Page 6 of Mated to the Grumpy Alien

“I’ll begin working on a translation module for her,” Cyg says.

From behind me, I hear the villagers regrouping. They’ll be coming back to try to claim her if we stand here much longer. But they won’t climb my mountain, that much is clear. I’ve been here for a decade–if my calculations have been correct–and they’ve never once even tried to do anything but leave sacrifices and gifts at the foot of the mountain that leads to my cavern. I bet Torvin is pissed his father left me my sword about now.

I can either stand here trying to will her to understand me, or I can subdue her, bring her back home and then worry about our communication differences.

Problem solved. I reach forward and wrap my hand around the back of her neck, finding just the right spot to activate her lynditsh nerve until she slumps forward and I’m able to lift her into my arms. She is not light like the small deer I hunt. No, she has the weight of a woman. All lush curves and warm skin pressed against my own.

The he’lahzun in my blood stirs, reminding me that this woman has been brought here by the Tides. She is my perfect mate, the other side of my coin, as it were. I will protect her at all costs.

chapter

five

Cressida

For the third time in my life, I wake up in unfamiliar surroundings.

In college, I wasn’t the party girl, so this waking up not knowing where I am is new to me. The first time was after the event that landed me in this strange new world of barbarians and gold-chested demigods. Then barbarian number one literally clubbed me over the head like a stereotypical caveman. Now I’m assuming Hercules did something to me to knock me out while he transported me to wherever the hell we are now.

That first time, waking up in the unfamiliar landscape with no other humans around, well, yeah, I kinda assumed that was going to be the low point of my life. That was before I wandered in the wilderness for days, was attacked by a brute, and nearly burned at the stake before being stalked by Mr. Gold Pecs, cornered, and then…

And then what, exactly?

There I was, back to the proverbial and physical wall, with him talking to me in a language I didn’t understand. I was trying to fight him off when he reached out and cupped the back of my neck.

And then I woke up here.

Here is a dark room that smells faintly of smoke. I’m buried under a pile of warm blankets in a bed that is surprisingly comfortable.

Am I back in my bed at the hotel in Amsterdam? Was it all just a dream?

It can’t be. And I can’t be.

My hotel in Amsterdam was a Best Western. The mattress was lumpy, the blankets thin, and there certainly wasn’t a fireplace in the room.

But here there is.

Not exactly a fireplace, but there is a small fire flickering across the room, maybe twenty feet away. It’s more coal than fire and produces barely enough light for me to see the stone walls and floor around the alcove it’s tucked into. Certainly not enough for me to see the bed I’m in.

The sheets here are roughly textured, but not unpleasant. Somehow they feel more luxurious than the cheap poly-cotton of Best Western.

I stretch my hand out beside the pillow, fumbling for my phone. Despite all of the recommendations by health experts, I always fall asleep with my phone by my head. Either because I’m reading on my Kindle app or because I’m playing a game to help me fall asleep. I don’t feel my phone.

I guess I’m not surprised. I push myself up on my elbows, wincing slightly at the pain at the base of my skull, just behind my left ear. I bring my hand up to the spot, but stop just short of touching it, instinct telling me that will make the pain worse. What did Hercules do to me?

“Where am I?”

I don’t expect a response, so when one does come, I scramble back away from the voice.

“You are …” The deep, masculine voice speaks slowly, as if the words are unfamiliar and too large for his mouth. “...here.”

Heart pounding, I scramble up onto my knees. Legs tucked beneath me in case I need to run, I’m instantly aware of two things. First, I’m naked. Something I didn’t notice when I was buried under the warmth of the blankets. Second, my heart is pounding, but not with fear.

But as he speaks, I realize his voice isn’t unfamiliar. I’ve heard that raspy rumble before. In the village. It’s not the garbled, grunting voice of the brute. No, I’m almost certain this is the voice of that other man. Hercules.

Intellectually, I should be afraid.

Hell, I’ve been afraid for the past several days, ever since … whatever it was that happened happened. And God knows I was fucking terrified when it appeared that I was moments away from being burned at the stake and eaten.