“I have some neighbors who are homebound.” At his quizzical expression, she said, “They can’t leave their apartment. They have nurses who check on them, but they like my cooking and I bring them meals most evenings.”
She stalked to the fridge and threw open the door, grabbing a large dish covered in foil. “It’s just another aspect of my stupid rescuer nature manifesting itself.”
“What?”
“Forget it. My mom is a shrink. She likes to psychoanalyze why I’m such a total failure.”
Rage tore through him at Brooke’s words. He felt his lips pull back from his teeth in a snarl. Brooke looked surprised, but she didn’t flinch away from him.
“She should not say such things of you,” he said.
The corner of Brooke’s mouth twitched up for a fraction of a second, but then she scowled. “I’d tell you to take it up with her, but I don’t want you to fucking kill her.”
So that was the sticking point. She didn’t like that he’d killed people. It wasn’t too surprising, knowing what he did of Earth’s culture.
“I only killed my assigned targets.”
Unless he happened across a lucrative bounty in the process. Like the Lyrians—as much good as pursuing them had done for him.
Then again, if it weren’t for his encounter with the pair and their bizarre ad hoc family, he wouldn’t have met Brooke and enjoyed the physical pursuits that she’d shared with him that day. Having to reassemble himself had only sped the changes that Eric’s DNA had begun.
Sentients used to pass through Zemanni’s awareness like static against the background of his environment. The only ones that he ever felt he could truly focus on were threats, targets, and opportunities. No one else felt…real.
But after trying to obtain the Cygnian hybrid known as Sorca and taking Eric Peterson’s DNA into his body to do so, his personality had started to change. Zemanni found himself taking on Eric’s form when others would do just as well, because he actually liked noticing other people.
It had been unnerving at first. He’d tried to play it off as research so that he could assimilate more thoroughly. Deep down, he knew better.
“Were they bad people?” Brooke’s voice was thin and weak, but still enough to bring all of his focus back to her. He’d never heard her sound so…timid.
“I don’t know.”
He’d known Brooke wouldn’t like his answer. He hadn’t known how his heart would seem to lose its rhythm when he noticed tears form in her eyes.
“I didn’t care before.” Dammit, why couldn’t he lie to her?
She glared at him, which was oddly encouraging.
“‘Before’,” she said. “What about now?”
“Now… I don’t know.”
“Great. Let me know when you figure that out.”
She hit him with her shoulder as she stalked from the room. He could have stopped her. He was still considering it.
Part of him felt profoundly unsettled at the thought of her leaving when she was so angry. His lungs strained to draw in air and his abdomen felt like it was housing a nest of skeelbats.
He wasn’t overly concerned about her sending authorities after him, knowing what he did of Eric’s status on Earth. But Zemanni couldn’t keep himself from wondering if Brooke would come back. His stomach cramped painfully at the thought of her walking out the door and never returning.
She paused at the door. “Put the chain in place behind me. My stupid ex has a key and likes to let himself in when I’m not home. And don’t open the door for anyone but me.”
She would be back. And she was taking precautions to keep Zemanni safe. With what she had learned, it surprised him that she still cared.
She cared.
Instead of thinking about how he could use that to his advantage, his focus was on how the fluttery feeling in his gut grew in inverse proportion to the tightness in his chest decreasing. He could breathe again and he felt lighter somehow. How did anyone function with such attention-demanding forms?
Brooke didn’t look back as she slammed the door shut behind her. He could hear her quick steps on the stairs that led from her apartment.
He locked the door and secured it with the chain, as she’d instructed. Then he smiled.
He could make this work. He would enjoy making this work. They would be mated. And he would see to it that she enjoyed their bonding every bit as much as he did.
He headed for the bathroom and gathered the clothes that he had stolen after escaping the forest confrontation with the Lyrians. He would need more. As he dressed, he considered his options for obtaining Earth resources.
Managing his identity could be a problem. Zemanni considered it highly probable that Eric had joined Sorca in returning to Sadr-4 to attempt to convince the High Council of the Coalition to recognize Earth’s First Contact committee.
Zemanni doubted they would succeed, which meant that Eric would very likely receive a mind-wipe and completely forget his new bondmate when he was sent back to Earth. Or he might remain on Sadr-4, working to further his homeworld’s best interests.
Assuming Eric’s identity on Earth would be problematic. Without being able to assume different identities, it would be a near impossible challenge for Zemanni to gather enough information to fool Eric’s colleagues in this country’s government. And the attempt would separate Zemanni from Brooke.
No, he’d find another way to contribute to supporting them both. He could always approach Earth’s First Contact committee…
The front door rattled as someone inserted a key in the lock. His heart picked up. Brooke was back already.
Except she had told him to put the chain in place. Why would she be trying to unlock the door when she thought Zemanni had secured it from the other side?
He walked out of the bathroom, watching as the door opened as far as the chain would let it.
“What the hell?” The male voice grated on Zemanni’s ears. Even worse was the sound of the chain rubbing against the door as the man tried to force it open.
“Brooke?” he said. “Open the door. How did you even get back in here without me seeing you?”
Zemanni felt like his body had flooded with fire. This human had been watching Brooke. Stalking her, like prey.
Zemanni recognized the signs of a hunter—of a threat. He approached the door, waiting for the man to have his fingers wrapped around the wood as he tried for a better grip.
Idiot.
Zemanni kicked the door shut with enough force to severely bruise the man’s fingers. Not break—or sever—them. Brooke would be okay with this level of damage to her ‘ex’. Hopefully.
The screaming was the most grating sound of all. It might also attract unwanted attention.
Zemanni slid the chain free, then opened the door and reached out to the human. Grabbing his prey by the front of his coat, Zemanni pulled him into the apartment and shut the door behind them.
“Stop making that sound,” Zemanni said.
The human stared up at him with wide eyes. His dark hair was thick with grease and hung past his shoulders. His bangs were long enough to obscure his vision.
“Idiot” seemed too kind a term.
At least the man stopped screaming. He cradled his hand to his chest.
“You will leave Brooke alone.” Zemanni kept his grip on the man’s coat, lifting him partway off the ground.
“Who the fuck are you?”
“I’m her mate.”
“Mate?” The guy managed to laugh, but it was somehow an angry sound. “That cheating bitch. But she’s my cheating bitch.”
Zemanni knew what that word meant in this context. He didn’t know it would make his vision go white with rage.
Oblivious to his danger, the man went on. “She’s meant to be with me. And I’m going to make her realize it.”
Zemanni shook the man, hard. “If you wish to keep your hands, you will never raise them in harm toward her. If you wish to keep your skin, you will never even t
hink of touching her. And if you wish to keep your tongue, you will never use it to speak ill of her again.”
The human paled, but still sneered at Zemanni. “You can’t threaten me like that.”
“It isn’t a threat. I’m informing you of the consequences of your choices.” Zemanni leaned in closer, and said, “Choose well.”
Chapter Eleven
When Brooke returned to the apartment, Zemanni was playing the same video game she’d shown him earlier. It was a little too reminiscent of Elliot. She could almost imagine his body-funk smell lingering near the stairs.
But the guy sitting on her couch wasn’t one of the string of losers she’d dated. He was a dangerous alien assassin. And she had a freaking crush on him.
“My neighbor sent home a pair of shoes for you.” She dropped everything she was carrying on the table near the door and locked the deadbolt behind her, then latched the chain into place.
Part of her had wondered if Z would still be here when she returned. She had to admit that she was relieved he hadn’t left.
“I see you put on some clothes,” she said, joining him on the couch.
He grunted in response. Damn, was he turning into another boyfriend that would ignore her in favor of video games? Elliot had been terrible about that.
“You don’t have to worry about your ex anymore,” Z said. He kept his attention on the screen, zapping alien mechas.
Her stomach lurched. “What did you do?”
“Nothing permanent. He won’t be playing video games for a while, though.”
She grabbed Z’s controller, then tossed it on the coffee table. “What did you do, Z?”
Instead of being mad at her interruption, Zemanni smiled at her.
“Do you have any idea how much I enjoy it when you call me that?” he said.
This time, the fluttering in her stomach was pleasant. It clashed with her worry, though, leaving her feeling confused and vaguely guilty.
“Stop being charming and answer my question.”
“Charming, huh?” He leaned forward and turned off the TV, then pushed the table away from the couch with his foot.
“Oh, no. We are not doing that again until I know what happened with you and Elliot.”
“He came by looking for trouble.”
“Please don’t say he found it.”
Z shrugged, then his expression darkened. She knew she should be scared—any sane person would be scared. Instead, she felt a shiver down her spine and her arms broke out in gooseflesh.
“Mom is right,” she said. “I am so messed up.”
“Brooke, I know a predator when I see one. From intimate experience.”
Right. Because he was one. Or used to be—she hoped.
“Elliot was harmless.”
“He was not.” The force in Z’s voice killed the argument she’d been about to make. “The things he said and what he was doing—keeping your keys, watching your place—”
“He was watching my place?”
That was creepy. And she’d had no idea.
“He won’t be back,” Z said.
“I guess I should thank you.”
Z grinned, leaning toward her. She put a hand on his chest to stop him. Well, to hold him off for a few minutes. There were a few things she still wanted to understand.
Someone pounded on the door and she jumped. Z was on his feet in an instant.
“Police,” a muffled voice called from the other side of the door. “We need to talk to you.”
“Shit,” Brooke said. “What did you do?”
“I already told you. Nothing.”
“You said ‘nothing permanent’. What is ‘nothing permanent’?” She jumped again at more pounding on the door. “Go to the bedroom and stay there. I’ll handle this.”
She ran to the door as Z started toward the hallway. She gave him enough time to be out of sight before looking through the peephole. There were two cops on the other side. She left the chain in place as she opened the door.
“Hi, officer,” she said. “How can I help you?”
“We had a report of an assault in this apartment just a little bit ago. Are you alone, ma’am?”
“Actually—”
Before she could finish her sentence, Z appeared behind her. Her cheeks prickled with anger. He was supposed to stay out of sight.
“Actually, I’m staying with her,” Z said.
“And you are?” The officer raised an eyebrow, his back stiffening. The one behind him dropped his arms to his sides—nearer to his weapon.
“He’s a friend.” Brooke tried to step between Z and the officers, but he pushed her out of the way.
“Do you have a fingerprint scanner?” Z said.
The officer seemed a little confused. He glanced over his shoulder at his partner, who nodded.
“Yeah.” The closer officer took out his phone and held it up.
Z held up both hands to show they were empty, then slowly reached forward and pressed his thumb to the screen. What the hell was he playing at?
The officer looked at his screen, his eyes practically bugging out of his head at whatever he was reading. He turned and showed the screen to the other officer, whose mouth dropped open.
“We’re so sorry, Agent Peterson,” the first officer said. “We get reports, we have to run them down.”
“Of course.” Zemanni’s voice was weirdly…affable. “But could we maybe keep our voices down. I’d rather not have anyone know I’m here. It seems like the only way I can get an actual vacation is if I keep a very low profile.”
“What’s a vacation?” The second officer laughed at his own joke.
The first joined him and, to Brooke’s shock, so did Z. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled at the pair as if they were all drinking buddies. He was like a totally different person—which unnerved her.
“Again, our apologies,” the first officer said.
“Nothing to apologize for, officers.” Z gave them a half-wave, half-salute. “We’re all on the same side here.”
“Yes, sir.” The officers turned and headed down the stairs, still beaming.
Z closed the door and locked it, then turned to Brooke. He studied her face for a moment, then said, “What?”
“Okay, the list of things I need you to explain is now about a mile longer.”
“Eric Peterson is a special agent with your country’s government.”
Brooke stared at him. Her brain seemed to be stuck in neutral.
“I think I need to sit down,” she said.
Z gestured to the couch. He followed after her and sat at her side. She stared at him for a long time before speaking.
“So, did you assault Elliot?”
“I kicked the door shut. If he hadn’t been trying to break in, his fingers wouldn’t have been injured.”
“Ouch. Are you sure he’s okay?”
“He was fine when he left.”
Brooke stared at him. She was getting sick of his half-truths and evasions.
Z let out a sigh. “I’m sure I didn’t harm him grievously. I can’t say what state he’s in now. The guy is an idiot.”
She couldn’t argue that point.
“This is all so weird.”
“You think it’s weird? At least you’re in your natural form. This body has so many bladders, I can hardly keep track of them all.”
She laughed. She couldn’t believe it, but she did. Sitting on the couch with an alien assassin.
“You told me that you didn’t used to care who you killed. And you said you were an assassin. Past tense. What about now?”
“Now… It’s a lot more complicated. But in some ways, more simple.”
“How?”
He leaned forward and kissed her.
Chapter Twelve
Zemanni could get used to being human. He rolled over on Brooke’s bed, reaching out for her. The sheets were warm, but empty.
He sat up and glanced around. Morning light streamed into the
room. They must have finally fallen asleep at some point in the night. She hadn’t mentioned needing to go to work the next day, but maybe she had gone and didn’t want to wake him.
He heard soft voices in the other room. Maybe not.
He swung his legs over the bed, grabbing his jeans and sliding them on. As he fastened them, he headed for the open bedroom door. Peering around its edge, he saw Brooke talking to Elliot just inside the apartment.
Zemanni grabbed his shirt and swung it on, buttoning it as quickly—and quietly—as he could. He went back to his position, listening.
“I just wanted to apologize in person,” Elliot said. “I was an ass. You deserved a lot better than that.”
What the hell? Was he trying to get back in her good graces?
“Thank you, Elliot. It means a lot to me to hear you say that.”
Crap, was it working?
The now-familiar feeling of possessiveness stirred in his chest again. Zemanni strode out of the bedroom. Brooke turned to him and smiled. He barely registered it, too busy glaring at Elliot—who smirked at him.
Zemanni was going to knock that smirk off Elliot’s face and give him a bruise to match the ones on his fingers. Except…
Zemanni slowed his approach. Something was different about Elliot today. Something was wrong. His hair was washed, for one. He was wearing the same outfit as yesterday, but it was clean, too.
“Z, Elliot just came here to apologize,” Brooke said. “You can stop looking at him like you’re going to pick him up and use him to club something.”
“Yeah. Okay.”
She seemed taken aback at how easily Zemanni had calmed down. He was too busy processing whatever this new feeling was that his human body was feeding him.
His pulse was pounding, senses hyper-alert. He experienced something similar in his natural form—a preparation for battle—when facing a threat. But Elliot wasn’t dangerous at all.
Elliot brushed his long bangs behind one ear—with the same fingers that Zemanni had smashed in the doorway the day before. Fingers that had miraculously healed.
“Brooke,” Zemanni said. “Step away from him.”
“I told you, he’s just here to apologize.”
Duration of Stay (The Department of Homeworld Security Book 6) Page 6
