side. I picture him smoothing his soiled white wife-beater, or repositioning his balding mullet’s comb-over. He efficiently unties, then unwraps my blindfold.

  My eyes are still adjusting to the bright lights, yet I already see enough to curdle my blood. This isn’t some psychopathic Bubba from the boonies, this is Voxx from Zinn—tall, muscled, and purple.

  Voxx

  I’ve spent my entire life preparing for this day. I learned English from birth; my mother ensured I was bilingual. I followed thousands of females’ Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter accounts looking for matches. Then I hacked into Earth systems to find females’ answers to those online personality tests they love to take.

  As I narrowed my pool of applicants, I created and posted my own quizzes to find a compatible mate. Zinn males are dominant. We need females who can conform to our will. The point isn’t to force or overpower our prospective mate, it’s to allow her to blossom into her own femininity—to find the part of her that enjoys giving up her power to a male she cares for.

  My society has thousands of books about finding the right prospect, and thousands more detailing every step to take during the precious fourteen-day window during which we have to meet, enthrall, and convince our mate to accept us.

  The terrified expression on Victoria’s face is not what I was hoping for. It’s not just terror, I believe she’s furious.

  I stand a few feet from her and don’t move, giving her time to get used to me. One reason we mate with Earthers is that their DNA does not overpower our own. I appear one hundred percent Zinn. I’ve spent my entire life looking at humans—my mother and aunts as well as Earth's primitive internet. She’s seen no one other than her own species before.

  “Your eyes are a lovely blue,” I say, then smile. Zinn males don’t smile often. My mother suggested I try not to do it around Victoria. She said it comes across as a grimace and makes me look less human, not more.

  Victoria blinks and shakes her head.

  “This is a dream, right? Right? Did someone put LSD in my cocoa?”

  “No.”

  “Great bedside manner, Voxx. Work with me here. Let me hold out hope for a few more minutes.”

  “You’re on my spaceship orbiting Earth. Article 3.2 of the Interstellar Compact states that we’re not allowed to leave atmo until you’re alert. Computer, begin programmed course.” I offer her water and she drinks it in huge gulps, her eyes wide in fright looking off and to the left, avoiding me completely.

  “I’ll comply with your wishes to ‘pee’ in a moment. First, I want to ensure you understand the rules so you don’t break them. I would hate to punish you so soon.”

  “Punish?” Her wan face blanches even paler.

  “Your government allows us to discipline you as we see fit with the following exceptions: we must give you 1500 calories per day and provide you two liters of fluid every twelve Earth hours. Our punishments cannot leave any mark that lasts over forty-eight hours. We must allow you to sleep at least six hours per day.

  “There’s a long list of other rules. I will apprise you of them as it becomes necessary. I have devised additional rules which I’ll review at dinner. Before I untie you, however, you need to know I will punish you if you try to escape, if you attempt to harm me, if you use any item to hit me, or if you touch any navigational or communication equipment. Repeat.”

  “What?”

  “Repeat the rules. If I need to punish you I want there to be no excuse that you didn’t understand the rules.”

  “What type of punishment are we talking about?”

  “Here’s a new r
ule—you need to respond to my questions with alacrity.”

  “Fuck.”

  “Here’s another rule—you will not curse.”

  “No cursing? That’s half my vocabulary.”

  “You’ve repeated that rule, now repeat the rest—with alacrity.”

  She considers for a moment, assesses me, then rattles off, “No escaping, no communicating, no navigating, no hitting.”

  “Good girl.”

  Until this moment, I didn’t understand what the term ‘rolls eyes’ meant on Earth social media. I comprehend it perfectly now. “And no eye-rolling.”

  “No eye-rolling? That’s an involuntary movement, like a muscle twitch or a sneeze. I have no control over it. Nor do I have control over saying fu—.” She interrupts herself, closes her eyes, and breathes.