An Alien Berserker for Christmas

  An Alien Berserker for Christmas

  Warriors of the Lathar

  Mina Carter

  New York Times & USA Today Best Selling Author

  Copyright © 2022 by Mina Carter

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Prologue

  His beautiful little human was leaving.

  K’laus of Izaea stood on his side of the forcefield and glowered as the station’s lead healer spoke to her. He wasn’t supposed to be able to see through the privacy setting on the forcefield, but he could. His visual adaptions were different than the ones imperial Lathar were used to, and the healing staff hadn’t realized that yet. Which had allowed him to study the little human at his leisure…

  When she’d been brought in, her face had been motionless—a perfect but distant beauty like the stars he’d looked to as a child, dreaming about the day he would travel among them. Because back then he’d had no doubt that he would qualify to train as an imperial warrior. It was his destiny… his birth right.

  Until the day he’d been tested, and all his dreams came crashing down around his ears. He’d tested positive for the Izaean mutation, so there would be no imperial training for him.

  Instead, he’d been packed off to Parac’Norr, and with each passing year, his blood rage had gotten deeper and more uncontrollable. So bad that he didn’t remember the incident that had landed him here, being poked and prodded by high-level healers as they tried to work out why his rage was even less controllable than a normal Izaean. Why he had attacked and hurt his own brothers…

  He shook his head, cutting those thoughts off and focusing instead on the delicate little human female listening intently to the healer.

  She’d been more dead than alive when they’d brought her in. The instant they had, the instant he’d seen her, everything within him had reset. Clung to her like a compass needle to true north.

  And now she was leaving…

  “Nooooo!” he roared. He threw himself at the forcefield as he was forced to watch her walk away from him, down the middle of the medical bays, and out through the double doors.

  He roared and beat at the forcefield, trying to get to her. Trying to follow her. But it was no good, the field wouldn’t give. Finally, he slid down the wall, his gaze fixed on the doors she’d left through, his eyes glittering and focused.

  It didn’t matter how long it took.

  He would escape.

  He would find her.

  He would make her his…

  1

  “Welcome to Faulkner Gen-Mod. How can we help you?”

  The bright and perky greeting of the receptionist grated on Holly Walters’ last nerve. She yanked her wayward wheeler case to a halt. Or she would have, only the case had other ideas. Its one wonky wheel, previously perfectly behaved, veered off to the left and caused the case to slam into the back of her leg. Her lips pressed into a thin line, juggling a paper travel mug of coffee and trying not to spill it down herself as she looked at the bubbly blonde who stared at her with absolutely no recognition in her eyes.

  Great. She was new. Another one. Maggie must have aged out. Dean preferred only bright and young as the “face of the company.” Mid-twenties was it when it came to receptionists.

  “Hi,” she said, forcing a bright smile to her face. “I’m Holly Walters, one of the lead gen-mod keepers here. I… lost my security tab—”

  She hadn’t lost it. It had been eaten by a vicious, man-eating tiger that had been fairly intent on eating her as well.

  “Oh, right!” The girl’s eyes widened. “I’m so sorry. We weren’t expecting you today! Let me just get you a new tab printed off.”

  “Thank you. I’d appreciate it.” She smiled, leaning one elbow against the sleek, metal counter as the girl busied herself at the other end of the expanse. She turned and looked around at the huge foyer. It was all metal and chrome, with arty shots of animals displayed on the huge screens suspended overhead. A reassuring, authoritative male voice droned on in the background, explaining the company’s background.

  With a keen eye on conservation, Faulkner Gen-Mod, in association with its parent company, Faulkner Industries, has successfully reintroduced genetically modified populations of previously extinct species back into their native ecosystems. This focus on conservation…

  Blah blah blah. She tuned the PR out. Yeah, Faulkner Gen-Mod was squeaky clean on the surface, but its CEO, Dean, was utterly focused on profit. The conservation angle was just that—an angle. Most of the company’s efforts went into providing gen-modded animals for rich clients. Very rich clients were prepared to pay a lot for pets they couldn’t get anywhere else.

  She turned away from the screen as it flicked to a view of the savanna and a familiar orange, white, and black striped face came into view.

  Attila. She closed her eyes and breathed, ignoring the flashbacks of being pinned under a massive feline body. The white of lethal fangs. Hot agony as her flesh was torn and ripped. Blood. Blood everywhere.

  She swallowed, trying to put the thoughts from her mind. Attila was a special case. He’d been boosted to near human intelligence levels, which she’d argued was a mistake at the time—a big mistake. Tigers were apex predators with a natural intelligence… boosting that was a disaster waiting to happen.

  The attack wasn’t her fault. She’d been played. She knew that. But—

  “Ms. Walters,” the receptionist said behind her. “Your tab?”

  “Doctor Walters,” she replied automatically as she turned. “Thank you so much.”

  She reached out for the tab, but the girl held it just out of reach.

  “I… don’t think anyone’s expecting you,” she said, a look of indecision on her face.

  Holly reached forward and plucked the tab from her fingers. “That’s fine. I’m just going to head up to my office and check on my research.”

  Her prize in hand, she sighed as she headed toward the bank of elevators, new security tab in hand. It was a wonder she didn’t “age out,” as Dean’s girlfriend… arm candy… whatever. How could they be considered an item when he hadn’t even visited her after the attack?

  Shaking her head, she sipped her coffee on the elevator ride up, emerging on the top floor where all the executive offices were. Breezing through the outer doors, she smiled at a surprised-looking Sophie, Dean’s PA, and pushed through into her boyfriend’s office.

  The man in question was standing by the window, comm unit to his ear. He turned, an irritated look on his face, and blinked in surprise when he saw her. It didn’t take him long to recover.

  He covered his comm unit with a hand to mouth at her. “Just give me a minute, okay?”

  Shrugging, she blanked her expression and walked across the office, parking her case by a heavy cabinet and leaning her ass back against it.

  Arms crossed, she sipped her coffee as she waited for Dean to finish his call. They weren’t an item, as such. At least, they’d never had that conversation, the actual “are we dating” one.

  It had started with her accom
panying him to official functions, and somehow, everyone had then assumed they were in a relationship… even them. She still had her place but stayed most of the time at his penthouse.

  At least, she did when she wasn’t in an alien hospital. That had made her mind up. They were done. Through. If he couldn’t be bothered to visit her when she was at death’s door, what did they have?

  Nothing. They had nothing.

  She sighed and dropped her empty coffee mug in the trash as he finished his call.

  “Darling! So good to see you!”

  He smiled broadly as he closed the space between them. She ducked to the side, going for air kisses instead of the kiss he was trying to land on her lips.

  A frown on his handsome face, kept that way by very expensive plastic surgeons, he leaned back. “What’s the matter, babe? Rough trip?”

  She blinked. He couldn’t be that dense, surely? But this was Dean James Faulkner, the third, they were talking about. Worshipper of the almighty credit.

  “What’s the matter? Oh gee, I don’t know, Dean,” she threw back. “Rough trip… I could’ve broken a nail… almost got killed by your fucking pet project tiger! And to top it all off, my boyfriend…” She air-quoted. “Didn’t even bother to visit me.”

  He looked uncomfortable.

  “You know I don’t like to use such outdated and exclusive terms, Hols,” he said chidingly.

  Oh, okay… he was more bothered about her calling him her boyfriend than anything else she’d said.

  “And besides,” he added, throwing more fuel on this raging dumpster fire. “It would have been an admission of guilt that subject 10-C was defective. That’s if I could even have gotten up there. Those aliens—”

  “Were more than happy for family to visit,” she interrupted him. “Given the serious nature of the injuries. Like the fact I almost died.”

  Speaking about it in such a detached way made it easier. Like she wasn’t the one who’d lain in a hospital bed, on death’s door, with no visitors. Suddenly she felt sad. Dean was her only family. Her dad had died years ago, and since then it had just been her… and her work. Until Dean. Yeah, well… if it hadn’t been for the odd, raging alien in the bed next to hers, she’d have had no company at all while she recovered. Not that she remembered a lot of it. She’d spent most of it sleeping.

  But still, it would have been nice for her boyfriend… Nope, he wasn’t that, she decided abruptly. If he couldn’t be bothered to visit when she’d nearly died, she was so done with the relationship.

  “So… we’re done,” she said, surprised to find her heart wasn’t pounding in her chest. Instead, she felt a sense of completion… of rightness. “And I’m back. I want to get back in the saddle. What do we have up next?”

  She looked at him, one eyebrow raised, imagining projects in the far-flung corners of the world. Somewhere remote, preferably well away from the office, where she could recuperate in her own time and give herself space from him.

  Dean froze, a guilty look washing over his face.

  “What?” she demanded. “What is it?”

  “Well… that’s the problem, Hols. We, well we didn’t think you were coming back, so we hired on a new lead scientist,” he said with a wince. “I don’t have anything for you. Well, there is one job…”

  ❖

  “A new lead scientist! Can’t freaking believe it…” Holly muttered as the train pulled to a stop at the resort station. Her temper had been simmering since she’d left the office and boarded a transport direct to her new assignment. There was no point in going home, after all.

  She’d been going to until Sophie had run after her with the delightful news that Dean had ordered her apartment packed up and her things put into storage when she’d been injured. Apparently, no one had expected her to survive.

  So she was down a boyfriend and a place to live.

  She pursed her lips as she pulled her carry-on down from the overhead rack. It was completely understandable that no one had expected her to survive an attack like that, and if not for the alien medical team, she wouldn’t have. Their capabilities were so far in front of humanity’s that she didn’t even have a scar to show for her tangle with Attila. But her scars, or lack thereof, weren’t the problem. What stung, what really stung, was the fact that Dean had moved on so quickly. It just reinforced that she’d made the right decision. He hadn’t even said anything to her breaking up with him.

  “Seriously, it’s not even been two weeks,” she bit out under her breath as she joined the slow-moving queue of passengers disembarking first class.

  At least he’d sprung for that… she’d always traveled first class to all her assignments, but she didn’t know what the protocol was for inconveniently not-dead staff. For all she knew, it could be something completely different to what she was used to.

  Taking a deep breath, she managed a smile and a small thanks for the attendant bidding them goodbye. Just because she was having a shitty day… week… month… didn’t mean she should be mean to someone just trying to do their job.

  “Enjoy your stay in Christmas Falls!” the woman replied chirpily. “Merry Christmas!”

  Her smile froze and she hurried out. She hated Christmas, with the passion of a thousand fiery suns. That wasn’t a new thing. She’d hated the season since her father had died when she was a teenager.

  Her mother had never gotten over it, and although she’d never wanted for anything… the best clothes, the best schools, beach holidays twice a year at exclusive resorts… it had been like Christmas no longer existed. At least not for the Walters household.

  Like her father, they’d never spoken of it again. Each year her mother, a socialite extraordinaire, disappeared somewhere exotic, leaving Holly to fend for herself. That had never bothered her. She’d used the time to study, bringing her grades up high enough to allow her to qualify for a place at Travers Allied, a learning institute that spanned the Terran systems and specialized in gen-mod. She’d left home and never looked back. Her mom was somewhere in the outer systems this year, on some high-class cruise of the Cascade Nebulae.

  She stepped out the door… and got hit in the face with Christmas.

  “Oh. My. God.”

  Her eyes wide, she looked around. It was a scene straight off the front of a Christmas card. The station was on a small rise above a town filled with delightful little chocolate box houses and shops with lights strung from lampposts. A huge Christmas tree sat in the middle of the town square, undecorated for now, but it didn’t take much imagination to see it in full Christmas regalia. The whole thing was surrounded by snow-covered, softly rolling hills rising up to the ever-darkening sky. Christmas carols filled the air, the sound a perfect accompaniment to the smell of hot chocolate from somewhere.

  “Dean, I am going to fucking kill you,” she hissed savagely and yanked her case behind her as she began to trudge through the snow toward the town’s only hotel, Pine Lodge, located behind the town square.

  Half an hour later she made it to the front door, wet up to the knee and frozen to the bone. The walk had taken far longer than she’d expected, rather than the short stroll it had looked like. Something about the bio-dome affected the way her eyes saw distance—a deliberate optical effect to give the illusion the dome was far larger than it actually was.

  Pushing open the front door, she practically fell through it. The heat from the roaring fire near the reception desk hit her, and she bit back a moan, tempted to just collapse into a little puddle on the floor and stay there until her bones thawed out.

  “Well, hello there! Welcome to Pine Lodge!” a bright voice announced, and she swung around to find a receptionist had popped up from behind the desk, broad smile and Santa hat firmly in place. “What can I help you with today?”

  She headed toward him, more dragging than wheeling her carry-on now. When Sophie had said “Christmas resort,” she’d expected a light dusting of snow, some lights… more glitz and fantasy than actual freaking snow.


  “I’d like to check in please. I have a booking.”

  Exhausted, she managed a small smile from somewhere. She’d been on her feet since leaving the alien space station this morning, which had taken hours… or rather, it had taken her hours to pass through customs and immigration where the staff seemed to consider her no longer human. As if a brief trip on an alien ship for medical reasons had suddenly changed her entire species.

  “Of course, let me just check for you in the system. What’s the name?” the receptionist, whose name tag had “Robert” printed in neat letters on it, asked with a smile.

  It seemed to be a permanent fixture, either down to the fact he was a perpetually happy person… or maybe surgery. If she had to work here, it would definitely be surgery. Her resting bitch face was more appropriate to a Halloween resort than this candy-cane Christmas sweetness.

  “Holly Walters. Faulkner Gen-Mod would have made the booking,” she said, shoving her hand through her damp hair. Wet from the snow, it had already started to curl up thanks to the heat of the fire in the lobby.

  “Oh, yes… here we go. Oh, you’re our new keeper? Pippa will be so pleased. The herd have been fractious since Alison left on maternity leave. They don’t like change, you know, not this close to Christmas.”

  “Uh-huh, yes,” she replied as he set about booking her in, his fingers quick over the keyboard. “New keeper.”

  Of reindeer. She suppressed her sigh. What did she know about reindeer? Sweet freaking nothing. She was a predatory-species specialist; what she knew about herd species could be printed on the back of a stamp. As long as it was a very small one.

  “I’ve put you in room seventeen,” Robert offered her a keycard. “It’s one of our quietest rooms… but not much of a view of the town. I can move you if you prefer?”