The Claiming Games (The Mating Games #6)

Chapter 1

“ T en.”

Greta woke up screaming, but the capsule stole every scrap of sound.

Her mouth was stretched wide, throat burning with the force of a scream that should have shattered glass. Nothing came out.

The thick, seamless walls drank it down like they were thirsty for terror. All that remained was the frantic thud of her own heart and the ragged rasp of air that refused to do its job properly.

Fantastic , she thought. Abducted, trapped in what looks like a high-end coffin, and even my panic attack isn’t allowed to be loud. Universe really went all-in on the psychological warfare today.

She was still wearing the clothes she’d had on when the white beam ripped her through the warehouse roof — torn cargo shorts, salt-stained tank top, one boot missing. Pathetic scraps of Earth that suddenly felt like a cruel joke.

The capsule was curved glass, slightly warped so the outside world looked like a funhouse nightmare. Dim, sourceless light glowed from the material itself, the sickly color of old bone.

Greta slammed both palms against the front panel, the slap stinging her skin.

“What the hell is this?” she shouted. The words died inches from her face. “Where am I? Hello?”

No answer. Just the calm, genderless mechanical voice that had apparently been waiting for her.

“Nine.”

Nine what? Nine minutes until the next delightful surprise?

She twisted in the molded seat, scanning the vast circular chamber beyond her capsule. A domed ceiling disappeared into shadow high above.

Five larger capsules formed a loose ring around a central platform — hers. Inside each one stood something massive and blue.

Five blue-toned alien males. Already awake. Already staring straight at her.

What the fuck?

They were enormous. Seven feet tall at least, sleek and powerfully built like predators shaped by deep water.

Deep cerulean skin with shifting teal and cobalt undertones, faint scale patterns that caught the light when they moved.

Gills flared slowly along their necks and ribs.

Webbed hands and feet tipped with sharp, retractable claws.

Broad shoulders tapering to narrow waists and long, muscled legs.

And every single one of them looked at Greta like she was the last meal on a starving planet.

She rubbed at her eyes and looked again.

Nope. Still there.

She pinched herself but didn’t wake.

Nope. Not dreaming.

This shit is real .

Great. Just great. I teach physics and engineering to teenagers who can barely handle basic circuitry, and now I’ve been promoted to prey for five aquatic linebackers with teeth. Career progression, everyone.

The biggest one, with a jagged shark-fin crest running down his spine and extra ridges along his forearms, slammed his shoulder into the wall of his capsule.

The impact sent a deep, resonant thud through the entire chamber that Greta felt in her teeth.

His amber eyes burned into hers with raw hunger.

Another, leaner but no less terrifying, pressed both palms to his glass and bared teeth that were far too sharp. Swirling bioluminescent markings across his chest and shoulders pulsed brighter, faster.

They weren’t trying to escape.

They were trying to reach her.

“Jesus Christ,” Greta muttered, scrambling back until her spine hit the rear curve of the capsule. “This isn’t happening. This is not my life.”

The big one hit his wall again. Harder. His capsule actually rocked on its mooring. A third male joined in, then a fourth. Their combined impacts turned the chamber into a drum. The low, primal vibration rattled her bones.

“Eight.”

Greta pounded on the glass with both fists. “Let me out! Talk to me! What do you want from me?”

The voice didn’t care.

One of the males — slimmer, with delicate silver markings tracing his jaw — tilted his head and smiled. Slow. Knowing. His markings flared bright cyan, then dimmed, then flared again like he was already imagining exactly how this would end.

She tasted copper. She’d bitten the inside of her cheek .

Her scientist brain fought through the panic: observe, catalog, survive. Engineer brain catalogued the capsules — seamless construction, no visible hinges, clearly built to withstand pressure.

The males moved with liquid grace even while confined. Muscles slid under skin like they had been born for water. The way they stared wasn’t curiosity.

It was ownership.

“Seven.”

The biggest one slammed his entire body against the wall. The capsule shifted another inch. His eyes never left hers. There was something almost personal in that stare, like he had already decided how this was going to go and was simply waiting for the starting gun.

“Six.”

The countdown voice remained perfectly calm, perfectly indifferent.

Greta pressed both hands flat to the glass and stared back at the five blue predators circling her in their glass prisons. Her voice came out hoarse and raw, but she forced the words out anyway because silence felt worse.

“You want me?” she snarled at them, even though she knew they couldn’t hear her. “Come and fucking get me then.”

At least then they would have to break her pod. Then she might have a chance to escape.

Inside her chest, something small and terrified whispered that they probably would get to her.

And soon.