Page 12 of The Alien's Vicious Starflash Manor

“Don’t be a smartass. I’m serious.”

I still can’t find words.

“Fine,” she says, her eyes narrowing as she glares at Ivrael. “But there’s something wrong with you. And with that weirdo. I’m getting you away from him.”

She’s still cursing when Ivrael turns down another aisle, and I follow him. Izzy stumbles into place beside me again.

As we make our way back through the Trasqo Market toward Ivrael’s ship, my skin crawls with the familiar sensation of being watched—God knows I’ve had enough experience with that over the last year.

At first, I assume it’s just the usual market vendors eyeing potential merchandise.

But this feels different. More...focused.

A flicker of movement catches my eye—a tall man with copper-toned skin and odd, wing-like protrusions from hisshoulders that mark him as Starcaix. He’s leaning against one of the market stalls, his gaze fixed on our little group.

My first thought is that he’s watching Izzy. As far as I’m concerned, my sister’s beautiful in a way I never managed—this guy doesn’t have a chance with her, though.

But then his nostrils flare, and his head turns to track me specifically as we pass. The intensity of his stare makes my breath catch. He inhales deeply, obviously scenting the air, and something hungry flashes across his features.

Ice spreads beneath Ivrael’s feet as we walk, and I risk a glance at the duke. His jaw is set in that aristocratic mask of indifference I’ve grown to hate. He hasn’t noticed the Starcaix man yet, too busy playing the imperious noble.

I open my mouth to tell him about our observer, but he cuts me off before I can speak. “Keep moving,” he snaps, his hand closing around my upper arm. “We don’t have time for any delays.”

Defiance swells in my chest, hot and sharp.

Fine. If he wants to be an asshole, he can deal with the consequences himself. Let him figure it out himself. I’m done being his cooperative little puppet.

When I look back, the Starcaix man has disappeared into the crowd.

It was probably nothing. Just another creepy market denizen getting their kicks from watching humans struggle against their fates.

But as we continue toward the ship, I can’t quite shake the feeling of those hungry eyes following our progress.

Or the way he seemed to recognize something about my scent.

It doesn’t matter, I tell myself. There’s nothing the Starcaix guy could have done to us, anyway. Nothing all that worse, at least. After all, we’re already headed back to Starfrost Manor.

We reach the Trasqo Market exit gate far too quickly. The winter sun feels like a mockery now, its warmth unable to reach past the icy dread spreading through my chest.

“This is not where I came in.”

“Definitely not,” I mutter, wondering if she’s noticed how the market’s paths seem to shift and change, leading inevitably to wherever Ivrael wants us to go. The thought makes bile rise in my throat.

She tilts her head and frowns at me, that little crease appearing between her brows—the same one she’d get when working on her math homework, back when our biggest worries were final exams and Roland’s drinking. God, what I wouldn’t give to go back to those problems now.

Ivrael steps through the gates with that fluid grace that makes him seem more predator than person. He turns back, gesturing imperiously for us to follow, every inch the aristocratic duke despite standing in a Texas field.

The sunlight catches in his golden hair, creating a halo effect that would be beautiful if I didn’t know the monster beneath the façade.

As he moves through to the other side of the fence, I seize what might be my last chance. I whirl to face Izzy, grabbing her shoulders. My fingers dig into her sweater. “Run.”

Izzy frowns but doesn’t move.

“Turn around and run as fast as you can go, as far away as you can get,” I hiss urgently, searching her eyes.

The words have barely left my mouth when my arms jerk upward, wrenched straight out in front of me.

The ribbons around my wrists flare with that sickening blue light, binding them together as if caught in invisible manacles. It feels like hooks of ice have sunk into my flesh, dragging me inexorably toward the gate.

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