Page 3 of Claimed By the Alien Barbarian

Blue skin. Silver hair hanging around his shoulders. Thumb-sized tusks jutting up from his lower jaw. He was at least a foot and a half taller than me. Lots of delicious muscles, though I shouldn’t be noticing anything like that. He wore a fur trimmed tunic and leather pants that vaguely resembled chaps. I inanely wondered if they revealed his ass in the back.

His hand rose toward me, and as he stumbled through the thick grass, he nearly tripped but somehow maintained his footing.

Blood dripped from the hem of his tunic, splattering the thighs of his chaps. Was he wounded or was this a ploy to make me let down my defenses?

I was tempted to shoot him and ask questions later. He didn’t appear to be much of a threat, but he wouldn’t be the first guy tofake an injury to get close to a woman, only to leap on her after she’d started to relax.

I watched him, my bow lifted, and my arrow cocked. “That’s close enough, buddy,” I snarled when he was about three feet away. “Give me your name. Your social security number. Then state your business.”

Words I’d heard my mother bark any time she faced a threat. How could I have missed that she worked for the government?

A hiss rang out from above, and I gaped at the sky, wondering if a meteor was coming this way. Shock jolted through me when a wooden spear impaled itself into the ground between me and the alien dude.

The alien gaped at it and when he lifted his head, his blazing teal eyes locked on mine. As if his tongue got caught on his tusks, he garbled out something I didn’t understand.

He held out his hand, showing off a cool tattoo on the underside of his wrist, a quarter-sized circle with intricate swirls inside.

With a groan, he toppled face-first onto the ground at my feet.

Chapter 2

Nevarn

On my way toward what I expected would be a contentious visit with my birth clan, the Dastalons, the one that banished me for something I didn’t do, I was struck from behind.

Who would’ve thought that after three years of living with only the protection of my fellow clansmales who accepted banishment with me, that I’d lower my guard enough to allow another person to sneak up behind me?

After my banishment, my clansmales and I had slept out in the open for three weeks before finding shelter, and I’d made it through that without a single scratch. I’d hunted and defended my new clan during that time, taking on the role of traedor which I didn’t deserve, though they insisted. I’d done my best to be a good leader. I’d stood in front of them to fight off both wild hepadon herds and feral abadeer attacks at least eight times during those weeks.

And now I was going to die because another Zuldruxian wanted my pack holding only a few days’ food, my spare blades, and a tinder stick to light a fire.

Whoever jumped me roared and stabbed me in the back. They dragged me down to the ground and kicked me. Hunkering forward, they gouged me a few more times, delivering the worse wound to my belly.

Only after they’d stabbed me again had they stolen my pack, my spears, and even the blade I’d pulled from the sheath at my waist to defend myself. They left me defenseless and bleeding on the forest floor.

If only I’d seen their face to identify them, but they wore a mask. All I knew was that they were as Zuldruxian as me, with blue skin, silver hair, and a build similar to mine. Possibly male, though many of our females were as large as me.

Now, two days later, I stumbled through the woods, barely remaining on my feet. If I fell, I’d die, so I kept walking. I’d applied a poultice to my wounds but the one in my belly would not stop bleeding. Even worse, it now seeped pus. Since I couldn’t find the trail that would take me back to my clan, I was going to die in this wretched, unknown part of my planet.

I would not find vindication for the crime I didn’t commit.

I would not have a happy future with a mate and younglings by my side.

Whoever stabbed me appeared to be stalking me. I’d hear a subtle sound and turn, only to find nothing there. But my skin kept prickling with unease, and in my heart, I knew.

The person who’d killed my mate, Weela, had come after me to make sure I didn’t expose their identity. They followed to make sure I died. I could almost picture them standing over me as I sucked in my final breath. Would I finally see who’d killed her?

Clutching my hand over my belly wound, I continued through the forest on a snaking thin trail that could be leading me closer to my clan or in the opposite direction. I refused to give up and let this person win.

My head swam, and my vision kept blurring. Heat raged through me, though the air held the nip of fall. Feverish, I alternated between shivering and aching to rip off all my clothing to cool my body. My feet kept tripping on roots and rocks, but I made myself remain standing. Moving.

When I fell, it would be over.

That’s when I caught the scent of fire and roasting fish in the air. Had the gods sent me a glorious dream before they finally claimed my life? Odd that they’d send me a dream of cooked fish, but who could understand the gods?

Drawn to the scent, I lifted my head and kept going. If I could make it to whoever was cooking the fish, there was a chance I’d survive.

I reached the edge of the woods and stumbled out across a small open meadow with a river flowing along the left side. My pace increasing, I aimed for the crackling fire ahead.

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