Track that heat signature! Immediately!

…!

Damn your eyes, Oscar… what do you think you’re doing? Just going to shoot up our meal ticket and expect everyone to smile and nod like we’re all having a lark at the pond? Idiot! What does he suppose is going to happen once those Coalition boys show up? What are we going to deliver? A couple of fried corpses?

Ha. We’ll be lucky if they only execute the lot of us. And never mind the bloody documentary!

You! What’s the status on that transport? We’re going to need access to the onboard weapon systems if we’re to have any hope of stopping him.

…

Figures. Why is it that the only time anyone remembers to password-protect their console is just before they decide to go rogue?

Okay… Does Oscar have any close friends on board? Drinking buddies? Confidants? Anyone at all who might be able to guess at it?

…

Oh, hang me sideways. Yes, I know Samantha would have been the one to ask. She was his flaming fiancée.

Alright… you. Send someone to search Oscar’s cabin. Maybe he kept a journal or a notebook. Or a manifesto…

In the meantime, does anyone know a workaround?

…?

I don’t know! I’m a xenobiologist, not an engineer. Maybe there’s some kind of… hidden… side panel? Or… or perhaps if we were to overload the propulsion systems, it’d force the control console to reset? There’s always something like that. Right?

…

I know Samantha would’ve—!

< deep breath >

Look. The girl’s dead. And I’m sure we’ve allllll learned a valuable lesson when it comes to cheapening out on maintenance personnel. Now, is there anyone on this entire station who is capable of actually using their brain? Anyone at all?

< several seconds of thoughtful silence >

…

There’s a manual for the Personnel Transport? Good lord. Where?

…

Why would the transport need a glove compart—? No. Never mind. I don’t care. You have fun with that. The last thing I need is to dig through another manual… and through a camera drone, no less.

You. While he’s working on that, set the computer to cracking that password.

< sigh >

What an absolute bag of pants.

*

Both sets of Naomi’s eyelids fluttered in spastic rotation, trying to dispel the diagonal bar of light that had just burned itself into her retinas. It looked as though a line of magma had just streaked across her field of view, so her thermal vision was going completely haywire.

“Was that a laser?” Mike yelped in surprise. “Someone’s shooting a laser gun at us!”

Naomi decided to give it up and simply closed her eyes. Blinking was not helping all that much, and her visual abilities were next to useless down here anyway.

As for whatever Mike was on about…

“Are you out of your mind? You can’t use laser-based weaponry underwater. There’s too much diffusion. You’d need a setup the size of a submarine to penetrate more than a hundred meters.” Another bolt speared through her bubble of awareness only to pass behind her head and smash into the ceiling above. The resultant flakes of superheated rock pinging off her shoulders were less than pleasant. “That was clearly some kind of magnetized plasma bolt.”

“I hardly think that’s the issue here, Naomi,” Mike reasoned hotly. “Besides. Aliens?!”

Her lady bits clenched uncontrollably at the sound of his raised voice. The bass of it reverberated through her chest beautifully, doing wondrous things to her still-tingling nipples. Which only made their current predicament all the more irritating. She was going to kill whatever gray-skinned asshole had just decided to cock-block her.

Affecting an eye-roll of indifference, she decided to deflect. “Just because they’re aliens, that doesn’t mean they get to ignore basic physics.”

“You’re a horticulture major! What do you know about physics?”

“I read.” Internet forums counted.

Mike made an abortive attempt at throwing his hands into the air, but the ceiling was too low to really sell the gesture. “Whatever! We need to find cover!”

Yet another bolt ripped through the water to hammer home the point, impacting several yards to their right. This time, even the shrapnel missed them.

She quirked an eyebrow. “Do we? What are they using to fire those bolts at us, anyway? An arquebus?”

Mike’s lips formed into a thin line. “They only have to get lucky once. Now, come on!”

Instead of bothering to argue more, he put actions to words and dove down. She had to admit, whatever it was she had managed to do to him during the last half hour—or half week, if her stomach was any judge—had done wonders for his personality. He was being so much more assertive!

With a Cheshire grin, she dove after him.

Her first thought—once she managed to wrest her mind out of the gutter, anyway—was to wonder what his plan could be. And how he was able to see anything at all. She certainly could not. Not out here in the open ocean. Even after Mike had tripled her range with that secondary mutation, everything beyond a dozen meters or so remained a complete void. What were they supposed to do about those plasma rounds sizzling through the water?

Every few seconds, another would streak past, sending bubbles skyward as it vaporized its surroundings. She had little doubt as to her fate were one of them to hit her. Still… whoever was shooting at them did not seem particularly experienced with a gun. He had no concept of leading his target. And from the lack of change to his angle of fire—shot-to-shot—he appeared to be keeping well away from them.

…which was curious.

Was he—if it even was a he—afraid of them? And why attack them now? What had changed? Was the experiment not going to plan? Were they evolving in the wrong way? Were there factions amongst the aliens? And if they were going to wipe the two of them out, why do it in such an ineffectual manner? A race advanced enough to implant the pair of them with linked rapid-mutation tech and drop them onto an alien world had to have a more efficient means of killing them.

…unless they were trying to drive them somewhere? Herd them to some secondary location?

There were too many possibilities to count. Still, Mike was right. When someone is shooting at you, it’s best not to be downrange—amateur marksman or not.

As fathom mounted upon fathom, she realized Mike could only be leading them straight to the bottom. Which she might have balked at… if only she could think of a reasonable alternative. But the depth was not bothering her as much as it probably should have. Every other time they had been down this far, she had been forced to equalize the pressure in her ears on a semi-regular basis just to keep from being overwhelmed by the pain. So whatever Mike had done to them during their little ‘dispute’ seemed to have sorted that out.

Ridiculous man.

Why had it been so difficult for him to admit he was attracted to her? Did he really have to drive himself to the point where he could scarcely look away from her exposed tits just to manage a simple, little head nod?

Which was not to say that she was displeased with the end result. Just as she had predicted, his every attempt at escape from their inevitable pairing only sealed his fate all the more. She felt like a goddess amongst women now, her beauty so undeniable, all she needed to do was crook a finger and her man would come running, eager to satisfy.

She had most certainly benefited too, of course. And in more ways than simply putting her body confidence issues to permanent rest. Her… admittedly difficult flirtations with turning the tables on Mike had made him so handsome, she was finding it difficult to think straight in his presence. She would have to be careful of that in the future.

But that was hardly the point! If he had just conceded in the first place, they could have been dancing the perpendicular tango from square one. Instead, she was being forced to swim for her life with an ache between her legs so deep she did not know if she would ever be able to massage it out.

And that was not the only thing bothering her. There was an odd but increasing need to pop her joints building in her… everywhere. Her hands, her shoulders, her hips… even her nose?

Between irritated scrunches of her face, she realized what the common link had to be. And the reason why.

One of the more common symptoms reported by technical divers was joint pain. She had read all about it after uncovering an article detailing a government plan to build a secret base in the deep Atlantic. Several of the commenters had pointed out the obvious difficulties implicit in such an operation—doubtlessly a bunch of feds trying to muddy the waters—which had led her down an interesting rabbit hole of Wikipedia searches.

Regardless, what she was experiencing now was real enough. If anything, those divers had been underselling the sensation. This was out-and-out torture!

Yet Mike never stopped his descent. How could he? Where else could they go?

On and on they swam, bolt after sizzling bolt chasing after them. And just as she was starting to think they could descend no farther, the ocean floor began to spread itself across her field of awareness. She almost sighed with relief, but at this depth, she was certain any slip as far as that went would pop her lungs like a balloon.

Mike was quick to ferret out a promising outcropping, and they wasted no time before slipping behind its comforting shelter. For some while, her every thought was devoted toward working at her joints—particularly along her shoulders and spine. The discomfort was too overwhelming to think of much else. One of these days, she and Mike were going to have to work out some refinements to their nonverbal communication system. She needed a back rub in the worst way… amongst other things. But he was not paying her much attention, instead seeming focused on their still-distant assailant.

Curious herself, she peeped her head out next to his to watch. With her normal, light-based vision, she could see the incoming streaks from their antagonist’s weapon cutting through the water from some distance away. And it seemed the incredible depth they had descended to was doing them a world of favors. Each shot was slowing by a tremendous amount and many were even showing signs of curving away before ultimately extinguishing in a dark puff of sand nearby.

Which was a lovely bit of news. But unless their would-be assailant decided he was content with keeping them pinned down, he would soon reposition to a more advantageous position. And in the meantime—as Mike had pointed out—there was always the chance he would get lucky. They needed to figure out a permanent solution, whether through incapacitating the little green man out there—not an enticing idea given the disparity between their available weaponry and detection abilities—or escape.

However, their immediate surroundings did not provide many opportunities for the latter. There was just a smattering of jagged, volcanic rocks around, the largest of which was providing their current bit of cover, but the rest were too small to be of use. Beyond that, there was just the sand at their feet.

She supposed burying themselves was an option. Holding their breath was not an issue. But unless they could figure out a way of tunneling through it, any intelligent creature would eventually figure out where the two of them had ‘gone to ground,’ as it were.

And that was assuming it was even deep enough. Her detection sphere only penetrated an inch or two below the surface… though that was enough for her to pick out a couple of interesting little morsels burrowing about. Most of them were variations on the theme of ‘worm,’ which sounded only faintly appetizing.

Much more enticing were the vaguely crablike specimens hidden about—and buried in much the same way she had just been considering. Their leg count was entirely off, they had too many pincers, and their body shape was more… octahedral than anything she would consider a crab. But they had a shell, and that was the important thing. She doubted adding such a thing to their repertoire would be enough to guard against one of those plasma rounds. Or not normally. But down here, where it had to cut through hundreds of meters of dense water first, a shell might just give them the edge.

She turned her attention back to Mike, wondering how she might communicate the idea with their woefully limited hand signals… and immediately became entranced by the hard planes of his back. Good god, he was sexy. Especially when he was concentrating. He looked so serious and manly. Her body shivered with repressed desire… which, on reflection, prompted a wave of frustration.

There was no way she could allow herself to grow a shell. Sure, it might be useful. This one time. But what if it covered up something important?

Like her boobs! They were brand new! Fresh out of the box! Even she had not had the opportunity to play with them, never mind what she had hoped Mike might do… with those… massive hands of his. Or that… delectable morsel he had so ineffectually hidden.

With her new abilities, those worn strips of nylon he liked to call basketball shorts were not hiding a thing. He might as well take them off. They were only cutting off his blood supply… to that… throbbing… tower of earthly delights. It was like he could feel her looking at it. Tempting her with its power. Or perhaps… he was looking at her. Right now. Wanting her with every fiber of his body.

Oy vey…

Without really realizing what she was doing, her fingers wrapped around one of the thick, worm-like creatures embedded within the sand nearby, yanked its near-foot-long body loose, and sucked its head between her lips. For a moment, her imagination made it into a much more satisfying meal than it was… but then she noticed it flopping around between her breasts. On instinct she bit down, more to put an end to its struggles than anything.

Mike instantly jerked around, and for several beats, they merely stared at one another. He seemed… completely horrified. For some reason. Innocently, she held out the remains of the creature to him, thinking he might like to share in the meal. The rubbery texture was not her favorite, but the flavor was okay. However, he only shied away—if anything, even more disturbed.

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

Before she could figure out where his revulsion was coming stemming from, a sizzling bolt of plasma pinged off one edge of the rock they were hiding behind—fairly close to where Mike’s head had been not a moment before. They both watched as a cooling ball of… possibly metal or ceramic… arced through the water and settled into the sand nearby. It bubbled and fizzed for a moment before ultimately solidifying into a little patch of glass. She and Mike shared a concerned glance before tucking themselves a bit more firmly behind the rock.

Frustrated and without any real options, Naomi forcibly yanked her mind from the gutter. She needed to think! There had to be some way of getting out of this that would not leave them dead, permanently mutilated, or otherwise egregiously deformed. There just had to be.

Unconsciously, her hand again brought the worm to her lips, and she took to chewing on it almost like the eraser of a pencil. Mike subtly began to shy away from her almost immediately—to which she took offense. Here they were, pinned down by an alien sniper, and this guy wanted to pretend he was offended by her stress-eating. What was the big deal?

But then she noticed how bulbous the other end of her snack was, and she realized it was not a worm at all. Instead, she seemed to be holding some sort of fleshy protuberance—like a tongue, she supposed—extending from a smooth and vaguely acorn-shaped shell. Which would make it something like a clam… or perhaps a snail?

That said, the resemblance to a giant penis was undeniable.

Shrugging, she took another bite. Mike cringed instantly, of course, but she could only roll her eyes and deliver an exasperated swat to his chest. Honestly. Men and their phallic hangups.

The important thing was that this was yet another creature with a shell. Which was completely unfair! Why was the universe taunting her like this? Why should she have to choose between her nice soft skin and something horrible… but potentially life-saving? Damn it! She had not even gotten laid yet!

Right about then, the light at her wrist gave off a few flashes, and she hastily covered it. What was this thing trying to do? Give away their position? Not that the little green man out there seemed to be having much trouble as it was, but she certainly did not want to make his job any easier.

Though… in hindsight, that might have been why the malaka was having such an easy time targeting them—a detail she should have taken into account from the beginning. But in fairness to herself, after days of living with the useless thing, she had sort of gotten used to it. So it was no wonder she had forgotten there was a damned beacon embedded into her wrist.

Also, she was kind of horny. To say the least.

However, before she could beat herself up about it too much, the computer in her mind began to light up with a possible solution… presented via a cheerful, 1930s-era cartoon. It began its presentation by showing both herself and Mike silently bobbing up and down to some unheard dance number with those classic spaghetti arms endemic to the style. What was not so classic was the choice to feature them in their current state of dress, so her boobs were on full display and flopping in sync with the choreography.

Naomi clenched her teeth in irritation. Not so much because of the cartoon’s content—it was clearly taking a jab at her and was thus worthy of respect… and under normal circumstances, she might have even found it funny—but in this situation, she would much rather it get to the point!

However, the choreography quickly moved its participants through a series of explanatory steps. The first was to take note of the various crabs and snails poking their heads through the sand in a playful game of whack-a-mole. The animated versions of herself and Mike scrambled after these as fast as they could, swallowing them whole and occasionally getting into little squabbles over who would get the tastiest morsels.

After a moment, the pair were startled from their antics by a vertical bar popping on screen, to her eyes resembling a thermometer. The red liquid within quickly went from zero to literally bursting from the top in an extravagant eruption, which was met with cheers and jubilation by the pair on screen. They then watched as the thermometer—once again pretty much empty—hopped off the screen and settled into place to one side of Naomi’s field of view, apparently awaiting her own contribution.

Eager for what had to come next, on-screen Naomi turned expectantly toward the as-yet-unused button still hovering over Mike’s head—conveniently labeled with a miniature cartoon shark leaping from the water. She had not forgotten about it, of course. It was still there, hovering over the real Mike’s head just as it had been. It was just that they had been interrupted before she could put it to use.

On cue, the animation showed the button being joined by a pair of new ones earned from all the burrowing animals they had just eaten. Then, in a stunning display of cartoon logic, her avatar swiped them from the air, whipped out a giant hydraulic press from the front of her pants, and commenced to smashing the lot into so much genetic paste.

Cartoons did that sort of thing all the time, of course, but it was a bit disconcerting when the cartoon was supposed to be you. Where was she supposed to have stowed that thing? In her—?

She tilted her head back and nodded. Fair enough.

Unperturbed, little Naomi kept squeezing the options together until they squeaked from between the vise grips like a wet bar of soap. However, when they stopped bouncing around, it was revealed that they had become a pair of totally new options… which then split off into a pair of separate cartoons, playing out side-by-side.

Both began by showing a set of red curtains drawing aside to reveal Mike proudly standing on stage like the rare hunk of meat he was. Which was a bit of theater she could appreciate. However, the two versions of Mike then began to change in radically different… yet thematically similar ways.

The first seemed to be building off the concept of toughened skin and rough scales, likely having taken inspiration from the shark, and simply improved the feature by adding in the durability and protective power of a true shell to the scales themselves. The result wound up looking similar to a suit of armor. Large, tough plates around the chest and abdomen. Smaller, more pliable ones along the face and other extremities.

All-in-all, it seemed a decent solution and tough enough to absorb a significant amount of punishment… though that implied certain compromises on her part. Yet again, the cartoon was only showing what Mike would look like—the animated version of herself was restricted to cheering appreciatively from the audience—leaving her with no recourse but to infer what this would do to someone of her gender.

What would become of her breasts? With those big scales, would she be left with some kind of reptilian bumps on her chest? Would she be left flat? Would she even have nipples anymore? None of that sounded at all appealing. And what of their genitals? Mike was still wearing his basketball shorts in the cartoon, so that detail was left completely up to her imagination.

Instead, the cartoon finished its presentation with a prediction of what might happen to this version of Mike were he to suffer a hit from one of those plasma rounds. Which was an admittedly useful thing to conclude with, all things considered… if only she could stop thinking with her muff. In short, it would not bode well. Which was a disappointing revelation given all the build-up… if not particularly surprising. Being able to take a shot like that would represent a significant increase in their physical durability, after all. But the computer seemed to believe a blow delivered pretty much anywhere besides directly to the head or heart would be survivable given time. For more superficial wounds—and attacks from lesser weapons—this new version of Mike should be able to either shrug off or regenerate in fairly short order.

Meanwhile, the second version progressed in a markedly different direction. Naomi found it incredibly interesting too, if for no other reason than because they had yet to encounter any sort of animal with an equivalent ability, leading her to wonder how the computer could have come up with it.

From the outside, Mike looked unchanged, however, once he peeled his skin back—which sounded gruesome, but the old-fashioned cartoon kept things thankfully bloodless—she could easily see that each of his muscles had been covered with a smooth, armored plate.

The result left him with something of a mixed bag of pros and cons. His skin remained more-or-less unchanged, addressing many of Naomi’s biggest concerns, though it left him vulnerable to the kinds of superficial injuries the other option would have guarded against—namely burns, cuts, and other such abrasions. The subdermal armor’s main selling point was in what it could do against attacks that were more than just skin deep.

Which was not to say they were impenetrable. They were quite tough, but once the armor plates failed, it would be pretty much like cracking a rib or any other bone. Also, it would be much heavier than the other option. Most of the shark genes would have to go toward increasing their muscular structure to compensate, but it would still be noticeable, potentially even slowing them down by a fair degree. But in the short term, they should be able to take a few of those decelerated plasma rounds without too much issue.

All of this played out before Naomi’s eyes at a frenetic pace. So it probably took no more than twenty to thirty seconds, altogether. And her choice could not have been any more obvious.

She could either have a suit of armor that only just barely even met the demands of the moment… and be left looking permanently like a fish-man, or she could be built like a truck and retain the potential to actually get laid.

She shook her head. Why had this stupid thing even bothered to ask? Without a trace of hesitation, her palm slapped against the second option.

Mike’s head jerked around the instant she did, his eyes wide with panic, doubtlessly having recognized the move for what it was. Under normal circumstances, she would have agreed. Putting them through a change now, while a sniper was pelting them with molten lead, would have been beyond foolish. But when the expected change did not occur, he seemed to relax. And then his eyes lit with an assortment of unspoken questions.

She did her best to explain with hand gestures. A percentage meter. Eat stuff. Armor. But with each pantomime, Mike’s expression only grew more confused.

Then he started to interject with his own set of hand movements. If she understood him correctly, there was an undisclosed ‘something’ off ‘that way’ that was ‘weird.’ How he could know what might be out in that void was a question for another time, but he seemed to believe getting to it would be in their best interest.

‘Okay,’ she argued, gesticulating wildly. She would just have to take his superior senses on faith. ‘But armor! Then, ping ping goes the bullets. Go there? No problem.’

She emphasized the point by shoving the remains of her penis-clam into his face.

He started to shy away, obviously disgusted by the very idea, but then another plasma round vaporized a large chunk of rock right by their heads. And this time from a new angle. It seemed their sniper had taken advantage of their distraction to reposition on them.

Quickly, they scurried around to the other side before he could rain any more fire onto their heads.

Naomi gritted her teeth with frustration. Damned coward. If only the bastard would come down where she could sense him… Then they would see what was what.

Assuming he wasn’t in a mech suit or something…

Another round screamed past, this time just barely missing one of the buried crabs. Startled, it scurried several feet off to one side before hastily throwing sand back over itself. It was probably hoping no one had noticed. Unfortunately for it, they had.

Their new instincts were a hell of a thing. Even under threat of death, their drive to eat could not be extinguished… though apparently, looking like a dick was a pretty solid deterrent. For Mike, anyway.

The second he saw it move, he was after it and, before it likely even knew what was happening, he wrested it free of its sandy security blanket and dragged it back to the safety of their rock. The thing was pretty damned big as far as crabs went, and Mike got pinched a few times for his efforts. But eventually, he got the thing pinned beneath a knee and began breaking off bits of leg and claw so as to suck what meat he could from its tubular carapace. The rest was pretty much unassailable.

At least until Naomi joined in. With a rock the size of her head.

On reflection, it was kind of a surreal experience. Here she was, beating a giant crustacean to death in the deep ocean—mostly because her need to eat everything that moved would not be denied—but also in the hope of growing enough subcutaneous armor to allow her and her desperately sexy companion—the former gas station clerk—to survive an onslaught of alien sniper fire. If she had not known any better, she would have said the whole thing sounded like a setup for a cheesy romance novel.

Now, if only they could speak. All the scene needed was a bit of witty dialog. Perhaps a touch of flirtatious bickering while they scurried around, dodging bullets. Then it would have been exactly like a romance novel.

Eventually, she managed to crack the shell open enough for Mike to wedge a claw in, and with an impressive display of strength, he ripped the carapace loose. Neither wasted even a moment before digging into the bowl of heavenly delight before them. Maybe it was to do with how difficult it had been to get through the creature’s tough shell, but the meat beneath was absolutely divine. It was tender and sweet… and far superior to snail.

Still… the cartoon had been quite clear that both should be included. So for Mike’s sake, she began taking surreptitious bites from her tubular length of flesh and—though her own instincts were screaming at her not to give up even so small a morsel—forced herself to spit them into Mike’s path.

As frenzied by their feast as he was, he scarcely seemed to notice. It was just another hunk of meat floating in the oceanic stew before them. Meat belonged in their stomach. So down it went.

A secretive sort of smile tugged at her lips at the sight. That had just been in her mouth, after all. How… intimate of him. And bold of her. She had a thought that perhaps she ought to go one step further… that perhaps she ought to directly insert a bit of meat into his mouth… lip to lip. Tongue to tongue. He had already accepted her after all. He would probably be thrilled!

But she soon became distracted from the thought by a pleasant sort of itch building beneath her skin. Like her flesh was crawling about, changing her bit by bit, one bite at a time. Usually, their metamorphoses came upon them suddenly, casting them into an overwhelming lake of orgasmic fire. This was more like getting slowly edged to death.

Which was far worse. In some ways. Wanting Mike as much as she did, it was all she could do not to touch him. Feel his flesh crawling beneath her fingers. Rejoice in his body. Were it not for that damned gunman up there, she probably would have, too. The guy was a complete buzz kill.

Still, she could be satisfied in the knowledge that Mike was faring little better. She could sense his gaze crawling over her between bites. Sense his pulsing need. If he did not have a meal in front of him, she had little doubt even the sniper would have kept him from ripping her boy shorts away and pinning her to the ground. Half of her wished he would. There was a certain thrill to the danger.

But she still had her wits about her. So none of that happened.

With incremental jerks, the bar in the corner of her eye began to fill. Each millimeter of increase represented that much more protection, that much more strength filling her body. But the single crab was not enough. Their hunger had not been satisfied, and their instinct would not let them stop. So Mike went searching for more.

By that point, he seemed to have gotten a fix on where their assailant was in relation to them, so he was able to reposition them well before the alien could move to flank. And whatever gun it was using had an abysmal reload time. Still, Mike had to be quick. Several times, he had to abandon his digging to dodge out of the way. He even took a glancing blow to the inside of his calf once but was fortunate enough only to suffer a gnarly-looking burn from it.

Naomi did not envy him that. At all.

So she decided to keep busy by hunting down more of her clam-snails and hastily began ‘chopping them up’ into more appetizing portions. Fortunately, they were all over the place, buried with just the tips of their tongues poking out, likely feeding from the multitude of particles floating in the water. Which would technically make them cannibals, she supposed. Not that they would be aware of it.

Regardless, before too much longer, she and Mike had gobbled their way through enough of the local wildlife to have assembled a fairly large assortment of discarded shells and were riding wave after wave of contented—if inappropriate—bliss. Naomi had even taken to crunching on a few clam shells.

Which was a strange sort of impulse, on reflection. It could have been that the subdermal armor required some extra calcium. Who was to say? But she was not finding them particularly difficult to eat. More like tortilla chips, really. So it seemed likely one of the things they had done to themselves had affected the strength of their teeth.

Still, it was decidedly odd to be sitting so close to the precipice of death and feeling as calm as she was about it. Her bar had filled. Mike’s injury was already showing signs of mending. New and powerful muscles were swelling all up and down her body. She could feel the plates sliding securely over them, too. They were just beneath her skin, thickening with every second that passed.

They felt… bizarrely sensuous. Foreign, for the moment. But sexy. And increasingly like they belonged. Like she had never been without them. She wondered then whether she had been too hasty in discarding the scale armor. Perhaps, given the chance, she would have felt the same about it as she now felt about this. But she doubted it. There was no way something like that could feel so… right.

She felt invulnerable! Strong! Maybe even strong enough to charge that bastard up there. She would spear him with her claws. Rip his puny gun from his hands! Bear him to the ground. Eat him! Savor his worthless guts. Add his strength to her own…

Naomi shook her head firmly. The hell was that? What a horrifically stupid idea. If anything, they needed to lure the guy into an unfavorable position first. Preferably close enough so she could kill him without risking more than a shot or two. Then she could eat him.

She popped another clam shell into her mouth.

About then, Mike started signaling for her attention, and she turned. Then instantly jerked her eyes away. Not that it helped much. Now that she had focused on him, it was all but impossible not to revel in how much he had gained from their meal.

The guy was huge! Ten feet of muscle! His chest had become a veritable slab of the stuff. His arms and legs were now thick with twisting veins, showcasing the power throbbing beneath the surface, ready to be unleashed. In short, everything she could have ever dreamed of.

It was all she could do not to instantly lunge for him. The instinctual need to run her tongue over every inch of his body crashed against her psyche like a tidal wave. She needed to feel the hard plates sliding beneath his skin. To experience his hands on her. In her. Now!

But… there was still the threat looming over their heads. If that… god-damned alien… would just… piss off!

With every ounce of effort she could muster, she affected a delicate moistening of her lips, trying not to let on how desperately thirsty she was. Turning to him once more, she spread her hands. ‘Yes?’

He quickly began moving through a series of basic signs. ‘Armor good now. Yes? Now, we go that way. Remember? Better cover maybe. Roof/cave.’

Her back stiffened as a flood of anger instantly washed away all thoughts of bedding this idiot man. ‘A cave?! The fuck, Mike? Why didn’t you take us there in the first place? We’ve been hiding behind a motherfucking rock for the last half-hour!’

His hands rose placatingly, though if he had picked up anything besides how incensed she was was anyone’s guess. ‘Weird there. Uncertain.’

She narrowed her eyes, allowing some of her anger to dissipate. He had said that before, but what did it mean? How could a cave be weird? Unless…

She glanced toward their attacker suspiciously.

‘Alright. Let’s go.’