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Chapter Five

Alliana

The Zunatorian dragged me along like a puppy on a leash. I wasn’t amused.

Not only was blood leaking through his makeshift bandage, there was also black slime dripping from his machete. Strangely, the Barbs also bled black.

I took a breath of air trying to dispel the image of the slain best, but all I took in was dust.

I tried my best to keep up, but every now and then I would stumble or trip over a stump or rock and I’d lose my balance. I fell to my knees a couple times. Each time it happened, I cringed.

The Zunatorian grumbled, gave me a look of contempt, and pulled me to my feet again with a hostile glower. He was so smoldering—yet—sexy.

“You are tripping over your own two feet on purpose. Delaying the inevitable won’t earn you any points with the King,” he said.

“I don’t need brownie points with your King.” My stomach growled at the thought of brownies, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten much in…how much time had he said had pass?…a whole day.

“You do. Trust me.”

“I don’t…trust you.”

“Good.”

I sucked my teeth. I wanted to find a weapon and clock this alpha-hole upside his snarky head with it.

“You’re the animal, but I’m on the leash,” I said. I wasn’t sorry for throwing jabs at him either. I’d been so close to death several times and now I was just sick and tired. Fuck being scared and helpless. What good had that gotten me?

He growled, unappreciatively. “If you don’t come, I’ll show you just how much of an animal I am. The Barb beast had one motive back there. To fuck you. I, however, have more than one motive to keep you on my leash. We need to get moving, quickly. Now move.”

“I’m going as fast as my legs will carry me,” I said curtly.

I couldn’t explain my attraction to him. I tried to shove it to the back of my head.

As the dust storm picked up, I was barely able to see more than a foot or two in front of me. I focused on the hot Zunatorian. I wondered where he had come from, and why he cared enough to drag me along with him to a shelter. Wouldn’t I just slow him down? Why didn’t he just leave me to deal with the beast? Or watch me drown in a pit of mud?

His long hair was the color of midnight—jet black and sleek. It flowed halfway down his back, partially hiding his sculpted form. The golden vibes beneath his skin illuminated in the brewing web of dust swirling around us. When all of the abducted human females first woke up, almost all of them were curious about why the Zunatorians had the auras, as they officially referred to them, beneath their skin. Blue meant telepathy. White stood for healing or destruction. Red was for empaths. And Gold, like Roult meant he had a spirit soul—or in other words, psychometry. He learned things about something by touching it. And if the object had passed hands or held significant value between a person or persons, Roult could pick that up. From what I understood, the gifts weren’t always made available on-demand. These aliens didn’t have magical powers, they were just born with these deep connections to the physiological and to the well-being and perseverance of their kind.

However, this Zunatorian’s hues were a slightly brighter color than Roult’s had been. It wasn’t exactly gold, but a mixture of gold and a shade lighter. Like the sun at dawn. I almost wondered if my captor had blended auras. If so, then what was his gift? It was unlikely he’d come right out and tell me.

Whenever he tossed a scowl back at me, it took my breath away to lock eyes with him. He had the most piercing golden, hazel eyes I’d ever seen. He had to be at least seven feet in stature, maybe more. He was rude and unaccommodating, but part of me wondered if he was as corrupt on the inside as he behaved on the outside.

I still didn’t know his name, but to be fair, he didn’t know mine, either. Or maybe he did. He had come specifically for me, after all.

We trudged along. I became more fatigued as time went on. It was a grueling trek, and my knees kept threatening to buckle and give out on me. My joints throbbed and my thighs ached in protest each time I had to force myself to put one foot in front of the other. The mud was still caked all over me. I felt unclean, dirty.

I choked as the dust began to settle in my lungs and tickle in my throat and nostrils. I couldn’t even wave the increasing debris away, because this alien man had my wrists tied together as he shuffled me along.

I ducked each time a flying tree branch, or a shard of metal whizzed by my head. Rocks were picked up by the wind and spun around us like a tornado on steroids. Dust storms were deadly. No sane person would dare try to withstand one.

I was exhausted, filthy, emotional, and worried. It was a toxic combination, but there was nothing I could do to change my current situation. I just prayed that the Zunatorian knew where he was going and wasn’t leading us further into the shadows of danger and darkness.

I stared straight ahead, trying to keep my sights on the Zunatorian. If I focused on his broad back and muscular shoulders, it helped calm me down. I couldn’t afford to be assaulted by a full blown panic attack right now.

He was carved like a Greek god, exceptional in every way. I watched the way his muscles moved and twisted as he carried me along behind him—marveling at how sturdy and solid he was. What was even more interesting—he didn’t seem to be fazed in the slightest about his injuries. His leg was still moderately bleeding, but he didn’t so much as limp.

The deeper we trekked into the trenches of the storm, the more challenging it became for me to breathe. I hacked and choked, sputtering, and wishing I could use my tunic to cover my face, or at least rub my stinging eyes. I couldn’t do any of it, because the Zunatorian kept the rope extended out in front of me. He kept looking back. Just once, I thought I caught a look of pity cross over his face.

He started to walk more urgently. I kept his brisk pace, but his legs were significantly longer than mine, so my stride was meager in comparison, so it felt like I was jogging.