by S. E. Smith
“The others?” she asked.
Adalard wrapped his arm around Samara’s waist, pulling her close, and shook his head at Mason.
Mason returned his warning glare with a frown. Adalard wasn’t sure if it was because of the look he gave Mason or because of the possessive hold he had on Samara. He clenched his jaw.
“Let’s just say Adalard isn’t our first visitor.” Mason paused and reached into his pocket when his cellphone vibrated. He looked at the text and sighed before looking back at them. “I’ve got to go into town. Do you need anything?”
Samara shook her head. “No, thank you.”
“Alright. If you think of anything, call me. I’ll be back later. Adalard, if you don’t mind, I’d like to speak with you privately for a moment,” Mason requested.
“Of course,” he replied in a stiff tone.
An awkward silence descended between the two men.
“I’ve got to go drop off the trailer and do a few things,” Samara said, breaking through the tense quiet.
“I will see you soon,” Adalard murmured.
She nodded at him before giving Mason a smile. Adalard watched her as she slid into the UTV and pulled away. It wasn’t until she was out of sight that he returned his attention to Mason. The other man had been observing him with a worried frown.
“You knew the rules,” Mason stated.
He lifted an eyebrow at the other man’s tone. “Yes,” he replied.
“I need you to leave—immediately,” Mason added.
“No,” he curtly replied.
Mason’s frown deepened. “What do you mean ‘no’? This isn’t open for debate. You were told not to tell anyone, not to show off your… whatever in the hell you call it, alien powers, and to stay away from the staff,” he reminded in a hard tone.
A surge of anger swept through Adalard. “Careful how you speak to me, human. The Valdier can be short-tempered, but the Curizan can be worse. I know your rules,” he growled.
“It would be best if you left… for everyone,” Mason grimly reasserted.
“I will leave as soon as I can safely do so,” he bit out.
Mason frowned. “Safely? What does that mean?” he asked.
Adalard hesitated. He understood Mason’s concerns. That understanding was the only reason they were still having a conversation. If he hadn’t met Samara, he wouldn’t have broken any of the rules set forth. He couldn’t—wouldn’t lie to his mate. That, combined with the fact that she was injured, made it impossible to follow the rules. He didn’t give a damn who knew about him if Samara’s life was on the line.
“My transport has been… compromised. Once it is repaired, I will leave your world,” he announced.
“Is it broken? Do you have the parts to fix it?” Mason asked.
“Yes, and yes,” he replied.
He didn’t elaborate on the problem or the fact that when he left, he wouldn’t be going alone. It was no concern of Mason’s, and the less the man knew the better—and safer—it was for everyone. His short reply appeared to satisfy Mason.
“Good, good,” Mason replied before he grimaced when his cellphone vibrated again. He looked down at the phone before pressing the button on the side and looked up again. “Keep me posted. If you need anything and I can help, let me know. I’ve got to go.”
“I will,” Adalard replied.
He watched as the other man turned and walked away. He waited until Mason was heading back the way he came before he reached out to Samara.
What are you doing? he curiously inquired.
Making hot chocolate and sandwiches. Is Mason gone? she asked with a thread of amusement.
Yes. He is not happy with me, he grudgingly admitted.
I have a feeling you get that a lot, she teased.
More than you know. Do you need help?
No, I’ll be there in ten minutes. We can take the UTV. It will be warmer and more comfortable, she said.
Can I drive?
Her snort of laughter caused his blood to heat again. His mind filled with vivid thoughts of her melting in his arms like she had the night before. The thoughts spilled over into her mind. She gave a heated curse that made him smile.
Drive me crazy, you mean, she grumbled. Be ready or I’m drinking all the hot chocolate.
The smile on his face grew when she abruptly cut their connection but not before he saw in her mind the vivid image of them locked together. The day suddenly seemed brighter. Striding back to the house, he took the steps two at a time. He would be more than ready by the time she arrived.
Chapter Sixteen
Outer region of Heron Prime
Hamade Dos sat at his desk on the modified Marastin Dow warship he had requisitioned and stared at the information flowing across the screen in front of him. The last reported sighting of the Rayon I had been months ago, and there was still no contact from the informant on board. He drummed his fingers on the desk in aggravation. A beep drew his attention to the door.
“Enter,” he called. The door opened and Lesher entered. “Have you found anything?”
“A transmission was intercepted between the Rayon I and the Ha’darra palace,” Lesher replied.
Hamade pushed back his chair and stood. “And…?”
Lesher shook his head. “Only that it was an encrypted message from Adalard to his twin brother,” he answered.
Hamade clenched his fist. Time and time again, he had been thwarted by the Ha’darra family. His eyes glittered with malice. If he could not go to them, then he would bring the brothers to him.
“It is time for a new tactic,” he said, walking around the desk.
Lesher bowed his head. “I will command the mission myself, General,” Lesher responded.
Earth
“Watch your step,” Adalard warned as he held out his hand and steadied Samara when she stepped off the trail. There were still patches of snow and ice along the leaf covered path.
Samara absently nodded and placed her hand in his. They had left the UTV at the top of the cliff and followed the path to the bridge before taking the narrow trail on the other side of the cliff down to the bank of the river.
She walked toward Adalard’s transport with a sense of awe. This was the first time that she had seen it from the outside. Before, her idea of an alien spaceship was influenced by movies and television. The real ship was a slick, bullet-shape design covered in a shimmering tarp.
“How did you conceal it? I didn’t notice anything from above,” she breathed out.
“The Goddess’s gift to my species is the ability to manipulate energy. Each Curizan possesses a different level and skill, but we are all capable of creating basic items from the energy surrounding us,” he explained.
She looked at him with a startled expression. “You can do magic?”
He shrugged and fingered the thin material covering his transport. “I suppose some may call it magic. We Curizans are known more for our technology. For centuries we promoted that idea, but, in actuality, our technology is enhanced by the energy we can harness.”
She ran her fingers along the outer hull of the ship. “So, what can you do with the energy besides create a huge bedsheet and teleport—oh, and heal?” she asked as she looked at him and touched the side of her head.
He chuckled. “As a member of the royal family, I have more power than most,” he said.
She grinned. “What is one power that you have that you are most proud of?” she curiously asked.
His expression softened as he reached out and caressed her cheek. “Finding you,” he confessed.
“What kind of power is that?” she skeptically inquired.
“The most powerful of all,” he softly responded before he kissed her. “I want you, Samara.”
She tangled her fingers in his long hair, their breaths mingled, heightening the rush of desire inside her. She trailed her fingers down his throat before she pulled away and peered up at him.
Her heart skipped a beat as she
slid her hands down the column of his neck to his shoulders. There was something about him. He was literally worlds apart from her brothers and every other man she had ever met. Yet, despite all of that, she was still leery of falling into the trap that had captured her mother and grandmother.
She leaned into him and kissed him again. The raw need reflected in his voice and eyes made her fingers curl against his heated flesh. She wanted more, but fear and caution cooled her longing to say to hell with everything and give in to her desires. Her mother’s tired, defeated face flashed through her mind. She took a trembling breath and gave him a shaky smile.
“I’m not ready,” she confessed. “I won’t lie. I’m very attracted to you, but… well, we are literally from different worlds and… one day you’ll go back to yours, and I’ll be left alone.”
He cupped her cheek. “It doesn’t have to be that way, Samara.”
She held his hand, squeezing his fingers in response, unsure of what to say. Her heart wanted to say yes, but her brain was telling her to proceed with caution. The very thought of his leaving left a gaping hole in her heart.
“Let’s look for that device or your leaving might not be an issue,” she finally said.
“You are torturing me,” he groaned.
Laughter swelled inside her at his playful pout. She suspected that this was a side of him that few people saw. It was rather empowering in a feminine way.
“Trust me, you’ll survive,” she teased, pulling him by the arm as she turned away.
“Tilkmos!”
Adalard cursed when he hit his head on the cabinet. Lifting a wary hand, he rubbed the tender spot and sent another wave of healing energy over it. This was the third time he had hit his head because of his distracted thoughts.
“Adalard! I found something,” Samara called out with excitement.
He gripped the cabinet and carefully stood up, stretching his back to relieve the muscle tension. His gaze swept over Samara. She was lying on her back with her knees up and her feet planted on the floor, with half of her body under a row of coolant piping for the starboard engine.
He moved until he was lying in a similar position next to her. It was a tight fit, but he was able to slide in far enough to see a two-foot glass cylinder attached to the back of the conduit.
Each end of the glass cylinder had metal caps with round holes. From his position, he caught the glow of a green light on a control panel. The control panel must open and close the vents, allowing the matter inside to escape.
He narrowed his eyes when he saw the swirling cloud of matter inside the glass cylinder. The matter was compacted and roiling. Small wisps of the fog seeped through the open vents only to retreat.
As if it is afraid, he mused.
“I was thinking the same thing,” Samara said, turning her head and looking at him.
He studied the cylinder. “We need to shut the vents and contain the matter.”
“I think I’m small enough to squeeze back there,” she replied.
He frowned with displeasure. The idea of Samara being that close to the source of the malevolent fog and not being able to reach her did not sit well with him. Before he could express his unease, she was wiggling under the pipe.
“Be careful,” he warned.
She tilted her head and flashed him a grin. “I’ve got this. When the lift was down at the shop, dad would send me under the low riders. This isn’t much different from being under a sports car—only a hell of a lot cleaner,” she said.
“I don’t believe I would have liked your father any better than I do your brothers,” he confessed.
“Yeah, neither did I. I’m almost… there,” she grunted.
He silently watched as she pulled herself into a sitting position between the wall and the conduit. She sat still and examined the cylinder while he studied her. After a minute, she looked down at him. A knot formed in his chest when he noticed her expression soften, and she reached down and brushed her fingers across his forehead.
“You’ve got the tick going again. Did anyone ever tell you that you worry too much?” she teased.
He grinned and shook his head. “No. They tend to say the opposite.”
She wiggled her nose at him. “Ah, must be the Lee-Stephens curse then. You might want to move. I don’t think it would be a good idea to be stuck under the pipe if this thing blows up,” she suggested.
“Son of a Tiliqua’s heads,” he cursed.
She raised an eyebrow at him and motioned for him to scoot back. He grudgingly slid out from under the pipe and rose to his feet. Power surged inside of him as the overwhelming need to protect his mate flooded his body. He flexed his fingers. Energy snapped and popped in the air as the tiny electrical charges danced from his fingertips.
“There are three buttons on the control panel. The top one is green, so I’m going to assume that is the open,” she called out to him.
“Is there any writing on the panel?” he asked.
She squatted, and he stepped sideways so he could keep her in his sight. She ran her fingers lightly over the cylinder. His stomach knotted when she paused and frowned.
“What is it?” he demanded as the seconds grew, and she didn’t respond.
“I think whatever is inside the cylinder is alive,” she finally said.
“Why? What is it doing?” he impatiently asked.
“It’s swirling around and I swear—” Her voice faded.
He muttered another curse under his breath. “What? What is it doing?” he demanded.
She looked at him with a frown. “Nothing really. It’s just wiggling around.”
He took a deep breath before he slowly released it. “Can you close the cylinder?” he quietly asked.
She nodded and returned her focus to the device. He tensed when he saw her take a deep breath and bite her bottom lip before she pressed one of the buttons. From this angle, he couldn’t see if it was successful or not.
She looked over at him and smiled. “It worked,” she said. “I’ll see how it’s attached and hand it to you.”
Several minutes later, he gingerly took the cylinder from her as she held it between the conduits. He stepped back and waited as she dropped to the floor and wiggled out from behind the thick pipes.
Once she was standing next to him again, they both studied the dark, swirling mass inside the container. He touched the cool exterior, and the mass struck out at him, ricocheting against the glass. Intrigued, he pulled his hand away.
“Do you know what it is?” Samara asked.
He shook his head. “No, but I plan to find out.”
She nodded and hovered her finger above the container. The gray matter shrank from her touch. Adalard frowned and studied the entity in the glass.
“Well, at least someone thinks I’m scarier than you are,” she mused.
Chapter Seventeen
An hour later, Samara sank back against the seat in the narrow galley while Adalard placed their dirty dishes in the alien version of a dishwasher. She absently ran her finger along the smooth surface of the galley table as she watched him. Her thoughts were torn between what they had found and watching Adalard bend over.
Both are dangerous for entirely different reasons. The man definitely fills out a pair of pants in a very nice way, she decided with a tinge of amusement at her chaotic thoughts.
“You are making this very difficult,” he said.
She sheepishly grinned at him. “Sorry. I’ll try to think quieter.”
“I’m not complaining,” he teased.
She lowered her gaze to the table and absently continued to make figure eights with her finger. There had only been a handful of times over the years when she mildly considered a more intimate relationship with a guy. The problem with living in the same place her whole life and having five older brothers was that people talked—a lot.
It was bad enough dealing with her brothers’ disreputable reputations, she didn’t need hers smeared in the mud alongside theirs. E
specially when she considered all the guys she knew also hung out with one or more of her siblings.
There was also her personal fear of ending up like her mom. While she had promised herself that she would break the Lee-Stephens’s curse, she never intended to become a nun either.
She had blamed her existing virgin status on those two reasons, but now she wondered if it was because she had just never found a guy who interested her enough to want to get hot and naked. After thinking about everything, she realized that her reservations about having a relationship with Adalard were melting away.
Her worries about her family and living in a small community. None of those were a consideration with Adalard. A relationship with him would be different. She didn’t have to worry about him gossiping if things went south—and her mom… well, Adalard was nothing like her dad.
Besides, the odds of getting pregnant are probably a million-to-one considering we are from totally different DNA pools, she reasoned.
Of course, that thought made her wonder if they would be anatomically compatible. She dismissed that thought almost as soon as it formed when she remembered Adalard mentioning that his brother’s ‘mate’ was human.
When she added that detail to the way the heat ignited every time they kissed and her reaction to him in his ship, she thought they must be very compatible. Just the thought made her want to squirm.
She lifted her somber focus back to Adalard. It was hard to ignore the desire in his eyes. Despite her attempts to hide her thoughts, it was obvious he was still mentally connected to her. He straightened and stared back at her with a look of uncertainty. She rose to her feet and walked over to him. Lifting her hand, she tenderly caressed the scar along his cheek.
“What is it?” she asked.
He covered her hand, his thumb gently caressing her skin. The colors that clung to him reached out and enveloped her. The power behind the colors caught her breath.
“How long is courting supposed to last? It seems rather… long,” he confessed.
“Courting? Is that what you’ve been doing?” she teased. When he frowned in confusion, she softly laughed and kissed him. “I’ve never been courted before, but I think you’ve—" She locked gazes with him and continued in a slightly breathless voice, “been doing a very good job.” She looked down and bit her lip, fighting a smile.
