Hazel

Hazel brushed her finger across her swollen lips in disbelief. That did not just happen. She did not just make out with a stranger, with an alien. It was not the most exciting, passionate moment of her life and she certainly didn’t enjoy it.

She was such a liar.

She didn’t just enjoy it. She fucking loved every moment of it.

Drifting in on a cloud, high on endorphins, she made her way back to the restaurant to pick up her bag. As expected, she didn’t have a job, not that she was planning to stick around town. She handed in her company-issued “I love aliens!” sarong and got her share of the tips. With forty dollars stuffed into her jeans pockets, she headed to the bank.

The bank closed frustratingly early but if the doors were locked, she’d withdraw the max limit from the ATM and make do. She’d leave behind some cash in the account but she didn’t want to use her bank card on the road as it would leave a trail for Scott to follow.

Her car had seen better days a long, long time ago. She used to have a shiny new car with all the bells and whistles back before the divorce, not that she had a job to get to or that Scott ever let her go anywhere unaccompanied. Outside of the occasional grocery shopping, it sat in the garage being all shiny and perfect.

This beat up old car was what she could afford after the divorce. It was cheap, she paid cash, and it was hers. Not Scott’s or bought with Scott’s money. Hers. The car still used gasoline, which made it a lumbering dinosaur in the terms of vehicle tech. The AC busted ages ago and Hazel suspected the heater didn’t work, either, but the Florida weather never turned cold enough to test it. The radio worked when it pleased, randomly turning on, and the upholstery in the front seats was shredded. Hazel laid an old towel over the torn upholstery and brushed foam bits off her butt when she got to her destination. It might not make another long trip but Hazel would baby it along as far as it could go. Wherever it died—and there was no doubt in her mind that this trip was a death sentence for the car—that new place was her new home.

Or—

Hazel’s fingers brushed her lips again, an excited fluttering started in her stomach and made her ache in a way she hadn’t felt in years. Maybe there was another option.

She just needed to get away and had no specific destination in mind, just away from her ex-husband. What was further away from Scott than another planet? Or spaceship, whatever. Scott was Earth bound, she wasn’t. She could volunteer to be matched to a Mahdfel. The commercials played often enough, promising a signing bonus and the money would be useful. Hazel thought of her sister, Rosemary, and her nephew, Michael. They could use the money, that was for sure. And the Mahdfel she’d met today seemed like a decent guy— Well, guy probably wasn’t the right word but a good person. He tried to help her and got himself arrested for his trouble.

“Seeran,” she whispered his name as if it could summon him. Her alien.

He’d been easy on the eyes and that kiss—

Her core ached with a hollow yearning, needing to be filled.

She hadn’t had sex since the divorce, not even in the months before separating, and good sex was even further back in the mists of time. Years?

She shouldn’t make a huge decision based on one amazing kiss with a hot alien. Her body wanted sex, that was all... She needed to stay focused and stick with the plan: empty out the bank, pack a bag, and leave town.

The car pulled into the parking lot. At one end of the building sat her bank. At the far end was a Mahdfel recruitment center.

Her fingers drifted to her lips again.

Fuck.

She was about to do something really stupid.

Seeran

HE COULDN’T EXPLAIN way his blood ran hot. It shouldn’t. Seeran always held himself above the heat of battle, to better see patterns and anticipate the enemy’s next move. 

Patience, calm and control was the mantra drilled into every Mahdfel youth as they began training and that mantra went against every instinct. The Mahdfel were designed by the Suhlik to be warriors, to be elite killer machines, and both the Suhlik and the Mahdfel were very good at what they did.

The urges for battle and breeding were hardwired into the Mahdfel genetic code but succumbing to those urges left a warrior exposed and vulnerable. With bloodlust—or simple lust—coursing through their bodies, a warrior made mistakes and mistakes cost lives. A warrior gone completely to a berserker rage might have one or two victories but his glory would be short lived. 

The Suhlik never particularly cared for the longevity or quality of life of their dogs. If one, or a pack, fell in battle, they had plenty to spare.  They aimed their dogs in the general direction of what they desired destroyed and set them loose.

Patience, calm and control were how a warrior became a true master. His body was a weapon, his skills finely honed and his will unbreakable. Seeran’s control was everlasting and could bring lesser, more foolish warriors to heel. The Warlord trusted him, and only him, to ensure the security of the clan.

So why then did he feel the need to follow this female? When she wasn’t in his sights, his skin crawled.

Seeran rubbed at his neck and shoulders. Correction, when she wasn’t in sight his tattoos ached. When she was near, they burned. And when they kissed, the marks shone with fevered intensity.

Now that he found her, he couldn’t let her go but he had to be patient. Time would deliver Hazel to him. She was single once again and did not have the smell of mother’s milk on her. Legally, she was obligated to be tested for the bride program and they would be matched.

He could wait for her even if it would be the most difficult thing he’d ever done.

Just that morning, Seeran had considered his greatest hardship to be delivering the news of Lova’s death. Telling her parents had been uncomfortable, but they were strangers and did not share the same level of grief. Seeran mourned the loss of a female he would never know but they mourned the loss of their daughter.

Delivering the same news to his parents had been far, far worse. His father gave him a stoic nod and said nothing but his mother...  His mother visibly wilted under the weight of disappointment. In her heart she had already welcomed a daughter and mentally named grandchildren. Now? That was not Seeran’s future. The odds of being matched once were slim. Twice would be nothing short of a miracle. Seeran would always be alone.

Today, everything changed.

He thought he had control, he was mistaken. He thought he knew strength but he was wrong. He thought he could be impartial, but he could not. He had a mate and a second chance at... at everything he once believed lost.

Instinct urged him not to wait. The Mahdfel-Earth treaty demanded that he abide regulations.

He could master his instincts and wait.

Barely.

Knowing that Hazel would remain on Earth, alone and unprotected— Everything about that situation felt wrong. Earth was filled with many dangers and Terrans were surprisingly unadapted to their environment. Was their skin hardened enough to avoid puncture from animals? No. Their skin was so laughably soft the sun burned it. Their only protection from solar radiation was pigmentation.  Beyond the environment and animal attacks, Terrans were at great risk of assault from other Terrans. Their planet was not hostile enough, so they turn on each other.

Hazel had no protection from her former mate. The Terran authorities were reluctant to enforce their own laws, their own restraining orders. If his mate could not rely on Terran police for her safety, what other options were there?

Terran justice was a frustratingly slow grind. He had been on Earth now for weeks—weeks!—waiting for Vox’s female to get her justice. How Vox could sit and wait was beyond Seeran. Mahdfel justice was swift and brutal, as it should be.

Scott could use a dose of Mahdfel justice.

A threatening growl rattled in Seeran’s throat. He could not leave his mate unprotected. If his warlord knew all the details of the situation, he would command Seeran to ensure the safety of his mate.

Scott needed a refresher on the finer details of the restraining order. The male also needed to know what it felt like to be the weaker, smaller party in a physical altercation. Scott needed to know how it felt to be shoved and have his shoulder dislocated.

Yes. Scott needed to those lessons, Seeran was the warrior to teach them, and Hazel deserved her justice.

The warlord might not approve of Seeran’s methods but he would certainly agree that he could not leave Hazel unprotected.

He was about to do something ill advised.