Page 10 of Tamed by the Alien Warlord
GEORGIA
T he scientist never hears me coming.
I grab the metal stool from beside a tray of gas canisters and swing it with everything I’ve got. It connects with a crack loud enough to echo across the lab. His skull caves in, and he crumples over the control panel like a sack of garbage.
“Sorry,” I pant, trembling. “Guess I’m not cut out for pacifism.”
Jasmine’s still thrashing, her body arching in pain under the straps. The gas mask clings to her face like a parasite. Her eyes flutter—drugged, dazed—but there’s panic in them. I lunge for the control panel and slam buttons without knowing what they do.
Something hisses.
The restraints release.
I tear the mask away. Jasmine gasps for air like she’s drowning, and I catch her in my arms as she collapses against me.
“Flo,” I whisper, voice cracking. “Oh my God. Jasmine, it’s me.”
She blinks at me, pupils dilated. “Georgia?”
Hearing her say my name wrecks me.
I press my face into her neck, holding her like a lifeline. I don’t care about the blood or the stink of chemicals or the alarm klaxons blaring overhead. I have her.
After all this time— I have her.
I sob. Just once. Just long enough to let the tears fall. Then I pull it together and wrap her in a discarded lab coat.
“You’re freezing. Can you walk?”
“I… think so,” she whispers.
“Good. We’re leaving.”
We stagger through the lab, half-running, half-dragging. Her steps are clumsy. Every few feet she stumbles. I keep her upright with pure force of will. The exits are burned into my memory. I retrace our path toward the service lifts—but that’s when he finds us.
Dr. Nakamura.
He’s flanked by four security guards, each clad in riot gear, weapons raised and gleaming.
Nakamura stares at us with cold calculation—but something else flickers in his eyes. Fear.
Because behind me, there’s smoke.
And through the haze, a shadow moves.
“Step away from the asset,” Nakamura snaps, but his voice cracks. He takes a step forward—and stops. A dark stain spreads down the front of his immaculate pants.
Oh, I think with grim satisfaction. He pissed himself.
And then Lanz comes through the wall.
Not through the door. Not the ceiling. The wall.
It explodes inward with an earsplitting crash, smoke and dust billowing like a storm. The first thing I see is the glint of his bone spurs. The second is his eyes—molten silver, burning with violence.
Lanz doesn’t pause.
He moves like a demon set loose from hell.
One Reaper punch sends a guard flying. Another’s throat is slit before he even lifts his gun. The third tries to run—Lanz impales him mid-turn. The fourth guard shoots. The blast glances off Lanz’s armor with a spark. Lanz throws him bodily into the ceiling. The man crashes down in a heap.
It’s over in seconds.
Carnage in the shape of a man.
Nakamura bolts.
“Coward!” I shout, but I’m not chasing him.
Because I have something more precious in my arms.
Lanz turns to us. Blood streaks his chestplate. His claws are wet. His breathing is heavy.
Jasmine freezes. Her eyes widen, body tensing.
She’s afraid.
I step between them. “It’s okay,” I say. “He’s with me.”
Lanz growls low. “You mean I’m your slave.”
Then he grabs a handful of my ass and kisses me like he’s claiming territory.
And damn me—I kiss him back.
When we break apart, my lips are tingling, my breath gone.
“You came for me,” I murmur.
“You’re mine,” he says. “Of course I did.”
Behind me, Jasmine makes a confused squeaking sound. I pull her into the hug. She nestles between us like a ghost slowly waking up from a nightmare.
“This is insane,” she whispers.
“I know,” I whisper back. “And I’m so glad you’re here.”
And the strangest part?
I owe it all to Lanz.
The Reaper who kidnapped me.
The warlord who collared me.
Fate, it turns out, has one hell of a sense of humor