Page 6 of Lacey's Warriors

Despite the odd desire Lacey was feeling to do just that, she stepped away with a vehement, “No!”

“If not a kiss, then may I please touch you?”

“What? No you can’t touch me. What is wrong with you?”

Hurt radiated from his gaze, and she actually felt bad as he said, “Please, my bride, I swear I will not hurt you. I need to touch you, to make sure you are real and this is not some desperate dream.”

Anxious to get off the subject of touching and kissing, she asked, “Why are you calling me your bride?”

The moment she said it, the faulty crystal implant tried to supply her with the information. Pain roared through her head, but along with it, bits of information bombarded her mind—as if she read and heard it at the same time in seven languages.Kadothian males mated for life with one particular female. Ten thousand years of history tried to sear itself into her unequipped brain, a screaming wall of voices and images that sliced through her like mental razor blades, sharp and unforgiving. Lights began to flash behind her closed eyelids as the pain increased, the faulty implant sending shocks through her that left her limbs jerking.

Dimly, she was aware of two men shouting, but her mind was completely held captive by increasingly scrambled information trying to make its way into her head.

Abruptly, the bombardment of information stopped, and she slowly returned to consciousness, her limbs stiff and achy. Groaning, she opened her eyes and blinked back tears as she stared up at an incredibly handsome and unfamiliar face. Smooth, pale skin set off his deep brown hair streaked with bits of the darkest amber and a few pale streaks the color of sand. His arched brows framed his wide set hazel eyes, and he had thick, dark lashes that any woman would envy. Wearing a shirt similar to Gwarnon’s, but deep brown instead of white, he radiated concern as he stared down at her.

His gaze locked with hers and she sucked in a deep breath of cool, masculine herb scented air. As with Gwarnon, she felt a clench deep in her belly, an exhilaration of her soul. Once again, she tried to dismiss her odd feelings as the result of too much stress, but it was impossible. Any woman with a few working hormones in her body would be sent into heat by these intensely sexual men. They exuded a masculine allure that sent a quiver between her legs as her clit grew sensitive. The man above her had kissable lips, deep pink against his pale skin and surprisingly full. For a moment, she wondered what they would feel like against her own, but she quickly shoved that thought away.

These guys were not only aliens, they were unbearably hot aliens who likely had no interest in a woman like her.

They were merely here to infiltrate…or something. Shit, was she developing Stockholm Syndrome at an accelerated rate? Was there such a thing as instant Stockholm Syndrome? Why else would she be experiencing these odd feelings of familiarity and intense attraction to strangers?

“Who are you?” she croaked out, her mouth as dry as dust.

“I removed the faulty crystal implant the slavers gave you. How are you feeling?” His deep, smooth voice seemed to roll over her skin.

Tentatively poking at her head, she braced herself then mentally asked a question. To her relief, she was alone in her mind again. With a low groan, she pushed herself up from the couch and man-with-soothing-herb-cologne went to help her, but she waved him away.

“I’m fine, much better, thank you.” Tilting her head to the side, she stared up at him. “Who are you?”

He stepped back then sank to one knee. “Forgive me, my bride. I am Senior Healer Novaliumnarushchel Malnaro of House Westfall—or Chel, for short.”

She didn’t even attempt his name as she frowned at him. “Look, Chel, I don’t know what’s going on exactly, but if what this piece of shit crystal in my head said is right about your version of marriages, IknowI’m not your bride. I think you guys made a mistake.”

Gwarnon stepped up next to Chel, his hand gripping the other man’s shoulder. “No mistakes were made. You are our bride. We can feel it—sense it—in here.” He thumped his powerful chest. “I knew the moment I saw you that you were meant to be ouralyah.”

“As did I,” Chel said with a warm smile. “I true dreamed of you. Do you dream of us?”

She slumped back into the couch, her mind whirling as she remembered her fragmented dreams about faceless men with incredible bodies and long, flowing hair. “I’m not sure.”

Chel’s voice was thick with warmth and lust as he murmured, “I remember dancing with you. Having you smile up at me as we held you in our arms. I remember your smell, your taste. I remember the way you came apart in our arms as we gave you pleasure, how you scored your nails up my back. You left a mark.”

“My mark?”

He stood and Gwarnon helped him remove his shirt, revealing a lean and toned body that was absolutely perfect. She had a brief glimpse of his brown nipples and smooth chest before he turned, revealing a back that had long scars going down it from his shoulder to his waist. Scars that did, indeed, look like scratch marks.

The kind made when a woman is pinned beneath a man’s delicious weight, taking everything he has to give and demanding more in the most primal way possible.

For a moment, she had a strange feeling of déjà vu that made her head spin. Memories or fantasies teased the edges of her mind involving her engaged in a threesome with two very well-hung men. One of them had smelled like fresh, clean herbs.

Surely, it couldn’t be…

“I don’t understand.” She ran her fingers through her hair, scrunching it tight until it pulled lightly at her scalp, denying what she was thinking. “You’re saying I left those scratch marks on your back?”

“Yes,” Chel responded with a proud smile. His green and glittering golden-flecked brown eyes stared deep into her. “You have no idea how happy I was when I saw them. To have the actions of a true dream manifest in the physical world is the sign of a strong bond blessed by the Lord of Life.”

Gwarnon started to speak, but she held up her hand. “Just…just give me a minute, this is a lot to process.”

“I am afraid we do not have a lot of time, my bride,” Gwarnon said in his cool, even voice. “We must initiate your transformation, so you may receive your crystal implant and survive the Baladium.”

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