Page 37 of I Punched an Alien and Now We’re in Couples Therapy

“You did not apologize.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Unforgiven.”

“Wicked woman. What would you like then, eh? You’ve already left me bound and gagged just moments ago, and you are still unsatisfied. Tell me what you desire, and if it is within my power, you’ll have it. Just work with me here so we can escape. We’ll need to find the female enclosure as soon as possible before that bastard general and his mates tell their clans about it.”

“And why would I care if they do that?”

“If what they say is true, then this enclosure is the one place on this planet that has women. Which means it’s the only chance our kingdom has for survival. With women, we could even restore Dulba to its former status as an empire. Once word gets out, every clan will be sending out their strongest war parties to try to claim the territory for themselves. We need to figure out its location as soon as possible and claim it.”

“We?”

“Yes, we. You are my queen now, which means you have the same duty to our people that I do.”

“It’s like we’re still speaking different languages.” I fished the Tamagotchi out from under my shirt and held it up. Osid’s avatar was still slumped over the empty affection meter. “You see this sad, tiny man crying over the empty bar?”

“Well, I don’t think he’s crying, exactly.”

“That is what I think of you. I don’t know what part of this conversation made you think I’ve agreed to be your queen, your mate, your personal trainer, or anything else, but I promise you, I haven’t. Your people are your problem.”

I felt the flare in his temper through the heat that radiated off him, but before he could respond, the speaker’s voice returned.

“Emotional dissonance detected,” it announced, as if diagnosing a glitch. “Relationship progress is suboptimal. Introducing additional variables to encourage bonding under duress.”

“Under…duress?” I asked.

The front door to the restaurant kicked open, and a group of figures strode in—leather jackets, slicked-back hair, and the swagger of 1970s Grease gangsters. They wore sunglasses despite the dim lighting, their grins sharp and menacing as they fanned out. To my utter fucking befuddlement, the lot of them started snapping in unison while walking over to our table.

“Challenge: Villains,” the voice continued. “These simulated adversaries represent a physical threat. The optimal outcome is for Subject S 52 to protect his partner, demonstrating courage, resourcefulness, and commitment.”

“You’ve got to be joking.”

“Subject S 52, the safety and well-being of your partner is now in your hands. You may utilize the environment as necessary to neutralize the threat. Failure to do so will result in termination of the date and the trial.”

The leader of the pack whipped out a comb and ran it through his hair. “Well, well, what do we have here, boys?” Cue henchman laugh track. Bargain-bin John Travolta came around to my side of the table and placed his hands on the back of my chair. “What’s a pretty young thing like you doing in a place like this?”

Osid spat a fireball right in Temu Travolta’s face. His skin burned away to reveal that gross wasp’s nest of holes. I gagged, dropping my fork and shoving away from the android.

I whirled around at Osid and snapped, “Dammit, I told you not to do that. These androids are triggering the hell out of my trypophobia!”

Osid raised a brow. “Am I supposed to know what that is?”

“It’s a fear of tiny holes! Their faces look like a wasp nest when you burn the skin off, and it’s gross. Knock it off.”

“How else was I supposed to check if they’re real?”

“What if they are real? Were you just going to burn them to death to find out?”

He laughed. “One strike to the face wouldn’t kill them. It’d maim them. Then they’d learn an important lesson on what happens when you lean over my woman like her space is theirs to own.”

I blinked slowly. “You are…unwell.”

Temu Travolta stumbled away from the table and held on to his burned face. One of his goons ran to his side to check up on him. “Are you okay, boss?”

The nanobots in his exoskeleton repaired his face in mere seconds. “A wise guy, eh?” he sneered. “Seems like Subject 12 would be better off with us.” He snapped his fingers, and two goons lunged to snatch me up, pinning my hands behind my back.

“Hey, let go!” I yelled.