Page 55 of The Alien Warlord's Fated Mate

She trailed a cool cloth over his forehead. “How do you feel?”

He grunted. “My wellbeing is unimportant. Are you injured?”

“No.” Her voice held none of her usual effervescence. So flat was its tone, he wondered what had drained her happiness away during his lapse into unconsciousness. “That was the most foolish, pigheaded,jerk facedrisk I’ve ever seen anyone take.”

Ah. Her fear had turned toward anger. This he could understand. “There was no risk, Mia. Have I not said that I would never allow harm to befall you?”

She yanked her hand away from his and slapped the cloth down on the stand beside him. “But you never said anything about harming yourself. How could you, Zoran? That thing could’ve killed you. Jyrak told me it normally takes at least two warriors to down one, and you went out therealone. You could’vedied.”

“And leave you defenseless?”

“Stop it!” she said, her voice breaking on a raw sob. “Don’t you understand? I could’velostyou.”

“Mia. My love.” He caught her hand, clamping down when she tried to wiggle away, though his hands shook and his muscles ached. “Look at me.”

Stubbornly, she shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut. “You can’t talk your way out of this one, Zoran.”

“Then I will do what I must to assuage your hurt, whether you look upon me or not.” Careful of her fragility and his own weakness, he tugged her forward. “You cannot lose what refuses to leave,pjora-la.”

Her eyes flew open, huge and tear-filled and raw in her grief, then she flung herself upon his chest and buried her face in his throat. He wrapped trembling arms around her, pulling strength from a well running deep within him, holding her as she shuddered against him.

“Don’t ever do that again,” she murmured.

He could not make that promise, refused to lie to her in the doing. Given the same circumstances, he would act exactly as he had, and would ever and always willingly place his own life between her and whatever sought to do her harm.

Chapter Fifteen

Mia paced in her office, rubbing the headache burgeoning in her temples. After a mere three days of rest, Zoran had returned to work, citing unavoidable duty. Though she’d gone back to work the same day, it had taken her another two days to shake free of the memories of him unconscious and bleeding before she could concentrate. In her absence, the mated humans had retreated to their newjutjil, where they’d likely be more effective anyway.

It's not likeshewas getting anything done.

She dropped her tablet on her desk and glared at the paper scattered across it. Requests for help littered her local inbox. People dropped by her office at all hours, human and Xeruvian alike, seeking her advice. Her own work had been completely abandoned, both the research interrupted by her kidnapping and the work she was attempting to do here. The work she wanted to do. She was being pulled in too many directions to be effective at any one.

Jyrak knocked on the door and let herself in, her gaze taking in Mia’s pinched expression, the mess on her desk, and the hole Mia was wearing in the flooring. “You asked to see me?”

Mia flopped down in her chair, scowling. “I’m drowning here.”

“There is water?”

“Oh, my God,” Mia groaned. “No. It’s a figure of—never mind. I need help, desperately. This,” she waved her hands helplessly, “is not my forte. I’m a glorified botanist, not an administrator. My research is suffering. We need to organize pretty much everything. I need an assistant or, no. I need someone to take all of this over so I can focus on something besides answering emails.”

Jyrak slipped all the way into the office and silently closed the door. “You wish to abdicate your duty to the clan?”

“Not when you put it like that,” Mia muttered, frowning.

“What other way is there to put it?”

“I don’t know what I can say other than what I already have. I’m a scientist. We need an administrator. I know this falls to me because Zoran’s a warlord—”

“If I may,” Jyrak said. “Lord Zoran is but one warlord. Such rank, like the rank of warrior, is earned through devoted practice and skill in the sacred art of Ky’Lota. I am a warrior, not because of my husband’s skill and rank, but because of my own. Thus is Lord Zoran a warlord, a rank beyond warrior that takes many years and devotion to completing difficult tasks to earn. Many warlords live within thisjutji, though none is as skilled and ferocious as your mate.”

“Then why me?”

“Because he is theclan warlord.” When Mia continued to stare helplessly at her, Jyrak added, “The clan’s protector, a direct descendant of its founder. Our leader. Through him, this duty falls to you, this and others.”

“And others.” Mia dropped her face into her palms. “Don’t you get it? I’m not cut out for this. I have no training. Isn’t there anyone else who can do the admin work? Someone who can oversee the science, coordinate the research, something? Whoever did it before I came along.”

“You wish to return these duties to Mother Alara?”

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