by Pearl Foxx
She was battered. Bloody. A set of Draqon claw marks was slashed across her shoulder and tanned neck, where a deeper bite oozed poison and pus. Chestnut hair tumbled loose from the bun at the nape of her neck. Her mouth was wide, her lips full beneath dark, snapping eyes. Her tight suit was torn and the ash-streaked fabric still smoked, but she lifted her chin and glared at him, ready to fight even after she’d single-handedly killed a Draqon male.
An impressive feat, even if it was a trapped juvenile.
“You next, motherfucker?”
Her threatening voice—too sweet to sound so sharp—shot straight to his heart and then down to his cock, making it twitch with a desire he hadn’t ever experienced in his entire life.
“Alpha—” Swanson began from a few paces behind Gerrit.
Gerrit cut him off with a jerk of his chin. “Stay back. Keep the area clear. I’ll deal with her.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “You speak the universal language?”
“Sir,” Swanson tried again. “She’s a Falconer.”
“I can see that,” Gerrit snarled. Her Avilku-damned smell messed with his head, but he shoved it aside. If she was a Falconer, then she represented a threat to his home, his people. “Stay back,” he told Swanson. “Hold the perimeter. Others will have seen the crash. We need to move fast.”
Swanson immediately obeyed, leaving Gerrit alone with the Falconer female.
“I’m standing right here,” the woman said, though she retreated a step at the sound of his voice. “You can speak to me.”
“Did you radio your location before you crashed?” Gerrit barked the question at her.
“So what if I did?”
He strode around the fire toward her.
She fumbled backward. Her eyes skittered to the left as she clearly considered running. Gerrit growled, and she froze. “Does anyone know you’re here?”
“Don’t come any closer,” she warned, taking more stumbling steps backward until she smacked into the battered hull of her ruined ship. She held a knife angled across her body, ready to strike.
“Tell me. Now.” Gerrit stopped a few feet from her.
She craned her neck back to look up at him. “Listen,” she said. “I’m from the Zynthar International Space Station. I was dislodged from my flight path, and my radio went out before I crashed. I can’t re-establish my comms. My instructor is dead inside the ship. I need to get his body back home, and I need to let someone know where I am. I need a—”
Relief, bright and warm in his chest, flooded through him. The humans still had no idea about Kladuu’s location. His planet was safe. Now he just had to deal with her. Before she could react, he slapped her knife clear of her hand.
She lunged to the side, ducking beneath the tail of her ship and crab-crawling toward the other side. A small thrill surged through Gerrit at the thought of chasing her, fighting her to the ground, and pressing his body down against hers, but he shoved it down. What the hell was wrong with him?
He jumped atop her ship and climbed over it, chasing after her.
She moved fast, but he was faster.
Clearing the ship’s underbelly, she surged up, ready to race away, but slammed straight into his chest and fell back onto her ass.
She spat blood on his leather-booted feet. “Asshole,” she hissed, struggling to her feet. “If you’re going to kill me …” She swayed, blinking slowly. “Then just do it already.”
Her gaze drifted to her shoulder, where the bite oozed with poison.
Gerrit crossed his arms and waited her out.
“I don’t feel so …” She groaned, slumping to the side.
He caught her easily and swung her over his shoulder.
“Time to move, sir,” Swanson said, coming back into the clearing. “We’ve got company.”
Gerrit nodded, refusing to think about the softness of her body and the smell of her skin. “Make sure her ship isn’t sending any transmissions and then let’s go.”
Swanson made quick work of the ship, ripping out the communications panel and disconnecting any long-range radio transmitters, and they took off back into the jungle. The other guards folded in behind them, taking their positions. They moved through the dripping foliage in a half run, half crouch. Their footsteps fell silently on the moss-covered ground.
Gerrit leaped over a small stream. The pilot bounced against his shoulder.
She groaned in pain.
He slid to a stop with a growl. His guards folded in around him, closing ranks. He dropped the pilot into his arms, holding her to his chest, and slapped his hand over her mouth. He looked up, scanning the sky.
She struggled in his arms.
A low whine echoed from his right. He glanced over and saw Swanson’s eyes on the sky. Gerrit didn’t have to strain to hear the approaching beat of wings. A Draqon patrol had caught their scent.
Swanson’s eyes met his. He signaled toward the pilot that she was too loud.
Gerrit leaned down and pressed his lips against her ear. He shushed her as his fingers clamped her nose.
Eyes wide, she bucked against his grip, but he easily held her still.
She thought he was killing her, and he saw the rage in her eyes. He held her tighter and looked away.
Above them, the wings came closer, rustling the jungle canopy. A roar filled the sky.
The pilot went limp in his arms.
The others were staring at him, waiting. He knew what they were all thinking.
Leave her. Just leave her. Let her die.
He motioned for everyone to tighten up. They moved on silent feet, their hearing almost as good as a Draqon’s.
“They’re staying south, near the mountain pass. They think we’re running back there,” Thompson whispered.
Gerrit nodded. “Get some water. I need to stop her bleeding. Then we’ll move.”
“Sir—” Swanson started.
Gerrit growled. All protests died off instantly. With a hand signal, he sent out a guard to keep watch. The others hovered around him and the pilot, who he not so delicately sprawled onto the damp moss beneath them.
Her hair had fallen down and wet locks stuck to the side of her neck. The flight suit she wore was torn and much too thin. Not to mention that Gerrit could see more of her tanned, toned flesh than actual material. Blood caked a bite wound on her shoulder, which oozed poisonous saliva. Already the poison was flushing her cheeks with fever.
Thompson reached forward, his fingertip brushing down a bit of her exposed arm. Gerrit growled, the noise more of a rumble through his chest than an actual sound, but Thompson jerked his hand back just the same. Swanson rolled his eyes at the curious guard, but Gerrit didn’t blame them.
Until recently, some had only seen a human in passing, but all that had changed when his uncle, Savas, had kidnapped a group of young women from a space station near Earth. Gerrit and Rayner, his father’s Beta and now Gerrit’s Beta, had secured the women positions and rights within the Vilkan mountain, but they could do nothing about the open-mouthed shock and awe that had followed the beautiful young women around wherever they went. Rayner had even mated—truly mated—to one named Vera, a fiery redhead with a penchant for grease and ship parts. The rest, aside from one of Vera’s close friends, had returned to Earth in a secret mission none of his clan had known about, save for Nestan and Rayner.
And now they would have yet another human to deal with.
Gerrit growled again. Thinking it was their proximity vexing their Alpha, his guards shrank farther back. Instantly, Gerrit relaxed, which only confused him more. Why did their closeness to her bother him so much? He was out of sorts, out of time, and already disrespectfully late for the meeting with the Hylas.
He didn’t need the distraction of some human woman right now. He should have left her for the Draqons to eat, but she wouldn’t be safe running around Kladuu, setting fires to whatever she could, on her own. If it wasn’t the Katu, Draqons, or Arakids who captured her, it would be Savas and
his new loyalist pack. They would sell her into the Deep Market, and Gerrit wouldn’t wish that horrible fate on anyone.
No, he had to take her, he told himself. He’d made the pragmatic decision. His choice had nothing to do with the fact that her scent was calling to some primal, instinctual part of him or that he wanted to strip her bare and search her skin for any other cut or bruise, no matter how small.
Blessed Avilku, what was wrong with him?
He turned his attention to the bite on her shoulder. Through the torn material, he could tell the wound was deep. But it had missed her clavicle, which meant no broken bones, just deeply punctured flesh. Gerrit leaned down closer and sniffed.
The scent hit him again, all at once, just as blinding. He reared back, scrubbing at his nose and shaking his head. The other guards took notice of his reaction and leaned forward to smell. Thompson, risking Gerrit’s ire again, leaned closest to the bite. He took a good long sniff before leaning back and shrugging at Gerrit.
He hadn’t smelled anything.
But Gerrit had taken in everything. The scent in that bite did something to his head. Turned him fuzzy and inside out. It was like his mind went blank and he could sit here, staring down at this female for ages. Like he could scoop her up and run straight back to the mountain without ever stopping just to know she was safe.
He hated it. He fought against it with everything he had.
He signaled for a water canteen.
Thompson passed it up from one of the other guards.
Gerrit uncapped it and, with his hand over the pilot’s mouth, doused the wound with the ice-cold water. She stirred but didn’t completely wake. Gerrit kept pouring until the water ran clear over her skin, the blood and dirt washed out. The poison would be deeper set, but a coating of humir would draw it out, especially since the Draqon had been merely a juvenile.
Before he could even ask, Swanson supplied him with a tin of humir and an Arakid silk bandage. It was more loosely woven than the clothes they wore, which would allow for airflow but no contaminants while the humir did its work against the poison.
Gerrit gritted his teeth against the scent and wrapped an arm around the pilot’s neck. He lifted her off the ground, and she slumped against his chest, her head lolling into the crook of his neck.
His skin prickled. His heart hammered deep in his chest. He turned his face away from her hair and worked to wrap up her shoulder quickly. He tightened the bandage with short, quick jerks, perhaps tighter than he needed to, but it wouldn’t budge anytime soon. He finished the wrap with a solid knot.
Behind the pilot, one of the guards gestured silently at Gerrit. He pointed to the pilot’s back. Gerrit leaned around the female and glanced down.
Along her lower back, her suit was trashed. She’d been clawed there too. How had she even been standing? How in the moons had she fought back against him?
Gerrit’s arm tightened around her before he realized what he was doing. He forced himself to relax and breathe through his mouth. Regaining enough composure, he nodded at Thompson.
Together, with Gerrit holding the pilot against his chest, they cleaned out her back wound and bandaged it with the last of their silk wraps. When she was bandaged up as best as they could manage while on the run, he rocked back on his heels and looked around at the others.
“What now, sir?” Swanson whispered.
Gerrit clenched his fists, but in his heart, he knew what he had to do. “We make a run for the mountain pass and head back home. We’ll drop her off and explain to the Hylas about the delay. Hopefully, they’ll let us come back.”
“We could bring her with us.” Swanson’s words were carefully offered up so as not to be taken as him doubting his Alpha, but Gerrit understood. He questioned his own decision even as he made it.
There was nothing he didn’t doubt these days.
But the human would slow them down and distract everyone. They needed to be clearheaded when negotiating with the Hylas. Too much depended on this trade deal. On the medicine. Swanson, with his young son, understood that better than most.
“We take her back. Then we’ll get that medicine. I vow it.”
They nodded back at him, grim-mouthed but ready. Even though he was a new Alpha and as young as they were, they respected him. It was respect he hadn’t earned, but he would. On his father’s legacy, he would deserve it.
A surge of pride welled in his heart. This was what mattered: his duty to his Vilkas. This was better than any fuzzy-headed, warm feeling in his gut.
No matter how much his instincts screamed at him otherwise.
5
Jude
Jude woke suddenly, her stomach dropping out from beneath her as though she’d stepped off a ledge without realizing. Her entire body jerked on reflex, and she face-planted straight into wet, sticky leaves. Her hands were tied.
What the fuck?
Breathing heavily, adrenaline sending her heart into hyperdrive, she scrambled a knee up beneath her and shoved backward. Harried, slightly panicked, and more than a bit pissed off, she swung her gaze around, searching for that massive bastard with the dimpled chin and—
“Hello.”
She narrowed her eyes at the alien who most certainly was not the asshole who’d nearly suffocated her. It was the other one who’d stayed behind at the edges of the clearing. Through clenched teeth, she hissed, “Why the fuck am I tied up?”
Above them, through gaps in the sprawling canopy, she could just make out a faint hint of sunlight streaming down through the leaves.
The alien sat across from a dwindling fire, to which he occasionally added a small twig. Why had they made camp in the middle of the day?
He smiled too brightly at her. “You’re tied up because Gerrit said you would probably try to kill us when you woke up.”
“Gerrit wouldn’t be lying. Who the fuck is Gerrit?”
His smile turned lopsided and sympathetic. He was goofy-looking with too-large ears and a full mouth, but Jude found herself relaxing around him. She certainly wasn’t thinking about killing him. At least, not yet. “Gerrit is the, uh, the one who, you know, made you pass out.”
“He’s the one who nearly suffocated me? Is that how you people treat everyone who crash-lands on your planet and needs aid?”
“No one crashes on Kladuu. That never happens.”
“Well, surprise.”
Her sarcasm was lost on the man. His eyes brightened. “I’m Swanson.” He reached out to shake her hand then realized she couldn’t. He cleared his throat and sat back on his side of the fire.
“Great, Swanson. I’m Jude Quincy. Where are the others? Why are we making camp? I need access to a radio now.”
“They’re leading off the Draqon patrol before we move toward the pass that will take us back home. We’re going to drop you off, and you can arrange for a way back to Earth from there.”
Jude let out a relieved breath. They weren’t holding her hostage. She wasn’t a prisoner. She was just a strange creature who’d crashed onto their planet. She was the alien in this case. They’d simply taken precautions by tying her up. Although that didn’t exactly explain why that asshole Gerrit had cut off her air until she passed out.
Swanson was a talker. In the brief blip of silence, he hurried to say, “I was told to stay here with you and keep you from screaming when you woke up. So, you know, please don’t. Scream that is. I know you’re probably very frightened and confused—”
“I’m not afraid.”
“Oh.” Swanson seemed vaguely disappointed, as if he’d had a speech planned to keep her from screaming. “That’s good, then.”
Jude rotated her shoulder, surprised to find it already felt better. Someone had bandaged the bite with tight, almost silk-like materials. It held her arm in place, and a pleasant warmth radiated against her skin. She felt almost … normal. Aside from a killer headache, that was.
A beat later, she remembered.
Warren.
Her chest const
ricted with a sudden ache. She’d killed him. She’d crashed into the wormhole. She’d been distracted. Because of her, a good man, her mentor, was dead.
She pushed Warren’s face from her mind. She had to focus on getting home right now.
She flexed her wrists, testing the restraints. They didn’t budge. The same material that had been used on her shoulder also bound her wrists. She was going nowhere unless someone untied her. She met the man’s gaze. “Since I’m not going to scream, why don’t you untie me, Swanson?”
“Well,” Swanson said, drawing out the word, “Gerrit said we probably shouldn’t trust you. You might try to run off, and that would be a pain because we’ve got to get back for a meeting with the Hylas and—”
“Why would I run when I could kick your ass”—Jude lifted her chin—“and do the same to the others when they return?”
“That isn’t very friendly. We saved your life!”
“I saved my own life,” Jude corrected. “That lizard thing—”
“Draqon.”
“—didn’t stand a chance and you won’t either. Now, if we could add some green kindling to this fire, we could get some decent smoke going. The other Falconers and more military patrols should be looking for me right now and they might need another sort of signal if my locator was damaged in the crash.”
Swanson shook his head violently. “Are you crazy? Smoke would bring all the Draqons down on us. That’s exactly what we’re trying to avoid.”
“Then what about this fire?”
“This little thing?” Swanson scoffed. “It’s a low burner. Gerrit just needed some ash to mask his scent. If the Draqons knew the Alpha is down here, they’d call in reinforcements and attack right away.”
Jude frowned. “An Alpha? What do you—”
A crash came from the jungle beyond their little makeshift camp. Swanson jumped to his feet a second before Jude. She spun around in time to see five other men, including the asshole named Gerrit, shove the last of the leaves away and leap into their camp.