He’s gorgeous. If he fell off a cliff I’d jump after him just to save his handsome ass.
She couldn't believe she’d just thought that, but yeah, it was true. She was on an alien ship, dead people were lying in the hallway near her; she was starved and dirty, but she still had the wherewithal to swoon over a seven-foot-tall alien with ridges on his forehead and four fingers tipped with claws. But damn, he had the widest chest and the thickest thighs. And she’d never, ever forget how he’d stormed into that cargo bay and wiped the floor with those guards’ asses.
For that alone he deserved a medal.
He stopped and stared at her, checking her up and down. Her cheeks heated. He seemed to come to some sort of decision, because he dropped his captive and his bag to the ground and planted his feet in a wide stance. He turned to her and thumped a closed fist against his chest and nodded. “I am Joyzal of Six,” he announced in a deep, rumbly voice, speaking in pleasantly accented English. Then he went down on one knee before her, bowed his head, and intoned, “I place your honor before mine. How may I assist you?”
Her jaw dropped. “What?” she squeaked. Rockstar was on his knees before her? It was something out of a fantasy, like being offered help by a soldier in full dress uniform. Prince Charming holding out the glass slipper. “You want to assist me?” She paused. “Hold on. How in the hell do you know my language? Have you met other humans?”
He lifted his head and met her gaze. Her breath caught in her throat. She was trapped in the shining net of his bright hazel eyes. “Yes. I have met one other human and therefore have the appropriate translator installed,” he explained. “I understand and speak Human. I am surprised at your appearance. I thought all humans were colorless.”
“Not all humans have the same color skin, there are different kinds of us, from light to dark,” she explained quickly. “I’m so happy you speak my language. I can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted to talk to someone. Hey, you don’t need to be on the ground like that. Why in the heck would you place your honor or whatever before mine? Stand up,” she requested. “Please stand up.”
She offered him her hand to help him up. He looked at her, surprise clearly stamped on his features. “You offer me your touch?” he choked.
“Yes, I’m offering you a helping hand.” She wiggled her fingers, waiting for him to put a clawed hand out and clasp hers. Why was it such a big deal? She stiffened. Oh no. Maybe he didn’t want to touch her because he was worried about how dirty she was. She grimaced. Why didn’t she think of that before she put herself out there?
“I am honored,” he replied, his voice gruff.
She shrugged, puzzled by his strange response, and grasped his outstretched hand. His clawed fingers engulfed hers, but she still tried to tug and help him as he stood up and towered over her. She lifted her chin. Jacole found herself not caring one bit that he had ridges along his forehead or that he only seemed to have four fingers, all of which ended with claws. She loved how big he was. Her whole life she’d felt like an Amazon warrior woman. She’d been told often that she should play basketball or volleyball due to her height, but it had never interested her. And this alien, this man, he was so huge… She felt petite next to him, and that had never occurred in her entire life, and damn if she didn’t love it.
He continued to stand with her hand in his, and it felt…good. Really good. Warm. Like a current was flowing between them. Her pulse quickened. Something was happening. Something she couldn’t explain. Her nipples hardened. Warmth flooded between her thighs. She shifted restlessly from one foot to the other and licked her lips.
She lifted her chin again to meet his gaze. He stared at her intently, his eyes dark and heavy lidded with lust. His breath ragged, chest rising and falling. And still he grasped her hand as if his life depended on it.
He was feeling this, too? This gorgeous, hunk-a burnin’ alien love—this warrior who was every girl’s wet dream, wanted…her?
He jerked her close, pressing her against his hard, black armor, his arm around her waist like a steel band. She gasped at the sudden contact. He held her hand captive, pressed between their bodies. She felt the heat of his body and his breath on her neck. One arm went up and cupped her head. He slammed his lips down on hers, giving her the most thorough kiss of her life. He tongue delved between her open lips like a spark of energy. It was all so unexpected, so goddamn strange and epic at the same time; she felt outside of herself, as if she were watching Netflix: Kissed by Badass Alien Warrior. Season Premier.
He lifted his head and she stood there, swaying on her feet like a buoy caught in a storm. Didn’t he realize she was filthy, dirty and ragged? Apparently not.
He held her tighter to steady her. Her lips felt swollen from his kiss, her body on fire, her pussy wet and eager for his cock. She was shockingly turned on. Jacole supposed she should slap him, this alien she didn’t know, for taking such liberties, but damn, she felt practically drunk.
She’d offered him her touch.
Joyzal was stunned. A female of royal pigment offering to test mating compatibility? He’d been shocked to receive such an offer, even from a human. Normally a female of her stature and importance in Xylan society would be sheltered from meeting a male of his lower pigment caste, but even if an unmated female of royal pigment were to meet him by chance, she would take one look at him and deem his line unworthy. He knew this to be true, it had happened to him a hundred times before. Joyzal was considered Margol, the term used for Xylan-born afflicted with the disease of lighter pigment. He was not truly colorless, thank the gods, but he wasn’t dark enough to earn his way into the notice of the highest lines on Chronos. He’d tested often with females of his own caste, meeting with females who offered their touch, but had never met the right one. He’d become friendly with many of them, had kept in contact with them and their families. There had been honorable females, so perfect for him in every way, he’d been certain many would be the one…but it had never happened. He’d been disappointed hundreds of times, never finding his Bride. Because of this he’d learned to resign himself to the fact that he’d never experience the joys of a mate or offspring. He instead threw himself into his work.
But today, for the first time in his forty planet rotations, at a time and place he never expected and with a female of royal pigment who wasn’t even of his own species…his cock hardened.
At first he’d simply taken her offered hand and allowed his skin to touch hers because he hungered for such a thing. He was rarely allowed to touch an unfamiliar unmarried female who was mating compatible. He expected to feel joy, pleasure at their quick joining, at the pressure of warm skin against skin and then the disconnect and the impersonal nod, affirming their non-mating.
But when his hands joined with the human female, there was a spark. No, a bolt of thunder.
Joyzal had been told before what a true mating was like. It had been described to him by mated warriors. He’d been present in his youth at mating ceremonies, watching the vid of the mating rites. Males and females would stand up publicly and proclaim their joy over that first rush of mating lust. He’d always wondered what it would be like.
His heart began to thunder in his chest. His breath quickened. A surge ran through his veins, centering around the joining of their hands. Like a torrent rushing through his veins, his muscles, his two hearts, and throughout his dense bones. It swept through and lit up long-dead feelings. Xylan warriors didn’t experience lust or any need for sex until they met their mate. Males and females remained virgins until the moment they joined with their mate.
After briefly tasting her full lips, he stood there in shock, unable to process that it was actually happening. After all this time, he’d actually found his Bride.
His B’Ih.
Melachine would be filled with joy.
Joyzal threw back his head and laughed.
His cock throbbed in the confines of his armor. He leaned in and pressed his nose against her throat and inhaled, sending h
er scent deep into his lungs. He growled at the rush of pure mating pheromones. Pre-cum leaked out of the top of his cock. He paused, holding her, trying to calm his raging body.
She was human. Joyzal used his suit to check her breathing, her pulse, and noted the dilation of her pupils. Oh yes, his B’Ih wanted him as much as he wanted her. She was feeling this, too. She was his mate. His Bride. They were breeding compatible.
“Mine,” he snarled.
Her eyes flared. “What did you say?”
He had to touch her again. One kiss was not enough. The pulse point on her neck begged for his attention. His lips pressed against this delicacy. He licked her skin. She sighed.
With all the willpower of a hero of old, with every muscle and bone in his body, he managed to pull away from his Bride and not claim her right there on the floor of the slave ship. He had to wait. It was his duty to make this special for her. He couldn’t claim his Bride next to pools of blood and dead bodies. His honor forbade it.
He pulled back and held her by the shoulders. She blinked up at him, her eyes dark with need. He grinned. His Bride was having trouble controlling her rush of mating hormones. Females in their breeding cycle were known to ferociously demand immediate claiming. “I will make everything ready for you, my Bride. Meanwhile I’ll tranq you while I ready our ceremony so that you will not experience any discomfort.”
“What?” she gasped. And then he pressed the small tranq gun to her shoulder and she fell into his arms.
The two females he had spoken to earlier were staring at him. Their gaze moved to the Bride in his arms. Normally he barely noticed the looks, glances, or well, the very existence of any beings who were not Xylan, but their staring eyes made him feel…uncomfortable, which was unusual.
“She is my Bride,” he explained. They continued to stare. Did they not understand what he was saying? He’d switched from speaking the human language to speaking Xylan, which they’d understood earlier. “This human is my Bride. She is in her breeding cycle, and I will claim her immediately,” he clarified. “I have sedated her to keep her as comfortable as possible while I ready for our ceremony.” It was his responsibility to make their mating special for his Bride. He had much work to do back on the ship.
The females seemed to relax.
“I will dispose of THX309and then return for my Bride.”
They nodded.
He needed to program the holo-deck to make ready for the mating ceremony and take his mate to the medical bay. Dark red, almost purple bruises marred her luminous skin. The space pirates had abused his Bride. They were lucky they were already dead.
Joyzal looked down longingly at the beautiful female in his arms. He carefully placed her on the floor, away from the bodies, in a comfortable position. “I will be taking her with me. She is leaving with me,” he added.
He grabbed THX309 by his restraints and dragged him to his ship.
3
Jacole woke up in the woods, which was fucking bizarre considering she was certain she’d been knocked out by Rockstar on the alien slave ship.
She looked around ran her tongue across her teeth, startled to find them sparkly clean and her mouth perfectly fresh. She glanced down and noted she was clean all over. She touched her short, dark hair. Clean everywhere. She’d had her hair cut two days before her kidnapping, wanting a super-short, no-nonsense style, something she barely had to take care of while at Quantico, which, in light of recent events, had been a damn good decision. And she was wearing something different now. The torn and filthy pajamas she’d been originally kidnapped in and wearing for the last five days were gone, replaced by a long, V-necked tunic that she suspected belonged to Rockstar. She rubbed the hem between her fingers. It was made of a shiny black material, soft as silk but sturdy like denim. It fell to the top of her knees, and the V neck was so low it almost exposed her nipples. She lifted the collar and sniffed. Goddamn, that was his scent. Leather and sunshine and something else she couldn’t place but it was spectacular. Her nipples tightened and her pussy contracted from his smell alone.
Underneath the tunic she was totally naked.
She stood up, feeling perfectly fine, which was odd too considering her lack of sleep and food intake while she’d been imprisoned by evil space pirates. Shouldn’t she feel like crap and ready to pass out for a week?
What had happened to her?
She sucked in a deep breath and inhaled the scent of deep woods. Pine, fresh air. God, it was nice to smell clean air, out in the open and not cooped up in a cage or on a ship. She wiggled her toes, loving the feel of the grass and soil beneath her feet. She looked up at the stars and at the moonlit field of grass spread out before her.
What. The. Hell? Had she been taken back to Earth?
Jacole turned around in a circle, her heart beating fast. “Where am I?”
It was nighttime and she had no idea where she was. Was it a forest from her world, or another planet? Gray shafts of giant redwoods rose up around her, and in front of her a wide-open clearing broke through the dense constructs. Shit, she expected ewoks at any moment. Why was she here? Her equilibrium began to fade, and worry invaded her mind. And then she noticed something in the shadows. A form was approaching. Heavy footsteps crunched on the undergrowth.
Oh hell, it was him.
Rockstar.
He walked up close, no longer in that black armor. His chest was bare. Her breaths came in short bursts. She couldn’t take her eyes off the glorious six-pack of abs and that wall of manly chest.
A surge of wildness swept across her skin. A feeling of urgency and a need to escape. She began to shift from foot to foot, restless. But she wasn’t sure why. She wasn’t afraid of him. She just waited for the inevitable, waited for him to get close so she could find out what the fuck was going on.
He stopped in front of her, his face impassive. Her body lit up like a string of fairy lights.
Raindrops began to fall from the sky, splatting on her forehead and shoulders.
Oh, great.
“You may run,” he said clearly. His words held weight. They felt ominous.
“Run? Why the fuck would I want to run?” she answered through the sprinkling of rain.
But weirdly, she did want to run, which was fine considering back home she ran every day. At twenty-three, with her BA in Criminal Justice and a specialization in cybercrime, she’d been accepted to Quantico, so she’d been hardcore working out, making sure she was in the best shape of her life because she’d planned on killing it at Quantico and showing them she was number one in her class.
He stared at her with heated eyes, like a predator on the hunt. “Run, my Bride,” he ordered.
Bride?
Why the hell did he call her that? What kind of joke was this?
She stood there for a moment, sharp breaths heaving in and out of her chest. She’d wanted this man from the moment she’d seen him. Why not play his game?
The rain fell harder, wetting her face and hair. It was in her eyes and falling now in torrents. She turned and sprinted off into the night, making her way through the rainstorm, circling the edge of the clearing and then darting into the trees, thinking she could lose him that way by weaving in and out. Her bare feet only took her so far. And also she couldn’t see much. There was a full moon, but the ground in front of her was a complete mystery. Her feet began to squish into wet mud. And holy shit, it was hard to run barefoot in the forest. It hurt like hell.
Focus. Focus.
Behind her she could hear Rockstar grinding like a four-wheel drive; his feet pulverizing the forest floor. He was right the hell behind her. Dammit. She turned and darted across the field. This hadn’t been her original plan, cutting across this way, it was too wide open and exposed, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.
What was weird was she wasn’t running because she was afraid. It was more like a challenge, like showing off. Look at me, try to catch me. Let me show you what I can do—how strong I am.
Her feet
hit the damp grass of the field, a spiky wash of silvery green in the moonlight. Legs and arms moved sharp and precise, like an Olympic sprinter; her breaths came in short puffs. She couldn’t make this easy for him. He had to work for this. For her. Cold air burst in and out of her chest, her legs burned like hell, and her feet were killing her. If there was a sharp object on the ground, she’d stepped on it, but fuck if this stopped her—he wasn’t going to catch her. She’d show him how fast she could run.
Jacole wasn’t easy for any man, even an alien.
No way. No how.
She could hear his breaths. He was close. Closer.
Fuck.
His arm went around her waist like a band of steel. She shrieked, pissed off he’d caught her so quickly. If she’d been at home, at her track next to the lake, and if she’d been wearing her favorite Nike shoes…oh hell no—he’d still be chasing her.
Lightning flashed overhead, and thunder rolled across the sky, thumping along with the erratic beat of her heart. Rockstar grabbed her by the shoulders and whipped her around. He cupped her head in his palm and slammed his lips down on hers, just like before. A torrent of warm rain showered down. They were both soaked. She struggled and pounded closed fists against his wet chest, but his tongue swept into her mouth, and shit, it was wonderful. She melted into him. Soon they were kissing in the driving rain, desperate and groping, like two love-hungry teenagers.
No.
Instinct kicked in, telling her this was too easy for him. He had to earn it.
Jacole managed to break away, pushing him back. He stood there, staring at her with black eyes, gulping in great breaths of air, rivulets of water slashing down across his harsh face and washboard abs. Christ, he was gorgeous. Like an avenging angel. He began speaking to her again in his own language, which she could somehow understand. Yet it still made no sense. It sounded like a ritual, a ceremony, his wording so formal. And she had no idea what it meant.
The Alien Bounty Hunters Complete Series: Books 1-8 Page 16
