The Runaway Alien (The Lost Planet 9)

He rushes out of my rooms and I set to breaking the pod in two. I gag at the horrible smell. Trying not to get any on my fingers—because it rekking lingers for several solars—I gently drop the liquid onto his wound.

“What kind of rogshite are you putting on me?” Hadrian groans, attempting to swat my hands away. “That’s rekking disgusting.”

“Shut your mouth, mortling,” I grumble. “I’m saving you.”

“By destroying my nostrils?”

Ignoring him, I pour the last of the rancid-smelling paste on his wound. Then, I leave him to grab some cloth to press against it. He growls in pain when I push on it, but I need for it to adhere to his wound. Once I’m sure he’s not going to bleed out, I help him to his feet.

“They’re weak but relentless,” Hadrian complains on the way to the Command Center. “I want to rid our planet of every last one of them.”

“We will,” I assure him as I help him into a chair once inside the Command Center. “They’re no match for us.”

Breccan grunts and then releases a relieved sigh to see Hadrian. Though Hadrian isn’t his blood, he raised him like a son. “Glad to see you’re okay.” He covers his mouth and nose with his hand. “Rekk, Hadrian, did you roll around in rogshite?”

We all laugh, despite the situation we’re in. Sure, Breccan did some things I’m not exactly happy about, but he did it with our best interests at heart. I have to believe that.

He’s more than our commander. He’s family. And family, born by blood or found, always looks out for each other.

At least, on Mortuus, that’s how it’s done.

13

STELLA

A violent shake knocks my teeth together and the sensation reverberates throughout my skull. I come awake with a groan of protest and then bolt upright. “What? What is it? Is it more aliens?”

I don’t know when the humans became the aliens in my mind, but it’s the soldiers from Earth II I’m referring to, not the morts. The ones who’d poured from the heavens like ants from a disturbed anthill.

Molly’s face, normally jovial and bright with unshed laughter, is bone white and stricken with fear.

A mirror of the emotion slices like ice through my guts. My hand lifts there automatically and I know—a mother’s intuition—what she’s going to say before she says it. My lips part to stop her before she can get the words out, but I seem to be moving in slow motion and she’s too quick for me.

“Henry’s gone.”

“Gone?” I croak out, feeling my stomach hollow out. If there were any contents inside of it, I would have emptied it out at her feet. “What do you mean gone?”

One of the women—Aria, I think, but my heart is pounding so hard it’s making it hard to think straight—comes to Molly’s side from the shadows. “I was doing my rounds, counting heads, and realized someone was missing. We did a check on everyone here. It’s Henry. He must have slipped out when Galen and the others went out to look for Breccan’s group.”

He left me?

Without saying anything?

“Where did they go?” My knees threaten to buckle under me as I get to my feet and I wobble for a second. Lack of food, the heat, and exhaustion don’t help. The two women move to steady me and I let them, but only until my vision clears. I take a step back to catch my breath.

“Breccan and Draven—” Aria begins.

“Where. Did. They. Go,” I grit out when I’m certain I won’t fall on my face.

“Breccan, Draven, and Hadrian went topside to search through the wreckages for supplies and survivors. Galen, Theron, and Jareth went after them when they didn’t return.”

Her own voice quavers at the mention of her mate. But I can’t focus on her fear because it may feed my own. The new me isn’t crippled with fear but empowered by it.

“And Henry waltzed out after them without anyone knowing?” Anger spurts through me, making my words sharp and drawing the attention of the morts and their mates around me. I hold up a hand when they go to answer. “Never mind. It’s a waste of time. Give me a weapon and someone tell me how to get up there.”

When no one answers, I shout. “A weapon. Now. I’ll find my own way if I have to.”

“Screw that,” Aria says. She rallies her emotions and her expression hardens. As she straightens to her full height and lifts her voice, I get a glimpse of what made Breccan choose her for his mate and why they call her Madame Commander. “We aren’t going to let you go alone. Those are our men up there too. If you go, we go.”

“You won’t be alone,” Lyric agrees. “I’ll be right there with you. We’re going to find him.”