Zohra Series Book 3: Harwal
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Nooz Aster
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I fear the big aliens more than anything—yet now I’m stuck with one. He’s cold and unreadable… but there’s something about him that pulls me in.
She’s the crew’s go-to fixer—the fearless one who always handles the hard stuff. At least, that’s what everyone thinks. But behind the tough act is a woman running from her past… and her biggest fear: the towering, horned Zohra aliens. Staying near them? Her worst nightmare. But when the mission demands it, she doesn’t walk away. She dives in—even when it means infiltrating a dangerous lab from her hometown and teaming up with Harwal, a Zohra who’s as unreadable as he is infuriating. He terrifies her. He tempts her. And surviving this mission will mean facing both the enemy outside and the fear inside. Some monsters chase you. Others make you want to chase them right back.
Hell on Earth
Book 3: Harwal
I’m in hell. Everything’s wrong, and I made the mistake of staying with the crew.
For five years, I worked with them. Just when I started feeling at home, it all fell apart.
Our captain—Jas—is now the Empress of the Zohra. She’s always been strongwilled and eccentric, so it’s not entirely shocking…but still absurd.
I trust Jas. I’ve always followed her. But now? I have no idea where we’re going.
I hate the Zohra. I don’t belong here—yet for some insane reason, I agreed to stay with them.
Back home, people depend on me. I need credits, and I’ll do anything to provide for my family.
I don’t even know how I’m supposed to earn money anymore.
Why did I say yes?
Jas and her new alien husband are playing house, but what about the rest of us? Where do we fit?
I grip my holster and march toward my room. I should be home, planning how to survive. Not trapped here with the monsters who ruined my life.
Everyone knows I have Zohra trauma—but they don’t know the full story. We’ve all suffered since the invasion. Some had awful lives before it, too, so maybe mine doesn’t seem that special. But still…the pain is mine.
My early years were hell, but I escaped. Found peace. Love. Then the aliens came and ripped it all away.
And it was a Zohra who did it. One of the same horned, inhuman demons now surrounding me.
I’m not fooled. I see through their rehearsed kindness. Guns don’t work on them, but I still carry mine. It’s a placebo—but it helps me breathe.
I won’t be helpless again.
So why am I still here?
I reach my room. After checking the hall, I swipe my key card and slip inside. I slide down the door, exhausted from constantly watching my back.
That thing—the huge Zohra—is the worst. Just seeing him triggered my nightmares again.
He’s nearly identical to my tormentor. Same build. Same horns. Just different eyes—blue instead of that sickly pinkish-white I still see in my sleep.
Doesn’t matter. Massive silhouette. Bull-like horns. The rest blends in.
So why the hell am I still here?
At first, Greece convinced me to join this madness. Now I know I have to help escort the big one to Joddel.
Joddel. My home.
I lived in Bogotá when the world ended. Watched it become the iron slum it is now. I worked there—before and after. I know it like the back of my hand.
And I regret letting the crew know that. I’ve always kept my past guarded. Safe.
Everything I’ve done—every job, every sacrifice—was to protect the people I love.
Now, something dangerous looms over my city.
I shiver and drop my face into my hands. I was supposed to visit Joddel. See family. Relax. Instead, we’re being dragged there for who knows what.
It’s all gone to hell, and it falls on me.
I could refuse—I know I could—but I won’t. I’ll force myself and convince Jas to agree. I need to help fix what happened in that hellhole, whether I was directly involved or not.
Bile rises in my throat.
No one can know the full truth.
I told the girls a version of it. A partial truth. Just enough to connect, not enough to reveal everything. I’m terrified they’ll pity me—or worse, judge me.
They shared their pasts freely. I couldn’t. I should’ve, but… I was scared.
Dragging myself off the floor, I lock the door and pull an old phone from my nightstand. It doesn’t make calls anymore. It’s just… memories.
The screen lights up with a photo: me, young, happier—with that ridiculous perm Aaron claimed to love. I was beautiful then, full of love and excitement. We both were.
I swipe the screen to reveal another photo—Aaron and me together. His arm pulls me close, both our murky green eyes sparkling with joy. We were happy then.
I plug in old earphones and scroll through his music. All Enrique Iglesias, of course. Aaron had phases. This one never ended.
The songs are worn out, but I keep listening. Devices are expensive. Cloud storage is a scam. This phone’s all I’ve got left of him.
Ten years of the same voice.
I hate it.
The most frustrating part is that most of Enrique’s songs are in Spanish, but the blasted translator converts them to English. My native language, like all others, has been eradicated. Only the impoverished still hear their mother tongues. Another theft.
“I can be your hero, baby,” Enrique sings.
That was Aaron’s favorite. He sang it constantly—off-key and loud. He claimed the meaning mattered more than the sound.
“I will stand by you forever.”
Another lie.
I clench my jaw. Aaron didn’t want to lie. But he was forced to.
He died over ten years ago. A Zohra killed him. I watched.
He saved me from my past. From drugs. From pain. He was my hero.
But he shouldn’t have had to be.
If I’d been stronger… if I hadn’t called him in a panic that night… he would still be alive.
He should’ve stayed with his brother. But he answered this phone.
I didn’t deserve him. I still don’t.
I rip off the headphones and shut the phone off. In the bathroom, I crank the hot water and sit under the spray, letting it scorch my skin.
The guilt still haunts me after all this time. If things had gone differently, I would’ve joined him in death.
I curse my existence daily. I live shamelessly, doing things I’m not proud of. But pride doesn’t matter anymore. I live to protect others, as he did. It’s my only path to finding peace with what happened.
I wipe my eyes and slap my knees. I was healing. Slowly. But now? Everything’s fresh again.
Living near Zohra. How ridiculous.
After washing, I put on makeup and stare in the mirror. My once-bright green eyes are dull. No mascara can fix that.
I dry my hair and craft it into a messy bun. Time to sort this out. I can’t wait for others—I must protect those who need it.
I gave Jas a few notes about the lab—but not everything.
They don’t know I worked there as a cleaner. Paid well at first. We scrubbed after construction crews, scientists, auctioneers.
Then the pay dried up. And, like so many others, we started selling ourselves to get by.
We did what was necessary to survive.
It’s an awful motto I hate accepting, but it’s true if you want to keep your hands clean of blood. There are always options—options nobody sees until it’s too late.
I could’ve done hair. Opened a shop. But none of it paid enough.
And I had people to protect.
I did what I had to. I still do.
Eventually, women started disappearing. I found out why: they were being sold when the auction stock ran low.
I tried to leave. Quietly. But they caught me.
That’s how I ended up here.
Jas saved us. I got to see my loved ones again. But this mission—it’s breaking me.
Not just the risk to my home. Not just the threat to the planet. Them. The aliens who ruined my life.
But I can’t run.
I’ll do anything to protect Grandma and Dante.
I change into jeans and a white T-shirt, ready to speak up. I need to tell Jas what I know.
Taking a deep breath, I strap on my holster and gun, then unlock my door.
I haven’t left the ship since we arrived, but I’m certain Jas is with her man in his ship. I should’ve spoken up in the command center instead of waiting until I had to venture past the aliens.
I could wait to see her again, but I might lose my nerve.
It has to be now—or I’ll never do it.
Heart pounding, I approach the exit. Peering into the darkening day, my breath catches.
Their massive ship is surrounded by Zohra.
I can’t do this. I step back, trembling hand on my gun.
They claim they won’t hurt me, but how can I trust them? It’s nonsense. Nobody says, “I won’t attack you,” without reason. Complete bullshit.
This is a mistake. A huge mistake. I turn and collide with something.
“Jesus!” I scream, fumbling with my gun until it clatters to the floor.
“Stop—wait! It’s okay,” a woman says, grabbing my arms. “Don’t wave a gun around like that.”
Panicked, I try to break free—until I realize she’s human. Just a short, nonthreatening woman. Not one of ours.
“Hi, are you okay? Sorry I scared you,” she says, slowly releasing me. “My name is Ava. I live in this city.”
I nod, glancing behind me. Several Zohra with stern expressions approach the ship.
“I—I don’t want anything to do with them,” I stammer, ducking behind the doorway.
Ava checks outside and waves. “Everything’s fine,” she calls to the Zohra before turning back. “I’m here because I heard you’re teaching Harwal to be a bodyguard slave. I don’t know what that means.”
“Fuck.” I mutter, crouching and watching the aliens. They’ve stopped advancing, thank God. They look ready to kill me for the slightest wrong move. I knew this was a massive mistake. They’ll slaughter us all.
“Hello?” Ava says, drawing my attention.
“Sorry,” I mumble, still watching the Zohra as I retrieve my gun. “What did you say?”
“Let’s start over,” she says gently. “I’m Ava, and you are?”
I shake her extended hand. “Candice. What do you need?”
She glances at the Zohra I’m watching, then gives me a pitying look. “Are you—”
“Terrified of them? Yes. Okay? Debatable.” I stand, holstering my gun. “What do you need?”
“The Shurak sent Harwal to me for slave training since I have experience,” she explains. “But I don’t know about bodyguard slaves. Is it different from regular slaves?”
I force myself to look away from the aliens. Ava studies me, head tilted slightly. I take a breath, trying to smile—until I notice her neck.
Bruises. Bite marks. Hickeys, maybe.
My smile falters. The memories slam in hard. I’d thought the teeth marks were just my captor’s kink. But no. Zohra trait.
“Bodyguard slaves are different. It’s a fitting role for Zohra,” I manage, trying not to stare at her neck. “Which species owned you, if I may ask?”
Ava blushes and touches her neck, smiling softly like it’s a pleasant memory.
She liked it.
God. I don’t understand these people.
“Xalavians and Fhaen,” she says, answering the question I forgot I asked.
“Right…they don’t usually have different slave types,” I say, finally meeting her eyes. “But in bigger cities, they specialize. Sex slaves, bodyguards—those are the most common. Humans were the default at first, but now it’s more…inclusive. Galactic trade and all.”
She tilts her head. “So why am I teaching Harwal? You clearly know more than I do.”
The blood drains from my face. My arms wrap around my chest like armor.
“I—I don’t want to,” I whisper. “Maybe the other girls could help. I don’t make decisions—ask the captain.”
“Ah, the Shuran?” She looks outside. “I tried their room, but they were…occupied.”
I rub my arms, taking a step back. “Right. Then we’ll find someone else.”
Ava watches my retreat. “Sure. I’m happy to help, but I need someone who actually knows. Could you introduce me?”
I nod quickly, waving her along, grateful she doesn’t press the issue. “Let’s see who’s around.”
“Harwal says it’s urgent. I’d appreciate finding someone today to start training.”
I force a smile, pinching my fingertips behind my back for grounding. “We’re all kind of busy. Everyone’s gathering data on places we’ve visited. Not sure how much help we can offer.”
My brain spins. I’m cornered.
Rita and Greece are tied up with tech work. Reyes is buried in bookkeeping. Rosaline’s likely still wrapped around her alien boyfriend and wouldn’t know a thing about slave systems.
And the captain?
Definitely occupied.
This is heading exactly where I don’t want it to go.
I’m not ready. Not now. Not this soon.
Hell no.
I can’t be near that man. I can’t teach him to act like a slave. One wrong move, one wrong word—and he could kill me. The thought alone makes my skin crawl.
