But before I can respond to that delicious threat, Wicks’ voice cuts through our sanctuary with deadly finality:
“Time’s up! Move in!”
The sound of splintering wood echoes through the garage as they breach the doors.
9
Mine to Defend
Fiona
Thesplinteringofwoodechoes through my garage, and suddenly the sanctuary where Ja’war just claimed me becomes a battlefield.
“Stay behind me,” he growls, and his voice has changed—dropped to frequencies that make my bones vibrate and my claiming bite pulse with heat. The alien compounds in my system spike my awareness, turning every sense sharp as adrenaline floods my bloodstream.
Thefirst hunter through the door is Dale Wicks, shotgun raised, righteous fury blazing in his eyes. He takes one look at Ja’war—seven feet of pale, predatory alien standing protectively in front of me—and his face goes white.
“Jesus Christ,” he breathes. “It really is a monster.”
Ja’war’s response is a snarl that’s pure apex predator, all fangs and menace and controlled violence. The veins under his skin pulse brighter, casting eerie blue light across his angular features.
“The only monster here,” he says, his voice carrying harmonics that make the windows rattle, “is the one who threatens my mate.”
My mate. The words send liquid fire through my veins, the claiming bite making me hyperaware of his protective fury, his alien strength, his absolute certainty that I belong to him.
More hunters pour through the broken doors—Tom Keller with his hunting rifle, Diane Getty from the diner with a baseball bat, at least six others I recognize from town. All armed. All afraid. All looking at Ja’war while he radiates lethal calm.
“Thirty-seven heartbeats,” Ja’war murmurs to me, so quietly only I can hear. “Twelve firearms, various melee weapons. Three possible exit routes.”
The casual way he catalogues threats while standing ready to kill makes something primal and feminine purr deep in my chest. This is what protection looks like when you’re claimed by an apex predator.
“Look at her neck!” Diane Getty shouts, pointing at the claiming bite. “It bit her! It’s infected her or something!”
Several hunters shift closer, weapons raised higher. The mood in the room turns uglier, more dangerous.
“Fiona, honey,” Tom Keller says, his voice taking on that patronizing tone men use when they think women can’t think straight. “Thatthing has obviously done something to you. You’re not thinking clearly.”
“I’m thinking clearer than I have in years,” I snap back, but doubt creeps in as more faces turn toward me with pity and fear. What if they’re right? What if the claiming bite has affected my judgment?
“It’s mind control,” Dale declares. “Alien pheromones or some shit. She’s not responsible for what she’s saying.”
“The bite mark,” another hunter adds, squinting at my neck. “Looks fresh. Probably injected her with something.”
Ja’war goes absolutely still beside me, and I can feel his fury building through the claiming connection. His hands flex, and I catch the gleam of claws extending slightly.
“You think I’m being controlled?” I ask, my voice dangerous quiet.
“Honey, look at yourself,” Diane says, stepping forward with false sympathy. “Yesterday you were normal Fiona, fixing cars and keeping to yourself. Today you’re defending a monster and packing supplies like you're leaving Earth. That’s not natural.”
The worst part is, they’re not entirely wrong. Yesterday I was different. Yesterday I was scared and isolated and convinced adventure only happened to other people. Today I’m ready to travel through space with an alien who claims I’m his mate.
But that’s not mind control. That’s finally being brave enough to want more.
“You want to know what’s not natural?” I say, stepping forward. “Hannah Barrett’s been driving drunk for two years, and nobody stopped her. Lost hikers keep getting found safe when they should have died of exposure, and nobody asks how. You’ve got a seven-foot alien standing in my garage, and instead of wondering what he’s doing here, you assume he’s evil.”
“Because he IS evil!” Dale shouts. “Look at it! That’s not human!”
“Neither is helping strangers for three years without asking for anything in return,” I fire back. “Neither is risking your life to deliver medicine to people you’ve never met. But sure, let’s talk about what’s not human.”
