Page 4 of Alien Warrior’s Claim (Nyxari Bondmates #1)

LAZRIN

T he twin suns crested the jagged eastern peaks, casting long shadows across the strange encampment of these sky-fallen beings. I stood at the forest’s edge, motionless save for the occasional flick of my tail, watching. Always watching.

"Maintain positions," I instructed my warriors, voice low. "Two rotation cycles. Alert me to any threats."

Varek inclined his head in acknowledgment, but his golden eyes remained fixed on me, not the humans. "You should rest, . You've stood watch all night."

I ignored his concern. Sleep was impossible. My lifelines thrummed beneath my skin, a persistent pulse that drew me toward the human camp—toward her. The female with silvery marks that mirrored my own. Mirelle. Even thinking her name sent a fresh surge of energy through my veins. My eyes watered in pleasure.

I could feel my cock stiffen at the thought of her naked body tangled in mine. Of her limbs splayed up in the air as I devoured her in ways that would leave her breathless and unable to walk.

My markings ensured that I would never take her by force, but the thought of her surrendering to me to lose myself for a moment.

How glorious it would be. Her lithe and slender body servicing and pleasuring mine. And then for me to return the favor and paralyze her.

"I'll rest when needed," I replied, the lust heavy in my voice.

Eight of my finest warriors had remained, forming a protective ring around the strangers' camp. The rest had returned to our settlement, bearing news of these bipedal visitors and the unprecedented lifebond that had ignited between me and one of their females. The Elders would be in turmoil, their ancient certainties challenged by my inexplicable connection to a being of an entirely unknown species.

I paced the perimeter, every instinct screaming at me to return to her side. The lifebond marks thrummed beneath my skin, a constant reminder of what I'd found—and what I could lose if the humans fled.

"Approach from the south," Kralin reported, materializing silently at my side. "Their leader marshals them."

I shifted position, moving through the shadows to a vantage point with a clearer view of the camp's central area. There she was—Mirelle—emerging from her shelter, adjusting her gray jacket over her dark clothing before tying her hair back from her face. Even from this distance, I could see the tension in her shoulders, the alertness in her movements. She'd slept poorly, if at all.

The dominant male was shouting orders, gesturing toward various groups. The humans responded with varying degrees of enthusiasm, some moving quickly to comply while others exchanged uneasy glances.

Their social dynamics fascinated me. So unlike our own regimented structures. The humans lacked the clear hierarchy that governed Nyxari interactions, seeming instead to function through a mixture of cooperation and conflict. Their body language was oddly expressive yet foreign—lacking the tail signals and horn positions that conveyed nuance among my people. Instead, they communicated through subtle shifts of their faces, a language of micro-expressions I was only beginning to decipher.

Mirelle intercepted a group of females their leader had directed toward the forest. She spoke, her hands moving in efficient gestures as she redirected their efforts, sending some to tend the wounded while assigning others to sort through debris. Unlike the male's forceful commands, her leadership style was calm and practical. The others responded to her readily, their postures relaxing as they accepted her guidance.

Without translation devices, I couldn't understand a word they said. But leadership transcends language—her authority was evident in how the others responded to her directives.

"She leads well," Varek observed, appearing silently beside me. "For one so small. And yet yesterday she faced the kradax with courage when others would have fled."

I nodded, pride swelling unexpectedly in my chest as I watched her organize her people with such efficiency. Her species might be physically weaker than Nyxari, but their resilience was remarkable. And Mirelle... she moved with a quiet authority that commanded respect without demanding it.

"Elder Rylis prepares the ancient translation stones," Varek informed me quietly. "He will bring them tomorrow at dawn. Soon we will understand their words, and they ours."

I acknowledged this with a slight nod. "The stones have not been used in generations."

Throughout the day, I observed Mirelle's methodical approach. She checked on the injured, distributed their meager supplies with careful precision, and set teams to various tasks. All while discreetly tugging at her jacket sleeves, ensuring the marks beneath her skin remained hidden from most of her companions.

Their leader watched her too, his narrowed eyes following her movements with growing suspicion. When she spent too long conferring with other marked females, he would interrupt, inserting himself between them. The contrast between their leadership styles was stark—her collaborative approach against his desire to control.

"You should claim her now," Varek urged as we watched the male cut short Mirelle's conversation with an injured female. "Before that dominant one causes irreparable damage."

I growled low in my throat, the sound rumbling from my chest before I could suppress it. "She is not prey to be seized, Varek. The lifebond must be accepted willingly."

"These are extraordinary circumstances," he pressed. "The ancient laws might not apply when dealing with aliens who don't understand our ways."

I fixed my second with a hard stare, my horns angling forward in a subtle dominance display. "The ancient laws exist precisely because of such circumstances. Would you have me force a bond? That is not the way of our people."

Varek dropped his gaze in deference, though his tail lashed once in frustration. He didn't press further, but his concern lingered in the air between us.

As midday approached, their leader gathered a group of humans at the camp's edge. From their preparations—gathering crude weapons and containers—it appeared they planned a foraging expedition. What troubled me was that the group consisted entirely of females, many bearing the silvery markings beneath their skin.

I shifted closer, my senses alert as I watched the dominant male gesturing toward the dense northern forest—the territory known to be favored by trelleth, predators even more dangerous than the kradax.

Mirelle stepped forward, clearly objecting to whatever he proposed. Though I couldn't understand their words without a translation stone, her body language spoke volumes—squared shoulders, chin raised, one hand cutting through the air in emphatic disagreement. The males surrounding their leader closed ranks, their stance challenging as they faced her.

"He sends the marked females into danger," Kralin observed, his normally stoic features tightening with disapproval. "While keeping the stronger males in camp."

My lifelines flared with sudden heat at this realization. Their leader wasn't just organizing a foraging party—he was deliberately sending the marked women away from camp, into territory they couldn't possibly navigate safely.

Mirelle continued her opposition, her voice rising just enough to carry faintly to our position. The male's response was sharp, dismissive. When she didn't back down, he seized her arm, fingers digging visibly into her flesh as he spoke directly into her face.

Every muscle in my body tensed, a growl building in my chest. My hand closed around the hilt of my blade, the instinct to protect my mate nearly overwhelming rational thought.

"." Varek's voice cut through my haze of protective fury, his hand settling on my shoulder. "Not yet."

With immense effort, I forced my hand to relax, to release the weapon. He was right. Charging into their camp, attacking their leader—however justified—would only worsen relations between our peoples. And potentially put Mirelle in greater danger.

She pulled free of the male's grip, her expression cold now. Though she'd lost the immediate argument, the defiance in her stance made clear this conflict was far from resolved. She watched with evident displeasure as the group of females ventured toward the forest edge, then turned her attention to the remaining tasks in camp.

Their leader's eyes followed her, his expression calculating in a way that made my skin crawl. Something in that gaze went beyond mere leadership struggles—he watched Mirelle and the other marked women with particular intensity, as if they represented either a threat or an opportunity he had yet to fully exploit.

Throughout the day, a pattern emerged. The dominant male systematically separated the marked females from the others, assigning them more dangerous or distant tasks. Most concerning, he refused to let any of them approach our perimeter, positioning his armed males to intercept any who strayed too close to where my warriors maintained their vigil.

He feared contact between us. Or perhaps, more specifically, contact between the marked humans and the Nyxari. Why? What did he suspect about their condition that made him so wary?

By nightfall, the foraging party returned, their containers pitifully empty and their expressions drawn with exhaustion. One woman limped badly, supported by two others. Mirelle rushed to assist, her face tight with carefully controlled anger as she glared at their leader.

"This cannot continue," I said to Varek as darkness settled over the camp. "He drives them toward disaster with his distrust and control."

"What would you have us do?" Varek asked.

"We wait," I replied firmly. "When Elder Rylis arrives with the translation stones tomorrow, the path forward will become clearer."

After our conversation, I resumed my vigil. Night deepened, but I remained motionless at the forest's edge, watching as the humans settled into uneasy sleep. The camp quieted except for the movement of sentries and the occasional cry of the wounded.

From my position, I could just see Mirelle's shelter. A faint glow emanated from within—not firelight, but the subtle luminescence of her markings. She was awake, perhaps studying the patterns beneath her skin, trying to understand what was happening to her body.

If only she knew that across the clearing, my own markings pulsed in perfect synchronization with hers. Two heartbeats, separated by species and circumstance, yet beating as one beneath patterns of gold and silver.

I waited for the dawn and the translation stones that would bridge our languages, allowing words where now we had only gestures. My tail flicked once, betraying my uncertainty. Never had such a connection formed between Nyxari and a stranger from the stars. There was no precedent, no guide to follow.

Only the persistent pull in my chest, drawing me toward Mirelle like a lodestone to magnetic north. Only the certainty that whatever happened next would determine not just our fates, but the future of both our peoples on Arenix.

I settled into a watching crouch, prepared to maintain my vigil until dawn. Patient. Alert.

Waiting for what the new day would bring.