Page 11 of Claimed By the Alien Warlord

I nod, too scared to speak, too scared not to. His gaze drops, raking over me like he’s seeing me for the first time—not as some idiot who smashed his limo window, but as... something else. His pupils dilate, and his nostrils flare, like he’s scenting me. A shiver runs down my spine, and it’s not just from the cold.

Suddenly, I feel exposed in a way that has nothing to do with my missing shirt. His hand is still at my throat, but it’s not crushing anymore—it’s possessive. His thumb brushes against my collarbone, and I freeze, my breath catching in my chest.

The air between us is thick with tension, a dangerous cocktail of anger and something else entirely. I don’t know what’s worse—the hunger in his eyes or the way my body responds to it, like a spark catching flame. My heart pounds, and my cheeks burn, and I hate myself for the way I’m not entirely against the idea of paying for my crime with my body.

Gary leans in, his face inches from mine, glorious as I bask in the heat radiating off him. "Whatever I want?" he repeats, his voice a low growl that sends a jolt through me.

I swallow hard, my throat dry. "Whatever you want," I whisper, the words barely audible.

Gary’s hand lingers at my throat for a moment longer, his fingers brushing against my skin in a way that should feel threatening but instead sends a jolt of heat through me. His eyes are closed, his face twisted in what looks like agony, and I can see the muscles in his jaw working like he’s trying to grind his teeth to dust.

“No,” he mutters, low and gravelly, like the word is being ripped out of him. “It would not be honorable.”

Honorable? What the hell is he talking about? I don’t have time to process it before he lets go of me and steps back, his chest heaving like he’s just run a marathon. His shoulders tense, his huge frame shuddering like he’s fighting some invisible battle.

I crumple to the ground, my legs giving out the second he releases me. The cold earth bites into my bare skin, but I barely feel it. My heart’s still pounding, my breath coming in ragged gasps. I wipe at my face with the back of my hand, smearing dirt and tears across my cheek.

Gary doesn’t look at me. He turns away, his back to me, and I can see the tension in every line of his body. His fists are clenched, his shoulders rigid, and I think turn around and finish what he started.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he growls, the sound rumbling through the night like thunder. “You’re mine. Understand? You belong to me.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut, and I can’t tell if the heat that spreads through me is from fear or… something else. I nod instinctively, but of course, he can’t see me.

“What—what do you want me to do?” I ask, my voice trembling.

He doesn’t turn around. “You will be at my house tomorrow at twelve noon. Sharp,” he snaps, his tone cutting through the air like a blade. “Perhaps I can make some use of your wretched existence.”

And just like that, he’s gone, striding off into the darkness with the same terrifying grace he had when he appeared. I watch him until he’s out of sight, my body trembling from the cold—or maybe from the sheer intensity of whatever just happened.

I sit there for a moment, staring at the spot where he disappeared, before dropping my head into my hands. “What have I gotten myself into?” I groan, my voice muffled by my palms.

CHAPTER 6

GUVAN

The reinforced oak door barely survives as I slam it open, hinges screaming. My claws carve grooves into the wood paneling—human craftsmanship never stood a chance. The leather couch upends with a single kick, sailing across the room to crater the drywall. Glass shatters as I backhand a vase off the mantel.

Broken glass.

Her words claw at me worse than the physical fury. I seize the heavy oak coffee table and hurl it through the floor-to-ceiling window. Cold mountain air rushes in, carrying the scent of pine and creek water—andher.

I tear the drapes from the rod with my teeth, fabric shredding between serrated molars. The taste of cotton threads mixes with the metallic tang of rage. My reflection glares back from the remaining shards of the shattered window—scarred face contorted, crimson scales flushed darker with fury.

"You insignificant, miserableworm—" My fist impacts the stone fireplace hard enough to crack the mortar. The pain barely registers.

Then the adrenaline gutters out. My knees hit the hardwood, shaking the wreckage around me. Scalding tears streak down my face, hissing against my heated scales.

Sunrise on Vakuta is gone.

Not just glass.Them.Every flaked-off scale a whisper of my mother's battle hymns, my father's calloused hands polishing the globe after raids. Centuries of carrying their absence—only to have some drunken human childshatterthe last physical echo of their voices.

I drive a claw into my own thigh. The sting is nothing compared to the void cracking open in my chest.

Then the anger surges back, molten and righteous.

She offered herself.

The memory scorches: her pulse hammering under my grip, the hitch in her breath when my claws grazed her collarbone. That sharp, defiant little face flushed with fear—and something hotter. Deeper.

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