Page 5 of Hunted By Khor (Alien Mate Hunt #1)

The oasis shouldn't exist.

Two days I've been stumbling through this hellscape, finding nothing but sulfur-tainted springs that burn my throat and dried creek beds filled with the bones of things I don't want to identify.

My lips are split open, bleeding despite the tonic's healing properties.

Sand has worked its way into every joint, every fold of skin, grinding me raw with each step.

The suit is destroyed—more suggestion than clothing, held together by sweat and desperation.

And now this—a perfect circle of clear water surrounded by those strange metallic plants, their leaves catching light like chrome but bending soft in the wind.

The leaves overlap to create actual shade, the temperature beneath them probably twenty degrees cooler.

The water is so clear I can see the bottom, volcanic rock worn smooth as glass by centuries of flow.

No sulfur smell. No questionable floating things.

Just clean, pure water that makes my dehydrated body scream with need.

It's absolutely, obviously, definitely a trap.

But I'm beyond caring.

Three days without real water. Three days of the tonic working through my system, changing me, making me need things I shouldn't need.

The physical changes are obvious now—my skin has that subtle shimmer, catching light wrong.

My nails are harder, longer, with an iridescent sheen like oil on water. And between my legs...

Between my legs is a constant, humiliating disaster.

The tonic has turned me into exactly what they promised—a creature in permanent heat.

The need builds constantly, an ache that goes deeper than physical discomfort.

My body produces responses I don't want, reactions that follow me everywhere.

The smell of my own arousal mingles with sweat and desert dust.

I circle the pool three times, looking for signs of him. The sand around it is unmarked—but wind could have erased prints. The metallic plants show no broken branches. Even the water sits perfectly still, surface like a mirror reflecting the orange sky.

Too perfect. Too convenient.

I strip anyway. The fabric tears like wet paper, destroyed by sweat and sand and those thorny plants I pushed through yesterday.

My boots are the worst—completely full of that obsidian sand that's ground my feet bloody.

When I pull them off, skin comes with them, my socks fused to the wounds.

The pain is sharp, clean, almost a relief from the constant ache elsewhere.

The first touch of water on my ruined feet makes me moan. Out loud. The sound echoes off the rocks, announcing my position to anything listening. Don't care. The relief is too intense.

I wade deeper, and the water is the perfect temperature. Not cold enough to shock, not warm enough to be unpleasant. Just cool enough to soothe sun-scorched skin. The bottom slopes gradually—no sharp edges, no hidden drops. Designed for safety. Designed to lure someone exactly like me.

When the water reaches my thighs, I have to stop. The mineral content makes it tingle against my skin, and where I'm oversensitive, it's almost too much. But I force myself deeper, gasping as the coolness reaches my core. The relief makes me clench involuntarily.

I duck under completely, letting it wash the accumulated filth from my hair, behind my ears, between my breasts.

My hands run over my body underwater, cataloguing damage.

Scraped knees from falling. Bruised ribs from scrambling through rocks.

Thorn scratches across my back. And between my legs, tissue swollen and sensitive from constant need.

Under the water, I spread my legs slightly, letting the coolness soothe that relentless ache. Just that small relief makes me sigh with something approaching contentment.

“Enjoying yourself, little female?”

I don't startle. Some part of me knew he was here. Has been waiting for this.

He stands at the pool's edge like he materialized from the stone itself.

Probably did—those crimson scales would blend perfectly with the volcanic rock when he's still.

He's not trying to hide his body's response to my presence.

The obvious signs of arousal create suggestions beneath those leather wrappings.

“It's adequate.”

“Adequate.” He tilts his head at that impossible angle. “Your scent suggests you find it more than adequate. You've been soaking in my pheromones for several minutes now.”

“Your—” I look at the water with new understanding. “The entire pool?”

“I've been marking this territory for years. Every surface you've touched, every breath you've taken since entering this oasis, is saturated with my scent markers. The water especially.”

The implication makes my stomach flip. I'm bathing in water he's claimed. Marked. My skin has been absorbing his pheromones through every pore.

Should disgust me. Instead, my core clenches hard enough to hurt, my body responding despite my mind's protests. His nostrils flare immediately, those yellow-orange eyes darkening.

“The tonic has made you wonderfully receptive. You're responding even faster than anticipated.”

“Go to hell.”

“I'd rather educate you. Eventually. But first, you need to understand what your body is telling you.”

He wades into the pool still dressed. The leather darkens immediately, clinging to muscles that shouldn't exist on any humanoid frame. Each movement shows different muscle groups flexing. His abdomen is segmented with scales that move independently, creating a hypnotic ripple effect.

He stops just out of reach, but his body heat radiates through the water. Alien metabolism burning hotter than human, turning him into a furnace. The water between us actually warms from his presence.

“Three days you've been running.” He circles me slowly, predator sizing up prey. “Three nights you've been trying to find relief that won't come.”

Heat floods my face because he's right. Every night, desperate attempts that bring me close but never over the edge. My body refuses to respond fully to anything but the specific stimulation it's been programmed to crave.

“Your body knows what it needs. Only I can provide it.”

His hand shoots out faster than thought, grips my throat. Not choking, just possessing. His palm covers my entire throat, fingers wrapping around to the back of my neck. His thumb finds my pulse—no, pulses. Pressing against rhythms that shouldn't exist.

“Two hearts already. Nearly three. Your body is changing to survive here. To accept what I'm going to give you.”

His other hand moves under the water. I think he's going to touch me where I need it most. But his hand hovers inches from my core, close enough to feel the heat but not making contact. The water current from his hand's movement creates the ghost of a touch that makes me whimper.

“Ask me.”

“No.”

“Ask me to touch you. Your body is screaming for it.”

He's right. My hips are trying to move forward without my permission, seeking contact. My muscles clench repeatedly, trying to grasp something that isn't there. But I won't beg. Not yet.

“Then I'll make you ask.”