The Alien's Match (Le'vris Dragons Book 2)

ONE

MYRA

I walk down the slumps, studying chipped merchant tables for copper wire. It's hard to see anything. The streetlights won't turn on, since the town has met its daily quota of electricity.

"'Ey, Myra. I got paid today. Let me take you on a date."

I laugh at Sebastian—or as I call him, Sob-bastian. He's sixty-five to my twenty-five and determined to make me his sugar baby, although the only "sugar" he can offer is soured and expired.

"I'd rather take myself out," I reply.

"Where you gonna go?"

"I'll take myself out of this world before I go anywhere with you."

"Damn, girl, you're cold as hell."

I chuckle. I have no time to date, anyway. Humans have little time for fun. Our most popular hobby is survival.

I pick up a wrench from his crooked wooden table full of oily gears, wires, and other odd tools. "And yet you insist on flirting. Let's talk business. Did you get your hands on a condenser coil?"

For the past few months, I've been a mechanic. I enjoy experimenting with careers, although I don't master them all. I was a hairdresser for five minutes before learning that baldness is no longer in style.

It takes everything to survive this postapocalyptic world. Decades ago, dragons appeared and terrorized humanity into New York's subway system. Millions died, and the world became a wasteland of ash. I lived my childhood in tunnels, afraid of sunlight and the monsters that claimed the blue sky. They say the dragons that attacked weren't in their right mind, but that's not enough to forgive them after all the trauma.

"Nah, I don't have any new parts," Sebastian says, scratching his generous belly. "Things are tough, since that rotten loan shark is chasing me. Sorry, Myra."

I dip my chin. "It's okay. I'll see you next week." I turn and leave. Home is just down the block. I live in a building that's a gust of wind away from falling over. It's dangerous and grimy, but it's home, and I'm grateful to have a roof over my head.

I take the long way home because it's trash-burning day and everyone has a barrel of smoking trash in their backyard. Eager chatter makes me stray away from the sidewalk. There's a group of prostitutes gathered around an announcement board.

I approach them, curious. "Hey, ladies. What's with the commotion?"

They part, their short skirts swaying. I examine the handwritten poster that's nailed to the wood and scoff. I've seen this before; it's all over town. Over the past ten years, the dragons have tried to make amends for the death and destruction they caused. They bring resources to Earth, and their latest is the "matching program."

I scan the poster. Nearby, an older man reads the poster aloud for those that are illiterate.

"Human women are wanted for procreation! Le'vris warriors will provide their assigned females riches, protection, and sexual satisfaction for a lifetime. Our warriors range from twenty-one to thirty Earth years. These males have been tested in combat and possess Olympic endurance and optimal volumes of testosterone. Visit your local embassy to enlist! Applicants must be fertile, sane, and willing to move to planet Le'vris."

There's a drawing of a Le'vris male beside the words, but I don't need it. I once saw a dragon in his human form, so captivating that the memory remains fresh. He was tall and broad, his hands made to grip a woman's hips until there was fire between her thighs. His regal features were familiar but not quite human: crimson eyes, pitch-black hair, high cheekbones, sharp teeth, and translucent scales on his back that shone in the sunlight. It's easy to spot dragons. They're too muscular to be human, and their skin varies in bronze shades like their bodies are treasures. The most telling giveaway, though, is their deadly confidence.

There's an appeal to the matching program, but I can't apply after everything the dragons have done. Betray humanity by becoming a baby factory for comforts? Never. I'd rather keep staining my hands with oil and breaking my nails handling gears. Earth is polluted, crime-ridden, and diseased, but it's resilient. Nothing will make me abandon it. Not the starvation that sent me dumpster diving, not the infection that nearly took my leg, not the malnutrition that takes my menstrual cycles, not the rats that claim my apartment.

I bid the ladies goodbye, wish them luck on their applications, and go home.

"Winter, I'm here," I pant. Climbing the stairs to the fifth floor always leaves me winded. I find her in our bedroom, shoving wrinkled, unfolded clothes into a ripped suitcase.

"Winter?"

She looks over her shoulder, narrowing her brown eyes on me. "Did you read the poster? The one about marrying the dragons?"

"Of course I did. It's the talk of the town. Why?"

"I'm going. I'm sick of working in that damn tailor shop. Fuck this life."

I sigh and rub my forehead. I just worked nine hours to earn the slices of bread I had for lunch. Calories are the currency of life, and I hate burning through them with senseless arguments. "I can help you find a new job. I can teach you a few things. Leaving Earth and playing house with dragons isn't an overnight decision. You may..." I exhale. "You may never see me again."

Winter has always been impulsive, often getting into costly and dangerous trouble. But she has also protected me, so cutting her off was never an option. She's family.

She turns, and her brown ponytail whips the air. There's a look in her eye I know well. Unlike what her name might suggest, Winter has a fiery temper. Cruelty is never far behind. It's the smoke of her anger.

"Only a fool would give up this opportunity to escape this hell. There's nothing wrong with marrying and being a housewife."

"I know, but—"

"You're the last person who should give me advice. Even after you were with your boyfriend for an entire year, working your ass off at his shitty diner, he left. All because you were too prudish to sleep with him. So what do you know about relationships?"

The hurtful words don't sting. Not anymore. I've heard them so often that they have become more familiar than my estranged sister.

I keep my shoulders squared. "I learned I don't owe an abusive man anything."

She sighs. "I'm sorry, Myra. But this is for the best." Then she walks out the door.

I yell my frustration and throw myself on our thin, stained mattress. This is our cycle: peace, anger, distance, and a chase. I'm usually the one chasing her because I fear being alone. I cling to my warm memories with people, even if they fade with every argument and insult. I prefer a bitter sister over a lonely apartment that only gets visited by vermin.

I close my eyes and relax my breathing. I think of the wonderful moments in our childhood. We lost our parents at a young age and have been close since, even if we lived under a dozen bridges and abandoned cars.

What went wrong?

When I awake later, I realize hours have passed, and Winter is still not home.

She's gone.

I grab my ID card, coins, and keys. Then I lock the apartment and run for the embassy. Winter has to be there. She couldn't have left the planet already.

My breathing quickly becomes labored. There's a pinched pain under my ribs, but I keep running. I will get past any pain, any dragon, to see her.

This is the end of the sample. This story is on: https://hyzr.app.link/TheAliensMatch