Page 6 of The Alien Warlord's Fated Mate

“We will rut,” he chided gently.

“You don’t have to sound so happy about it,” she muttered.

He cocked his head as his heated gaze slid down her body, warming her in places she’d almost forgotten existed. “Happy is not correct. Hunger, yes? Any male would feel the same upon meeting his mate. Is it not the same among humans?”

She opened her mouth, then closed it again and shook her head. No man had ever looked at her the way this one did, and none had ever wanted to keep her before.

Finally, she said, “I wouldn’t know.”

“Then we shall learn together.”

Ok, not ideal, but she could work with that. Knowledge is power, right? And the more she learned about this alien, the better prepared she’d be. Learning was fine, great even, so long as he kept putting off this rutting thing.

Honestly, who even used a word like that anymore?

Carefully, she slid off the bed. Her bare feet landed on cold metal, and briefly she wondered what had happened to her shoes. Oh, well. At least she was still dressed in her own clothing, stained and disheveled as it was.

The alien towered over her, making her feel even smaller and meeker than she had when she’d been sitting. He was just so massive, like a living statue that had peeled itself off a rock wall, only his hand was warm against her skin, and he moved with the grace of a trained predator.

Awareness shivered down her spine. She abruptly pushed the warmth of his touch out of her mind before it caused any trouble. Learning she could handle. Trouble, not so much.

He guided her to the blank wall to the left of the entrance and pointed to the series of protrusions beside it, to a particular button-like square inscribed with an entirely foreign symbol. “Press this.”

She glanced at him out of the corners of her eyes. “Why?”

In answer, he merely maneuvered her closer to the wall and pointed patiently to the button-thing again.

With a sigh, she reached forward and pressed it. Immediately, a thin rectangular slab swung down from the wall and stopped parallel to the floor. It looked like a plain piece of black metal to her, but when the alien touched the corner closest to the wall and door, it lit up like a screen, filling with a picture of an alien woman standing in a landscaped garden, her back to a distant jungle.

Mia gasped and leaned forward, sliding into the seat extruding from the wall. “Who is this? Is that your home world?”

“Yes. It is Zephyria, my planet. The female is my mother.”

“Your mother,” Mia breathed as she studied the woman. Horns similar to his, albeit smaller and more delicate, jutted from her temples, curling back along the sides of her head. The woman’s hair was braided out of the way, and she wore a deep red, embroidered robe over loose white pants. Alien, yet beautiful in her own way. Mia could see a slight resemblance between mother and son in the proud expression, the hawkish nose, the set of the woman’s strong shoulders.

“You will meet her soon,” the alien said. He tapped the middle of the screen, and it turned a solied, lurid green. “Press your hand there.”

Mia glanced at him again, uncertain despite her curiosity.

He gazed down at her from way above her, his green eyes darkening. “You wish me to touch you again?”

“No, no,” she said, and hastily slapped her palm to the screen. A searing heat scorched her skin. She yelped and snatched it away, but the pain had already receded. “What was that for?”

“Imprint. Now you may access our database at your whim.”

“Oh.” She stared down at the screen now showing what looked like a search box. “I don’t know your language.”

“You need not. Speak and it will understand.” He squatted behind her, his thighs bracketing hers, one arm wrapped around her waist, the strong line of his jaw brushing her temple. His free hand danced over the screen, tapping buttons inscribed with images and those unfamiliar symbols, then the screen changed and everything was displayed in English. “Now you will learn, yes?”

“Oh! Yes,” she said, entirely too aware of the male heat surrounding her, of his large hand splayed over her stomach, of his face so close to hers. She cleared her throat nervously and reached for the manners her mother had drilled into her. “Thank you. That was very helpful.”

He grunted and buried his face in her throat. She stiffened against him. Would he try to do something now? Rip off her clothes? Throw her on the bed and force himself on her?

Were they even compatible that way?

Abruptly, he pushed away from her and palmed the door open. When he spoke, his voice held a gruff tone that sent a delicious shiver through her. “You are hungry. I shall retrieve human food for you.”

He left before she could contradict him. She wasn’t hungry. She was scared and irritated and curious and—

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