Page 21 of Tricked By the Alien Prince

Volan doesn’t even hesitate to slam his booted foot down upon the creature.

One great thing about practicing so many times, testing this slingshot even though I’m not its intended user, is that I am really proficient at loading it. Within split moments I’ve grabbed another rock, loaded it, and pulling back to fire. I target another roach that’s trying to sneak up on Volan unaware. My attack hits its carapace, the rock itself splintering and sending shards in every direction. It knocks the creature back, though not off its feet. As it rounds upon me, I’m already launching another rock towards it. This time I hit it square in the face… well, right between its freaky pincers.

The creature squeals. A high-pitched whine fills the air, so loud that I almost drop my slingshot to cover my ears. I don’t. I can’t afford to drop my only weapon, despite discomfort. Look at Volan who’s covered in blood, yet still fighting.

I shoot another rock, and another. I lose count of how many. I just step forward, gathering ammo, before loosing it before I’ve even had a chance to fully stand.

I’m distantly aware of Volan laughing. Of cheering for me. No one’s ever cheered for me before. I’ve never actually stood up to anything or anyone before. Not like this.

I step forward, grinning, as the closest cockroach scampers backward. Oh, that’s why he called them ‘scampers’! It’s a fitting name. I’ll send them scampering back to where they came from, never to return.

I aim my shot, preparing to shoot the cockroach.

I’m suddenly lifted off my feet.

“You have won the battle, my little halvi,” Volan purrs into my ear. He pulls me flush against him, his arms wrapping around me securely. I cry out my frustration as I lose my shot, my aim going wide and missing the infuriating bug entirely.

“Put me down,” I weakly bat at his arms. It’s only as my fist comes away sticky that clarity begins to settle in. He’s hurt.

My stomach roils at the thought. Blood. So much blood, everywhere. And bug guts and…

“I think not,” he growls, hauling me closer. Suddenly the world is tipping around me. Volan throws me into the air—throws—before catching me in his arms bridal style.

I’d scream at him for manhandling me, but my lips are pressed tightly shut as I feel nausea rising.

“Do not fear, halvi. I will never drop you,” he tells me as if he suspects my silence is out of fear.

“You! Why you…” Anger at this infuriating male, at everything, rises within me. How dare he treat me this way! How dare he pick me up like I weigh nothing. How dare he carry me about like I’m…like I’m precious.

He’s hurt! He shouldn’t be carrying me. No, I should be checking his injuries and treating them. I should be…caring for him.

Blackness tinges my vision. Oh dear, I think I actually like this guy. It’s more than just attraction, I think I’ve genuinely caught feelings for him.

No. I have to tell him no.

I am in charge of my destiny. I can’t fall in love. I can’t do relationships, not again.

“Unless you’d rather wade through the corpses of your enemies,” he remarks.

The scent of blood and other unidentifiable smells hits my nostrils as I suck in a breath to tell him off. I groan. It’s all a bit too much.

I press my face against his chest. He’s warm, a little sticky from sweat. With my nose this closely smashed against his skin, all I can smell is him. He smells good. Perhaps a little too good.

I close my eyes, allowing my senses to be enveloped by him. Volan. I’m distantly aware of him carrying me somewhere, but for once I don’t care where. Anywhere but here. Exhaustion and dizziness weigh me down.

For once, I just want to trust someone else to take care of me, to put me first.

So I do. I trust him.

ChapterThirteen

VOLAN

Maya shakes within my arms. She clings to me, burying her face into my neck. Any other time, I would enjoy how close she’s pressing herself against me, but now concern for my little human overwhelms my instincts.

“Not long now,” I tell her as I hurry through the winding tunnels, keenly aware of my precious cargo. Though she emerged from the battle unharmed, she trembles in my arms, her skin chilled and clammy. Her breath is coming in short, shallow gasps. When I pressed my fingers to her wrist, her pulse thrummed rapidly beneath my fingertips.

“You are in shock,” I tell her. I’m not even sure she hears me. I’ve seen others go into shock before, usually after a grievous injury or losing a particularly hard battle. There are some who even experience it whenever they have to fight, though I’m sure many try to hide the fact that they are so weak.

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