Colossal: Dark Romance in Deep Space

By Alexandra Norton

The predatory alien blood in Orion Halen’s veins makes him dangerous. Volatile. Addictive. But desire burns brightest in the depths of darkness. What happens when she falls?

Kaia never imagined her lifelong mission would lead to this: a sacrificial lamb on a colony ship, chosen to bear an heir for the ship’s ruthless soon-to-be commander. To Orion Halen, she’s a means to an end—a piece to play in his twisted game. Yet Kaia is no ordinary pawn.

Even as their machinations intertwine and secrets grow deep, an insatiable attraction takes root. A dance of power and seduction ensues, blurring the lines between pleasure and pain. There’s a cruel lure in Orion's glacial eyes, a mere touch threatening to expose a hunger Kaia can’t afford to let herself indulge because she’s hunting for something far more precious than her own survival. But desire burns brightest in the depths of darkness, and giving in has never been so tempting.

Colossal: Dark Romance in Deep Space is a steamy science fiction romance novel where morally gray protagonists navigate treacherous desires in a slow burn that satisfies the senses and leaves the reader aching for more.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alexandra Norton
• Release date: Nov 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9791222474632

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

ORION

Orion had been soaking sore muscles in the red mud pools of Crimson Spa deep beneath the planet’s surface when the chime of an incoming transmission echoed in the private chamber. He flipped to his stomach in the viscous liquid, resting his chin on his forearms at the edge of the pool.

Ignore. He sighed, focusing on the heat soaking through his skin.

Bing.

The directionless chime sounded again.

Block notification. His stern voice slapped against the rock wall and then silenced in the humid air.

Bing.

Goddamn it.

Who was overriding his instructions?

Fine. What the hell is it?

A soothing artificial voice announced what it was: "Live transmission from Colony Ship Colossal. Priority Five."

Orion groaned. What did she want now? He’d been left alone for the better part of the previous year and was half-hoping they’d forgotten about him. But even after ten years of banishment to Mars, he remained at the mercy of her fucking transmissions.

Mother.

Orion. Are you somewhere private? Mother’s voice came clipped and businesslike as usual. He thought he heard a faint hoarse undercurrent in what was usually a steel-smooth inflection.

He clicked his tongue, giving the room an unnecessary glance. This was a private chamber of the spa, reserved only for him.

I’m alone.

She wasted no time. I’ve been informed that I have an advanced cancer which evaded detection for several years.

Orion perked to attention, sitting up straight.

What’s the treatment plan?

There is none. It’s incurable. They can stave it off for six months to a year Old Earth Standard. After that, I’m Uploading.

Shit.

Orion was standing in the pool now, the mud coalescing around his upper thighs.

You need to get back to the ship for handover.

Orion ran a muddy hand through his hair, tugging at the roots. The dull pain in his scalp should have helped center his reeling mind. Alas, the reeling won out.

But that’s too soon. You know I’m not ready. I got zero interest in—

Save it, Orion. Her voice cut through his rambling like a brig door slamming shut. You knew this would happen.

In a fucking couple hundred years, maybe! I thought you might have another kid by then, Mother. Orion grasped at straws, though he didn’t believe his own words. His parents had fertility issues like everyone else. Colony commanders weren’t exempt.

Trust me, this isn’t ideal for me either. I’d rather not have my lazy slacker son take control of the greatest colony ship in existence. But it seems neither of us get what we want.

Orion took a steadying breath.

Let me research treatments. For the cancer and the fertility. I’ll find something to prolong your time to Upload.

Maybe she’d be touched, even just a little, with the prospect of him going out of his way to help her stay alive.

A hoarse laugh made him flinch. It was never a good sign when Mother laughed. Hearing it in that unfamiliar voice disturbed him all the more.

"The prodigal son finally finds some motivation. Who do you think you are, Orion? You think we haven’t already gone through all this? You think you can find a magical cure to get you out of your responsibilities that we haven’t already considered?"

There were several moments of ear-ringing silence before she spoke again.

You are my only son, Orion. ‘The buck stops with you,’ as they used to say. Your genes are the only ones that will control and power the ship. You always knew this was your fate.

Fate.

How he wished that word would fade away in the depths of space.

And if I refuse? Orion lifted his face to the cavern’s ceiling. Hot condensation dripped down to his skin in fat drops.

I’ll cut you off. No allowance. Not even enough for a drop of water. How do you suppose you’ll do, working in the sand tunnels in Mars, cleaning up the natives’ waste? What do you suppose they’ll think of you, the thousands of colonists you’ve doomed on an empty husk of a once-glorious ship? How many will get off in time? No one will bat an eye at the death of another colony. No one will help them.

Orion sank back into the mud. She was always good at that—the guilt trips.

"Colossal is passing by Sector Seven in a week for a rendezvous with the transport I’ve arranged for you. Bretton is picking you up tomorrow. If you aren’t here, you’re done. No excuses."

Transmission closed, the soothing voice informed him, and Orion slumped back in the bath.

Well, shit.

He exited the mud pool hours later, skin raw from the heat and moisture. He sat naked on the warm metal bench in the exit alcove, where one of the scantily-clad attendants wiped the drying muck from his limbs with a soaked rag. The water wasn’t pure, but it was purer than most people on Mars were drinking.

Orion barely registered the attendant as she struggled to hold up the weight of his arm by the wrist. She made a little huff with a fixed smile as she rubbed the rag from shoulder to hand.

What’s wrong, Mr. Halen? His attendant’s velvet voice was soft in his ear. Is there anything I can help with?

Orion focused on her then, studying the woman’s full, fleshy features. Lips he could sink his teeth into. Help?

A bead of sweat spilled over the ledge of her top lip. Down here, everyone had a constant sheen of perspiration in the heat. Authorities were constantly drumming on about the scarcity of water, and yet they had people down here dehydrating themselves for the benefit of those like him.

What a waste.

Orion brushed off the thought. He was paying for this. He brought himself back to the smooth face gazing up at him. Big golden eyes, fleshy cheeks, and white hair tied in a braid that was twisted into a bun atop her head. Slender wrists descended to wipe the remnants of mud from his torso.

He leaned his head against the hot wall, looking away from the offering. Enough fat, but no muscle. Too suicidal for my tastes.

The towel dragging along his skin paused just for a second before she resumed her work.

If it were another day, Orion might try her anyway. She was asking for it. But today, he had enough to deal with.

Commanding Colossal was the sole reason for his existence. The biomechanic design of the colony ships was paired to a specific set of genes—in this case, his. Once his mother died, Colossal would respond to his blood only. No matter how shitty a commander he’d be, or how careless, or how fucking bored, simply turning down the job was not an option.

Well… it was. But was he prepared to make his way on his own, starting from scratch, a pariah for dooming thousands of colonists to their death with his refusal to pick up the mantle?

Orion realized the girl was done. She was sitting back on the floor before him, ass on her heels, hands on bare thighs. The bracelet on her left wrist was already glowing its orange beacon, indicating it was open for incoming transactions. Her eyes were downcast, trying to hide the frown contorting her otherwise smooth features. Was she crying?

You must be new. He held his wrist up to the bracelet, where his ID implant was embedded beneath his skin. He made his tip a minimal token of faux appreciation. As soon as she showed her displeasure at his rejection, she went beyond the scope of her job. The device flashed under his wrist. Her bracelet did the same, then turned green to confirm a completed transaction.

Thank you, Mr. Halen. The girl had regained her composure. She rose, holding the dripping rag with which she had cleaned him between a delicate thumb and forefinger. She sashayed to the corner of the alcove where she dropped it into a waste container. Was there anything else?

Fucking really? She’s still gunning for it?

No extra tip was worth what he’d do to her.

He waved her off and rose. Bare feet slapped the floor as he donned a black robe hanging on the wall, tying it with the sash around his waist.

Orion transmitted a message to Boris as he took the lift back up to the residential quarters above ground, instructing him to meet there. He squinted a little as the bright rays of the artificial sun stung his eyes through the hallway.

He often felt like an ant in here. Ants were small six-legged insects he’d learned about when he was young back on Colossal. They worked in groups and lived underground, in elaborate mazes of their own making in service to their queen. That was Mars: an elaborate maze, partly underground and partly up on the surface. Only here, there was no queen. His queen was his mother, light years away in an anthill of her own, looking for fucking who knows what. Her New Earth. And now this queen demanded his presence.

Boris was already in Orion’s quarters when he entered, lounging on the cushion filled with light plastic pellets, his favorite spot.

She’s here, he mouthed, throwing a glance at the shower cubicle positioned off the main room. As if on cue, the plastic door opened, revealing Ajsa with a fluffy towel on her head and another wrapped around her chest, barely covering her cunt.

Orion pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbing the spot between his eyes. Just as he extricated himself from one needy bitch, he was faced with another. She waltzed over to Orion and stood on her bare toes, twining her hands together behind his neck. The motion dragged the towel up her thighs, revealing rows of red welts winking out from underneath.

What took you so long? She purred in his ear as he was extricating himself from her grasp, fingers curling over fresh bruises to pry her arms away. Her split-second wince turned into a grin.

Ajsa was the opposite of the spa girl. Not enough fat, but plenty of muscle rippling under her skin. She was the genuine article—got off on the fight. They’d only fucked twice, and it was stupid. The risk of chemical dependency to his exorin was significant. An addicted pain-slut could be a major pain in his ass.

He shot a look at Boris behind her, who gave him a helpless shrug.

How long have you been here? Orion asked her.

All day, babe. I thought you’d be back from the spa and we’d grab lunch together, but then… She closed her eyes momentarily, lashes fluttering side to side. It’s almost dinnertime. Shall I get dressed?

No, he said flatly. He let his robe fall to the floor and approached the hydra station built into the side of the wall. He instructed it to produce a cup of hot water through the interface of his Neurosync. He grabbed a sachet of vegetable flavoring from the container on the side and poured it into the steaming cup, stirring with a synthwood spoon.

The pout on her face made him want to stick something in it, but he refrained. He was playing in dangerous territory. He’d kept her around too long. She was getting attached.

I’m busy. You need to go.

Ajsa gnawed the inside of her mouth, a habit Orion was angry at himself for having noticed. Her gaze, leveled on him, was a knowing one. Like the bitch had him all figured out. A moment later Ajsa was pulling on her dress and flats. He got a good view of the bruises lining the side of her tits when she bent over to pull the fabric over her hips, and wondered if she enjoyed seeing his fingerprints there as much as he did.

She worked the towel from her hair and ran long gold-tipped fingers through the wet waves.

Figured. Orion narrowed his eyes at the ice in her voice. He sipped his soup as she gathered her shit. Ajsa was not taking this like the others normally did. But then she wasn’t a fucking moron, and maybe that’s why he’d kept her around for so long.

Well… Ajsa shot him a wry smile, pausing at the door. Nice while it lasted, gentlemen.

She waltzed out of the room, granting Orion a last glimpse of her swaying hips before the door hissed shut behind her. Orion stared.

How dare she be so callous about being rejected? Just leave like that, like she was the one rejecting him? Like she didn’t even care.

Orion resisted the urge to follow, drag her back there, and teach her a goddamn lesson.

Boris was watching him closely, and Orion shook the thought from his head.

My mother called. Orion settled on a cushion across from Boris.

Oh.

Yeah.

Orion got progressively more animated as he provided the gist of the conversation to the one man he would call a friend these days. Boris was a Martian, bred and born. They had met in the rec center five years ago, where Orion was hiding from his philosophy instructor by beating the shit out of a punching bag. They’d bonded over weight lifting and Boris’s uncanny ability to not want anything from Orion, and not judge him for his predispositions or his hatred of colony life. Others thought of him as a spoiled asshole. Not Boris. Well, if he did, he didn’t show it, and that was good enough.

After hearing the full story, Boris leaned forward, arms on his knees.

So this doesn’t sound like something you can get out of…

Don’t tell me that, Orion snapped. He didn’t need another person’s confirmation that he was fucked. There had to be a way out.

But I’m not entirely sure what you’re so afraid of.

Was he stupid? Orion had always considered Boris to be relatively intelligent, practical, and capable of deductive reasoning. Did this need to be spelled out for him?

Orion’s words came slow and strained as he laid out the situation.

As the commander of a colony ship, I will have no life. I will have nothing except my duties. Just thousands of people depending on me to lead their ship wherever the fuck in search of whatever the fuck. There will be no spa. There will be no peace. There will be no quiet. Certainly no pussy except the one or two I end up having to marry to produce more genes for the fucking ship, if they survive the ordeal. My life will never be my own again. How do you not get that, and why the fuck are you rolling your eyes?

Orion wanted to punch something, feeling the familiar prickle against the roof of his mouth. He jabbed the point of his tongue into his cheek—a habit he'd learned early to bring himself down.

Boris leaned back.

"The ship needs your genes, but so what? You’ll need to be the one to confirm commands? Put your hand in some hole to change navigation coordinates? The real work can be done by someone else. Someone more interested in the job. I’d bet your mother has a whole team helping decide her every move. All you’ll need to do is lift a finger now and again, maybe provide some blood for the ‘critical’ decisions. You’ll be a commander—delegate! And the women? Who’s going to bother you if you decide to have some fun on the side? They need you, Orion. Nobody’s going to fire you or cut you off once you get the job because they can’t. Make your own rules and enjoy living in prosperity on your own ship."

So many rebuttals screamed in Orion’s head as Boris spoke, but each caught on his tongue before he uttered it. Boris didn’t understand. He didn’t have the full picture. He was just a planet-born, with no idea of what it meant to live on a colony, much less run one.

But Orion had to admit that Boris wasn’t entirely wrong. Maybe the worst-case scenario wasn’t as tragic as he’d built it up in his head over the years. Maybe he didn’t need to live up to his mother’s expectations once he took over—she would already be Uploaded, partying it up in Heaven somewhere.

When do you leave?

Orion groaned. He’d been avoiding this part: checking the itinerary his mother would’ve no doubt already sent over to him.

Later, he said.

Boris raised an eyebrow. And tonight?

Tonight we enjoy the beginning of the end of my freedom.

Orion woke up on his couch the next morning to an incessant chiming that drove nails into his pounding, hungover head. He sat up and scrubbed his palms over his face, shoulders slumping. With a grunt, he closed his eyes and brought the message up against the blackness of his lids.

It was a trip itinerary, alerting him that his ship was leaving in half an hour.

Fuck!

Already? Was she really expecting him to get all his business in order and jump to it so quickly? Not that he had much business… but still.

He rose, skin constricting at the chill. He liked his quarters cold in the morning—as uninhabitable as possible for whoever spent the night, encouraging them to leave for the warmth of wherever the fuck they came from. Mostly though, his body just ran hot.

Orion stretched his arms over his head and arched his back, groaning at the satisfying pull of joints and muscles. He downed a hot shot of caffeine and bitter syrup topped with foamed pea extract. Most cabins on the station did not come with their own hydra taps, but this one did. Not only that, it could concoct any number of water-based mixtures.

Assured the caffeine was spreading through his system, Orion pulled on a black carbonsilk shirt and trousers, then stepped into a pair of leather boots. Genuine leather, farmed on an artificial satellite of Saturn. He was roaming around his quarters, stuffing whatever he would consider essentials into a pack, when the door slid open.

Good, you’re ready. Orion motioned Boris to the hydra station. Drink?

Boris shook his head, hovering in the open doorway.

You’re letting the good air out. Orion frowned.

Since when do you care about wasting air? But he entered and allowed the door to slip shut behind him.

Where’s your pack? Ship leaves in… Orion closed his eyes briefly, checking the countdown. Five minutes. But don’t worry. It’ll wait.

I’m not going, Orion.

Hmm? Orion had been zipping up the pack and slinging it over his shoulder.

I’m not going.

What do you mean?

Boris shrugged. I’m not sure why you assumed I would.

Because why wouldn’t you?

Boris shot him an incredulous look, one he rarely used with Orion. Mars is my home. Why would I leave that behind?

Well… what will you do once I’m gone?

Was that a flash of irritation on his face? I’ll be an engineer, like I’ve always been. Do you think I just go into hibernation when I’m not with you? I have a job.

Orion laughed. "You don’t need all that. You said it yourself—on Colossal, I can do whatever I want. You don’t need a fucking job. Come on… It’s the most prestigious ship in the known universe, at least since Bali’s Bounty disappeared. You won’t have to work a day in your life. And I’ll need an ally out there to convince me not to murder my parents."

No thank you, Boris said flatly, and it was clear he was done.

‘No thank you?’ That’s all you have to say?

Boris stuffed his hands into his pockets. You’ve been a good friend, Orion, but we always knew you’d have to go back. At least I did. I’m not ditching my life on Mars to follow you around. But hey, stop by whenever you’re around. We’ll raise some hell.

Orion’s nostrils flared, just a little, not enough to notice unless you really knew him, like Boris did.

Fine. Fuck off then. I’ve got packing to do.

Boris gave him a knowing nod, as if he knew exactly how Orion would react. Just like fucking Ajsa.

Fuck him.

Orion didn’t watch as his only friend turned around and left the quarters.

CHAPTER 2

KAIA

"G ood run today," Kaia thought as her boots hit the ground of the docking bay.

She smacked the side of her ship, running her fingers along its familiar pockmarked surface and trying not to think about the repairs she knew she’d soon have to pay for. Ahton’s Take had served her well over the years, despite her lack of reciprocation. She could count on one hand how many times she’d taken it in for a full checkup. As for a proper refurb… Forget it.

Kaia had gotten good at doing her own minor repairs.

Good take? One of the docksmen walked up to inspect her parking job. It was a formality. Kaia was shit at parking, and no one bothered correcting her anymore.

Pretty good, she said, smashing the heavy red button on the underside of the hull with a fist. The storage bay door swung down with shrill warning beeps. The door was slow, revealing scraps of bent metal, twisted carbon of burnt-out hulls, and a mass of fizzling electronics. She grabbed an inconspicuous black box from beneath a tangle of wires when it became reachable and stuffed it in her pack. That one she’d keep for herself.

As buyers rounded on the ship and began eyeing the goods, Kaia took the time to scan the bay. Loran’s black retrofitted fighter was in its usual spot, expertly placed. Loran knew how to park.

His engine panel was coated in fresh condensation; he’d bounced from the site of the skirmish just an hour or so ago, leaving Kaia and a couple of others to pick up the scraps like vultures tailing a pack of lions. Some of the smaller unbranded gang ships sat scattered throughout the dock. They’d lost one today. Kaia wasn’t sure who yet, but all of Loran’s goons looked the same to her, even though she was technically one of them.

The commotion on the other side of the dock caught her attention. She pressed the button to shut the storage, waving off prospective buyers who craned their head over the ascending door. Be at the market tomorrow morning. See me then.

She waited for the hold to finish closing at its excruciatingly slow pace, monitoring the buyers milling about to make sure none of them got handsy. Then she came closer to get a better view of the shiny craft.

Looked like a brand new needlefin. Fucking beautiful, and definitely not something you saw every day. Not around here. A bearded man in a pilot’s uniform was talking to a docksman, checking off forms, and Kaia’s eyes fell on the other man exiting the ship from the rear door. Kaia wasn’t in the habit of staring, but she took her time stripping off her flight suit, removing each bit of padding slowly and with great care—plenty of time to appraise the newcomers.

Kaia wouldn’t call the sleek black carbonsilk trousers and shirt that the man wore gaudy, but he was definitely not trying to hide his good fortune.

Guy must be loaded.

Then there was his height. Clearly almost seven feet, several heads over the pilot and docksman. His black brows were knotted in a frown, mouth curled down with displeasure. All the rich ones were always unhappy about something. He jerked a lock of black hair from his face and crossed the dock with long, pointed strides, ignoring the bustle of ships and people around him. Like he couldn’t wait to get out of there.

She wondered what Loran had planned for this one. He wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to milk a wealthy traveler for all he was worth. Kaia scooped up her gear and headed to her quarters.

Her cabin was nothing special, but it was hers and that was already a privilege. None of the living spaces on Riker 109 were anything to write home about, if one had a home. The waypoint station was on its last legs, run down and forgotten between the Milky Way and deep space in which colony ships roamed in their never-ending search for habitable worlds.

Kaia shut the door behind her and folded herself into her squeaky bunk. She spent a few minutes rubbing down her aching joints, twisting at the skin around her wrists and ankles. She’d been achy for as long as she could remember, but that was normal around here. Being crammed into her tiny ship for hours on end never helped.

Once the crude self-massage provided some relief, Kaia extracted the box she’d stashed earlier. She ran her black-dipped fingers over the smooth carbon. The darkness of her polish blended with the surface. It was about the length of her hand, and half that in width and height. She fingered along the edges, feeling for the telltale dip of a print reader. There it was, a thin imprint in the corner.

Kaia reached over to the crooked metal work desk next to her bunk and grabbed a small finger glove device. She pulled it over her index finger and pressed it to the reader. There was a low whirr while the reader inspected the print, as the glove tried to simulate a match. She was lucky she’d stumbled across this little thing in one of her hauls—more primitive print crackers might try to brute-force a print, triggering security measures in the device being cracked, but this one had never given her trouble. Small LED lights molded into the cracker flashed yellow as it worked. This was taking longer than she expected. Kaia's thumb twitched against the box impatiently.

Finally the LEDs glowed a merciful blue, and the box emitted a faint click as its lid cracked free. Kaia glanced at the door, double-checking the red lock was engaged before pushing the lid open.

For a moment she was disappointed. She’d hoped to find a chip store or something, but the box contained no such thing. Her eyes fell on pieces of metal wedged into a foam cushion.

Only it wasn’t just any old metal.

Fuck yes, she exhaled with a slow grin. Kaia extracted one ring from the foam and held it up, closing one eye. She rotated it between her fingers, looking for the stamp of gold content. Seven carats. She palmed the ring and ran her fingertips along the three others in the box. These would for sure fetch a pretty penny at the market.

Kaia jumped in her bunk as someone banged on her door three times. She stuffed the ring back into the container.

What? she yelled.

Loran wants you. His quarters. The gruff voice was already fading by the time the lackey finished speaking, and Kaia breathed again.

Fuck me, I’m paranoid.

Nobody could have entered the cabin without her permitting it. Not even Loran, at least not without breaking the door down.

Kaia transported the rings to the small safe hidden beneath her bunk. What the fuck did he want her for anyway? He wouldn’t have his half of the take until the market tomorrow. Which could only mean he wanted one thing. Kaia pressed her mouth into a thin line as she made the ten-minute walk through the metal habitat ring and stood at Loran’s door. She flexed the fingers of both hands, preparing. Loran was not easy to argue with.

The door slid open before she could knock.

Kaia hesitated just outside, gauging the situation inside the cabin. Loran was running a frustrated hand through brown hair as he circled the woman in the middle of the space. The woman tapped a slippered foot in a displeased staccato. Her fleshy bare thigh, peeking from the folds of old silk in her skirt, was tense. Her fingers, painted a bright crimson to the second knuckle, were seductive even in their nervous smoothing of her barely-there shirt. Bare shoulders pulled back, the mounds of her full breasts shifted a little as she spoke up at Loran’s snarling face.

Heard about this guy, Loran, and I’m not fixin’ to get trapped—

"Whether you’re fixin’ to or not isn’t up to you. I can make—" Loran’s amber eyes flicked to Kaia mid-rebuke. He already seemed furious, pacing like a jaguar around a defiant gazelle, but his expression darkened yet further when he looked her way. Kaia noted her shoulders folding in on themselves and rolled them back, forcing herself to stand up straight.

You, he pointed at Kaia. In my office.

She ran her tongue over her top teeth, fighting back a retort. Plastering on a neutral expression, she brushed past them and into