Enslaved by aliens. (Cue the dramatic jazz hands.) Yeah, I know what you’re thinking. I saw it coming a mile away too. Doesn’t change the fact that here I am, sharing a cage with my fellow human peers—my smelly, crybaby, annoying female peers. You can sit at home and roll your eyes at just how predictable this story has already become or you can hear me out. —Earth destroyed by evil carnivorous(shudder)aliens—check. —Humans then saved by not as frightening but still visually alarming (think cats and a vat of radioactive ooze) do-gooder aliens—check. —Do-gooder aliens loaded up surviving humans to whisk them away to some fanciful far away planet so they can live out the rest of their traumatized lives in somewhat safety and peace. Check. Well…kind of. I made it on the ship. I lived on the ship zipping through space. Then the do-gooder aliens got their asses handed to them by pirate slavers and said pirate slavers snatched us physically inferior humans right out from under the radioactive cats’ noses and tossed us in cages delivered straight to alien slave auctions. Hungry, smelly, thirsty, and sunburned like you would not believe, I was finally bought. (I feel I need to stress the smell…I was peed on. It was not fun.) This is the part in the story that’ll veer right off the predictable train and land me smack dab in the middle of Crazyville. Sexy—in their own alien way—built like a brickshithouse—green viking-wanna-be warriors bought me and handed me over to their chief and presented me as a gift—like a slab of meat. I expected something like this to happen. For that alien to then make me his queen—(whoops, I mean chieftess …Fenru gets all hot and pissy when I screw up the hierarchy) —not quite surprising but I’d take the welcome happenstance, I am, after all, an avid fan of sparkly crowns. What threw me through a loop was when I was then expected to battle a roaring pack of enraged females to prove my worth and keep my man. These babes are not your average catty hair pulling vixens. My cat fighting experience(I had four spoiled rotten sisters) does me no good here in their arena. Oh, no…they have fists—twice the size of my own and have no fear of a measly broken nail. Biceps for days—and they know how to use the power behind them. Oh, and did I mention these green gladiators have a nasty little habit of flying off into a fit of rage and hulking out all over their enemies? And my man…my arrogant, battle-hardened, bossy, manipulative, makes-me-want-to-rip-his-beautiful-balls-right out-from-under-him sexy piece of man meat, thinks I can win. In fact, he expects it. Hah! Who said I even wanted to expend the effort for his sorry ass? They can have him. This story is a standalone romance. ***Warning. For readers 18 years and older. Contains explicit sexual situations, dark themes, language, and violence.***