Operation: Marauder
Chapter 17

Ignoring the flames bursting to life behind her, Zoey pushed forward, down the alleyway. People jumped back in surprise and her purple friends yelled at her to stop. She didn’t. She shoved whoever she needed to shove to get as much distance between her and the purple duo. She found her way back onto the street the front of the tent faced, remembered which way she came, and followed down the street-

A purple alien she didn’t recognize but was clearly working with the other two jumped in front of her. She couldn’t stop in time. They grabbed her shoulders and threw her down into the mud. A leer spread across their face as they towered over her.

They didn’t seem to notice her hot, glowing knife at all. She rammed it into their calf. Crying out, they stumbled back until they fell. Out of breath and terrified out of her mind, Zoey hopped to her feet and ran again.

More shouts called after her. The street was wide open, nowhere for her to duck and run. It was only a matter of time before they caught her.

Their footfalls grew louder behind her.

She strained to replace anything that could get her out of this. A weapon. A place she could hide. Someone who might help her.

Everyone watched in amusement as she ran for her life; in the back of her mind she wondered what kind of place this was and how often people tried to escape from this exact scenario. The sun was nearly set, only torches lighting her way.

A purple hand grabbed her, plucking her off the ground as if she weighed nothing. This one was much bigger than the others, a tower of muscle. They sneered at her as she struggled in their grasp, feet dangling helplessly in the air.

“Let me go!” she croaked, clawing at their forearm.

Then they did--when a bullet went through their brain. With no warning, she didn’t have time to catch herself, and she fell in the mud. All she could do was stare at the green blood trickling out of the alien’s head.

Suddenly, Rowan was at her side. She had never been so happy to see a familiar face and threw her arms around him. He picked her up as easily as the purple mountain had and darted into the nearest side street. No sooner had he set her down, the purple goons ran past them in search of her.

In relief and partly out of exhaustion, she sagged back against one of the two the stone walls they hid between. There was barely enough room for them to breathe, and Rowan had to lean over her to make the best of the space. The heat of his body chased the cool, damp air away.

He laid a warm hand on her cheek; her gaze flitted up to those purple eyes, glowing in the near-dark surrounding them and was surprised by a whirlwind of emotions inside them. “Are you hurt?” he rasped. He almost sounded pained.

“No,” she dismissed instantly. “Are-”

She never got the chance to ask him if he was hurt; his mouth captured hers. It wasn’t a gentle, reassuring kiss, either. It was hungry, demanding for more, prying her mouth open for him to explore.

Zoey knew now probably wasn’t the time to be making out with a gorgeous alien in a dark alleyway, but the hormones that had been raging inside her since she first met him took over. She had never wanted a man more in her life.

This was a bad idea. Not only could it get them killed, Rowan wasn’t sure he would be able to stop now that he had started. Her lips were so soft, her hands gentle as they tangled themselves in his hair. He had been aching all week for this woman’s body, and now here she was on a foreign planet, wedged between him and a wall, so tender, so lavish. All his for the taking.

This is a bad idea. He didn’t know her intentions. For all he knew, she was just grateful to see him after being chased by Laxithorians. Caught up in his moment of weakness. She was probably still pissed at him for avoiding her while she was left alone and afraid in Jack’s room.

Since he clearly wasn’t in enough control to pull away from her--in fact, he stepped closer, held her against him--the universe popped the little happy bubble that had surrounded them. A laser bullet grazed his side. The intense pain pulled him away from Zoey.

Grunting, he turned, being mindful to stay in front of her. A laser bullet to the side wasn’t much to him, but to her it had the potential to kill her. He spotted four very angry Laxithorians running their way.

He cursed their nocturnal instincts and pushed Zoey deeper into the alleyway. His eyes weren’t as good as a Laxithorian's at night, but they were good enough to see the end of the alley and that it came out onto a smaller street.

“No matter what happens, don’t let go of me,” he told her, moving her hands to his belt. Once he was confident she had a solid grip, he held his gun in both hands and moved them to take cover behind a vendor stall and waited.

He shot the first Lax to come through the alley. It was enough for the others to back off and try a different route.

While they were rotating, Rowan urged Zoey into a run down the street. He had to give her credit; even when she was terrified and had clearly been running for a while, she was fast and followed his directions to the letter.

When the Laxithorians tried to cut them off and Rowan told her to duck, she dropped to the ground, while he unloaded a clip into the two. When it was clear, she was on her feet and gripping his belt again. He took her down a busier street, using the crowd for cover. As they passed food stalls, he made sure they were close enough to hide in a veil of their scents. If they were lucky, it would be enough to throw the Laxes off their trail. If it wasn’t, he purposely bumped into people, passing their scent on to others to confuse their trackers.

Finally, just when he was starting to feel the wound in his side, they lost their pursuers. Rowan leaned back against a wall and sent a silent thanks to the Architect.

Zoey gasped.

His eyes flew wide, claws ready, searching for the threat. Her eyes were on his wound.

“You’ve been shot, Rowan!”

“Hush,” he warned her. Now was not the time to be warmed by her compassion. He had to get them to the Marauder alive first. “I’m fine. I think we lost them, but we need to keep moving.”

He took her hand and pulled her back into the streets. As they passed someone’s house, he swiped a shawl and draped it over her head. The Laxes hadn’t gotten a good look at him, but Zoey was easily recognizable by her pale skin and small frame. And the Arthonian jacket.

He frowned at it, trying to ignore how much he liked seeing her in Arthonian colours. The blue deepened the colour of her eyes, reminding him of Yarris, an ocean planet where the suns seem to never set because they were on different rotations.

“Where did you get that?” he demanded, snapping himself out of his thoughts.

She glanced down at the jacket and shrugged. “I took it from one of the quarters,” she admitted unabashedly.

“You took it from my quarters,” he corrected her, gesturing to the rank on the shoulder.

“I guess this is yours too, then.” She flippantly handed him his plasma sword while in its sheathed form--as if she couldn’t cut his hand off if she accidentally pressed the button.

“Don’t wave it around like that,” he snapped, taking it from her. “Always hand it over like this.” He held the hilt in his palm, keeping his fingers clear of the button, as he passed it over. “This button here will unsheath the knife. Press it again and it’ll become a sword.”

She paused in the middle of taking it back, her gaze locking onto him. Wonderment was in her eyes, but all Rowan could think about was how she would look at him as he thrust deep inside her.

Get your head out of the gutter. You’re not safe yet.

“You’re kidding me. Lightsabers are a thing?” She quickly pressed the button twice and gawked at the plasma blade that shot out of the hilt.

“It’s a plasma sword,” he explained. “I wasn’t aware humans have similar weapons.” It would have been nice to know. He quite liked his plasma sword, but didn’t want to lose it to the humans so he had hidden this technology from them.

“We don’t,” Zoey said with a frown. “It’s from a movie. . . . Do you want it back?” She pressed the button a third time, returning the blade back to the hilt.

“No.” Doing his best to not touch her hand--and be reminded of the softness of her skin--he pushed the hilt toward her when she offered it to him. “Keep it.”

If anyone was going to have it, he wanted it to be Zoey. The plasma will cut through any Wraythe that wished her harm--or any male that dared to lay a hand on his female.

Grinning like he had given her a sentimental gift rather than a weapon, she tucked the hilt back into its sheathe. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

They fell into silence. Rowan’s hand itched to hold hers, to keep her close in case they were attacked again. And for the sake of holding someone so warm and soft in his arms.

Focus on the mission.

Right. Now was not the time to be staring at Zoey’s ass, fantasizing about slapping it as he took her from behind. They hadn’t reached the Marauder yet. They weren’t safe. He only had one day left of Fever then he could appreciate other things that weren’t sex.

Having Zoey on the ship with them, it was going to be a long twenty-four hours.

“So, uh, you’re an alien,” Zoey surmised with a frown. “An Arthonian?”

“How’d you know?” Rowan was genuinely surprised she had guessed his species so accurately, since she knew so little.

“Those purple guys said this was an Arthonian jacket. They didn’t seem to think I should have been able to steal it from you.” The notion set a hard scowl in her features, as if it bothered her. “They knew I wasn’t an Arthonian, because apparently your females are big and strong.” Her scowl deepened.

“In my culture, the stronger you are, the more attractive you are,” he explained to her patiently. He peered around the flat lands for anyone who might be sneaking up on them, but unless their attacker was cloaked, he was growing more confident that they were safe.

Zoey didn’t seem to like what he said and turned her gaze away from him. He didn’t know why; she was one of the strongest females he had come across. Sure, she couldn’t lift a boulder over her head like the females back home could, but she had come face to face with two species that would have otherwise killed her if she hadn’t been so resourceful and tenacious. If that wasn’t strength, he didn’t know what was.

They made it to the edge of town undetected and back to the ship with even less hassle.

“Where is everyone?” Zoey asked, warily peering around the halls of the ship. Rightfully so. Rowan imagined Jack was going to give her an earful. It was why Rowan was holding back. She didn’t need to be yelled at by everyone. That, and right now if he let his rage take the reins, there was no holding back and he wasn’t sure what he would do to her in his Fever. So he remained distant, giving her the shortest answers to avoid thinking about the mess Mave and she had made and the dangers they faced.

“Searching for you,” Rowan grunted as he went down the ladder for the Med Bay. Zoey followed. “Our comms aren’t working, so we split up and decided to meet back here. They’ll be back in an hour or so.”

The hallway between the ladder and the Med Bay was longer than Rowan remembered it. Zoey’s scent filled his nose. His body burned to claim what was his.

Except she wasn’t his, but, by the Architect, was it hard to convince his erection of that when her hand brushed over his as he passed her to open the door. He went through first, not wishing to risk touching her again and gathered a few medical supplies. His wound hadn’t healed yet--laser bullets never did agree with his skin--and it had opened during their walk here. His shirt was drenched in blood.

All Zoey could do was stare at him. Her mouth was slightly open, daring him to kiss her again, eyes intent on his wound, but he hadn’t missed the quick glances at his erection.

He couldn’t take it. Not when he was in pain and focusing on not swearing and kicking things. He thrust a finger at the shower rooms. “Go clean yourself up. You’re getting mud everywhere.”

She bit her lip shut, hard eyes lifting up to meet his gaze. She didn’t say a word. Didn’t have to. It was very clear she didn’t appreciate his tone or apathy. She marched straight for the showers and slammed the door shut behind her.