Alien Revelation Read online

  “Who’s it up to?”

  “Your family, especially your father.”

  Oliver gave that a moment’s thought. “I think he’ll be okay with it.”

  Her brows knit together in question. “Why do you say that?”

  Oliver bit into his toast, and spoke around the mouthful of food. “Because he likes having you around.”

  That gave her hope that maybe others saw what she felt. Maybe Conall really did have feelings for her.

  “And what about you?” Onalee asked Oliver. “Do you like having me around?”

  He swallowed before answering. “Aye, but not if you’re going to play my game without me.”

  She laughed at his joke, and pulled him in for a hug.

  “Another hug?” he whined.

  “Yes, another hug! Don’t you know anything about Arathians? We’re very affectionate.” She tickled him for good measure before letting him go. “If you want me around, you’d better get used to it.”

  “Okay.”

  He sighed dramatically, but it was ruined by the happy expression on his face. He brought his plate closer, and Onalee settled her own across her legs, and together, they dug into their breakfast—Oliver with slightly more gusto.

  Afterwards, they read through a couple of comic books he retrieved from his bedroom, adjacent to hers, and she showed him some educational programs that he could bring up on his consoles. He especially liked the one featuring the conscious, gelatinous beings from a distant world, who oozed around on the ground.

  Conall poked his head in a couple of times to check on them, and make sure Oliver wasn’t bothering her, but they were perfectly content to lounge around in bed and watch the vid screen.

  They were on their second hour of program-watching, when Onalee’s eyelids got heavy. Either the medicine the doctor had given her last night was still affecting her, or her body was still recuperating from its recent trauma. Whatever the reason, before she knew what was happening, sleep overtook her.

  *****

  Brogan arrived at the MacLeod house with his team, and a pile of hovercrates in tow.

  He purposefully hadn’t contacted the family to tell them that they were coming ahead of time. If he showed up in person, he’d be able to plead his case, and—hopefully—persuade the family to allow them to stay.

  If that didn’t work, Brogan knew that Deian would be willing to issue a royal decree. He didn’t want to go that route, but would if the family forced him to.

  Brogan didn’t think he’d have any problems. The family would probably be fine with the added security, especially after what happened the previous night.

  Artair, Conall, and Reus already stood outside of the front door when he and his crew finished unloading all of their supplies from the armored transport. They left the crates on the driveway, and walked to the house.

  Brogan’s eyes roamed over Conall as he approached. The male was pale and tired, but otherwise looked alright. Thank goodness nothing had happened at their home during the night. Brogan had been up all night in the Guard Shack, working, and worrying about the people living in this house.

  “Morning, Brogan,” Conall called, as he stepped forward and held out his hand.

  Brogan grasped his forearm, instead of his palm, in a more intimate, Arathian gesture, and held on for longer than was merely “friendly.” He stepped in close to the male, who didn’t move away. Actually, if Brogan was correct, Conall leaned towards him.

  If he’d had it his way, Brogan would have wrapped Conall in his arms and held him tight. Instead, he settled for rubbing his thumb back and forth over the male’s forearm in a caress.

  “Morning,” Brogan greeted him. “How’s Onalee?”

  “Much better,” Conall answered. “She’s napping right now, and the wound looks like it’s healing well.”

  Brogan breathed a sigh of relief. He’d been worrying about the female all night. “That’s good to hear.”

  With his anxiety abating, Brogan gave Conall’s arm one last caress with his thumb, before stepping back to introduce his crew.

  “This is my team.” He pointed to each Arathian in turn, and they bowed in greeting.

  “Iliona, she’s our undercover specialist. Anders and Rebus are our recon males, and Oset is a technology god. He can work magic in ways I can only imagine. Team, this is Artair and Conall MacLeod of Earth, and Reus Odeh of Siril.”

  Reus bowed, while Artair and Conall shook each of the Arathians’ hands before welcoming them inside.

  Artair began asking questions before they’d all entered the house. “Not that we’re not pleased you’re here, but why are you all here? And with that big pile of equipment outside?”

  This was the part Brogan was dreading. He respected the hell out of this family. He wanted them to know about the very-real danger they were in, but a part of him was afraid that if he scared them too badly, they’d leave the planet completely. It would be easy: they owned their own interstellar ship, and still had a home on Earth.

  Brogan’s eyes went to Conall. If they left, he’d miss the hell out of the male. Even so, his plan was to be straight-forward with them. He made sure to look them in the eye as he explained.

  “We’re still gathering proof, but it’s clear that the attack last night was perpetrated by individuals in the Anti-Earther Movement. We don’t know how far it’s spread, or what their plans are, but we’re partnering with the Arathian Defense to figure that out.

  “For now, the royal palaces are on lock-down, and King Deian wants all Earthers protected. That includes this family.”

  “Do you really think they’ll target us?” Conall asked.

  “They might,” Brogan answered honestly. “As of right now, we have no proof of that, so we’re here as a precautionary measure.”

  “I thought it was Lukas they were after last night,” Artair added.

  Brogan nodded. “We believe he was their primary target, but there’s suspicion that Queen Jayda was also targeted.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” Reus argued. “She’s an Arathian, and the natural-born heir to the throne. Why would they target her?”

  “Because her child is only part Arathian,” Brogan stated.

  “You think that because the baby is half-Earther, it was a target too?” Conall clarified.

  Brogan nodded. “That child will be the next in line for the throne. There are some who would like to prevent that from happening.”

  “Jesus,” Artair breathed. “How much danger are we in? Should we leave Arath?”

  The question caused a pang in Brogan’s chest. He wanted them safe, but the thought of them leaving was a knife to his midsection.

  “I don’t think it’s come to that yet. Right now, we want to make sure you’re safe while we get an accurate threat level.”

  The males looked at each other before Conall told him, “You just let us know how we can help.”

  Relief infused Brogan. They weren’t leaving—not yet. He pushed the emotion aside and focused on the task at hand.

  “Reus, I’d appreciate your advice on connecting our security network into the artificial intelligence you have integrated throughout the house. I think that the two systems working in conjunction with each other, will be far more effective.”

  Reus nodded. “Of course. I’m happy to help, and I’m sure LINK will be too.”

  “Thank you,” Brogan told him, before gesturing to one of his teammates.

  “If you wouldn’t mind working with Oset on that, the rest of my crew and I will go to the backyard and set up the portable shelter we brought for us to sleep in…”

  “You’ll do no such thing!” Artair interjected. “We have all kinds of rooms upstairs that are sitting empty. You’re welcome to them, as long as you have your own beds tucked away in those crates. I’m afraid that we haven’t gotten around to furnishing them all yet.”

  Brogan bowed. “Thank you, that is very generous, and we would be honored to accept your hospitality
.”

  He nodded once to his crew, and they each headed their separate ways. Iliona and Anders went outside to begin bringing in equipment, while Rebus put on a specialized helmet, took the large weapon from his back in-hand, and set off to establish a perimeter. Reus led Oset to his workroom, where LINK’s matrix and other pertinent systems were housed.

  “Conall, why don’t you take Brogan upstairs and show him the empty rooms,” Artair suggested.

  “This way.” Conall gestured towards the stairs, and they ascended to the third floor’s suite of spare rooms.

  They were meant for Karo and Aevum, if they ever came to stay, but the family hadn’t had a chance to replicate furniture yet. It wasn’t a problem. Between what his crew had brought, and using the MacLeod’s replicator, they’d be very comfortable.

  “You sure this will work?” Conall asked once they stood in the suite’s central living area.

  “It’s perfect,” Brogan answered.

  He’d moved to the back wall, where large windows looked out over the east gardens that Clare had yet to plant. “We’ll need access to each room in the house today, while we beef up the security network I installed.”

  Conall nodded. “Alright. I’ll let everyone know to expect you.”

  Brogan turned from where he was looking out over the grounds, and took in Conall’s appearance again. “You doing okay?”

  “Aye, I’m fine.” Conall ran his hands over his face and sighed. “I’m just tired. I sat up in Onalee’s room the entire night to watch over her.”

  Brogan crossed the distance between them, and Conall stilled. If he’d been Arathian, Brogan wouldn’t have had any qualms about bringing them together for an embrace, but with this male, he was on unfamiliar ground. Brogan felt a strong bond with him, but feared that it was entirely one-sided. If he made the wrong move, Conall could push him away. He could end all association with him, and possibly Onalee too. The thought made Brogan’s heart ache.

  Conall might even ask him and his team to leave their house, leaving them unprotected. Right now, it wasn’t worth the risk.

  Instead of comforting Conall like he wanted, Brogan settled for setting his hand on his shoulder. He slid his hand down Conall’s arm and back up in a soothing gesture. The male leaned in to the touch. A thrill sparked through Brogan, but he was careful to keep it from showing.

  “Why don’t you go get a couple hours of sleep?” he suggested. “Once my team has settled in, I’ll go sit with Onalee.”

  Conall shook his head. “I still have Oliver…”

  “Isn’t he in class right now?” Brogan interrupted.

  Conall looked at his watch. “Aye, he’s in class.”

  “Then go get some rest. I’ll make sure he doesn’t leave the house when his class is over.”

  Conall reluctantly nodded. “Okay. I guess you’re right; some sleep would do me good.”

  Brogan’s hand settled at the back of Conall’s neck, and he saw the male’s eyes flare for a moment. Was he remembering their kiss? By the gods, Brogan hoped so. It was all he could think about in that moment.

  He licked his lips, and Conall’s eyes tracked the movement as his hand came up to grasp Brogan’s forearm.

  He wanted nothing more at that moment than to lose himself in Conall, but his enhanced hearing picked up the sounds of Iliona and Rebus ascending the stairs down the hall. They only had another moment of privacy.

  I can’t catch a fucking break, Brogan lamented to himself.

  He leaned in, and instead of kissing Conall’s mouth, Brogan settled for grazing his lips along the male’s temple. He inhaled the scent of Conall’s skin, and closed his eyes for a brief moment. He felt Conall sigh against his neck. The exhalation made him shiver.

  “Go get some sleep,” Brogan whispered, punctuating the words with another kiss to his temple.

  Conall nodded, and Brogan forced himself to put some distance between them. It took a moment longer for their hands to break contact.

  Brogan’s team entered the sitting area as they were stepping away from each other. Conall shot nervous glances their way, but if they noticed, neither commented.

  “I’ll see you in a few hours,” Brogan told him.

  The words broke through whatever was going through Conall’s mind. He nodded stiffly, then left the room.

  Brogan shoved his personal feelings aside. Right now he had a job to do, and he damn well wasn’t going to fail.

  CHAPTER 18

  What in the bloody hell just happened? Conall asked himself, as he entered his suite and closed the door. He leaned back against the surface for a moment, replaying the last few minutes in his head.

  There was no denying what had just happened: he’d wanted Brogan to kiss him. He had actually ached for it. And this time he couldn’t blame it on the fact that he hadn’t experienced any intimacy in years. Just the previous night he’d had his lips on Onalee’s.

  Am I turning into a slut?

  Conall scrubbed his hands down his face. He was too tired to pick his actions apart. All he knew was that in the moment, he’d wanted the comfort Brogan was offering. He’d wanted to be wrapped in his strong arms, and kissed. He wanted to press his face to the male’s neck.

  Bloody hell.

  Conall pushed himself off of the door and walked inside his bedroom, stripping clothes as he went.

  It’s just because I’m tired, he told himself. But, was it? He hadn’t been tired when he’d let Brogan touch him in the autotransport—or when they’d kissed.

  I’m straight. I shouldn’t be wanting things like this, he admonished himself as he climbed between the sheets of his new, massive bed. He laid on his back and draped an arm over his face. There was no denying that he had cravings, or that Brogan had aroused him on multiple occasions.

  But I’m not gay! his mind quipped. Hell, I’ve been married… happily married… and have a child with a woman.

  He was clearly still interested in females. Exhibit A: Onalee. No woman had stirred his blood since he’d met Mary all those years ago, except for that beautiful, kind, Arathian female. But a man? Never in his life had a man made him want anything more than a drinking, or poker-buddy. No one in school, and no one he’d worked with on the oil rigs…

  … No one until Brogan.

  But, to be honest, he’d never met anyone like Brogan. The male towered over Conall’s six-foot one-inch height, and had biceps that Conall had only seen on television or in magazines. And his dark green eyes? They always seemed to be piercing into his soul.

  Conall groaned and rolled over onto his stomach, only to be forced to adjust himself before settling his weight onto the mattress.

  Seriously? I’m hard. Now?!

  But the question was: who was it for? Onalee or Brogan? Conall was too tired to analyze his own body. Maybe later, once he’d had a few hours of sleep.

  *****

  When Onalee woke from her nap, the vid screen was off, Oliver was gone, and Brogan sat in the chair next to her bed, watching her sleep. She smiled at seeing him, and he moved right away to sit on the bed next to her.

  “There you are. How are you feeling?” he asked as he smoothed his hands over her arms.

  “Better.”

  She moved to sit up, and he helped her arrange the pillows and shift her body higher up on the bed. It felt more comfortable to be talking to him while she was upright.

  “I’m surprised to see you back so soon,” she added.

  His brows creased. “Why’s that?”

  “I figured that since Lukas had been injured, the Guards would need everyone at the palace 24/7. I know that’s your priority.”

  He took her hand and grew serious. “Protecting the royal family and the other Guards is what I’ve dedicated my life to. I love my career, but it’s not my only priority.”

  “It’s not?” she asked hopefully.

  “No.”

  Instead of elaborating, he leaned forward and kissed her. The kiss was light and sweet, and she rev
eled in the moment. Too soon, he pulled back and rested his forehead against hers.

  “Last night, when that explosion went off and people started firing into the crowd, I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared in my entire life,” he confessed against her lips.

  “Me too,” she agreed. “I don’t know what I would have done without you and Conall there.”

  Unexpected tears pricked her eyes. She’d been too terrified, then in too much pain, to process what had actually happened. The shock of the explosion, the fear at seeing people fall motionless to the ground as they were shot…

  Brogan scooted closer to her on the bed and gathered her into his arms. She buried her face into his chest and held onto him. What would she have done if Conall and Brogan hadn’t been there? She would have been all alone during the worst moment of her life.

  Even worse: what if one of them had been hit? What if she’d been unable to get them to a transport, and to safety? What if one of them had died?

  She shook her head in an attempt to dislodge the thoughts spiraling in her mind. She couldn’t think like that. Brogan and Conall were alright. They were here and safe… but logic couldn’t silence the memories of people’s screams.

  “Will you kiss me again?” she asked, desperately in need of a distraction.

  Brogan pressed their lips tenderly together, but that wasn’t what Onalee wanted. She linked her fingers into his hair and melded him more solidly against her, then massaged his lips with her own, like he’d taught her to do. Her tongue licked his bottom lip, and he opened his mouth on a groan, his tongue coming out to twine with hers.

  When she began arching against him, he pulled back. “Honey, we can’t. Your leg…”

  “To hell with my leg.”

  She pulled him back to her by his neck, locking their lips together again. He chuckled, and had to tear his lips from hers.

  “I care about your leg very much, as I do every inch of you. I can wait a couple more days until your body is healed.”

  She pouted so prettily that he took her bottom lip in a short kiss.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” he scolded her.