Page 3 of The Alien's Private Redemption

Here, she was safe. Here, she was in control.

Or at least, she had been until now.

Something was different this time. The familiar sanctuary felt... watched. As though someone else had followed her down the careful paths of her mind. Angela pressed herself against the cave wall, its coolness seeping through her mental projection. The copper taste was gone, replaced by the mineral tang of underground springs. But for the first time in all her visits here, she wasn't sure she was alone.

Her favorite memories were stored there, like pictures in a shoebox painted to look like a treasure chest. They were safehere, she was safe here, and eventually it would be over and she would be free.

A storm raged outside the cave and she thought she heard a voice in the wind calling her name. She ignored it, searching instead for the treasure chest of memories.

It called again, louder this time. She didn't recognize it but something inside her craved it. Reluctantly, she stopped looking for the box and crawled to the mouth of the cave to listen.

"Angela, come back," the voice called again. "Let me help you."

Nobody could help her. She was dying. If she stayed in here, it wouldn't hurt.

A shadow appeared in front of the cave and the voice called her again.

"Please, Angela. I can't lose you. Not when I've just found you."

Something in his voice reached deep into her chest and squeezed her heart. He sounded sincere, lonely, and like his heart was going to break.

She reached her hand out to him and he took it in his own clawed, scaled hand.

Private Angela McBride came to in the interrogation chamber and promptly vomited all over the table. With her first breath, she nearly aspirated the bile that seemed to coat her tongue. Strong arms held her up while a hand pounded her back until she could take a breath without choking.

She noted with some satisfaction that she'd managed to vomit all over Dr. Phillips notes. Tears streamed down her face while she turned to look at the man holding her.

Her gaze landed on a green, scaled neck, rising out of a white button down shirt collar to a face that looked like a cross between a human and a crocodile. Or maybe a gecko?

It was his eyes, though, that caught her. They were human and felt like home.

Chapter 2

Zoric's scales rippled with shock as he looked down at the woman in his arms. Her face should have been impossible - the universe didn't grant second chances at finding one's bonded mate. Yet every instinct in his body recognized her, craved her, needed to protect her.

The familiar ache in his chest, a constant companion since losing Dorcas, transformed into something new as Angela took another precious breath. His arms tightened around her, claws carefully positioned to avoid breaking her delicate human skin. Every breath she took was precious to him and his own lungs burned with the need to breathe for her.

The sterile human facility assaulted his chemoreceptors with layers of artificial scents - disinfectant, fear, stress hormones, and beneath it all, the sweet-salt taste of Angela's distress lingering in the air. His tongue flicked automatically, gatheringmore data about her condition than their primitive medical equipment could detect.

Diplomatic protocol demanded he step back, let the humans handle their prisoner according to their customs. But the newly-formed bond thrummed between them like a living thing, making every cell in his body rebel against letting her go. He'd forgotten how overwhelming a new bond could be - or perhaps it was different this time because he knew the cost of losing one.

"Mr. Zoric," the human interrogator snapped, her voice grating against his auditory membranes. "You can't be in here."

The title felt wrong - too human, too formal for what he had just become to Angela. But explaining that their souls had essentially merged would only complicate an already volatile situation. These humans, with their rigid hierarchies and suspicion of the unknown, weren't ready to understand the depth of what had just happened.

"Just Zoric, Dr. Phillips," he corrected her but made no move to leave. The other half of his soul was still chained to a chair and it would hurt her to snap the chains by pulling her. Removing her from them was going to require the assistance of at least one of the humans around him.

"Zoric," Dr. Phillips corrected. "You are not authorized to be part of this session. I must ask you to put Private McBride down and leave."

"You were hurting her," Zoric protested. "You're not supposed to do that."

"We were not the ones hurting her," one of the soldiers behind him said.

"She was suffocating," Zoric said. "Couldn't you tell? And you triggered it on purpose."

"I did not," Dr. Phillips said. "I would never do that to a patient. We have not mapped all the things that trigger that response. I will have to make a note of this."

She looked down at her notes and her mouth curled in distaste. It was an expression he'd seen many times in his life and he schooled his own to not show his reaction to it. Not that any of the humans there could read his expressions. Or would bother to try.

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