Her Rogue Mates. Grace Goodwin
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get our bumps and bruises taken care of. As usual, we’d made it back, washed the grime of death away and headed straight for the bar. We were used to losing people, but losing Henry was extra hard. He’d been a practical joker, the comedian and prankster who’d gotten away with murder and made life on this remote station almost fun. Every human on the station had heard of his death by now. Heard, and was heading here to drown their sorrows. In a couple hours, this place would be packed.
Maybe I should have another shot of whiskey. The raucous singing and toasting would go on for hours. I sighed and rubbed my temples. I could feel the headache coming on already.
Sexy alien’s eyes narrowed when he saw my hand—the one he wasn’t holding—dark green bandage still in place. “You are hurt.”
He switched his grip to the injured one, and I felt small in his hold. The touch was personal, intimate, and made me seem somehow precious. Fussed over. And I found myself hungry for that connection. He was taking liberties, keeping my hand in his as if I belonged to him. He unwound the narrow bandage.
“It’s nothing. Really.” A small cut on my palm from a piece of ripped metal. I’d had worse while working. Much worse.
He turned my hand palm up, cupped it in one of his and his fingers brushed gently over the gash. It had stopped bleeding before I transported back to Zenith. A scratch. I welcomed the stinging pain. Sometimes, pain was the only way I knew I was still alive. I’d taken a few extra minutes after we transported back, made sure Henry’s body got to the morgue and joined my team.
Over hunk’s shoulder, I saw our second-in-command, Rovo, watching me. He was with the others, but the look he was giving us gave me pause. He shifted his worried eyes—totally normal expression for Rovo where I was concerned—from me and glared at my companion’s back. Hottie must have noticed my distraction and glanced Rovo’s way. Their gazes locked for a split second, some kind of alpha male thing going on I didn’t understand. But I wasn’t worried. I was safe. My entire team was here, sitting along the wall, watching my back, talking trash and unwinding from that shithole, desolate planet we’d just come from.
Fighting over dead planets. While it seemed ridiculous, it made sense. No one wanted a Hive base in this solar system. Hell, this galaxy. So, the Coalition troops fought over dirt. Position. To keep the Hive away.
Space? Earth? Some things didn’t change, not when it came to good versus evil. War.
He turned back around, Rovo forgotten. He still held my hand. This was so not what I’d expected when I’d made my trip to the bar for a drink. I was supposed to be back with my teammates on the other side of the room, but no. I hadn’t moved since he’d invaded my personal space. I hadn’t wanted to. Even the cheesy one-liner didn’t sway me.
This guy? Holy shit. I wanted to do whatever he wanted. Whatever he said. Right now.
Why? Because I had no doubt he was good. Very, very good. And while I was out here in Sector 437, also known as of the outer quadrant of nowhere, my vagina was becoming as dried up as a Trion desert from neglect. A little male attention felt good.
Especially from one who looked like him. Who stared at me as if he wanted to gobble me right up. Or toss me over his shoulder and lay me down on the nearest horizontal surface—or maybe he’d go for vertical. A wall would do for a quick fix. Hot and hard and rough. A little dangerous? Maybe.
But then, that’s what I craved. Something with an edge. Something to make me quiver and gasp and need. I didn’t want to think right now.
I wanted to feel.
2
Harper
His touch was like a drug, the tingle running through my body all too familiar. Adrenaline junkie? I never denied it. But my fix the past two years usually came from going out on rescue-and-recovery missions for the Interstellar Coalition. More than two hundred and fifty worlds, all with civilizations. Oceans. Storms. Accidents. On Earth, I’d worked as an ER nurse. I’d seen everything from gunshot wounds to decapitations. When the aliens showed up demanding fighters and brides for the Coalition that Earth was now a part of, I was compelled to volunteer. But not as a bride. Forget that. I was no alien brood mare. And I wasn’t going to be shooting any kind of gun. I wasn’t a fighter; I was a healer. I wanted to have an adventure without domineering mates or fierce battles. To finally see what was out there, in space, on other worlds. Beam me up, Scotty.
So I volunteered, told them what I wanted and ended up assigned to this bizarre, alien version of a first responder, paramedic team. The war with the Hive was never ending. Literally. These alien races had been at war with the Hive for centuries. But that didn’t mean they never had emergencies. Natural disasters. Surprise attacks. We went in after every battle in this sector of the galaxy and triaged the wounded, helped them survive the aftermath.
Ran from the Hive.
Whatever. It was dangerous, but it made me feel like I was doing something important. Something that mattered and I didn’t need to shoot anyone. My team was human, and we followed the human combat units around the Coalition like cheerleaders assigned to a football team. They fought and we went in after. We hung on to the back end of the Battlegroup Karter like leeches. When the commanders moved on, we stayed long enough to clean up the mess. Assuming the Coalition won. If they lost, there was nothing left to save.
The Hive didn’t leave raw material behind, and to them, my human brothers and sisters, hell, every single Coalition warrior out there fighting, was meat to be processed.
Most of my MedRec team—Medical Recovery Team—took care of our own the best we could. Sure, a Prillon doctor or Atlan nurse would rush to help a fallen Earth fighter, but something about seeing a human face out here in deep space mattered to the warriors who were lying there bleeding. Dying. Missing home with every breath in their body, afraid they were going to die on the other side of the galaxy.
I lived here now, MedRec Zenith with the rest of my team. I’d been to more planets and seen more alien races than most in this bar. Yet, I’d never seen anything like him.
My mouth watered, and I itched to touch the stubble on his square jaw as he squeezed my hand. I had no idea how long I’d been standing, thinking, staring at him like a mute, but his eyes never left my face. Rovo was completely forgotten. The alien hottie was utterly and completely focused. On me. On the small scratch in the middle of my palm.
“You should have had this healed with a ReGen wand.” He didn’t wait for me to argue, only pulled one from somewhere on his pants, turned the blue light on and waved it over my palm.
I’d been in space for almost two years, even used the healing wand on the wounded, and I still wasn’t used to the healing device. It—along with the more complicated ReGeneration Pod—was miraculous. Within seconds, the wound on my palm knitted closed, turned pink and then disappeared entirely. It had stung before, but I felt nothing now. Numb.
“Thank you,” I said once he turned off the wand. While it was polite, it felt wrong somehow. Wrong to walk away without a mark or a scar when the sight of Henry in that transport coffin heading back to Earth still burned the back of my eyelids.
“Why didn’t you take care of yourself?” he asked. I noticed a sharper bite to his voice, and I glanced up from our joined hands.
“It was a scratch.” I offered him a small shrug and looked up into his eyes. Couldn’t look away. I couldn’t lie. Didn’t want to, so I swallowed and shared my feelings. Yes, feelings. The things I hid so damn well. “And I needed the whiskey more than I needed a healer.”
He slowly shook his head as his thumb slid back and forth over the newly healed flesh. “I am glad I was here then, to tend to you.”
So serious. His attention was addictive, the caress making me shiver with delight. I didn’t want to pull my hand from