Alien Keeper: A SciFi Alien Romance by Ursa Dax

Author:Ursa Dax [Dax, Ursa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ursa Dax
Published: 2022-05-17T18:30:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Grim

I had no intention of spying on Thaleria, nor did I wish to surprise her. My desire to please her, to bend to her wishes, outweighed the carnal urges of my blood that told me she was naked and that I needed to go to her right now.

So when she told me she planned to clean herself inside the cave, I agreed to remain at my station. As much as it pained me.

And my cock.

But that agreement fell apart the moment I scented her blood. I knew that scent as well as I knew every other scent that belonged to my mate. She’d nicked a finger some days ago, and I’d breathed the perfume of that red beading fluid as deep into my body as it would go.

And, as I listened to the rustle of her clothing coming off of her body, below the sharp tang of the talka, I smelled it again that morning.

Her blood.

My grip tightened on my weapon as I turned and charged into the cave.

I stopped in the shadows, eyes racing back and forth until I saw her.

Naked.

She saw me, too, and immediately began to screech.

“What are you doing?” she cried in her language. That was a question I heard often and had learned well. Even so, I almost didn’t process it. The air in here was choked by the scent of her blood.

She is injured. But where?

I dropped my spear, closing the space between us in two large steps. She went all skittish, throwing her arms across her chest and backing into the stone ledge behind her.

“What are you doing?” she asked again. This time she was much quieter. Less shocked. More angry.

Her safety and health mattered more than any anger she felt towards me in that moment.

“I smell your blood. Where is your wound?” I growled. I placed my hands on the edge of the stone ledge on either side of her, leaning forward until my snout was at her neck. I sniffed, trying to locate where the blood was coming from.

“You smell... What?”

With one arm still tight across her chest, she loosed the other, placing a palm against my chest and shoving.

My mate was strong. But of course, I did not budge.

“Blood,” I repeated. She knew the word, having learned it from me the day she’d hurt her finger. But had perhaps she had forgotten it. I moved my snout up to probe at her scalp. No, just the smell of talka there at her head. The damp strands of her hair were cool and smooth against my snout. I bit back a groan, and without realizing it my hands moved to her shoulders.

“Where is your wound?” I asked against her temple, my voice laced with desperate panic. I wrenched back from her, staring down at her body. She poked at my snout, telling me to look away. But this was no time for modesty. She was bleeding. I had to stem the flow and clean the wound. We had no Kell’s milk here, no Lavrika’s blood.

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