Chapter 8 Working in the Dark #2
“It’s working,” she breathes, wonder clear in her voice. “The navigation system is—”
But her celebration is cut short as the sound we have been dreading echoes through the garage: heavy footsteps circling the building with predatory intent.
“Fiona.” I find her hand in the warm glow of Christmas lights, needing the contact more than tactical wisdom suggests. “If something happens—”
“Nothing’s going to happen.” Her fingers tighten around mine with surprising strength. “We finish this. We save those people. You deliver your cargo and come back to me like you promised.”
“And if I cannot? If they—”
She presses her fingers to my lips, silencing my fears with gentle pressure. The contact sends electricity through my nervous system even as the sharp edge of my fangs presses against her skin.
“Then we make sure the navigation system works, and you complete your mission. The rest... we’ll figure out the rest.”
For a moment, I can only stare at her in the warm glow of Christmas lights, afternoon shadows making the garage feel like a sanctuary carved out of winter itself.
This extraordinary woman who chooses duty over safety, who trusts an alien predator with her life, who offers comfort when she should be demanding protection.
I turn my head to press a kiss to her palm, tasting the salt of her skin and the faint residue of motor oil that somehow makes the contact more intimate rather than less.
“You are extraordinary,” I murmur against her flesh.
“Save the sweet talk for when we’re not about to be invaded by an angry mob.” But her voice shakes, betraying how deeply my words affect her.
Something primal snaps inside me at her words. Angry mob. Invaded. The thought of them touching her, threatening her, taking her from me when I have only just found her...
“Ja’war?” she whispers, and I realize I am growling, a sound that vibrates through my chest and makes her pulse spike with something that smells like arousal rather than fear.
“They want to take you from me.” The words come out rough, barely human. “Before I have had the chance to properly claim you.”
“Claim me?” Her breath catches, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she steps closer, her free hand settling on my chest where she can feel the rumble building there. “What does that mean?”
Her scent spikes—sharp, sweet, unmistakably aroused—and my control fractures completely.
“It means,” I breathe, my other hand threading through her hair to tilt her head back, “that any who threaten you will know exactly who you belong to.”
“Show me,” she whispers, and the words are my undoing.
I lower my mouth to the curve of her neck, where her pulse beats fast and strong beneath pale skin. My fangs extend slightly, just enough to graze the sensitive flesh, and she shivers against me with want rather than fear.
“This will mark you,” I warn, my lips brushing against her throat. “Not a full bond—that requires ceremony, consent, time we do not have. But a claiming bite that will tell any of my kind that you are under my protection.”
“Do it,” she breathes, her fingers fisting in my shirt. “I want them to know. I want YOU to know.”
The bite is swift, controlled—just deep enough to mark, not to harm. Just deep enough to leave the scent-signature that will tell any Xarian that this woman is claimed, protected, mine.
She gasps, her body arching against me as alien biochemistry floods her system. The marking carries engineered compounds designed to heighten sensation, deepen arousal, create an awareness between mates that transcends normal human experience.
“What did you just do to me?” she whispers, one hand flying to her neck while the other remains fisted in my shirt, pulling me closer instead of pushing away.
“Claimed you.” My voice is still rough with barely contained instincts. “The marking will fade in time, but while it lasts, you will be more sensitive to my presence. More aware of what I am feeling. More...” I hesitate, watching her pupils dilate as the alien compounds take effect.
“More what?” Her voice has gone husky, breathless.
“More responsive,” I admit. “To my touch. My scent. My voice when I speak like this.” I drop my tone to the sub-harmonic frequencies that affect human nervous systems, and she shudders with obvious pleasure.
“That’s... that’s not fair,” she breathes, but she’s smiling, her hands roaming over my chest with new boldness. “What else does this bite do?”
“If something happens to me, any Xarian who encounters you will know to protect you. The scent-signature will mark you as mate to a Xarian, which carries certain... privileges in our culture.” I trace the small mark with my thumb, and she trembles.
“But mostly, it means you are mine, and I am yours, until the marking fades.”
“And if I don’t want it to fade?” Her question is barely a whisper, but it hits me like a plasma bolt to the chest.
“Then we will have much to discuss when this is over.” I lean down to press my forehead against hers, breathing in her scent—now changed, carrying traces of my mark. “The full bonding ceremony is... intense.”
“I look forward to it,” she says, echoing my earlier words, and the promise in her voice makes my knees weak.
For a moment, we stand there in the warm glow of Christmas lights, the claiming bite pulsing between us like a living thing. Her scent has changed—still uniquely hers, but now carrying traces of my mark that make every instinct I possess purr with satisfaction.
Mine. Finally, beautifully, mine.
The claiming compound still thrums through our connection when I pull back to rest my forehead against hers. “My courier partner is going to be insufferably smug,” I murmur, voice still rough with post-claiming satisfaction.
“Your partner?”
“Ginzar. He handles holiday specialty routes—luxury food deliveries that leave his ship smelling like warm spices and baked goods.” A rueful smile crosses my features.
“He’s been covering my unauthorized Earth detours for three years, claiming there’s poetry in bringing comfort during the darkest season.
He always said I’d know when I found my mate because I’d finally understand the difference between duty and devotion. ”
Her laugh is breathless, affected by the alien compounds still singing through her system. “Sounds like my kind of alien.”
“He’ll probably show up with celebratory pastries once he hears about this.” The thought of Ginzar’s inevitable, warm-hearted teasing makes me smile despite our circumstances. “He believes in... spreading joy during winter festivals. Says it’s the most important cargo he’s ever carried.”
“You know,” she says, her voice steadier now but still affected by the alien compounds, “that bite thing? We’re definitely discussing that later. In detail.”
“I look forward to every moment of that discussion,” I growl, meaning every word.
She laughs, the sound rich with promise and newly awakened desire. “Good. Because I have a lot of questions about Xarian biochemistry.”
But before I can respond to that delicious threat, Wicks’ voice cuts through our sanctuary with deadly finality:
“Time’s up! Move in!”
The sound of splintering wood echoes through the garage as they breach the doors.