Claimed by the Alien Warrior: A Sci Fi Alien Romance (Warriors of Agron Book 2)

by Hope Hart

  “Do you like being king?” I ask suddenly, then immediately clamp my mouth shut. I’m not sure why I felt the need to ask, and I shift, ready to move away.

  Rakiz’s arm clamps down like a vice, holding me to him. It’s gentle until I attempt to wiggle away.

  I lift my head and glower at him. He smiles at me, wagging his eyebrows, and he looks like a mischievous little boy. “If you stay exactly where you are, perhaps I’ll tell you.”

  I roll my eyes. “I’m comfortable anyway,” I say, laying my head back on his chest.

  He laughs, that big chest shaking. “You could be stuck in the desert for two days and still not admit that you’re thirsty, karja.”

  I shrug. “I am who I am.”

  “And I like who you are.”

  “What does karja mean?”

  “A karja is a fierce animal—one that no warrior wants to find when alone in the wild. But very rarely—if shown enough affection—they will deign to eat from a warrior’s hand. It takes many years, but once tamed, a karja will be forever loyal to their warrior.”

  I can hear the smile in his voice, and it makes me bite my lip. When did we go from hating each other to snuggling after sex? How did Rakiz move from wanting to strangle me to liking who I am?

  “What’s wrong?”

  I voice my thoughts, and he laughs again. “Oh, I’m sure I’ll want to strangle you again soon.”

  I reach up and roughly pinch his nipple, and he mutters a curse as he reaches down and pinches my ass cheek.

  “Hey!”

  “I never wanted to be king,” he says, his hand stroking over my butt.

  “Really?”

  I feel him nod. “I was never someone who wanted to rule. I would have been more than content with a life as a warrior or even a trader. I think I might even have enjoyed working with the mishua more. Especially if a certain human female was being punished with the same task.”

  His voice is low and teasing, and I can’t help but grin against him.

  “So why do you do it? Why not let someone else rule?”

  “I thought about it. When my father died, I was immediately called back from camp. My father had recognized that if he didn’t allow me to live as a warrior while I was younger, something inside me would die. And he was wise enough to understand that a king who rules warriors needs to know exactly what it means to live as a warrior. So I was given more freedom than anyone approved of, and I appreciated each and every moment away from camp. When I was hunting or fighting, I wasn’t next in line for the throne. I was just another warrior, proving myself like every other warrior.”

  “But then he died.”

  Rakiz heaves a sigh. “Yes.”

  “Unexpectedly.”

  “Yes. It was so minor. He was bitten by a haliea—a poisonous creature. They’re not hunters but are extremely territorial—especially if their nests are threatened.”

  Rakiz’s whole body is tense, and I raise my head. He’s staring at the roof of the cave as if he wants to commit murder.

  “He could’ve lived. If the stubborn bastard had just gone to the healer’s tent. But he decided he knew better. No one knew what had happened until he was too late. He died in excruciating pain, without any family close.”

  I swallow around the lump in my throat. Rakiz’s voice is stark with pain.

  “Where was your mom?”

  “Dead.”

  Nice going, Nevada. Make the guy even more depressed.

  “I’m so sorry, Rakiz.”

  He nods, and I crawl up his body until I can press a kiss against his jaw. He seems to come back from whatever dark place he was visiting because he slides his hand into my hair, holding my head still while he takes my mouth possessively.

  “How old were you?” I ask when he allows me to pull away.

  “I had seen sixteen summers.”

  Jesus. Sixteen years old, and he was suddenly responsible for a tribe of close to a thousand people, all of whom were in mourning.

  He rolls me beneath him suddenly, and I blink up at him.

  “Enough talking of the past.” He leans down and takes my mouth, hands wandering over my body, and I groan. He may be right. One night may not be enough.

  Chapter Nine

  Nevada

  The market is like nothing I’ve ever seen before. I’ve been to many markets in the Middle East and United States—even one in Thailand when Jake insisted we make the most of our leave.

  But none of them compare to this.

  The kradis rise high on each side of a thoroughfare and are likely used for storing goods and protecting the vendors from the midday sun. Merchant stalls sit in rows, offering perfume, paints, jewelry, food, clothing, ornate furniture, and even small creatures in cages.

  There are many different aliens here. I see no Braxians, but some of the creatures are feathered or furry and wearing armor, cloth, or nothing at all. The breeze brings a complex aroma to me—one of cooked food and heady spices along with the nose-wrinkling scent of hundreds of people in a small space.

  We walk through the market, the warriors stopping every now and again to ask questions about potential sightings of the other human women.

  Here, Rakiz isn’t a king. With his face a mess of bruises and his outfit one that’s seen better days, he’s just a man. A man who keeps me close, holding me protectively—not because he doesn’t think I can look after myself but because he sees it as his privilege.

  This side of Rakiz is impossible to ignore. He’s quick to smile, laughing with his men even as his eyes continually scan our surroundings. He flashes me the occasional grin, stopping to talk to sellers and complimenting them on their wares.

  “What do you need today?” a vendor asks, and I almost snort. No one needs the glimmering ropes of gold, the jeweled rings, or the bracelets with their precious stones. But there’s no question that her wares are beautiful.

  Rakiz has his eyes on a particularly gorgeous bracelet. I want to elbow him and tell him that if he truly wants it, he needs to be less obvious about it. Right now the stall owner is practically rubbing her hands together in glee as his dark gaze caresses the piece.

  It gleams gold, with tiny stones that remind me of Australian opals of differing sizes. The stones are placed at irregular intervals, ensuring that once your gaze hits the bracelet, you don’t want to look away.

  The ends of the bracelet are curved in a swirled pattern, and I frown, unsure how it would be worn. While the top swirl would sit along the forearm, the bottom one would need to lie against the top of the hand.

  “How much?” Rakiz asks. Then he lets loose the grin that never appeared at camp. The one that invites the receiver of that grin to play with him.

  The seller’s eyes light up, and the bargaining begins.

  A few minutes later, I’m struggling to not roll my eyes. The seller and Rakiz have gone to war. A war with words that vary from thinly veiled insults to backhanded compliments.

  “I had not realized this market had descended to daylight robbery,” Rakiz says at one point.

  “I had not realized you were hurting for credits, araz,” the woman replies with a smirk, and Rakiz’s eyes narrow as mine widen. I’ve heard this word before.

  Araz is a slang word for king. Somehow, this woman knows exactly who Rakiz is. If that annoys Rakiz or makes him nervous in any way, no one would know it. A slow smile crawls across his face, and he nods to her as if accepting her point.

  Rakiz says something that my translator doesn’t pick up, and the woman throws her head back with a laugh. She glances at me, eyes twinkling, and I raise an eyebrow.

  She murmurs something back to Rakiz, and I use the time to glance at some of the stalls surrounding us.

  There. Those pieces of fabric look surprisingly familiar. I narrow my eyes, then turn as Rakiz takes my elbow, steering me into a corner that’s a little quieter.

  “What’s up?” I smile as I note the bracelet in his hand. “Aw, did you get your bling, your majes
ty?”

  He gives me a look that suggests I may just be the dumbest person on this planet. “I got your bling, karja.”

  I grin at the sound of Rakiz saying the word bling. There’s no translation for the word, so he mangles the English until it’s almost unrecognizable.

  Then I frown. “Wait, what?”

  He gives me an impatient look, and his hand tightens slightly on my elbow as if he’s worried I’ll suddenly yank my arm away.

  Today I’m wearing the one piece of clothing I managed to salvage after the crash—my blank tank top. I’ve covered it with one of the warrior’s vests, which the seamstress somehow cut down and tailored to fit me, leaving my arms bare.

  “I can’t—”

  Rakiz ignores me, keeping my arm in his. I raise a brow as he gently maneuvers the bracelet, opening it slightly until he can slide it over my wrist, then up and over my elbow.

  Once it circles my bicep, he presses it closed, and I blink down at it.

  Oh. It’s not a bracelet at all.

  It’s completely stunning. The gold gleams against my skin, exquisite in its simplicity. The stones catch the light, but instead of screaming “look at me,” they complement the gold.

  I don’t wear a lot of jewelry. But it’s like Rakiz reached into my brain and then chose the exact piece I would fall in love with.

  “I can’t take this, Rakiz—”

  He simply smiles at me, and his fingers stroke over the cool metal and caress my upper arm.

  “This was made for you, my warrior human.” His gaze scans my body and then returns to my face, satisfaction in his eyes at whatever he sees there.

  He leans close, gaze falling to my lips as he bends down. He doesn’t kiss me though. Instead, he waits patiently for me. I scowl at him even as I reach out, grab his shirt, and pull him to me before shoving every ounce of my confused frustration into our kiss.

  Someone clears their throat, and Rakiz slowly moves his head back. The corner of his mouth lifts as he studies me intently, and to my shock, I’m almost blushing.

  What the hell is happening to me? I move away, and Rakiz allows the retreat even as his eyes follow me. Tagiz clears his throat again, amusement clear on his face as I give him a look.

  “We have asked all our contacts, and no one is talking,” he says.

  Rakiz frowns, once again all business. “Do you think they’re scared or that they truly don’t know?”

  Tagiz shrugs. “I’m not sure. Anyone who trades in this area is both well aware of the brutality of the Voildi and likely to avoid making enemies.”

  I frown, frustrated. While the guys talk, I wander over to the vendor with the strange pieces of material. I can feel Rakiz’s eyes on me even as he talks strategy, and I ignore the way my heart flips. He may be an overprotective barbarian, but something about having his focus on me makes my thighs clench and my stomach flutter.

  “See something you like?”

  The vendor is a male with light-blue skin and slitted eyes. His head is completely bald; in fact, it seems as if he has no hair anywhere on his body. His skin is almost poreless, making him appear a little like a wax doll.

  “What are these?” I narrow my eyes as I examine the shimmery blue-green material—the same blue-green as the scales along Rakiz’s chest and shoulders. Each one is about twice the size of a laptop, and I raise an eyebrow as I look back up at the vendor, who grins at me, showcasing a disturbing number of teeth.

  How do so many teeth even fit inside his mouth?

  I shake off that thought and reach out, stroking a finger down the material.

  Oh, wow.

  “These are scales,” I say, and the vendor nods.

  “What from?”

  He gives me the same look that Rakiz just gave me, and I scowl at him. I’m getting real tired of men silently implying that I’m a particularly dense kind of stupid.

  “They’re dragon scales, aren’t they?”

  He nods.

  “How many dragons are there?”

  He tilts his head, and my scowl deepens.

  “I’m not from around here, okay? So enough with the attitude.”

  He examines me for a long moment and then finally laughs. “There is just one. Dragix, our—”

  “Great ancestor,” I finish. “Got it. Where did you find them?”

  He laughs again. “If I were to tell people where to find these beauties, I would have no business. They would simply find them and keep them or sell them themselves.”

  A woman appears, standing behind the stall. She looks exactly like the guy I’m talking to, only she’s wearing a small cloth that barely covers three large breasts.

  “I don’t want to do either of those things,” I say. “Our friend is missing. We believe she was taken by Dragix. If we can narrow down the dragon’s recent movements, we might be able to find her.”

  Both of them study me for a long moment. Then the man’s eyes drop to my bicep.

  “I may be willing to trade,” he says softly.

  I slap my hand over my new bracelet—arm cuff. Whatever.

  “You can’t have this,” I snap, and his eyes narrow in offense. I blow out a breath and gesture to where Rakiz is still in conversation with Tagiz and Hewex. He meets my eyes even as he responds to whatever Hewex is saying.

  “See that guy?” I gesture toward the group, and the man nods. “He’d be willing to trade with you.”

  The man sizes up Rakiz, and I almost vibrate with impatience. Rakiz glances past me, meeting the man’s eyes and raising his eyebrow.

  I almost laugh. Rakiz is dressed in battle leathers with three days of beard growth and tousled hair. But his head is held high, his gaze hard, and the imperious look on his face leaves no doubt that he’s a ruler.

  The woman sucks in a breath.

  “Araz,” she murmurs, and I meet her eyes. We’re incognito here for a reason. It’s not a good idea for people in this area to find out that not only is the king away from his tribe, but he only has two warriors with him.

  I turn back to Rakiz and gesture him over. The woman sucks in another breath, and her eyes widen as Rakiz strides to us.

  “So,” I say as he arrives, “these guys know where Dragix has been recently. Unfortunately, this man is unwilling to give us the information freely,” I say, and Rakiz bares his teeth at the man in a feral smile.

  The woman flinches, and if she were human, I’d half expect her to make the sign of the cross as she stares at Rakiz.

  The man is less impressed. His face goes a lighter shade of blue, but he firms his jaw. “I am sure you appreciate the importance of confidentiality for my business.”

  Rakiz nods. “And how much to buy a piece of that confidentiality?”

  The man’s jaw bulges as he grits his teeth. “Twenty-five credits.”

  I have no idea how much that is on this planet or what it could buy. But the woman’s mouth drops open when Rakiz simply nods, reaches into his pocket, and hands over the money.

  The man stares at us for a long moment, and I sigh.

  “The woman who went missing…she looks like me. We aren’t from this planet. We were stranded here and separated. I need to find her. Please.”

  The man blinks his slitted eyes and then nods. He turns his head, scanning our surroundings as he lowers his voice. Rakiz gestures to Tagiz and Hewex, who move close to the vendors’ stand, crossing their arms and staring down anyone who thinks to come close.

  I sigh. Subtle, guys. Real subtle.

  The man switches to another language, and I scowl as I realize my translator is only picking up every third or fourth word.

  I rub my ear, but the language is either too old or a dialect that the translator hasn’t been programmed for.

  Rakiz nods, and they talk for a few more minutes. I take out my crude map and hand it to Rakiz, but he waves it off and taps one finger against his head, finishing up his conversation with the man.

  The woman eyes my map.

  “You are sea
rching for more than one female?”

  I nod. “Have you…seen anyone else who looks like me?”

  Her eyes widen slightly as she also scans the immediate area for eavesdroppers. I sigh. If anyone happens to be watching us from afar, there will be no doubt in their mind that we’re talking about something we don’t want overheard.

  “My sister was traveling on the outskirts of Sebe. She has two children who need medicine that can only be found in the prexas.” She smiles slightly at my confusion. “Passageways built underground. Centuries ago, Agron was engulfed by a war. For years, to travel above ground was suicide as different factions and races fought to take control of the largest territory possible. And so prexas were originally built as a way for everyday citizens to safely get from place to place.”

  “What are they used for now?”

  Her mouth twists. “They are used by both the desperate and the evil. My sister’s children could be cured with a large enough dose of yurian—the medicine she must buy each week. However, she does not have enough money to buy the doses in full. Whenever she gets close, the sellers seem to universally raise the prices that week. She cannot risk attempting to cure one child because if the other was to go even a week without the medicine they need…the death is said to be excruciating,” she whispers.

  “Those motherfuckers.” Nothing pisses me off more than those who prey on the weak. There’s a special place in hell for people who would keep a woman from saving her children’s lives simply so she’ll have to continue paying them each week.

  She nods. “These are the types of people found in the prexas. Those who would kill each other if they came upon one another alone and defenseless yet would collaborate to keep people like my sister in incredible poverty.”

  Rakiz is silent beside me, letting me take the lead, and I appreciate it.

  “So your sister saw someone who looked like me?”

  She nods again. “She had two legs, two arms, and pale skin. My sister noticed because she wore thin clothes and had dull teeth and no claws.”