Page 12 of Chieftain
“Forty seconds Khaion." Charick's shout over the comm brought me back to the present.
Surging forward, I flung the piece of metal out of the way with one hand while I gathered her close with my other. A mass of curls hit my face, almost crippling me with a delicious scent.
She stiffened, small hands pushing against my chest, and the acrid scent of fear wafted through my nostrils.
“You are safe little human,” I muttered. Her sharp intake of breath echoed the swish of the pod hatch opening. Holding her against my chest, I dove inside, slapping my palm against the escape button.
The ejection from the ship was smooth but not forceful enough to give the distance needed. I tucked the precious femaleagainst my chest, curling my body around her as the Trogvyk ship exploded, covering us in a blitz of fire and darkness.
Chapter 5
Emmy
Being dead could be worse.
Memories of an angel wrapping me in his embrace just before the alien ship exploded brought a flood of peacefulness. I'd never felt so safe. When the flames and blackness threatened, my angel held me close, covering me with his body so that my death came without terror or pain. I wasn't afraid to be dead. Honestly, given a choice between death and being a sex slave to something akin to Jabba the Hutt, I'd pick death. Especially if I got to stay with my angel.
Focus came slowly to my addled senses, snippets of surroundings muddling through my brain like shards of sunlight trying to break through a cloudy day. My angel held me tightly against his broad, muscled chest. My head lay atop a strong, steady heartbeat and moved in faint motion with the cadence of his breath. His skin was a rich tan, save for striping that ran from his shoulders to his chest, the shape reminding me of Nike swooshes. But it wasn’t skin at all, instead an exquisitely soft pelt that looked and felt like expensive suede.
If it was my penance to spend the afterlife cuddled against him, I could imagine much worse ways to spend eternity. My body was conscious of every muscle and every bulge pressing against me. I tilted my head back just enough to glimpse asquare jaw, full lips, thick dark lashes, and an abundance of thick bronze hair. Goodness, angels were pretty!
And sexy.
My twenty-something-year-old body was finely attuned to the muscled celestial maleness holding me. The slight flutter in the pit of my stomach, like a baby butterfly trying out its wings, was oddly surprising.
Mercy!I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt any inkling of desire. Of course, we all lusted after Jamie Fraser, but longing for a real flesh and blood man, it had been a while. Menopause was a factor, to be sure, but a more significant cause was the idea of allowing myself to be intimate…to be vulnerable to a man after Rick. It was much too frightening.
The divorce was beyond a nightmare. My piece of shit, lying jackass ex-husband had the nerve to say it was my fault he cheated. My fault! According to him, I was too unfeeling, too career-oriented. I treated him in a way that caused such a deep sense of emasculation that his only alternative was to seek affection elsewhere to bolster his self-esteem and mental health. What a crock! With the number of coeds he screwed, my ex should have the best self-esteem on Earth!
Rick’s request for an oversized portion of our assets and spousal support was the slap I didn't expect. He had a good position as the band director for the University of Georgia Redcoat band. Still, as the Clark County District Attorney, I was considered the primary breadwinner in our family. The idea that I owed him any of that money because he'd been too busy horn-dogging around to concentrate on gaining tenure was ludicrous. Thankfully, Judge Ruthann Hathaway saw through his completeand utter bullshit. Legally I'd won. Mentally, physically, and spiritually he’d beaten me to a point where I would never be the same. While scandalized by their father's behavior, my sons were too far away and involved in their own lives to offer me more than virtual support. The Outlander gals were my rock during the nasty affair.
I’d moved on and built a life for myself, a good life filled with friends, joy, and laughter—just not men. My heart remained too shattered to share with another. I was not only okay with the idea I'd be alone—I relished it. At sixty, I figured I'd earned the right to concentrate on myself until my boys gave me grandbabies, which still seemed a long way off.
But those damn four-boobed aliens gave me my twenty-something ass back and all the complications that went along with it. Namely, the heat curling deep in the pit of my stomach and the kiss of fire that shot along my veins from being intimately pressed against the most perfect specimen of maleness I’d ever seen.
I didn't know much about being dead, but all the Sunday school teachings from my childhood never mentioned angels resembling Hollywood's version of a Greek god. I expected bright lights, harps, and maybe St. Peter standing at a pearly gate—not being horny after my angel of death.
In the big book of life,lusting after an angelwould surely earn me a derogatory mark, something to consider since I was dead. It was probably a subsection of the ten commandments, right under adultery. In my defense, they didn't have to make angels so damn gorgeous. My seraph looked like an amalgamation of Henry Cavil as his Witcher character andJason Momoa as well… Jason Momoa. He was huge, all muscles and strength. Enough strength to rip what I found to be an unmovable piece of metal from in front of the escape pod with as much effort as pulling a tissue from a box. I hadn't noticed any wings, but maybe he hadn't earned them yet. I wish I could talk to Daisy—being a minister's wife, she could perhaps shed some light on my eternity.
Daisy.
I sent a silent prayer heavenward that she was safe and unharmed wherever she landed. If not, hopefully, she got an angel as wonderful as mine.
He was shirtless save for a couple of wide leather straps crisscrossing his chest. His other attire was a pair of black leather pants molded to his muscular thighs and black boots. He was humanoid, save being bigger than any man I'd ever seen, and his ears held a human shape, although elongated and coming to a point that reminded me of Legolas from Lord of the Rings. Despite my better judgment, I leaned closer to the thick bronze hair lying in the curve of his neck and inhaled. A spicy muskiness flooded my senses. His scent was everything that signified maleness to me, spice, leather, Earthy, and woodsy. It was intoxicating. I was definitely complimenting the Maker once I got to heaven.
Speaking of heaven, when did the celestial veil start using pods to travel?
The more my eyes acclimated to the darkness, the more I could discern the bullet-shaped container surrounding us. Red, purple, and white lights blinked in a control panel near my feet, throwing off colorful reflections on the sleek metal insides of thecraft. Another few blinks to focus my blurry vision, and what I thought was a dark blanket covering the top of the pod morphed into thick glass covering the hull, showing the vastness of space beyond.
Well shit!
Granted, I should be happier about not heading to the great beyond, but the alternative seemed bleaker. I was traveling through space in an escape pod which I noticed from the gray haze outside, smoked entirely too much for my comfort. This meant the arms around me didn't belong to an angel. He was just another alien, gorgeous though he might be.
I squirmed, trying to gain space between us. Being cuddled against an angel was one thing. Being cuddled against an alien was a whole other ball of wax. The arm draped across my waist tightened.
“Shhh, little human. Be still. Movement could knock the pod off course.”
The translator thingie in my head brought forth a soothing male voice speaking perfect English. The timbre was rich and deep, his low tones raising goosebumps.
