Taken By The Alien: Creature Delights, #3

By Eva James

As a researcher, Camille has spent months scanning the skies for any sign of life. Long days and even longer nights, waiting for the tiniest sign from above. Every day was the same...until she notices a strange signal. Unlike anything she's ever seen before. 

Soon she realizes she isn’t the only person…or creature out there. And she’ll soon discover where those signals are coming from. But will she flee? Or will she want to learn and experience even more than she ever thought possible…? 

Fans of Christie Sims and E.L. James will love this spicy hot romance series with strong, independent women and sexy, strange alpha heroes. 

Warning: This story was written to unlock your darkest fantasies and innermost desires. It is not for the faint of heart and is not your average erotica. It's not suitable for someone under 18 years of age. Read at your own risk...or delight!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alfaro Press
• Release date: Jan 18, 2016
• ISBN: 9781516312023

Book preview

Taken by the Alien

Beneath the fiery desert sky stood a small outbuilding surrounded by satellite dishes, two tents, a pickup truck, and other various equipment. Inside of the building, Camille Vasquez studied a neon green line graph on her computer screen. The desk at which she was seated was covered in scattered notes, pens, articles, and cigarette ashes. She tapped a pen against her black angular spectacles, as she chewed on her lip, deep in thought.

Ya figure that graph, Vasquez? asked a muffled, gruff voice, shortly followed by he sound of coffee being slurped.

Camille shook her head and said, No, they aren't like any readings we've ever had before. The peaks keep recurring within less than half of a nanosecond but the frequencies have no pattern whatsoever. You're sure there isn't any air traffic in the area?

Not even a fuckin' bird. I told ya I checked, the elderly, silver-mustached man asserted, slurping more coffee from his mug.

He spun his chair around and rolled it across the linoleum closer to Camille's desk to look at the graph of which she was speaking. You weren't kiddin', skinny! This is somethin' else! Can ya make the time increments any smaller?

Camille shook her head and replied, No, Phil. That's my point. I think we need to get Nelson in here. I could use his brains right now to pinpoint a location on the source. She twisted her long, walnut hair around her finger, confusion plastered upon her face. Can you get him while I monitor the graph? I don't want to leave it unattended. She wrung her hands, nervously, as her eyes averted to the map above her desk.

Yeah, yeah, I'll go get the little bastard, Phil retorted.

He stood and Camille cringed at the sound of his weak joints cracking, reluctant to move. His large gut fell over his waistline and he pulled down his cheap, navy polo to cover his exposed bellybutton.

He waddled out of the building towards a red pickup truck, from which throaty snoring could be heard. Nelson lay in the bed of the truck, his glasses dangling awkwardly from his face. His mouth was agape, a film of dried drool adorning his sunburned cheeks. An array of notes were strewn across his chest, accompanied by a small hand-held radio.

Phil hovered over him for a moment before lightly kicking him in the side and bellowing, Time to get up, nerd-boy!

Ouch! Nelson cried. What the hell are you doing? He pulled off his thick-lensed glasses to rub his eyes, groggily before putting them on properly. He ran a hand through his voluminous, curly hair, pushing the mahogany locks away from his face before clipping his two-way radio to his belt.

Camille has got herself some freaky frequencies on the graph and she need ya, Phil said, squatting down to Nelson's level and gestured the scattered papers. What were ya workin' on there?

Nelson began collecting his papers, stacking them neatly as his cheeks flushed from embarrassment. I just—I just needed to—to do some work— he stammered, standing and pressing the stack of papers against his chest.

Phil stood upright again, his knees cracking. Please tell me ya weren't trying to design your own spaceship again, Phil said his voice laced with condescension. Nelson looked down in embarrassment and Phil shook his head, grabbing Nelson oversized sleeve by his oversized sleeve. Come on, nerd-boy. Your socially retarded ingenuity is needed.

*****

Camille was scribbling notes feverishly, glancing back and forth between her hurried scrawl and the line graph on the computer screen. She sipped her coffee as quickly as she could and continued recording the frequencies' behavior.

The cheap, screen door opened and her eyed averted to Nelson and Phil. Nelson's eyes were bloodshot from exhaustion and Phil had a grasp on his flannel sleeve, annoyance evident in his facial expression. Nelson pulled away from Phil and scratched the back of his head.

So, what are these, as Phil so eloquently put, 'freaky frequencies?' Nelson asked, wearily, approaching Camille's desk

Well, if you look at the time increments, I scaled it all the way down to nanoseconds, Camille said, pointing at the graph's legend on the screen. "All of this has been going on in less than one nanosecond. She gestured the graph's content and leaned back in her chair, folding her arms. I have no idea what it means. I wanted your opinion."

Awoken by his peaked curiosity, Nelson leaned closer to the screen over Camille's shoulder. My god, these are like nothing I have ever seen! Over twenty peaks within less than a nanosecond! Man isn't even capable of producing these kinds of low frequencies at such a rapid rate. Can you suspend this graph and pull up the control location?

Camille nodded and clicked on the control location's graph. In order to determine how the sound waves would travel, the research team had placed a transmitter in Albuquerque to use as a comparison to any abnormal readings. The control location's graph was a single flat line with a slight peak towards the end, which lasted another two nanoseconds. The difference between the two readings was exponential.

This is absolutely amazing, Nelson breathed. We could very well be witnessing the first attempted contact between extraterrestrials and humankind... This is why we have worked day and night for months, this moment right now!

Phil snorted and replied, Ya really think aliens are talking to you, eh, nerd-boy? He scratched his balding head and shook his head, doubtfully. Aliens can't be your only explanation. They're some strange wavelengths, sure, but it could even be some atmospheric phenomena that ya didn't take into account.

"'Atmospheric phenomena?' You can't even pronounce the menu at Burrito Rápido and you're going to talk to me about atmospheric phenomena? Nelson yelled. How dare—"

Stop it, both of you, Camille interjected. Arguing is not going to pinpoint the location on this frequency. She sighed and pulled her desk drawer open, retrieving one of several small bottles of vodka. She unscrewed the cap, closed her eyes, and drank the intoxicant before turning around to look at her two coworkers. Now can you two be civil so I don't need another one of these for my sanity?

Phil crossed his arms and rolled his eyes while Nelson groaned. Despite being adult men, they oftentimes argued for petty reasons. Phil struggled respecting Nelson's intellectual eccentricity and Nelson detested anybody who was definitively masculine. Camille sometimes wondered how far their research would be if the two men bickered less and worked more, but she knew that that would never happen.

Come on, you two can't even be nice during something this important? How are we ever going to get any research done if you two are just going to argue all the— Camille was interrupted by a loud, baritone humming sound coming from outside of the research station. She jumped up and rolled her chair towards the window, peering outside, anxiously. What in the hell was that?

Whoa, look at these numbers! Nelson exclaimed, pointing to the graph on the screen. This is nearly double the speed of the last ones!

Never mind that, you fuck-wit! Phil scolded. He stood beside Camille to look out the window. Vasquez, what is it out there?

Probably just a coyote, Nelson replied, airily. You two, you have to look at this!

A coyote? You really are a dumb ass, Phil spat. That ain't no coyote.

You're an engineer. How would you know? snapped Nelson.

Phil quickly turned around to glare at his lanky coworker. Oh I dunno... I leave my house once in awhile? More credentials than you got there, bubble boy, Phil retorted. He turned back around and squinted in an attempt to see what had been responsible for such the strange noise.

"I told you, it's a pod! Nelson scowled. I have allergies! I can't risk that during pollen season!"

Phil glanced back at Nelson and replied, "It's the goddamn desert. What pollen?"

Shhh! hissed Camille. Shut up, we don't know what's out there. The Mexican drug cartel takes this route sometimes and I don't think a guy that sleeps in a pod and a man who can't even order at Burrito Rápido are going to be able to talk their way out of a run-in with them.

The two men ceased their bickering. Camille narrowed her eyes, scanning the horizon for any signs of danger. Her heart pounded in her chest; she inhaled and exhaled slowly in a desperate attempt to calm herself. She looked at Nelson out of the corner of her eye, secretly annoyed that he was still more concerned about the graphs than the gravity of the situation.

Nelson could not suppress a grin as he absorbed every frequency change as depicted on the graph. He knew that his coworkers were bothered by his excitement, but he had waited for the day extraterrestrials contacted him since he was a young child and he was not going to allow them to ruin that for him.

Psstt, Camille, Nelson hissed.

Shh!

It's been five min— he started, but she pressed a threatening finger to her lips and glared at him. He pressed his lips together and frowned. He had been certain that the noise was merely a coyote.

*****

Nightfall was quickly approaching and Camille's eyes were still fixated on the horizon. Phil was smoking his fourteenth cigarette in two hours in an attempt not to assault Nelson, who was still recording the graph's readings and babbling about his findings. The stench of stale cigarette smoke had permeated the research station's air; Nelson began coughing.

"Nelson!" Camille scolded.

He continued to cough and pointed at Phil. Tell him to put— He coughed again. —that thing— He coughed a third time. —out! He hardly managed to choke his words out. Phil rolled his eyes and took a long drag from his cigarette.

Priss, Phil muttered.

"It's been hours. I don't think any drug cartel is coming," Nelson