The Alien Cowboy’s Mark Bonus Scene

“Everyone’s staring,” she whispers.

“Let ’em.”

Her lips twitch. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Mmhm.”

Soft country music floats from the jukebox in the corner. Billiard balls clink lightly from a green felted table in a dark corner where two cowboys and cowgirls face off against each other. The place smells of musty beer and stale smoke, and I have half a mind to apologize to Eliza, tell her this is no place for a lady and leave.

But she said she wanted to come here. Have a drink or two and dance. By God, I won’t leave until she’s had the full experience despite the fact the dim lights make some things more obvious than they should.

Pale blue light glows from my marks, a hint through the black button-down cotton of my shirt. Doesn’t help the glyphs pulse faintly, thanks to the mate I can’t get enough of.

The waitress comes over, stumbling through our order, eyes dipping more than once to the light beneath my shirt. She doesn’t miss the way Eliza leans into me, either, claiming me. Making sure the server keeps her eyes polite.

Heat curls low at the base of my spine. Possessive little thing.  

When she leaves, Eliza pulls something from her purse, blinking faster than usual and pressing her lips into a firm line. “I found this.” She sets an ancient locket between us.

My body goes still.

“I wasn’t snooping,” she says quickly. “It was tucked into your top drawer. Found it when I was putting folded clothes away. I just… I thought it might be Marjoram.”

I lean back, studying her. “You jealous, primrose?”

Her cheeks color. “No.”

I don’t say a word. Instead, I let the silence do the talking and questioning.

“…maybe.”

A slow smile pulls at my mouth. I flip the locket open. The face inside hits something deep. Dark hair. Blue eyes. Soft, steady gaze. Familiar in a way that hurts.

“Not Marjoram,” I say quietly.

Eliza leans in. “Then who?”

“My mother.” The word feels strange on my tongue.

Eliza softens instantly. “She’s beautiful.”

“Yeah.”

I go quiet, throat working. It shouldn’t affect me this way, but I can’t help it.

“What about your father?”

I still.

“I don’t remember much,” I admit. “Just… pieces.” Fragments that don’t fit.

Eliza takes my hand, fingers tangling with mine. Warm and loving. Two things I once thought I’d never feel again… at least from a human.

And suddenly, something shifts. A memory, faint and flickering.

A man’s hand reaching across a table. Touching hers. My mother’s. He wasn’t rough or aggressive. Just certain, steady… choosing her. Always choosing her.

“I think…” My voice roughens. “I think he touched her like that.”

“Like what?” Eliza asks softly.

“Like she was his,” I say. “Not owned or trapped.”

My gaze lifts to hers. “Chosen.”

Her fingers tighten around mine. “Do you think she chose him back?”

I glance down at the locket. Then back at her. At the way she looks at me like I’m something she’s already decided on.

Seen that look before. A long time ago.

“Yeah,” I say. “I think she did.”

Her smile is soft and certain. “If it was anything like us… then they both chose it. And it was worth it.”

My Adam’s apple works in my throat, warmth pooling behind my sternum.

No one’s ever said it that way before. But now that I think, really think back, the memories—few though they are—feel right this way.

Eliza’s words, the flickers of remembrance, settle something that’s been raging in me longer than I can remember. Something that was planted in me by family who chose hate over love. Like my uncle.

That’s when it clobbers me. My father needed my mother, and she needed him. They knew it, and they died for it.

My throat thickens, and I fight to clear it, closing the locket. “Guess I’m proof of that.”

“You are,” she says.

I let go of her hand, sweeping my arm around her and dragging her out of the booth.

She lets out a soft gasp. “Kael—”

“Public place,” I murmur against her mouth. “Careful.”

Her breath hitches. Her hands find my shoulders. “Thought you said you didn’t like attention.”

A low sound rumbles out of me. “I like showing the world who you belong to more.” I pull her over to the jukebox where something soft croons. A story of love that won’t end. A circle unbroken despite everything.

That’s me and Eliza.

Clemson and Ruby… my parents, too.

Because some things can’t be killed no matter what. Like love.

I wrap my arms around her, though people stare and hushed whispers circle the saloon. When I kiss her, it’s not for show or anyone else. It’s for her and me. Slow, deliberate, and unrushed. How I want to do everything with her from now on.

And I don’t hide any of it. I let the whole damn room see if they’re watching. And I let her feel exactly what she does to me.

Her fingers curl into my shirt. Her hips shift, just enough to remind me where this night will eventually go.

Damn.

I grip her tighter, dragging her closer, my mouth moving to her jaw, her throat.

“Kael…” she breathes.

“Yeah,” I murmur, voice rough. “You keep saying my name like that, primrose, and we’re not making it through our first dance.”

She laughs softly, but it turns into a gasp when I bite lightly at her neck.

My hand slides down her spine, lower, pressing her into me. No mistaking what she does to me now.

Her breath stutters. “Everyone’s going to see,” she whispers.

“Good.” I ease back just enough to look at her—flushed, wanting, mine.

“Let ’em know,” I say quietly. “So nobody forgets.” Then, I grab her hand, take my time kissing the inside of her wrist where my marks linger, soft but insistent. Burned in flesh like our bond… forever.

Her pulse stutters, breath coming too fast now. Her eyes darken, and for a second—just a second—the world narrows to nothing but her.

The hum settles low in my bones, steady and certain. Never far away. Something I can count on, like Eliza and me.

Outside, the town carries on. Inside, something shifts. It isn’t loud or violent. Just an awareness of the past and the present, where the future might take us, too.

Like somewhere far beyond this place, something is watching.

And for the first time, understanding what it means to choose.

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