Aliens' Thirst: The Complete Duet: Sharing Sci-Fi Romance (Host & Vice)

By Alexandra Norton

One alien has possessed me, body and mind... And the other is just getting started.

First, my alien client possessed my body. Then he left Earth forever. Now a rogue shard of him remains within me, and he plays dirty.

The alien shard inside me tunes my body, manipulates my senses, and occupies my mind. I fight to resist his lure, but there’s no escape. Not even in my dreams, which he invades fervently. Incessantly.

How do I live with a creature that's intent on exposing my deepest needs and darkest desires? And what do I do when his alien creator returns to Earth, radiating a darkness that beckons me to the edge of an unknowable abyss?

One of them has already claimed me, body and mind. Now, the other wants to do the same. I'm caught between them and I'm terrified. But the scariest thing of all is... I think I'm starting to want them both.

Aliens’ Thirst is a complete duet that combines two interconnected books: Alien’s Host and Aliens’ Vice. It is a steamy science fiction sharing romance set during the holiday season.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alexandra Norton
• Release date: Dec 10, 2023
• ISBN: 9791222483030

Book preview

1: ALIEN’S HOST

A SCI-FI POSSESSION ROMANCE

DECEMBER 20

1

Christmas with the family is great and all, but when your boss calls you in on your last day before vacation and says you’re urgently needed as a financial advisor to an alien, you cancel plans and say you’ll fucking do it. That was exactly what I did.

Why does an alien need a financial advisor, anyway? I said, perched at the edge of my seat in front of Bob Rosey’s office table.

Bob opened his hands palms-up in a gesture that effectively said, I have no fucking clue. He slid a manila folder toward me.

Here’s all the info, he said.

I opened the folder, seeing only a single sheet of paper with an address and a short paragraph printed on it.

Alabama? What’s he doing all the way out there?

Living there, apparently.

But why?

I don’t know, Layla, I didn’t ask him. Bob’s deep sigh told me to ease up on the interrogation. I smoothed my hands along my wool skirt and took a beat to gather myself.

And he needs this meeting on a weekend… Christmas weekend.

The boss nodded. Something about a pressing investment opportunity.

I flipped the sheet with the address over, revealing an Amtrak ticket to Alabama. Birmingham. This was accompanied by a black and white printout of a hotel reservation at Sweetwater Hotel in Mobile.

You can expense the return ticket. I have no idea how long it will take. It’s a unique situation. Hotel’s booked for a week, just in case.

Wait, you aren’t going?

Not this time, kiddo. It’s all on you, he winked and gave me that fucking finger-gun thing. Time to shine.

Time to shine?

I was the only female advisor at the pretty darn sizeable company. I hadn’t been given a client of my own even once. I’d like to say it was sexism. Well, it sure as hell was that too. But honestly, I just wasn’t very good yet. I was better coming in with the assist, reeling them in with a dose of feminine charm.

And now he was getting me to go take on an alien? Unsupervised?

Why aren’t you going?

Bob shrugged. I have the kids this Christmas and the others are off already.

There was no off at Rosey Financial, so that was bullshit. But my mind had already moved on to the other thing he said.

Wait, you think what’s normally a two-hour meeting on the basics of personal finance is going to take a week?

What am I missing here?

Like I said, Layla, I don’t know. All I know is, this is a unique opportunity for the firm. Imagine: first ever alien financial advisors. He looked up and far away, like he’d seen the light.

And that doesn’t warrant a plane ticket? I eyed the nearly twenty-four-hour train journey listed on the Amtrak stub.

Bob held his palms out as though to say It’s Christmas. Flights were completely full. What am I supposed to do?

If this guy—I glanced at the page again, Kuthil Ash Kharn—had shopped around for a financial advisor, he wouldn’t be the first alien to do so. Our firm was well known in New York City, but plenty of the aliens had settled in other parts of the world. There were bigger fish than Rosey Financial in those seas, and surely those aliens had investment opportunities too.

I flipped over the paper with the address. The back contained a few brief paragraphs with some information about the client.

We couldn’t find much, and he didn’t fill out our client information form, Bob offered.

Great.

Great! I smiled wide. I’ll send a full report once I’m back in the city.

I know this must be hard, canceling Christmas plans.

I shrugged, shuffling the papers and tickets back into the folder. It’s alright. Who knows, I might still make Christmas Day.

Like I’d ever admit anything different to my boss.

Good luck, Layla. Bob leaned back in his leather chair and ran a hand through slicked-back ash brown hair.

On my way out the door, I hesitated, coming back to my earlier question.

Why didn’t you take this one, Bob? I mean, really? You take all the high-end new clients. And this is… it’s an alien.

Bob drummed his fingers on the edge of his desk. Nervous?

Finally, he sighed, shoulders slumping in resignation.

He asked for a female consultant. Said his kind ‘communicates better’ with the opposite sex.

Oh! I squeaked. What was I supposed to do with that bombshell? Turn around and refuse? Okay!

I smiled again and left Bob’s office.

DECEMBER 21

2

K uthil Ash Kharn arrived on Earth six months ago with the rest of the alien settlers. He has kept largely to himself throughout his stay on Earth. No record of location until he contacted Rosey Financial. No media attention. No criminal reports. No children. No payment remarks. Not married.

I rolled my eyes at the report in the folder Bob had given me. The rest of it was more generic crap like this, put together by our in-house client research guy, who clearly had no idea what to do with an alien. Half of this information wasn’t even relevant to an alien. Payment remarks? Marriage? Children? I made a mental note to give him shit about this later.

I’d Googled the alien’s name the night before. Aside from a mention in an arrival database, no further information was forthcoming. But him insisting on a female consultant made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

Why didn’t I push back when I found out? Bob was a bastard for not telling me this until I pried the information from him myself, but I was not surprised. This was a major fucking warning sign, and I was being sent there alone. Nobody would blame me for just refusing the job. Bob couldn’t fire me over this: I could go to the media, tell them about how my boss wanted to send me cross-country for an alien who demanded a female.

On Christmas, I mumbled, sitting at the tiny desk in my city flat at nine in the morning, leg over knee. My Adidas rubber house slipper slapped against my heel as I jerked my foot up and down. Nerves.

I was well within my right to ‘nope’ right out of all of this.

But I still got into the cab outside my flat an hour later.

Moynihan Hall, I said, lost in my own doubts as the car made its way to the station.

This could be huge for me. Bob would have to give me my own clients and train me up properly after this, or I’d go to any other New York advisory firm, tell them I had an alien client, and get hired on the spot.

Not that aliens were big spenders. It’s just… aliens, man. The uniqueness. The prestige. It was enough to get my foot into any door.

Sure, I wasn’t the best financial advisor. Yet. That’s what happens when you join a firm that gets you to tag along to sit pretty instead of properly training you first thing out of college.

I was a little bitter.

When the Secretary-General of the UN announced in a press conference one day that the governments of the world had been communicating with aliens for the better part of three years and were now introducing free travel between our planets, people thought it was some sort of sick joke. It wasn’t even April.

Many people didn’t believe it until the first shuttle landed and the statuesque creatures emerged, beaming. Not smiling, beaming. Their marble-patterned olive skins exuded an inner light. Their eyes shone unnaturally white, intensified by a blue-tinted glow underneath. Same with their disgustingly perfect teeth. They’d all had braces as children, I was sure of it.

They looked vaguely human, but better. Models on steroids. The males stood between six and eight feet; females were only a little shorter. Their hair changed color in the light, as if they were still deciding what to look like.

Free travel meant them coming here, apparently. They welcomed us to their planet, but said their ships would kill us. We could not withstand the physical force incurred by their faster-than-light travel technology.

Hence the space boom. Every space company in the world was now scrambling to get us to their planet on the outer edge of the Milky Way.

I thought of those first days of the alien arrival as I got onto the silver train. The Viewliner II was old, but renovated. At least Bob got me a bedroom cabin. I slid the door shut with a click, closed the curtains, and put my overnight bag in the seat across from me.

Kuthil Ash Kharn wouldn’t kill me, I’d decided as the train moved. He couldn’t. It would draw too much negative attention. Some people were already none too happy about aliens beaming down from the sky. Plus, surely the aliens had been vetted for murderous tendencies, right?

I realized I forgot to tell anyone where I was going, or that I would not be showing up on Christmas Eve in three days.

Hi, Mom, I said when she picked up the phone. I’ve got some bad news.

She didn’t take it well. I couldn’t tell her about the alien—client information was strictly confidential. I wasn’t sure if species fell under that category, but better safe than sorry. But I sure as hell told her what hotel I’d be staying at and the client’s address, despite the rules on the latter. No way was I going to be another body-in-the-woods news story.

I'll check in twice a day. Morning and night, Mom. If you don’t hear from me, call Bob. Or wait. Call the police. Or Bob. I’ll leave you the number, anyway.

You have a client all the way down South, honey? Mom was confused. Don’t you have enough of them in New York? And why are you so worried?

Mom, I’m a woman traveling alone cross-country. That’s why. I’m sure it’ll be fine, but better just to be safe. You taught me that, remember? And yes, we have enough clients in New York. This is a special client who plans to move to New York, I lied through my teeth and had no trouble doing it. What did that say about me?

After fielding Mom’s questions as best I could, I unwrapped the sad cheese sandwich I’d purchased from the station and dug in.

It would be a long ride.

3

The snows of the north gradually disappeared in the window, replaced by semi-bare trees and brown foliage of the warmer southern climate. I looked at the medium weight down coat slung on the seat next to me. I wouldn’t need it.

On the train, there was nothing to do but process. The trip was arranged so suddenly, up-heaving all my plans. Christmas was important in my family. I’d booked that time off months ago. But I was in this now, and being angry at Bob Rosey wouldn’t change my circumstances.

Instead, I could strive to appreciate the impromptu adventure. I was on a train, hot Lipton tea steaming in my hands. Stars winked in the clear sky overhead. How many of their ships orbited up there, watching us? It was late, but I was overcome by a newfound buzz of energy. I was going to meet an actual alien. What had I been whining about?

The aliens kept to themselves. We expected some sort of integration effort, at first. That didn’t happen. When cornered by reporters, they appeared disengaged and aloof. They knew our words, but didn’t understand anything about our world. Their lack of ability or desire to learn about our ways didn’t win them many friends planetside. It did, however, heighten the mystery factor for humans who were already brimming with curiosity about these fascinating new beings.

And now I was going to meet one of them—to give him financial advice, which I wasn’t even very good at. I stifled the performance anxiety and climbed up to the upper bunk in the cabin, focusing instead on the gentle thudding of train wheels against the rails.

DECEMBER 22

4

The Amtrak Viewliner II bedroom cabin came standard with its own shower, which I was glad to take advantage of the next morning. I changed into casual blue jeans for the day of travel ahead. My business dress was reserved for the next day, when I’d be meeting the alien for our advisory session.

I blotted a dab of Vaseline on my lips and tied my hair into a high ponytail. The blonde balayage desperately needed a toning appointment, having turned into more of a warm brown. But it still faded well into my charcoal roots, a far cry from the harsh grow-out I’d experienced when bleaching it myself at home as a teenager. I cringed at the memory.

I inserted simple gold hoops into my ears and gave myself a last once-over in the mirror as the train was coming to a stop in Birmingham.

It’ll do.

I did not know how Bob expected me to get to Mobile from there, but damn if I wasn’t getting my payback by getting a three-hour cab.

Speak of the devil.

An SMS from Bob Rosey came in just as I was looking up local cab companies.

The client has sent a car to meet you at the Birmingham station. The driver will have a card with your name.

I balked. Was that safe? Should I refuse?

Yes. Yes, I should.

Slinging my travel bag over my shoulder as I walked through the station, I saw the driver: a middle-aged woman with graying hair in khaki trousers and a jean jacket, holding a sign that had Layla Oberman in printed block letters.

Mrs. Oberman? she asked when she met my eye.

Yes, I replied, not correcting her. Let them think that a big, strong husband is there to check up on me.

She held out her hand. Bruce Welljoy. Right this way, I’ve got a car waiting.

She seemed harmless enough. I followed her outside, where she led me to a black Lincoln Town Car that was entirely incongruent with the rest of her vibe. She was too casual to be driving that thing.

Get in then. We got a long drive ahead, she opened the rear door for me. I peered inside. The car was empty. No surprise murderers awaited me, and the middle-aged, homely lady didn’t look like the type.

I got in.

It’ll be a long trip, Mrs. Oberman. There’s snacks and sandwiches in the back for you.

Please, call me Layla. Can I sit up front?

You sure can!

I’ll have one of those sandwiches, though.

I munched on a chicken and cheese sandwich as we pulled out of the station parking lot.

After about ten minutes of silence, I began my subtle interrogation.

Do you drive for Mr. Ash Kharn often? I asked.

I sure do! And it’s Kuthil Ash Kharn. It’s all a first name. His kind don’t have last names, she corrected.

I made a mental note, reticent of the fact that had I insisted on grabbing a cab, I wouldn’t have gotten this piece of information.

That’s quite a mouthful though, so sometimes we just call him Kak, she continued.

Kak? I chortled, wiping sandwich crumbs from my lips.

Never to his face, though. To his face, Kuthil Ash Kharn.

Noted, I said. What’s he like?

She drummed thick fingers on the steering wheel and pursed her lips for a long moment.

Oh, a deer! The Town Car jerked to a semi-halt, seatbelt taut against my chest as she hit the brakes, just long enough for the bolting animal to finish its prance into the brush on the other side.

Looks young, that one, the woman tutted. Gotta be careful.

You, or the deer? I asked.

Well, both, ‘course. No winners in that crash.

I was pretty sure the big hunk of metal would win, but I wasn’t about to argue.

So how many other ladies at your firm had to fight for this job? Bruce Welljoy gave me a sly look.

None… I’m the only woman at the company. Why did he insist on a female advisor?

Even calling myself an advisor made me feel like an impostor. For the last two years at the firm, my advisory duties were limited to attending introductory meetings with drooling bank and tech bros. I understood the point. Rich dude sees an attractive woman in a meeting, hires her firm immediately. If they coupled the bait with some actual training and professional development, I might not even mind that much.

The aliens didn’t seem to hold any such attractions. Despite being the image of statuesque gods and blowing up the Internet with fan fiction and other material fantasizing about human-alien entanglements, the attraction did not seem to be reciprocated. No alien had been known to have any sort of sexual relations with a human. I couldn’t blame them. Why would you want to have sex with us when people on your planet look like that? Suddenly, humans felt like the Wal-Mart Celebrity version of ourselves. We had been outshined.

Science fiction invasion stories with plenty of killing and body snatching on both sides did not prepare me for this weird level of indifference.

So why would he specifically request a woman?

All further questions about my client were expertly thwarted with Southern charm, and I eventually gave up. What little Bruce Welljoy divulged implied the man was not to be feared, save for being careful about using his full name. I’d have to try not to call him Kak, now that the nickname was seared into my memory.

I got a call from my brother on the ride, raging that my boss was making me work not just on a weekend, but over Christmas.

Who the hell does he think he is? I’d have quit on the spot, Omar seethed on my behalf.

It’s a unique situation. An important client, I explained.

No one is that important. You really need to stand up for yourself more, Layla. How could a financial advice session be so urgent? They’re really walking all over you over there.

Having already gone through the entire outrage process myself, I wasn’t up for rehashing it with my twin brother. Rosey Financial was a respected firm, and having the chance to work there was considered a tremendous accomplishment. And they paid well. I looked at my freshly manicured nails. I could afford nice things.

Besides, I’d already decided to look at this as an opportunity—the once-in-a-lifetime kind. Surely this was a display of Bob’s faith in my abilities. And I had plenty of abilities. They just needed to be honed.

Look, Omar, I have to go, I said as we drove past a green sign that hailed, Welcome to Mobile!

Just try to get this done fast so you can at least make Christmas Day. Nat and I have an announcement.

I’ll try. Okay. Love you too. Bye.

The driver looked over at me. Folks mad about you missing Christmas?

Oh, they understand. I didn’t know how much of our discussion would get back to the alien.

Not to worry. I bet you’ll be in ‘n out of here right quick. Back to the concrete jungle in no time.

Yeah? What makes you say that?

Kak doesn’t like to waste time, in my experience. Just tells you what he needs, or gets whatever he’s lookin’ for from you, and then goes back to his horses.

Horses?

Oh, you’ll see.

5

When we entered Mobile, I double checked the name of my hotel booking.

Sweetwater Hotel, I told the driver.

Oh, no, ma’am. I was instructed to take you straight to the ranch for introductions.

Huh?

Umm no, my meeting with Kak—I mean, Kuthil Ash Kharn—is not until tomorrow. I’ll go straight to my hotel, thanks, I said.

I’m sure your employer just didn’t properly relay the plans. Kak definitely intends to meet you today!

I cursed Bob in my head, firing off a quick message to ask him what was up. Part of me was wondering if I should demand she stop the car and catch a cab to the hotel myself. Glancing at myself in the rear-view mirror, I adjusted my hair and smoothed my striped black and white shirt. I hadn’t dressed for a client meeting.

Don’t worry, Kak’s casual. This isn’t New York, Bruce Welljoy said, apparently picking up on my concern.

Aside from the sudden change of plans, was there any harm in meeting the client a day earlier? Did I want to start my working relationship with an alien on the wrong foot by refusing to see him?

Fine.

Another day, another compromise.

When we pulled up to a white-painted sign that read Ark Ranch and into a long gravel driveway, a tiny part of me wondered if this was a joke. Did Bob set me up? Was I really about to meet an alien rancher? A handful of grazing horses, most donning covers of mismatched colors, populated the brown fields on either side of the long driveway.

The driveway ended in a rounded cul-de-sac abutting a red brick house, solidly built, in my expert opinion as someone who’s seen plenty of shoddy brick New York apartments.

A wooden porch led up to white double doors.

Does Kak own this place? I asked when the car came to a halt. The driver drummed her fingers on the wheel, waiting.

Not yet. But I’d venture to say that’s why you’re here, she smiled.

When I was standing in the soft chill of Alabama winter, the Town Car rumbled off back down the driveway, tires crunching on gravel. I was left with nothing but wind and the distant thumping of hooves digging into hard ground in the fields.

So… Kuthil Ash Kharn wanted financial advice for buying a farm. Our meeting would probably be over quickly, ending with my advising him to get an estate lawyer. At least I might not miss all of Christmas, though Bob wouldn’t be too happy.

I smoothed my down parka, checked my lipstick in a compact I always kept in my pocket, and ascended the steps to the porch.

There was no doorbell. I took hold of the heavy wrought-iron knocker and… knocked.

Here we go.

The door opened with barely a whisper, well lubed hinges sighing. A young woman in a flannel shirt, dark blue jeans, and tan sheepskin house slippers stood before me.

Can I help you? she asked in a high-pitched chirp.

Um. Yes, thanks. Layla Oberman, advisor from Rosey Financial. I’m here to meet Mr. Kuthil Ash Kharn.

Right this way, before you let the chill in!

What chill?

Okay, I was exaggerating. It was pretty cold. Clouds had rolled over the already gray sky, the sun struggling to peek out onto the expansive fields.

I stepped inside and saw a row of slippers lined against the wall.

Shoes off? I asked.

God, I hope not.

Oh no, it’s fine. Right this way.

It was only two o’clock in the afternoon, but I felt like I was at the end of a long day as the girl led me through the entrance room, down a white-painted hall.

She took me to a large sitting room with a picture window spanning the full wall. It was looking darker by the minute out there, but inside the temperature was pleasant. Better temperature controlled than my drafty apartment, that’s for sure. Warm light bathed forest green fabric furniture. If not for the gloomy weather, the vast window and bright decor would’ve made for an open, light terraced atmosphere. As it was, the churning sky darkening the fenced fields outside the house made the place feel ominous—a front seat to an angry heaven.

Just wait here. I’ll go get Kak!

I suppressed a smile.

Kak.

I worked the gold bangle on my wrist with nervous hands, unsure what to do with myself in the foreign space, and uncomfortable in my casual clothes. Had I shown up in this for a client meeting in New York, Bob would not have been amused.

Both the driver and the girl at the door seemed to look well enough, at least. High spirits and in seemingly good health, usually a good sign that you weren’t in the home of an axe murderer.

I stood in front of the window, looking out at the pastures abutted by lines of forest and a faraway neighbor’s farmhouse in the distance. A wall clock ticked the seconds off, each click of the hand tightening the nervous lump in my gut. I was about to meet an alien. Fear tinged with excitement bubbled in my chest.

Mrs. Layla Oberman. I spun toward the deep voice behind me.

Here we go.

He was unreal. For a moment, my brain refused to believe the entity standing in front of me was really there. I realized I’d opened my mouth to start a greeting, but was gaping instead.

Mr. Kak.

Shit.

I mean…

It’s Kuthil Ash Kharn. His expression darkened. The very first words out of my mouth already started us off on the wrong foot.

And that fucking voice. The words were understandable, but the quality of the baritone was distinctly inhuman. It rolled from his mouth in a deep pitch that didn’t seem to come from his throat. I couldn’t put a finger on it, but even if he had looked like a regular person, I’d be able to tell otherwise by that voice alone.

Of course. I apologize.

I prefer to use my full name, Mrs. Layla Oberman, he drove the point home.

I understand, Mr. Kuthil Ash Kharn. I, on the other hand, am very happy to go by Layla. I forced a practiced smile and worked up the nerve to approach the client, hand outstretched.

His large hand enveloped mine in its entirety. His grip was firm. I preferred that to the limp handshake most of our clients insisted on giving me. Sometimes they would try to go in for a gag-inducing kiss on the hand.

When we parted, my hand tingled.

I just touched an alien!

I resisted beaming in stupid elation, hoping he hadn’t noticed my struggle.

I was surprised you wanted to meet today, as our appointment is tomorrow, I said, forcing my mind off of the sheer excitement of having touched a being from another planet.

Kuthil Ash Kharn tilted his head in mild acknowledgement and gestured to one of the green couches in front of the window. I took the prompt and sat. He lowered himself onto the couch across, relaxed in his posture. He sprawled his arm along the back and stretched his long legs across the floor between us, crossing them at the ankle.

I apologize. Human service customs are still new to me. I thought it was customary to meet the client as soon as possible.

Oh, of course, I flustered, suddenly defensive. But sometimes circumstances can be more complicated. You often settle in and get your bearings after long journeys. Hence setting appointment times in advance, I said pointedly.

Silence, one that I refused to break. I looked at him, hands folded in my lap. My brain wanted to dart from one feature to the next, consuming the ethereal quality of him, searing the experience of seeing an alien up close into my memory. But I had a job to do, and blatantly scrutinizing the client’s appearance was not part of it. I knew all too well how that felt.

Besides, his eyes were fascinating enough. Almond-shaped, with golden irises speckled with darker brown flecks. Pupils black, like a human. But a faint blue glow illuminated the whites of his eyes from within. They gleamed in stark contrast to the darkness of