Claimed by the Alien Bodyguard - Tiffany Roberts Page 0,31

light cast across it, the result of the light over the stove being turned on for the first time since he’d moved into this house. It was the best he’d been able to do without any nightlights on hand; should little Ana wander out of the bedroom during the night, at least she wouldn’t be in the dark.

Though that light seemed much brighter to him than it did to his humans, he didn’t find it bothersome—especially compared to the flashing lights of the firetrucks, which even the blinds hadn’t been able to completely block out. Fortunately, the trucks had left a couple hours ago.

And as strange as it was to be lying on his couch trying to sleep, he was comfortable. Even having to keep his legs draped over the armrest, dangling in the air. His tail was free for the first time all day, finally stretched out alongside his leg rather than wrapped around it, and its tip was swaying back and forth lazily. All was quiet in the house but for the gentle creaking of the building in the winter wind and the dulled drone of a fan in the bedroom. In so many respects, this was just another night on an alien world.

Gabriela is in my bed.

He quickly reminded himself that these weren’t the circumstances under which he’d wanted her there—and she was in that bed with her daughter. But he couldn’t deny the tiny spark of satisfaction in his chest, couldn’t ignore the flutter of excitement in his stomach.

When Gabriela had emerged from the bedroom earlier, she’d been wearing the clothes he’d given her. The hem of his shirt had hung past her knees, and she’d had the legs of the sweatpants rolled up to keep them from dragging on the floor. Seeing her in his clothing had felt right. He couldn’t deny that he’d enjoyed it, that he’d…loved it. She’d accepted his protection by staying with him, but she’d accepted something more by using his clothes. She’d accepted him.

Part of Broxen knew that probably wasn’t how she was thinking about all this, that humans didn’t view things in the same way, but that couldn’t change how he felt. Gabriela in his clothes had been attractive, sensual, arousing. Knowing that a bit of his scent was on her beautiful tan skin now, marking her as his, threatened to drive him wild. He longed to mark her properly. To claim her fully. And he’d seen a glimmer of longing in her eyes when she’d looked at him, had seen what couldn’t have been anything but desire.

He’d barely stopped himself from stalking up to her and taking her in his arms, from slamming his mouth over hers, from tearing his clothing off her enticing little body, pinning her against the wall, and taking her.

Just thinking about it now made his cock stiffen, and he balled his hands into fists, digging the tips of his claws into his palms. His tail twisted and coiled around his calf, and a low growl sounded deep in his chest.

Those yearnings were stronger by far than any he’d ever experienced. His struggle in those moments had been immense.

But the heat had faded from Gabriela’s eyes with the gathering of fresh, glistening tears. She’d apologized for crying so much before wishing him goodnight and retreating into the bedroom to get some rest.

Broxen wasn’t great at this introspection stuff, but he was fairly certain that it was Gabriela’s tears, even more than his unfulfilled cravings, that were keeping him awake now.

Gabriela and Ana had lost everything but each other tonight. All their belongings were gone, all the items that had made their home feel so warm and inviting, all the objects they’d cherished. Broxen knew Gabriela had worked hard for everything she’d owned—and that many of those objects could never be replaced. Worst of all, she’d faced the terror of almost losing the thing she cherished above all else. Her daughter.

It was wrong for Broxen to feel this sense of pride, this flare of contentment and satisfaction. It was wrong for him to feel like Gabriela and Ana were right where they belonged. It was wrong of him to view this situation as his best opportunity to make them his forever.

If he could’ve spared them these experiences, he would have, even if it meant never having them.

So where was his guilt? Where was his self-loathing, his remorse?

His females’ tears, their sadness, their fear and grief, were like knives plunged into his chest over and over