“The medications.”
“Will be confiscated and studied for months while hundreds die.” I turn to face her, knowing that everything—her trust, her safety, her choice—now hangs on this moment. “I need your help, Fiona. Not just as a mechanic, but as someone who understands that some things matter more than personal comfort or safety.”
She looks at me for a long moment—this alien who’s been secretly obsessed with her for three years, who claims she’s his fated mate, who’s asking her to risk everything for the sake of strangers on distant worlds.
Then she reaches for her coat.
“Let’s go save your spaceship.”
5
Into the Storm
Fiona
I’manidiot.
That’s the only explanation for why I’m trudging through knee-deep snow on Christmas Day, following a seven-foot alien who’s been secretly watching me for three years toward his crashed spaceship that’s apparently about to be discovered by the military.
Three years. Three years of him learning my routines, my habits, my Christmas Eve solitude. Three years of me thinking I was alone when I was actually being observed like some kind of fascinating specimen.
And I’mstill helping him.
“This way,” Ja’war says quietly, his voice carrying easily through the crisp air despite the low volume. He moves through the snow with inhuman grace, his longer stride breaking trail for me to follow. “We need to stay below the ridge line to avoid the search teams.”
I want to be angry. I am angry. But watching him navigate through terrain that would challenge an experienced hiker, seeing the careful way he positions himself between me and potential threats, feeling the steady confidence radiating from him even in crisis—it’s doing things to my body that have nothing to do with rational thought.
Fated mate, he said. Some kind of alien biological certainty that I’m meant to be his. Like something straight out of the romance novels I hide behind my toolbox, except those always made it sound romantic and inevitable. In reality, it’s terrifying and overwhelming and makes me feel like I’m losing control of my own life.
The weight of that presses against my chest as I follow in his footsteps, close enough that I catch hints of his scent when the wind shifts. Clean, male, with an underlying musk that makes my hindbrain sit up and take notice in ways I don’t want to examine too closely.
“How much further?” I ask, pulling my coat tighter against the cold.
“Perhaps another kilometer.” He glances back at me, those winter-blue eyes taking in my condition with predatory focus. “Are you warm enough?”
“I’m fine.”
But even as I say it, I can feel the cold seeping through my boots, making my toes numb. The storm may have passed, but the temperature is brutal, and we’ve been hiking for twenty minutes through snow that reaches mid-thigh on me.
Ja’war stops suddenly, head tilted like he’s listening to something I can’t hear. Enhanced senses, I remember. He can probably detect things I’d miss completely.
“Search team,” he says quietly. “Two kilometers east and moving this direction.”
“How can you possibly—”
“Xarian hearing extends beyond human range.” His eyes meet mine, and something hot flickers in their depths. “Among other enhancements.”
The way he says it, loaded with implication, makes heat curl low in my stomach despite the freezing air. Other enhancements. Like what? Strength? Speed? Stamina?
Focus, Fiona. You’re supposed to be processing betrayal, not cataloguing alien superpowers.
“We need to move faster,” he continues, and before I can protest, he’s beside me, one large hand settling on my lower back to guide me forward. “Stay close.”
The contact burns through my coat, his hand warm and possessive against my spine. He’s not just guiding me—he’s claiming space around me, positioning himself as a barrier between me and the world. It should be annoying. It should trigger my fiercely guarded independence.
Instead, it makes me want to lean into him.
We pick up the pace, and within minutes I’m breathing hard, my heart pounding from exertion and proximity. Ja’war moves like winter itself—silent, efficient, perfectly adapted to the harsh environment. When I stumble over a hidden root, his arm slides around my waist, steadying me with embarrassing ease.
