Page 21 of Alien Warrior’s Claim (Nyxari Bondmates #1)

MIRELLE

O r perhaps not.

Something was wrong.

"They're late," Rivera murmured beside me, her own markings casting faint light through her jacket sleeve. "Hammond's never late for these exchanges."

It had been a month since the serpent attack, and despite his hostility, Hammond had maintained the weekly supply exchanges with rigid military precision. The neutral meeting point—a small clearing halfway between our settlements—had served as a tenuous connection between our divided communities. Now, twenty minutes past the appointed time, the clearing remained ominously empty.

"Perhaps they're not coming," Talia suggested, her fingers nervously tracing the silver patterns at her wrist. "After the serpent attack?—"

"They're coming," I said, the certainty stemming from more than intuition. My danger sense hummed beneath my skin, a persistent warning that had grown more precise since fully accepting my bond with Lazrin. "But not for trade."

Jen tilted her head, her enhanced hearing picking up what the rest of us couldn't detect. "Movement. Multiple people. Armed, by the sound of their gear."

I nodded, unsurprised. I felt Lazrin's presence shift from watchful to alert through our bond. He remained hidden in the forest with three other warriors—our insurance against treachery.

"Whatever happens," I told the marked women with me, "stay calm. Remember, we're not Hammond's subjects."

The undergrowth parted as six armed men emerged from the forest—Hammond's security team, each bearing energy weapons salvaged from the crash. Their faces were grimly set, fingers hovering near triggers. Martinez led them, his expression neutral but his posture betraying tension.

Behind them walked a solitary figure I recognised immediately: Phillips, Hammond's reluctant messenger during previous exchanges. His face bore new scars—thin, precise lines that suggested punishment rather than battle wounds. A chill went through me as I recognised the calculated nature of the injuries.

"Phillips," I greeted him, keeping my voice neutral despite the shock of his appearance. "We were beginning to wonder if the exchange was cancelled."

"No exchange today, Duvane." Phillips' voice was flat, his eyes never quite meeting mine. "Commander Hammond sends terms."

My markings flared at the word "terms"—not from danger, but from recognition. This was the confrontation we'd been expecting since rescuing the marked women from Hammond's camp.

"Let's hear them, then," I replied, maintaining my composure despite the weapons trained in our general direction.

Phillips removed a folded document from his jacket. The paper—a precious commodity since the crash—signified the official nature of whatever message he carried.

"Commander Hammond, acting as security chief and military governor of the human settlement on Arenix, issues the following directives." He read in a monotone, clearly reciting rather than conversing. "One: All marked humans currently residing in the alien encampment must return to proper human authority within forty-eight hours for protection and medical evaluation."

Rivera stiffened beside me. Talia's hand moved unconsciously to her blade.

"Two: All alien lifeforms must cease contact with human settlers immediately and permanently. Any alien found within one kilometre of the human settlement will be considered hostile and dealt with accordingly."

Phillips continued, his voice never varying as he delivered Hammond's monologue about protecting humanity's future and preventing genetic contamination. The message painted the Nyxari as manipulative invaders and the marked women as infected victims requiring quarantine.

When he finished, silence descended over the clearing. The armed men shifted nervously, clearly expecting our immediate refusal.

"Is that all?" I asked quietly.

Phillips nodded, relief flickering across his features. His part was done.

"Tell Hammond we've received his message," I said. "We'll need time to discuss these... directives with everyone affected."

"Commander Hammond requires your answer within twenty-four hours," Phillips replied. "He authorised me to inform you that this is not a negotiation. It's an opportunity for cooperation before more decisive measures become necessary."

The threat hung in the air, as tangible as the weapons his security team carried.

"I understand," I said evenly. "We'll send our response tomorrow."

As Hammond's delegation retreated into the forest, Rivera turned to me with undisguised outrage. "Medical evaluation? He means surgical torture."

"He's escalating," I agreed, watching the treeline until the last of Hammond's men disappeared. "The serpent attack changed nothing."

I felt Lazrin's presence emerge from the forest through our bond, his eyes reflecting the same concern I felt. The other warriors materialised beside him, their tails flicking with agitation.

"Ultimatum?" Lazrin asked, though he'd heard every word.

I nodded. "Hammond's moving to endgame now. No more pretending at tolerance."

"We should really return to the settlement," Lazrin said, scanning the surrounding forest. "This location is compromised."

Back at the Nyxari settlement, news of Hammond's ultimatum spread through the community. The central gathering area filled with concerned faces—marked women and Nyxari assembled in uneasy alliance, their differences momentarily eclipsed by Hammond's threat.

Elder Rylis called for silence, his ancient voice carrying surprising strength. "Let us hear these terms directly."

I repeated Hammond's demands, watching the reactions ripple through the assembled crowd. The marked women exchanged glances of varying emotion—fear, anger, determination. The Nyxari remained outwardly stoic, though I noticed their tails betraying agitation.

"This is madness," Selene declared, stepping forward. "We've all seen what Hammond's 'medical evaluation' entails. He's butchering women, trying to carve out markings that are integrated with our nervous systems."

"He frames it as protection," Rivera added bitterly. "Protection from you." She gestured to the Nyxari present. "As if you've been anything but allies."

Murmurs of agreement spread through the marked women, but I noticed not all shared this conviction. Some looked uncertain, conflicted.

"We should consider all options," said a quiet voice from the edge of the gathering.

Heads turned toward the speaker—a marked woman named Claire who'd joined us after the serpent attack. Her silvery patterns were barely visible at her wrists, much less extensive than those of us who'd bonded more deeply with the Nyxari.

"What if some of us wanted to return?" she asked hesitantly. "Not all of us have... formed connections here. Some have family in Hammond's camp."

The question hung in the air, uncomfortable but necessary. Claire wasn't wrong—not all marked women had integrated equally into Nyxari society. Some maintained stronger ties to the human settlement despite Hammond's growing extremism.

"Nobody will be forced to stay," I assured her. "But no one should be forced to return, either. Especially not to face Hammond's 'medical evaluations.'"

Elder Rylis stepped into the center of the gathering, his elaborate lifelines pulsing with gentle gold light. "In all my many cycles, I have seen this pattern before," he said, his ancient eyes surveying the assembly. "Fear transformed into hatred. Difference perceived as threat."

He turned slowly, ensuring all could hear his words. "Before the Great Division, our people faced similar divisions. Those who feared change, who saw difference as contamination. They spoke as your Hammond speaks—of purification, of protection, of necessary sacrifice."

Chills ran through me at the parallel. The Great Division had decimated Nyxari civilization, reducing a spacefaring species to scattered settlements struggling for survival.

"Their rhetoric led to civil war," Rylis continued gravely. "A conflict that shattered our world and left only remnants of what we once were."

"Hammond doesn't have the numbers or technology for anything like that," Rivera objected.

"Not yet," Lazrin said quietly. "But desperation and fear make dangerous weapons of their own."

The gathering dissolved into smaller discussions, marked women debating among themselves while Nyxari conferred in hushed tones. I moved to the settlement's edge, needing space to think clearly.

Lazrin found me there, his presence a familiar warmth through our bond before he physically appeared at my side.

"You're troubled," he observed.

"Hammond's forcing a confrontation we can't win," I replied, frustration evident in my voice. "If we comply, the marked women face mutilation or worse. If we refuse, he'll attack—and people will die."

"There may be another path."

"What path?" I demanded, tension sharpening my tone. "Submit to his authority? Abandon our allies? You've seen what he does to marked women."

Lazrin's tail flicked once—his only visible sign of agitation. "I suggest caution, not surrender. Hammond's forces outnumber our warriors."

"So we just wait for him to pick us off one by one?"

"We prepare," he countered, golden eyes meeting mine directly. "Fortify our position. Establish fallback locations. Identify potential allies within his camp."

I understood his warrior's perspective, but something deeper burned within me—outrage at Hammond's presumption, at his belief that he could command women's bodies and choices. The silver markings beneath my skin flared with emotion.

"I won't abandon the women he's targeting," I said, my voice low but firm. "I won't hide while he mutilates more of us in the name of 'protection.' We've been reactive long enough, Lazrin."

"You propose direct confrontation?" His lifelines brightened with concern. "That path leads to bloodshed."

"I propose standing our ground," I clarified. "Making clear that the marked women are not his property to command. That we choose our own path."

"The choice may cost lives," he warned, though I sensed his pride in my determination through our bond.

"So does submission." I turned to face him fully. "You taught me that some battles cannot be avoided—only faced with clarity and purpose."

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Using my own teachings against me."

"Learning from them," I corrected, reaching for his hand. Our markings synchronized instantly, gold and silver light merging where our skin touched.

Our discussion was interrupted by rapid footsteps approaching. Jen appeared, breathless, her markings pulsing with urgency.

"We need you both," she said. "Rivera has something everyone needs to hear."

We returned to the central gathering to find Rivera standing before the assembled crowd, her face grim.

"I've been scanning the perimeter with my sense," she announced as we arrived. "Hammond's supply caches are on the move. The hidden weapons stockpile they've been building near the western ridge—it's emptying."

Murmurs of alarm spread through the gathering.

"How many weapons?" Lazrin asked, immediately shifting to tactical assessment.

"Energy rifles mostly," Rivera replied. "At least thirty that I could detect. Plus improvised explosives—those have a distinctive density signature."

"He's mobilizing for conquest," I concluded, the tactical reality crystallizing. "The ultimatum is merely theater. He intends to seize the marked women regardless of our response."

The assembly erupted into chaotic discussion. Some advocated immediate evacuation to more defensible locations deeper in Nyxari territory. Others argued for pre-emptive strikes against Hammond's weapon caches.

"Silence!" Elder Rylis's voice cut through the commotion. "Such fracturing is precisely what Hammond seeks. Division weakens us all."

The gathering quieted, waiting for guidance.

I stepped forward, the decision crystallizing within me. "Hammond expects us to surrender the marked women or scatter in fear," I said, my voice carrying across the assembly. "We will do neither."

All eyes turned to me—marked women and Nyxari alike, their expressions ranging from uncertainty to determination.

"The marked women are not property to be controlled," I continued, conviction hardening my voice. "We are not contaminated. We are not victims. We are transformed. We stand with those who respect our choice and our autonomy."

Murmurs of agreement rippled through the gathering, the marked women standing straighter, their silver patterns brightening with collective resolve.

"However," I added, glancing at Claire and the others who'd expressed concern, "nobody will be forced to stay. Those with family in Hammond's camp who wish to return may do so—with full knowledge of what awaits them there. The choice must be theirs alone."

I looked to Lazrin, whose subtle nod conveyed his support despite his tactical reservations. Through our shared bond, I sensed his respect for my decision, his silent pledge to align his strategies with my chosen path.

"We have forty-eight hours before Hammond expects compliance," I said, addressing both the marked women and the Nyxari warriors. "We will use that time to prepare—not in fear, but in unity. Hammond believes us weak, divided. We will show him otherwise."