The Alien Mountain Man’s Claim Bonus Scene

His gaze drops to the collection of circuits and tiny metal components surrounding him on the floor. My eyes follow. Another drone of some type sits in his hand, though this one looks more hummingbird than dragonfly.

“What do you think?” he asks. He closes up a tiny door on its belly. Then presses something. It launches into the air, darting around. Surprisingly life-like.

“It’s beautiful,” I gasp. “But hummingbird armies are going to be a little harder to explain in town. As it is, Mathilde and Ryan are starting to think I’m Dr. Doolittle or whatever the insect equivalent might be.”

Calder insists on keeping me safe when I’m in town running my business. He’s created the tiny armies to prove it.

And somehow, though I haven’t gotten all the details, the Men in Black threat has vanished as quickly as it came. All Calder will tell me is that he and the military have an understanding of some sort. I hope it’s nothing like mutual destruction, though he refuses to say more.

“Dr. Who?” the alien mountain man asks, face tightening.

I shake my head laughing. Entirely too much to explain before a second cup of coffee. “Let’s stick a pin in that for later.”

He eyes me hesitantly but nods. The robotic creature flits around his head, and he smiles appraising it. “Not a killer or a protector.”

I step closer, intrigued. “What else do you make?”

His smile broadens, eyes warm with love. “It is a precision confectionery distribution construct.”

I have to work hard not to spit out my coffee. “You built me a powdered-sugar robot.”

“Yes.” Pride threads his voice, and his skin intensifies, even more luminous.

“It’s—” I stare, mouth hanging open. “Where does the sugar go?”

“Watch,” he says very seriously. He presses some button on a remote, and a white puffy cloud fills the air just beneath the bird’s belly.

I slap my hand over my mouth, trying to hide my shock and laughter. My alien engineer is very sensitive about his creations, even the ones that come with unfortunately placed dust clouds.

“Do I not powder your pumpkin bread satisfactorily,” I tease, crossing the room and climbing into his lap, straddling him.

His mouth is on me instantly, big hands gripping my waist and sliding me over him.

God, he feels good.

A deep rumble moves through his chest. “Your work is acceptable.” A compliment from my husband. “But when you are carrying our speckled offspring, I will not let you work or lift one finger. I will feed you, bathe you, clothe you, transport you with these two arms, care for your every whim until gestation is complete.”

I frown, gripping his cheeks. “What am I going to do with you?”

His eyes narrow, but he doesn’t go all serious or start catastrophizing. Instead, he asks gently, “Did I say something wrong?”

I giggle, kissing his cheeks, his eyelids, the tip of his nose, his forehead. Then my lips hover over his as I add, “First, it’s freckled, not speckled. Second, human women work while they’re pregnant. They stay active, live their lives. After all, nine months is a long time.”

He inches his head back, eyes swirling with panic for one moment before my hand presses flat against his chest. He instantly calms.

“And besides,” I say in dark tones, grinding against his firmness, “you’re getting ahead of me again. Come back to this moment.”

And come back he does, carefully shifting me until my back’s flat on the floor, hands pinned over my head. He kisses me breathless… until stars dance behind my eyes. Then his palms slide the length of my body, his lips following, worshiping every inch of me. His nose slides between my legs, and he inhales contentedly.

“You smell too good, my little Earthling. But you taste even better.” His voice is hungry, so is the Resonance humming through his chest. Urgent fingers unfasten my pants, pulling away clothes, before his head disappears between my legs, and my toes curl.

Licking, lapping, sucking, swirling. I can’t think. Can’t breathe. Instead, I thread my fingers through his hair, pressing him against me greedily. Coming so damn hard, I’m half-convinced I can float, too.

When we form the bond again, twirling gravity-less mid-air, when he drives deep, I scream against his shoulder, nails digging into his glowing flesh. He angles my hips so that with each thrust he slides over the place where I need him… until I’m fluttering and spasming and fracturing around him all over again.

Only then does he follow, growling out his release. My eyes drop, my fingers tracing the thin thread of light that illuminates my belly for one hair’s breath. Proof of our bond. He purrs with pleasure, lowering his head and kissing me there.

We settle on the floor, and he cradles me against his firm chest. The hummingbird construct darts overhead, and I laugh at the whimsical creation. “I’m still not sure about how practical she’ll be at the bakery, but I love her.”

“What shall we name her?” he asks lazily, fingers combing through my hair.

“Mercury,” I say with a firm nod.

Zoom!

Rook appears from nowhere, dive bombing the new little robot. But Mercury’s too fast. She disappears out the open door with the dragonfly in fast pursuit.

“What’s gotten into Rook?” I ask, puzzled.

Calder’s large hand covers my belly, fingers tracing lazy circles. “He is jealous.”

“Jealous of what?”

“You showing Mercury attention. You naming her the name you once gave him—”

“When I didn’t remember he was Rook,” I correct. “Besides, her plumage looks like emerald and purple liquid silver. The name couldn’t be better.”

“An apt observation,” Calder says, eyes swirling like the Northern Lights. “Still, he does not want to share you.”

“Oh, yeah?” I arch an eyebrow.

“Neither do I,” Calder confesses, leaning closer, fake-biting my neck.

“Then don’t,” I answer, wrapping my arms around his neck.

---

After we’ve worked up another kind of appetite, I head for the kitchen, cutting thick slices of pumpkin bread, dusting them for good measure, though Mercury’s aim is haphazard at best.

“I will make adjustments,” he promises, back on the floor, working barefoot and bare-armed, soldering something that glows faintly beside a half-dismantled comm cradle.

Outside, the forest breathes: slow wind through tall pines, a steady pulse from Mother Tree that resonates beneath our cabin like a heartbeat.

“You ever think about the others?” I ask.

Calder looks up, the light in his eyes deepening. “You mean Torin?”

“I mean your crewmates. The ones who haven’t found this yet.” I gesture to the room—to warmth, to calm, to him.

“The ones who have not awakened.” He frowns, quiet for a moment.

“Those can’t be all,” I say. “Surely, Raven’s Ridge doesn’t house all the Wildbloods in the world.”

His eyes narrow, face startled by my words. “Perhaps not.” He sits with that awhile, munching on bread and drinking coffee. I’m next to him, thighs pressed together. Finally, he says, “Somewhere out there, others may already be living beyond Command’s reach.” His gaze grows distant. “Torin has known freedom longer than I have. He has simply never learned what to do with it.”

A spark of static hums between us—half memory, half intuition. He wraps a massive arm around me, his heat seeping through me like sunlight.

Grabbing one of my hands, he licks the sweet powder from my fingers, slow and greedy, like the last crumb of Star-honey. I moan against the feel of his velvety tongue, letting him taste the temptation surging in my core.

His head descends, nips at the pulse point of my neck. “Careful, my little Earthling,” he growls. “Or we’ll end up back on the floor.”

“More like hovering above it,” I tease.

He laughs, the sound a low vibration against my skin. “That, too,” he promises.

“You know, human food’s only so-so. We really need to get back over to Torin’s greenhouse for more star fruit.” Not the grocery-store kind—the off-world kind he’s cultivated for centuries.

Calder nods, the light in him softening. “He’s been very busy. Very preoccupied.”

“Do you think he’s safe?” I ask, knowing full well he’s as much a part of this rebellion as we are.

“No,” he admits. “But he’s strong. And he’s listening.”

Outside, the dragonflies shift their flight path around the cabin, forming spirals of turquoise and copper against the brightening expanse of sky.

Far beyond their orbit, another frequency hums faintly through the Resonance.

Somewhere in the Starborn Range, Torin lifts his head.

Not Command.

Something new.

And he listens.

---