Zivan (Scifi Alien Romance) (Galactic Mates)

by Luna Hunter

  “And if you don’t, I will. You were just about to kill my friend here. I don’t see a single reason why I shouldn’t end your life right now.”

  “I heard them say something about the ‘sovereignty’,” Mia chimes in. “Does that mean anything to you?”

  “Could mean anything,” I say.

  “W-w-wait,” he says. “They w-won’t just kill me, they’ll strip my soul, they’ll clear my mind, they’ll make me a prisoner in my own body!”

  “It’s that or a blaster to the brain. Your choice.”

  The Tyk’ix glances around the room, but there’s nowhere for him to run.

  “Okay,” he stammers. “O-okay. Th-there’s a ship, the Wrath of Moss. You’ll find what you’re looking for there. That’s all I can say. I-I’ve already said too much…”

  The Tyk’ix scrambles to his feet and tries to run. In his rush he stumbles and slips, hitting his head on the cold, hard floor.

  I check his pulse and find he’s unconscious.

  “Damn it,” I growl as I tuck the blaster back into its holster. “What do you want me to do with him?”

  “Leave him,” Mia says crossing her arms. “We have to find Emily.”

  There’s something else I have to do first.

  Something I’ve been meaning to do for a long time.

  I was worried I missed my opportunity, and I’m not making that mistake again.

  I’m going to make Mia mine.

  I rush toward Mia and slip my arms around her waist. I lift her up and plant my lips on hers, kissing her deeply.

  She’s surprised and yelps, but after a second she gives in with a moan, kissing me back.

  My tongue explores her mouth, feeling her soft, warm lips, and teasing her tongue with my own. She hums approvingly, our tongues meeting, our bodies feeling as though they’re one.

  My hands move down to the small of her back, my entire body leaning into hers. She wraps her legs around my waist, and my strong hands move down to her firm ass.

  It feels like fireworks are going off inside of me. No, it feels like a damn supernova just exploded. Every inch of me is burning with love and lust. My skin prickles with heat, my toes tingle, and my cock hardens.

  When I break the kiss Mia is breathing heavily. My own chest is beating like a war drum.

  “Wow,” she gasps. “What did I do to deserve that?” She tucks a strand of red hair behind her ear, smiling coyly at me.

  “I was worried,” I say, “that’d I’d never get the chance to kiss you. I wasn’t going to make that mistake twice.”

  “Don’t I get a say in this?”

  “No,” I growl, resting my forehead against hers. “I take what I want, and right now, that is you.”

  “Right now?” she teases. “So when will you get bored of me?”

  “Never,” I say. “Never.”

  I kiss her again, and again, and again.

  The tension and adrenaline of the battle leaves me body, flowing away, replaced by pleasure. The feeling of Mia’s lips on mine, our bodies entwined, is the best damn thing I’ve ever felt.

  “Wait,” she says, her voice muffled by my mouth. “We have to go.”

  “Just one moment,” I roar, my hand slipping into the back of her jeans, my fingers touching the top of her soft, round ass.

  “Oh god,” she groans. “P-please. Zivan. We have to go.”

  “You’re right,” I say.

  Damn it.

  We have a ship to intercept.

  I lower her down to her feet. Both of us are breathing hard, as if we just ran a marathon.

  Mia places her small hand on the big, obvious bulge in my uniform.

  “Fuck,” she breathes softly as she gently squeezes my hard cock, separated from her hand by only a very thin line of fabric. “Soon,” she smirks.

  The moment after we’ve saved the day I’m burying every inch of my Zoran hardness inside Mia, that’s for damn certain.

  13

  Mia

  My hand is resting on the bulge in Zivan’s navy-blue uniform.

  I couldn’t resist. I felt it pressing against me, and I just needed to have another touch.

  This moment is just that — a single, fleeting moment of safety, of comfort, of happiness.

  We’re about to head back out into danger. Emily Forrester is alive, and nearby. These horrible aliens are holding her captive. I’ll stop at nothing to save her, but I need this first. This beautiful, amazing moment.

  I can’t believe Zivan kissed me like that.

  He’s been hounding me from the moment we met, and I’ve turned him down at every turn — as best I could anyway. It’s grown harder and harder to do so with each passing second.

  The arrogant, alpha jerk has turned out to be a caring, funny and charming alpha jerk. For a second there, I thought those beasts were going to kill me.

  A few seconds later and they just might have.

  I’ve never been happier to see anyone. The way he kicked down the door and took my captors out without breaking a sweat was awe-inspiring. I’m a damn good detective, but I don’t know if I could hold my own in a firefight like that.

  When he suddenly kissed me, I felt overwhelmed. He took me by complete surprise, his firm lips on mine…

  And I just melted. Instantly. The resolve I had to resist his charm just disappeared. Why was I playing so hard to get? Why was I resisting this Zoran warrior, my purple-skinned savior? Why was I denying myself the pleasure of a broad-shouldered, seven-foot-tall alpha male?

  Even now, minutes later, my heart is still beating like mad, and butterflies are still fluttering in my stomach.

  We need to come up with a plan of action, but my body is concerned with a whole different type of action…

  “We need to focus,” I say, as much to Zivan as to myself. “The Wrath of Moss. I assume it’s the same ship I saw in my vision. The leader, who was wearing some kind of golden necklace, mentioned a ship as well. We need to reach it. Time is of the essence.”

  Zivan nods.

  “Can you call in some back-up?” I ask. “We can ask security to halt all outbound ships.”

  “No,” Zivan says. “We can’t trust the authorities.”

  My eyes grow wide. “Wh-what?” I stammer. “Why?”

  My Zoran mate stares off into the distance.

  “Have you ever heard of the Order?” he asks.

  “Vaguely. I thought they were just a rumor?”

  He chuckles. “That’s what they want you to think. The Order is the Intergalactic Alliance’s last resort. Their final line of defense. Tasked with defending the Alliance and its core members from so-called subversive elements. Half military, half secret police force, the Order answers only to itself.”

  “I don’t understand,” I say. “What do they have to do with all this?”

  “That’s the question, isn’t it?”

  Zivan’s golden eyes, normally so beautiful and calm, are boiling with rage.

  “They are involved. Those Tyk’ix could very well be Order operatives. They’re connected to the Foundation. Order agents came to the station this morning, asking questions. They noticed we tried to access the Foundation’s information. I knew right away something was off. My captain explicitly forbade me from coming here.”

  “And what did you do?”

  “What do you think?” my mate smirks. “I told him to fuck off and came here as soon as possible.”

  I now remember him calling me before I knocked on the door. If I’d just answered… why am I so damn stubborn?

  I grab his big hand and squeeze it.

  “What does that mean for your job?”

  “Simple,” Zivan says. “I don’t have one anymore. I couldn’t make the world a better place in the Zoran Forces, and I couldn’t do it in Observer Security either. It’s time for me to spread my wings and fly solo.”

  “Can I fly along?”

  “Of course,” he smiles. “You are my co-pilot.”

  “Zivan & Fro
st. Has a nice ring to it,” I say. “Partners in crime.”

  He nods. “Partners.”

  More than just professional ones, I hope…

  “Alright, so the authorities are off the table.”

  “Yes. We should assume Observer Security will report us to the Order the moment they spot us.”

  “That’s bad. We need to get down to the docks, and time is of the essence.”

  Zivan thinks hard. “How are we going to get there without being caught on the security cams? The docks are a few levels down, and the facial recognition algorithms will pick us out of the crowd right away.

  “I have a plan,” I say decisively. “Follow me.”

  If my hunch is correct, and it usually is, then we will be able to find a shortcut down through the service tunnels. In the docks we’ll be able to find help — for a price.

  The docks are usually the seediest part of town, and have been so throughout history. In days of old, ships would come into port, filled to the brim with lustful sailors, desperate for some distraction and entertainment. Brothels, casinos, drug dens — you’d find them in the docks. Smugglers and criminals made it their home.

  Centuries have passed since then. Ships still arrive at the docs, only now they’re spaceships. Instead of traversing the harsh sea, they move through the cold, unforgiving space itself.

  However, the same principles still apply.

  The same basic, primal urges still guide our behavior.

  We follow the path the Tyk’ix leader took. Zivan has caught his scent, and it leads us out of the catacombs of the Foundation building. Soon we’re back on the streets.

  “Where to now?” Zivan asks. “There are cameras at the end of this alley.”

  I nod at a manhole.

  “Can you open that?”

  He raises his eyebrow.

  “You plan is to enter the sewers?”

  “Do you have a better idea?”

  Zivan’s silent for a moment. “No.”

  “Then use those big muscles of yours and pry that thing open.”

  He follows my command and lifts the heavy slab of concrete out of the way. We peer down the long, dark tunnel, and a shiver runs down my spine. I’m not a fan of dark, cramped spaces… but it’s for the greater good.

  I go down the ladder first. It’s flimsy and rattles with every step I take — and Zivan’s quite a bit bigger than me! I pray the thing will hold as I lower myself into the darkness.

  Zivan follows me, pulling the concrete slab back over us. Pitch black darkness surrounds us, and all I hear is our breathing. Every sound we make echoes down the tunnel. I have no idea how far down this tunnel goes — I slip, the fall could be long or short, but painful either way.

  Hold on, Emily. We’re coming for you.

  14

  Zivan

  “What now, fearless leader?”

  I’m standing next to Mia, peering out into the busy street. We climbed down several levels of service tunnel, and are now at the docks. However, there are camera’s everywhere, and we don’t know where we can find this Wrath of Moss ship yet.

  “Wait here,” she says.

  I watch her walk away, popping the collar of her trench coat, keeping her head low. She turns the corner and disappears. I wait, counting every second.

  After a minute, I start worrying, and my fear grows with each second that passes. Where did she go to? How long can I afford to wait? What if she got captured, and is in desperate need for my help? I was only barely in time the last time — I can’t risk that again.

  These anxious thoughts bounce around my head, reinforcing one another, until I’m moments away from dashing out into the busy street, when Mia finally turns the corner.

  I let out a giant sigh of relief.

  “Here,” she says, thrusting a bundle of cloth into my hands. “Wear this.”

  I unravel the mystery packet, and find it’s a beige trench coat, much like the one Mia’s wearing.

  “And this,” she says as she hands me a hat.

  I quickly slip the clothes on.

  “How do I look?”

  “Like a proper old timey dick,” Mia says proudly.

  I raise my left eyebrow. “I look like an ancient penis?”

  “No,” she says, bursting out into laughter. “A ‘dick’ is slang for a private detective. With the coat and the hat you look like a detective. That’s what I meant to say. Honestly. I swear.”

  “Right,” I growl.

  The street behind her swells with people, and I hear yelling, screaming and cursing. Glass is shattered, and voices are raised.

  “What’s going on?” I ask, nodding at the disturbance.

  “Some of my handiwork,” Mia grins.

  “You caused this?”

  “We need a diversion,” she says. “So I went to a few bars and dropped a few thousand credits and bought me one.”

  “You purchased a riot?”

  “Exactly. Paid for by the New Atlanta Police Department.”

  The crowd turns violent, smashing window fronts, and I hear the sound of police sirens in the distance.

  “This is our window. Let’s go!”

  I pull down my hat and pop the collar of my coat. We rush out into the streets, using the diversion to move unseen and unnoticed. Security forces rush past us, battling the unruly mob, consisting mostly of drunk Falurians, in the middle of the street.

  Once we reach the docking bay, the main terminal is unattended. Mia keeps watch while I log in using the ID of one of my coworkers.

  “Wrath of Moss, found it! Hangar 87. It requested leave… thirty-four seconds ago. Damn it!” I growl, hitting the terminal with my fist. “They’re gone by now.”

  “What’s their destination?” Mia asks, peering out into the street. “They left a flight plan.”

  “They’re heading to… a planet called Moss Erin.”

  “Never heard of it.”

  “That entire system is supposed to be empty,” I say. I quickly download the Wrath of Moss transponder information. If we steal a top-of-the-line ship, we can use that to track them down, if we’re quick enough.

  “What now?” Mia asks.

  “We need a ship.”

  On cue, an Observer Security cruiser arrives at the docks. We both quickly duck down and hide behind the terminal as a squadron of officers, equipped with heavy anti-riot gear, hop out and charge down the street.

  The moment they’re gone I grab Mia’s hand and charge into the abandoned ship. I quickly override the controls and launch the ship out of the docking bay.

  Before Security knows what hit ‘em, we’re gone.

  Mia plops down next to me, watching me steer.

  “You know how to fly this thing?”

  “Yes,” I say. “I haven’t always been a desk jockey, you know. In the Zoran Forces we’d patrol space in our needle-class ships, looking for smugglers and pirates. Now, let’s hope our little diversion is still in effect…”

  I hit a button on the dashboard and request permission to leave the station. The hanger doors have to open for us. This ship packs a lot of heat, but I don’t know if it’s enough to break down the hangar bay doors…

  My com beeps. Permission granted.

  The doors open and we slip out unseen.

  Mia flings herself around my neck, laughing happily. “We did it!”

  “We sure did,” I say as I input the Wrath of Moss’s transponder codes. Luckily, they’re still in range of our scanners.

  My human mate watches the numbers on my screen as she kisses me behind my ear.

  “Can we still get them? Please say yes.”

  “I think we can. According to their registration info, the Wrath of Moss is a class B cargo ship. That means our engines outmatch theirs. Based on their current trajectory, we could slingshot around Xia V.”

  “What does that mean? In Universal, please.”

  “It means we can reach their destination before they do and spring a trap.”

&
nbsp; “Excellent!”

  Mia does a little celebratory dance, and I can’t help but grin.

  She’s a crazy human, and damn if I don’t love her for it.

  “I can’t wait to take down those creeps,” she says. “Make them pay.”

  “What I’m wondering,” I say as I hit a few buttons to mask our location and hopefully throw Observer Security off our trail, “is what their endgame is. What is their interest in Emily? And how is the Order involved?”

  Mia crosses her arms over her chest.

  “I guess we’ll just have to ask them.”

  When I’ve done all I can, I rise up from my seat.

  “The ship has made its calculations and plotted our trajectory. There is nothing we can do now but wait. It’ll take us twenty-four hours before we can make our move.”

  “What do you want to do in the meantime?”

  I look at my human mate. There’s certainly something that comes to mind. Something primal, something involving my most basic instinct…

  “Let’s grab something to eat,” I say.

  15

  Mia

  Zivan stands in front of the stove, whipping me up a hearty Zoran meal. I can’t tear my eyes away from his big, seven-foot-tall frame.

  We actually did it. Stole a damn cruiser, and now we’re in hot pursuit of the Wrath of Moss. For the first time, things seem to be going our way.

  I hope that things go as well tomorrow. Hours from now we’ll be launching a daring surprise attack, hopefully taking the unsuspecting Tyk’ix by storm and busting Emily Forrester out of there.

  “What are you thinking about?” he asks.

  “Emily,” I sigh. “I wonder how she got herself into this mess.”

  “Probably at the wrong place at the wrong time,” Zivan answers. “That’s all that stands between us and disaster at times. Just that piece of bad luck.”

  “That’s a scary thought,” I say.

  “I think it’s comforting,” my Zoran chef says. “If it’s bad luck, then there’s nothing you can to do avoid it. Ergo, it makes no sense to ever worry about it. If it happens, it happens. And more often than not, it doesn’t.”