Page 11 of Tamed by the Alien Warlord

LANZ

T he blast doors don’t even slow me down.

I slam into them at full sprint, blade raised, fury boiling beneath my skin. Steel shrieks under the weight of my body and the force of my hate. I carve a burning line through the reinforced panel and kick it in. On the other side, four guards barely have time to shout before I’m on them.

The first one loses his face to my blade.

The second gets a knee to the gut so hard his spine pops.

The third raises a plasma rifle—I grab the barrel, twist, and use it to club the fourth into the wall. Bones crack. Screams echo. Blood paints the corridor.

I don’t stop.

Behind me, Georgia and her sister stumble forward, holding onto each other. Jasmine’s weak. Georgia’s exhausted. I see her eyes flick to the growing red stain on my side.

I ignore it.

Because the only thing that matters is getting them out.

Another squad rounds the corner. A volley of laser fire lights up the corridor. I roar and dive forward, intercepting the blasts. Searing pain punches through my torso, sears along my thigh, rakes across my arm. I’m smoking. Bleeding. Cooked from the inside out.

Still standing.

I leap through the barrage and slam into the nearest shooter.

His armor caves under my claws. I tear his rifle away and shoot the next two point-blank.

The last tries to retreat. I throw the empty rifle at his head—it cracks his visor—and then I run him through with the bone spur from my forearm. He convulses. Dies.

Georgia catches up to me, dragging Jasmine, breathing like she’s about to collapse.

“Lanz!” she shouts, eyes wild.

I turn.

Her gaze falls to my ruined body.

Smoke wafts off my wounds. My armor is half-melted. Blood—black and steaming—pools beneath me. But her eyes aren’t filled with horror.

Not only horror, anyway.

There’s something else.

Something darker. Hotter.

Fascination.

She’s aroused.

Even now.

Especially now.

She sees me as I am—Reaper-born, bone-split, savage—and instead of running, she stares like she wants me.

She’s perfect.

The perfect mate.

More guards. A dozen this time. I reach for my sidearm?—

Gone. Empty.

No time to reload.

Fine.

I roar and charge.

Claws out. Bone spurs slicing from my knuckles. I move like a beast unchained. The first man falls with his throat opened from ear to ear. The second’s helmet shatters under my fist. Shrapnel lodges in my leg—I rip it out and stab the next one in the eye.

Blood slicks my boots. My wounds scream.

I fight harder.

The last three close in together—tight formation. One goes for my legs, another aims for my back. I drop low, sweep out, and impale two with the same upward stab. The third backs away—too late. I tackle him and tear out his throat with my teeth.

Silence follows.

I’m the last one standing.

Barely.

I turn to Georgia. My mate. She’s trembling, mouth parted, eyes alight with something feral. She’s shaking.

“Y-you’re insane,” she whispers.

“Still want to kiss me?” I rasp, blood dripping from my jaw.

She doesn’t answer.

But her pupils dilate.

I grin through the pain.

We move.

My steps are dragging now. Every breath is knives. The burns are deep. Too deep. I’m losing blood faster than my body can patch itself.

We reach the access point for the emergency chute.

The hangar doors are sealed.

I kneel—barely—pull a device from my belt.

A detonator.

“Take this,” I tell Georgia. “Set it here. It’ll blow the door and clear the path. Aim high—the lock core’s at the top.”

She takes it, eyes wide. “Why can’t you set it?”

I smile, tired. “Because if I kneel again, I might not get back up.”

“Then don’t kneel,” she snaps. “Get out with us.”

I lean closer, brushing her cheek with my knuckles. “That’s the plan. But if something happens—if I fall—you get her out. Do you understand me?”

Her eyes go glassy. Her hands shake. “I didn’t survive this far just to lose you now.”

“You won’t,” I promise.

I kiss her.

It’s not gentle.

It’s everything we are—blood and fire and fury and fate. She clutches my armor, lips hot and desperate, and kisses me like she’s trying to defy death with just her mouth.

“Don’t die,” she whispers against my lips.

“I wouldn’t dare,” I whisper back.

Behind us, klaxons wail.

And I’m still standing.

For now.