Page 17 of Alien Warrior’s Claim (Nyxari Bondmates #1)

MIRELLE

I sat alone by the stream that ran along the eastern edge of the Nyxari settlement, watching the evening light play across the water's surface. The silver patterns under my skin pulsed in rhythm with my thoughts, casting shimmering reflections on the rippling current.

I couldn't forget the look in his eyes—golden fire, savage yet conscious. Yet he'd stopped the moment I touched him. The power I seemed to have over him disturbed me as much as his transformation.

My fingers traced the patterns that now covered most of my forearms. They'd grown more elaborate since our night in the cave, spreading in intricate whorls up my arms and across my collarbone. After today's incident in the forest, they glowed with renewed intensity, as if the connection between us had strengthened.

"There you are."

I glanced up to find Rivera approaching, her own silvery markings visible at her neckline. She carried a small medical kit, her expression concerned.

"Varek told us what happened," she said, settling beside me on the smooth stone. "Hammond's men tried to take you?"

"Tried is the operative word." I stretched my legs, wincing at the stiffness in muscles I'd used to defend myself. "It didn't go well for them."

She handed me a cup of something steaming. "Kavan's herbal tea. Good for shock."

"I'm not in shock."

"Your hands are trembling."

I glanced down. She was right. I accepted the cup, letting the warmth seep into my palms.

"Lazrin went feral," I said after a long moment. "I've never seen anything like it. One moment he was controlled, measured in his defense, and the next..." I shook my head, the memory vivid. "When Hernandez fired at me, something in Lazrin just snapped."

Rivera studied me. "And that frightens you."

"Wouldn't it frighten you? He nearly killed those men."

"But he didn't," she pointed out. "You stopped him."

"With a touch." I stared at my hand, remembering how it had felt against his transformed face. "What kind of connection is that? Where I can calm a killing rage with my fingertips, and he can transform into something primal at the mere thought of my being harmed?"

Rivera considered this. "A profound one."

I shot her a baleful look. "That's not helpful."

"It wasn't meant to be." She set her medical kit aside, apparently deciding I didn't need physical treatment. "The bond between you is powerful. That's intimidating. But is what you witnessed really any different from how humans react when someone they love is threatened?"

"Yes. Very different."

"Is it? Humans have killed to protect their mates. Mothers have lifted cars off trapped children. Fear and love push us beyond normal limits."

I sipped the tea, which tasted of unfamiliar herbs and something sweet. "This is beyond that. The bond bypasses rational thought entirely."

"For him, perhaps. But not for you." Rivera tilted her head. "You remained completely rational, even when facing his feral state. You chose to touch him, to bring him back. The bond didn't force that—you decided."

Her perspective gave me pause. She was right—I'd been scared, certainly, but not out of control. I'd chosen to approach Lazrin despite the danger, to reach for him when others would have fled.

"You should talk to him about it," she suggested, rising to her feet. "He's at the eastern training ground. Has been since you returned."

"How do you know that?"

She smiled. "Women talk. Nyxari women especially. They're concerned for their Hunt Leader who returned covered in energy weapon burns and radiating shame."

After she left, I remained by the stream, finishing the tea and gathering my thoughts. The day's events replayed in my mind—the ambush, the fight, Lazrin's transformation, and the moment when my touch had brought him back. What did it mean that I held such influence over him? That he could lose himself so completely in my defense?

The rational part of me—the logistics officer who'd survived the crash through discipline and focused action—said to maintain distance, to evaluate the situation thoroughly before proceeding. But another part, the part connected to the silver patterns in my skin, pulled me toward the eastern edge of the settlement.

Toward him.

I found him alone at the training ground, a cleared space surrounded by glowing vegetation that provided natural illumination against the gathering dusk. His movements were controlled, precise—blade slicing air in ancient combat patterns that seemed more ritual than practice. The energy burns on his chest and thigh remained untreated, dark blue against his midnight skin.

He sensed my presence immediately. His lifelines pulsed once, bright gold, before dimming as he mastered his reaction. He didn't look at me, continuing his forms as if I weren't there.

"You're injured," I said, stepping into the clearing.

"The wounds are minor."

"They should still be treated."

He completed a final, complex sequence before sheathing his blade. Only then did he turn to face me, his expression guarded. "Have you come to inform me you're returning to Hammond's camp?"

The question startled me. "Why would I do that?"

"You witnessed what I truly am." His voice was flat, emotionless. "What lies beneath the veneer of civilization."

"Is that what you think? That I'm afraid of you now?"

"Aren't you?" His golden eyes met mine directly, searching for truth. "Your markings betray your unease, . They have dimmed since the forest."

I glanced down at my arms. He was right—the silver patterns had dulled, pulsing with uncertain rhythm.

"I'm not afraid of you," I said carefully. "I'm afraid of what exists between us. What it means."

He stood perfectly still, only his tail betraying tension in its slight movement. "Explain."

"This bond..." I struggled to find words. "In the forest, it overwhelmed your control completely. Made you into something else."

"Not something else. Something deeper." He dropped his gaze, shame evident in the set of his shoulders. "The feral state exists within all Nyxari. It is what we were before civilization, before the Great Division. Most spend a lifetime mastering it, burying it. But it remains."

"And the bond brings it out?"

"Not the bond itself. The threat to my mate." He spoke the word with care, as if testing my reaction. "When he fired at you, all rational thought vanished. There was only the need to protect. To eliminate threats."

I moved closer, drawn despite my misgivings. "Yet you stopped when I touched you."

"Yes." He looked at his hands, which had transformed into lethal weapons mere hours ago. "The bond works both ways. Your touch anchored me, reminded me of who I am beyond the primal instinct."

I reached for his arm, tracing the golden lifeline that curved from wrist to elbow. His skin was warm beneath my fingers, the marking brightening at my touch.

"These wounds need treatment," I said, examining the energy burn on his chest.

He remained still under my inspection. "The bond causes pain too," he said quietly. "When rejected."

I glanced up, caught by the raw vulnerability in his tone. "What do you mean?"

"Since the cave..." He hesitated. "Since you pulled away, there has been physical discomfort. A constant ache. It will not kill me, but it does not fade."

Guilt twisted in my chest. "You've been in pain this entire time? Why didn't you tell me?"

"What purpose would that serve? To force acceptance through guilt? That is not a true choice." His hand covered mine where it rested against his chest. "The bond must be embraced willingly or not at all."

The quiet dignity in his voice moved me. Despite his own suffering, he'd respected my need for distance, never once pressuring me or using the bond to manipulate my choices.

"And if I never accept it?" I asked. "If I choose to break the bond completely?"

Pain flashed across his features before he mastered it. "There is a ceremony... a ritual to sever what the ancestors have joined. It is rarely performed." His voice lowered. "It would free you from this connection."

"And you? What would it do to you?"

His eyes met mine, unflinching. "It would end any possibility of bonding again. For both of us. The ancestors' blessing, once rejected, is not offered twice."

The implications settled between us. What he offered was freedom, but at terrible cost—to both of us.

"I don't want that," I said, surprising myself with the certainty in my voice.

Hope flared in his eyes, quickly tempered. "What do you want, ?"

"I don't know yet." I lifted my hand to his face, watching his lifelines brighten at my touch. "But I know I'm not ready to sever whatever this is."

He leaned into my palm, his restraint evident in the tension that ran through his powerful frame. "Then what?"

"Time. Understanding." I traced the ridge above his eye, where the feral change had been most pronounced during his transformation. "Tell me more about the bond, about what happened today. I need to know what I'm part of."

He nodded, stepping back slightly, creating space between us. The movement seemed to cost him, his lifelines dimming as the distance increased.

"Come," he said, gesturing toward the settlement. "We should speak somewhere more private. And these wounds do require attention, as you noted."

We walked side by side, not touching but close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his skin. The settlement was quiet in the evening hours, most Nyxari gathered in family groups or resting before the night hunt. A few nodded respectfully as we passed, their gazes curious but not intrusive.

Lazrin led me to his dwelling—a structure I'd never entered before, though I'd passed it daily. Inside, the space was simply furnished but distinctly his. Weapons hung in careful arrangements on one wall. A large sleeping platform occupied one corner, covered with furs in deep blue and silver. A small cooking area contained unfamiliar implements.

He moved to a cabinet, withdrawing medical supplies. "Will you help?" he asked, offering me a jar of healing salve.

The request felt significant—an acknowledgment of vulnerability, of trust. I accepted the jar, gesturing for him to sit on a low bench near the central firepit.

"The feral state," I prompted as I began cleaning the energy burn on his chest. "Tell me more about it."

He winced slightly as the antiseptic touched raw flesh. "It is our oldest instinct, predating civilization. The need to protect, to hunt, to claim. Most Nyxari learn to control it from childhood, channeling it into more measured responses."

"But the bond overrides that control?"

"Not always. Not for minor threats." His breathing deepened as my fingers spread the healing salve across his wound. "But when a true mate faces death... yes. The ancient brain takes command."

I considered this as I worked, the silver patterns below my skin brightening where they neared his golden lifelines. "And my touch brought you back because...?"

"Because you are the anchor. The point of connection." His voice roughened as my hands moved across his chest. "In the feral state, all is chaos and rage, except for one clarity—the mate must be protected. When that mate then reaches through the chaos... the primal mind recognizes safety has been achieved. The threat is gone."

"So I'm the trigger and the remedy." I finished treating his chest wound and moved to the injury on his thigh, trying to maintain clinical detachment as I applied the salve to his powerful leg.

"In the crudest sense, yes." He watched me work, his golden eyes intent. "But that simplifies something profound. The bond is not merely a biological response, . It is a spiritual connection our ancestors revered."

I sealed the wound with a transparent bandage, then sat beside him on the bench. "Hammond will use what happened today against us. His men will tell everyone about your transformation, about how dangerous you are."

"Yes." Lazrin didn't deny it. "They will speak of a monster barely leashed, a predator in civilized skin."

"But that's not the whole truth."

"No." His gaze held mine. "But neither is it entirely false. The feral state is part of who I am, who all Nyxari are. We simply choose to be more."

A comfortable silence fell between us, broken only by the soft hiss of the heating elements that warmed the dwelling. Outside, night had fully descended, Arenix's twin moons casting silver and crimson light through the dwelling's translucent sections.

"There's more you should know," I said finally. "Before Hammond's men attacked us, Rivera told me something disturbing. Hammond has been isolating marked women for 'decontamination.' She thinks he's trying to surgically remove the markings."

Lazrin's expression darkened. "Such attempts would be fatal. The markings are not merely surface phenomena—they're integrated into your nervous system."

"That's what Rivera suspects too." I rubbed my arms unconsciously, feeling the silvery pathways beneath my skin. "If he's experimenting on women..."

"Then we must act." Lazrin's voice was grim. "But not tonight. Tonight, you need rest. The attack took more from you than you realize."

He was right. Exhaustion pulled at me, the day's events catching up in a wave of delayed reaction. I stood to leave, but hesitated at the doorway.

"Lazrin—" I turned back to find him watching me, his posture tense with restraint. "I'm sorry for the pain I've caused you. By fighting the bond."

"You needed time. Space to understand." He rose, but didn't approach. "I would endure far worse to ensure your choice is freely made."

The words struck me with unexpected force. How many would respect my autonomy so completely, even at cost to themselves?

On impulse, I stepped back toward him, closing the distance between us. My hand found his, fingers intertwining as our markings brightened in synchronized response.

"Thank you," I said softly. "For showing me the worst and the best of what you are. For giving me the truth, even when it might drive me away."

His fingers tightened around mine, his lifelines pulsing with golden light. "Always, ."

I wanted to say more, to explore the complex emotions beneath the surface of our interaction. But exhaustion made my thoughts sluggish, and the day's revelations needed time to settle.

"Tomorrow," I said, reluctantly withdrawing my hand. "We'll talk more tomorrow."

He nodded, accepting this boundary as he had all others. "Rest well."

As I headed back to my own dwelling, the silver filigree beneath my skin continued to pulse with golden echoes—an extension of his lifelines reaching for me across the physical distance. The sensation was no longer alarming as it once had been. Instead, it felt like a reminder that whatever lay ahead, I faced it connected to something—someone—extraordinary.

The feral warrior who could tear through enemies with frightening ease, yet stop at my slightest touch. The alien being whose pain I felt as clearly as my own. The person who offered freedom even at terrible personal cost.

Hammond's men had shown me Lazrin's capacity for violence, his primal nature. But that glimpse had also revealed something else—his ultimate respect for choice, for balance between instinct and reason. For me.

And somehow, that carried more weight than the terror of his transformation.