Page 37 of Grumpy Alien Bodyguard

"Get away from him!" I scream, charging forward.

The assassin turns, surprised by my attack. I drive the tines toward his face with every ounce of strength I possess. The metal connects with his scales and—shatters. The prongs break off, leaving me holding nothing but a useless handle.

The assassin's laugh is cold and cruel. "Is this your backup plan, Annihilator? A tiny human with a garden tool?"

Before I can react, his hand connects with my face. The force of the blow sends me flying across the shed. My back slams against the wall, and pain explodes through my body. I slide down to the floor, the world spinning around me.

Through blurred vision, I see Var's face transform. The pain in his eyes shifts to something primal, something terrifying. His lips pull back from his teeth in a snarl that makes my blood run cold.

"You. Touched. Her." Each word emerges as a guttural growl.

The assassin doesn't have time to respond. Var launches himself forward with renewed strength, moving so fast he's almost a blur. His massive hands grip the assassin's shoulders, and there's a sickening crack as he twists the Vakutan's head with brutal force.

The assassin's body goes limp, head facing backward, eyes staring blankly at nothing.

Var drops the corpse and staggers toward me, collapsing to his knees at my side. His breathing is labored, his scales pale.

"Quinn," he gasps, cradling my face with surprising gentleness. "Are you alright?"

I try to nod, but the movement sends pain shooting through my skull. "You're bleeding out," I whisper, reaching for his wound.

"It's nothing," he lies, his massive body swaying slightly.

I try to sit up and immediately regret it as the shed spins around me. "We need to get help."

"I've had worse," Var insists, though his voice is weaker than I've ever heard it.

Despite his injury, he gathers me into his arms and struggles to his feet. I can feel his body trembling with the effort, feel the warm stickiness of his blood against my side.

"All you ever do is carry me around," I mumble groggily against his chest.

He lets out a pained chuckle. "It's a job."

We both laugh, then groan simultaneously as the movement aggravates our injuries.

"We should get ourselves some medical attention," Var admits, leaning heavily against the doorframe.

I rest my head against his shoulder, breathing in his scent. Even bleeding and battered, he makes me feel safe. "Var," I whisper, "who sent them?"

His arms tighten around me. "Kallus," he growls. "It has to be."

The name ignites fresh anger in my chest. "We need proof."

"What we need is a doctor," Var counters, stumbling out of the shed and into the garden. "Then we can worry about bringing Kallus down."

As he carries me through the lush pathways of the Dome, I feel his strength fading. Each step is slower than the last, his breathing growing more labored.

"Put me down," I insist. "You're making your injury worse."

"And let you walk with a concussion?" He shakes his head stubbornly. "Not happening."

"We're quite the pair," I murmur, fighting to stay conscious. "The diplomat and the destroyer."

His chest rumbles with another painful laugh. "We make it work."

And despite everything—the pain, the danger, the impossible situation—I find myself smiling against his scales. Maybe we do.

CHAPTER 16

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