She flicked off the overhead light and pulled the barn door shut behind her. The old latch clicked into place, for all the good that would do.
She trudged back to the house. The Christmas lights were flashing so brightly against the snow that they made her eyes ache. She yanked the cord from the outlet near the porch, plunging the yard into darkness, and stumbled inside.
She collapsed against the door and slid down to the floor. Her legs couldn’t hold her anymore.
Delaney pressed shaking hands to her face and tried very, very hard not to think about the massive Mothman in her barn.
Chapter Two
Maelic
Maelicwoketoathrobbing head and oppressive heat.
What’s going on with the ship’s temperature regulator?
No—he wasn’t on the ship anymore. The escape pod. The crash. Memory of the last rotation slammed back: years hunting Barvarti’s slaver operation, going undercover, getting his evidence, being discovered. The emergency pod shot out of the sky, spiraling into… an X-Zone planet.
Goddess, damn it.
He straightened from his slumped position. The ropes around his chest pulled tight against the support post, pinching hiswings. He blinked at the ropes, then up at the rough wooden beams above him. Crude construction. Organic materials. Someone tied him up, and his damper mask—
His hand flew to his face. Bare skin. No mask.
Oh, that was very bad.
The events of last night crashed over him in fragmented flashes. Bioluminescent lights that weren’t wings. His biology had been screamingmate. Stumbling toward her on pure instinct, half-feral and out of control. Her scent—goddess, her scent—so overwhelming it had shorted out every rational thought. He’d chased her. Pinned her. Marked her.
His cock stiffened at the memory, coremata swelling with blood, and his head pounded harder. The pheromone rush hit him like a freight transport. It was wild, unsteady, unstoppable. He hadn’t felt this out of control since he was a teenager, right before he’d gotten his damper. Right before his parents—
He shoved that thought down hard.
The ropes snapped easily when he pulled. Years of bounty work had left him stronger than most Artaisan males. He stood, wings flaring to relieve the ache, and tried to piece together what he’d done. Fragments. That’s all he had. Her neck under his mouth. The softness of her skin through clothing. The little sounds she’d made—fear or desire, he couldn’t tell. His hands on her waist, her throat, needing to mark her as his. He had been completely out of control in way that rattled him to the bone.
Had he hurt her?
The question twisted in his gut. She’d barely come up to his chest. And he’d been feral, operating on pure instinct with no control. But if she’d tied him up, she’d escaped while he was unconscious. Pheromone overload had knocked him out before he did real damage.
Small mercies.
She’d escaped unharmed. The tension in his spine eased. He looked at the snapped ropes on the ground. Flimsy organic filaments. She’d probably thought they’d hold him.Cute.
He needed to see her. Confirm it.
No.He caught himself. He didn’t know her. Whatever reaction his body was having didn’t matter. He had to get off this backwater planet before Barvarti’s crew tracked him here or, worse, abducted more defenseless people to cart off to the slave markets.
He moved toward the barn door, taking in the boxy structure. Primitive but functional. The door stood firm as he pressed—perhaps locked?—but gave in easily when he put his weight into it.
Outside, the icy air hit him like a slap. He hissed, wings shivering involuntarily. His shredded jumpsuit did nothing against the temperature. Clouds obscured the sky, and a single sun was barely visible.
One sun. How depressing.
Her scent lingered in the air—faint but unmistakable. His antennae perked despite his best efforts. He maintained control this time and pushed on. The small dwelling ahead displayed strings of... something covering the roof. Decorative? The whole place looked worn down, though he had no baseline for whether that was normal for this species’ taste.
A white substance covered the ground. He crouched, touched it. Wet. Cold. Revolting. He grimaced and wiped his hand on his thigh.Snow, his translator supplied belatedly, cipherbots still calibrating to the local language.
He needed to find the escape pod. Check if the comms were salvageable. Get a distress signal out to—
His gaze snagged on the treeline. Scorched trunks stood stark against the green, a swath of fire damage cutting through the forest. Old damage—not from his crash. Something had burned here once.
