Chapter 6: Chloe & Tor

CHLOE

The alien had instructed Chloe to stay put. So she did—for a while.

The crippled girl, however, kept pestering her for help, and Chloe couldn’t shake the image of those yellow eyes staring back at her. Those ~demon~ eyes.

Aliens. They were under attack by ~more~ aliens. She shivered, standing at the top of the ladder, pausing to catch her breath.

The crippled girl was panting, sagging on all fours. The climb had taken her an eternity, even with Chloe’s assistance.

Chloe peered down the hall, her heart pounding. It was so dark. So silent.

Where had the others gone? She ducked with a gasp when the lights suddenly flickered back on.

“It’s a good thing, right?” Chloe’s voice echoed. “That means they’re okay, right?”

“Help me,” the girl said, clutching the wall as she struggled to stand.

Chloe assisted her. The girl was pale, panting, her eyes wide in her face.

“Come on. L-let’s find them. I don’t want to st-stay down here.”

Chloe wrapped her arm around the girl’s waist, helping to support her. She didn’t want to stay either.

It was too eerie and lonely—but that wasn’t the only reason. It wasn’t even the ~real~ reason. She needed to know he was okay.

She didn’t want to admit it to herself, but she longed to see him again.

~You can pull it apart. Destroy it for all I care. You can destroy my whole room if you want.~

~My name is Tor.~

He’d been kind last night.

They halted at a crossroad of corridors.

“W-where to now?” the girl asked, gripping Chloe’s arm. “I—I don’t remember.”

“I think we go that way,” Chloe said, nodding to her right. “That’s where our rooms are anyway.”

The girl looked at Chloe. “H-how do you know?”

Chloe shrugged. “I’m good at remembering things sometimes.” ~Sometimes~.

Better than her brother. Though her father always liked to tell her otherwise.

They set off together. The girl was leaning heavily against Chloe’s side.

She was panting so hard the air was wheezing in her chest.

“Are you all right?” Chloe asked.

“I’m fine. Keep going.”

Chloe tried to remember the girl’s name but failed. It was something foreign, she knew.

~Sometimes~ her father was often right.

“Faster,” the girl said.

TOR

Tor assisted in bringing another injured person into the infirmary. He paused to survey the room.

It was nearly full. Many bore wounds, most minor, staggering or bleeding.

But some of the less fortunate had fallen victim to the Wrilings themselves. Tor’s heart sank when he spotted Clint’s mate.

He was sitting by one of the medical capsules.

Then he saw the other Rictorians: Roco’s female, Drake’s female. They appeared uninjured, but it didn’t comfort him.

His eyes darted around the room, searching for ~her~. How ~did~ they escape?

Was she here? Was she alive? Was she a victim? He could check the capsules, but the thought of seeing her beautiful face covered in that revolting membrane made his stomach churn.

Without asking for permission, he turned and fled the room. He would go and check the escape shuttle himself.

Maybe she was still down there. Safe and sound. She had to be.

He was running, his boots echoing loudly in the empty corridors. His heart was pounding.

His armor weighed him down and he was sweating. The Wrilings hadn’t breached the ship, he reassured himself, let alone the escape shuttle.

It was okay. She’d be too frightened to follow the others. Besides, she didn’t like him enough to bother.

Ironically, he hoped she still despised him enough to stay away.

Please. Please.

He rounded a corner. His eyebrows shot up. His breath hitched in his throat.

She looked up and their eyes met. Tor sprinted toward her.

Then she was in his arms, her warm, living, wonderful body pressed against his. Lifting her off her feet, he held her tightly to his chest.

“You’re all right,” he murmured breathlessly.

Her arms were wrapped around his neck. Her breath was warm against his ear.

Then her face turned to his and he was kissing her. It was so natural, so instinctive, that it took him several moments to realize he was doing it.

It took even longer to realize that she was kissing him back. She was kissing him back.

Her lips, her tongue, her breath—it was unbelievable.

He eased her to her feet, gripping her face as he looked into her eyes. “Are you okay?”

She nodded. Her cheeks were flushed. Her eyes were bright. “Are you?”

“I’m fine,” he said, releasing her with a frown. “What are you doing up here? Didn’t I say it was dangerous?”

She didn’t answer, dropping her gaze. She suddenly looked awkward.

Tor turned his eyes to the second Rictorian.

“Are you okay?” he asked. She was looking haggard and seemed to be struggling to catch her breath.

Without looking at him, hiding her face behind her hair, she nodded.

“You’re Quinton’s,” he said.

She nodded again.

“I will take you to your room. I’ll take you ~both~ to your rooms. It’s safe now.”

“We won?” Quinton’s mate said in her high voice, lifting her face.

“We fended them off, yes,” he replied.

Her eyes creased at his veiled answer. “H—how is he?”

“I’m not sure. He should be fine,” he said.

She grabbed his wrist. “Take me to him.”

“I will take you to his room. He will meet you there,” he said.

“Call him,” she demanded.

Tor twisted his mouth as he tried not to smile. It seemed they ~all~ had their hands full.

He pulled out his I-Spy and called. When Quinton answered, he handed it to her.

She looked relieved as she murmured into it. Tor watched Chloe from the corner of his eye.

~Chloe~. ~My name is Chloe.~ Last night—he would never forget it.

She kept looking at him, then away again.

When the little female was done with the phone, she handed it back, looking considerably brighter. She was smiling.

He felt pleased for Quinton, as he felt pleased for himself. Progress!

“Come,” he told Quinton’s female, turning around and crouching. “Climb onto my back.”

She hesitated but obeyed. He stood without effort. There was nothing of her, lighter than even his armor.

He looked down, reaching out to take Chloe’s hand. “Come.”

CHLOE

Chloe felt a surprising swell of jealousy as he carried the girl upon his back. His hand felt good, though. It felt strong and warm around hers. It felt good in a way she knew it shouldn’t.

She should let go—but she wouldn’t. She felt the blood fill her cheeks as she thought of her father. She was failing him, and the guilt of it gnawed at her guts.

Chloe tried to keep her eyes to the floor as they walked, but she couldn’t stop looking at him. At the way his ponytail of dark hair flowed over his left shoulder. At his powerful walk.

He was wearing what looked like a bulletproof vest, and it only made him seem bigger and more prepossessing. Her heart skipped a beat. He was unhurt.

She was safe. And they were going back to their room to continue where they’d left off. She’d slept in bed with him again last night.

He’d held her. Chloe shivered. He dropped off the crippled girl first.

She hobbled inside her room determinedly.

“Will you be all right?” Tor asked her.

She nodded, hiding her face behind her hair, her shoulders up by her ears. Their eyes briefly met as the door shut.

Then it was just Chloe and the alien—~Tor~. It felt awkward to think of his name, even as she held his hand.

Her heart was beating faster and faster the closer they got to their room. Her hand felt sweaty. There was a pressure in her hips she’d never felt before.

By the time they were standing at their door, she was hunched over and burning hotly in her cheeks. He pressed the button.

He turned toward her. Chloe kept her eyes averted.

“I’ll be back,” he said.

Chloe felt a stab of disappointment. She opened her mouth—~Why? Stay—~then shut it, the back of her neck prickling at the feel of his eyes. She stepped inside and the door slid shut behind her.

She gazed around the room. It was a mess. She’d taken much of it apart last night, just as he’d suggested.

It had been fun. He’d kept touching her hands as he’d shown her the tools. He’d been so close she’d felt the heat of his big body beating against hers.

They hadn’t really talked—she couldn’t do that—but they hadn’t needed to. The little kitchen was a ruin. There’d even been laughter.

Nothing she’d ever felt with a man. Nothing she’d ever had the ~opportunity~ to feel with a man. With an ~alien.~

She could hear his booming laughter now. Why did it have to be so deep? Even the memory of it was sending little zappy feelings down her hips and thighs.

Chloe sat on the edge of the bed, her hands between her knees. She shouldn’t do it. It was a sin.

But she couldn’t shift the feeling. In fact, it was getting worse and worse until it was all she could think about. She could still feel his hand around hers.

His eyes. His voice. Images flashed in her mind: bodies intertwined; long dark hair trailing over bare shoulders; gentle strong hands; laughing eyes.

She looked toward the pillows, remembering how they’d slept. How he’d felt. What would it feel like to touch his bare skin? To see him. ~All~ of him. To see ~it~.

~You are home. With me.~

Chloe’s chest swelled. Her eyes prickled. The ache between her hips was getting unbearable.

~Sorry, Daddy.~

She slid her hand into her pants.

TOR

By the time Tor returned to the infirmary, all the wounded had been gathered.

“You will have to move her,” came Miktar’s voice amid the babbling of voices and whirring of machinery. “I need her bed. She’s safe enough to take back to your room.”

Silo’s face was pinched, but he nodded. There were lines around his eyes, and he was hunching over.

Miktar noticed. “Your breastplate.” His breastplate was gone. “You’re injured.”

“I’m fine. Probably just a few cracked ribs. I can handle it.” Silo nodded toward the medical capsules. “You have enough on your hands.”

“Nevertheless, come back to me tonight.”

Silo gave an impatient nod, and Miktar turned away. Tor watched as Silo bent over a nearby bed and lifted his somnolent mate out of it. She stirred slightly, but that was all.

Silo turned to walk out and saw Tor staring. He nodded at him, and Tor nodded back. Silo left, and Tor examined the infirmary.

There were fewer injured now, discharged; the rest were still being attended to by the medical team. As for the others—there were fifteen capsules. ~Fifteen~. They seemed to dominate the room.

He went over, his gaze lingering over Clint’s capsule. Some of the victims he knew by sight. He saw Lew, his face and body shining with membrane, his eyes closed.

Then he turned at a high-pitched, feminine cry that made a muscle in his chest twist. It was Roco’s mate. She was hovering over a capsule across the room, her long black hair spilling over her face, her slender fingers grasping at the metal like she could claw her way into it.

~Roco~. That hurt. Roco had already lost members of his family to the Wrilings…

Tor shook his head. He turned when the doors to the infirmary slid open.

A hush fell as Captain Ream strode inside. He looked around the room with his cheeks drawn, his already dark yellow eyes darker still. He wasn’t all that tall for a Zibon, but his presence made it seem so.

He was older, lines around his eyes and mouth. Grey speckled his long black hair. His hard gaze brushed over Tor before landing upon the capsules. His mouth hardened.

“Drake, Miktar,” he called as he walked further inside in his heavy boots. “Give me an update.”