It was the why. The unknown reason why armed men had broken into my home. The inexplicable danger that Xytol had sensed from thousands of miles away.
Whatever was after me, it was willing to brave a hurricane to find me.
And I had no idea why.
Chapter 5
Xabat
I needed to find somewhere for us to hide. We'd escaped the other males for now, but they were too well geared, too skilled. Professional warriors, trained to track and fight, their movements coordinated like a pack of predators. I'd disabled four of them, but the other four remained, and unless I missed my guess, more would follow. I needed to get Harper out of sight before we were spotted.
"The wind is really kicking up," Harper said, her voice nearly lost in a violent gust that sent a dented plastic trash can tumbling past us down the deserted street. She hugged herself tightly, soaked hair plastered to her face in dark, dripping strands. "The storm is a lot closer than the Weather Channel made it seem."
She was right. The sky had taken on a sickly gray-green color, bruised and threatening. The rain came in horizontal sheets, driven by winds that grew stronger by the minute, howling between buildings and rattling loose signs. Her thin clothes had already soaked her through, and the fabric clung to her frame like a second skin, providing no protection against the elements. Without thinking, I stripped off my rain jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders. It swallowed her small form, the sleeves hanging well past her hands, the hem falling nearly to her knees.
She looked up at me, water streaming down her face, and gave me a small, grateful smile that did something strange to my chest. Most females I'd encountered—hells, most warriors—would be complaining by now. But Harper just pulled the jacket tighter around herself and nodded, ready to follow wherever I led.
It was... unexpected. Admirable, even. She had no reason to trust me, no reason to believe I could keep her safe. Yet here she was, standing in the teeth of a worsening storm without a single word of protest. Putting her life in my hands.
"Better," I said.
On my walk here, I'd spotted several buildings already closed in preparation for the storm—sheets of plywood hastily nailed over windows with crooked nails, some boards still showing penciled measurements from hasty cuts, "CLOSED" signs rattling violently on chains in the wind, parking lots completely empty of vehicles except for the occasional abandoned shopping cart rolling aimlessly across the pavement. We needed to find somewhere to lie low until the worst of the weather passed and we could make it safely to my shuttle. The journey would be too demanding for Harper during the full fury of the storm. The wind alone could knock her off her feet, and the flying debris could prove lethal. Plus, I still hadn't figured out how to broach the tricky, delicate subject of not being from Earth, of being something entirely other than what she assumed.
I wouldn't drug her. I'd already decided that. I wouldn't do that to her, wouldn't take away her choice, no matter how simpler it might make things.
We moved through the abandoned streets, debris skittering past our feet. The wind was relentless, and the rain chilled, stinging my exposed skin like tiny needles. Harper stayed at my side, head down against the elements, her small hand clinging desperately to mine, fingers cold and trembling.
We crossed the bridge over the Intracoastal Waterway, the normally calm channel now churning with whitecaps, the water dark and angry. The marinas clustered along the waterway were deserted. Extra lines secured the few remaining boats, straining and creaking against their moorings, making the hulls rock violently. Salt spray stung my eyes as we pressed forward, the taste of brine sharp on my lips.
Harper gestured ahead with her free hand, her voice raised to carry over the wind. "This is Causeway Drive," she said, pointing down the road that stretched ahead of us toward the beach, a ribbon of wet asphalt disappearing into the gray curtain of rain. Most of the buildings lining the road were already battened down, the businesses that catered to sun-seeking tourists in better weather now locked up and abandoned.
Then I saw it. A squat, single-story building perched on a small hill about fifty yards ahead. Thick pillars supported the foundation, elevating it a good six feet above the flood line, built to withstand decades of coastal storms without flinching. Faded turquoise paint peeled from the walls in long, curling strips, revealing the weathered gray concrete beneath like old skin sloughing away. It looked like one of the many shops selling beach gear I'd spotted on my way into town, the kind that sold cheap plastic trinkets, t-shirts emblazoned with crude slogans and cartoon marine life, and overpriced souvenirs. A sun-bleached wooden sign hung crooked above the entrance, suspended by a single rusted chain that swayed violently with each gust. The faded and weather-worn lettering made it impossible to read. More importantly, the building was shuttered and empty, with plywood covering the windows that had grayed with age. It was an older building from an era before sophisticated alarm systems and motion sensors were standard. A building meant to last.
I moved toward it, my boots splashing through deep puddles, pulling Harper along with me.
"What are you doing?" Harper asked as I positioned myself at the weathered door, testing the frame with my hand.
In response, I drove my shoulder into it, and the lock gave way with a sharp crack of splintering wood, a gust of wind immediately swallowed the sound. The door swung open into darkness that smelled of dust, stale air, and the musty scent of merchandise long passed its prime.
"We need somewhere to lie low until the storm dies down," I explained, ushering her inside out of the wind and rain that clawed at our backs. "Then we can make it to my ship."
Harper froze just inside the doorway, water dripping steadily from her hair onto the floor, forming a small puddle at her feet. "Your... ship? Are you sure it will be all right in the storm?"
I closed my eyes briefly, exhaling through my nose. At some point, I'd have to tell her the truth. Convince her to come with me, not just from her home but from the planet itself, in order to keep her safe. But not now. Not when she was already frightened.
"My ship will be fine." The shuttle was built for atmospheric entry, designed to withstand temperatures and pressures that would tear apart most Earth vessels. It could easily withstand a hurricane.
"I feel bad breaking in," she said softly, frowning as she glanced around at the shadowy interior, at the racks of merchandise barely discernible in the dim light.
"We'll pay for whatever we use," I assured her, patting the pocket where I kept the small plastic card. Maddie had given me an Earth credit card for expenses, along with a brief tutorial on how humans conducted commerce.
"Do you really think we'll be safe here?" Harper asked, worry creasing her features, her bright blue eyes searching mine for reassurance.
"For now," I promised, pulling the door shut behind us and wedging it closed, adjusting the broken frame enough that the evidence of our break-in wouldn't be immediately visible to the naked eye.
I stood in the darkness, listening to the wind howl outside, and felt the persistent tingling along my spine. It had quieted somewhat, but it hadn't disappeared. It hummed there, a constant awareness of Harper's presence, her proximity, and her scent.
I clenched my jaw and forced myself to focus on the task at hand. Keeping her safe. That was all that mattered. That was the only thing that could matter.
