And now... nothing. Just silence stretching between us like a stormy ocean I couldn't cross.
I told myself there were a dozen reasonable explanations. His phone broke. He was traveling somewhere remote, without service, possibly visiting family in a rural corner of Europe where cell towers were scarce. He'd gotten busy with work, caught up in deadlines and obligations that left no time for checking messages.
Still, the silence felt wrong.
I merged onto I-40 East, the afternoon sun slanting through my windshield at an angle that made me squint despite my sunglasses, painting everything in shades of amber and gold. My phone sat in the cup holder beside me, the screen dark and stubbornly silent. As dark as the clouds gathering on the distant horizon.
Chapter 3
Xabat
Rain didn't bother me.
My homeworld was a place of perpetual mist. Thick forests where trees grew so dense their canopies blocked out the sun, mountains that pierced the clouds, and sprawling cave systems where many of my kind still made their homes.
Maddie's latest intel showed the storm, which she called a hurricane, wasn't expected to arrive for another twenty-four hours. Still, I'd had to land the shuttle several miles away at a place called Carolina Beach State Park to avoid any possibility of flooding. With the cloaking engaged and the storm approaching, I wasn't worried it would be discovered.
The streets were nearly deserted, as most hurriedly made plans to evacuate before the storm's arrival. The humans that remained regarded me oddly, a lone male walking the streets while everyone else fled indoors. Maddie had dressed me in Earth clothes—jeans, a black rain jacket, and a plain gray shirt. The cuddwisg device helped me appear as a male human, but there was no disguising my size. My shoulders were too broad, stretching the seams of the jacket. My height, nearly seven feet tall, made me tower over every human I passed.
I paid no heed to the strange stares. I had a mission to accomplish. My plan was straightforward. Make contact with the female, convince her of the danger she was in, and bring her to the shuttle and aboard theHistoriauntil thedanger passed. I knew this wouldn't be easy. Humans were notoriously suspicious of strangers. I'd participated in enough rescue missions across a dozen worlds to know the difficulty of convincing humans—especially human females—that I posed no threat.
No matter, I would stay by her side until the Alliance could ferret out what my brother's cryptic message hadn't specified. Exactly what kind of threat loomed over the female, and from whom?
The beach community sprawled along the coastline—weathered beach cottages stood shoulder to shoulder, their exteriors in shades of seafoam, coral, and yellow. Small bungalows with screened-in porches faced narrow streets where beach grass pushed up through every crack in the pavement. Flags and wind chimes decorated nearly every porch, the latter creating a constant metallic symphony in the growing breeze. Long, oval contraptions I'd learned were called surfboards leaned against porch railings, while conveyances called bicycles with rusted chains lay abandoned in front yards, mixed with children's toys and faded chairs.
The air itself was thick and heavy, tasting of brine and carrying with it the distant cry of seabirds and the rhythmic percussion of waves against sand. While definitely different from the planet of my birth, I found a strange beauty in my surroundings.
Keeping the comm hidden under the sleeve of my rain jacket, I pulled up an image of the house and female. The house was much like the others, perched on wooden stilts, which gave the pale pink two-story abode a whimsical floating quality, as if it might sail away with the next strong wind. Wooden stairs led up to a wraparound porch with a tin roof that I could imagine sounding soothing with the rain. Window boxes overflowed withbright flowers and lush green plants, complementing the bright blue shutters.
It looked like her.
Lovely.
She wasn't the type of female I would have expected for my brother. The image showed a petite woman with softly curved features, thick waves of auburn hair cascading past her shoulders in rich, burnished tones that seemed to spark with strands of fire. Her eyes were a striking shade of bright blue, vivid and clear as a summer sky, framed by dark lashes that made them appear even more luminous. Her nose was small and gently upturned at the tip, giving her face a youthful, almost playful quality, while her lips were full and naturally colored a deep pink.
The photograph had been taken at her place of employment. She stood before a colorful backdrop, her expression warm and open, the kind of smile that suggested she found joy in her work.
I found myself staring at her image longer than necessary, studying the gentle curve of her cheek, the scatter of freckles across her nose, trying to understand what circumstances would place such an apparently innocent female in danger. As I gazed at her face, a strange tingling sensation began at the base of my spine—a feeling so unexpected it startled me, simply because it shouldn't have happened.
Kaelaks, like myself, experienced a distinctive tingle near the tip of our spine when encountering our fated mate. The sensation was unmistakable, primal, coded into our very DNA. Normally, it required scent to register one's mate—pheromones and biological markers that triggered the recognition response—but it had been known to happen upon sight alone in rare cases, when the bond was particularly strong.
But this female was Xytol's mate. Even though I knew the chance of his having met her in person seemed impossible, his communication suggested he'd claimed her. Although, as his brother, if Xytol was dead—as I sadly suspected might be true—it became my duty to care for his widow according to our customs.
Surely the tingling I felt was merely my body accepting the sacred mission, my warrior's instinct recognizing the importance of the female I was sworn to protect. Nothing more.
Kaelaks were genetically predisposed to our calling from birth, our bodies shaped by destiny before we drew our first breath. I had emerged into the world large and powerful, my infant frame already dense with muscle and bone that would only grow more formidable with age. My path as a warrior had been written in my DNA—broad shoulders built to bear armor, hands designed to wield weapons, and reflexes honed by generations before me.
Xytol was different. Where I had grown tall and imposing, he remained smaller, his frame lean and compact. While I trained in combat, he spent his youth in libraries and laboratories, his mind absorbing knowledge with a hunger that rivaled my appetite for battle. My brother possessed an intellect that placed him among the most brilliant minds of our kind.
Within the Kaelaks, warriors were plentiful, while thinkers like Xytol were rare. Perhaps one in twenty thousand possessed his particular gifts. Across the universe, the greatest educational institutions in the known systems sought after individuals like my brother.
We'd been on our way to deliver Xytol to a prestigious appointment with the Paratarsi scholars. An honor that would have secured his future and brought glory to our family name—when our transport was ambushed by the Kerzak. A single violent moment stole my brother's future from him. I couldn't save him from the Kerzak and what came after, but I could honorhis last request and protect the human female he'd claimed as his own.
According to the sign flapping in the breeze, I turned onto a street called Ocean Boulevard, my boots splashing through puddles that had already begun to form in the pavement. Her house stood out among the others, its pale pink exterior and bright blue shutters making it easy to identify even through the thickening rain. The street stretched before me, nearly deserted. Houses stood empty, plywood-covered windows, sandbags lined doorways, and the few remaining porch decorations clattered violently in the strengthening wind.
My steps slowed, an icy finger of unease traveling up my spine. Something was wrong. This close to the ocean, the rain whipped harder, driven nearly horizontal by gusts that tasted of salt. I had to blink droplets from my vision, using my hand to shield my eyes as I scouted the area.
Two black vehicles sat parked along the street, the placement too deliberate to be coincidental—one near the corner where the street curved toward the beach, the other tucked between two boarded-up houses about fifty yards from Harper's house. Both had their engines running, exhaust visible in the rain-heavy air.
