Her Alien Beast

by Presley Hall

  Now I just need him to wake up. I’ll feel better once I see him eat or drink something.

  I sigh and wet a cloth, wringing it into his mouth to try to get him to drink a bit. His eyes move back and forth beneath his lids, his breathing steady and deep. He wets his lips when I give him water, and his brow creases.

  That small movement makes me sit up straighter. I quickly peel back the blanket covering his chest and check his biggest injury, the wound on his side that I had to sew by hand. It’s healing well, and I kneel down beside the bed to give it a quick, thorough cleaning. He twitches beneath my fingertips as I clean him, and my heart starts to beat faster, excited and so relieved at the thought of him finally waking up.

  He groans, and I grab the clean rag again to give him some more water. But before I can wring the droplets onto his lips, his eyes snap open, focusing immediately on my face.

  His fingers close around my wrist, the suddenness of the movement startling me.

  I let out a shaky laugh and smile down at him, going still. There’s something dark and animalistic in his eyes, as if he’s still caught up in the battle that ended hours ago now. If he’s still in the mindset of protecting me or needing to fight, I don’t want to make any sudden moves.

  “You’re all right,” I whisper soothingly. I don’t move otherwise, just meet his sharp, intense amber gaze. “It’s okay, Axen. You were hurt in the fight, but you’re okay.”

  He stares up at me without blinking, and his fingers tighten around my wrist—not enough to hurt, but enough to let me feel the rough calluses on his palm. I gasp as I feel that same electric spark as before shoot up my arm, making my heart stutter mid-beat, and then race to a gallop. I can’t tear my gaze away from him.

  His eyes flash, and I suddenly know just how a fly feels when it becomes trapped in a web. I can’t move. I can barely breathe. The air is electric, and I don’t want to pull away.

  “Elizabeth,” he whispers. “Rhael.”

  My brows furrow. I recognize that word, dimly. I’m pretty sure I’ve heard it before, but the translator chip in my brain doesn’t give me any direct translation for it.

  Axen turns his head, bringing my wrist to his nose and inhaling raggedly, his amber eyes darkening and his pupils flaring out wide.

  “Rhael,” he repeats.

  My racing heart nearly trips over itself, skipping a beat. I lean in, pulled by his gentle tug, his warm hand on my wrist, and the darkness in his eyes. It’s like a powerful force inside me, a magnetic attraction deep in my stomach that makes me want to touch him, to bring his gaze back to mine, to make him smile, to…

  Then, finally, the word he spoke registers in my mind. Rhael.

  I know where I’ve heard it before. I’ve seen Droth murmur that word to Charlotte, and even though it doesn’t appear to be directly translatable, the gist of its meaning is pretty clear from context.

  Mine.

  It’s something Voxerans say to their mates.

  Surprise and disbelief hit me at the same time. I snatch my hand away and take a step back from him, my eyes widening. He stares at me and pushes himself upright a moment later, grunting and grimacing in pain. My mouth opens, clicks shut, then opens again. I suck in a deep breath.

  No, this isn’t right. There’s no way this could possibly be right.

  I just realized I’m pregnant, and after a huge battle where this man almost died, he’s calling me his mate? It’s too much for me to deal with at one time. I can’t deal with two coding patients at once.

  No.

  I don’t realize I’ve said the word aloud until Axen blinks at me, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. He tries to reach for me, but I shake my head and drop the damp cloth, stumbling out of the cabin.

  I half sprint a few yards away from the cabin before the world’s endless spinning catches up with me, and I have to stop and put my hands on my knees, drawing in deep, shuddering breaths. It feels like the ground is slipping out from under me. Too much new information has come at me too fast, leaving me reeling. My stomach is churning like a cement mixer, and my heart is racing so hard it’s making me dizzy.

  It’s like how I felt when the Foreigner II was first taking off—that sickening, plummeting feeling. The certainty that I was going to die, that we were going to get the launch wrong and burn up in the atmosphere. That feeling of helplessness and weightlessness where nothing I did mattered, where I had no control.

  This is about a thousand times more terrifying than that was, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

  I’m not used to being afraid. I don’t like being ruled by fear. I’m normally in complete control of my environment and my actions, and now I can’t even control my own fucking stomach. I definitely feel like I’m going to be sick again, even though there’s nothing left to actually throw up.

  Dammit. I don’t know what to do. My options are limited, and my brain hurts from trying to wrap itself around my new reality. I’m pregnant and stranded, and apparently the most deadly and terrifying one of these Voxeran warriors has chosen me as his mate. What am I supposed to do with all of that?

  I suck in a deep, shuddering breath.

  Still, even now, I remember how comfortable and safe I felt around Axen. He’s a protective man, and part of me knows that if he knew how freaked out I am, he would do anything in his power to protect me. If I went back to him, maybe I would feel that sense of calm and relief—because he’s awake, he survived, he’s here.

  But something keeps me frozen in place. Something inside me won’t let me go back.

  The idea of the mate bond happening to me is something I never considered, even though I was told it doesn’t always happen straight away. None of the Voxerans spend enough time around me for us to foster that kind of bond, and admittedly the idea of being so thoroughly claimed and wrapped up in another person is as terrifying as it is thrilling.

  When I was growing up, my mother made no effort to hide the fact that I was a mistake. An accident baby. She told me outright that she never wanted me, and I never knew who my father was. He either didn’t know I existed or just wasn’t interested. She got married when I was seven, and my stepfather cared about me even less than my mom did. I was just the unfortunate side dish that he had to order to get the meal of banging my mother.

  I hated growing up in that household, brushed aside and belittled by two people who had no love to give me. I never wanted to be like that, and I always promised myself that if I had a kid, I’d do it right.

  My life’s mission was to be better than my mother—more controlled, not ruled by stupid base instincts. I figured I would date someone for a couple of years to be sure I actually liked being around them in times of stress and hardship, then get married once I knew we were a good fit.

  I’d do it all the right way. I would take care of any children I had and give them a good life.

  But this? I can’t give this baby a good life trapped on a prison planet with a bunch of aliens. And I can’t subject Axen to the responsibilities of being a stepfather, even if I wanted to.

  I straighten, fully aware that I’m about two seconds away from having a full-blown breakdown and I’m still in public. I go back to the women’s lodgings, my heart in my stomach and my hands still shaking.

  Almost everyone is still asleep, but Raina is awake, even though it’s early. I have no idea how I look, but it can’t be good, because she immediately straightens with a concerned noise and comes over to me.

  “What’s wrong?” she whispers.

  Forcing a smile to my face, I shake my head. “It’s nothing,” I reply in my soothing doctor voice. “Just, you know, the attack, and being up all night. I just need to sleep.”

  I give a self-deprecating laugh, and Raina grimaces and nods her understanding. Leaving her by the entrance, I cross to my little bed and lie down, staring up at the ceiling. Part of me thinks it would be nice to tell someone, to let them in on the secret. Someone unmated, who could commiserate with me without t
elling me how amazing the mate bond is.

  I believe Charlotte and Sadie when they say so, but they’re biased. They’re already in the mate bond, and they seem happy. I don’t think they’re being doped up with pheromones or were tricked by Droth and Jaro, but still, that doesn’t mean I’m ready to go through the same thing they did.

  It would be nice to speak to someone who could look at all of this with clear eyes. I glance over at Raina, who’s braiding her hair and getting ready for the day, obviously not planning on going back to sleep now that she’s awake.

  I could tell her.

  But I don’t. My throat works as I swallow back all the words I want to say, and I settle onto my side as she leaves the women’s lodgings.

  My eyes fall to Gemma’s empty cot, and another surge of nausea and guilt rises up in me. God, I can’t start any drama about being pregnant and mated when we’re missing two people, and Axen is still so badly injured, and the settlement needs to be rebuilt.

  I can’t say a damn thing—to anyone. I don’t want to.

  Because if I say it out loud, that will make it real.

  8

  Axen

  I thought I knew pain.

  For my entire life, I have been a warrior, and I’ve been wounded many times in battle. My injuries have healed well, my skin glued together more times than a patchwork piece of clothing or blanket. Even the deep, radiating pain cutting into my side is powerful, but ultimately not debilitating. If I had to, I could rise and hunt or help rebuild the walls. I should get up and help my brothers and friends, but I’m frozen in place.

  No pain in my life has ever come close to this—the terrible ache of finally finding my mate, only to see her recoil from me and flee from our bond as though disgusted by me.

  It overrides everything else. I can feel lingering warmth where she touched me, and I know somehow that she was the one who stitched me up and tended to my injuries.

  In my dreams, she was already mine. It hurts to have woken up and seen her face, to have shared a connection with her for the barest moment, only to have it all torn away.

  It’s like I suddenly lost a limb. Or maybe my head. Maybe that’s why all I can feel is pain radiating from my skull and my heart. I want to get up and follow Elizabeth, but the mate bond isn’t something I can force or negotiate. It simply is, and I cannot make her accept it if she doesn’t desire to.

  No, she said. She doesn’t want me.

  I have to find a way to live with that. But by all the gods, it slanching hurts.

  I doze off and on, riding the waves of physical and emotional pain along with exhaustion. I feel like I’m getting pulled under over and over again, instinct forcing me to fight back and get a gasp of fresh air before I drown completely.

  I know I’m going to survive, because if I wasn’t, I would be dead already. I don’t know how much time has passed since I fell in battle, but it can’t have been that long judging by the relative freshness of my wounds and the stitches.

  At midday, there’s a soft knock on the door to my hut, and then Droth enters. I struggle to sit upright and greet my prince properly, but he lifts a hand and comes to my bedside, crouching down.

  “Don’t strain yourself,” he says. His eyes warn me against disobeying, and I reluctantly settle, adjusting myself a bit so I can sit semi-upright. I don’t enjoy feeling like an invalid, nor acknowledging my own weakness in my slow movements or the fact that even sitting like this makes my side ache.

  “How are you?” Droth asks. His blue eyes narrow a little as he looks me over, as though afraid I might have lost a limb. But no. Physically, I am whole, for the most part. Aside from the pain radiating from my side and my skull, neither of which can be easily fixed.

  “Alive,” I reply. “And grateful I’ll be able to fight another day.”

  He grins. The relief on his face is stark, almost as strong as Elizabeth’s was when I opened my eyes… before I opened my mouth and caused her to run away from me. The memory makes me flinch, and I push it away, focusing on the present and my prince.

  I shift my weight gingerly, glancing toward the door of my hut and the village beyond it. “How did the rest of the battle go?”

  “We emerged victorious, thank the gods,” Droth replies. “We didn’t lose anyone.”

  I close my eyes, some of the tension in my chest unwinding. Although Vendar was my only brother by blood, I consider every Voxeran in this settlement a brother of a different kind. I couldn’t bear to see any of them die in a battle. It would cause something inside me to snap. If we lost someone because I wasn’t able to fight…

  “Gemma and Kzuri.” My eyes snap open, a surge of adrenaline filling me. “I saw them get taken.”

  Droth’s eyes flash, and he bares his fangs in a brief, angry snarl. “Yes. I sent some men after them, but the trail went cold almost immediately. Those slanching hover bikes.” His mouth twists into a disgusted expression, and the muscles in his jaw jump as he clenches his teeth. “I don’t know if they’re alive or dead.”

  “They’re alive.” My voice is hard and full of conviction. I have to believe that. “The raiders wouldn’t have stolen them away just to kill them. Kzuri is one of the best fighters I’ve ever seen, and the Terran women are strong. He will keep her safe, and they’ll survive. Together.”

  Droth nods, as if he has to believe it too.

  “Churbac is dead,” he murmurs, turning his head to meet my gaze. His smile, though small, is proud and reaches his eyes. He lifts a hand and squeezes my shoulder, mindful of even the smaller cuts and bruises that linger on my skin. “You did that, Axen. Thanks to you, that piece of filth is in the ground where he belongs.”

  I grin, though the euphoria of the victory doesn’t last long. It can’t. On this planet, there is no shortage of dangerous enemies.

  “Another may take his place,” I say.

  Droth nods. “I agree—once his raiders stop fighting among themselves over who will claim the title of leader. But we have some time before that happens, I’m sure. They know nothing of loyalty and are ruled by fear, and are disorganized without someone at their head. Their behavior after you killed Churbac proves that. Even if they try to regroup, it will be a while before they manage to build up their strength again. We were not merciful with them.”

  “Good.” My hand unconsciously curls into a fist, my arm longing for the heavy weight of my spear. I wish I could take down the surviving raiders myself. “How is the village? There was a fire, and rubble.”

  Droth meets my eyes, then his gaze falls to the bruising and stitches etched into my side. His mouth twists, and he sighs through his nose. “Several of the buildings and a large chunk of the wall were destroyed. We’ll need to rebuild and refortify quickly before any other raiding parties become aware of our weakness.”

  I nod. Already, I can hear some of my fellow Voxerans calling to each other in the distance. as they shift rock and gather wood to rebuild the walls.

  “The women are helping,” Droth adds, and when I look at him again, I see a smile on his face. It is amused and pleased. “Charlotte took a few of the others to the watering hole. She says there’s a way to make something they call ‘bricks,’ which don’t burn like wood and are easier to build with than finding stones.”

  The pride in his voice is evident. He is clearly in awe of his mate’s ingenuity and thoughtfulness. I want to join in his happiness, because if the Terran women’s ‘bricks’ prove effective, it will help a great deal with the reconstruction. Wood is not as easy to come by as one might think. We don’t have any large blades to swing with, so the process is arduous, and the flora on this planet can be deadly. If there is something we can use instead, it will be much safer than sending parties out to cut down trees and haul them back.

  But mentioning Charlotte just makes me think of Elizabeth, my mate, and how she doesn’t want me. It feels as if the universe has offered me everything I wanted and then ripped it away when I reached for it.

  Droth stu
dies me as if wondering at my thoughts. But instead of pressing me, he dips his chin and squeezes my shoulder again.

  “Get some rest, my friend,” he murmurs. “You fought valiantly, and I need you to recover as quickly as you can so you can rejoin me.”

  “Of course,” I reply.

  He smiles and rises, leaving my hut.

  The idea of being told to rest unsettles me. It makes me feel like there is a lightning storm above, prickling at my skin, cold rain stinging my face. The drive to get up and help is almost overwhelming.

  I settle myself down on my back again and try to obey, because he is right—the more I rest, the sooner I can rejoin the others and be useful again. The sooner I can fight and hunt and defend. My mate is here, after all, along with my brothers, the people I hold most dear, and if I cannot protect them, then I am worth nothing.

  Unfortunately, my thoughts are as relentless as the pain. I can’t stop thinking about the mate bond. About Elizabeth. I wonder if she is with Charlotte making these ‘bricks,’ and if she went with her friend because she wanted to get far away from me.

  Will she come back and continue to tend to my injuries, or will she send someone else? The thought of not seeing her, of her never allowing me close, jabs at me like a stinging vine.

  I close my eyes and see her face, as I did in my dream. My nostrils cling to her scent, which lingers in this hut.

  In my sleeping mind, she looked at me with heat and adoration. She opened herself up to me eagerly, as ravenous for me as I was for her. I growl, my cock stirring at the memory of the dream, at the phantom sensation of her nails digging into my back and brushing over the sensitive nodes along my spine. The way her thighs clenched around my hips as I sank inside her.

  Nothing in my life has ever felt so good. So utterly right.