by Ava Argent
I slam my forehead into his chin.
Blinding pain explodes behind my eyes. Oh my god, what the hell is in that chin of his? Steel? Jesus!
I shake my head, trying to clear it, and that's when I realize he didn't even flinch. Okay, that's an exaggeration—he is cradling his chin, glaring at me. At least I think he is. I'm kind of seeing the Funhouse version of him right now.
His pretty face contorts with annoyance. He flicks his wrist and chucks me like a tape wad that got stuck on his fingers. I'm back on the ground before I can blink, my head cushioned by the bulky duffel. It's the only thing that saves me from a concussion, if I don't have one already.
He walks the two steps before I can move away and a big boot comes down on my chest, pinning me in place. He's not going easy on me either. He weighs a ton. I might mean that literally. The breath is pushed out of my lungs and there's nothing to fill them. He keeps pressing and pressing, until I think my ribs are going to break from the compression.
I've got to get out of here. I punch his knee and meet the hard resistance of a boot. I kick up but can't reach his ass. He's big, unyielding, and pissed. I'm not getting an inch.
It feels like the blood is rushing to my face, and I know it's a reaction to too little air. He's not killing me, but spots are starting to float. Don't panic. I can't panic. I have to move, to act.
I hit his ankle with my other hand—and realize, throughout this entire thing, I never once let go of the keys.
So I center them between my fingers and stab him in the thigh, right above the knee.
He roars. It's big and lion-like, a terrifying testament to his otherworldly origins, the kind of sound meant to cower prey into submission.
It does that, but it also does something else.
It wakes up the neighborhood.
The people of Earth don't know that aliens exist. They think they do, but there's a difference between thinking and knowing.
People can watch as many alien invasion, stoner comedy, or animated movies they want. What they imagine life beyond Earth's atmosphere is not even close to reality, and that's the way otherworlders want it to stay.
One thing is for sure. When the apartments around us light up like Christmas, the Ferissian is not happy.
Could be because of the blood coming out of his wound, though.
There's shouting. I punch him in the leg again, right where I got him the first time. He dodges with a snarl. I scramble to my feet and dash away. “Help!” I shout. “Somebody call the police!”
He yanks me back.
People are looking out of the windows now. Mobiles are flashing.
He snarls and twists into shadows of the vines. I dig in my heels to gain traction. I'm not going down without a fight. This isn't going to last long. I can already hear people pounding down the stairwell to help. Thank god I live in a neighborhood that has a lot of ex-soldiers. More than a few of those guys will have baseball bats.
But damn, what if they do have baseball bats? What if they figure out the Ferissian isn't normal?
Hell, I don't have time to worry about that now! I've got a getaway to make.
I have to abandon the duffel.
I pull my arms out of the handles and go forward, my legs pumping.
About a million pounds of forceful Ferissian forearm come down in front of my hips, basically clotheslining the bejesus out of me. “Oof!”
He keeps turning. Imagine a ballet spin, only in combat boots, the balls of his feet grinding on the asphalt. He ducks just out of sight of the first guy to my rescue, disappearing around the corner for an instant.
That's all he needs.
I hear the click and I know—he activated the transporter.
My last sight is the faint outline of leaves against the super bright backdrop of fluorescent lights.
We're gone.
Transporting is not easy. It feels like a rollercoaster spinning in place, as weird as that sounds. Dip, punt, and twist. That's all you need to know. Then you're in a completely different place and, in my case, in a deep load of shit.
Cold rushes my face. This is recycled air at its finest, swamping my skin the way a fridge ghosts out in the summer. I have the vague impression of white and blue and gray before I'm turning again. His arm is thick and unyielding.
I ram my elbow into his solar plexus. Dammit! For god's sake, there's no bone there. It shouldn't cause this kind of pain.
God, I'm in trouble.
But I'll be damned if I make this easy.
Chapter Two
Like any of my kind, I relish battle. The hunt, the struggle, and the ultimate victory are the same as breathing. When my brother Feruz proposed this plan to me, I seized upon the chance to take the game to an intergalactic level. Earth is the great uncharted territory. It is under the protection of the powers that be, but a ship can slip in without detection if one takes the right steps.
I predicted the chase itself to be quick, of course. The target is half-human, no physical match for me and mine. This was to be an exercise, a favor to my brother and a little thrill-seeking on my part. Regardless if Feruz succeeded, for me the aftermath and reward would be worth it.
The female, however, is not what I expected.
Satisfaction burns in me when she grunts in surprise. I toss her from me to the floor. She does a strange one-legged somersault, spins, and comes at me with a growl. I swat her punch away. She takes advantage of the deflection and plows the other fist into my side. I snarl playfully, enjoying the tussle.
She bares her teeth.
I swing her bag into her belly.
“Oof! Why, you dirty bastard—” she bites out in Galactic Standard, yanking the back away.
I smirk. “That is payment for stabbing me, little human.”
She spins. The bag slams into my face. I stumble to the side, pain exploding in my cheek. “That's payment for kidnapping me, Ferissian!” She rams her elbow into the joint between my shoulder and neck. I drop to a plank position, landing on my palms, toes balanced.
She kicks me in the stomach. “That's for taking me from Alan Rickman!”
I roll to the side and come up to my feet. This is still a game—a delightful, rough and tumble skirmish—but it is taking up too much of my time. I must get a message to Feruz soon, or this will all be for nothing.
The game must end.
I attack in earnest, feigning left and hooking my arm out when she dodges. She falls into my trap without a moment's hesitation. I wrap my forearm around her throat and haul her into my body, her crown slamming into my breast. She slipped her hands beneath my hold—impressive reflexes—but I am too strong. I squeeze and hiss in her ear, “Yield, female, before this becomes unpleasant.”
I will not kill her. That is not my ultimate goal. I will do what is necessary to subdue her, however, and will cut off her air without hesitation if required.
Her smell fills my nose. It is fruity and light, pleasing. I commit it to memory. One never knows when such information will be useful.
She pants, both from exertion and the choice I have given her. The tattoo of her heart is tangible through her skin. I lock my other arm around her chest, securing her still further. She is still trying to break my hold. It will do her no good, but it seems the Agmoiria—literally translated, daughter of Moiria—will not relent without proof of my resolve.
I apply steady pressure, carefully measuring each increment so as not to crush her trachea. She gurgles in the back of her throat. Her skin is turning a deep shade of red. “Yield,” I urge again. “I have already won.”
Suddenly she goes limp in my arms, slumping down in dead weight. For the briefest of moments I am confused—did I miscalculate human fragility?
Her hand slips from beneath my hold and falls to her side.
And seizes my balls.
She shows no mercy in her grip, squeezing and twisting until bright spots of light appear in my vision. Pain radiates through my torso and legs. I stumble back a little, bu
t I refuse to roar. I shake her in warning.
“Let...go...” she chokes out, “and I will...too.”
I could kill her. I could strangle her where she stands. It would be nothing. She would release me then. She can barely speak as it is.
I grit my teeth, the thought of ending her growing more and more appealing. No, must remember Feruz.
I look up at the ceiling and calculate the angle. It is not ideal, but it will have to do.
In a quick motion I remove my arm.
She sags, gasping, her grip loosening. I shove her to the floor by way of one palm between her small shoulders. She collapses with no resistance, on her hands and knees as she sucks in great gulps of air. “Jesus.”
Jaw tight, I adjust myself through the insulated trousers. I exhale, working through the pain until it dulls to an ache. If I had been an Earthling, she would have gelded me. Vicious female.
I should have expected nothing less from the offspring of Moiria Jenner. A mistake I will not make again.
I walk—yes, walk, it will take more than a feminine hand to emasculate me—to the computer panel embedded in the wall and strike one button. There is a hiss of air depressing and the cage lowers without hesitation, the soft clank of metal seemingly her first clue that all is not right. Indeed, she looks up with startled eyes, their curiously flat brown color betraying disbelief. “Are you serious?” she croaks.
I smile at her. “Deadly.”
The cage moves backward. The female scrambles to move with it lest she be injured, jumping to her feet and retreating until the cage comes flush against the wall opposite me. It locks into place, leaving the greater space free for walking. She takes in the bars and spaces, lips thin. “What, no forcefields? Isn't this a bit low tech?”
She appears to be insulted. That might simply be a reaction to her circumstances in general, however.
I lounge against the wall, expecting to feel the rush of victory. I do not, and this intrigues my predatory half. This does not feel like true triumph. If I were to put a name to it, I would call this slight calming of my blood...anticipation.
This skirmish is a draw, I realize with amazement. The cage is merely prolongation.
That holds a small satisfaction in and of itself. Very rarely am I surprised by my opponent. That would be problematic in the long term, but I find that in this instance I do not mind.
Our encounter has left her disheveled. Her clothes are highly impractical for combat, so that is to be expected. The flimsy white shimmery top does have a set of gold spikes on each shoulder, but those are mostly blunt and largely useless. The top is dirty, stained by grit and the blood that has dripped down from the wounds on her cheek, and buttons have been pulled off. The material gaps open to reveal a gray shirt beneath with no sleeves. Her trousers are blue and molded to her legs, her feet encased in shoes that are barely there. They seem to sparkle in the artificial lighting.
I push away from the wall and prowl closer, tilting my head to better see. She shifts. Yes, there is glinting. Why would she decorate her footwear so? It strikes me as a poor diversionary tactic.
I drag my gaze back up her legs. They appear firm and are certainly shapely. I can attest to their strength. Her hips are full. Every part of her seems soft. This is not a female built for fighting, I decide as I come to stand before the cage. Yet my leg still trickles blood, my balls twinge with every movement, and my stomach, shoulder, and chin have felt her wrath.
She does her dam credit.
Her gaze narrows at my naked appraisal. There is very little space between us, despite the bars, and I can see she does not trust me in such close proximity. Good. The feeling is mutual. I however will not be the one that backs away. I stare her down, locking gazes and sending a silent challenge.
Her mouth firms mutinously and her oval chin juts out. “Listen, guy, how about you tell me what the hell this is all about? I think I have the right to know why I've been kidnapped, thrown around, and nearly choked out. Care to share?”
“You are in no danger, Agmoiria.”
“Oh yeah?” the female snorts. Then her face darken, my term of address sinking in. “Agmoiria,” she repeats in a flat voice. She deflates, leaning against the back wall as if all the vigor has left her. I am not fooled. She is merely biding her time.
Her eyes are shrewd as they scrutinize my body, lingering on my shoulders. Her lips, which are flush but not pouty, curl up. “So you do know who I am.”
I tilt my head. “Why else would I take you?”
“There are a lot of crazies in the universe.”
“There may be 'crazies', but I have brought you here for a specific purpose.”
“If it involves anal probing, the answer is no.”
I angle my chin, considering her. The subject of anal sex is abrupt and unexpected, but I do not find it unwelcome. I drop my gaze to her body. Hmm. There are possibilities there.
She darts a frown between me and her chest, then slowly crosses her arms. No matter. I have already seen it.
The Agmoiria bears a distinct resemblance to her mother, and yet—
She shoves a curl out of her face, back towards the knot that she's tied high on the back of her head.
I stare at it. “Moiria Jenner has straight green hair.”
The female stills. “Yes?”
“Her human has straight dark hair, though age has discolored it .”
“My dad has gray hair, and it makes him look distinguished.”
“Why, then, do you have blond curls?”
She frowns. “This is what you want to talk about right now?”
Clearly.
She blows out a breath. “Look—and I don't know why I'm explaining this to you, because I want to know what the fuck is going on—green hair isn't something a lot of people naturally have on Earth. I thought I'd try something different. The curls are from a chemical process, and I think they make me look cute.” She nods her head defiantly at me. “And you? Come by the pink honestly or is it a style choice?”
My appearance is of no consequence and my curiosity is temporarily sated. I prowl to the side, observing my captive from every angle. I do not have anything specific I am looking for. It is only that I very rarely have the opportunity to see an Earthling this close, and I do not believe in wasting opportunities.
I ponder her word, cute. It is a purely Earthen term, though I comprehend the gist of it. I am not certain in what context the word can be applied, but her soft face and spotted skin seem to fit the image.
I am no expert on feminine aesthetics. I either enjoy them or I do not.
The Agmoiria is not objectionable.
She glares. “Looking for a place to sink your teeth in?”
That startles me into stillness. My brow furrows. “Why would I bite you, female?” The thought never occurred to me.
She blinks. “That's what they're for, right? Biting?”
I am mystified as to why that would be relevant. Humans are not the easiest creatures to understand.
“Are you aware that you don't blink a lot?”
Again, an observation that has no bearing on the situation. Is this a method of distraction? It is a poor attempt. Yet her abrupt question brings my attention back into focus. I have not forgotten my purpose, but I have allowed myself to dally too long. That must be remedied.
Humans are, after all, no match for Ferissians, even if the fuck would be sweet. There is no point in lingering.
I straighten my shoulders. “My brother placed the bounty on your head, Agmoiria. It is substantial.”
Her expression is comical.“Wait, what? If you come from money, why bother to put up a reward when you could have me and the cash all at once? And what did I ever do to him?”
“You misunderstand. Feruz does not want you. He wants your sister.”
“Which one?”
“Bethina.”
She gapes. “Betty? My Betty? Why did she do to him?”
I snicker. “Nothing. I believe that
was the problem.”
She shakes her head and closes her eyes. Why is she doing that? There is nothing to look away from.
She opens her eyes again, determined. The small human comes away from the wall and stands in the middle of her cell. “You're going to have to explain this in detail, dude—wait, what's your name?”
“M'anu.” There is no reason to conceal it.
“M'anu, I'm getting the distinct feeling I'm missing something. You yanked me off of my planet and put me in what amounts to a cage. Clearly there was some forethought to this, but for the life of me I can't figure out why. Did Betty steal something your brother wants back?”
“No.” I see this is not enough of an answer. “My brother has decided to take your sister to mate. She has run away. He is giving chase. He put the bounty on your head so that Bethina would feel impelled to protect you.”
She has frozen, standing stock still from the moment I begin my explanation. Her eyes have grown progressively bigger with disbelief. It seems to swell in her body until finally it escapes in the form of one long, loud, “WHAT?”
I cringe. The decibels reached were impressive.
“What do you mean, he wants her for a 'mate'?” She curls two fingers from each hand in the air and frantically flexes them at the last word. I assume it is for emphasis, but I cannot be certain.
This half-human sibling of Bethina's, while attractive, is not very intelligent. I clearly stated the case. There is no reason to repeat myself.
“Has your brother even met Betty?”
“Of course.” No, not very intelligent. Pity. I enjoy mental sparring as much as I do the physical. Now that our initial battle is over, the rest of the trip will be boring indeed.
“Let me get this straight,” she says, her eyes still wide. She seems to have trouble taking in new information in a reasonable fashion. “My sister tells your brother to take a hike and I get kidnapped?” She shakes her head. “How does that make sense?” A thought occurs to her. “Does my dad know? Oh shit, does my mom know?”
I tilt my head. She sounds more panicked by that thought than she did when she first spied me in her drinking establishment. A smile touches the corner of my mouth.