“Do not run.”

Chills race up my spine, and I freeze.

Vaguely, I remember my father telling me on a camping trip, when I was a kid, that if I were to meet a bear in the woods, I should… Um… Tell the bear to leave in a loud, firm voice and keep my pepper spray handy.

But I’ve already tried my firm voice, and I seem to have left my pepper spray back on my homeworld. Not that any of that matters, because Carson isn’t a bear. I don’t know what kind of beast he is.

He doesn’t know either.

“What’s happening?” I ask in a low, steady voice. I get that he’s wrestling urges and impulses that he doesn’t understand. That he’s never felt before. But so am I.

“You’re acting like prey,” he growls. “That makes the beast want to hunt you.”

“That’s you! You’re the beast! Two sides of the same coin, remember?”

“Yes…and no. This is new for me too. In two years of wrestling with the beast, I’ve never felt like this. Not on the lab table. Not hunting any of Brennan’s ‘challenges.’ I’m not sure who’s in control right now, so I need you to be smart.”

“What does that mean?” I’m afraid to move. “What does the…um…beast want?”

“You. He wants you. For the record, so do I, but he has a different idea of how to go about…getting you.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” One breath slides into the next, and suddenly I’m panicking.

“Calm. Down.” That weird thrumming sound echoes from Carson’s throat, and I swear to god, the rhythm matches my pulse. As if this sound were engineered specifically to lull me into…relaxing. It makes me crave his skin. This sound makes me want to crawl on top of him and rub my body all over his. It makes my stomach tense and is echoed in the fierce, aching throb between my thighs.

The compulsion to touch him is so strong that I’m already reaching him before I realize what’s happening.

I snatch my hand back. “Stop that! Stop making that sound! Is that how the beast plans to…get me?”

“He doesn’t want to hurt you. He just wants to catch you. My body is telling me this is part of some weird courting ritual.”

“Hunting me? That’s fucked up, Carson.”

“It’s not hunting. It’s chasing. He expects you to run. He wants you to run. So he can catch you. He thinks that’s what you want.” Carson blinks, but his gaze refocuses on me in an instant. “Obviously I can’t question whoever donated these genes, but this feels to me like a game. Like a…a courting ritual. The beast expects to have to catch his woman.”

“His woman? Like I’m some kind of possession?” The very thought pisses me off, yet at the same time, the idea of being wanted that badly…

No. That’s an irrational thought. A rabbit doesn’t feel flattered when a wolf wants it for dinner!

“Not a possession. Yet still his. Mine.” Carson’s voice devolves into a growl on the last word. His eyes are dilating. “He wants to catch you and earn your affection, by—” His mouth snaps shut, and for just a moment, a very human look of surprise overtakes the tense, hungry snarl that his features have become.

“By what?” Though I’m not sure I want to know.

“By fucking you. By giving you pleasure.”

“Screw that, I don’t need any man—or beast—to ‘give’ me pleasure. I’m damn well capable of taking whatever pleasure I want.”

That thrumming rises from his throat again, like the oscillation of a tiny fan, and my lady parts clench. “I think he and I would both be just fine with that.”

“It wasn’t an offer,” I snap. Yet the ache between my legs is fierce, and knowing he can tell—that he can fucking smell my need—just makes that need worse. “You’re not going to win a woman over by demanding she sleep with you within hours of meeting you.”

“I know that,” he growls. “But the beast isn’t into a slow burn. He wants what he wants, when he wants it—”

“Because he’s wild?”

“—and I’m doing the best I can to hold him back. So I need you to stop acting like prey, so he’ll stop acting like a predator.”

“Why am I responsible for how you and your ‘beast’ behave?” I demand, and when I prop my hands on my hips, his gaze follows the motion again, eyes dilating even further. No sudden movements, Lilli. “That’s classic abuser rationalization. ‘Officer, I wouldn’t have lost my temper if she’d just done what I wanted her to.’ Fuck that! Control your own damn temper.”

Carson’s jaw clenches, like he’s grinding his teeth. “Under rational circumstances, you’re absolutely right. And I agree with you. It shouldn’t be up to you to tame my beast.” His brows draw low. “But this isn’t a rational circumstance, and that’s no more fair to me than it is to you. I didn’t ask to have this bastard’s genetic material woven into my own, and if I’d met you without the influence of an obviously barbaric alien’s DNA, I’d offer to buy you coffee. Or a drink. But right now, my body is demanding that I pin you down and fuck you with my tongue until you beg me to do it all over again with my cock.”

“Oh my god! Bold, much?” I’ve had customers at the Resort who wanted much more from me, without offering me any pleasure at all, but they rarely laid it out so…brazenly.

Still, a tongue fucking sounds…

I press my thighs together again, and his fucking mating thrum swells until the whole damn room seems to be humming. “Stop that,” I snap. “You’re only making it worse.”

“Sorry.” He frowns in an obvious effort to hold back the sound—an audio panty-dropper. “Lilliana, I’m asking you, nicely, to help me. This seems to be about body language. I need you to signal to the beast that you’re not prey—not even of the erotic variety. That you’re not going to run, so he doesn’t need to chase you.

“How do I do that?” I have a feeling I’m not going to like the answer.

“Come closer on your own. Hopefully that’ll ease this need to...well, to bring you closer.”

Drag. He means drag me closer. I can practically see his effort to censor the beast’s demands into something that won’t offend me. Or scare the shit out of me. And to my surprise, I find that reassuring. He seems to be a decent man—an evolved man—at the mercy of some rather barbaric urges.

“Well, if it’ll save my clothes from being ripped off…” I take a single step forward, holding his gaze as boldly as I can. Trying to communicate to this “beast” that I am not prey. “It’s not like I have a huge wardrobe to choose from.” Fresh clothes are hard to come by on a prison planet.

I take another step, but Carson’s eyes only dilate further, until there’s little left of his oddly light irises. “Now what?” I edge a little closer to him, even though this approach flies in the face of my instinct, which is to keep as much space as possible between myself and any predator I encounter.

“Now we lie down and try to get some sleep.”

But I’m not sure I want to spend the night alone here with him, even just sleeping.

I like Carson—I think—but I can’t trust his beast. The absurdity of that thought draws a near-hysterical burst of laughter from me. Yet as bizarre as it sounds—as it still feels—this is real. I saw him let go of Warren’s shape and take on his own. Well, this one, anyway. Though I have no way of knowing for sure that this is Carson’s real face. I know nothing about him, other than what he’s told me, and I don’t know how much of that I can trust.

What the hell was I thinking? I can’t leave the planet with him! His offer to let me leave, if I’m not happy with him and his men, depends upon his beast letting him let me leave.

I should go home. Right now.

He frowns, as if he can hear what I’m thinking, but when his nose twitches, I realize it’s more likely that he’s smelling it, somehow. Is there some change in my scent that hints at what I’m feeling?

“Okay. But first I have to pee.” Yet I regret the words as soon as I’ve said them. I’m pretty sure he can fucking smell it when I lie, and even if he somehow believes that I have to go to the bathroom, how am I going to explain bringing my stuff with me?

Screw the bedsheet. He can keep it.

My gaze flicks toward my backpack before I can resist the impulse, and Carson begins to growl again, low and steady. “Lilliana…”

“For the last fucking time, it’s Lilli!” I snap. The growling stops, and his irises retake some of the territory his pupils have claimed. Either I’ve surprised him out of some kind of alien mating fever, or I don’t feel like prey to him when I shout.

“Lilli, if you need to relieve yourself, I can escort you into the woods.”

“You mean you can follow me, stalker-style?”

His oddly pale brows dip into a frown. “This is a prison planet. Would your friends let you venture into the forest on your own?”

Damn it. “No, we go in pairs, when we have to go outside. But that’s not very often, because our building has two functioning toilets.”

“This one might too. Would you like me to check?”

“No,” I snap. “I can hold it.”

Carson smirks at having called my bluff. He fucking smirks. And when I glare at him, he laughs. “Anger brings the most beautiful flush to your cheeks.”

“Is that your way of saying I’m cute when I’m mad?”

“I suppose it is.” Some of the tension in his frame eases, and as he begins to relax, so can I. I exhale, feeling like I’ve just dodged a bullet.

New plan: curl up with my “big spoon” until he falls asleep, then sneak out.

“So, why me?” I ask as I sink onto the edge of the mattress again. I watch Carson as he rounds the end of the bed, leaving the flashlight on my side, still aiming its beam up at the dented metal ceiling.

“Why you, what?”

“Why are you so convinced that I belong to you?”

“With me,” he corrects as he sits and swings his legs onto the bed. “I’m convinced we belong to each other. It’s not fair to say that one of us belongs to the other without mentioning that it’s mutual. That’s misleading.”

“You led me out of the Sorority disguised as one of my friends, but what I said is misleading?” I frown at him as he lies back on the sheet, crossing his hands beneath his head. “You know this whole thing’s crazy, right?”

He nods slowly, his gaze glued to my face, and the intensity with which he’s watching me tells me that his relaxed demeanor is a facade. One he’s fighting hard to maintain. But I don’t know what that facade is hiding. The need to “hunt” me? An urge to touch me? A simple determination to keep me from bolting, so neither of those urges is triggered? “But is it really any crazier than a man who can take someone else’s shape, virtually at will? Because that’s the baseline for crazy that I’m working with, here.”

“Is it at will?” I ask, rather than answering the question.

“It is, now that I’ve figured out how it works. But the transformation is exhausting, and it requires large amounts of fuel. Food,” he clarifies.

“And the other people in zone X? Your men? Can they do the same thing?”

His focus momentarily leaves my face as he considers. “I honestly don’t know. I didn’t even know I could do this until I tried to hijack a rescue shuttle. But my men can do other things—some I’m capable of, some I’m not.”

“What kinds of things?”

“Lie down, and I’ll tell you about it.”

I roll my eyes. Then I lie on my left side, my chin propped in one hand. Looking down at him. “Start talking.”

Carson smiles as he looks up at me, and again I’m struck by how good he smells. By how badly I want to touch him. To just…let my hands wander all over his chest. For starters. “Each of us has a certain set of alien traits, curated by Dr. Brennan and her team, specifically to be useful in super soldiers. We’re faster and stronger than any unaltered human.”

“That explains how you got me on my back so quickly.” But again, I regret the words as soon as I’ve said them, when that soft thrumming sound begins to echo from his throat, evidently prompted by the memory. “Stop that.”

“Sorry.” But he doesn’t look very sorry. “Anyway, we each also have some obviously alien physical characteristics.”

“You do?” I seize the excuse to let my gaze roam his body, and that pleased whirring begins again. “You look human to me.” Big, and hard, and crazy-beautiful. But human. “I mean, your eyes and hair are unusually light, but where are you…? Noooo.” My gaze flicks toward his crotch, where his erection is still standing proud. “Do you have an alien dick?”

Carson bursts into laughter. “That’s a very personal question, Ms. Malone. Would you like to see?”

Pretty please. With piles and piles of whipped cream on top.

“No.”

His soft thrumming swells. “You’re lying again.”

“Yes, but I mean it. Keep your alien cock holstered.”

“Okay, but if you want your question answered, you’re going to have to find out for yourself.”

“Well, what else am I supposed to conclude? You look normal everywhere else.” Except for a matching set of scars running down the underside of each of his forearms. From one of the scientist’s experiments?

I reach for his stomach, itching to run my fingers over his abs, but then I snatch my hand back when I realize what I’m doing.

“Most of my obvious traits don’t show up until I need them.”

“When do you need them?”

“When I fight.”

“What happens when you have to fight?” I reach up to trail my fingers over his temple. “Do you grow horns?”

Carson snorts. “Are you asking if I’m horny?”

“I think we both already know the answer to that,” I say with another pointed glance at his erection. But he keeps looking at me, and his eyes are starting to dilate again. That thrumming builds from deep in his throat, and I squeeze my legs together again as that ache inside me deepens.

His gaze roams my face, then settles on my eyes. “May I kiss you again?”

“No.” But my voice is a weak whisper. “That didn’t end well last time.”

“It didn’t end at all,” he insists. “I feel like I’m still stuck in that moment. And I will be until—”

I lean down and kiss him. I didn’t mean to do it, but there’s no taking it back now, so I give in to the impulse. Carson groans, then that soft sound swells from deep in his throat, and it makes me want things. Dirty, sweaty things.

He licks at the seam of my lips, and when I open for him, that grumble grows louder, and though that should feel weird, it doesn’t. Somehow, it feels…normal. I think that soon, it’ll fade from notice. Like the sound of my own breathing.

Carson rises without breaking off that kiss, and the next thing I know, I’m on my back again. He has one hand in my hair while he supports his weight with the other arm, and though his knee is between my lower thighs, he’s not pushing it. Not going any higher.

“Oh my god,” I moan when his lips trail over my chin and down my neck. My hands slide around his sides to glide over his back, enjoying the play of muscles beneath my fingers.

I feel like—though I only met him yesterday—I’ve been waiting my entire life to touch him like this.

Carson makes a hungry sound as he works his way toward my collarbone, and my hands trail toward his hips—then lower. My fingers slide beneath his waistband, and I feel like a woman possessed. I’m still in charge of my own hands, but suddenly it seems to take more willpower than I have to resist this crazy new appetite.

My hands slide up the twin slopes of his backside, beneath his pants, and my fingers seem to dig in. To squeeze. He has a great ass. Hard and rounded, and utterly masculine.

I moan, still squeezing, and Carson’s other knee slides between my thighs. Parting them.

And suddenly reality hits me like a snowball to the face.

I gasp and pull my hands from his pants, mortified by the indulgence of my own reckless need, when I was ready to run home in the dark just minutes ago.

Carson is rock-hard, his erection pressing against my crotch, warm even through both layers of clothes. “Lilli,” he whispers. Then his lips close over my ear lobe for a second. “It’s okay for you to touch me.”

But it isn’t. Not if I didn’t make a conscious decision to do that. My body is no more the boss of me than he is. Than his beast is.

I try to shove him off, and at first, he refuses to move. And I realize that if he doesn’t want to, I can’t make him.

Terror follows that realization, and I slap him. The sound echoes through the room, in sudden silence. The thrumming sound has stopped. Carson growls, staring down at me, his pale eyes flashing fiercely. Then he slides off me, and I roll off the bed. Onto the side nearest the exit, this time.

“Lilliana…” His tone is a warning.

“I can’t do this. I can’t lose control of my own body. Not even to some subconscious part of myself. And that’s what this feels like. Like I’m breathing in whatever your body is emitting, and I’m drunk on it. And that’s not fair.” I step into my shoes and wiggle my heels until they sink in. Then I reach for my bag.

“Lilli.” Carson’s voice sounds different now. So deep I can hardly hear distinct syllables. So tense that fresh chills crawl over my arms. “Don’t do this. I’ll control it. I’ll figure out how. But you have to stay. If you run, I can’t…. I can’t—”

I swing my bag over my shoulder and back slowly toward the door. “Stay here.” I meet his gaze as boldly as I can. “Please. I’m asking you. Don’t follow me.”

I take one more backward step, and—

A gasp tears free from my throat as he picks me up, but I never even saw him move. One second, he’s halfway across the room, and the next he’s lifting me. Carrying me. He pins me against the wall, and I can feel every inch of his hard body pressed into mine.

I should fight. I should scream and claw at him. Instead, my legs wrap around his hips and my hands clutch at his triceps, holding on. Clinging. I’m terrified of my body’s reaction to this, but oddly, I’m not scared of him.

“You will stay,” he declares, his voice a raspy growl. His mouth crushes against mine before I can argue, and his tongue plunges inside.

I groan, still clinging to him, and that sound rumbles up from his throat as we kiss. It’s louder than before, and I can’t think about anything else. About anything other than here and now. Carson’s hands on my body. His lips on mine.

I feed from his mouth, letting this desperate contact sate a hunger I don’t understand, but I can’t deny. Can’t resist. I can’t touch enough of him. He smells so good. This is insane.

This is incredible.

His mouth trails toward my ear, and I slide my hands into his hair. I am sex-drunk, with my clothes still on, and while I know, distantly, that I will regret this, right now I do not care.

“More,” I moan, as he bites my earlobe, just hard enough to leave marks. “Now.”

That odd throat thrumming suddenly…changes. The rhythm. It speeds up and deepens as he pulls me away from the wall, and in the next instant, the room spins around me as he drops me on my back, on the bed.

“Mine.” He grabs for the hem of my shirt, and when I hear material rip, I slap him again.

Carson snarls, but I stand my ground, startled back to reason—kind of—by the threat to my very limited wardrobe.

“Wait,” I snap as I kick him back, my foot planted in the middle of abs that feel like marble. His eyes dilate until there’s little left of his irises. His chest is heaving, his focus glued to my face. Waiting to see what I’ll do next.

He liked being kicked. I think he even liked it when I slapped him. This is what his beast seems to expect. To want. A woman who pushes back when she’s had enough.

A fucking challenge.

I grab the hem of my shirt and pull it over my head, pointedly taking my time. Making him wait.

“The rest,” he orders, his gaze devouring the skin I’ve just bared. His fists open and close while I squirm out of my pants, trying to control the desperate clenching of my girl parts. I’ve never in my life needed anything—anyone—this badly. And right now, as fucked up as this is, I can’t think past that need.

Later, I’m sure there will be regret. Anger. But right now, there can only be relief. Acquiescence to my body’s demands. Or I swear to god, I will die.

At least, that’s how it feels.

Carson tosses my pants onto the floor, then he pounces on me, pulling my ugly, prison-issued underwear down as the cheap mattress squeals beneath us. I scramble to unhook my bra before he can decide it’s acceptable collateral damage, and suddenly I’m nude, lying in front of him, propped up on both elbows.

He growls again, a completely inhuman sound, then he descends upon me in an erotic wave of sensations. Nibbling, stroking, licking, and even sniffing, he seems determined to devour me, scent and all. Each touch lights me up. Makes me even more desperate to fulfill the demands of my body.

Carson licks his way down my stomach, and I suck in a breath when he grips my inner thighs in two broad, strong hands. Pushing them open. His tongue ventures lower, and the first firm lick against my clit is nearly my undoing.

“Oh god,” I moan, but it’s like he doesn’t even hear me. It’s as if—as good as this feels—it isn’t even truly for me. He’s still feeding his own appetite. Some animalistic drive to taste me.

His hands tighten on my thighs, and he murmurs something that might be, “delicious.” Then his tongue dips inside me, and I swear it’s longer than it was a moment ago. Longer than it should be. And it seems to have more…texture.

My hips rock toward him as his oddly bumpy tongue laps its way through my folds, then trails over my clit again in long strokes. Every bump that flicks over that sensitive nub makes the pressure building inside me spiral closer to an inevitable break. A release.

I moan again, clutching at his hair, and his left hand releases my thigh. An instant later, he slides two fingers into me, and though they feel completely human, his skill is anything but ordinary. In three strokes, I groan while my body clenches around him. As pleasure unravels in my every nerve ending, the absurd realization that he’s left-handed takes me by surprise.

He draws my orgasm out as long as possible with coordinated strokes of his tongue and his fingers, and when I finally come down from that high, still buzzing from the adrenaline, he crawls up my body, dropping hot kisses and taking sweet little nibbles on the way. His gaze pins me, when his face finally appears over mine.

“Good?” he growls, and somehow, I understand what he’s really asking. Have I pleased you? Have I earned the right to claim the rest of you?

“God, yes,” I gasp.

His odd, silvery irises nearly disappear, swallowed by his pupils as he pushes my legs as far apart as they’ll go. Then he slides fully inside me, while I gasp over his girth, in a single smooth stroke.