Page 4

I woke to the mechanical hiss of something opening above me, cold air rushing across my face like the breath of a machine.

My eyelids felt heavy, weighted with exhaustion and remnants of strange dreams that slipped away even as I tried to grasp them.

Dreams of golden sand and strong hands and pleasure so intense it bordered on pain.

The last thing I remembered was collapsing in an alien desert under twin suns.

Everything after that was darkness punctuated by flashes of gold—gold eyes, gold skin, gold heat.

Reality returned in unwelcome fragments. The hard surface beneath me, cool against my skin. The steady beep of unfamiliar equipment. The antiseptic smell that reminded me of hospitals and made my nose wrinkle in automatic distaste.

When I finally forced my eyes open, the world was too bright, too sharp.

I blinked furiously, tears forming at the corners of my eyes as they adjusted to the clinical light.

A metal ceiling swam into focus, followed by curved walls that reminded me of a submarine’s interior—compact, utilitarian, designed for function over comfort.

And then I saw him.

He stood at the foot of whatever bed-like contraption I was lying on, arms crossed over a chest so broad it seemed to defy basic human proportions. Because he wasn’t human. That much was immediately, jarringly clear.

His skin was a burnished copper, covered in distinctive markings that reminded me of a cheetah’s spots, only more geometric, more deliberate.

They swirled down his bare arms and disappeared beneath the waistband of what looked like military-issue pants.

His face was...God, his face. Features too sharp to be human, too symmetrical to be anything but beautiful in an alien, predatory way.

High cheekbones. Strong jaw. A mouth that seemed permanently set in a grim line.

But it was his eyes that stopped my breath. Gold—pure, molten gold—with vertical pupils that contracted slightly as they fixed on mine. They glowed faintly, like a cat’s caught in headlights, and held an intelligence that sent a chill down my spine.

I did what any rational person would do when waking up to find themselves being watched by a seven-foot-tall cat man on an alien planet.

I screamed.

The sound tore from my throat, raw and primal. I scrambled backward until my spine hit something solid, pulling my knees to my chest in a futile attempt at protection. My heart hammered against my ribs like it was trying to break free.

The alien didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink. Just stared at me with those impossible eyes, his expression utterly unreadable.

“What the fuck?” I gasped when my scream finally died away. “What the actual fuck are you?”

No response. Not even a twitch. Just that steady, unnerving gaze.

I swallowed hard, trying to force my brain into some semblance of rational thought. I was alive. That was good. I wasn’t lying dead in the alien desert. Also good. I appeared to be in some kind of medical facility. Still in the plus column, considering the state I’d been in when I passed out.

But I was also trapped in a room with what looked like a reject from the Thundercats who’d somehow stepped out of my childhood TV screen and into three-dimensional, terrifyingly muscular reality.

“Where am I?” I demanded, my voice steadier than I felt. When he still didn’t respond, I tried again. “Who are you? Why do you look like a GQ cover model mated with a big cat?”

His nostrils flared slightly—the first reaction I’d gotten from him.

Then he turned away, moving with a predatory grace that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

He walked to a panel on the wall, all sleek muscle and contained power, and pressed a series of buttons.

The lights dimmed slightly, and I heard the distant rumble of machinery somewhere beyond the walls.

My stomach chose that moment to growl loudly, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten since...I couldn’t remember when. Before stepping through the portal, certainly. Before waking up on an alien world with twin suns and lethal heat.

“I asked you a question,” I said, louder this time, trying to ignore the way my voice cracked. “Actually, I asked three.”

He turned back to me, and when he finally spoke, his voice was deeper than I expected—a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through the air between us, rough-edged and undeniably masculine.

“You are not to leave this shelter.”

I blinked, caught off guard by both the sound of his voice and the abrupt command. “Excuse me?”

“There is a storm,” he said, each word precise and clipped, as if human speech was uncomfortable for him. “You will not survive it.”

Oh, perfect. Trapped in a bunker with a hot alien warden who spoke in sentences shorter than a tweet. The absurdity of my situation hit me all at once, and I had to swallow a hysterical laugh.

I pushed myself to my feet, determined to at least face him standing. The room swayed alarmingly, and I grabbed the edge of the medical table to steady myself. My limbs felt simultaneously heavy and weightless, like I was moving through water.

“Great,” I said, aiming for sarcastic but landing somewhere closer to breathless. “So I just stay here? No phone, no signal, no clue how I got to... wherever this is?”

He stepped closer, his movements so fluid they almost seemed choreographed. I instinctively backed up, my spine hitting the wall behind me. In the confined space, he seemed even larger—a wall of muscle and alien otherness that made my heart race for reasons I wasn’t ready to examine.

“You stepped through something not meant for you,” he said, his tone flat but his eyes intense. “Now you are here. And until the storm passes, you remain.”

I hated how his voice affected me—low, gritty, and just this side of sinful.

I also hated how those ridiculous shoulders filled the doorway like a walking wall of temptation.

He was close enough now that I could see the texture of his skin, the subtle variations in the copper tones, the way his markings seemed to shift with his breathing.

“You could at least tell me your name, Fuzzy McGrowls,” I said, falling back on sarcasm as my default defense mechanism.

That earned me a raised eyebrow—a strangely human expression on his alien features. The corner of his mouth twitched, just barely, and I felt an absurd sense of victory at having provoked even that tiny reaction.

But still no name. Still no real answers.

Fine. I could play the waiting game too. For now.

I moved away from the wall, trying to ignore the way my legs trembled, and sat on the edge of the low cot that occupied one corner of the room.

I crossed my arms over my chest, suddenly aware that I was wearing different clothes than I remembered—a simple gray jumpsuit-like garment that wasn’t mine.

“You might’ve kidnapped me, but at least you have great lighting and sexy bone structure,” I said, letting my gaze travel deliberately over his face, his chest, his arms.

Another blink. Still nothing.

I sighed dramatically. “Look, I get it. Strong, silent type. Very sexy. Very intimidating. But I’m going to need some answers eventually. Like, where exactly am I? What planet? What system? How did I get here? How do I get home? You know, the basics.”

He remained motionless for a long moment, then turned and walked to what appeared to be a storage unit built into the wall.

He opened it, removed something, and returned to stand before me.

He held out a container that looked vaguely like a water bottle, only made of some material I didn’t recognize.

“Drink,” he ordered.

I hesitated, eying the container suspiciously. “What is it?”

“Water. Electrolytes.” He pushed it closer to me. “You need hydration.”

I took it cautiously, unscrewing the cap and sniffing the contents.

It smelled like nothing, which was either a good sign or a very bad one.

My thirst won out over caution. I took a small sip, then a larger one when the cool liquid hit my parched throat.

It tasted vaguely sweet, almost like coconut water but cleaner, and instantly made me feel more alert.

“Thanks,” I said grudgingly after I’d drained half the bottle.

He nodded once, then moved to a small console near the door. He tapped something on a screen, and suddenly one of the blank walls lit up with what looked like a weather map—swirling patterns of orange and red moving across a digital landscape.

“The storm,” he said, gesturing toward the display. “Sixteen hours remaining. Minimum.”

I stared at the screen, trying to make sense of the data. “Sixteen hours until... what? Until I can leave? Until someone comes to get me? Until you finally explain what the hell is going on?”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “Until communication is possible. Until extraction can be arranged.”

“Extraction?” That didn’t sound promising. “Am I a tooth now? A resource to be mined? Or just an inconvenient human who landed where she shouldn’t have?”

A low sound rumbled from his chest—not quite a growl, not quite a sigh. “You are an anomaly. Unauthorized presence in a quarantine zone. Protocol dictates?—”

“Oh my god, you actually do talk,” I interrupted, leaning forward. “Complete sentences and everything. Let’s try this again: Who are you? What’s your name? Where am I? And why do you look like you walked straight out of a sci-fi convention’s wet dream?”

He crossed his arms again, muscles flexing in a way that momentarily distracted me. “Rhaekar Onca. Legion Reaper. You are on D-7, colloquially known as The Burn. Restricted access. Level One quarantine.”

Rhaekar. The name struck a chord somewhere deep in my subconscious, like I’d heard it before. Maybe in my dreams during unconsciousness? And “The Burn”—well, that seemed appropriately ominous for a planet with twin suns and lethal temperatures.

“Legion Reaper,” I repeated. “That sounds...friendly. Very warm and fuzzy. Definitely not terrifying at all.”

His expression didn’t change, but something flickered in those golden eyes. “It is not meant to be...friendly.”

“No kidding.” I finished the water and set the container aside.

“Look, Rhaekar—can I call you Rhae? No? Okay, Rhaekar it is. I didn’t exactly plan this little interplanetary vacation.

One minute I was in the Sahara, following a lead for my podcast. The next minute I’m touching some weird alien tech and falling through what I’m guessing was a portal or wormhole or whatever you want to call it.

And then I’m waking up here with you looming over me like some kind of sexy grim reaper. Cut me some slack.”

“Slack,” he repeated, as if testing the word. Then, to my surprise, his posture relaxed slightly. “You were dying when I found you. Heat exposure. Radiation. Dehydration.”

I blinked, processing this. “You...saved me?”

A short nod.

“Well. Thank you for that.” I ran a hand through my hair, wincing when my fingers caught in tangles. “Though I’m still not clear on why you were there to find me in the first place. Or why this place is quarantined. Or how I’m supposed to get home.”

Rhaekar moved to a small table on the other side of the room and returned with something that looked like a protein bar, only it was blue and faintly luminescent. He held it out to me.

“Eat. Then rest. Questions later.”

I took the bar reluctantly. “Is this going to turn me into a Smurf? Because I have to say, blue isn’t really my color.”

The corner of his mouth twitched again—almost a smile, but not quite. Progress.

I unwrapped the bar and took a tentative bite. It tasted better than it looked—something between almonds and vanilla, with a hint of cinnamon. My stomach growled again, reminding me how hungry I was, and I devoured the rest in three bites.

“So,” I said after swallowing the last mouthful. “Sixteen hours trapped in here with you. Whatever shall we do to pass the time? Twenty questions? Truth or dare? Naked Twister?”

That got me a full-on blink of surprise, his pupils contracting to thin slits before expanding again. I grinned, oddly pleased to have finally rattled him.

“You will rest,” he said, his voice even deeper than before. “Your body requires recovery.”

“Fine, fine. All business, no pleasure. I get it.” I stretched, wincing at the stiffness in my muscles. “But just so you know, I’m not great at following orders. Never have been. It’s kind of my thing.”

For the first time, something like amusement crossed his features—a slight softening around his eyes, a barely perceptible quirk of his lips. “I gathered that.”

I laughed, surprised by the dry humor in his tone. “Oh, so the cat alien does have a personality buried under all that brooding intensity. Good to know.”

He didn’t respond, but he didn’t move away either.

He just watched me with those impossible eyes, studying me like I was a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve.

The intensity of his gaze should have made me uncomfortable, but instead it sent a different kind of heat through me—one that had nothing to do with desert suns or radiation exposure.

“Can I at least get a tour of my stylish new prison?” I asked, gesturing around the small medical bay. “Or am I confined to this room?”

Rhaekar considered this for a moment, then nodded once. “Follow. Do not touch anything.”

He turned and walked toward the door, his movements still unnervingly graceful for someone his size. I stood and followed, curiosity temporarily overriding my fear and confusion.

Whatever had happened, however I’d ended up here, I was stuck for the next sixteen hours minimum. With an alien who looked like he’d walked straight out of my most secret fantasies, who spoke like each word cost him credits, and who had apparently saved my life.

There were worse situations to be in. Probably.

“Lead on, Thundercat,” I muttered under my breath as I followed him through the doorway. “Let’s see what kind of mess I’ve landed myself in this time.”