He cleared his throat.
Realizing she’d been caught gawking, she closed her eyes. Maybe she was dreaming—or worse, in the midst of a nightmare she couldn’t wake from. She pinched herself. It hurt, which meant this was all very real, dammit!
Her alien didn’t seem to approve of her reality check technique because he made a tsking noise, brushed her hand aside, and gently stroked the sting away. His touch was as startling as it was soothing. As was the little tingle she felt where she shouldn’t. He was her captor, after all, and an extraterrestrial. When something tickled her cheek, her eyes popped open.
He had his head bent, concentrating on what he was doing. A thick shank of silky dark hair had fallen forward. As if sensing her stare, he angled his head, met her wide-eyed gaze, and winked.
She stiffened and jerked her arm away.
Freaked out by the familiar gesture, which fit right in on Main Street, USA, not a jungle planet in Spero System 13, she took a step back, and another. She continued to backpedal until she came up against the wall of the tent. Her eyes darted toward the door. Did she dare?
He easily read her movements, and as he’d done before, warned her not to try with the slow wag of his finger. She swore she heard, “uh, uh, uh.”
“What do you want from us? From me? You can’t go around taking women prisoners as you please and carry them off like you’re a cross between Tarzan and freaking ET!”
“Shh...”
She knew that sound, too.
“No, I won’t shush. Let us go, now!”
He advanced.
“Please...”
In front of her quickly, thanks to his long-legged strides, he took her hands in his, rubbing the backs of both with his thumbs, gently stroking, like before. He started moving backward, taking her along with him, not stopping until he came to a screen. He pulled her behind it where there was a table with a pitcher and a shallow basin. Releasing one hand, he filled the bowl halfway with water. From a shelf below, he took a washcloth and towel and handed both to her.
He said something she didn’t understand.
“I take it you want me to bathe. Sounds lovely, but no way are these clothes coming off, big guy.”
He gestured to the basin then waved a hand up and down her, hovering a moment over her injured leg. Next, he laid a hand on his chest, made a motion like he was eating, and pointed beyond the screen.
“You want me to wash while you go get food?”
He frowned. To show she understood, she dipped the cloth into the water, wrung it out, and pressed it to her hot, sticky face. The tepid water cooled her skin and felt so good, she closed her eyes and sighed.
A noise—half growl, half groan—had her lids flying open again.
Still a few feet away, he had morphed into the scary creature she’d first met in the jungle. Hands fisted at his sides, his stare intense, and rather than a soft smile, his mouth was compressed flat, his jaw tense. What startled her most were his eyes, no longer the welcoming aquamarine, they had darkened to the stormy haze of azurite—a mixture of blue lapis and green malachite.
With a grunt, he pointed at the basin, and the cloth she hadn’t known she’d dropped, and stormed out the door.
What had she done?
Lana stared after him for a moment. Becoming aware he’d left her alone, and this might be her only chance to escape, she peeked around the screen. The tent was empty. As fast as she could with her throbbing thigh, she crossed the room to the flap. She raised it but dropped it as quickly after seeing the bare back of a man standing guard.
Crap.
If she could slip by him, what then? How did she rescue the other girls and get off this hot, humid, alien-infested rock? Lana’s shoulders slumped, and with tears prickling her eyes, she collapsed on the nearby pillow-strewn couch.
Chapter Two
“Faex.”
The expletive uttered emphatically under his breath didn’t vent his anger, only drew questioning looks from a few of his warriors standing nearby. He tried to lock it inside where it belonged; today was a day for celebration, after all. But he’d frightened the delicate creature in his tent, more than she already was.
He blamed first, his lack of control—something a Primarian warrior should never allow—and second, his lust—something a Primarian warrior could barely control. It was a double-edged sword. Compounded by the situation Trask currently faced—finding the female who was destined to be his.
He’d heard other mated males speak of the awareness that came over them the first time they saw their mate. He’d been skeptical and told them as much, but they had laughed and said he'd understand when it happened to him. And he'd be damned if they weren’t right.
When he spotted her in the jungle, the signs were all there.
They were tracking game; their instincts heightened, and one of the warriors had taken down a large stag. In the tradition of their ancestors, they dressed as they did, and used similar weapons, true to their heritage, but the report from the old combustible rifle echoed like a photon cannon through the trees and across the small lake, frightening one of the small alien females nearby. She returned fire, then chaos erupted.
When they first caught sight of them, they were shocked by how much they resembled their people. If not for the slighter build, and light-colored hair and skin, it would be hard to tell them apart. Then came the speculation. If they were similar on the outside, then perhaps their internal makeup would also be the same. The possibilities were promising, and the opportunity too good to pass up.
Although their small size gave them the advantage of more easily wending through the dense undergrowth, the females were slow. Using their superior strength, his warriors took to the trees where the branches overlapped, and thick vines as thick as ropes could be used to swing from one to the next. Being familiar with their hunting planet aided them as well.
With Trask’s female one of the smallest of the group, he’d caught up with her easily. Dropping down from a tree, he landed in front of her taking her by surprise. She’d become paralyzed with shock, at least for a moment. It was enough time for him to study what, with the Maker’s grace, might soon be his.
Never had he seen such pale hair; it shimmered in the Ventorcopian moonlight somewhere between silver and gold. And her skin, also fair, was soft like the expensive fabrics sold at the most exclusive booths at the market. When he put her over his shoulder to carry her back to camp, he’d inhaled her scent, finding it sweet and utterly intoxicating.
She’d fought him, as he’d expected. But her small hands landing weak blows on his back had been no more bothersome than a fly buzzing around him. Her nails had packed a bit more of a bite and had been the reason for the light swat he’d laid upon her bottom.
Her cry of pain had appalled him, thinking he had injured her somehow. But it had been the wound, high on her leg. It angered him he had nothing proper to tend it with and had to make due with her already-soiled and tattered clothing. Then came the delay when he got back to camp. Now, at last, he could see to it, and to her comfort. Washing her body came first.
That had been his innocent intent when he'd taken her behind the screen. Little did he know, the soft sigh of pleasure she made more so than anything that had come before it, not feasting his eyes on her beauty, or holding her soft body against him, or the sweetness of her scent, would trigger the awareness.
Her quiet, breathy moan sent a jolt straight to his cock. What had already been stiff with arousal since first laying eyes on her became painfully rigid and pulsed insistently within the confines of his constrictive clothing. The carnal sound also fired his body with an all-consuming need to claim. And overlapping both base instincts, resounding with deafening intensity in his brain, was one thought, “Mine.”
He knew she would make the same throaty sound when he breached her. Thoughts of filling her with his seed over and over as the mating hunger took hold consumed him. This was more than sexual arousal; it was a primal need to
take, to possess, and to mark. If not with the one he bore on his body—fated matings were incredibly rare—but with his scent, and some other outward sign, a change in eye color, skin, or hair to match his own. It was a unique phenomenon which occurred with all Primarian mate-bondings during transformation and proclaimed to the universe, forever after, to whom the female belonged. He’d wanted it then, for his mate.
But she wasn’t nearly ready, not when injured and afraid. She’d mistaken the effort he exerted in tamping down his instinctive nature for something else—anger, perhaps—or maybe, she was responding to the need within him. She was his, after all—the awareness proved it, more so than any scientific test ever could. Either way, he’d left before he scared her further or broke his vow to his Princep.
Max Kerr was the principal leader of Primaria, and Trask was his general. Sons of brothers, they were family, but beyond that, they were friends and had been for three decades. They’d played together as children, got into mischief as adolescents, and paid the consequence for it. As young men, they entered warrior training together, remaining close to this day. Trask served his Princep with honor and would cut off his right hand before he violated his trust.
He wasn’t going to let his wayward prick overrule his brain, but by the Maker, he was greatly tempted.
“You seem troubled, Trask. Is your female giving you problems?”
The sight of the elder who’d insisted he put his frightened and injured mate in a cage, irritated him anew. It had displeased him to do so, but with Kerr still out hunting his prey, he was duty bound to accompany him. Not that he needed help, their Princep was quite capable of handling a small female by himself, but as both a warrior and his general, Trask had an obligation to ensure his safety. Therefore, he’d confined her, reassured she’d be there when he returned, if nothing else.
“Don’t concern yourself with my female, Mordrun. Other than an injury, she is no trouble. Bring me an emergency if you would, while I get her food, I’d like to get back quickly and tend to her.”
“What sort of injury? Maybe I should see to her.”
“That isn’t necessary,” he said stiffly. “She has a minor cut on her leg. Healing powder and a bandage will be enough until she can be examined by a physic.”
Since Mordrun considered himself a healer of sorts, he appeared slighted. “If you’re still angry over her containment, it was a necessary precaution while you hunted the rest.”
“Don’t remind me,” he snapped. “It infuriated me to subject my mate to something as demeaning as a cage. Do not advocate such measures again.”
“Your mate? Thinking of her as such in anticipation of the results of the compatibility testing may set you up for disappointment. We’ve had our high hopes shattered before.”
“I’ve had enough of your warnings this day, Uncle.”
“I meant no offense, Trask. I owe it to my brother to be concerned for his only son. And, in my position as advisor to the Princep, it is my responsibility to be the voice of reason when everyone around me is full of giddy excitement that the Maker has bestowed a great gift upon us. It might be the opposite. I’ll reserve judgment and celebration until the tests are completed.” He took a step back and bowed. “If you’ll excuse me, nephew. I’ll get your kit, so you can see to your female.”
He frowned as the old man hurried away. Owed respect as a member of the elder council, and as his departed father’s older brother, he was hard pressed to give it because the man irked him beyond measure. He had an overly presumptuous nature, but there was something else he couldn’t quite identify. His gut instinct had screamed this even as a youth though Mordrun had never done anything which hadn’t been in the best interest of Primaria. Still, his constant negativity and cynicism annoyed him. Kerr had mentioned it recently as well.
He took a deep breath, trying to shake off the sense of unease, and headed to the cook fires for food for his mate.
SURLIER THAN WHEN HE’D left, her captor strode inside with a box under one arm and a tray in his hand. He grabbed her wrist and towed her along behind him. When she realized his destination was the bed, she resisted, but as usual, he kept on going, her efforts having as much success as a mouse trying to stop a charging elephant.
When he reached the low-lying platform with its thick cushion draped in a crimson and black, he dropped her hand long enough to push aside a pile of pillows. Next, he gestured to the spot he had cleared.
She glanced at it and then back at him. “I don’t think so.”
He inhaled slow and exhaled long then, while balancing the tray proficiently, slid a nearby table close to the bed with his foot. After he set down the box, and what she assumed was her supper, he set her down, too, flat on her back on the bed.
When she immediately popped upright, he placed a hand between her breasts and pushed her back down, leaving it there despite her protests as he opened the box one-handed.
Wide-eyed, she looked at the vial of yellow powder he withdrew. He flipped off the cap with his thumb and sprinkled the stuff liberally on her wound. His eyes came up and locked with hers as if waiting for her reaction.
That’s when the burning penetrated. She yowled like a cat on a hot stove and tried to brush off whatever the hell the stuff was.
He caught her wrists in both hands, and said something, in staccato, one syllable sounds, like he was counting. She substituted numbers in her head. When he got to five the burning began to subside, at ten only the memory of it remained. He released her then and removed a roll of fluffy white material from the box. In no time, he wrapped it around her thigh. She relaxed back against the pillows, feeling foolish. He’d been trying to help her, and she’d acted like a child with a skinned knee who resisted the stinging antiseptic spray which would make it all better. But how was she to know?
After he’d put the supplies away, he took her hand and pulled her up to sit on the edge of the bed beside him. He slid the table in front of her next and removed the lid from the tray.
Her jaw dropped at the sight she beheld. She knew her mouth gaped rudely open, but she couldn’t help it, not when she didn’t recognize a single thing among the rainbow-hued hodge-podge of what she knew had to be food because it smelled delicious.
When she sat and stared at it in utter bewilderment, he again took her hand and pressed the handle of a two-pronged utensil into her palm. He pantomimed an eating motion as he did earlier. With him watching, she repositioned what closely resembled a fork, except the twin tines were broader and flatter than what she was used to, and tentatively poked at a large mound of blue stuff. It had the consistency of mashed potatoes but sure didn’t resemble the kind she’d had in the school cafeteria as a kid. She switched to the thick wavy strips of what she assumed was meat of some sort. It reminded her of bacon, but it was the color of grass.
Dr. Seuss’s classic Green Eggs and Ham came to mind.
She wouldn’t eat alien bacon—if it was red, while on a bed, from a tray, or any day—an enormous aqua-eyed barbarian loomed over her, but especially if it was green. Uh-uh. No way!
Lana grimaced and promptly set the fork aside, announcing, “No, thank you. I’m not hungry,” although she knew he didn’t understand.
He murmured something unintelligible. It was short, said in a stern tone, and she interpreted it as him prompting her to do as she was told.
She glared at him and shook her head firmly.
Her refusal elicited an immediate and unwelcomed reaction. He scooted closer until his hard muscular and unclothed thigh pressed against her. She inched away, only to be hauled back by his long arm snaking around her waist. He picked up one of the green strips, broke it in two, and held one of the halves up to her mouth.
Stubbornly, she shook her head again. Hard-pressed to eat broccoli without gagging when forced to as a child, she’d spent her entire life avoiding anything green. She wasn’t about to open her mouth to a stranger, particularly an alien she didn’t trust, and accept something unidentifiable in
the same shade.
Leaning toward her, until his face was only inches from hers, he nodded slowly, holding the strip of whatever it was up to her lips. Then he waited, apparently as stubborn as she was. This close, Lana felt the warmth of his skin and the soft brush of his breath on her face. Without words, she’d figured out he was demanding, authoritative and used to having his way. It was as annoying as it was intimidating, but his handsome face and ever-changing eyes—light blue now more like the aquamarines most people knew—were distracting, and she tended to stare, thereby forgetting, or overlooking some of his dictatorial ways.
That needed to stop. She turned her head away.
With a firm hand beneath her jaw, he drew it back until she was once again facing him.
With her resistance weakening, she drew in a breath attempting to steady her nerves, center herself, and shore up whatever resolve she had left. Big mistake. Her nose filled with his scent—fresh, clean, masculine—even on a hot, sticky, jungle world. She’d been so long without a man’s touch, her dormant libido overruled her brain, and a wave of tingling desire raced through her from head to toe.
He pressed closer. Now she felt the brush of his breath on her lips. The hand at her jaw shifted, and his thumb moved in an arc across her bottom lip in a gentle caress. When his gaze dropped to her mouth, hers dipped to his, her pulse quickening when his lips quirked in a sexy, half grin. He angled his head slightly, and Lana waited for the kiss she knew would follow.
She shouldn’t want him. She didn’t know who or what he was, but she couldn’t help it. As if she had no control over her traitorous body, she opened her mouth, submitting to his will. Now ravenous, but not for food.
There came a light touch on her lips, but instead of the taste of his kiss, the flavor was much like beef, and to her disappointment, it wasn’t his mouth, but the green strip he placed on her tongue. Narrowing her eyes at him, she chewed. It was either that or stubbornly spit it out, which would have been childish, and stupid since it most likely would have irritated him. Besides, it was actually pretty good and she was hungry.
Defying the General (Primarian Mates Book 4) Page 4