Operation: Marauder
Chapter 18

“You’re getting mud everywhere,” she muttered irately under her breath as she tossed her clothes to the floor. “Asshole.” She could say the same thing about him. “You’re smearing blood all over the place.”

But he took a bullet for you. He’s bleeding because of you. He had gotten shot because he was too busy making out with her, which she could tell he regretted. It had been a spur-of-the-moment thing, caught up in adrenaline and tight spaces. Never to happen again. Which was a shame because it had been hot. No one had ever kissed her like that before. Like the only girl he could ever want. Even with a planet, his home, full of women of his species.

Groaning, she leaned back in the tiny metal shower stall and let the cold water sink into her bones. She needed to stop thinking about that kiss. They were stuck on this ship for the next two days. The last thing she wanted was to be the one who made things awkward. Once they got back to the base, she would go back to pretending she wasn’t a prisoner in her brother’s room.

Or would she? She knew their secret now. What would become of her? Would they throw her in a real prison for knowing or make her sign a non-disclosure contract?

She didn’t want to think about any of those things, what life awaited for her when she returned.

She stepped out of the shower, only to realise her clothes were covered in mud. Just when she had begrudgingly decided to step out with the towel wrapped around her to ask Rowan to borrow some clothes, she noticed a bin in the corner with the sign “laundry” over it. Glad she’ll at least get clean clothes eventually, she tossed her clothes in the bin. When she shut the lid, the bin shook and gurgled. A minute later, it opened and her clothes were freshly cleaned and dried.

She couldn’t believe her eyes.

“God, I love technology.” Someone needed to invent this on her planet already. Humming in bliss, she slipped into her warm clothes and snuggled into her jacket. . . which she remembered wasn’t hers. It was property of the outrageously gorgeous alien on the other side of this door, possibly captain of this ship, who apparently had some business on Earth with her brother.

Doing her best to tidy up her hair, she stepped out of the bathroom--and dropped her towel.

Rowan was leaning back on a chair, while trying--and failing--to attend to his wound. He was shirtless, his skin seeming to adopt a golden hue under the harsh white light and, given what he had told her about the stronger his people were, the more attractive they were, she wasn’t surprised to see he was totally shredded.

It was the markings angling down from his shoulders to his sternum in a V shape that made her drop the towel. They reminded her of cheetah print, except the spots were square. If her eyes didn’t deceive her, short hairs dusted the black markings. It was the only hair on his body aside from his head. If she had any doubt about him being an alien before, it was squashed now.

He was too busy growling at his wound to notice her staring, so she quickly regained her composure and approached him. “Do you need a hand?”

That wound wasn’t pretty and she was sure bending to patch it up wasn’t helping.

“I’m fine.”

But she was already taking the disinfected swabs away from him and slapping his attempts to stop her. However, once she won, she could only stare. She knew nothing about Arthonian anatomy. Clearly, because his blood was a deep, deep blue, and that so far had been the most surprising thing she had seen. “Um, is there anything I should know? Like, will your blood burn me or anything?”

He gave her a dry glare. “Give me the antiseptic.”

“No. I want to help. I. . . This is my fault. Let me fix it. Please.” Pretending he wasn’t an alien, that he was just a regular, sexy man, she started cleaning up the wound. His whole body tensed. He held his hands behind his head, eyes squeezed shut, taking deep, steady breaths. She didn’t like that he wouldn’t look at her. “I’m sorry,” she murmured.

“Don’t be,” he grunted. “It’s not your fault.”

“It’s entirely my fault. I shouldn’t have left the ship. I just. . . if someone told me last week that aliens were on Earth, that I would drive a spaceship, I would have laughed. I don’t know what’s going to happen to me when I go back to Earth, but it doesn’t matter anymore because it was worth it. I got to live my dream.”

She flew a spaceship, met aliens, set foot on another planet, breathed in foreign air. Hell, she even had an alien microchip, or whatever, inside her. She couldn’t have asked for anything more.

One of Rowan’s eyes popped open to look at her. “Nothing’s going to happen to you, Zoey.”

She shrugged lamely. “I’ve probably broken a book-full of rules coming along with you guys. If it’s one thing I’ve learned about the military, they’re unforgiving. Sorry,” she added to his wince, though she wasn’t sure if she had touched a sensitive spot or if her words had bothered him. She finished up, covering the wound with some gauze.

A small smile flitted across his face as he looked down the bandage. “You don’t need to do that. I’ll be fully healed in a few hours.”

She gaped at him, jealous. “Don’t suppose there’s some alien tech that lets you do that.” She still had bruises from being roughed up by the vampires and now new ones from those purple bastards.

“No. Just my blood.”

“Well, I tried.”

Very delicately, he held her wrist between two fingers, where there was a slight trace of blue where the zap straps had been too tight. His fingers brushed over the inside of her wrist gently; her heart jumped as the rough texture of his skin ran over hers. He seemed to sense it and pulled away, eyes remaining on her wrist. “I won’t let anything happen to you, Zoey.”

She snorted. “You have no control over what happens to me, Rowan. Thanks, though. I’ll be fine. I know how to deal with them.” Them being the officers who would most likely determine her fate. She grew up with one, knew how they talked, knew what they wanted to hear. She wouldn’t go down without a fight.

“I’m sorry Mave dragged you into this. He shouldn’t have shown you the ship.”

She shrugged, waving it off. “I’m glad he did. If he hadn’t, I would still be holed up in Jack’s room, not knowing if there were really aliens out there. . . . What brought you to Earth, anyway?”

He studied her for a moment, biting his lip as he decided if he should tell her anything, but then he realized she was already deep in this, so she might as well go all the way. Blowing out a big breath, he hopped out of the chair and slipped, disappointedly, his shirt over his head. “That is a long story that requires a drink.”

He said nothing further as he left the Med Bay; she hurried after his long stride, following him up the ladder. He gestured for her to sit at the kitchenette, went to his quarters, and came back with a bottle of amber liquid that seemed to glow and two glasses.

“This is Arthos’ most famous liquor; it’ll get anyone in the universe drunk with one glass. I was going to save it until we know when we’re heading home, but now seems as good an occasion as any.” He poured the liquor nearly to the top for his glass and gave her a splash. “Because of my blood, our metabolism is very quick,” he explained when she sneered at him for giving her such a tiny amount, “and most alcohols don’t intoxicate us. So we made our own.”

Cautious, she sniffed it and wrinkled her nose. It smelt like one of the most powerful drinks in the universe. She took the smallest sip--then coughed and nearly dropped the glass. Her throat felt like it was on fire. “Jesus Christ. I think I’m dying.”

Rolling his eyes, he knocked back a generous amount and grinned like a maniac. “I miss this stuff. I haven’t been able to get drunk in a year.”

“A year, eh?” She glanced at the bottle, thinking about what he said. “You haven’t been home in a year? Why?”

He took another sip then set the glass aside, leaning on the table towards her. “Before I get to that, you need some background. My people are at war with a race we call the Wraythe; they also came from Arthos, however, their dietary needs aren’t the same as ours. They survive solely on blood. They favour our blood because if they drink ours, they gain our regenerative abilities and hard skin. It makes them much more difficult to kill.” His mouth set into a hard line.

“Our numbers are much greater than theirs, it’s just how our reproductive systems work. They only have one offspring, while we can have as many as we want, however we can only have offspring with our mate, spouse, if you will. So they started hunting our mated pairs, slowing down our population growth. Still, it wasn’t enough for them. With a population as large as ours, the food we grow on the planet isn’t enough to feed everyone, so we bring it in from other planets. The Wraythe began to raid our transport ships.”

He shook his head then finished off his glass, smacking his lips together. “My crew and I, along with two other squads, were sent to recover a transport ship and rescue the ship’s crew if they were still alive. The mission was a success, we saved half the crew and recovered all the food. It was on our way back when things went sideways. A Wraythe escort ship followed us into hyperspace. They shot our engines. We collided into them on our way out of hyperspace. We came out of hyperspace near Jupiter. With so little systems working, we needed to replace somewhere safe to land and do our repairs. We found Earth. We made a deal with your military: we would do ops missions for them and share some of our technology in exchange for shelter and help in replaceing what your people call Terbium. We use it in nearly everything on this ship and unfortunately your planet doesn’t have much of it.”

“That’s why you’re here,” Zoey surmised. “Mave had mentioned you were mining Terbium. So. . . the stuff you’ve collected today. . . will that be enough to take you home?” It was a bittersweet thought. Of course, she wanted them to return to their planet safely, but the selfish side of her, the one that was finally beginning to understand Rowan, didn’t want him to leave just yet. She had only just started. There was still so much she wanted to uncover.

Deciding she needed a drink before he answered, she emptied her glass, squeezing her eyes shut to fight the burn rolling down her throat.

“No,” he remorsed. “We need far more than what this planet can supply. It will be enough to fix most of our systems, including our scanners and our comms to a degree. It will be enough to replace the Wraythe hiding on your planet.”

Her mind instantly went to Sid as he pinned her down and tasted her blood. Subconsciously, she reached up to her neck, grateful it had mostly healed. “The vampires.”

He held her gaze, solemn, maybe even regretful--even though it wasn’t his fault she had been attacked and there had been nothing he could have done to prevent it. “Yes.”

She considered this, rubbing her chin. “They’ve been on my planet a while, haven’t they? That’s where the myths came from.”

“Yes. We suspect they’ve been on your planet for at least two centuries. Their numbers are greater than we can handle with what we had available to us, and your military isn’t equipped to deal with them, so they allowed us to come here, supervised by Jack, of course.” Deep in thought, he frowned and sank back in his seat. “The Wraythe probably would have left you all alone, taking only what they needed, if we hadn’t arrived, but they’re so thirsty for our blood, I fear there will be a lot of unnecessary casualties until they get what they want. You are lucky enough to not be one of them.”

Zoey didn’t know what to say. Couldn’t imagine the burden he kept. If he stayed, many humans would die, but if he left--not that he could at the moment--even more of them would over time.

She could see the struggle in his eyes. The guilt he felt as he realised the consequences of his arrival, which she suspected he hadn’t truly considered until now.

Wishing to ease the burden, she reached across the table for his hand, but he pulled back before she could touch him. He said nothing, only stared, a tick working away at his jaw.

Zoey frowned; she couldn’t understand his reaction. She had thought--knew, really--there was something between them. She felt it every time she looked at him. Felt it during their kiss. Yet he kept pulling back.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, holding her hands in her lap. She wasn’t sure why she was apologizing. She wasn’t the one sending mixed signals. Maybe if he hadn’t wanted her to touch him, he shouldn’t have asked her out. Or kiss her. “It’s. . . it’s been a long day,” she tried to reason with herself. After some sleep she might be able to muddle through whatever had taken hold of her. Maybe putting some distance between them would give her half of her brain back.

She stood up, remembering there were still some spare living quarters left, and headed down the corridor.

However, she was only allowed to take a step. Rowan caught her wrist. “Wait. Fuck.” He looked down at his hand as if he had doomed himself.

Zoey had put up with plenty of shit from men, even allowed one asshole to raise his voice at her. She would not put up with being treated like some vile thing. She might not be as strong and gorgeous as the women he was used to on Arthos, but she had dignity and yanked her hand free.

At least she tried. He was too strong to fight and he wasn’t easing up on his grip.

“Let go of me, Rowan,” she snapped.

Instead, he pulled her closer, gripping both of her forearms and holding them to his chest. He held her gaze with a steady, unwavering predatory-like hunger; a fire burned in those purple eyes, so hot and so bright they appeared to glow. “I can’t,” he rasped. “Arthonian males enter a Fever once a year. For an entire week we only want one thing. Any trace of a female makes the Fever burn hotter until I give in to the urge. I’ve been avoiding you because once I touch you, I won’t be able to stop.” As he spoke, his hands moved from her wrists, one slipping down to her hip while the other cupped the back of her neck. He pressed his forehead against hers. “Your scent is intoxicating. I don’t want to stop.”

She tried to get him to look at her, but his eyes were squeezed shut as he fought against the euphoria. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Did he have any idea what he did to her? How often she had fantasized about this man performing ungodly, carnal acts to her body? She would have let him do whatever he wanted to her. It would have saved them so much frustration and she wouldn’t have been so angry at him.

He grabbed her rear, growling softly in his chest when she gasped. “I’ve craved you all week, Zoey, but I didn’t want to frighten you.”

“Frighten me?” She wanted to laugh at the idea but was so turned on it came out as a breathless chuckle.

At last, he opened his eyes; they were glowing brighter than before, burned with such hunger it was a wonder he hadn’t ripped her clothes off yet. “You’re not afraid of me?”

“Why would I?”

He looked between them with a deep frown, like he couldn’t understand her reaction. “I’m holding you against your will. You should be scared. I’m a moment’s away from tearing your clothes off and fucking you on the table.”

“Now there’s an idea.”

“Are you serious?”

“Are you being serious? I am giving you permission to do whatever the fuck you want to me and you’re questioning it? I’ve met some slow guys in my time, but this-”

She couldn’t finish her sentence; his mouth closed over hers, taking her hungrily. Greedily. He lifted her onto the table, claws tearing into the fabric of her sweater. She couldn’t help the squeak when the tiniest slither of a claw grazed down her back. Then it disappeared, replaced by rough, warm fingers exploring every inch of her back. She never thought something so simple could be so thrilling. She loved it. Loved the feel of his skin on her flesh, and moaned in response.

He growled again, deeper, and pulled her sweater away so he had full access to her breasts. She unclasped her bra before he got any ideas of clawing it off her; she only had one and didn’t want to spend the next few days without one. Though, she was sure he wouldn’t mind.

She leaned back on the table, head rolling back as his tongue, which was as rough as his skin, swirled over her nipple. His teeth nipped at her, and she trembled. A satisfied smile spread across his face then he explored more ways to make her tremble beneath him.