Page 41 of Claimed By the Alien Warlord

Jack glares up at me, his eyes burning with hatred, but he knows he’s beaten. “This isn’t over,” he hisses, spitting blood onto the ground.

“It is for you,” I say, and with one final punch, I knock him out cold.

CHAPTER 18

REILY

I’m pacing backstage, my boots scuffing the dirt floor as I mutter to myself. The crowd’s roar is deafening, a wall of sound that makes my stomach twist into knots. I glance at the setlist in my shaking hands, the words blurring as my vision swims. Three times the turnout expected. Three times the number of eyes that’ll be on me. I’ve never played for more than a handful of people before, and now I’m about to face a sea of them.

“Reily.”

His voice cuts through the noise, steadying me like a lightning rod in a storm. I turn to see Guvan—Gary—standing there, his red eyes sharp, his smile faint but reassuring. He’s in his human disguise, but I can still see the alien warrior beneath the suit and tie.

“You’re going to wear a hole in the ground if you keep that up,” he says, his tone dry but laced with amusement.

“Funny,” I snap, though my voice wavers. “I might throw up first.”

He steps closer, his presence like a wall of heat. “You won’t. I have more good news. We’ve surpassed twenty thousand signatures.”

My knees buckle, and he catches me with one hand, his grip firm. “Twenty thousand?” I whisper, my heart pounding.

“Yes. Even if Hoag tries to fight it, he won’t succeed. The dam project is dead.”

Relief floods through me, and I sag against him. “Good. That’s good. Then I don’t have to go out there, right?”

His chuckle rumbles in his chest. “Oh, you’re going on that stage. Consider it an order from your Master.”

I glare up at him, my cheeks flushing. “If you’re going to call yourself that, you’d better prove it to me later.”

The corner of his mouth quirks. “As if it were not always my intention.” He steps back, his hand lingering on my arm for a moment before he nudges me toward the stage. “You’ll be fine. They’re here for you, Reily. Not the signatures, not the cause. You.”

I center myself, my fingers tightening around my guitar. Clem’s already on the drums, grinning like a kid on Christmas. Seabus is tuning his bass, sweat gleaming on his bald head. And Mom—my heart swells as I see her on the slide guitar, smiling at me with that quiet confidence she’s always had.

I step onto the stage, the spotlight blinding me for a moment. The crowd quiets, a hush spreading like a wave. My throat feels like sandpaper, my hands clammy on the guitar. I glance offstage and catch Guvan’s eye. He mouths the words, “You can do it.”

I swallow hard and step up to the mic. “Howdy, folks,” I say, my voice trembling. “Thank you for coming out to save our lake and our river. I’ve never played for anyone before, so… I’m just going to start singing.”

The first chords ofSuspicious Mindsring out, and the crowd erupts. My voice wobbles at first, but as the music takes over, I find my rhythm. Clem’s drums pound behind me, Seabus’s bassthrumming in my chest. Mom’s slide guitar weaves through it all like a whisper of wind.

By the time I hit the chorus, I’m grinning, my fingers dancing across the strings. The crowd sings along, their voices rising like a tide. I catch Guvan’s gaze again, and he’s clapping harder than anyone, his eyes shining with something I can’t quite name.

And through it all, no one cheers louder or claps harder than Gary.

I step off the stage, my heart still pounding from the rush of the crowd’s applause. My boots crunch against the gravel as I sprint toward Guvan, who’s waiting with his arms open. I crash into him, laughing, the adrenaline still buzzing in my veins.

“Did you see that?” I gasp, pulling back just enough to look up at him. His red eyes are bright, the corners of his mouth tilted in that rare, soft smile of his.

“I did,” he says, his voice low and warm. “You were… exceptional.”

Clem saunters over, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “Damn fine show, Ray. But you two get outta here. We’ve got this covered.” He jerks his thumb toward the army of staff Guvan hired, already dismantling the stage and hauling away equipment. “Gary here can’t use Veritas funds for the dam, but sure as hell can use his own money to clean up his mess.”

Guvan’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t argue. “Let’s go,” he says, taking my hand. His grip is firm, grounding me as he leads me toward the car.

We drive in comfortable silence, the hum of the festival fading into the distance. The moonlight spills across the dashboard, casting shadows on Guvan’s face. He pulls off onto a dirt road, and after a few moments, we’re at a secluded spot by Silver Creek. The water glimmers under the moon, the sound of it soft and soothing.

He pops the trunk and pulls out a basket, then spreads a blanket on the grass. I raise an eyebrow as he pulls out a bottle of champagne and two glasses.

“Guvan Irons, are you trying to be romantic?” I tease, smirking as I sit down on the blanket.

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