Page 27 of Alien’s Retrieved Mate

"Move. Now."

We ran — actual running instead of the steady trek pace — with Kel half-dragging me through the undergrowth as the sky opened. The rain was thicker and warmer than anything on Earth, each drop landing with enough weight to sting. Within seconds I was drenched and blind, stumbling over roots I couldn't see.

Lightning struck. Not normal lightning — it was purple, and it didn't flash and vanish. It crawled across the canopy in branching filaments that hung in the air for two or three seconds before fading, turning the jungle into a strobe of violet light. The thunder came simultaneously, so deep it vibrated in my chest cavity and made my teeth ache.

A tree exploded twenty meters to our left. Not split — exploded. The trunk detonated outward in a spray of wood and bioluminescent sap that splattered the surrounding vegetation in glowing blue streaks. The concussion knocked me sideways and Kel caught me before I hit the ground, pulling me against his chest with one arm while the other held his weapon up.

"In here." He steered me toward a gap between two massive root systems — a natural hollow where the roots of a tree the size of a building curved up out of the ground and formed something like a cave. Not deep, maybe six feet. But dry. Mostly.

We pressed in. The space was tight enough that my back was against the root wall and Kel was against me, his body between me and the opening, shielding. His armor was soaked and cold against my bare arms. The rain hammered the root canopy above us and the purple lightning crawled overhead in slow, branching arcs.

"What the hell was that?" I gasped.

"Ion storm. Unique to equatorial jungle regions on high-humidity worlds." He scanned the jungle through the opening, weapon raised. His markings had gone hard and bright, and each breath lifted his armored shoulders too quickly before he forced them still. "The atmospheric density on Zha'kari produces electrical discharges significantly more powerful than standard. Considerably more dangerous than a typical storm on most worlds. The rain carries a mild electrical charge. Extended exposure will produce burns."

"So the rain is literally electrified."

"Mildly."

"That's not reassuring, Kel."

Another tree exploded. Closer this time. The roots above us shuddered and a fine rain of dirt and bark fragments fell on my head. I pressed closer to him involuntarily, and his arm tightened around me before either of us could think, pulling me into the hollow of his chest.

We were breathing hard. Both of us. The storm raged outside and in the close, dark space I could see his markings glowing against his wet skin, casting blue-white light across the root walls. His face was inches from mine. Rain dripped from his jaw.

"How long do these last?" I asked. My voice came out quieter than I intended.

"The duration is variable. Twenty minutes to several hours."

"Several hours. In here."

"Yes."

I was pressed against every line of his body: cold armor over hard muscle, heat gathering wherever the plates ended, the rough catch of his breath above my ear. His arm was still around me, and the pulse of his markings traveled through my soaked shirt like a second heartbeat. In their glow, I could see the line of his jaw, the set of his mouth, the way his pupils had dilated in the dark until his eyes were almost black. He was looking at my mouth. He was absolutely, definitely looking at my mouth.

My heart was hammering and it had nothing to do with the storm.

"Kel," I said.

His expression cracked. Just barely — a fracture in the discipline. His hand came up, and his thumb brushed a streak of mud off my cheekbone — gentle, careful, his markings flaring white-hot at the contact. I leaned into his touch without deciding to. His thumb stilled. His breath caught. His face tilted toward mine, and for one suspended second the space between us was an inch and closing.

A purple lightning bolt struck the root canopy directly above us. The entire structure shuddered and a chunk of bark the size of a dinner plate crashed between us. We jerked apart — or as far apart as you can jerk in a space that's six feet deep — and the moment shattered.

He pulled back. Pressed himself against the opposite wall. His markings were blazing so bright that the root cave was lit like midday.

"The storm is weakening," he said. His voice was not steady.

It wasn't. But I appreciated the lie.

We sat in silence for another fifteen minutes while the rain slowed and the lightning retreated to distant purple flickers on the horizon. My clothes were soaked. My hair was plastered to my face. My skin tingled where the charged rain had hit it — not painful, but buzzing, like a low-grade static shock that wouldn't quite stop.

When we finally crawled out, the jungle had changed. The bioluminescent organisms had gone berserk — every surface glowed in the storm's aftermath, the sap from the exploded trees painting the vegetation in streaks of vivid blue, the fungi on the forest floor pulsing in waves. It was stunning. Alien and dangerous and beautiful.

I looked at Kel. He was not looking at the jungle. He was looking at me.

Neither of us mentioned what had almost happened in the root cave. But for the rest of the day, his markings didn't dim once, and he walked close enough that our arms brushed on every third step.

After another hour of trekking through the steam-rising undergrowth, the pool appeared like a mirage. A natural basin fed by a waterfall, water cascading over dark red stone into turquoise depths. Steam rose. Warm water.