Page 40 of Claimed By the Alien Warlord

“Fun?” I fold my arms over my chest, my tone flat. “What kind of fun involves tearing apart a community event?”

Jack’s grin widens. “The kind where we remind people who’s in charge. This little festival... It’s in our way. So we’re gonna tear it down. Piece by piece.”

“Over my dead body.”

He laughs, a harsh, grating sound. “That can be arranged.”

I pull my compad from my pocket, fingers flying over the interface. Jareth’s frequency disruptor activates, and the air shimmers with an invisible pulse. One by one, Cold Slither’s human disguises flicker and dissolve, revealing the grolgath beneath—scaly, reptilian, and bristling with malice.

The volunteers gasp, a ripple of fear spreading through the crowd. Jack snarls, his true form now exposed, his yellow eyes blazing with hatred.

“All you’ve done is sign your death warrant,” he hisses, raising a clawed hand. “And everyone else here.”

“The only dead man I see is you,” I reply, tossing the compad aside.

I let the image inducer drop, my true form—dark red scales, scars, and all—unleashed for the first time in front of the town. The gasps behind me are louder now, but I don’t have time to care.

Jack lunges, his claws slashing through the air. I sidestep, my tail whipping around to knock him off balance, and then I’m in the thick of it. Boneshaker charges at me, his hulking form a blur of muscle and rage. I meet him head-on, our collision sending shockwaves through the ground.

Crazzy Steve’s manic laughter echoes as he leaps onto my back, but I grab him by the arm and hurl him into Shegot Daboodie, sending them both sprawling.

Jack recovers, his claws glinting as he strikes at my side. I grunt, the pain sharp but familiar. I’ve fought worse than this. Much worse.

“You’re outnumbered, Irons,” Jack snarls, circling me with his gang closing in.

“Good,” I say, cracking my neck. “That means I don’t have to hold back.”

I launch myself at him, my claws meeting his in a clash of sparks and fury. The fight is brutal, unrelenting, and I feel alive.

I stagger to my feet, blood dripping from the gashes Jack’s claws left across my chest and arms. My scales itch as they try to knit themselves back together, but it’s not fast enough. Not with the way Jack’s circling me like a shark, his yellow eyes gleaming with predatory delight. He’s not as strong as I am, but he’s faster—much faster—and he’s been saving his energy for this moment.

“You’re slowing down, Irons,” Jack sneers, flicking a clawed hand to the side, splattering my blood on the ground. “Can’t keep up, can you?”

I don’t answer. Talking wastes energy, and every drop I’ve got left is going into staying upright. My chest heaves as I try to catch my breath, but he’s already moving again, a blur of scales and fangs. I barely manage to deflect his next strike, his claws screeching against my armored forearms. He darts back before I can counter, his laughter echoing across the festival grounds.

“Come on, big guy,” he taunts, circling me. “You’re supposed to be the big bad alien protector. Where’s that legendary Vakutan strength now?”

I lunge at him, but he sidesteps with ease, his tail whipping around to catch me across the ribs. I grunt, stumbling, and he’son me in an instant, his claws raking across my back. The pain is white-hot, and I feel my legs buckle as I hit the dirt.

“Pathetic,” Jack spits, standing over me. “I thought you’d put up more of a fight.”

I glance over to Reily. She’s standing at the edge of the crowd, her hands clenched into fists, her face a mask of fury and fear. The volunteers are behind her, frozen in place, their eyes wide as they watch this nightmare unfold.

And then, salvation comes in the most unlikely form.

“Hey, scaly dickface!” Boris’s voice rings out, followed by the distinctwhooshof something flaming through the air. Jack barely has time to turn before the flaming bag of gasoline-soaked dog shit explodes against his head. The smell is immediate and vile, and Jack lets out a roar of rage as he stumbles back, clawing at his face.

“Bullseye!” Boris crows, pumping his fist in the air. Beside him, Barfbag is already lighting another bag, his zit-covered face twisted in a manic grin.

“Eat flaming ass, lizard boy!” Barfbag yells, hurling the next bag with surprising accuracy. It hits Jack square in the chest, and he howls, stumbling back even further.

Clem steps forward, a fist-sized rock in his hand. “This one’s for my family,” he growls, winding up and launching it with all the force of a former miner. The rock catches Jack right in the crotch, and he doubles over with a strangled gasp.

“And this,” Seabus shouts, his fishing rod whipping through the air, “is for my son!” The hook embeds itself in Jack’s ass, and Seabus yanks hard, pulling the gang leader off balance.

I don’t waste the opportunity. Planting a hand on the ground, I push myself up, my body screaming in protest but my mind laser-focused. Jack’s still struggling with the hook in his ass when I’m on him, my fist slamming into his jaw with a satisfyingcrunch. He hits the ground hard, and I’m on top of him in an instant, my claws at his throat.

“Yield,” I growl, my voice low and dangerous.

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