Page 7 of Taken By the Alien Merking

Zetron watched as Captain took her first bite, her eyes closing as she savored the flavors. A small sound of pleasure escaped herlips, sending a surge of possessive pride through him. She liked his offering, his catch. It was a primal satisfaction.

“It’s delicious,” she confirmed, opening her eyes to meet his gaze. “You’re full of surprises, Zetron. No wonder your government assigned you to be the lead negotiator.”

He chuckled, the sound low and intimate in the quiet of the cavern. “I do my best, Captain,” he replied, the odd name a reminder of the distance he intended to maintain—for now.

As they ate, the tension between them shifted, morphing into something more anticipatory. They were on the cusp of something significant, a negotiation that could alter the course of both their worlds. Zetron knew the importance of the discussion that lay ahead, and he was ready to meet it head-on.

With the meal finished and the fire burning low, Zetron turned to Brooke, his expression serious. “Now, let us discuss the future of our peoples,” he said, his voice carrying the authority of a leader, of a king. “We have much to deliberate, and I am eager to hear your thoughts.”

She nodded, her eyes reflecting the firelight as she prepared to engage in the conversation they had both been anticipating—and avoiding. They sat together in the glow of the embers, ready to face the challenges ahead, their bodies a mere whisper apart.

The sizzle of the fire was a backdrop to the undercurrent of desire that neither could ignore. The treaty was important, but so was the connection that crackled between them, as potent and undeniable as the flames that warmed their skin.

Were they negotiating for the fate of humanity? Or the fate of their hearts?

What if one and both were the same?

Chapter 5

Brooke

Brooke’sheartthrummedinher chest, a rhythm that seemed to sync with the crackling of the fire. The blanket Zetron had provided draped over her shoulders, a thin barrier between her and the cool cavern air. She was acutely aware of the heat radiatingfrom his body, mere inches away, and the way his gaze seemed to devour her, even in the dim light of the cave.

Brooke turned to meet his eyes, the green of his irises flickering with the reflection of the flames. She felt the weight of his words, the gravity of their situation. Yet, amidst the chaos that had brought them here, there was an undeniable pull, a connection that hummed between them, electric and thrilling.

“About the treaty,” she began. Her voice was steady, betraying none of the turmoil his nearness caused within her. “Our peoples are counting on us to navigate this alliance.”

“What can humanity offer my people?” Zetron asked.

“Well, our technological achievements,” Brooke answered but was cut off by Zetron.

“Which pale in comparison to our own,” he said. “We do not need advanced mining techniques nor do we require the types of atmospheric regeneration units that your kind has invested so much in to keep your dying planet alive.”

“Our cultural footprint is also one that can give you much value,” Brooke pivoted. “We have made strides in literature and the arts—”

Again, she was interrupted by Zetron. “Your species speaks of a vaunted cultural currency, yet you routinely push those who create art to the bottom strata of your society. You harness the power ofyour machines to create artificial intelligence that takes the work of your artists and creators, taking them into poverty. What people who do this can claim to love their art?”

“But perhaps,” Brooke pivoted again, “the best thing that humanity can offer your people is our endless capacity for reinvention and hope. To adapt and find happiness in even the worst of circumstances, as you’ve just highlighted. Think about it. In all this chaos, somehow we’ve found… you.”

Zetron’s lips parted, as if to speak, but then he hesitated, his eyes tracing the outline of her features. The air between them thickened, charged with a desire that was both exhilarating and dangerous.

Brooke looked at Zetron intently. She had put everything on the table. Both for herself as well as her people.

Zetron leaned in ever so slightly. “The treaty,” he murmured, his voice a low growl that sent shivers cascading down her spine, “can wait.”

Brooke’s breath hitched, her pulse quickening. She knew she should protest, steering the conversation back to safer grounds. But the truth was, she didn’t want to. There was something freeing about being stranded on an island, far from the expectations and responsibilities that had shaped her life.

“For now,” Zetron continued, his gaze dropping to her lips, “let us talk of other things.”

Brooke swallowed hard, her own gaze drifting to the strong lines of his jaw, the gentle curve of his mouth. “Like what?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Zetron leaned back, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a smile that was both infuriatingly handsome and maddeningly mysterious. “Tell me, Captain,” his tone light but eyes serious, “what is it that you truly desire?”

The question caught her off guard, and for a moment, Brooke was at a loss for words. What did she desire? The answer should have been simple: safety for her sisters, a future for humanity. But as she sat there, with the heat of the fire warming her skin and the intensity of Zetron’s gaze warming something deeper, the truth was far more complicated.

“I want…” Brooke began, her voice trailing off as she searched for the right words. “I want to feel secure, to know that my sisters will be taken care of. But I also want…”

She paused, her courage faltering. Admitting her desires, especially to someone like Zetron, was terrifying. And yet, there was a part of her that ached to be honest, to be vulnerable with this being who was so utterly different, yetsomehow felt like her equal.

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