Out of this World

By Patricia Eimer

Engaged to a murderous, intergalactic warlord, Capridocian Princess Corripraxis is running for her life and crash lands on Earth, where large creatures moo at her, threatening to expose her as an alien. If she can just get some help—in the form of the very attractive Earth male who just pulled up in a tow truck—she can hunker down until she figures out her next move, right?

Ex-Marine Mattias Cadiz agrees to take Corri to Roswell, New Mexico, figuring the confused violet-eyed beauty is heading to the annual Convention with the other alien-obsessed convention goers. But little does he realize, the crazy is just getting started. Mattias soon finds himself caught in the middle of a fierce battle, determined to protect Corri from imminent danger.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Macmillan Publishers
• Release date: Jul 25, 2016
• ISBN: 9781633756670

Book preview

This book is dedicated to my amazing beta reader Kimboo York, who held my hand, cheered me on, and could always be counted on to find one more sci-fi trope to throw into this crazy mix.

And, as always, to my husband and soul mate, Ben—you’re so amazing that if a writer tried to submit you as a romance hero, the editors would kick the story back because you’re too amazing to be real sometimes. I love you both.

Chapter One

Are you sure this is a good idea? Crown Princess Corripraxis Malatesta’s younger sister asked as they knelt on the gleaming, white floor outside the hangar that held the Imperial Air Force of Capridocia’s space cruisers.

Do you have any better ideas? Corri glanced back at her sister, Perripraxis, and shook her head. She jabbed one of her tentacles at the thick black buttons on the keypad that would give them access to their father’s fastest warships—not to mention Corri’s chance to get off Capridocia and away from the marriage of trade necessity her father had arranged with the galaxy’s most feared warlord: Krul, conqueror of the Nine Galaxies of Parnathia, scourge of the Horsehead Nebula, ruler of twelve planets. And the owner of an external mucous membrane that kept him permanently covered in snot.

Corri took a deep breath, trying to suck in air as the corset that was part of her Earth costume pinched most of her internal organs down to half their size and slowly strangled her lungs into submission. Her feet hurt in the high-heeled slippers, and she could barely keep her balance with a dramatically shrunken waist and the heavy, hooped purple skirts billowing out around the lower half of her body.

I don’t like this, Perri said, her voice cautious. Stealing a fighter and running away isn’t going to solve our problems.

Our father sold me. She didn’t even bother to turn around. They’d had this fight at least ten times since her father announced her engagement two days earlier. Because nothing made a family dinner as memorable as saying, Surprise, you’re marrying a giant ball of flaming snot!

Perripraxis claimed that if Corri just went to their father and talked it out, then surely he’d understand that marrying Krul wasn’t the future she imagined for herself. As if anyone could ever plan for a life married to an Aldusian warlord who spent his life blowing up star systems and considered Venuvian gladiator fights the height of civilized spectator sports.

She jabbed at the keypad again, trying to figure out why it wasn’t working. She’d spent all of dinner last night plying her father’s royal security consultant from Renssallear Nine with the best—and strongest—wine from the cellars.

Ten bottles, and he still wouldn’t give her the code. He’d just tried to grope her butt, suggesting she might like a chance at a nonslimy lover before her wedding. She’d finally used a vial of ground-up Saccorrian Iris to knock him out and then, under the guise of helping him back to his room, ransacked his desk and found the slip of paper that told her what she needed to know. And now the information she’d worked so hard for wasn’t opening the star-cursed door.

She stared at the tiny scrap of paper again—63924. She stabbed the numbers in carefully, and still the light on the keypad stayed red. Locked.

Corri, Perripraxis moaned from behind her. Someone’s going to come down that hall and catch us.

Well, you should think up some excuse for why we’re breaking into a restricted military hangar. Shouldn’t you?

I don’t have an excuse—

Neither do I. Corri stared at the numbers again. Why wasn’t the code working? She had put it in exactly like—

Stupid, stupid, stupid, she muttered. Renssallears wrote backward. If she had paid more attention to her tutor, Garibaldis, when he talked about the cultures of the outer-rim planets, then she’d have been in the stupid hangar five minutes ago.

Four two nine three six.

The light glowed a steady blood red.

What if she’d gotten it wrong? After enough failed attempts, the Imperial Army’s security team was probably alerted that someone who wasn’t supposed to be there was trying to break in.

The light flicked to green, and the heavy white door between the hallway and the hangar for her father’s most elite military cruisers slid open with a quiet whoosh.

Holy Mother Goddess, Perripraxis whispered behind her.

We’ll thank the Goddess later. Corri stood and tried to smooth down her awkward skirts.

Why had Earth women dressed like this? The Glorious Earth Renaissance of 1865 was supposed to be the golden age of women. They had successfully enslaved their men, using them for all manual labor and for controlled breeding purposes.

Sure, it all went badly when the men rose up in 1939, with the whole war that happened, but she wasn’t going to Earth circa the War on Women, she was going circa the Glorious Revolution—a time when the women were at the height of peace and prosperity yet they dressed in outfits that made it almost impossible to move.

Not to mention the fact that her toes were ready to mutiny inside these high-heeled slippers. She was almost afraid she’d have to amputate at least two of them to get the shoes off when she finally managed to get to Earth and hide.

But maybe once the women had enslaved all the men, they’d decided to dress like this because they could? After all, when you’re carried from place to place on silken pillows by well-muscled, bare-chested male slaves, who’s going to bother walking?

So what do we do now? Perripraxis asked.

Corri turned to stare at her sister. I’m going. Earth, 1865. Even if Father does find me, there’s no way that the Women’s Confederacy would ever cave to an army of aliens and make me go back. After all, they built an enormous, planet-wide empire—and I’ll be there at the height of it. You could—

She wanted to beg her sister to go with her. If she left, Perripraxis was the next one in her father’s sights and an easy replacement to throw at Krul.

It wasn’t like the warlord would even care enough to tell them apart.

I can’t stay and marry Krul, Corri said. I won’t.

But Father—

Father cares more about his trade agreements and appeasing Krul than he cares about me. About either of us.

But what about your duty? Perripraxis asked. You are a princess of the blood. It’s your job to take care of our people!

"Yeah? Well, it’s Father and Torra’s job as well, and you don’t see our brother the heir standing up and defying Krul, do you? By the Goddess, when Krul suggested that Torra go to Aldusia to act as an ambassador, he had Father lie and claim that he was allergic to Aldusian air. Why should I be the only one to sacrifice for the good of this family?"

Corri—

I’m going. She straightened her shoulders and looked her younger sister in the eye. Perripraxis’s green skin was pale, and already red streaks formed inside her lavender irises from the stress she’d been under ever since their father had announced the engagement. She grabbed her sister’s arms and gave a gentle tug. Come with me. We can both be free. Truly free. And so can our people, once Father quits hiding behind his walls and takes up his duties again.

I… Perripraxis’s eyes filled with longing. The two of them were only three minutes apart in age, and her little sister had been by her side every second since then. The very thought of leaving her behind while Corri escaped to a safe haven on Earth was almost unbearable.

Princess Corripraxis! Princess Perripraxis! A loud voice crackled over the intercom—Dinaras, the security guard ordered to watch them. Obviously, the Saccorrian Iris powder had been less effective in knocking him out than on her father’s security consultant. You are to cease and desist immediately!

Perripraxis. Corri reached for her sister’s hand.

Her sister stepped back and met Corri’s gaze. Run. I’ll distract them.

But—

Go! Perripraxis yelled as she pounded on the keypad to lock them in. Get to Earth. I’ll follow you as soon as I can.

I have a communicator. Corri slipped her hand into the tiny pocket sewn into her skirt and felt the weight of the antique machine Perripraxis and she had rebuilt. According to their tutor, it should have a range of twenty light-years. They’d be cutting it close, but it should be powerful enough to trace the signal.

I’ll find you, her sister promised and pulled out one of the tiny stun guns her father made them carry for a last line of personal defense. She leveled the gun and pulled the trigger, zapping the keypad and locking them inside. Now hurry. Please.

The door beeped twice and then slid open.

Or maybe her father had made the keypads blastproof and Dinaras wouldn’t even have to slow down.

Princess Corripraxis! he bellowed from the doorway.

Run! Perripraxis launched herself at their bodyguard.

Corri used the confusion to sprint toward her brother Torra’s personal space cruiser in the front line of the hangar.

Thankfully, Torra never bothered to lock the thing—after all, who was going to steal the Crown Prince of Capridocia’s personal cruiser?

Corri hit the button on the side of the ship that activated the cockpit hood, and it slid back. She vaulted into the pilot’s seat and brought the clear hood back down over her, the shields protecting her from any stunner Dinaras might try to use.

As long as he doesn’t shoot the engines, she muttered as she toggled switches, firing up the cruiser.

Control tower, she announced into the tiny radio microphone that hovered next to her face. This is Imperial Cruiser Six demanding clearance for takeoff.

There is no clearance for takeoff. There is no clearance for takeoff, Dinaras’s voice cut over the radio.

Imperial Cruiser Six… The voice from the control tower sounded hesitant.

Control, this is Princess Corripraxis Malatesta, and I demand clearance for takeoff. Immediately.

There is no clearance for takeoff, Dinaras shouted. By order of His Majesty the Emperor Xerapraxis the Nineteenth—

Oh, chuff this! She grabbed the throttle and pushed it into the control panel, then grabbed the control stick while she used her feet to slam the stabilizer pedals to the ground.

The cruiser launched forward like a missile blown out of one of the warship’s proton cannons. The stick jerked in her hand, and Corri tensed as she tried to steady the cruiser, making for the small opening between the upper and lower hatches of the launch pad.

Please, Goddess, don’t let me crash, Corri prayed as she squeaked the cruiser through the narrow gap and tried to ignore the scraping sounds when she didn’t quite clear the opening. The stick wobbled, and she tried to remember what she’d learned in her cruiser piloting classes a few solstices ago.

Throttle down. Pedals to the floor. Pull the stick to go up. She’d done all of that. She saw the bright green blinking light and let out a long breath.

One thing her flight instructor had been very clear about was that she should never—ever—engage the hyperdrive while still within Capridocia’s orbit. Unless she wanted to set the sky on fire and rain death and destruction down on all her father’s subjects.

Imperial Fighters Four and Nine requesting takeoff, a gruff voice—one of her father’s fighter pilots—announced.

Princess Corripraxis. Dinaras’s voice was commanding over the radio. If you do not return this instant, we will give pursuit.

Yeah? I’d like to see you try, she retorted.

You’ve been cleared for takeoff, Imperial Four and Nine, the voice from control said, his voice firmer now that he’d been given an order from someone with military authority. Someone whose job involved more than just sitting there and looking cute while her father, the emperor, sold her off to protect his hoard of gold.

The control panel screen beeped, and Corri saw the shapes of five fighters tailing her. Like I’m really afraid you’re going to shoot me down. She pushed the cruiser’s stick forward and tried to push the cruiser’s pedals farther into the floor.

Then again, she couldn’t outrun them in Capridocia’s orbit. All they had to do was surround her, and before she was out of the capital city’s airspace, they would force her to land. Her escape would be over before it even began. And she wasn’t about to let that happen.

She saw the gap between the two towers of her father’s palace and made for it.

Her father’s pilots wouldn’t risk taking their ships between the towers. There were too many Capridocians inside, for one thing, and they wouldn’t want Krul to see them chasing a fleeing princess. It might impact the trade negotiations, and no one wanted that.

But if she could make it through the gap, she could get crucial seconds to clear the atmosphere and hit the hyperdrive before her father’s fighters were on her ass.

She jerked the control stick to the left, pushing into a steep bank, then shifted on a proton’s worth of space. The force of the turn threw her against the side of the cockpit, her hoopskirt’s rigid form digging into the soft flesh of her hip. She tilted the cruiser onto its side and pressed her weight down on the pedals.

Dear Goddess, please don’t let me crash, Corri murmured as the nose cleared the narrow space on each side of the tower. She held her breath and squeaked through the gap, not scratching either the cockpit or the bottom of the cruiser. She flipped it back onto its belly and pulled up on the stick, shifting the nose up and aiming it into the clear night sky above her.

Oh dear Goddess, I owe you an entire mountain of iron for that. Just let me get to Earth, and as soon as I’m safe I’ll personally bring you a feast that would make all the other gods cry in envy.

She slammed the palm of her hand down on the hyperdrive button.

The cruiser jolted forward as the stars around them began to blur. It began to shake from side to side, tossing her about as it jerked and jumped.

Come on, you worthless piece of junk. She gripped the stick harder. Almost there. Two light-years down. Just three more to go and I’ll be in the Earth’s orbit and ready to make the time jump.

The console began to sound again. This time, a blue warning light flashed ominously—smoke from the rear thrusters.

Her heart began to pound, matching time to the demanding beep, beep of the warning signal.

That Praxian trout molester Dinaras had shot out one of her engines.

It’s going to be okay, Corri muttered, trying to stay calm as she brought the cruiser out of hyperdrive and stared down at the pale blue planet in front of her ship. It’s just a crash landing on an alien planet. It’s no big deal. Just a routine crash landing onto a planet our empire has not made contact with yet. Not a problem.

She pointed the nose toward one of the small brown patches. Her tutor, Garibaldis, had told her that Earth’s land was blue and its water was brown. And her flight instructor had said if she ever had to crash a cruiser, then a water landing was always the safest course.

The computer beeped at her. Corri was heading straight for the Great New Mexico Sea. She closed her eyes for a second and said a silent prayer of thanks to the Goddess.

A Martian colony was set up on the GNM Sea at a research station near Roswell. If she could land there, she might be able to bribe the Martians into hiding her ship and sending a coded message to Perripraxis to let her know not only where but when she’d managed to land.

She buckled herself into the safety harness as the computer beeped one last time and the lights inside blinked out. The engine sputtered. The cruiser tipped forward, the nose pointed toward Earth, and then it was like being on one of the carnival rides Vagus Thirteen was famous for—the ground rushing closer, her helpless in her seat, strapped in with no means of escape.

Corri stared out of the cockpit as flames licked at the sides of her cruiser as she broke the Earth’s atmosphere. She gripped the front of her control console and braced for impact as the ship raced toward the still, unmoving—

She howled, terror ricocheting throughout her body, her heart thundering, acid clawing its way up her throat as she realized that the brown beneath her wasn’t water. It was a vast expanse of land. And she was about to do the only other thing her flight instructors had warned her not to do, besides engage the hyperdrive inside the city limits. She was coming in for a crash landing at full force on the unyielding ground below.

There was a loud, shrieking whine, and then she jerked forward against the console, ramming her head against the computer. The world went gray and fuzzy.

Holy Mother Goddess, she whispered as the cruiser shuddered to a stop, nose buried in the ground beneath it. The ship creaked once, the metal protesting the angle, and then there was a ground-shaking lurch. The back of the ship dropped to level off, rattling her teeth at the second impact. Corri stared at the bleak landscape around her, covered in the darkness of an Earth night.

She pushed the emergency release on the cockpit and unbuckled her harness. With shaking hands, she hoisted herself out of the cockpit and slumped out of the cruiser, the metal hoops of her skirt crushed from the impact of her crash. It didn’t matter. She was alive, and as soon as she found the Martian research labs she’d be able to borrow a change of