Hot Alpha Alien Husbands: Book One: Daxx and Jetta Read online

  Hot Alpha Alien Husbands

  DAXX

  &

  JETTA

  Book One

  A fun and frisky sci-fi romance

  by DD Prince,

  writing as Scarlett Starkleigh

  Copyright notice:

  This e-book is licensed exclusively through Amazon. If you acquired it elsewhere, you have an illegal and pirated copy.

  By law, you are not authorized to scan, copy, upload, or store this book online or via a private server for others to read. This book is meant to be read by the purchaser or subscriber.

  If you see this book for sale or for free online in a location other than Amazon, please consider reporting it. You can also report it to the author via message at her Facebook page @ScarlettStarkleigh

  Thank you for supporting the author’s rights and hard work.

  This e-book is purely fictional, for entertainment purposes only, and the product of the author’s imagination. Resemblance to real people, places, and events is purely coincidental. Copyrights are the property of their respective owners.

  This book contains sex, dirty-talking, and profanity. This book is not intended for those under the age of 18.

  Nanowrimo project, 2016: DD Prince writing as Scarlett Starkleigh

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  See the back of this book for information on future Scarlett Starkleigh and DD Prince books.

  Note to the reader

  The author is not a sci-fi expert and knows very little about astronomy & outer space as well as space-technology. Creative license and liberties have been taken (in abundance) with this book in the interest of the story / flow / entertainment value. This is her first stab at sci-fi romance and she hopes it will not be her last as this was a lot of fun to write.

  If it’s in your nature to pick apart a story for all the logic & accuracies as well as lack thereof this probably isn’t the story for you.

  This is intended to be a fun departure from reality with a bunch of dirty and a bit of angst that will hopefully give you ‘the feels’ thrown in for good measure.

  Enjoy!

  Daxx is one hawt alpha male alien and I hope you fall in love with him as I have.

  Dedication:

  This book is dedicated to my chickadees. You know who you are, supporting me through my rants, my ramblings, writer’s block, and being SO supportive of my genre-jumping and crazy writerly brain.

  Thank you for reading this departure from my usual.

  Maybe it won’t be your thing but even if it isn’t, THANK YOU from the bottom of my heart for taking yet another chance on one of my books.

  XO

  D.

  (aka: scarlett starkleigh)

  It used to be that I wrote about sexy and dominating mobsters and vampires and, as of late, bikers.

  oh my!

  So...

  how about a hot alpha alien, too?

  Don’t worry, there are more mafia, biker, and vampire books to come.

  introduction

  They look like us. But better. Taller, nicer skin, more muscles.

  They live a lot like us. But better.

  They’ve got a lot of the technology that we have but…yep, you guessed it: theirs is better. They have a few technological advancements that we don’t yet have and their planet is reportedly beautiful, clean, extraordinarily colorful.

  Medically, they’re superior, too. Except that they were powerless to stop a super-bug that quickly all but wiped out their female population and over 99% of women were suddenly --- poof --- gone.

  They need help populating their planet. Their men are lonely and restless. The Clipboard Assholes say that there’s something about their physiological make-up that needs women. They’re said to be inherently alpha in their own households, protective, a family-driven species, and they’re carnally deprived so that’s having an impact on the otherwise peaceful planet.

  They have gone without women for more than four years and so they’re chomping at the bit and it means fighting, wars, general unease / unrest. Their government wants to settle them down. Their government is trying to stop them from dying out. Tests were run and since we’re biologically compatible … deals were made.

  I’m one of thirty-eight women in my group, a segment of a larger group, who put ourselves on radar for this project where a ‘UN task force’ agreed to let them take 1-million women over a five-year period in exchange for some specific secretive technology as well as a variety of powerful herbs that could slow human aging and that could potentially have a great outcome for several of the Earth’s most deadly diseases.

  Or so they say.

  This re-population project is going to roll-out over time as they iron out the details. There could be volunteers, there could even be contests where women jockey for the ability to be sent there.

  But this pilot project, the first of its kind on this scale? There have been women drafted to show good will. And I’m one of them. Whether I like it or not.

  I wasn’t told that we’d be fought over. I wasn’t told that I’d be claimed caveman style. I wasn’t told how utterly alpha male and pussy-starved these men really were and what the effect would be.

  I didn’t know that the alien men waiting to meet our group were also watching us on the way over. I was labelled the ‘troublemaker’ of our group and evidently several of these men have a thing for girls who speak their mind.

  I also had no idea that I’d fall head-over-heels, heels over the edge of that planet, for an alpha male alien. But that’s what happened. Even if I tried to fight it.

  -1-

  JETTA

  I was staring up into bright green eyes, the eyes of the most beautiful male specimen I had ever laid eyes on. I say specimen because he wasn’t human. This specimen was an alien. He looked human. Bigger, better, but he wasn’t a human.

  I’d lay money on him being almost seven feet tall. He had black hair that was a little bit in need of a trim but in a hot way. His eyes were a gorgeous milky jade green. His lips were quirked with amusement looking down at me. He had a five o’clock shadow and sexy dents on the cheeks of his smiling face. He was hot. So hot.

  And his muscles? Aye Chihuahua! Talk about muscles. I could see, despite him being unfortunately fully clothed, that he had a lot of them. Some of the others had been bare-chested and though their chests were ripped I suspected his would blow my mind.

  I wasn’t just looking up at him because he was so much taller. I was looking way way up at him. Because I was at his feet. And, of course, that had made him seem larger than life.

  How did I get here? I’d tried to run away from three men who had been chasing me and I gave them the slip behind a tree and hunkered down until they’d wandered away.

  But then I got scared half to death by a screaming strange pink creature and he’d appeared from nowhere.

  Who were the three men who were chasing me?

  Man one:

  A gorgeous but frighteningly large and half naked alien who looked like he was mixed with white and African and a dash of either Polynesian or Asian. He had a tanned complexion and bright almond-shaped blue eyes. He was seriously ripped with muscles and he wore denim-looking cargo shorts, combat boots, and no shirt.

  Man two:

  A giant man in a black non-tartan kilt, and he, too, wore no shirt. He wore a black leather harness instead. He was a tall and t
atted ginger-haired highlander-looking alien. His upper body was tattooed with black symbols, and his harness had several slim sleeves or buckles where things could be attached, but they had nothing attached, except in one sleeve there was what looked like a slim calculator-sized device. He looked like a tattooed Jamie Fraser from the Outlander books and TV show, but with shorter hair. No joke.

  Man three:

  Sexy pirate. He had dark long wavy Fabio-like hair and was wearing a pirate-like white shirt that was half-opened, revealing another ripped chest. He wore black leather pants and his footwear looked like motorcycle boots with really cool silver buckles.

  And now this other green-eyed alien had come from nowhere and he was gazing into my eyes. And smiling. He looked surprised. But not.

  He was looking at me like he knew me. And I had the most vivid sensation that he was holding back from ripping my pretty yellow dress up, my little yellow and white polka dot panties down, and doing so in order that he could put babies in me immediately.

  Yep, I was pretty sure that was exactly what he wanted to do.

  I’d run fast, even in these sky-high heels I had on. I hadn’t known where I was running to, I was in a forest that was inside of a massive gated property, but I’d gotten away from the rest of them into a deeply wooded area and then I’d seen a small and cute furry pink (Yes, pink. Bright fuchsia pink) bunny-like animal but with short ears that screamed (like a woman in a low rent horror movie), when it saw me.

  It’d been such a shrill sound that I’d lost my footing and fallen and I scrambled backwards away from it while it stared, screaming, open-mouthed, with its furry ears pinned back in fear, and now I was cornered. Cornered by a gorgeous tall man with striking green eyes. The pink bunnyish thing hopped off lackadaisically once it saw the gorgeous man. It was almost like, “Oh, you’re here so now I’m fine.”

  Weird.

  But then again, nothing about this planet so far wasn’t weird.

  Those three other aliens were undoubtedly heading in my direction after that scream. I was backed up against a tall stone wall that surrounded the grounds where the competition was taking place.

  What competition? Let me back up a bit.

  ***

  See, I’m Jetta Michaels. I’m 25 and people tell me I look a lot like Mila Kunis. I’m kind of smart and I’m also a smartass in most scenarios. But, I have lots of friends. People like me. It’s a grind but my life doesn’t suck. Or, it didn’t. Now? Now, I don’t know what’ll become of me.

  My life sorta sucked for a bit but I’m a kind of ‘life is what you make it’ girl. My Mom is dead, dad’s in jail, I was an only child, and I have a crummy job but the glass is half full and life ain’t all that bad.

  I’ve got a decent group of friends, I’ve got good hair, I eat like crap but have managed to stay in the single-digit sizes so far (I’m sure it’ll catch up eventually) and I have a great apartment. I’ve got a lousy roommate. But everything else is fixable.

  I decided I could make life better if I put my mind to it and then I got myself here as a result of my efforts.

  I entered what turned out to be a stupid fake contest and wound up on another planet. I’m a bit like a mail order bride. But space-mail. Only, I was tricked. I guess you could also say that Mother Earth is whoring me out to another planet.

  And around ten minutes ago, I booked it as fast as I could, away from three men who had to be almost seven feet tall and they were all extraordinarily handsome alien men. But… they all looked like they wanted to rip my clothes off me and ravish me on the spot. So, I ran. And now I’m cornered by that other alien who might even be hotter than the other three (and believe me, they were hot) and the other three might still be heading in this direction.

  What self-respecting liberated modern woman enters a beauty pageant nowadays? Well, it wasn’t exactly posed as a beauty contest but I knew they were looking for women who were attractive to be spokespeople. And…you see, they dangled a mightily attractive carrot. They were crafty fuckers.

  Who are they? A task force appointed by the UN. Supposedly. I now refer to them as the Clipboard Assholes. They carried clipboards and they had, literally, stolen us away to another planet in this alien matchmaker project they call Project D. I don’t know what the D stands for but looking at these specimens I’m thinking it’s D in the DICK sense. They brought us here so that these aliens could give us the ‘D’. I know it all sounds crazy but unless I’m in a whacked-out dream, this is where I am right now!

  I applied to win a scholarship to an Ivy League school. I’d landed in what was the ‘pretty and smart’ group of girls, I guess, because most of the girls in my group also applied for a scholarship and they are all pretty girls who had great grades but not quite great enough to get a scholarship straight out of high school. And in the looks department, I’m not saying I’m a ten out of ten or anything but, c’mon, if I thought I could enter a beauty-type contest it’s because I know I’m not exactly dog meat.

  And if I was entering it to get a free ride to an elite school, then they would know that obviously, I cared about education. They didn’t pose it as a beauty contest, more like an ambassador / spokesperson. But they told us they wanted articulate, professional women who were ‘camera friendly’ to be ambassadors for the scholarship program, which would, in turn, help me get an education for free. It all sounded very good in theory but in my excitement, I did definitely overlook some things. Until it was too late to back out.

  Anyways…

  I’m a girl who has her head on her shoulders (when I listen to my brain instead of my heart, which I too often do) who blew her chance at a scholarship out of high school because I was busy blaming shitty luck on my parents and wallowing in the fallout of their drama, and decided, a la Alice Cooper, that “School’s Out FOREVER” after high school, so very ready to do my own thing. But fast forward to now, at 25, I realize the error of my ways.

  It’s up to me to find success and if I keep playing the blame game the only one to blame will be me. I don’t wanna live my life hand to mouth. I’m not a gold digger like some of my friends (ahem, my roommate Sienna). I plan to marry for love. Some day. But I also plan to have my act together, do something challenging that puts money in the bank, so I don’t have to keep workin’ in the grind, doing shitty jobs for a shitty wage.

  But, school is expensive. Dad’s in jail for the rest of his life for murder one. Ten years back, he caught Mom cheating and plotted and then murdered her lover. He also tried to murder Mom but she survived. Mom died out of her own stupidity seven years ago, due to bad rave drugs. What was she doing at a rave at 41 years old, anyway? Their parents don’t have money. No one is going to give me a free ride. So, it’s all on me.

  I was shocked when I kept making it past each goal post in this competition because it sounded almost too good to be true. Turns out that it was. They put a really really good spin on it. They give a handful of girls an opportunity to attend the school of her choice, as long as she technically gets in through the admissions process. She has to make good grades and be a spokesperson for events about their scholarship program, volunteer to mentor new students after the first year and her education is paid for. Be in paid advertisements, infomercials, and other marketing type materials, hence the need for her to be camera-friendly. And that didn’t sound so bad. I figured it would also look good on my resume. It wasn’t until I was well into the process that things started tweaking me.

  There was the fact that there was a long family-tree like questionnaire. Why would they have needed to know that sort of detail? I chalked it up to them wanting a spokesperson that didn’t have a load of skeletons in her closet. And I was ready, resigned at that point, to lose out because my father was in prison with a life sentence for a crime of passion and my mother made the national news when she and several others overdosed at that rave.

  If these people so much as Googled my parents I shouldn’t have gotten past the first hurdle in the process. But they’d do
deeper digging than Google. Yet, strangely, I did get through that hurdle. And I got through several more, including medical tests (which also seemed very odd) and I even had to sign over access to the medical records from my doctor. And then they invited me to attend a week-long workshop for the final session before decision-making. But the decision had already been made.

  Anyone attending that workshop was now on another planet.

  I did some research before the workshop and everything seemed legit. I even called the school admission’s office. I checked out the doctor that had examined me. I checked out a few Clipboard Assholes who’d interviewed me with online searches. Everything seemed to check out okay.

  I later figured out that all the girls in my group who entered this pageant had zero living immediate family members. When we got past the initial interview and application process I assumed there would be some sort of competition. Monologues? Debates? Essays? Something to prove who among us would be good spokespeople. I expected that to happen at the workshop.

  I packed up a week’s worth of provisions, including my only suit, and begged and bribed Sienna to cat-sit and water the marijuana plant I’d been lovingly growing on my bedroom windowsill. I was picked up at a bus station and then taken several hours to a non-descript office building with a bunch of other girls.

  But we weren’t actually going to compete there. Each of us had signed waiver after waiver (I started off reading every single word, honest to god, but after stacks and stacks of contracts with a shit load of legalese, you eventually start to skim. I know, I know; bad form. My questions and detailed review process started getting met with impatience so because I didn’t want to blow my chances by appearing to be unsure I started skimming. And the skimming became barely scanning after my eyes started to get strained. Not only were there a whole lot of pages to read but I swear the font kept getting smaller.