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The Alien’s Bond - img_1


Copyright © 2023 by Kira Quinn

All rights reserved.

Print Edition ISBN 978-1-945996-99-3

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.

Cover by MiblArt



Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

38. Bonus Content

About the Author

Books By Kira Quinn



“Come on, Dar, stay a little longer! Pleeeeeease!” Tamara whined. “It’s not that late.”

Darla looked around her friend’s apartment and gauged the level of festivities still underway. Tammy was right, it wasn’t really all that late, at least not by her standards, but things were nevertheless winding down. On top of that, all the available men had already been reeled in by Tammy’s more forward friends.

By forward, she meant slutty.

Damn. Some nights I wish I could just pick up strange like that, consequences be damned, Darla quietly lamented.

She longed to live it up and throw caution to the wind, but she was always the responsible one. The one you came to if you needed a ride home, or when you needed someone to watch your back on a night out while you overdid it to an extent that would have made Caligula blush.

Nope, Darla simply wasn’t that person. She’d fantasized about it plenty of times, sure, but putting those imagined debaucherous actions into practice? It just never happened. Still, maybe tonight would be the night she stepped out of her comfort bubble. Maybe tonight she’d take a strange man home and do unspeakable things with him.

She gave the dwindling crowd one last glance, clocking those who had paired up and were well on their way to doing what she so desperately wished was in the cards for her. Around and around she looked, but the only remotely interesting man left unspoken for was Earl, and there was simply no way in hell she would stoop that low. Even if she had gotten shit-blind drunk, there was no chance.

The only reason he kept popping up at Tammy’s parties was because he was her old friend from back in the day. The guy who was always around, and who over the years had bedded, or attempted to bed, just about every one of her friends. At least, those who would lower their standards enough to give him a shot.

The worst part of it? Darla had heard through the grapevine that despite his braggadocio and big dick energy, Earl wasn’t terribly well endowed. That was something that could be worked around with a little imagination and a lot of enthusiasm, but Earl failed to make up for his shortcomings, refusing to go down on a woman, saying it was gross, while simultaneously insisting she suck on his tiny dick.

Why anyone would sink that low was beyond her.

Desperation, she thought. Desperation and lack of self-respect. And I lack one and have plenty of the other. She turned to her friend. “Listen, Tammy, you know I’d love to stay, but I’ve got work tomorrow and can’t stay out too crazy late.”

“Just a little bit longer. C’mon, you know you want to.”


“Just one more drink, then I’ll let you go.”

“I’m driving.”

“So call a rideshare.”

“And then I’ll be without my car in the morning. When I have to go to work. Jeez, Tam, you really suck at this convincing thing.” Darla shook her head with a chuckle as she dug out her keys. “I’m going home. You have fun, okay?”

Tamara leaned in and wrapped her up in a sloppy hug, the smell of fruity alcohol wafting off of her like a reveler at last call in a WeHo tiki bar. “I love you, you know?”

“I know.”

“And you’re, like, my bestest friend.”

“Yeah, you’ve said,” Darla replied, then headed for the door. “Thanks for the party, Tam. It was nice getting out.”

“You need to come over more often.”

“I know, and I promise, I will. Now, drink some water, then go have yourself some fun. And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Tammy let out a snorting laugh. “Shit, no way! That won’t leave me anything fun.”

“Ha-ha. Love you too. Call me when you finally get up and let me know you’re alive, okay? Just leave a message if I can’t answer.”

“Yuppers. Will do, Captain,” Tamara managed without slurring, flashing a little salute then closing the door.

Darla took her time walking down the steps to the street. She’d only had a couple of drinks in the hours she’d been at the gathering, and they had been mild ones at that. Still, she was the responsible one, and she wanted to assess herself free of the distractions of the party. She took a deep breath, then another.

“Yep. Sober,” she noted. “Jesus, is this what my social life has devolved into?”

The walk to her car was relatively short, and in just a couple of minutes she sat in the driver’s seat and swapped out her heels for a pair of comfy athletic shoes. Aah, better. She then buckled up and started the engine. A yawn escaped her lips, and she had a decent drive ahead of her.

Coffee. I need some freaking coffee.

Darla rolled the windows down, cranked up the radio, and pulled out onto the road. It was late enough that any respectable coffee joint would be long closed, but this wasn’t about a steamy cup of the nectar of the gods. This was survival coffee. It didn’t have to be good, as long as it would get the job done.

Like Dylan, she mused with a chuckle. I wonder where he is these days.

The fleeting thought left her as soon as she hit the road. Ten minutes later she pulled into the twenty-four-hour mini-mart attached to a run-down gas station. Bypassing the pumps, she nosed her car into a space right outside the doors and made her way into the cool greenish fluorescent lighting.

“Coffee?” she queried the scruffy man behind the plexiglass barrier at the register.

He nodded his head in the direction of the hot dog machine, full of wieners that had clearly been there most of the day, if not longer. Beside it sat a pair of coffee pots. One sported the orange top of the dreaded decaf. As Darla was fond of saying, the eleventh commandment should have been, “Thou shalt not partake of decaf.”

Luckily, fortune smiled upon her. The pot of the good stuff beside it was full of a wicked smelling brew.

“Buy you a cup?” a raspy voice asked from over her right shoulder.

She glanced at its owner. Average height, lean, but with that wiry kind of muscle from years of hard use. He had to be in his late forties, judging by the silver sprinkled through his hair and stubble, offsetting the dark brown nicely. His eyes were a bright blue, sparkling with mischief, a nice contrast to his dark locks. Despite herself, Darla found herself replying.