Page 37 of Charmed By the Alien Warrior

I nod, feeling a lump form in my throat.

Then, after a pause, Sorrin tilts his head and asks a question that catches me off guard. “What is a podcast?”

I blink, momentarily thrown by his unexpected change in topic. He must have overheard me and Isabella talking about my show the other day.

“Um… It’s like a show, like a radio show almost. No, like a recorded book.” He tilts his head in confusion, and I realize I’m explaining this really badly. “It’s a recording of someone talking about a topic, like murders or politics or music or history.”

His face clears and he nods. “Ah, we have something similar. The Ancestors left many audio and visual recordings for us in their ship.”

“Really?”

“They’re about our history and the ancient beliefs of our people.”

“Right. Well, a podcast is sort of like that. Except my podcast was about true crime. Mostly serial killers and other murderers, but I also covered a few missing person cases.”

Sorrin’s broad brow creases in dismay. “Humans enjoy listening to tales about killing?”

“Um…Some do. My listeners are mainly women because I cover a lot of crimes committed against women and other vulnerable groups.” He still looks confused, so I try to explain,“Like women who were murdered by their husbands…I mean, mates.”

Sorrin shakes his head in astonishment. “Human males do that? I do not understand. Laediriian males would never harm a female or anyone smaller than them, but especially a mate. They’re to be cherished.”

“Yeah, it happens more than people realize. Most murder victims are killed by someone close to them.” I clear my throat before continuing, “My mom was killed by her boyfriend. Her death is what lead me to become a podcaster.”

I don’t know why I’m telling him this, but the words are spilling out before I can stop them. Maybe it’s because he’s watching me and listening with his full attention, like every word that comes out of my mouth is precious. Or maybe I’m just tired—tired of the walls that I’ve built around myself. Tired of keeping people at arm’s length.

Whatever it is, now that I’ve started, I can’t seem to stop.

“She was young when she had me, and my dad didn’t stick around. She always believed she’d meet Prince Charming, and he’d sweep her off her feet. But that didn’t happen.” I glance down at my hands, clutched together in my lap. “When I was nineteen, she had this new boyfriend, and she thought he was the one.”

I roll my eyes as bitter memories resurface. “And he put on a good show. He was nice and he acted like he loved her. Even Maddie liked him.”

“But you didn’t?” Sorrin’s voice is soft, almost coaxing.

“I…I wanted to like him, but I don’t know.” I shake my head, feeling the familiar sting of tears. “It was hard. I wanted my mom to be happy, and she was. For a time.”

My vision goes blurry as the tears finally break free, and I don’t notice Sorrin sliding closer until he’s so near I could touch him, so I do. I reach out and take his large hand in mine, clinging to it like it’s the only thing keeping me grounded.

His hand engulfs mine, and the feel of his rough skin against mine feels comforting and protective. This is a man who wields a sword like it’s a toy. A man who fights hard, even though he acts like it’s a game. But with me, he’s always been gentle.

I swallow hard before continuing, “Then, one day she went missing. He claimed she was having an affair and ran off with the new guy.” My voice trembles as the words leave my mouth. “But I knew better. My mom wouldn’t do that. And she definitely wouldn’t have left me and Maddie behind.”

“But the police believed him. No one would listen to me. So, I started a blog. I wrote about my mom and her disappearance, anything to get attention to her case to try to get the police to take it seriously. And after two years, it worked. A woman who dated the boyfriend contacted me and said he threatened to kill her. She said he told her he’d already gotten away with it once.”

Sorrin’s hands tighten around mine, his eyes never leaving my face.

“The police finally started investigating the case, and they found my mom’s body.” My voice drops to a whisper on those last two words. I take a deep breath and force myself to continue, “He confessed, but it didn’t make any of it easier. After he was sentenced to prison, I kept blogging. Then I started my podcast. I wanted to understand why someone kills a person they love. And I guess, I wanted to give a voice to the people who couldn’t fight for themselves anymore. Like my mom.”

There’s a long silence after I finish, broken only by the sounds of the night around us and the crackling of the fire. Sorrin’s thumb strokes the back of my hand. His touch is gentle, almost reverent, and my heartrate speeds up as I stare at his large hand.

“I’m sorry,” Sorrin murmurs. His words are so low they’re almost a whisper. “Your mother deserved better from her mate. And so did you.”

“Yeah,” I whisper, my voice thick with emotion. “She did.”

I finally look up and meet his gaze. Sorrin’s eyes are a golden glow so intense that my breath stutters in my chest for a split second. It’s almost like he feels the pain just as intensely as I do.

He takes a deep breath, then he speaks, “You have been through more than any one person should have to bear, but you survived and still, you fight. You honor your mother with your fight. That strength is something to be proud of.”

A self-deprecating laugh escapes me. “I don’t feel strong. Just the opposite.”

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