Claimed By The Touch-Starved Alpha Beasts

Cassandra woke to the smell of sterile metal and antiseptic.

She kept her eyes closed, her brain sluggishly trying to piece together her reality. Her body ached. A dull throbbing radiated from her scraped palms and bruised back.

Something cold and smooth was clamped around her left wrist.

She snapped her eyes open and sat up.

She was on a narrow, firm cot inside a tent made of a shimmering, silver material. The lighting was harsh and artificial.

She looked at her wrist. A sleek, black metallic band encircled it. A tiny green light pulsed in rhythm with her heartbeat.

Panic flared in her chest. She grabbed the band with her right hand and pulled, digging her fingernails under the metal. It didn't budge.

"Do not touch that."

The voice was deep, unfamiliar, and spoke a language that sounded like a mix of harsh consonants and rolling vowels.

Cassandra flinched and scrambled backward until her spine hit the wall of the tent.

The green-eyed man stood near the entrance. He had removed his tactical helmet. He held a small, clear tube filled with a viscous blue liquid. He took a step toward her, extending the tube.

Cassandra pulled her knees to her chest. "Stay away from me," she rasped, her voice hoarse.

The man stopped immediately. His face fell. The intense, almost reverent look in his green eyes shifted into something that looked exactly like hurt. He lowered the tube, taking a slow step back.

The flap of the tent was pushed aside.

A new man walked in.

He was taller than the first, his shoulders broader, his presence instantly dominating the small space. He wore a dark uniform with silver insignia on the collar. His hair was dark, cut in a strict military style, and his eyes were a piercing, icy blue.

This was Jefferson Leonard.

He didn't look at Cassandra with the same fanatical worship his subordinate did. His gaze was clinical, sharp, and entirely focused. He assessed her torn clothes, her defensive posture, and the dried blood on her face in one sweeping glance.

His jaw ticked. A muscle jumped in his cheek, but his expression remained perfectly blank.

He raised his left wrist to his mouth. A silver device was strapped there. He barked a harsh command, calling the man "Kaelan." Kaelan nodded sharply and bolted out of the tent, leaving the space clear for Jefferson.

Jefferson walked to the center of the tent. He stopped a respectful distance away from the cot. He tapped the device on his wrist. A small holographic screen projected into the air between them.

He swiped his finger across the projection. A simple, holographic projection of two open, empty hands appeared, a universal geometric symbol of peace and disarmament.

He pointed to the open hands, then pointed to himself, keeping his own physical hands open and visible.

Cassandra stared at him. Her heart was still hammering, but the sheer absurdity of the situation forced her brain to engage. He's trying to communicate.

"Who are you?" she whispered, her voice trembling. "What do you want from me? Please, just let me go home."

Jefferson's icy blue eyes locked onto her mouth. He tapped his device again. A series of complex visual waveforms appeared on the hologram, dancing in response to her voice.

He pointed to his own chest. "Jef-fer-son," he said slowly, exaggerating the syllables.

He then pointed a long, calloused finger at her. He raised an eyebrow, a silent question.

Cassandra swallowed hard. She hugged her knees tighter. "Cassandra," she said softly.

Jefferson's device beeped. He looked at the screen, his eyes tracking lines of data moving faster than Cassandra could comprehend. He was recording her. He was analyzing her.

He looked back up at her. He didn't smile, but the hard lines around his mouth softened marginally.

Before he could try another word, a blaring, high-pitched siren shattered the quiet of the tent.

Red emergency lights began flashing overhead.

Kaelan burst into rapid-fire speech from outside the tent, his voice tight with sudden panic.

Jefferson's demeanor changed instantly. The calm communicator vanished, replaced by a hardened soldier. He barked a command at Kaelan.

Jefferson turned to Cassandra. The ground beneath them rumbled. It was the same rhythmic thudding she had felt in the jungle, but this time, there were dozens of them.

Cassandra's stomach dropped. The beasts were coming back.

She tried to stand, but her legs were shaking so badly she immediately collapsed back onto the cot. Her breath hitched. She was going to die here.

Jefferson didn't hesitate. He closed the distance between them in two long strides.

He didn't reach out to grab her. Instead, he turned his back to her and crouched down, keeping his hands firmly on his own thighs.

He looked over his shoulder. He forced out two heavily accented, broken English words.

"Dan-ger. Go."

He jerked his chin, gesturing for her to get on his back.

Cassandra looked at his broad, muscular back covered in the dark tactical fabric. Another roar shook the tent, much closer this time.

She didn't have a choice.

She slid off the cot and pressed her chest against his back. She wrapped her arms tentatively around his thick neck, her hands clasping over his collarbone.

Jefferson stood up smoothly, lifting her as if she weighed absolutely nothing. His hands reached back, gripping her thighs firmly to secure her in place. His palms were hot, the heat seeping through the denim of her torn jeans.

He didn't run. He walked with long, purposeful strides out of the tent.

The night air hit Cassandra's face. She gasped.

The perimeter of the camp was lit up by laser fire. In the tree line, dozens of glowing yellow eyes swarmed the darkness.

Jefferson ignored the chaos. He carried her steadily toward a massive, sleek metallic ship resting on a landing pad a hundred yards away.

Cassandra buried her face into the crook of his neck, squeezing her eyes shut. He smelled like ozone, clean sweat, and something inherently wild.

For the first time since she woke up in the mud, her shivering stopped.