by Zoe Blake
Rachel scooped up everything in the bloodied towels. Impossible that she'd ripped a chunk of metal from this abdomen and he was upright not fifteen minutes later. Everything about him was impossible.
A tiny spot of fuchsia blood stained the gauze covering the wound. The tattoos, or whatever they were, glinted like polished silver under his skin. Despite the coiled dread in her gut, she knew the truth as much as he did. "I became involved with you the moment you staggered through that door." She jerked her head toward the back of the clinic and the steps to the basement. "Let's go."
He stood there for a moment, stooped with pure fatigue. Defeated. A melancholy Greek statue come to life. He followed her, as if powerless to refuse.
CHAPTER TWO
The woman was magnificent—tall, beautiful, and strong. Long, thick hair in shades of dark brown, golden blonde, and even a few streaks of purple, was pulled into a loose braid that slid down her back. Expressive brown eyes worked over him. They missing nothing, he could tell. Plump, heart-shaped lips pursed as she braced an arm under his shoulders and helped him down the hall. He was surprised by the strength in her. This was no typical fragile human, but rather, a woman who could have been born on a Baylan ship.
Maybe she had some Baylan blood in her. His people had bred with human women in the past without complication. They had no choice, considering that for every five male Baylan offspring born, one was female. Drace’s body immediately reacted to the press of her lush curves against his hard body. He gritted his teeth against intense sexual urges, demanding he take what was rightfully his.
Rightfully, but perhaps not knowingly. The moment Rachel’s palm fitted to his chest and awoke the soul markings identifying her as his mate, he’d become viciously aroused. He could smell her immediate arousal, feel her breath shorten. His body had wanted to claim her there and then, right on the floor. Thank the stars he had a big hole in his gut. But he could also see the confusion in her face. This wasn’t the way couples came together on Earth. From what he’d learned, there was something called courtship. And often attraction had nothing to do with life commitment and everything to do with brief sexual encounters. Baylans did take short-term sexual partners, but only the touch of a life mate could reveal the particular soul markings which had flared brilliantly at this human’s touch.
The fact that Drace's body identified her as his mate complicated everything. He had come here to collect information about this planet, assess its resources, and consider some integration options––not to bind himself to a female. Not to become a prisoner of a sadistic human agency that performed medical experiments on him. How they tracked him was a mystery that needed to be solved, so other Baylans coming here didn’t suffer the same fate. So far, nothing about this expedition had gone as planned.
There was still time to undo this. If he got away from Rachel quickly enough, he would be able to break the connection, which was tenuous enough in this early stage. He could leave her without too much issue. But even now, the scent of her wound through his senses, and the warmth of her body drew him closer. He was weak. His body was healing but it wanted her.
She brought him down a flight of stairs to a room filled with boxes, stacks of files, old equipment, and a dusty blue sofa with rips on the corners of each arm. She helped him onto it and dashed off with "be right back," tossed over her shoulder before she disappeared up the stairs. Instantly, Drace felt her absence. His body yearned for her closeness and something inside him ached. This was not good. He had to get away from Rachel Harkett as quickly as possible or he would end up wanting her for the rest of his days.
CHAPTER THREE
A tall man with a mustache and a blonde woman were at the door. Both wore dark suits and stern expressions and left a black unmarked SUV idling in the handicapped spot. Rachel plastered on a pleasant expression and opened the door. She smiled. “Hello. Can I help you?"
The pair didn’t identify themselves, although the man briefly stuck a bifold in her face with fancy-looking identification on it before slipping it back in his breast pocket. "Good evening, ma'am. We're with the Department of Homeland Security. We're searching for a murder suspect spotted in your area."
She'd bet her ass these people were not DHS. Least of all because the glimpse she’d caught of the bifold said something about a “Dept. 6” and didn’t mention the federal agency anywhere. This made mer palms sweat and corroborated what Drace said had happened to him. Nevertheless, she raised her brows as if she believed them. "A murderer? Oh, no."
The woman showed Rachel a photo. "Have you seen this man? He stands about six-foot-six. Athletic build with dark hair. He may be injured," she said. "But in the case of this individual, an injury wouldn't make him less dangerous."
Rachel peered at the photo. Drace looked healthier there than he did currently, but grim––even furious. She tapped a finger on her chin and mentally went over the story she'd invented. Hopefully, it would keep them from searching the clinic. "You know, maybe? I heard something in the parking lot earlier tonight. I looked out and saw someone––a man who appeared to be in some distress––but he ran off when I called out to him."
The woman's brow furrowed and her gaze turned intense. "What did you say to him?"
"Well, not much. I'm just a receptionist, not part of the medical staff," Rachel said. "I asked if he needed help and said I could call a doctor, but that seemed to frighten him." She pointed across the street, toward the logging road snaking up toward the mountains. "He ran off that way."
The man raised her brows. "And you didn't call the police?"
"The police?" Rachel widened her eyes. “Why would I? I didn’t know he was a fugitive.”
Neither agent blinked. The mustachioed man’s lips thinned, but he nodded and took notes. The woman showed her the photo again. “Look carefully. Is this is the man you saw?"
Rachel shrugged, forcing down the rising panic and wishing these people would go away. “Look, it was dark. But based on your description, it could be."
The blonde woman stared at her so hard, a cold bead of sweat traced down Rachel’s spine.
"What are you doing out here so late?"
“I work late on Wednesdays." And that was the truth, but her genial smile was becoming painful. “Inputting paper records to a database."
"Ma'am, may we come inside?" she asked.
"Of course." Rachel stepped aside. Dread burned in her belly. "The office is closed though, and I'm getting ready to leave for the night, but you can take a quick look if you'd like."
The agents followed her inside. She folded her hands to keep them from shaking. These were definitely the people Drace was afraid of, which meant if they didn't buy her act, she was in serious trouble.
The duo looked in the exam rooms and the offices. Their gazes swept over the stack of un-filed folders and the pulled-out "D" drawer.
“Just you working here tonight?” The woman asked.
“Yes. Trust me, guys," Rachel said. "If someone else was here, I'd know it. There's not much to this clinic."
The woman scowled as if she wanted to search further, but the man handed Rachel a card with a phone number. "Call us if you see the fugitive again or remember anything else. Call us, not the police. They aren't equipped for this type of criminal. He’s extremely dangerous.”
Rachel took the card with rubbery fingers. "Yes. Of course, I will."
Through the waiting room window she watched the SUVs’ taillights disappear down the road. She sagged against the wall. They were gone. Drace was safe––for now.
As soon as she saw they had left the parking lot, she hurried down the steps to the storage room.
Drace lay where she left him, stretched out on the old waiting room couch. His eyes opened at her approach.
"They're gone."
"For now." His lighting-bright gaze lit on her. "Thank you, Miss Harkett. You didn't have to protect me."
"Yeah well, not every human is a savage." Rachel pulled a stack of boxes up
to the couch and sat. She gave him a sidelong look, ignoring the heat curling in her belly. God, she’d never had such a reaction upon meeting a man. "I have questions."
Firm lips turned up at the corners. “Of course."
"Like, if you're an alien, how do you speak English?" she asked. "And how do you look so human?"
"I speak many languages. We learn them before we come here, and we come here because we look so much like you. Our species are quite compatible, you know.” He said that with a quirk of an eyebrow.
With the threat to both of them averted, at least for now, she let her gaze run down the length of him. The runic-looking tattoos traced over lean muscles and strong bones. Physically, he was incredible. There was no denying it––the man was hot, even in cargo pants three sizes too big. They hung low on his hips. Clearly, he'd swiped them when he escaped. She slid her gaze back to his eyes and it held there, locked by an invisible hold. Her throat went dry.
Time stretched and the air turned tight and charged. They'd been talking, but the conversation somehow changed to a wordless thing. Attraction––Rachel had experienced it plenty of times, but this jolted every one of her senses. He was injured––and an alien––but he was still a man. She was more acutely aware of that fact by the second.
He reached out, although his jaw tightened in conflict. Long, cool fingers wrapped around hers and gently pulled her closer. "I won't hurt you." His voice was gravel on silk. “I just need to touch you.”
It wasn't something she could resist. She shifted her bottom from the boxes to the edge of the cushion, keeping a solid six inches between her hip and his.
"What else do you want to ask me?"
Rachel pulled her hand from his and pressed both palms on her knees. She blew out a breath. It was so hard to concentrate around this guy.” Okay, where are you from? Why are you here?"
"Ah, the old standards." He rubbed a hand over his chin. "My home planet was very much like yours, in terms of size and gravity, composition, and atmosphere. I imagine that's why Baylans and humans look so much alike. But that part of the galaxy is considerably more crowded than this one." His lips tightened. "We were constantly attacked by our more aggressive neighbors, and despite having superior technology, we lack their massive armies. We don't produce great numbers of offspring, and for reasons unknown, far more boys are born than girls. We left our planet centuries ago to live on ships where we can protect ourselves." He let out a long breath. "We are not here to take over your planet, if that's what you're thinking."
"Why then?"
“To evaluate, to see if your people are ready for a trade relationship with beings from another planet. Based on my recent personal experience, I’d say not.” He added with a wince. “Also, human beings have no difficulty producing offspring.”
Heat flooded her cheeks. She jumped off the couch as if it had caught fire. "If you are telling me you're here to abduct women and impregnate them, I'm calling those Dept. 6 people back right now."
“We’re not here to abduct or impregnate anyone," he said with a frown. "I came here to see how compatible our species are and if a merging of the two would even work––officially, that is." When she opened her mouth to object, he held up a hand. “Hear me out. We’ve been considering making our presence known to your governments and offering valuable technology in return for trade and a small-scale integration into your society." His gaze found hers again and locked on. "You don't find my kind terribly hideous, do you?"
Hideous? God, no. Just the opposite as he was surely well aware. Even now, she was squirming against the dampness in her panties. “That’s beside the point."
He smiled. "What is the point, Miss Harkett? Humankind can only benefit by our genes and wisdom and technology. Besides..." His face sobered. "You're going to need it."
"Why?" she asked. "What are you leaving out?"
"We found you. Do you think our enemies haven't?"
"Shit."
"Yes," he said. “If they attacked, I doubt you have the capacity to stop them." He stretched his arms and laced his fingers behind his head. "So that's another reason why I'm here. Of course, Dept. 6 is more interested in me as a laboratory animal.” He patted the cushion next to him. “Won't you sit back down?"
"I'm thinking about it," Rachel said. "So you're here to find out if humans and Baylans are compatible genetically? How exactly were you going to do that?"
His gaze lifted to the ceiling. "A few harmless, painless tests that no one would remember. I wasn't planning to fornicate my way across the planet, if that's what you're implying. As enjoyable as that sounds."
Rachel's eyes narrowed. "Fornicate?"
“Don't humans enjoy sex? Or are you supposed to pretend you don’t?” He raised one dark brow. “Weird society you’ve got here.”
Explaining why “fornicate” wasn’t the best word choice was a hole she didn’t feel like digging. “Humans enjoy sex, for the most part, as long as it’s consensual on both sides.” The heat in Rachel’s face spread to other places. “I'm not having this conversation with you." If she did, she may find herself giving in to these absurd urges and finding out just how enjoyable sex was with Drace.
“Sit. I promise, I'm in no condition to fornicate tonight.” His lips curved sensually, but his eyes slid closed. “Or do much of anything but sleep."
"What a relief.” And a bit of a disappointment, if she was being honest.
"Let me show you something." He cracked open his eyes and took her hand. She eyed him warily.
"You were searching for my pulse earlier," he said, placing her hand low on his right ribcage. "My heart is down here."
Rachel swallowed thickly. The heavy thump of his heart muscle beat slower than the average human. His tattoos glowed brighter where her hand touched his skin.
She tried to clear the sand from her throat. Touching him was pleasure, pure and intense. It awakened all her senses, even some she didn't know existed.
His lips parted as he slowly slid her hand up his body, over muscle-wrapped ribs, over a flat, pebbled nipple, to just below his collarbone. The silver runes there swirled and brightened even more. Drace shivered and closed his eyes. "If you want to check a Baylan's pulse, you'll find it here,” he said roughly. “Not in the neck."
Rachel had difficulty keeping her head together. Yes, his pulse beat there, slightly faster, now. She swallowed hard, unsure how to handle this surge of need. He smelled, oddly, of outdoor things––cut grass, sea air caught on the breeze. She was close enough to feel the heat of his body, to see the rise in his pants, to know he was inadvertently showing her more than how to check his pulse. His expression was a pained. He wasn't trying to seduce her. The man was fighting this and that made this whole crazy thing even hotter.
Her own heart beat faster, along with her breath. She couldn't stop looking at his mouth.
She racked her brain for a change of topic. "What do your tattoos mean?"
“They're called soul markings. They indicate one’s station in Baylan society and the enhancement of attributes."
"Not a language?"
"They are a part of our biology.” He shrugged. “Nothing profound."
“Do they hurt?"
“A bit, when a new one appears.”
She pointed to the ones on his chest. ”Why are these glowing?"
His gaze lowered, dark lashes fanning against pale cheeks. "You won't like the answer."
"Tell me."
He laid his hand on the back of her neck and tugged her toward him. He leaned upward. His mouth met hers. Rachel sucked in a breath, but didn't pull away. Everything about him drew her. His kiss was urgent and leisurely, exploratory and demanding. Under her fingers, his pulse raced. The silver markings took on a glow so bright she could see them when she let her eyes fall closed. His tongue swept inside her mouth, claiming it for his own. Teeth nipped at her bottom lip, turning her bones to mush. Her fingers slid further down his abdomen and encountered the edge of the bandage. She and snat
ched her hand from his skin, appalled that she’d forgotten about this wound. Granted, he wasn’t acting wounded. “I’m so sorry.” Her voice was wispy. “I didn’t mean to hurt—”
Drace took her hand and put it back on his stomach. “You didn’t hurt me.” Then, he put his mouth back on hers and all coherent thoughts drained from her head. She had never been kissed like this. His hands slid from her waist to her ass. He squeezed, explored her curves as if it were his right. He lifted her suddenly and she spread her legs instinctively. He put her down so she straddled him, close enough so she could feel the heat and solid length of him, but far enough to make it clear this was just an interlude, not an invitation to more. Not yet. So she stayed where she was, carefully avoiding his wound. Her hands splayed on his chest, kissing him back with an intensity that surprised her.
A shudder passed through him. He rocked his hard length against her once, sending a shockwave through her body. He growled out what must be a curse, and then his hands were on her hips, lifting her away.
Rachel took a shaky breath, shivering as if she'd been doused in ice water. She got to her feet and backed up, into the stack of filing boxes. She'd just madly made out with an alien. An extra-flipping-terrestrial. “Are you doing something to me?"
Drace sat up, holding one hand over his bandage. He raked the other unsteadily through his hair. "I'd say it's obvious we're doing something to each other, Miss Harkett."
“No.” She held out a hand. “I know attraction. That was not attraction. That was insanity."
One corner of his lips curved upward. "Are they not the same?"
"I've never––" She broke off and gave herself a moment. "I don't go around locking lips with guys I just met.” At least, she didn’t anymore. After high school, Rachel started a college nursing program, but an impulsive streak plus a hot guy equaled one very bad decision. She’d taken off with him, thinking it was true love. Of course, he dumped her almost the instant they landed in a new city, roaring off with someone else. Rachel was broke and alone, and that was just the first guy. A few more bad decisions with a few more hot guys and now here she was—a receptionist instead of a nurse, in a town far from home, and still alone. Was she about to make the same mistake again? “I don't know what happened. Wait––" She rounded on him. "Did you pull something on me? Some alien pheromone or drug?"