Page 37 of Alien Mercenary's Wife
“What?” His eyebrow rose.
“Y…you don't look old enough to have an adult daughter,” She stammered.
"I'm older than I look."
"You and her mother must be very proud," she managed. Shit. He’d been so nice to her and now she’d gone and put her foot in it. Her stomach lurched. Even worse, she’d been ogling him, interpreting his behavior toward her as maybe a flirtation. And all the time, he was a family man with a married daughter and a wife somewhere.
"Red's mother is dead," he said quietly, as if he could read her thoughts. “We weren’t in a relationship.”
“Oh.” Heat flooded her cheeks as embarrassment crashed over her in waves. Shit, was he telepathic as well? No, Eris would have warned her, surely? "Still, I'm sorry for your loss."
He nodded. "It was a long time ago."
Silence stretched between them as heat crawled up her neck.
"Want to continue?" he asked, moving back onto the training mat with a predatory grace she tried like hell not to admire.
"Actually," she said, an idea forming. "I want you to show me something else. Those moves you used during the extraction. The way you fought was different from anything I’ve ever seen."
His eyebrow arched. "You're still healing?—"
"Bullshit." The word came out sharp. "I'm an experienced combat veteran, not some recruit who needs basic self-defense lessons. Show me what you did when you took out those operatives."
He studied her face for a moment. "Some of those moves require full mobility."
"Then adapt them. You said that fighting smart means working with what you have, not what you used to have." She moved to face him on the mat, challenge in her posture. "I want to learn."
"All right. Some of these techniques use momentum and leverage differently than human combat forms." His jaw relaxed, and he shrugged. "We’d have to adapt some of them anyway. The moves work because my people are built differently than yours."
She had to crane her neck to meet his eyes, the height difference between them more apparent with how close he was. He had to be nearly seven feet tall, built with the kind of muscle mass from years of hard combat. Standing this close, she felt almost delicate by comparison… not weak, but definitely outmatched in sheer physical presence.
“And they require trust between partners,” he added, his voice a low rumble that whispered along her skin.
She controlled the shiver that wanted to roll down her spine. "What kind of trust?"
"The kind that comes from knowing someone will catch you if you fall." He held her gaze. "These techniques push yourbalance points. You'll need to rely on your partner,me,to keep you stable."
The neural stimulator hummed against her spine, sending gentle pulses through her damaged nervous system, making movement feel more natural than in months. But his nearness made her aware of every sensation… the warmth radiating from his body when he stepped closer and how her breathing wanted to match his rhythm.
"Show me," she said, her voice breathier than she’d ever heard.
He moved behind her, close enough that she could feel the heat of him against her back. "Basic principle is leverage and momentum. You'll feel like you're falling, but it's controlled… using gravity as a weapon instead of fighting it."
His large hands settled on her waist, strong fingers spanning the space between her ribs and hips with casual confidence. The contact sent electricity racing through her system, every nerve ending suddenly aware of pressure and warmth and the clean male scent that was uniquely his.
"The attacker expects you to resist, to try to stay upright," he continued, his breath warm against her ear. "Instead, you let yourself fall backward into me, not away from me."
Trust. He was asking her to trust him with her balance, safety, and body's weight when her own nervous system couldn't be relied upon to keep her upright. It should have triggered every defensive instinct she'd developed.
Instead, she nodded. "I'm ready."
"Drop your weight," he ordered, his grip tightening slightly. "Don't fight it. Just let go."
Letting go went against every survival instinct she'd honed through years of military service. But she forced herself to relax, to trust that he would catch her when her damaged body inevitably failed to respond correctly.
The sensation was terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure. For a heartbeat, she was falling—truly falling, with nothing but his strength preventing her from hitting the deck plating. Then his arms tightened around her, supporting her weight effortlessly while demonstrating how the movement could be turned into an offensive technique.
"Feel that?" His voice rumbled against her back. "The attacker's off-balance now, committed to a forward position they can't recover from. That's when you strike."
