Taken by the Alien Warrior: Scifi Romance by Linda Mathers

Author:Linda Mathers [Mathers, Linda]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Fiery Desires
Published: 2016-08-08T22:00:00+00:00

2

At first I assume it is Taylor—good ol’ Taylor, come back to rescue me. Whether it is out of friendship or out of guilt, I don’t know and I don’t care. No, that isn’t Taylor! It is another Axylan. It’s even bigger than the one that has me pinned, another male. His talons at the ready, pulling the white skin of his wrist taut. He’s going to lunge at me, tackle me away to kill me all by himself…

Can I run? I freeze, propped up on my elbows, as he tackles my assailant, throwing him off of me; I drag air desperately to my lungs. I scramble to my feet as quickly as I can, but it isn’t quick enough. My right leg, which crumpled painfully beneath me when I was thrown to the ground, gives way when I put weight on it. I can’t hold in the gasp of pain that escapes me when I take a step. But the sound of it is lost in the grunts coming from the two Axylans, grappling on the ground. Even if I manage to make a run for it now, with my leg in this state, they’ll catch me—they’re always going to catch me. I’m going to die out here, alone, with the flames licking at my corpse…

The Axylans are still fighting. Another step toward the tarmac pulls a scream from my lips, echoed by a louder cry behind me. The bigger male swipes his talons at the other with a sharp, vicious movement. It takes my addled brain a few seconds to process the indigo blood spurting from the smaller Axylan’s throat, and that the cries have stopped.

His throat has been torn clean out.

A hand goes up to cover my mouth. It wouldn’t do to throw up here, of all places, when the same thing is, in all likelihood, going to happen to me. The bigger male pivots slowly around, crouched as if to pounce, knees bent and palms resting on the dusty ground, allowing me to get a better look at him.

He has the same marbled skin as the others, with chestnut-brown hair slicked back from his face. Huge onyx eyes blink up at me as he eases out of the crouch and unfolds to his full height. I’d estimate he is seven-and-a-half feet tall, towering above my own modest five nine. He’s wearing loose khaki combat pants and no shirt, revealing perfectly defined abs. I can just make out blood staining the fabric of his pant leg and in spatters across marbled flesh, signs of the fight that just took place. Aside from the blood, there isn’t a hair out of place.

I cringe away from him when he takes a step toward me. It’s instinct, a weak attempt at self-preservation in the wake of his approach. Fear thrums in my veins, makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.

“It’s all right,” the Axylan says. His voice is unlike anything I’ve ever heard coming from an Axylan before.

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