Hela: Otherworld Warriors, #1

By Natalie Aejaz

What if the man of your dreams turned out to be real?

All Leah wants is to be normal—not easy when she is plagued by phobias and inexplicable visions, with lucid dreams of a mysterious stranger only adding to the confusion. When the man from her fantasies turns up in reality, claiming to be the otherworld warrior Anza, she believes she finally has someone who understands her.

Anza is tormented by the memories of his lost love—the warrior queen Hela. He is broken by her loss and devastated by the ongoing war that has ravaged his planet, but Leah brings hope to his tortured soul.

Will their bond survive when Leah discovers that Anza is hiding a dark secret and has come to Earth on a special mission, one that will change her world forever…?

If you like hot warriors and strong heroines, check out HELA, the first book in the Otherworld Warriors series. This book is intended for mature audiences and contains steamy sex scenes, a happily ever after and no cliffhangers. Each book in the paranormal romance series can be read as a standalone.

EXCERPT:

The alien was even hotter when jealous. And so much for his claims of humans having toxic emotions.

He grabbed the flowers and threw them on the coffee table, his expression tense.

"Anza!"

This was not like him. In her dreams, he did not get pissed off easily, which meant he was more affected by her than he let on. That insecurity she had felt when he mentioned his lost lover dissipated, and she lowered her head to hide her smile as she moved to pick up the bouquet. But before she could reach for it, Anza grabbed her by the shoulders, pressing her up against the wall, his body against hers.

He pushed his words through clenched teeth. "That human is no good for you." And then his mouth captured hers, his kiss searing through her and igniting the fire she had fought to ignore all day. He lifted his face, his breathing ragged. "Do not think you can make me jealous."

His eyes flashed, and the anger in them evoked a memory, as if she had seen him like that before…impossible, because in her dreams he was always in a loving mood. Yet, she could not let go of the feeling that she had already witnessed Anza's pain…

• Language: English
• Publisher: Natalie Aejaz
• Release date: Apr 8, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386055976

Book preview

HELA

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Natalie Aejaz

Copyright 2019 Natalie Aejaz

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This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

CHAPTER ONE

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NORMAL WAS STILL A LONG way away.

The water in the glass ornament shifted, creating shapes only Leah saw. When the voice emanated from the liquid, it whispered thoughts just for her mind. I am always here. For you.

Leah? Are you hearing the voice now? The psychologist’s face held fast to that understanding expression, a permanent feature of the therapy sessions for the last few months. What judgments were hidden behind her kind face? She probably thinks I’m mad. Was she?

Leah averted her gaze from the ornament. No.

You were very young when your parents passed away. Thirteen years old, to be exact. Using fantasy as a mechanism to cope with childhood trauma is common. Jane rested her elbows on the table, fingers in a pyramid shape. It is taking time, but you are constantly making progress.

Leah’s parents died in that car accident over ten years ago. Alone, with nobody who understood, she developed the urge to speak to water. At first she only talked, releasing the agony withheld in therapy sessions, but one day the water moved, whispers emerging from it. A friend. Yes, the voice was a fantasy, but at the time it was comforting to imagine there was someone to listen. Professionals labeled the conversations a sickness, and even as a teenager, she picked up the concerns about trauma and mental illness passed between practitioners. The conversations eased some of her isolation, but as the whispers in the water grew louder and more frequent, she became concerned. She was assured by therapists that the voices would fade once she no longer needed them, but the urge to talk to water had gone out of control, becoming an addiction. Once a companion, the imaginary voice now held her back, forcing her into therapy sessions as sterile as the offices in which they took place.

Leah? It has been two years since you completed the online degree, hasn’t it?

Yes. In Social Anthropology, for all the good it had done.

Have you considered going out to work? Jane fiddled with her dark glasses, staring at her over them. There is so much opportunity in London—you can choose something to suit your needs. She paused, looking at her notes as if she might locate the answer to Leah’s problems among her scribbles. I know that since leaving school, you have not been in a social environment...but would you be interested in trying it?

Despite being somewhat introvert, she had been pretty popular at her London school. She stood a head above the other girls in her class, and with her black hair and hazel eyes attracted a fair amount of attention from the boys. She shared lingering kisses behind the toilets before any of her girlfriends and had even started to date a hot senior. And then the accident happened. Maybe her psychologist was right, and she could manage a part-time job, a few hours a week. It would be a start...Now the liquid inside the ornament rippled, and she could not look away. You are not alone. Why the hell hadn’t she asked for it to be removed before the session?

Jane wrote in the notebook. When she looked up, there was a smile fixed to her face, a straight line that never wavered during the sessions. "You really are making wonderful progress, she insisted. She might say different if she knew about the dreams, which started three years ago. Leah had told nobody about those visions of strange, beautiful lands that filled her with longing, and the tall dark-skinned man with fiery honey-colored eyes who awakened dormant desires. The death of your parents was understandably a huge ordeal, but you have coped remarkably well. One day you will be normal again."

Being normal. A reward for good behavior, which Jane probably dangled in front of every other patient who entered this room. For Leah, it was a hope she had reached out to for over ten years.

Would she ever feel as if she belonged?

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Leah parked in front of her two-story house, giving the garden a satisfied glance as she got out of her car. Soon roses would bloom; something to look at through the window as she read in the living room. She walked through the short cobbled pathway that cut across the middle of the garden and then paused, key in hand. Barring today’s incident in Jane’s office, it was a week since she communicated with the imaginary voice, her longest withdrawal yet. She swapped baths for showers years ago after realizing that running liquid caused little agitation and these days downed glasses of water before temptation overcame her. But still, a need to hear the voice was constantly there, and right now was so strong that her hands trembled as she unlocked the door. She would beat the addiction because that was all this was. I can do it.

Leah!

Dan, her neighbor, leaned over the low wall separating their gardens, dressed in black jeans and a gray tee shirt that hugged those broad shoulders. His blond hair had been cut recently, its short length suiting his angular face. Hello, she managed, her tone soft. Twirling a strand of hair around her fingers, she wished she had left it down instead of pulling it into a tight ponytail.

His smile was wide. Been to the hairdresser?

No. Just to my therapist.

Well, your hair’s looking great. As always. He cleared his throat. Anyway, did you give any more thought to that dinner?

He moved to the neighborhood a month ago and had immediately made his interest in her obvious. Her psychologist was right—she would never be ready but needed to take steps toward a normal life. She fought the anxiety beating a trail around the insides of her stomach. How about in a couple of days?

His grin widened. Perfect. I’ll be in touch. He paused. About your number—

The idea of him unexpectedly calling terrified her. What the hell would she talk to him about? I haven’t managed to get my mobile fixed. It would be just her rotten luck if her phone rang now. Not that there was much chance it would, because most of the calls she received were wrong numbers or from salespeople.

Well, you have my number, so give me a shout when it’s sorted.

Sure. Clueless about what else to say in such a situation, she gave him a nervous smile before entering her home, shutting the door and closing off the world outside. The house, with three en-suite bedrooms and a living area and large study downstairs, was too big for a single person; but as she spent a lot of time indoors, she appreciated the space. The small entrance porch led straight into the spacious living room, its walls painted in the lightest shade of blue—as with the rest of the rooms, she had selected a calming color. She dropped her bag on the black L-sofa, which was placed underneath the large window looking out over the garden; pausing when she caught her reflection in the glass. She was always well turned out when she stepped outside—easy when one’s parents left a more than generous trust fund—and since her school days was aware of her appeal to the opposite sex. But would Dan be as keen to date her if he knew she had suffered a breakdown after her parents’ deaths and was still recovering from the resulting trauma and phobias? And what about the obsession with speaking to water and those lucid dreams where a striking man with honey-colored eyes touched her in ways nobody else had?

Heat burned in her core at the thought of him. But he was not real whereas Dan was. A few months ago, she decided it was time to start dating, but it was easier said than done. With her addiction, phobias and God knew what else, any man would think of her as a freak—if her personal problems were not enough of a downer, at the age of twenty four she was still a virgin. How would being touched by Dan feel? Could she connect with him as she did with the stranger in the dreams?

She entered her pristine kitchen to grab a bottle of mineral water from the fridge, pouring a glass. She drank quickly, emptying the glass before she was tempted to release her thoughts into it, and then returned to the living area. Distraction...she needed distraction. There were plenty of unread books in the built-in bookcase, but she had to update the collection with materials other than science fiction novels, works on metaphysics or essays explaining the mysteries of the cosmos. After all, hadn’t Jane suggested last week that Leah’s childhood fascination with such subjects might have contributed to her symptoms?

I will be normal.

She pulled out her yoga mat and placed it on the wood flooring before sitting on it cross legged to meditate. Her attention shifted to the man who visited her dreams, and when she blocked him out, the agony of her parents’ sudden death crawled toward her. When she opened her eyes, her mind was more troubled than before she sat. She needed someone to understand her.

Don’t do it.

She was pulled back to the kitchen, where she filled a glass vase with water and then placed it on the counter. Resist. I’m going out with Dan. She stared at the vessel, voice low. I want a man to touch me, be close. Sex would be a big step, but the longer she left it, the more difficult it would be. After the first time, it might be easy? The liquid moved, with more force than usual—much more force!—slopping out over the counter. She flinched at the violence erupting from the water. What was happening? Suddenly the vase shook, shattering into fragments. She let out a cry, stepping away in panic even as she applied logic to the scene in front of her.

This was part of her sickness, it had to be.

She left the broken pieces of glass lying on the counter and ignored the pool of water spreading across the floor, no trace of sound or abnormal movement in it anymore. Sitting on a chair, she leaned her elbows on the dining table, head in her hands. Vases did not shake of their own accord and smash, not in reality, anyway. No matter how she rationalized it, the incident made no sense.

Am I going mad?

Enough of talking to water and imagining voices. She had to stop this sickness before it was too late.

CHAPTER TWO

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MY WORLD.

Leah lay next to the lake, surrounded by the peace she only ever found in this paradise, the universe of her dreams. Dressed in a loose white dress, she stretched out her body as she smiled at the sky, which could not decide whether it would be blue or purple. The warm sand was comfortable underneath her, its usual rose hue so dark a shade that today it might be maroon. When she clapped her hands, a glow of energy emanated from between them, and a cloud responded, shifting to the shape of a dancer for her entertainment. The red moon suspended above was so large it should have unnerved her, but instead, excitement rushed through her at the otherworldly sight. The lake’s green color was becoming boring, though. Orange? Small flashes of orange shot through the water as it morphed to her chosen hue. Much better. The effect lasted a few seconds before it transformed back to green, but it was enough to delight. Ripples now appeared on the surface of the lake, making her insides clench in anticipation.

He was coming.

Her warrior Anza rose from the lake, chest bare and dark skin shimmering as water slid from his muscled frame. His black hair, which fell just past his shoulders, was wet and smoothed against his face. His body? A sculptured masterpiece, those muscles rippling as he walked toward her.

You have been playing with nature again? The master commander’s tone was deep. You are the only one of your bloodline to come into such high powers, yet you do not respect them. His attempt to be stern was futile, the humorous light of his eyes preventing her from taking him seriously. This energy...it is a gift. Why toil to develop it and then waste it on such games?

You swam here only to reprimand me? She smiled up at his handsome features. Unlike her, her love was not born with special gifts, but worked hard to evolve. He trained with the greatest masters, strengthening his warrior skills as he learned to use the power of the cosmos to cultivate his abilities of intuition and healing. As a student who meditated every day and practiced endless chants with diligence, he