Page 38 of Claimed By the Alien Warlord

“Yeah,” Barfbag chimes in, mouth full of cookie. “You could totally be our secret weapon. Like, ‘surprise, it’s Reily Dawson, everyone!’”

“No,” I say firmly, shooting them both a glare. “I’m not your secret weapon. I’m not getting up on a stage. Period.”

But before I can shut it down completely, Mom chimes in again. “Honey, you have a beautiful voice. And this is for a good cause. Don’t you want to do everything you can to save the lake?”

“I—” I start, but the look she’s giving me makes it hard to argue. It’s the same look she used when she’d catch me sneaking cookies before dinner as a kid—soft but unyielding.

“It’s settled then,” she says, clapping her hands like she’s just won a debate. “Reily’s our first act.”

I groan, burying my face in my hands while Boris and Barfbag start chanting, “Re-i-ly! Re-i-ly!” like a couple of idiots.

Mary’s laugh rings out loud and bright, sharper than the cicadas buzzing in the pines. “Well, I guess your boyfriend might as well show up too,” she says, her eyes twinkling as Gary’s Range Rover rolls up the gravel driveway. The tires crunch like they’re chewing on rocks, and the sun glints off the windshield, blinding everyone for a second.

“Is he really your boyfriend?” Boris asks, his voice cracking somewhere between curiosity and disbelief. He’s leaning against the porch railing, his braces catching the light. “Like, officially?”

I don’t answer. Instead, I hop off the porch and stride toward Gary. His engine cuts off, and he steps out of the car, his suit jacket slung over one shoulder. He looks like he just stepped out of a boardroom, all sharp lines and that no-nonsense expression. But there’s something softer in his eyes when he sees me.

“Hey,” I say, stopping just short of him. “What’s up?”

Gary’s jaw tenses, and he glances toward the house. “Pyke called. Veritas funds are off-limits for this. I can’t use them to stop the dam. It has to be human influence only.”

“Funny you should mention that,” I say, grinning despite the bad news. “We’ve got a plan. A music festival. Big names, big crowd, and we hit them with the petition while they’re all in one place. It could work.”

He raises an eyebrow, and I see the gears turning behind those blood-red eyes. His lips twitch, like he’s trying not to smile. “A music festival,” he repeats, his voice low and measured. “Not a bad idea.”

“Thanks,” I say, rocking back on my heels. “But we’re gonna need some big acts. Like, really big ones.”

Gary chuckles, a deep rumble that makes my stomach flip. “I can pull some strings. I’ve got a few friends in the industry.”

“You’re kidding,” I say, my grin widening. “Who?”

He shakes his head, his expression turning smug. “Let’s just say you’ll be impressed.”

“I’m already impressed,” I say, throwing my arms around his neck. He stiffens for a second, like he’s not used to this kind of thing, but then his hands settle on my waist, pulling me closer. I kiss him, quick but fierce, and he hums against my lips.

“Careful,” he murmurs when I pull away. “I’m going to have to punish you for that.”

“What? What did I do?” I laugh, poking him in the chest. His shirt feels smooth under my fingers, but I can feel the solid muscle beneath.

“You didn’t tell me you could sing,” he says, his voice dropping low. He leans in, his breath warm against my ear. “That’s a serious offense.”

“Oh, come on,” I say, shoving him playfully. “It’s not like I’m hiding a super double-secret identity or something.”

“No,” he says, his lips brushing my temple. “But you’re full of surprises.”

I laugh again, but it gets caught in my throat when he kisses me. It’s not like the others we’ve shared—this one’s softer, slower, like he’s savoring it. When he pulls back, he keeps his forehead pressed against mine for a moment, his eyes closed. Then he straightens, taking my hand in his, and we walk back toward the house together.

The gang on the porch is watching us like we’re the main act at the circus. Boris whistles, and Barfbag makes a sound that’s half-gag, half-laugh. Mary just smiles, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Well,” Clem drawls, his voice dry as dust. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves a real power couple here.”

“Shut up, Clem,” I say, but I’m grinning as I say it. Gary’s hand feels solid in mine, and I let myself believe we might actually pull this off.

CHAPTER 17

GUVAN

The scaffolding rattles as I shift my weight, the metal beams groaning under my bulk. From twenty feet up, the chaos of Mirror Lake looks almost organized. Volunteers dart around like ants, lugging plywood, hammering stages into place, and unraveling cords for the sound system. I’ve hoisted the speaker array up here with one hand, and now I’m securing it with the kind of precision that would make a Veritas engineer proud.

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