Alien, Mine

by Sandra Harris

  Hidden behind a thick screen of broad, green leaves, she couldn’t seem to convince her anxiety that climbing down out of the elm she’d taken refuge in was, in fact, a good idea. In the dim, shadowy seclusion of her haven, her hands almost moulded themselves into the broad branch she sat upon.

  Cautious movement glimpsed through the cloaking net of foliage sparked a flare of hope. She fumbled in a vest pocket for the communicator.

  Hope the damn thing still works after the dunking it took.

  “Eugen?” she whispered.

  The reply came, immediate and low-pitched. “Miss Fairbairn, where are you?”

  Her stomach twisted a knot tighter at his formal address, a confirmation of his desire to establish some emotional distance between them.

  “To your right as you are now, in the big yellow and green tree. Who’s that with you?”

  “A fellow Angrigan. You are unharmed?”

  “Yes. You?”

  “We have suffered no injuries.”

  Through periodic breaks in the foliage she tracked Eugen’s progress until he and the other man stood beneath the boughs of her shelter.

  “You may descend now, Miss Fairbairn.”

  The lack of any supportive comment or even flicker of recognition that he was in some way glad to have found her kicked Sandrea’s heart into her stomach. She clamped her teeth together.

  Fine, I get the picture. We don’t know each other intimately. Hell, I’m beginning to think I don’t know you at all.

  She scrambled down the trunk and turned to her rescuers.

  “This is T’Hargen,” Eugen said.

  The unknown Angrigan, even larger than Eugen, gazed down on her. Her hackles rose at the critical speculation hardening his gaze.

  “This is what all the fuss is about?” he demanded.

  “Yes.” Eugen’s clipped reply hurt.

  Did he have to sound so angry about it?

  He consulted an instrument strapped to his arm and addressed her forehead.

  “This way if you will, Miss Fairbairn.”

  His detached, professional attitude cut her to the bone. She strengthened her heart and straightened her spine.

  “Is the squad alright?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  A touch of relief slipped through her tense muscles and she followed Eugen further inland. The ground rose in steep, sharp folds, forcing her to accept the impersonal offer of his hand to be hauled up a treacherous incline slippery with loose rocks and forest debris.

  T’Hargen shadowed their progress a good dozen or so paces to the left. Avoiding Eugen’s aid, she grasped a couple of trunks and heaved her body upward. His touch tore her apart for she craved to be held in his arms and comforted, shown a little care. Knowing he deplored the very idea pained and angered her. How could she have read him so wrong?

  Could this day get worse?

  Blue bolts of light slammed in rapid succession into the trees near T’Hargen. The thwack-thwack of splintering wood accompanied shards of bark flying in all directions. Her heart and stomach lurched in a horrid dance.

  Eugen grabbed and bulldozed her up the incline until she found her balance and clambered upward under her own steam. The forest gloom highlighted all too well the barrage of fire that sprayed the forest, tracking T’Hargen as he darted through the trunks.

  Soon her entire group of leg muscles protested vehemently as she demanded her body climb almost vertical at speed. Her lungs and oesophagus felt coated in acid. Each inhalation became a virtual reality of swallowing frozen razor blades. She half fell, half leapt over a fallen log and landed on all fours at the edge of a wide forest trail.

  She snapped her gaze toward movement up the track. A group of armed Bluthen sprinted toward her. T’Hargen burst from the trees firing a hand-held weapon into the enemy troop. She launched to her feet, turned tail and fled downhill.

  “Stay with me, Miss Fairbairn,” Eugen ordered as she tore away.

  She risked a glance over her shoulder. Surprise at the distance she’d already put between them slowed her stride. Then her heart tripped and stuttered as a laser bolt punched into Eugen’s back.

  Time seemed to stretch as his armour absorbed the hit. Details that danced on the fringe of her awareness forced themselves to the forefront.

  Oh shit! Not good. Not good.

  Time snapped back.

  “Get in front of me!” she yelled after realizing Eugen hadn’t been badly hurt.

  “Move!” Eugen commanded, pounding toward her.

  For fuck’s sake, don’t argue! “Just get in front, will you!”

  “Why?” T’Hargen challenged as he bounded up.

  “Because they’re shooting at you, not me!”

  On the face of things, that may have appeared to be a good sign. She deeply suspected it was not.

  T’Hargen sped past, his footsteps fast receding. Eugen grabbed her shoulder, spun her around, and pushed her in front of him. She stumbled a couple of steps, swung back, then wrapped her hands around his arm and tried to heave him in front of her. All she managed was to pull herself closer to his solid form.

  “Don’t argue with me, Eugen!”

  “I have no intention of arguing with you.”

  He swept her against him and hitched her high on his chest.

  “Dammit, Eugen! Put me down!”

  “No.”

  She braced a hand on the hard armour of his shoulder and steadied her upper body as she bounced to the rhythm of his long stride. Warm, pleasurable sensation spread in a cell-quivering wave from his solid nearness to clash with her anger and fear.

  Hot relief cascaded across her nerves as the pursuing Bluthen refrained from shooting. Of course, her upper body now took exception to being the closest thing to the pursuing Bluthen.

  Eugen’s stride landed hard, jolting her, and her hand slipped. She pitched sideways and her ribs struck unyielding armour. Her breath escaped on a hiss of pain.

  “Dammit, General,” she gasped. “Put me . . . down!”

  He made no move to comply. The trail meandered through the woods and the Bluthen disappeared from view.

  “Eugen, please, the Bluthen are out of sight and this is ridiculous.”

  His pace slowed and in a show of strength that took her already struggling breath, he twirled her in the circle of his arms and placed her on the ground.

  “Do not stop,” he commanded.

  A firm hand remained on her shoulder and steered her before him.

  Fine, you want to play the hero, be my guest.

  Absolutely refusing to acknowledge the glow of admiration for him that tried to worm its way to light, she set her balance in her hips, lengthened her stride, and chased down T’Hargen. He half disappeared through the trees, and she sprinted round a bend in the trail after him. A second later, he plunged off into the forest.

  Where the fuck is he going?

  “Follow him,” Eugen commanded.

  She ground her teeth. You issue me one more order, General, and I’ll shove it back down your throat.

  She bounded after T’Hargen, dodged around trunks and leapt over fallen branches. Saplings grabbed and slapped at her clothes and face. A minute or so later she met up with the path again, sped across, and within two strides forsook it.

  Then T’Hargen began to plunge from sight. She suspected Newton, or whoever was responsible for discovering that particular law in this part of the Galaxy, was to blame. No way was she taking a blind, flying leap down a gully without something to land on. She vaulted onto T’Hargen’s fast-disappearing back.

  His creative cursing befouled the air, yet despite her clinging presence he managed to remain upright when they thudded to the ground. She didn’t hang around to listen to
his complaints and legged it off down the slope.

  “Return to the path,” came a bellow from behind.

  Her mouth thinned in a mutinous line and she promised herself that when time permitted she would tell General Eugen Mhartak just what he could do with his damn orders. She dashed through knee-high grass, took a hard right, scrabbled onto the path, and sped off. The track levelled out and the trees stepped back to leave waist-high swathes of dark green bracken bordering the path.

  “Halt!” T’Hargen demanded.

  She rolled her eyes. If it wasn’t one, it was the other.

  She skidded to a standstill, dragging air into her lungs. Exertion bent her double and she rested her hands on her knees and tried to catch her breath. Strong hands seized her waist. The world tumbled upside down and rolled. Movement stilled and her senses caught up. She lay in a dark ditch overhung with dense ferns, her back pressed into T’Hargen’s body, one of his hands clamped her mouth, the other held her firm by the hip. She swivelled her eyes to find Eugen by her feet. Bluthen odour snaked into her nose. She checked an endeavour to bite T’Hargen’s smothering fingers.

  Dread struck a heavy weight to her heart. Through the verdant fronds, she caught glimpses of boots as they patrolled by their hiding place, then halted. A prayer that the Bluthen did not carry instruments capable of detecting them flitted through her mind. Long, silent moments dragged like nails scraping over nerves. The boots moved away. She took a deep, quiet inhalation then speared an anxious glance at Eugen. His alert gaze locked on her. She shook her head. Eugen sent a swift signal at T’Hargen. They remained motionless.

  Tension stretched every moment into a torment. She sniffed. Registered only T’Hargen’s scent and twisted her head to dislodge his stifling hand. She pulled in a deep breath through mouth and nostrils. Angrigan and pine-scented forest filled her senses. She gave Eugen a small, slow nod. Using the muzzle of his weapon, he swept aside the thick fronds of their concealment and took long minutes to scrutinize the area.

  “All clear,” he murmured and scrambled out.

  A hot, intoxicating wave of relief flooded her system. She moved against T’Hargen’s hold, but the big Angrigan merely stood with her in his arms and climbed back onto the path. Feet dangling, she cast him a querying glance over her shoulder. Eyes hard with flinty speculation bored into hers.

  “What?” she demanded.

  Frost barricaded his gaze and he dropped her like a hot potato. She staggered, gained her balance, then shrugged off his peculiar humour. She had worse things to worry about.

  “Well?” she demanded in a harsh whisper and waited for the next order.

  “This way.” Eugen motioned downhill. “Remain behind me.”

  What, me do something I’m not ordered to do? Perish the thought.

  She matched the brisk jog he set along the fern-edged trail into the quiet forest.

  Anger gnawed at Mhartak. He’d allowed the Bluthen to outmanoeuvre him and force them onto this planet into their waiting arms because he’d underestimated Sandrea’s importance to them.

  What lay behind their apparent intent to capture her alive and uninjured? What intelligence swayed the council to determine her safety be paramount? Were the two linked?

  It seemed likely.

  It was also the excuse he’d proffered his brother for assaulting him. The human woman was of great military importance to the Alliance and he’d feared T’Hargen had eliminated a valuable tactical advantage.

  By then, they’d failed to find Sandrea’s body amongst those of the Bluthen and assumed she’d escaped via the river. He’d divided the troop into search-and-rescue pairs and sent them out. His brother’s suggestion that Sandrea be a collaborator had received the scornful denial it deserved. She had no desire to return to the Bluthen, her evident terror proved that conclusively. That aside, he doubted she had a duplicitous cell in her beautiful body.

  A horrifying suspicion raced through him like flame along a wick. Had emotion impaired his reasoning?

  His deplorable behaviour when T’Hargen fired the ion wave gun and every shred of professional conduct had vaporized in the face of Sandrea’s possible demise came back to taunt him. A corner of his mouth compressed.

  g’Nel, I tore into those rocks like an immature, undisciplined . . . He quashed the memory.

  He could not afford a lapse in judgment. Not now. He knew exactly what had caused his aberrant behaviour and ruthlessly caged the burgeoning emotion. The tender feelings he felt toward Sandrea could not be indulged. He must deny the deep craving to hold her close, to offer support, to resolve her aversion of him—for now.

  This situation demanded a military perspective. He would keep it.

  But, Paradise’s indignant Angels, he couldn’t help but admire her courage and tenacity. Sandrea must be exhausted, overwhelmed by the constant hunt and threat of recapture, yet she retained enough fire to face their circumstances with fortitude.

  “We will rest,” he ordered and led them into the shelter of a thick clump of brush.

  However strong his resolve, he couldn’t silence the voice wondering what it would be like to spend the rest of his life with this woman.

  Sandrea settled gratefully to the ground and leaned her back into a trunk.

  “Where’re the rest of the squad?” she murmured.

  “Making their way to a holding of T’Hargen’s.” Eugen’s deep voice, floating down from where he stood, soothed her frayed nerves.

  She turned her gaze to T’Hargen. “You live here?” In this cold climate?

  “Yes.”

  Good heavens.

  Silence hung in the air. Hell, it practically savaged any noise. An odd vibe drifted down her spine and skated across her senses. She flicked her eyes between T’Hargen and Eugen. The silence hung between them. Why? Clash of alpha males?

  No, this seems deeper. Personal. They know each other?

  A strange, compressed, fragmented buzz drifted into hearing. Eugen’s head lifted.

  “X-EM rifle,” T’Hargen muttered. “Bluthen. About a mile away in the direction we are headed.”

  He’s familiar with the sound of Bluthen weaponry?

  Eugen’s comm-pod bipped.

  “Leaf in the tornado. Leaf in the tornado.”

  Confusion and a shot of amusement crinkled her brow.

  “Do you require assistance, Sergeant?” Eugen responded.

  Concern for Kulluk tightened her shoulders.

  “We have a minor situation, Sir. Bluthen interrogating villagers objected to our intervention.”

  Bile rose in her throat.

  “Where?” T’Hargen growled.

  “Situation has developed—” Kulluk continued.

  Kendril’s exasperated voice interrupted. “What the good sergeant is not saying, Sir, is that we could— Ugh!” Laser fire screamed and shattered the background noise, “Use some help.”

  Shrenk’?

  “Sergeant, who has possession of the ion gun?” Eugen demanded.

  “Lieutenant Graegen, Sir. He’s not—”

  A burst of static cut off the transmission.

  “I’ll go,” T’Hargen snarled.

  Eugen’s gaze trained on him for a moment, the tightness of his features concealing fierce emotions.

  “No,” he countermanded. “See Miss Fairbairn to your place.”

  “I’m just as capable—” T’Hargen argued.

  “I am sensible of that fact, T’Hargen. This is no longer your fight. Please do as I ask.”

  T’Hargen’s hard stare on Eugen lasted a moment before he jerked a brisk nod. Eugen consulted an instrument on his arm, turned, and bounded away.

  Hurt that he hadn’t even spared her a glance before leaving, Sandrea nevertheless whispered, “Tak
e care,” after his departing figure.

  “Move,” T’Hargen ordered.

  She rose to her feet and dusted off her butt.

  “Certainly, kind sir,” she muttered with heavy sarcasm. “Perhaps you would be good enough to point the way?”

  The drill of an intense gaze scraped across Sandrea’s shoulder blades. It had been for the last hour or so that they’d hiked through the forest. Her capacity to ignore the relentless stare, the prickle of skin on her back, fast approached non-existent.

  She had enough to contend with between Eugen going all aloof military on her and the Bluthen breathing down her neck. If T’Hargen thought he could provoke her, make her uncomfortable . . .

  Dammit! He is.

  She spun, prepared to crawl up one side of him and down the other. Her sight skipped over his shoulder through a framework of trees and up the long, grassy slope they had just descended.

  Bluthen.

  Holy shit!

  “Run!” she yelled and whirled.

  Self-preservation fuelled her speed along the track.

  “Keep your pace to mine, or I’ll let you face whatever you run into on your own,” T’Hargen bellowed at her.

  Fear ripped through her gut. Down here in the valley, breeze was practically non-existent and the sun, already hidden behind the mountains, made the forest shadows an easy place to hide. She shortened her stride until he drew level with her.

  “Can’t you go any faster?” she grumbled, driven by the need to stretch her legs, to run like the wild wind funnelling down a valley, to put as much distance as humanly possible between her and the hated Bluthen.

  They ran out onto a dirt track. Old wheel ruts ploughed its surface. T’Hargen herded her along and she picked up the pace.

  Glimpses of a bridge flickered between the trunks ahead. The track turned and aimed straight for a river. They dashed toward the crossing and for a microsecond her heart sank. Half the damn bridge had been destroyed. Given the choice between facing the Bluthen and jumping into rushing water again, she’d gladly choose the latter.