Page 39 of Claimed By the Alien Warlord

“Gary, watch your footing!” Reily’s voice cuts through the noise below. I glance down, and there she is—cutoffs frayed at the edges, bikini top clinging to her like it’s holding on for dear life. Her red hair shines in the sunlight, and she’s grinning up at me, waving like I’m some kind of rock star.

I wave back, a rare smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. And that’s when it happens. The scaffolding shifts, the metal groans, and my balance tips. For a split second, I’m weightless, the ground rushing up to meet me. I hit the dirt with a thud that sends a cloud of dust billowing into the air.

“Gary!”

The cry comes from all directions. Bodies close in around me, voices overlapping in a cacophony of concern.

“Is he okay?”

“Did he break anything?”

“How is he not a pancake right now?”

I sit up, brushing dirt off my… scales. My heart sinks as I realize the impact must’ve shorted out the image inducer. I’m exposed. My true form—red scales, ridges, all of it—on full display.

Boris is the first to break the silence. “Whoa, he’s gotscales!Like a… a lizard man or something!”

Clem steps forward, his Skoal cap pulled low over his brow. He spits a wad of tobacco onto the ground and levels a glare at Boris. “No, he doesn’t.” His voice is a growl, low and dangerous. “I don’t see a damn thing but Gary Irons, billionaire philanthropist. Right?”

Mr. Dauber nods vigorously, adjusting his glasses. “That’s just Gary. I’d recognize him anywhere.”

Barfbag blinks, his face scrunching in confusion. “Um, are you guys all stupid or something? He’s clearly?—”

Boris slaps him on the back of the head. “Shut up, dude. We’re like, roleplaying.”

“Oh. Okay. Then I want to be a paladin with a charmed longstaff. Longstaff, get it?”

Seabus groans, rubbing his temples. “Barfbag, you moron. Paladins can’t use a charmedlongstaff!”

Everyone turns to stare at him. He freezes, his face flushing a deep red. “So I’m told,” he mutters, looking down at his boots.

Reily steps forward, her hands on her hips. “Alright, everyone, back to work! We’ve got a festival to build, and Gary’s fine. Aren’t you, Gary?”

I meet her gaze, my jaw tightening. She’s not just brushing this off—she’sprotectingme. My chest tightens with an emotion I can’t quite name. Gratitude? Affection? Whatever it is, it feels alien.

“I’m fine,” I say, my voice gruff. The crowd disperses, though I catch a few lingering glances. Reily stays by my side, her hand on my arm.

“Nice save,” she says under her breath. “But next time, maybe don’t fall off the scaffolding, huh?”

I grunt, my eyes scanning the crowd. Clem’s watching me with a knowing look, his arms crossed over his chest. He gives me a small nod, and I nod back. In that moment, I realize something: the people of Coldwater aren’t just tolerating me. They’reacceptingme.

Even if they’re pretending not to notice my scales.

The stage is finally up, the last nail hammered in just as the sun dips below the horizon. The volunteers crack open beers, the sound of laughter and clinking bottles filling the air. Reily’s leaning against the stage, her arms crossed, a satisfied smirk on her face. I’m about to join her when the low rumble of motorcycles cuts through the celebration like a knife.

“Oh no,” Reily mutters, her eyes narrowing as she peers into the gathering darkness.

Cold Slither rides in, led by Jack. His gang colors—blue, black, and red—gleam under the fading light. The rest of the bikers fan out behind him, engines growling like feral beasts. The volunteers freeze, beers half-raised to their mouths, tension thickening the air.

I turn my image inducer back on, the human facade sliding into place. “Stay back,” I tell the crowd, my voice low but firm. “All of you.”

Reily steps forward, her jaw set. “Gary?—”

“Stay. Back.” I don’t look at her, but I feel her hesitation before she finally nods and starts herding the volunteers away from the approaching threat.

I stride out to meet Jack, stopping about a stone’s throw from the festival grounds. He dismounts, his boots crunching on the gravel as he saunters toward me. His grin is all teeth, no warmth.

“Step aside, Irons,” Jack says, his voice dripping with mockery. “We’re here to have some fun.”

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