Page 46 of The Alien Warlord's Fated Mate

“I want doors,” she said flatly. “French doors with windows that let in the light and the view. Lockable doors I can seal shut at night because this is not Earth, and I don’t know what the dangers are, and you can’t guard me every hour of every day.”

He growled and, between one breath and the next, pushed her onto her back and covered her body with his own. His eyes glared a hot, bright green at her and he snapped his teeth just above her nose.

“Never,” he said, so distinctly she could clearly understand the Xeruvian phrase above the English translation, “will I allow any harm to befall you.”

“Never?” she repeated back in Xeruvian. “So you’re my shadow now?”

Another growl rumbled out of him. “I do not know whether to be pleased at your attempt to speak my language or irritated that you question the depths of my need to protect you.”

Some of the fear bled out of Mia. “It’s too pretty outside to argue.”

“What effect does the weather have on our discussion?”

“It’s something we say. Human logic.”

“Is this akin to female logic?”

Laughter bubbled out of her at the raw skepticism in his expression. To distract him, she slid a hand down his side and squeezed his hip. “You’ve got me where you want me. What are you going to do with me?”

Heat of a different kind filled his eyes, and his body went taut against her. “What do you wish me to do?”

“Well, that not-dragon just scared ten years off my life.” He scoffed. She dug her fingernails into his hip through the loose pants he wore as a mild reprimand. “You could kiss the fear away.”

His gaze dropped to her mouth. “A kiss.”

“Or I could—”

He dropped his mouth to hers, silencing her in the best way possible, and drew back only to bury his face in her throat. “Mia,” he moaned. His teeth grazed her skin once, twice, then settled firmly over his first mark, the mating mark, the one he’d taken from her before she fully understood what he wanted.

And he wanted to mark her again, there, in that place where their union had begun.

She shifted her face away from him, baring her throat. Her hand crept to the back of his head, cradling him there, and she tangled her fingers in his hair. Feeling so much. God, how he made her feel.

“Zoran, please.”

Everything happened at once. His legs shifting against hers, a needy groan rumbling from him, his hand cupping her shoulder, the callouses on his palm scrubbing lightly against her arm. His teeth pierced her skin, and she gasped at the sharp pain, moaned when it morphed into a dark, heady pleasure.

“Again,” he demanded, his mouth grazing her cheek.

“Where?”

“Everywhere.”

She felt his husky promise in every cell of her being and blurted out a helpless plea. “God, Zoran. What are you doing to me?”

“What I should have done from the beginning,pjora-la, from the first moment of our meeting.”

Claiming her.

His fingers grasped the neck of her tunic and pulled, steadily ripping the fabric away from her chest, baring her to his gaze. He leaned back, studying his handiwork with a satisfied smile. “Do you know the significance of these marks, beloved?”

Her brain couldn’t quite focus through the sensual spell he’d so deftly woven around her. “Alara and Jyrak have them.”

“You did not think to ask why?”

“It seems personal.”

“It is.” His hand slid up her ribcage, stopping just under her naked breast, and he glanced up at her, desire etched sharply in his strong features. “Even human skin will heal, given enough time. This is so?”

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