Page 3 of Fifth
Finally, the head man stepped forward, his teeth rotten, expression sly. “Not coin. You’ll have to prove yourself through challenges. Win her.”
The words landed heavy, more ritual than bargain, Hannah’s earlier accusations pressing in. The slavers were making a game of her fate, testing him, daring him to refuse. Their eyes glittered with cruel anticipation, rifles raised to see if he would erupt. Instead, he remembered Fourth’s Bonding Chase, the way his brother had been forced to prove himself worthy of his human mate. This was a twisted reflection of that sacred trial, and though debased by these men, he recognized the shape of it. Aproving. Atest. Away to keepher.
Locus inclined his head once in firm agreement, his voice steady as he answered, “I accept.”
The slavers froze, clearly unprepared for his ready submission. Afew barked out uneasy laughter, others shifted on their feet, and more than one spat into the dirt as though to cover his surprise.
“Three trials,” the head man said at last, savoring each syllable like meat he didn’t deserve. “You and the girl will facethem together. Survive them all, and she is yours.” The malicious tilt of his mouth warned Locus that the game was rigged—promises of safe passage written nowhere except in mockery—and still he inclined his head as if hearing liturgy.
“Very well. Then give me the rules.”
The head slaver’s face darkened. “Only one rule, alien. Survive. You and the girl make it through, and she’s yours.”
A murmur rippled through the camp, carrying the cry of wagers being placed, the whisper of blades readied. The command was brutal in its simplicity, yet familiar enough to stir his blood. Endure, survive, and keep the woman alive.
“Feed and cage them,” the man ordered.
They shoved them toward a crude holding enclosure at the edge of the preserve gates, their scorn snapping at Locus’s back like hounds eager for blood. The cage crouched where the fence met stone, bars welded from scavenged pipe, floor fouled with old blood and the sour tang of fear. Beyond it, agate of wire-mesh and jagged steel teeth waited, the preserve mouth yawning black.
Hannah finally tore herself from his side and pressed into the farthest corner. Her arms wrapped around herself, chin high, but her body shook faintly.
She was exhausted. Terrified. But her eyes never stopped moving—counting guards, mapping distances, and memorizing faces. Good. She was built for survival though she didn’t yet trust him to be part ofit.
Two guards appeared at the bars. One tossed a bundle inside, scraps of clothing and coarse fabric. “Strip ’em down,” the leader called. “No weapons, no tricks. Let’s see how youralien bride handles herself when she’s got nothing to hide behind.”
Hannah’s head snapped up, fury flooding her face. “You can’t be serious—”
A guard slammed his baton against the bars. “Do it. Or we’ll do it for you.”
Her pulse leapt, terror slicing through her defiance. Fifth moved between her and the guards, shoulders filling the space, his voice a low growl. “Leave her.”
They laughed. “No, freak. Both of you. Strip.”
The bundle contained little more than thin scraps—ahalter of fabric for her, along with a barely-there skirt, aloincloth for him. Humiliation disguised as necessity. Fifth obeyed without hesitation, tearing his flexible armor from his body and letting it fall. He replaced it with the simple loincloth while the guards hooted, pointing at his powerful frame, the shimmer of faint alien markings beneath his skin. He ignored them, stepping closer to Hannah as if to shield her from theireyes.
She stood frozen, trembling, clutching her torn dress. Her lips parted, outrage and fear warring in her throat. “I’m not—”
Fifth reached, steady hands closing over hers. His touch was hot, unyielding, but gentle. “Do it,” he said quietly. “By my hand, not theirs.” He angled his body, blocking sightlines from the catwalk above, from the hole in the tarp to the left, from the bored guard who wouldn’t be bored if he saw herskin.
Her eyes snapped to his, fury burning. After a heartbeat she nodded. Together they pulled the fabric away, replacing it with the halter and skirt that barely covered her backside. She flinched when cold air struck the back of her knees. He steadied her. Her skin was pale, luminous in the low light, goosebumpsracing over her arms. Fifth’s throat tightened at the sight, his instincts growling, his body reacting with a hunger he couldn’t disguise.
“Breathe,” he told her, voice low. She matched him, breath to breath, until the shaking lost itsedge.
She turned from the guards quickly, pressing into the shadows of his chest. He let her, wrapping his arm around her to cover what he could, his own bare skin flush with heat against hers. He caught a faint trace of something clean beneath the smoke, awhisper of her own scent that lingered despite the filth around them. He smelled the day on her—sun in her hair, dust on her knees, the salt of fear and the iron ofwill.
Her breathing eased, still uneven but steadier now. Fifth kept his arm firm around her, holding her into his warmth until the tremors quieted.
“You protected me,” she whispered. Not thanks. Not surrender. Just realization.
“Affirmative.” His voice was final.
She tilted her head up, confusion burning through fear. “I didn’t ask you to.”
“It does not matter.” He cupped the curve of her hip, thumb finding the tremor there and pressing until it steadied. “You are mine to protect.”
Her breath caught again, and though she tried to look away, her body leaned subtly toward his, abetrayal of urges she hadn’t meant to give. Heat pressed into him. Want uncoiled, swift and sure. Restraint leashed it, barely.
The guards cackled, satisfied. “Perfect. Now you’re ready for the preserve.”
