Struggling for air, I heard the muffled sound of boots on the hard surface of the cargo hold and a soft humming sound. It was now or never. No story was worth my life. I knew that. I just had to keep repeating it to myself. More convincing, though, was that if I died, I couldn’t tell the story. That stuck a little more.

I bit my lip, hoping I wouldn’t regret it, and hit the side of the box. Nothing happened. How much oxygen had I lost already? I hit again, harder, and then the panic set in as I realized I was probably about to die. Worse yet, I was probably about to die and I had no story to show for it.

None of this had gone according to plan, so why should it start now? Two weeks prior, groundbreaking footage was released, showing conclusive evidence of alien presence on Vaxivia. In a news cycle already dominated by big stories, like the Lord-Case Company’s plans to tap previously unknown massive underground water aquifers, this had taken the cake.

Unfortunately, it was not my cake. The anonymous source who had leaked the footage had sold exclusive rights to Steel City Today, my agency’s biggest competitor.

Having worked my way into the coveted position of investigative reporter and being one of the most notable faces of Vaxivia Global News, I was not about to miss out on what might possibly be the biggest story of our time. It had been a good fifty years since the last publicly confirmed alien visitation had occurred, and that wasn’t the best of circumstances.

Vaxivia, located on the outermost fringes of Earth Federation Space, was particularly vulnerable to alien attacks due to the fact that Earth Federation offered us little to no protection and because of the mineral-rich asteroid belt in Vaxivian-controlled space.

Vaxivians took alien threats seriously, and with good reason. It had been many years since one had presented itself, but the menace loomed in everyone’s mind. A story like this would be huge, and it would polish out my resume for a serious agency, a news organization with reach, like Intergalactica.

I had a contact at LCC who had broken some big stories for me before. No one else was talking. That crazy footage of dragons flying in and out of a burning LCC hangar was all anybody knew. The honchos had come out and assured everyone, pointing to the footage that showed the dragons rescuing trapped workers, that these aliens were benevolent and that the public had no need to fear.

Even with the assurances of the Vaxivian Militia, the unofficial mayor of Steel City, Charles Janeway, and the head of one of the most powerful companies on the planet, Tasha Lord-Case, people were skeptical.

There was more to this story, and I was going to be the one to bust it open. My contact had helped me sneak onto the ship I learned they were rebuilding, but unfortunately, he hadn’t stuck around to make sure my crate was secure or that I could actually breathe. Minor details.

I thumped wildly, and I started to break out in a sweat in the literally suffocating heat of the crate I had so unwisely chosen to smuggle myself in for this covert investigation. I heard the thundering of boots and the heavy sound of containers being shifted.

Cool air started to stream in through the air holes that had somehow gotten covered, and before I knew what was happening, the whole lid was ripped off. I burst out of the stifling confines of the container and sucked in the sweet, fresh air.

Still gasping, I looked up at the looming form above me and my breath, already deprived, caught in my throat. The faint light of the cargo hold highlighted every sculpted muscle of two thick, powerful arms. His face was obscured by the low light and angle, but his dark red hair looked exotic and striking against smooth blue skin.

I swallowed, more than a little afraid. Not that I had much experience with it, but I didn’t imagine my revelation as an attempted stowaway was going to go over well.

For a moment, we both stood, transfixed by shock. Breaking the spell, he reached down and grabbed me. Two large, heavy hands gripped me at the small of my waist and lifted me up and out as if I weighed nothing, which was definitely not the case.

Bringing me up to eye level, or a little lower since he was nearly a foot taller than my five-foot-eight frame, I stood chest to heaving chest with my rescuer. Up close now, I could make out the details of his face. The shadows played upon the muscular square angles of his face. His eyes, sparkling caramel brown, were assessing, and I felt my skin prickle under his gaze.

To my great shock, he leaned in and sniffed me.

“Excuse you!” I exclaimed, putting my hands to the hard wall of his chest to push him back.

He pulled back and smiled. “So you’re what I’ve been smelling in here. I knew there was something.”

I was alarmed by his nearness. His head had dipped low, and the lines of his collar bone were excruciatingly clear. Clothed only in rough pants and a tight, fitted undershirt that accentuated every bulging muscle, I had the wayward urge to reach out and touch the smooth surface of his skin.

His words sank in. “You could smell me?” I asked, surprised and a little self-conscious.

I wasn’t wearing any kind of perfume beyond the usual blood orange scent of my refreshing chamber. Considering I’d been sitting in a cramped little box for the last ten hours, waiting to be loaded, I was a little apprehensive of the notion.

He closed his eyes for a brief moment and inhaled. Something about the act was oddly erotic.

“Citrus fruit, maybe some kind of orange or grapefruit. I don’t know all the varieties of produce you humans cultivate.”

I was impressed and relieved that he didn’t say sweaty socks or something equally mortifying.

“Blood orange, actually.”

His face crinkled. “Blood orange? What an odd flavor of fruit, and I don’t smell the blood.”

I opened my mouth to explain, amused by his literal interpretation, but his face grew serious.

“You look familiar. Who are you? Speak quickly or I’ll assume you’re another Infernian.”

Infernians? That piqued my interest. “Are there Infernians on Vaxivia again? Is that why you’re leaving?”

“You’re on my ship, so I’ll ask the questions and you’ll answer. Let’s try again. Who are you?”

My mind raced for a moment. I had seen what these aliens turned into, as had everyone else on the planet. It seemed unwise to lie, so I decided to go with the truth.

“I’m a reporter with Vaxivia Global News. I came here because the public has a lot of unanswered questions about your presence here and I intend to find those answers. There, I’ve answered your question. Now answer mine,” I said, feeling confident.

“Actually, you didn’t answer my question. I didn’t ask what you do or why you’re here, though that was helpful of you to supply. I asked who you are,” he countered.

“My name is Denise Mercury. And you are?”

“Irritated,” he retorted rather testily.

“That’s not what I—”

“I know what you meant, but you don’t really have any right to ask it, do you? I believe you’re breaking both Steel City ordinances and Vaxivian militia law, not to mention intergalactic travel regulations right now. But what do I know? I’m just an alien invader here to terrorize you,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“So, you admit to an invasion?” I asked, more to get under his skin than because I truly believed it.

He looked up at the ceiling and sighed, showing off the strapping structure of his neck and shoulders.

Looking back challengingly, he replied, “Sorry to disappoint you, little human, but we’re not here to eat you, though I’m sure you would taste delicious.” His words sent little chills of excitement up my back. “And you can certainly keep your lovely dust storms and acid swamps to yourselves. We’re headed home, so there is no further need for your people to be concerned.”

“Well, if you’re nothing but benevolent visitors, why not put the public’s mind at ease? Sit down with me for an interview and I’ll make sure the people of Vaxivia hear your side of things,” I persisted.

“And I can trust you to be fair and accurate because . . .?”

Somewhat insulted, I snapped back, “Because I’m a professional journalist and I’m here because people are legitimately concerned. The last aliens who came to Vaxivia murdered a large number of our citizens, so it’s natural that your presence would raise a lot of curiosity.”

He looked genuine as he replied, “We’re not here to hurt anyone, but we have our reasons for not revealing ourselves, and the public is safer for it, especially now that we’re leaving.”

“Who is we? How many are there of you? Where are you going? Are you returning to your home planet?” I asked, peppering him with questions in the hopes that one of them would stick and I’d get an answer.

“You ask a lot of questions for someone who just nearly suffocated in a crate.”

I felt my cheeks color and hoped, in the low light, that he couldn’t detect my embarrassment.

“Yes. Well, I’m a reporter, so you know, I have a job to do, and sometimes, there are risks.”

“How, exactly, were you going to learn anything from a crate in the cargo hold?” He gestured toward the broken container I had housed myself in.

Sadly, I hadn’t really thought past finding a way onto the ship, so I improvised.

“A good reporter doesn’t reveal their secrets,” I said, injecting a certain amount of condescension into my voice.

“I thought that was magicians,” he said, smiling slightly.

“Maybe I’m a little magical too,” I said, winking. If there was one thing I had learned as a female field reporter in a position still dominated by men, it was that when all else fails, flirt your little heart out.

He raised an eyebrow. “I’ll bet you are. Maybe you’ll be able to use some of that magic to drum up information from another source because, while this odd little interlude has been entertaining, we are leaving, and you’ll not be joining us, crated or otherwise.”

Just then, it felt as if the whole ship vibrated and I had the sensation of my stomach rising into my throat. The vibrating increased to a jerky shaking, and I started to fall backward into the open crate from which I had just emerged.

He grabbed at my forearm to catch me and pull me back, but turbulence shook us again and we both went falling into the container, cushioned only by the blanket I had brought to stave off the cold of space transit.

The heavier of the two of us, he fell first, and I landed with a painful thud on top of him. The shaking continued, but for a moment that melted away, as I was smashed against his hard, brawny body. I was acutely aware of the sensation of my breasts pressed to his torso, a cushion between us.

I looked up into his eyes, and the heavy-lidded look he gave me suggested that he was very much aware of the contact too.

The crate, released from the straps that had run over the top, holding it in place, slid around on the smooth floor, sending us tumbling further. Unfortunately, it was more painful than enjoyable.

In one powerful movement, he leaped out and pulled me with him. Again, I was shocked by the ease with which he maneuvered me. Gripping the straps of boxes, fighting the sensation of climbing through the atmosphere, he pulled me with him toward a doorway at the end of the room.

“Looks like we’re already on our way,” I said, trying to hide my enthusiasm as we got to the door.

He slammed his palm to the panel and the door slid open. “We’ll see about that.”

We wound through a massive hallway, the proportions of which where incredible. His hand still gripped my wrist, but I didn’t struggle. The rough texture on the delicate skin of my wrist was oddly exciting.

“Where are you taking me?” I asked, looking down alternate hallways, trying to memorize every bizarre, ornate detail of the ship’s passages.

“Hopefully, home,” he said, not looking back.

“Your place or mine?” I couldn’t help but tease, though I was banking on the former.