Page 28 of Stolen By Her Alien Mate

“Sure,” I say, with a snort. Still, I lead him up the stairs, then use the keys to unlock my door. Then I deposit him on my decrepit sofa that’s more springs than cushion at this point. It makes a groaning sound when Kael drops his weight onto it.

“You stay here and I’ll go get my first aid kit.” I dash off to the bathroom where I happen to have an actual kit that I bought on a whim one time. The practical side of me determined that it would come in handy for minor things so I could skip a doctor’s visit myself. I don’t have the money for that kind of luxury.

Practical Joey for the win.

By the time I make it back out to my small living room, the big guy has his head tilted back and his big man feet and his big man boots on my coffee table. Okay, it’s not so much a table as it is a piece of plywood over some cinder blocks. I’m crafty!

I sit down beside him, carefully tucking the skirt of my knee-length sundress under my thighs. Don’t be too impressed that I’m in a sundress. It’s not fancy. In this heat, it’s just practical. Even though it’s fall, and even though it rained yesterday, the weather is sweltering again. Since I walk to and from campus for my classes to save on gas, I need all the ventilation I can get. Now, with Kael so close, I wish I’d worn something that exposed less of my skin.

I open the kit and examine the cuts along his hands and his forearms.

“This is not necessary,” he says. He’s straightened back up and is looking directly at me.

Those green, green eyes of his feel familiar in a way I don’t understand. I feel like I’ve seen them before. Like I should know them. Like I should know him.

Looking into his eyes gives me the strongest déjà vu I’ve ever felt. It’s like the prickling of my skin on the back of my neck, only I feel it deep in my soul.

“I am certain if you were to kiss me, my wounds would just disappear,” he says.

That’s enough to break the spell, because no eyes are pretty enough to make that line believable.

I roll my eyes at him, but can’t hide my smile. “Enough of your smooth talking. Get your shirt off and let me see all of the damage.”

He gives me a wicked grin, then pulls off his shirt. He leans up, I’m assuming in an effort to keep blood off my sofa. Meanwhile, I’m being a dirty bird because all I’m doing is cataloging all of his muscles. So many muscles.

A breathtaking number of muscles.

But also scars. The nasty gash on his flank is oozing blood, but there are plenty of others that have already healed. Smaller ones that look like the scars from splattered hot oil. Longer gashes seem to match the recent one. They all seem at different stages of healing.

Yes, he’s muscular, but the scars speak of a different kind of strength. Scars like this are won over years. Years of fighting for something or protecting someone or something.

Entranced, I run a finger over a couple of them.

When he sucks in a breath, I jerk my hand away. I clear my throat and make a show of opening my first aid kit.

“What is it you do for your job?” I ask him.

“I am a warrior.”

“Like a ninja warrior?” That would track because he’s definitely built like some of those guys I’ve seen on that show.

“No ninja,” he says.

Recognition hits me. “Oh, you mean like a soldier?”

“Yes. Precisely. I am a soldier.”

Again, I run my fingers over some scars. “You’ve seen battle then?”

“Many battles.”

I go about cleaning the worst injury–the one that he says he already had. “I’m sorry he did all this to you. And I’m sorry you didn’t think you could fight back.” I clean off most of the blood, but more seeps into the wound. It’s been sealed with some kind of stitching I don’t recognize, though I’m no nurse.

I move on to examine the newer injury on his shoulder, a spot where it looks like Brandon dug the sharp end of the tire iron into his arm. “I should probably call you an ambulance.”

He grabs my wrist to stop my movement, then tilts my chin so I meet his gaze. “No ambulance. I am fine. You are tending to my injuries better than any professional could.”

“But he stabbed you! And beat you with a tire iron.”