Page 15 of Alien Warrior’s Claim (Nyxari Bondmates #1)

MIRELLE

"R emember," I said, adjusting the strap of my pack across my shoulder, "these stones are offered freely. No pressure. No conditions."

Rivera nodded, her own pack bulging with translation pendants. "And if Hammond interferes?"

"We remain calm. Non-confrontational." I glanced toward the tree line where three Nyxari scouts waited, partially hidden by the foliage. "We're building bridges, not walls."

Two days had passed since the skelnar attack. My laceration had healed to a thin pink line—remarkably fast, though whether due to Nyxari medicine or my changing physiology, I couldn't say. The memory of fighting alongside Lazrin remained vivid—the seamless coordination, the warning pulses through our connection, the way our energies had synchronized in crisis. Despite maintaining emotional distance, I couldn't deny how effectively we functioned together.

Elana, Talia, and Jen flanked us as we approached the human settlement. Hammond had established a more formal perimeter since our last visit—crude barriers constructed from salvaged metal and makeshift watchtowers. The sentries spotted us immediately, their stances shifting from bored vigilance to alert tension.

"That's far enough," one called out—Martinez, a security officer I'd worked with on The Seraphyne. His hand rested on his weapon, but his expression held more resignation than hostility. "Hammond's orders. Marked women require permission to enter."

"We're not here to enter," I replied, keeping my tone neutral. "We've brought supplies and translation stones for anyone who wants them."

Martinez's gaze flicked to my face, where the silvery latticework traced patterns along my cheekbones and jaw. His unease was palpable. "I'll relay your message."

While he conferred with someone via communicator, I studied the changes to the settlement. The barriers were new, as were the watchtowers. The haphazard arrangement of shelters had been reorganized into more regimented rows. Hammond was militarizing what had begun as a survival camp.

"You may set up at the neutral meeting point," Martinez said, returning from his consultation. "No more than twenty meters past the eastern perimeter marker. Anyone interested can meet you there."

I nodded my thanks. The "neutral meeting point" was a small clearing Hammond had grudgingly established after the Honor Pact—a diplomatic concession that allowed marked women to interact with friends and family without entering the camp proper.

As we walked toward the designated area, Talia leaned closer. "Have you noticed? There are fewer people visible."

She was right. The busy atmosphere that had characterized the camp even a week ago seemed diminished. Fewer people moved between structures, and those who did appeared tense, hurried.

"Hammond's crackdown," Rivera murmured. "After we left, he instituted stricter controls—curfews, work assignments, resource rationing based on 'loyalty metrics.'"

"Loyalty metrics?" I echoed, incredulous.

"His term, not mine." Her expression darkened. "Those who express interest in cooperation with the Nyxari receive smaller rations, harder work assignments, increased surveillance."

We reached the meeting area—a small clearing with stumps and fallen logs arranged in a rough circle. I set my pack down, removing a new batch of translation stones from the elders and arranging them on a flat rock for display. Each gleamed with subtle inner light, responding to my proximity.

"Will anyone actually come?" Jen asked, her enhanced hearing tilted toward the camp.

"They'll come," Rivera said confidently. "Hammond can't watch everyone all the time."

She was right. Within minutes, the first visitors appeared—a small group of women led by Dr. Selene. They approached cautiously, glancing back toward the camp as if afraid of being observed.

"," Selene greeted me with palpable relief. She embraced me briefly before stepping back to assess me with a clinical eye. "The markings have spread."

I nodded, resisting the urge to touch my face where I knew the patterns gleamed. "They continue to develop."

"Do they... hurt?" she asked.

"No." I hesitated, unsure how to explain the constant awareness they brought. "They're part of me now. Different, but not painful."

Selene's expression remained skeptical, but she nodded. "We've been monitoring those who accepted the first ones. No adverse effects so far, which is why I've brought some additional volunteers."

She gestured to her companions—five women and two men, all watching me with mixtures of curiosity and apprehension.

"The stones are harmless," I assured them. "They translate the Nyxari language directly. Nothing more."

"Hammond says they're surveillance devices," one man said—Stavney, an engineer I’d run into more than once back on the ship. "That they transmit our conversations back to the Nyxari."

"He's wrong," I replied simply. "I've been wearing one for weeks. The Nyxari have no more interest in spying on us than we do on them. They want cooperation, not control."

"Unlike some," Selene muttered, her gaze drifting back toward the camp.

I removed a stone from the display, holding it out to Stavney. "The choice is yours. Take it or don't. Keep it or discard it later. This isn't about conversion—it's about communication."

Stavney studied me for a long moment, his gaze lingering on the markings visible at my neck and face. Finally, he extended his hand, accepting the stone. "I'm an engineer. I need to understand how things work. Even if Hammond disagrees."

One by one, others approached, each accepting a stone with varying degrees of hesitation. As they did, I noticed their postures gradually relaxing, the invisible barrier between marked and unmarked humans thinning.

"What's it like?" asked a young botanist named Laura. "Living with them?"

"Different," I admitted. "But not in the ways you might expect. They're not the savages Hammond describes. They have culture, traditions, knowledge we desperately need to survive on Arenix."

"And the markings?" Stavney asked, nodding toward my face. "What do they do?"

I considered how much to reveal. "They're still developing. Each marked woman manifests different abilities based on her natural inclinations. Rivera can detect objects without touching them. Jen's hearing is enhanced beyond normal human range."

"And you?" Selene pressed.

"Danger sense, primarily," I replied, deliberately omitting the connection with Lazrin. "It saved lives during the skelnar attack."

Before anyone could ask follow-up questions, Jen stiffened. "Someone's coming. Multiple people. Armed."

Seconds later, Hammond appeared at the clearing’s edge, flanked by four security officers with weapons drawn. His cold gaze swept over our gathering, lingering on the translation stones.

"This meeting is concluded," he announced, voice tight with barely controlled anger. "All camp residents return immediately."

Selene stepped forward. "This is the neutral meeting point, established by your own agreement. We have every right?—"

"Rights?" Hammond cut her off with a bark of laughter. "This isn't a democracy, Doctor. It's a survival situation. And I've determined these devices—" he pointed at the translation stones "—represent a security threat."

"They're translation tools," I said, keeping my voice level. "Nothing more."

"They're an invasion," Hammond countered. "A method of infiltration, of separating us from each other. First, they marked some of you physically. Now they seek to divide us mentally, creating communication channels that bypass normal human oversight."

The paranoia in his voice was unmistakable. Where once I might have seen a leader struggling to maintain control in a crisis, I now saw something darker—a man whose fear had twisted into obsession.

"No one is being divided except by your actions," Rivera said, stepping to my side. "These stones bridge gaps, they don't create them."

Hammond's gaze fixed on her, then on the distinctive patterns visible at her collarbone. "You're too far gone to understand. All of you." He turned to the gathered camp residents. "Anyone who accepts these devices without permission will be considered potentially compromised. Security protocols will adjust accordingly."

The threat hung in the air. Several people shifted nervously, but no one returned their stones. Hammond's expression hardened.

"Final warning. Return to camp now, surrender those devices, or face isolation protocols."

Selene glanced at the others, then straightened her shoulders. "I'm keeping mine. As Chief Medical Officer, I need to communicate with all potential sources of medical knowledge—including the Nyxari."

"Then you're relieved of duty, effective immediately," Hammond replied without hesitation. "Frakes will assume medical responsibilities."

"Frakes isn't qualified?—"

"Frakes isn't contaminated," Hammond interrupted. "Last warning, Doctor."

For a tense moment, I thought Selene might defy him outright. Instead, she nodded to the others. "We should comply for now. This isn't the time or place for this confrontation."

Reluctantly, the group began dispersing. Stavney hesitated beside me, lowering his voice. "He's getting worse. After you left last time, he instituted new 'security measures.' People who question him disappear from public view. Not everyone returned to work assignments."

A chill ran through me. "Disappeared?"

"Isolated for 'decontamination,'" Stavney whispered, glancing nervously at Hammond. "No one knows where."

Before I could press for details, Hammond himself approached, stopping just beyond arm's reach. He studied me with clinical detachment, as if examining a specimen.

"You look more alien every time I see you, Duvane. Those patterns have nearly consumed your face."

I refused to touch my markings self-consciously, though the urge was strong. "We're still human, Hammond. Changed, but human."

"Are you?" He tilted his head. "Human DNA doesn't glow. Human skin doesn't develop patterns that respond to alien proximity. Whatever you're becoming, it isn't human anymore."

His words hit uncomfortably close to my own fears, but I kept my expression neutral. "Think what you want. We're still offering help to anyone who needs it."

"Your 'help' is the problem," he replied. "Every connection you create, every stone you distribute, weakens my authority. That's the point, isn't it? To undermine human leadership, to fragment us until resistance is impossible."

"No one is resisting anything except your paranoia," I said, my patience finally wearing thin. "We crashed on an alien planet. We need knowledge to survive. The Nyxari have that knowledge. It's that simple."

Hammond stepped closer, his voice dropping to ensure only I could hear. "Nothing about this is simple, and you know it. Those marks aren't just changing your skin—they're changing your mind. Can you honestly say you think the same way you did before they appeared? That your priorities haven't shifted? That your loyalties remain with humanity first?"

I opened my mouth to object, then closed it. Had my thinking changed? The question was uncomfortably valid. My perspective had indeed shifted since the markings appeared—since binding with Lazrin.

Hammond nodded, seeing my hesitation. "That's what I thought. You can't even deny it." He stepped back. "You're no longer welcome here, Duvane. Not even at the neutral zone. The next time you approach our settlement without explicit invitation, security will respond accordingly."

He turned back toward his officers. "Escort Dr. Selene to isolation for decontamination assessment. The rest may return to regular duties after surrendering their devices."

"Hammond, this is excessive—" I began, but Rivera caught my arm, her grip warning.

"Not now," she murmured. "We're outnumbered, and he's looking for an excuse."

I watched helplessly as two officers escorted Selene away. She walked with dignity, her back straight, but the fear in her eyes was unmistakable. The others reluctantly surrendered their translation stones to a collection bag. Only Stavney managed a sleight of hand, his stone disappearing into his sleeve rather than the bag.

When Hammond and his officers had departed with their prisoners, we gathered our remaining supplies in somber silence.

"We need to tell the Nyxari what's happening," Rivera said. "Hammond's isolating people for supposed 'decontamination.' That can't be good."

"It's worse than that," Jen added, her enhanced hearing having picked up more than the rest of us. "I heard one of the guards mention 'extraction' when talking about Selene. Something about removing contamination surgically."

Horror washed through me. "He wouldn't..."

"It's Hammond," Talia said grimly. "He's convinced the markings are alien contaminants. Why wouldn't he try to remove them if he could?"

The thought was chilling. "We need to get back to the settlement. Now."

As we hastened along the forest path, the crystalline network beneath my skin pulsed with growing unease. Since Lazrin and I had joined in the cave, my danger sense had grown more acute, activating earlier and with greater precision. Now it fluttered at the edge of my awareness—not immediate threat, but growing risk.

Halfway back to the Nyxari settlement, we encountered the scouts who'd been watching from the forest's edge. They fell into step beside us, their expressions grave as Rivera explained what had happened.

"Hammond grows more dangerous," one said—Kralin, a warrior I recognized from Lazrin's hunting band. "These isolation protocols concern me."

The confirmation of what I'd suspected sent a chill through me. We walked in silence for a time, my thoughts churning. If Hammond truly believed the markings were contamination, he might be subjecting marked women to dangerous, potentially lethal procedures.

"We need a plan," I said finally. "A way to help those still in Hammond's camp who might be at risk."

"The settlement will help," Kralin assured me. "Hunt Leader Lazrin has already advocated for increased patrols near the human camp. Elder Rylis agreed."

The mention of Lazrin sent a familiar pulse through my markings. Through our connection, I sensed he was nearby—probably training with his warriors at the outer edge of the settlement. Since our night in the cave and the subsequent skelnar battle, I'd maintained emotional distance, but the physical awareness had only grown stronger. I could sense his general location, his state of alertness, sometimes even flashes of strong emotion.

I wondered if he could sense the same from me.

When we reached the settlement, I sent the others ahead while I detoured to a quiet spot by the small stream that ran along its eastern edge. I needed a moment alone to think, to process all I'd seen at Hammond's camp.

The water flowed over smooth stones, its surface reflecting dappled light filtered through translucent leaves. I sat on a flat boulder, watching the current and trying to organize my thoughts. Hammond's escalating paranoia, the isolation of dissenters, the possible attempts to surgically remove markings—it all pointed toward increasing danger for those who remained in his camp.

Yet I was still split between worlds—no longer fully welcome in the human camp, not fully integrated with the Nyxari. The pattern-web beneath my skin marked me as different, as other, no matter where I went.

"Mind if I join you?"

I looked up to find Rivera standing nearby, her expression sympathetic. I nodded, and she settled beside me on the boulder.

"Rough day," she observed.

"Getting rougher," I agreed. "Hammond's losing whatever grip on rationality he had left."

"He's afraid," Rivera said. "Fear makes people dangerous."

"I know fear," I replied, gesturing to my marked face. "This scares me every day. The changes, the abilities, the connection with Lazrin—it's terrifying. But I'm not imprisoning people or threatening surgical procedures."

Rivera studied me thoughtfully. "What scares you most about it? The markings themselves or what they represent?"

I considered the question. "Both? The physical changes are obvious—I look in the mirror and barely recognize myself. But it's more than that. It's the mental connection with Lazrin. The way my thoughts and priorities have shifted. Hammond wasn't entirely wrong about that."

"Changed how?" she pressed.

"I used to see everything in clear categories—human versus alien, us versus them, familiar versus strange." I traced a silvery pattern on my wrist. "Now those boundaries are blurring. I'm human, but I'm connected to a Nyxari warrior in ways I don't fully understand. I can sense his presence, sometimes even his emotions. After what happened in the cave..."

I trailed off, not wanting to detail the complete mental merging we'd experienced.

"You're afraid of losing yourself," Rivera concluded. "Of becoming something else entirely."

"Yes."

"But what if you're not losing anything?" She turned to face me directly. "What if you're gaining instead? These markings don't erase what you were; they build on it. You were a logistics officer, organized and practical—now you have a danger sense that makes you even more effective at keeping people safe. You cared about building connections before—now you can literally bridge between species."

Her words echoed what Elder Rylis had told me, but somehow carried more weight coming from another human woman experiencing similar changes.

"You're not just a survivor, —you're a leader, a bridge-builder," Rivera continued. "These markings aren't taking that away; they're giving you new tools to do it better. The only thing being sacrificed is the artificial distance between our species."

I stared at the flowing water, considering her perspective. "And the bond with Lazrin? The mental connection?"

"Scary, I'm sure," she acknowledged. "But is it actually harming you? Or are you just afraid of the intimacy it represents?"

The question hit uncomfortably close to home. Was I truly afraid of losing my humanity, or simply terrified of the vulnerability the bond created? The complete sharing of thoughts and feelings I'd experienced with Lazrin had stripped away my carefully maintained defenses. Perhaps that was what truly frightened me—not transformation, but exposure.

"He's in pain, you know," Rivera said quietly. "Lazrin. You probably feel it too, through your connection. The incomplete bond causes physical discomfort for both parties."

I nodded reluctantly. "I know."

"And yet he respects your need for space. Even knowing it hurts him. Even after what you shared." She stood, brushing dust from her trousers. "That kind of respect deserves consideration, don't you think?"

She left me there by the stream, her words echoing in my mind. Through my connection with Lazrin, I sensed him returning from training, his presence drawing closer to the settlement. The familiar pull tightened in my chest—not painful exactly, but insistent. Like a physical manifestation of an unfinished conversation.

Hammond's words still troubled me: Those marks aren't just changing your skin—they're changing your mind.

But perhaps Rivera was right. Perhaps change wasn't loss.

As I watched the stream flow over stones, I made a decision. I would speak with Lazrin—really speak with him, not just about immediate dangers or practical concerns, but about us. About what had happened in the cave and what it meant. About the connection that continued to pull us together despite my resistance.

The prospect was terrifying. But after seeing Hammond's paranoia transform him into something unrecognizable, I understood that fear itself could be the true enemy. Fear of change. Fear of the unknown. Fear of vulnerability.

I rose from the boulder, turning toward the settlement where I knew Lazrin waited, patiently enduring the pain of our incomplete bond. It was time to face what I'd been avoiding—not just for his sake, but for my own.

Some bridges needed to be crossed, not burned.