Page 26 of Stolen By Her Alien Mate

I follow the Adjunct’s directions to a path in the back of the row of apartments. It’s poorly lit, littered with potholes and trash, and lined with cars that look like they haven’t run in months. It’s the perfect place to hide and lie in wait.

I grumble silently to the Adjunct, “I can’t believe my mate lives so close to” –I step over a foul-smelling puddle of something greasy– “whatever this is.”

“This is an alley, a common feature of human city design.”

“It’s a safety hazard, is what it is.”

The Adjunct ignores my comment and says, “Your target is ahead on the right.”

“Obviously,” I subvocalize back, since I spotted him as soon as I turned the corner.

Though there are plenty of places to hide in this alley, my target, the asshole known as Brandon Jacks, hasn’t bothered. He’s sitting on the wooden stairs that lead up to the apartment the Adjunct has identified as Joey’s. He has a brightly-lit handheld device in his hand which he taps on occasionally, causing the device to declare, “You crushed it!”

Given that I’ve trained as a soldier my whole life and run hundreds of recon missions on Perse, it almost feels too easy to sneak up on him. If he was anyone else–someone who hadn’t dared to touch Joey without her permission–I might have gone easy on him.

But since he did dare to touch her, I don’t.

I’m standing in front of him before he even looks up.

I give him at least that. A chance to see me before I grab him.

“What the–”

That’s all he gets out before I grab the front of his shirt and lift him with one hand. “Why are you here?”

He’s kicking his legs at me, but the impact barely registers.

“Let me go! You can’t–”

“You will leave here and you will never bother Joey Kincaid again.” I give him a shake. “Do you understand?”

I wait for him to nod before tossing him aside.

“Is it wise to let him go?” the Adjunct asks through my chip.

I turn to watch Brandon Jacks scrambling back toward the device he dropped. I answer the Adjunct aloud, so this weak human can hear my disdain. “This man isn’t a threat to me. It would be a dishonor to my mate to kill such an incompetent opponent.”

Jacks huddles in front of me, his back to me while he runs his hands over the ground, apparently looking for his device. Then he stands, slowly, squaring against me, chin up and eyes filled with rage.

Apparently this guy just isn’t smart enough to stay down.

That’s when I see the object in his hand. It’s a piece of black metal a little longer than my forearm. I brace myself as he swings.

The blow still hurts, mostly because he hits my ion blade wound that’s still healing. Still, I hide my wince, as I grab him again, with both hands this time, pulling him close. “That almost hurt,” I bite out. “What was that?”

“That is a tool,” the Adjunct replies, “called a tire iron.”

Without room to swing, Jacks takes to stabbing at me with the weapon. It’s not a blade, but one end of it forms a sharp wedge and he gets in several blows before I get my hand around the back of his neck.

Just before I pinch, the Adjunct reminds me, “Have you forgotten that your mate asked you not to use that technique?”

“Frack!” I hold him farther away from me. “So what am I supposed to do to him?”

Jacks clearly mistakes my question as being aimed at him. He snarls, “Let me go, you son of a bitch!”

He’s still swinging that tire iron at me. He’s too weak to do any serious damage, but I’m getting tired of this.

“If I can’t knock him out, how am I supposed to incapacitate him?”