3
ASTRA
“ W hat am I doing, what am I doing, what am I doing?” Astra chanted to herself as she raced across the beach.
“Do I even have a plan? Fuck no. I don’t even have a weapon.”
This was supposed to be a peaceful summit between alien races, a negotiation that most definitely was not supposed to involve explosions and anti-human terrorists shooting at them.
God, but she just wanted to go home.
Except that wasn’t an option.
“Female,” a cranky-sounding Des bellowed behind her.
“Stop! This is not safe.”
“No shit, Sherlock,” she yelled over her shoulder, scooping up a thick piece of driftwood on the way.
“But I have to help.”
She didn’t slow down as she approached the line of tents.
Many of them had collapsed beneath the barrage and although they looked to be of a sturdy fabric, none of them were on fire.
Interesting , she thought, then shook her head.
Nope.
Stay focused.
Don’t let your curiosity distract you.
Again .
Swinging her driftwood like a bat, she cracked it over the head of an alien with acid yellow hair pointing a weapon at one of her crewmates.
A massive being — one Astra recognized from the group of aliens they were supposed to meet — scooped her teammate into his arms.
He gave Astra a sharp nod as he stuck something on the woman’s face and disappeared beneath the waves with her.
Still clutching her makeshift weapon, she paused, trying to decipher the chaos of smoke and explosions, when muscular arms wrapped around her, taking her captive.
With a screech, she threw her head back and rammed it against her assailant’s nose with a crunch of cartilage, fighting with all her might.
“Great fucking depths, it’s me. Stop struggling,” Des growled, his words oddly muffled.
Her body relaxed at the sound of a familiar voice.
“Des. I thought you were one of those terrorist aliens.”
As if to acknowledge that her reaction wasn’t an overreaction, a nearby explosion kicked up an eruption of sand.
She flinched and twisted around in his arms to see blood dripping from his nose.
“Oh, god,” she gasped, a hand going to her mouth.
“I’m so sorry.”
He grinned, bright red staining sharp white teeth.
“Nice shot, sweetheart. Pretty sure that hard head of yours broke it.”
She tried to respond with a witty comeback, but all that emerged was a little eep of pain.
“Astra?” he said, shifting his stance so he could better see her face.
Pain radiated from her lower back, just below her ribs.
“Ow,” she managed to say.
She touched her side, her fingers coming away wet with blood.
“Fuck, you’re hurt,” he said, scooping her up in his arms.
“Gunnar, retreat with cover fire. Shoot anyone who gets too close in the head.”
It hurt to breathe.
She coughed, a spray of red staining his once-pristine white shirt.
“There’s a med kit in the capsule.”
But he didn’t turn back towards her ship.
In fact, he picked up speed, racing over the dunes like his life depended on it.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
She wanted to tell him to turn around, to patch her up and help the others, but it was as if all the strength was draining out of her.
Her survival training told her there was a high probability that she was bleeding out.
Add in her difficulty breathing, it was likely that she had a punctured lung.
Des looked down at her, his handsome face pinched with worry.
For her?
But he barely knew her.
Probably didn’t even want humans living on his planet, much less in his territory.
So what was with the sudden concern?
“Hang on, my brave mate,” he said, carrying her aboard a sleek little ship that looked like a fancy private jet.
“I’ve got you. I’ll take care of you.”
She stared up at him, her brow crinkling.
Mate ?
she thought.
And then she passed the fuck out.
It seemed the right thing to do.