His Prize (Earth Women for Alien Warriors #2) - Luna Kingsley

1

I shield my eyes from the intense Zimanthi sun and scan the horizon for signs of civilization. Signs of life. Signs of anything.

All I see is sand.

"That jerk probably dropped us at the wrong coordinates." Kendra extends her hand to the sky and gives our transport pilot an enthusiastic middle-finger salute as he departs for deep space.

"I doubt it," I say. "He needs their business too much." I'm not happy our hosts haven't arrived yet, but I don't feel the raw panic I see in the eyes of other women. Our employers paid a small fortune to bring us here. I can't imagine they'd fly us halfway across the galaxy only to abandon us. Hopefully they're just running a little late.

"I'd love it if they'd show up sooner rather than later," I say. We've only been standing here for ten minutes, give or take, but I'm ready to burst into flames.

The Zimanthi climate reminds me of humid summer nights from my childhood—we lived in a third-floor apartment with no air conditioning. My mom hailed from Florida and saw no use for it, but it's not like we could have afforded it even if she did, so my siblings and I made do with cool washcloths on our foreheads and cheap box fans that accomplished next to nothing as we tossed and turned until dawn.

To this day, I hate being uncomfortably warm. When I turned eighteen and rented my first studio apartment, there was not even a question that it have central air.

I wipe my sweaty brow with the back of my hand and study the Zimanthi sun with my peripheral vision. They have one star in their system, just like we do on Earth, but it's substantially larger than ours and beats down on us mercilessly. With my pale complexion, I'm used to slathering on sunscreen, and I'm glad I did the moment my feet hit the sand. Some of the other women are starting to look a little pink. I slip the Coppertone tube from my pack and start passing it around.

There's nowhere to go for relief. Not a hint of shade in sight and the sand itself is every bit as hot as the air. I'm glad I put on sturdy boots—the dainty flip-flops I favored back home would have been a foolish choice. As it is, I fight the urge to shift my weight and hop on my tiptoes. Like I'm a barefoot kid crossing hot asphalt in the height of summer.

I rummage through my pack to distract myself and create a mental inventory of my supplies. My hand bumps against my canteen and I feel the reassuring slosh of the water within. My mouth is dry as a sweat sock but I'm determined to hold out until I absolutely need it.

There are no obvious sources of water here. No greenery or plants that might indicate the presence of moisture and no clouds in the sky to signal rain. Just sand and rocks in every direction for miles.

A warm breeze stirs but offers no relief. Instead, it carries a shower of sand and the stink of jet fuel from our recently departed ride. Particles of silt cling to me everywhere. The grit is in my hair, on my face, and creeping into my mouth.

Our transport should have waited until the Zimanthis arrived at the rendezvous point, and I'm pissed about it. I know our captain had other customers waiting, and he wasn't overly fond of us humans, but we should be sitting in the shade of the cargo bay right now. Instead, he dumped us on this hot-as-hell planet and hauled ass back into space.

We could have been a little more cautious, I'll admit. We grabbed our meager belongings and raced down the ramp like it was a race as soon as the ship shuddered to a stop. We were all eager to disembark after twenty-seven days aboard that outdated rust bucket.

The flight was my first taste of interplanetary travel and not at all what I imagined. I knew it wouldn't be fancy (contractors like us, hired to do grunt work in the Zimanthi mines, hardly expected world-class accommodations), but I had hoped for a small window where I could gaze at the galaxy from time to time. My heart sank when we were loaded into a windowless cargo bay like cattle at a meat market.

I didn't complain.

Taking a job like ours requires a level of desperation, financial or otherwise, that's hard to imagine. We were just grateful