January 25, Wisconsin
Zoe Last had been trained to read the warning signs since before she’d learned to write her name, and the man who walked through the door of the Last Chance Repair Shop had danger written all over him.
She went still behind the counter of the little repair shop she now owned, forcing her feet to stay planted where they were. The urge to flee thrummed through her with each frantic beat of her heart, but if she ran now, this stranger would know who she was. What she was. If she stayed still and pretended she was human—as her father had taught her to do—at least she’d have a fighting chance.
Or not.
As her gaze traveled the long distance up the stranger’s ripped body, the idea of fighting him became so ludicrous it pushed an untimely giggle up into her clenched throat. He was huge, filling the doorway so that even the cold winter wind had trouble swirling past him. His limbs were thick, but he moved with the kind of easy grace that warned her he would likely be as fast as he was strong.
The brief thought that she might be able to outrun him flitted away, completely forgotten.
There was no needless bulk about him, no awkward bulges of muscles grown simply to impress the ladies. He was just… big, like Zoe’s father had been. Like all the people raised on her home world.
For a moment, all she could think about was how much she missed having thick, warm arms wrap around her, offering her comfort. She’d been so alone for so long, even the embrace of a stranger would feel good. Assuming he wasn’t here to kill her. She couldn’t forget that possibility—no matter how much she missed the basic comfort of a hug from one of her own kind.
Lovingly hugged by leather and denim, the stranger looked entirely human—and far too handsome for her peace of mind—but the fluid Imonite markings inked onto his shaved head told another story.
He wasn’t human, and handsome or not, she had to remember the threat he might pose.
Zoe couldn’t read them from here, but she recognized the elaborate swirl of the unique script, even from across the room. Curiosity itched at the base of her skull, making her wish she could simply drag his head under a lighted magnifier for closer inspection. Maybe those marks would help her solve the last riddle her father had ever given her, before he’d died.
A pang of grief hit her hard, like a closed fist to the gut. She rocked slightly on her feet against the rush of loneliness. Only months of surviving through the dragging pain of loss—of knowing that no matter how bad it hurt, the grief wouldn’t kill her—gave her the strength to breathe through the sudden attack.
The man stopped dead in his tracks, as if he’d noticed her pain and worried he’d caused it by his proximity. She didn’t understand how he’d seen her grief or why he’d care, but he simply stood there, a few feet inside the door, watching her.
For some reason, his stillness calmed her nerves, loosening her muscles until she was able to pull in a full breath. As the seconds ticked by, her fear settled, and her natural curiosity flared.
He hadn’t attacked her yet. Maybe he wasn’t here to hurt her. Maybe he was here because the war was finally over, and the home world her father had loved so much was once again safe.
Scars lined the big man’s tattooed scalp in long furrows, as if something had tried to claw his head open. A trio of metallic chains dangled from one ear, and hanging from them were tiny, complex trinkets in various metallic shades. Behind the open zipper of his leather jacket, covering the intriguing contours of thick muscle and bone, his leather vest was covered in even more twinkling metal objects.
Zoe had seen items like those before. When she was younger, her father would sit hunched over the objects for hours, putting them together in an endless string of patterns that never seemed to please him, before tearing them apart again and tucking them away.
As curious as she was about the purpose of the puzzle, she hadn’t pursued it. Those pieces sat in his office safe at home, but she couldn’t bring herself to step foot into his sanctuary since his death. His spirit still lingered there, and she wasn’t yet strong enough to face it. It was better to leave his things as he’d left them, and pretend that room in her house didn’t exist.
Maybe those objects were what her father had meant when he’d told her to guard the treasure and not leave without it. Maybe the hidden trinkets were the key to the riddle that had been important enough to earn her father’s dying breath.
A look of concern crossed the stranger’s face, drawing his tattoos down low over his brow. His features were far too bold and angular to be considered conventionally handsome, but there was something about him that drew her in almost as much as the twinkling Imonite trinkets he wore. Despite her rude stare, he’d stood there for long seconds, letting her look her fill, but the quiet stillness he’d used to calm her fear no longer seemed to appease him.
He moved closer.
Zoe’s heart gave a heavy lurch behind her ribs, though she couldn’t tell if it was fear or a tiny thrill of excitement. The closer he got, the more she realized she was no match for this man, physically, but then neither was anyone else. If he was on her side, he was going to be one hell of a formidable ally.
But if not…
The charms dangling from his ear twinkled as he closed the distance. The smell of snow clung to his leather jacket, and she had the strangest urge to press her hands to his cheeks to drive the winter chill from his skin.
She threaded her fingers together and held on tight to keep her hands to herself. The need to touch him pounded at her, but she couldn’t tell if it was his technology or his body that pulled at her.
As she shuffled backward, she wished the checkout counter were higher. And topped with loops of razor wire and heavy machine guns. Maybe then he’d keep his distance until she could determine if he was friend or foe. As it was, there was something about him—the scars that proved he could take a beating, the square set of his wide shoulders, the glitter of determination in his pale eyes—that told her that this man would not stop until he got whatever it was he’d come for.
Zoe desperately hoped he hadn’t come to hurt her.
Someone will come one day to take us home, her father had told her. You must only go if the war is over. Only if the Loriahans won.
She shoved aside all other thoughts beyond learning the stranger’s agenda.
With a fake smile plastered on her face, she greeted him as she would any other customer. “Can I help you?”
His gaze settled on hers. Pale, silvery-green eyes, ringed with a blue so dark it was nearly navy. His pupils swelled as she watched, completely sucked in by the shocking color combination. It reminded her of something—something warm and familiar and safe.
Once again, the idea of being sheltered inside the embrace of a strong man beckoned her.
She blinked, jerking her eyes down to his wide chest to break the spell. Only there she found twinkling glimpses of the Imonite technology she was rarely allowed to study. Those shiny bits intrigued her, making her wish she could push his jacket open and get her hands on what lay beneath.
He had so much to offer. Warmth, strength, information. Connection.
He was Imonite like her—the tattoos and his size proved it—and until this very moment, she’d thought she was the only living member of her race on this entire planet. Knowing she wasn’t completely alone anymore was comforting on a level so deep it shocked her. It hardly mattered that he might be here to kill her. His mere presence was proof she might not always be alone and cut off from a home world she barely remembered.
Her curiosity drew her forward until she bumped into the counter. The jarring impact got her mind working enough to remember that he probably was here to do her harm. She could not simply forget countless warnings from her father, no matter how big and intriguing the distraction was.
She gave her head a little shake to clear it of the spell he’d cast over her and backed up as far as she could.
“I hope you can help,” he said in answer to her question. “Are you Zoe Last?” His voice was a low rumble of sound that reached all the way into her lungs, lingering there for a moment before dissipating into flesh and bone.
She shivered as that energy passed through her.
“No,” she lied. Her voice cracked and she had to clear her throat to get it working again. Lying wasn’t her forte, but it was far better to know why he was here before she revealed her identity. “She took the day off. Can I give her a message for you?”
His chest swelled on a deep breath, reminding her once again just how easy it would be for him to squish her flat. He’d made no aggressive moves. In fact, he was more still than most men, holding his position, moving as little as necessary, as if he was trying not to shake her.
Epic fail.
She was quaking inside, though whether from fear or excitement, she couldn’t tell. One thing was sure: he could reach out and grab her at any second. The solid barrier of the counter between them was little reassurance. Even backed up against the display of tiny batteries behind her, she was still within the reach of his long arms. It took every bit of practice her father had forced on her to pretend he wasn’t freaking her out.
“Are you sure she won’t be in tonight?” he asked. “It’s important.”
“I’m sure.”
Those trinkets on his chest twinkled with every slow breath he took. “That’s too bad. I know she’s going to want to hear what I have so say.”
His voice shook her, startling her into making the long voyage back up to look at his face again. On it was the unmistakable expression of frustration and disappointment, along with a heaping helping of determination.
“Do you have a pen?” he asked.
Zoe pushed a pen and note pad across the counter toward him with a single finger. She didn’t dare hand him anything for fear he’d grab hold of her and yank her right over the only barrier she had.
She wasn’t built on the same grand scale that her people were. She wasn’t sure if it was the environment here, the food she’d grown up on, or the reduced gravitational pull of Earth’s lower mass, but something had stunted her growth, leaving her smaller than she should have been. Her bones weren’t as thick as her people’s, and she lacked the strength she would have had if she’d been raised on Loriah.
Maybe if she had grown up on the world of her birth, she wouldn’t have felt so scrawny standing next to this man.
He wrote down a phone number. She watched his hand move, his big, blunt fingers clutching the skinny pen. There was no clumsiness in the effort, which surprised her. His movements were smooth and easy, leaving behind a fluid line of numbers. Each one had the same graceful flare her father’s writing had, which made some of her apprehension slide closer to curiosity.
If he was one of the evil, brain-sucking monsters her father had warned her about, would he really need nice penmanship?
His voice was quiet, his tone matter-of-fact. “My name is Talan and I’m here to help. Tell Zoe she’s in danger, and that if she wants to live, she should call me. Soon.”
The jolt of fear that shot through Zoe made her suck in a startled breath. “What?” The single word, uttered with complete disbelief was all she could manage to choke out.
His striking gaze caught hers and held on tight. She was completely sucked in, barely able to spare the mental space to remember to breathe. She couldn’t have looked away if she’d wanted, and she had the impression that was exactly what he’d intended.
There was no hint of a lie lurking there, only a silent challenge. “And give her this.”
He took her limp, clammy hand and pressed something small and hard in the center of her palm. It was warm from his skin. As he closed her fingers over it, she felt the rough, hot slide of his fingertips at her wrist. His hands completely engulfed hers, so gentle she had to stifle a shiver of pleasure.
A tiny little touch shouldn’t have had the power to bowl her over like that. She could only imagine what he could do to her rioting emotions if he wrapped those thick arms around her and held her close.
Whoever he was, Talan was the kind of man who packed a heck of a wallop in the hormonal department. She wasn’t even sure she could trust him, but already her body was quivering inside with the need for more of his touch. Much, much more.
A knowing little grin lifted one side of his mouth. “I’ll come back in an hour. Maybe by then she’ll be ready to hear what I have to say.”
He turned and left, sliding out the door as silently as he’d come in.
Zoe stood frozen in place, watching him saunter across the snowy street until he disappeared into the diner. He didn’t look back.
She was trembling all over with an odd mix of fear and excitement. Her tight grip caused the hard edges of his gift to bite into her skin, reminding her to shake off his potent effects and concentrate.
She looked down, and lying in her palm was a metallic disk made of dozens of interlocking pieces. Each one was a different color of metal, so intricately detailed she had no idea how they’d been formed. Layers of round and fluted shapes overlapped one another, forming a complex whole so beautiful she couldn’t pull her eyes away.
It was more than merely pretty. She sensed some innate function in the piece that she couldn’t quite figure out. It seemed to warm as she held it, humming so slightly she wasn’t sure if she’d really felt it, or if it was just the way her hands were trembling.
For all she knew, it was a weapon—one that could go boom any second.
She set the thing down as if it had caught on fire. The rounded bottom caused it to rock on the wooden countertop.
Zoe held her breath, torn between needing to know what the device was and fearing that the only way to find out would be by having it detonate in her face. Sweat trickled down her spine, and her tongue clung to the roof of her mouth. After a few uneventful minutes of staring at it, her curiosity grew until there was little room left for fear or the strange thrill his touch had given her.
She’d always been too curious. She’d killed a lot of appliances and computers by taking them apart over the years. Her father had always said her curiosity was her greatest, most dangerous asset. And when he did, his words had been filled with an odd combination of pride and fear.
As she stared down at the complex object—one she was going to dissect until it either revealed its secrets or killed her—she finally understood what he’d meant.
Carefully, she picked the disk up and cradled it in her palm as she went to her workbench in the back room of the shop. The entrance was covered by a yellow curtain, hiding the clutter of her workspace from her customers. She had an hour before the huge stranger came back, and before he did, she needed to be long gone.
She wasn’t sure if Talan had been lying about wanting to help her, but her safest course of action was to flee. She only needed ten minutes to be ready to leave town for good. Five minutes to drive back to her house. Another five to collect her emergency bags filled with clothes, cash and a new identity.
Certainly she could spare just a couple of minutes to play with this new puzzle before she left this town forever, abandoning his intriguing gift.
Maybe it would hold the key to her father’s final, confusing riddle. And then again, maybe it would kill her and she’d no longer have to worry about riddles.
Or anything else.