Page 1 of Fifth
Chapter 1
FIFTH HADbeen told Earth was dangerous. He had not expected its danger to stink of weakness.
The slavers reeked of rust, sweat, smoke, and sour drink, yet strutted with the false swagger of predators who believed themselves untouchable. They thought they were strong. They laughed when they saw him—tall, broad, silent in the shadows of their crude camp—as if he were a spectacle instead of a threat.
He’d learned of them only recently, overhearing traders whisper about a black-market ring that trafficked in humans. Believing this was the way to claim a bride, as his brothers had, he descended to Earth and walked into their camp prepared to order one as if it were custom. To him, it seemed the properway.
The slavers had dealt with off-worlders before, though rarely. Smuggling and ruthlessness had made them bold enough to trade beyond Earth’s borders. His presence startled them, but it didn’t scatter them. They knew enough to recognize profit when they sawit.
But they’d never dealt with one likehim.
Armor lay close to his skin—flexible weave that drank the torchlight—yet he wore no helmet, no cloak. Let them see what came for them. White hair cut close to the skull. Amethyst eyes that didn’t blink when guns leveled. The subtle ridges at his temples that marked his position as Fifth, his unit’s Enforcer. He stood like a drop-shuttle buried in rock: immovable, patient, humming with restrained force.
He remembered his brothers’ first meetings with their human mates—Third’s woman laughing in defiance, Fourth’s cursing, First’s mate stepping through the chaos of a battlefield to lay her hand on him, claiming both the warrior and the wreckage as hers. He remembered the sharp bite of envy when his own Final Flight had been stripped away and he had no mate. That ache echoed now as he stood in the filth of the slavers’ camp, knowing he wouldn’t leave until he'd found what they had found.
“Freak wants a bride,” their scarred leader sneered, spitting into the dirt. The camp froze, then erupted. Men barked out laughter, some in disbelief, others gaping that an alien giant would ask for something so absurd. “Says that’s why he came down here. Straight from the stars to pick himself a little human wife.”
The others roared. Weapons slapped thighs, chains rattled in rhythm, avicious cadence they’d performed a thousand times. Some pointed as if he were a sideshow oddity. Others pretended boredom but shifted their weight toward exits, the bodies of men who thought they were safe trying to find new angles of escape.
Locus let the sound roll past him. Their words meant nothing. His purpose burned.
He thought of his brothers in Alpha Unit—First, Second, Third, and Fourth—each bound to human women who had altered them, steadying their strength and giving them purpose beyond battle. He craved the same bond. Amate. Human. He had convinced himself this brutal marketplace was the path, that claiming one would bring him what his brothers had found. So he endured the taunts and stench, determined to leave with a bride.
What mattered was the line of females they dragged into thering.
Ten of them. Different shapes, different scents, wrists bound, herded like cattle. Some stumbled. Some wept. Afew cursed. Fear thickened the air, metallic and sharp. They had heard of monsters. Now they saw one. Shock rippled—gasps, flinches, eyes wide with horror.
And then—
Her.
The one who didn’t cry. Didn’t beg. Didn’t lower hergaze.
Hannah.
A guard whispered her name, and it struck him harder than a shout. She stood near the end, chin tilted, shoulders stiff as armor. Pale skin, pulse racing, blue-gray eyes steady, scanning weapons, exits, men. When her gaze landed on him, she faltered as though struck. Her body jolted, eyes widening, lips parting on a breath she couldn’t quite catch. Terror and awe twined in her scent, disbelief sharpening her features. Ahuman confronted with the impossible—an alien towering beforeher.
He didn’t look away, but absorbed every flicker of her reaction. Andknew.
This one.
Memory pricked him. His brothers’ lives had pivoted on moments like this, on a look, abreath, aheartbeat that chose. He had thought himself past all that—flightless, futureless—but the sight of Hannah cracked something stubborn inside him that still knew how towant.
He stepped forward before thought, ignoring the rifle butt slammed into his side, and pointed. “I choose her.”
The camp erupted. “That one? She’ll burn you alive.”
“Pick a softer one.”
“Take the blonde—she won’t fight you.”
“Bet he doesn’t make it past dawn.”
“Betshekills him first.” Laughter tangled with wagers.
His hand didn’t waver. “I choose her,” he repeated.
With a shrug, they shoved her forward. She stumbled, caught herself, and then drew herself up again, defiance sharpening every fragile line. Midnight hair spilled loose down her back, the torn dress clinging in tatters that bared more than it concealed. Abruise shadowed one knee, rope burns scoring her wrists. Fear and fury mingled across her face, the collision of weakness and will. Hunger stirred in him at the sight of her—fragile, unyielding, acontradiction more dangerous than any blade.
