Series: Charmaine Pauls
Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 70056 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 350(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70056 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 350(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Horrified, I look up, squinting against the bright sunlight and the gritty wind, and in the air, right by the water’s edge, I see a circle of purple lights.
Silhouetted against it is a man.
A human man.
Or… maybe more than human.
The fine hairs on my arms stand on end.
Even from a distance, I feel his power.
It’s a dark hum in the air, a visceral vibration that warns of danger.
It’s like standing next to a high-voltage wire, only with nothing to shield you from the lethal current inside.
He moves, coming toward me, and my breath stills in my lungs as I make out more details about him.
Tall and regal, he’s wearing a long-sleeved silver tunic over a pair of slim-fitting black pants tucked into black knee-high boots. His dark hair flows in shiny waves below his broad shoulders, and his skin is a golden shade of bronze that seems to glow in the sunlight. And his face… I swallow the blood and saliva pooling in my mouth as he stops in front of me.
I’ve never seen a face so starkly masculine—or so fiercely beautiful.
His features are a study in symmetry, all sharp angles and sloping planes. His high, broad forehead sits atop prominent dark eyebrows that frame thickly lashed eyes of an unusual silver-gray hue. His nose is boldly aquiline, and his high, wide cheekbones are sharply defined, as is his square jaw. Only his mouth, full and sensual, holds a hint of softness… and more than a hint of ruthlessness.
This being holds immense power and isn’t afraid to wield it.
I don’t know how I know that, but I’m convinced of it.
His silver eyes narrow as his gaze travels over me, and I flush, suddenly painfully aware of how pathetic I must look, kneeling in the sand all bloody and grimy. And naked.
Crap, I totally blanked on the fact that I’m naked.
Before I can do more than move my arm to cover my breasts—not that there’s much there to cover—he bends down and unceremoniously scoops me up, lifting me against his chest with insulting ease. I mean, I know all the chemo during my childhood impacted my growth, leaving me smaller than average, but he could’ve still grunted or something to acknowledge that I’m an adult woman, not a child.
Also, the touch of his strong hands on my bare skin makes me warm in all sorts of embarrassing places. Warm and uncomfortably wet.
Ugh. What is wrong with me? What kind of bizarre trauma response is this? A minute ago, I was almost raped, and here I am, fighting the urge to squirm and rub myself against my rescuer like a cat in heat. A rescuer who’s most likely not even human. That sensation of being next to a high-voltage wire is even stronger now that he’s holding me. The hum of his power envelops me, cocooning me in the invisible field of vibrations that feels both like a shield and a cage, same as his embrace.
I don’t understand it, any of it, but it freaks me out even more than my uncontrollable physical reaction to him.
Also, speaking of things that freak me out, he’s carrying me toward the circle of purple lights.
“Are you taking me back to Earth?” I ask, my heart leaping in sudden hope.
Because that would be great. I’d even trade my newly healed—though now pretty battered—body for a chance to spend a few more weeks on Earth and see my parents… whom I badly miss, I realize with a jolt.
In general, I’m suddenly so homesick I could cry.
At my words, the being meets my gaze and says something in a language I’ve never heard, one that makes me think of underground rivers and dark alien forests. His voice is deep, his tone soothing, but there’s an edge to it, like he’s suppressing some strong emotion.
Is he angry at me?
Hoping that’s not the case, I try again. “Earth?” I wave toward the portal we’re quickly approaching. “Please… can you just send me home?”
He ignores my query this time, his attention trained elsewhere. I follow his gaze to the barge on which the humans are now milling about, clearly unsure what to do with the lizard dudes liquified and all.
“Hey!” I yell at them. “Do any of you speak English?”
A blond woman who looks to be in her thirties yells back in a British accent, “Who are you? How do you know one of them?” Her gaze jumps to my rescuer’s face for a millisecond before she blanches and looks away.
Okay, so he’s one of “them,” not us. Not that I thought otherwise. Despite his humanoid appearance, there’s something distinctly alien about the man holding me in his arms. Something aside from the power radiating from him like the UV rays from the sun. Also, judging by the blond woman’s demeanor, “they” are scary—not a surprise either, given the whole melting of lizard dudes into goo.