Home > Alien Mercenary's Bride(3)

Alien Mercenary's Bride(3)
Author: Mina Carter

“Altav… can you hear me? I need you to wake up now. Okay?”

 

Skinny was more than awake and aware, but he kept his big body pliant and lax. He’d come around practically as soon as he’d hit the deck, playing dead as he realized who had hit him.

With all his senses extended apart from his sight, he tried to pick up scent, movement, or sound… anything that would indicate her two bodyguards were with her. Nothing. There was just her. Her perfume was unmistakable. Unique.

There was nothing to indicate the presence of anyone else. Either they were alone or somehow humanity had developed the ability to fool a Lathar whose olfactory senses had been expanded. It was one of the DNA adjustments his parents had paid dearly for in all their children before they’d moved out to the Tricerdonian Reach, all designed to help them with their farm.

Boosted strength and stamina for long days in the fields. Enhanced speed to outrun or deal with predators. Heightened senses… sight and smell, to help them identify problems with crops and livestock. He was the Latharian equivalent of a bloodhound, a talent that had come in handy more times than he could count on jobs. It also meant there was no way a human could hide in here and he wouldn’t know about it.

He hid his grin.

His little human had no idea she was all alone with the big, bad wolf. If she did, if she knew what he was, she would run screaming from him.

He stayed like a limp noodle, liking the way she put her delicate little hands on him. Sure, the back of his head hurt like a bitch, but he was a heavy-worlder. His skull was as thick as the plate of the hull. She couldn’t have hurt him even if she’d been twice the size and weight. All she’d have managed to do was piss him off and make him bleed more.

Groaning, he turned on his back, feeling her skitter around him like a nervous kitten. She scooted away and then back again, her hands on his chest. He almost groaned at the contact, feeling her touch burn even through his t-shirt right down to his skin. Such small hands… and all he could do was imagine them wrapped around his cock. He managed to cover the building snarl of need with a swallow. Shit… if she moved those little hands down further.

Then she touched his face and he was lost. He opened his eyes to find her leaning over him, her beautiful face frowning in concern. Her eyes widened, her lips parting into a soft “oh” he instantly wanted to kiss from her lips. God, she was so beautiful it almost hurt, deep down where his heart was. And further south of his belt buckle as his body made its demands known.

Don’t look down, little mouse, he urged silently, knowing the tent at his groin would give away the fact he’d been awake a lot longer than he’d made out. Or give her the impression being physically assaulted got his rocks off. Unless...

No, there was no way she’d do anything about the raging erection in his pants, even though his overactive imagination instantly fed him images of her crawling over him, her amber eyes bright as she looked up at him and her delicate fingers freed him from his pants.

His cock jerked at the idea, damn near tearing through his zipper. Draanth. He hadn’t had such a visceral reaction since he’d been a green lad and worked out what the damn thing was for. He’d almost rubbed himself raw that summer over porno-holo images he’d traded from other younglings at the education center.

“I’m awake,” he rumbled, his voice little more than a deep rumble.

“Oh, thank heaven,” she whispered, her little hands patting over his chest and shoulders. They were butterfly pats, never landing long enough for him to register until she’d already moved. But wherever she touched him, his skin tingled. “I was so worried about you. I didn’t mean to hit you so hard...”

She bit her lower lip with straight white teeth, mangling the plump flesh, and his attention immediately latched on to them. What would she do if he reached out, slid his hand into her hair and pulled her down? Whispered against her lips that that was his job?

He tensed and she skittered back, out of reach. The move was too practiced to be panicked and he frowned as he sat up, noting her body language as he rubbed at the back of his neck. Someone, somewhere, had made his mouse wary. Instantly, rage bubbled up and he had to fight not to growl. Whoever it was, wherever they were, he was going to kill them.

“Draa... Shit,” he murmured as his hand came away slick with blood. “You sliced me up good. It’s gonna need some staples for sure.”

Her eyes widened. “Staples? Is it that bad? I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

He chuckled. “You swung a metal pipe at me, little mouse. What did you think it was going to do? Tickle me?”

Her face paled and she lifted her chin. He saw the swallow as she fought down nerves followed by a little nod. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

He kept his face level as he probed the edges of the wound on the back of his head. He didn’t like to see her expression twist to guilt and self-recrimination at the thought she’d seriously hurt him.

“To put me down like that given you’re such a little dot of a thing... you did good.”

She nodded, the movement just visible in his peripheral vision. She’d scooted back against one of the packing crates so she sat right out of his range. To get to her, he’d have to lunge forward, which he wanted to do but refrained. The scent of her fear permeated the air in the hold like a fine perfume with a sharp edge. He didn’t like it. Didn’t like her being scared.

So instead of rising to his full height, he stayed on his ass in the middle of the walkway. Bringing his knees up, he leaned his forearms on them and studied her.

She was more bedraggled than she had been in the market. Her hair had fallen from its fancy style and hung around her shoulders like a silken cape. A smudge of dirt marred one high cheekbone along with a smear of blood against her jaw. A quick breath in reassured him it was his. Her clothes were rumpled, and one sleeve of her gown had been torn off. His gaze flicked down to the wadded and bloodstained bundle of fabric in her hand. She’d used her own clothes to try and tend to him, even though there was no way that delicate fabric would do much good. Still, it warmed his heart that she had tried.

“So...” He began with a small smile. “You want to tell me what you’re doing here? Not often we get stowaways...” No one was normally stupid enough or desperate enough to stowaway on the Warborne’s ship.

Which was when she pulled his own gun on him, reaching around and recovering the weapon from the shadows behind her.

“You’re going to help me,” she told him in a voice way too breathy to be firm. He wasn’t sure if that was because she was scared out of her mind about him or the gun she held in shaking hands.

He didn’t bother to check his holster. He already knew it would be empty and the weapon she held was his. He was the only person aboard who used that model.

“Well... you are holding a gun on me, so it would be rude not to,” he agreed, not batting an eyelid even though, at this range, the thing would absolutely take his head off.

If she didn’t have the safety catch on.

Relief washed across her beautiful face for a split second, but then she locked it down, a neutral expression replacing it like a mask. He took a deep breath. She was still terrified, but from her face he’d never have been able to tell. What kind of world did she live in to learn that trick?

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