he’d finished the sentence, I had his neck in my hand, his feet dangling beneath him. “You will not disrespect that female. Ever.”
His blue eyes widened in fear as he stared at me but knew better than to reach for the ion blaster strapped to his hip. Wisely, he held his hands up in the air, palms out. “My apologies, Warlord, I didn’t realize she was yours.”
I didn’t correct him—she was not mine…yet—but I did settle him back onto his feet without crushing the fragile windpipe beneath my palm. His grin was annoying, but I turned away from the knowing look in his eyes and craned my neck for one last view of my future mate.
She was going to be mine. I’d been courting her for weeks, going as often as I could to her ice cream store to speak to her. The first time she’d seen me, she’d been shocked. Afraid. Of my size. My deep voice. My strength. Of me.
That was not what I needed. I needed her hot and willing, her soft body pressed to mine, my cock buried deep, her cries of pleasure driving my beast wild.
I didn’t want her to fear me. I hoped for more. I was nearly ready to press my claim. My beast was more than eager, angry that I was taking so damn long to ease his need.
But I was not out of control, not yet. I did not suffer from Mating Fever. I still had a choice. And I chose her.
Mine.
My beast growled the single word inside my mind as she hurried across the street, avoiding the protestors marching on the other end of the building. Her haste, no doubt, because she would be late for her clock. She’d said something about clocking in once, but I didn’t understand why she would wish to be inside a clock. Antiquated human technology, clocks. And most were far from accurate.
I had no idea what my female was referring to half of the time we talked, but I liked what I saw. What I heard. Everything about her. Not liked. That was a weak word. An Earth word. I craved. My cock lengthened and my balls ached to fill her. My palms itched to grip those wide hips and make her mine.
Oh yes, mine.
I wanted the fries and the shake.
My beast agreed. The primitive side of me had awakened the first day I saw her, not because of her delectable curves, but because of her scent. Each day when she walked past on her way to work, we caught her unique sweetness in the air. Cookies and vanilla. I knew of neither of those Earth things before my arrival here a few months ago, but my beast really liked them. In our visits to her store, man and beast had become addicted to the taste of both. My mouth watered, wondering if she’d be as sweet tasting as her ice cream… everywhere.
At ten each morning, she walked past, her T-shirt—which didn’t hide the full swells of her breasts—had the words Sweet Treats written across the back. I had since learned Sweet Treats Ice Cream Shop was a frozen dessert store a few blocks from the processing center, but I preferred to think the words on her clothing referred to her specifically. I wanted her to be my sweet treat.
I wanted to hear her say my name. I ached for her.
I’d been stationed on Earth for four months now. While we were allowed to leave the compound, we were also given a perimeter of five miles in which to travel. The presence of alien guards working at the Bride Processing Center was well-known, but we were only familiar to those who lived and worked nearby. If we ventured too far, Earth’s governments believed the presence of seven-foot, gold and bronze Prillon giants, or an eight-foot Atlan in his beast form might cause a public panic. The human government had grudgingly allowed alien guards to man the perimeters of the seven processing centers on Earth. Brides and soldiers came through these doors, and we needed both. After the humans had proven themselves incapable of keeping spies and traitors out of the centers, Prime Nial had demanded better security.
Earth’s governments had reluctantly agreed, but demanded we work with the humans. Hence the male guard who had dared disrespect my female, and the human female behind him. The two Earth soldiers were my constant companions when I was on guard duty, my human liaisons.
Keepers, more like, to keep the big bad Atlan from turning into a monster and eating babies.
Duty held me at the processing center for another two hours, and I spent every single minute thinking of her. Not the paranoid humans who paced on the sidewalk across the street while holding strangely worded signs. I’d given up attempting to make sense of their words long ago. Slogans such as ‘E.T. Go Home!’, ‘Aliens are STEALING our women!’—the addition of the larger letters a source of many jokes within the guards’ quarters each day—and ‘Your daughter should not be an alien sex slave.’
Sex slave?
I thought of the female I wanted to make my own and cringed. Humanity had a lot to learn. Our females were revered. Respected. Treated with the utmost care and treasured for what they truly were… precious.
We did not torture or kill them in fits of rage or jealousy. We did not take their bodies without permission, beat them or shame them. Any child was valued, regardless of who the father had been. The sign-carrying humans accused us—the Coalition worlds—of being savages.
Based on what I’d seen on this world’s news and entertainment screens, every single woman on planet Earth would be better off somewhere else.
Maybe we should take all the females and let the Hive take the rest of them.
My beast growled in agreement, ready to emerge and beat every single one of those idiot humans senseless. More often than not these days, my beast had just one word running on repeat in my mind. Mine. Mine. Mine.
“Hey, Jorik. You with me?” The human guard who’d grinned at me two hours ago slapped me on the arm to get my attention. “Jorik? We’ve got incoming.”
I stood in silence, waiting for the human male who reeked of alcohol and tobacco smoke to come closer.
“Looks like he’s high. Can’t even walk.” Derik took a step forward, his small body more annoyance than effective deterrent should I choose to throw the human off the grounds. Still, I was content to allow Derik to deal with this problematic member of his own species. “Let me handle him. This guy’s stoned out of his mind. Don’t go beast on him, Jor—”
I fucking hated that nickname.
Behind the would-be intruder, Warden Morda walked toward the security gate for her shift, badge in hand—a hand that was shaking so badly she attempted to scan her card three times without success.
Was the quiet female so terrified of the smelly human that she could barely function? If she was this nervous, here, where the guards were ready to protect and defend her, how afraid was she elsewhere?
Enough of this.
I walked to the gate, gently removed the badge from Warden Morda’s hand and scanned her through myself, holding the gate open for her and using my large frame to block her view of the drunken idiot currently in a screaming match with Derik.
The warden glanced up at me, then quickly away, as always. She was nothing like Warden Egara. Where Egara was fierce and fearless, this small female seemed to be frightened of her own shadow. She barely spoke and would not often look at the warriors who would gladly lay down their lives to protect her. She was a Warden of the Interstellar Brides Program. She gave hope to warriors fighting across the entire galaxy
