The Baratican disappeared through an alcove then a heavy groan sounded.

“Crafty, Leila, and effective,” Macca chimed in my ear. “Your skills in psychology have served you well with the Baratican .”

My chest pinged. “Don’t be so proud, I’m only doing what I have to do to save myself.”

“Do you suggest manipulation is justified in accordance with need?”

I threw my legs over the edge of the bed and picked up the blanket. “I know what you’re getting at and this isn’t even remotely the same thing.” I wrapped the blanket around my middle and knotted it near an armpit. Not exactly clothing but better than butt-ass naked. “The Baratican is holding me against my will, that makes him an enemy. You and I were supposed to be working together— allies . That’s the difference.”

Now how to get the hell out of here before my horny alien suitor came home to make his “much mating”?

“What are the chances of that drone getting to me in here?”

“My scans have failed to locate an access point to the surface through which the drone could reach you.”

My chin dropped to my chest. “Great.”

“You must find a path to the surface, or wait until we can find one for you.”

“Yeah, I’m not waiting to be rescued.” I strode in the direction the Baratican left. “Especially with forced nuptials pending.”

The alcove lead into another room.

Holly shit.

The ceiling loomed like a cathedral, dripping with glowing stalactites.

“Do those things control the light in here?”

“The crystals are a conduit, conducting light from the surface to the underground.”

“Nifty.” I turned around, taking in the room.

The space was wide and circular, scattered with couches, rugs, and other unexpected civilized ornamentation. Shelving was carved into the earthy walls, brim with odds and ends.

A large recess cut into a section of wall

“That must be the door.” I jogged to the recess. The exit was blocked by an enormous rock-like surface. I shoved my hands against it. The blockage didn’t so much as twitch. “What the hell, are you seeing this Macca?”

“I see it, Leila.”

I scanned the blockage from top to bottom. “Tell me that’s not a boulder and there’s going to be a switch somewhere to open the door?”

“It does appear to be a physical barrier.”

I fisted my hands and leaned on the rock and pushed up off my feet.

“Given that the dwelling of a Baratican would most likely be designed to keep a prospective mate contained, and that mate could be of any number of humanoid species, the most secure containment measure would be one that requires a feat of strength rather than a feet of logic.”

I let out a huff, and sat in front of the doorway then lay down on my back, and pressed both feet to the stone. I’d always been stronger on the leg-press than any other equipment in the gym. My thighs strained under the force of my strength. The best I managed was lifting my body off the ground.

I panted, and shoved harder. “Shit. Shit.”

“Do not exhaust yourself. You were not untruthful when you claimed you’ve been too long without nourishment.”

“I’ve got to get out of here.” I kicked the rock, the soles of my feet scraping. “I’ve got to.”

“Do not injure yourself needlessly. A human cannot hope to match the strength of a Baratican. This is why they employ these measures.”

I rolled onto my knees and stood. “Then I’ll have to think of another way out.” I studied the shelves, gaze flicking across stones, ornaments, and gadgets. I picked up an intricate glass figurine of an animal I’d never seen. “So, are Baratican’s like Vikings, looting and plundering, because I cannot imagine them making these things.”

“You’d be wise not to make assumptions or underestimate a Baratican. However, you are correct, they do not make this decoration. They barter inter-planetary services for goods.”

“Services, I thought you said they were warriors?” I set the ornament down. “Ahhh, of course, mercenaries.”

“Not exactly, but close enough.”

My attention caught at a large timber box on the shelf. A dagger nestled inside dark green cushioning. “They just leave knives laying around in their wife prisons?”

“Careful, Leila.”

I took the dagger by the bone-like handle. “Now this is cool.”

“No, it’s warm.”

Warm? I touched the steel. Holy fuck. The metal was warm. “I didn’t mean that literally, but since when is metal warm?”

“Since that metal was Baratican.”

I smirked. Maybe Macca got sarcasm after all.

“Handle with caution. Baratican steel is one of the strongest and most indestructible materials in the universe, and the steel you hold now, is honed for sharpness.”

“Wow.” I rotated the dagger. The light from the stalactites gleamed off the blade. “About time something in space was actually cool.”

“No, it’s warm.”

Laughter burst through me. “Yeah, warm.”

“And dangerous. This blade is the only known material that can pierce the armored skin of a Baratican. If you were to drop it on your foot, you’d find it severed off.”

I lowered the dagger back into the box, preferring my toes attached. “Wait, armored skin?”

My mind flashed to when I’d first touched his face and found his skin completely inflexible. But earlier…when I’d touched him, there’d been some give.

“They can control their skin…” But what would you even call it? Toughness, density, strength? “But this blade can cut them when nothing else can?”

“It can.”

I snapped the lid closed on the box and tucked it under my arm. “How handy of Spaceman to lock me up with his very own kryptonite.”

“Human—”

Here we go, back to human.

“—do not get foolhardy ideas. A Baratican need not keep his blade from you. His senses and reflexes would not allow you to wound him even with the blade.”

I strode back to the bedroom area. “Dude’s got to sleep some time.”

“Your assumptions are as foolish as your imagination. They do not require sleep.”

I froze inside the other room. “And yet I’m staring at his bed?”

“Baratican’s engage in rejuvenating meditation, during which their senses grow more acute.”

“That’d be right.” I rolled my eyes, then looked around for another way out. “So basically, when they sleep they’re more awake than when they’re actually awake?”

“Precisely.”

I snorted and strode to another alcove. The light dimmed, only the smallest cluster of stones lighting the roof.

“Wow.” My voice echoed back at me. “Now this actually looks like an underground cave.”

The walls glittered with flecks of different colored rock. Water bubbled.

I spun towards the sound. A spring flowed out of a rock and cascaded into one of several pools. “Awesome.”

My gaze lit on the pool. I’d be neck deep in there right now if it weren’t for the memory of what happened last time I’d tried to bathe on this planet.

The groan of scraping rock sounded from the other room.

Shit.

I sprinted back into the bedroom, ran to the bed, and shoved the box down the edge of the mattress against the wall.

My heart flip-flopped. The promise of much mating strummed through my head with the same veracity as my pulse.

The Baratican strode in.

My throat closed at the barbaric sight of his helmet.

He clutched a crate under his arm, set it on the table, then removed his helmet and cloak. “Come, wife.”

I swallowed, and went to the table.

He laid out a rainbow of produce, and sat in a chair so large it looked like a prop.

I moved toward another. Enormous fingers locked on my wrist and tugged me into the Baratican’s lap.

Oh, boy.

His heat. His god-damned heat smothered me. He radiated a current at my back, drawing moisture to the surface of my skin. How was I supposed to eat like this?

“I can sit by myself, thank you.” I leaned forward. The iron bar of his arm remained locked around my ribs.

I strained then slumped. Fat lot of good language did with this one.

He lifted a fruit and brought it to me. The tangy sweetness reached my nose. My belly roiled.

He held the fruit in front of me. “Look. Touch. Smell.”

I stared but didn’t take it. Lord, was he trying to drug me with the space magic-mushroom fruit. “No, thanks, I remember what that does.”

“Good.” He set the fruit back on the table. “Dreamfruit not for wife eating.”

I frowned. Obviously, he had a low estimation of my intelligence if he though I needed a reminder.

He took a smaller red fruit. The scent hit me first— sweet . This one candy sweet. Like a cherry or a strawberry.

“Look this one.”

My hands flew to it. Yes . I brought it to my nose. Moisture flooded my tongue.

I opened my mouth.

He snatched the fruit from my grip. “No, Lungfruit not for wife eating.”

My gaze fixed on the red fruit disappearing back into the box, and my gums ached for it. “What does it do?”

“Lungfruit take Crestonian breath.” He reached for another fruit, a bright purple one. “Make death.”

Death ? I blinked, but it smelled so edible…

He held out a shiny curved fruit. “Don’t touching this, wife.”

Oh, boy .

I leaned back. This time the sweetness that wafted my way held something else…an intoxicating mellowness that reminded me of wine. Or fermentation. “Why, what would this one do to me?”

“This take off skin.”

I jolted, rearing back in his grip.

He set the fruit back in the box. “Not worry, wife, I keeping safe from poison.”

His heat intensified. My muscles unclenched against him.

I scanned the table, then glanced up at him. He was teaching me what was edible and what wasn’t on his planet?

Now this was useful.

His gaze met mine.

My neck joints locked in place. Heat moved through me and not from him this time. My temperature rose from the inside.

He looked right at my eyes—unflinching. A human man would look away.

I couldn’t look away. His eyes… It didn’t matter that they weren’t human, they revealed the same things.

Looked at me like I was such a rare and sacred sight that he couldn’t bear to blink.

Prickles rose over my skin.

I cleared my throat. “I’m hungry.”

His eyes didn’t flicker. “Yes, wife. Teaching later, eating now.” Finally, he broke our gaze and collected a deep green vegetable which looked a lot like a squash. “Papicuta, safe eating.”

I smirked. “Oh, it’s not called a Eatingfruit?”

His brow wrinkled. “Why would it called this?”

I stifled a snort. Space contained a lot of messed up shit but obviously zero humor. “Never mind.”

He handed me the fruit and let me sniff it before taking a knife from the basket.

I turned the vegetable. The rough pebbled skin scraped my palms. I sniffed deeply, detecting no scent. None . He took the Papicuta, and cut it into thin slices, then brought a wafer-thin piece to my lips.

I reached for it. “I can feed myself.”

He maneuvered me on his lap, and said nothing, just pressed the vegetable to my mouth. “Have small taste first time.”

I rolled my eyes. Bossy alien bastard. I opened my mouth and took the smallest bite. The flesh melted between my teeth, dissolving into a bland foam, then—

Bitterness burst through my mouth.

I spat. The flavor deepened, saltiness wafting through the sharpness. I gagged. A large palm knocked against my back.

Burning stung the back of my nose. I spat again, and scraped my tongue with my fingernails.

“Oh god, why is it so bitter?”

He reached across the table, then pulled a cork out of a bottle and gave it to me.

“Baratican, and Crestonian taste receptors differ from Human, he will not understand the concept of bitter.”

Macca’s voice filled my ear, reminding me the computer was always present.

I took a deep swig from the bottle to flush the foul foam, then slammed the bottle on the table. The bitterness ebbed, then the flavor of the drink hit the back of my throat. I dragged the basket underneath me as my stomach heaved and my belly emptied.

He paddled my back again.

I heaved into the basket. Holy shit . The putrid rotten linger of the drink out fouled even vomit, keeping my stomach seizing.

He removed the basket then returned with a cup of water.

I drank, trying to rid my pallet of the awfulness. Wetness streamed down my face from my watering eyes. The Baratican kneeled beside the chair, his face a wrinkled map of confusion.

“Why would you do that to me?” I wiped my face with my palms, shudders still rolling through me.

“Not understanding. Papicuta is favorite for Crestonian wives.” He lifted the bottle. “Brinkin drink is Crestonian delicacy.”

Wives? I put down the puke-basket, even though my stomach clenched. This time in a different kind of way. “You have other wives?”

“Other wives?” He leaned back, then blinked. His hand went to his chest, palm spreading over his heart. “Thorbianak most blessed warrior in Colony. Has best, most beautiful wife.” He reached out and touched me breath-on-glass soft.

A wave of something implacable rolled through me.

His thumb brushed my lower lip. “Most soft touching wife.” He leaned closer, his nostrils flaring, blatantly sniffing. “Most lovely scenting…”

My breath whooshed out.

His thick lashes dipped. “Not need—not want, other wife.”

Oh. My. God .

I stared at him, chest getting heavier. Had I accidentally licked the lungfruit?

What was this crazy alien saying?

Our gazes locked.

His strangely flecked eyes didn’t seem so unhuman anymore. The flutter inside me became a thrum. His masculine features rippled with admiration, and I felt the impact in every fiber of my femininity.

My nipples puckered. Damn . But I couldn’t catch the breath to respond. This was almost as absurd as the surprise intergalactic space travel. An enormous man on his knees, saying crap people don’t even say in romance novels.

All with the pining expression of a Disney prince.

A growl rumbled, seeping into the silence.

I snapped backward, breathing again, and swiped a hand over my face. Nope . This was no Disney prince, this was a very—

The rumble intensified. His lips parted betraying a flash of long tooth.

— very , horny Alien.

“Easy, dude, I’m still starving.” I clutched the blanket wrapped around me. “Now sick and hungry, so no mating, Bar…” The word Baratican died on my lips. He’d named himself. “Thorniki—” I cleared my throat. “Thornich—you know what, I’ve seen your mighty hammer, we’ll just go with Thor.”

His growl died down but didn’t disappear. “Is wife defective?”

“Defective?” I hadn’t meant to shout, but the word echoed through the cave. So much for thinking he was sweet and gushy. The remaining haze of whatever had come over me, dissipated. “Because I won’t mate with you?”

“Not mating?” His frown morphed into a scowl. “Will be mating.”

Will be.

My teeth clinked together. Will be like it was non-negotiable. As though I had no say. My muscles coiled. “You just called me defective, and now you want sex?” I pushed the chair back with my feet, then slid upright. “And to think I thought you Baraticans had secret seduction skills, but clearly you don’t know human women don’t mate following insults.”

“Meant defective of eating.” Then he paused and his head tilted. “Human?”

Whoops…

I hadn’t planned on revealing that. Not when there was still a ship full of human women vulnerable and waiting…and god knows how many horny Baratican warriors in this colony?

I might have to play this differently. “Yes, Human. I’m not Crestonian, I’m Human.”

His nose twitched. Was he sniffing me again? “You part Human, part Crestonian?”

“Just Human.” I let out a breath. “But after everything I’ve experienced recently, who the hell knows anything for sure.”

“You arrived in Crestonian space craft. You much like Crestonian.” He studied me, eyes narrowing in a way that assured me that while he may appear primitive at times, that didn’t mean he was stupid. “Crestonian ship welcome on planet, other ship, maybe not…”

Oh, heck .

I backed away. It hit me in a wave of lightheadedness, that he’d known I’d been here from the moment we entered their atmosphere.

What the hell else were the Baraticans aware of?

“It is a Crestonian ship.” Let’s not mention the depleted batteries. “I had to steal it to escape from the Gillans who abducted me from my planet.”

“Gillans.” He made a face like mine must’ve looked like before I’d puked. “Glad you escape, wife. Gillans no good.” He stepped closer. “Now husband protecting you forever inside marriage cave.”

Forever …

In a freaking space cave.

Moisture dribbled from my upper lip. I wiped it. Holy crap . This alien was never letting me go. Still, didn’t mean that the first recourse shouldn’t be to at least attempt negotiation.

“About that whole husband thing…” I cleared my throat, and inched back, pretending to inspect items on the table before circling it completely. “I’m afraid I can’t be staying.”

His face scrunched as though I’d reverted back to English. Had I screwed up the phrasing of the sentence? Even with the implanted knowledge some words didn’t line up and talking to the Baratican still didn’t feel exactly like speaking the same language.

“Here on your lovely inside-out planet, I mean.” I increased the distance between us. “I just stopped by for supplies, but I’m really going to need to be getting back to my own world.”

“Ahh.” His expression evened, and he held out his hand. “Understanding you now.”

I didn’t budge an inch. “You understand I don’t want to stay here and need to go home?”

“Yes.” He smiled, and once again I was struck by how honest and open the expression was on him. “Now, let us find food that not making wife sick.”

Wife .

Well that didn’t exactly sound like he understood.

“And you are okay with this?”

“Of course.” He wiggled his fingers. “Is relieved now know wife thinkings.”

I stepped closer, cautiously. Relieved I talked about my feelings? Maybe he was a prince. Or if my past experiences, both professional and personal, with men were anything to judge by, he might actually be a mythical being after all. “Good.”

“Come now and try more eat.” He guided me into the chair then took the puke basket away and disappeared into the larger room returning with another basket and set it on the table.

“Wife hu-man?” His gaze shuffled all over me.

“Yes, human.”

His nose twitched and he bent sniffing around the side of my neck.

I shivered.

A rumble began.

I pressed my palms to his chest. “Hey, I thought we were finding me something to eat?”

He stopped his sniffing and touched my mouth. “Opening mouth.”

A flush rose to my surface.

His finger pressed. “Show mouth for eating.”

I exhaled, then opened my mouth. But only because a girl really does need to eat.

He ran a giant finger over every one of my teeth, then touched my tongue, and rubbed it with the pad of his finger.

He leaned closer, peering down at me, reminding me of how he’d prodded me like a toy on our first encounter.

His rumbling deepened, and his words dripped from him. “Wife has pleasing wet orifices.”

I gasped. Wet orifices? Heat rose to my face and I snapped my teeth over his finger.

A jolt shuddered through my gums. I grabbed my jaw. Damn, the bastard was hard. I’d almost forgotten how hard.

His eyes flashed, and he withdrew his finger from my mouth.

Wait, did he actually feel some of that?

I worked my jaw, watching him. This was not the first time he hadn’t seemed so indestructible.

I lowered my voice and spoke in English. “Why isn’t he as tough as before?”

“The Baratican has lowered his level of armoring now he has determined you pose no physical threat.”

I snorted. That was yet to be proven.

“Who talking to?” He frowned, attention flicking to my ear.

I leaned sideways. “If I say my husband, will he give up this ridiculous marriage ritual and let me go?”

“No…” The pause between Macca’s words radiated like something close to a laugh. “ If claims of a rival mate are made, he will be compelled to secure you immediately through consummating the marriage and then seek out and eliminate his rival.”

“Well…there goes that idea,” I whispered.

“ Tell him you are speaking to the ships command system. Baratican’s are not fond of my kind.”

“Hmm.” Who could possibly imagine why what seemed like a relatively direct and forthright civilization wouldn’t appreciate the sneaky likes of Macca. “I’m speaking to my ship.”

“Who on ship?” His gaze tightened on me.

Definitely not stupid.

“The central command system.” I swallowed.

“Say you’re accessing knowledge database for—”

I blocked out Macca’s advice, my maximum levels of conniving having already been met. One thing I’d learned in my career about manipulative personality types, is that lies flowed too easily. They accumulate, escalate, and spiral. No good would come of fabricating more than I had to.

But he didn’t prompt further.

“Waiting here, wife.” He left the room again.

The creak of stone groaned.

“You think he meant what he said?” I adjusted the blanket and waited.

“Baratican’s do not speak untruths if that is your question.”

“ What?” I stared the way he’d gone. “They don’t twist the truth at all?”

“They do not speak untruths.” Again, the pause in Macca’s words contained a thread of mocking. “This is not the same as correcting wrong assumptions.”

Wrong assumptions like that he understood I needed to skedaddle out of his magical mating cave?

The rock groaned with his return.

I straightened. My stomach gurgled. I really was starving. Hopefully he’d come up with something better this time than Papicuta puke fruit and vomit juice.

He strode back in, a small pouch clutched in his hand.

I frowned. There was no way that tiny pouch contained anything remotely capable of feeding me.

He placed the pouch on the table and collected a small wooden bowl and a fresh glass of water, before tugging me into his lap once more.

“This wife can eat.”

My belly clenched. It’d better be, because that whole “starving” mating avoidance excuse was rapidly becoming less of an excuse and much more of a reality.

I watched him open the pouch and carefully remove a clear thin disk and place it in the empty bowl. Oh, no… I knew what was coming before he tipped water over the disk, and the congealing began.

Space gruel …

A groan slipped out of my mouth.

He nudged the bowl. “Nutrition pallets is sure wife can eating.”

“I’m sure I can.” I sighed and picked up the bowl. “Want, however, is something else entirely.”

I brought the rim to my lips, took a mouthful, and chewed the sludge. Awesome . Who’d have thought space would be so bland?