Page 5 of Alien Warrior’s Claim (Nyxari Bondmates #1)

MIRELLE

T he knot in my stomach tightened. Five days after the crash, and we were already facing starvation.

As I organized the remaining supplies, the patterns beneath my skin tingled unexpectedly. I glanced around, wondering what had triggered the sensation. Nothing seemed unusual, but for a brief moment, I could have sworn the ground beneath my feet hummed with similar energy – as if something far below recognized the new markings on my skin. I dismissed the thought as exhaustion and continued my inventory.

"We're down to single-digit meal packs," I told Hammond, keeping my voice low. "Maybe two days' worth if we cut portions again."

He nodded curtly, his gaze sweeping over the gathered survivors. "We need a proper hunting party. Foraging isn't bringing in enough."

Around us, the camp had developed a makeshift order. Shelters constructed from wreckage formed a rough circle. The wounded occupied the central area, while Hammond's security team had established a perimeter of sorts—though I noticed they spent as much time watching their fellow survivors as they did scanning for external threats.

At the forest's edge, the Nyxari warriors maintained their silent vigil. Their leader, Lazrin, seemed to be always watching, his golden eyes finding me with unnerving frequency. I'd wrapped my arms with salvaged fabric strips beneath my jacket sleeves, concealing the metallic swirls that had appeared beneath my skin. They still reacted whenever he was near, a fact I preferred to hide from Hammond's increasingly suspicious gaze.

"Listen up, people," Hammond announced to the group gathered for the morning meal distribution. "We need to establish more sustainable food sources."

Then he continued. "Rivera, Drake, Kapur, Michaels, Duvane, and Lopez—you six will form the hunting team."

My head snapped up. Every person he'd named was female, and all except Lopez bore the strange markings beneath our skin.

"That's not a hunting party," I objected, stepping forward. "That's suicide. None of us have combat training, and only Drake has weapons experience. And she's wounded."

Hammond's expression hardened. "The women are smaller, faster. You can cover more ground without attracting predators." The lie was obvious—he was keeping the men close, building his own security force while risking the women he considered expendable.

Or worse—the women he considered suspect because of our markings.

"Most of us barely survived the last encounter with those predators," I pressed. "At least include some of your security team."

"My security team is needed here," Hammond replied. "To protect the injured and maintain camp defenses."

Against what? I wanted to ask. The only creatures that had shown hostile intent were the six-legged predators, not the blue-skinned warriors who'd saved us from them.

Thirty minutes later, our ill-equipped hunting party gathered at the camp's edge. Lopez carried a makeshift spear. Drake had a salvaged energy pistol with perhaps two shots remaining. The rest of us clutched improvised weapons—in my case, a jagged piece of hull plating.

I checked that my jacket was securely fastened at the cuffs, ensuring that no tell-tale gleam showed at my wrists or neck. The other marked women had done the same—Rivera had wrapped a salvaged scarf around her neck, hiding the iridescent tendrils that crept up her collarbone. Elana wore long sleeves despite the warming day. We'd all silently agreed to conceal our markings from prying eyes.

"Stay together," I instructed. "We focus on finding edible plants first—the ones Elana identified yesterday. No unnecessary risks. If we encounter predators, we retreat immediately."

I led our group in the opposite direction from where the predators had attacked before. The forest's strange beauty had lost none of its impact—translucent leaves that caught the light like stained glass, massive tree trunks with copper-colored bark, peculiar fungi that emitted a soft glow even in daylight.

Now, I only saw potential dangers lurking behind every trunk, coiled in every shadow.

We moved carefully, Elana identifying plants that matched Earth specimens closely enough to be potentially edible. Rivera and Michaels harvested these into makeshift containers, while Drake, Lopez, and I maintained a watchful perimeter.

My arms tingled beneath their bandaged covering, a persistent warmth that had become my constant companion. But as we ventured deeper into the forest, the sensation changed—intensified to an uncomfortable burning.

I paused, rubbing at my forearm through the fabric of my jacket. "Does anyone else feel that?"

Rivera and Elana exchanged glances, then nodded.

"Like a warning," Rivera said softly, her fingers pressed against her collarbone where her own markings lay hidden.

"Or a proximity alert," Drake suggested, raising her pistol. "Something's near."

We froze, listening. The forest had gone quiet—the strange, bell-like calls of the local wildlife suddenly silenced. The ethereal patterns beneath my skin flared hotter beneath their coverings, the burning sensation spreading up my arms.

"Back to camp," I ordered, but even as the words left my mouth, I knew it was too late.

A soft scraping sound came from behind us. Then another from the right. And a third from the left.

We were surrounded.

"Circle up," I whispered, raising my makeshift blade. "Back to back."

The women complied, forming a tight group with weapons facing outward. My heart hammered against my ribs, every nerve ending screaming danger.

The first predator emerged from the underbrush—not the six-legged beast from before, but something lower to the ground, its body long and sinuous. Six legs, but with a flatter profile and a wedge-shaped head filled with backward-curving teeth. Its scales shifted color to match the surrounding foliage, making its edges blur like a heat mirage.

"What is that?" Elana whispered.

Two more appeared, then a fourth, moving with eerie coordination to cut off our escape routes. Unlike the previous predators, which had charged with brute force, these creatures seemed calculating, patient.

Drake aimed her pistol at the nearest stalker. "Should I fire?"

I hesitated. Two shots against four predators. If she missed, or if the energy blast failed to stop them...

Before I could answer, the lead creature tensed, preparing to spring. The moonlit shimmer beneath my skin blazed suddenly with enough intensity that light leaked through my jacket, bathing my skin in a ghostly illumination.

The creature leapt.

In the same instant, a massive form crashed through the undergrowth—midnight blue against the forest's greenery. Lazrin's blade flashed, catching the stalker mid-jump and nearly cleaving it in two. The creature crashed to the ground in a spray of iridescent blood.

More Nyxari warriors flooded into the clearing, their weapons engaging the remaining predators. The battle was swift, brutal, and efficiently executed. Within moments, all four monsters lay dead.

I stood frozen, blade still raised, as Lazrin approached. His golden eyes found mine immediately, those strange markings on his skin pulsing with light. Heat answered in my own markings, responding to his proximity with undeniable intensity.

For a moment that stretched into eternity, we simply stared at each other across the clearing. No words, no gestures, only the inexplicable pull between us that defied explanation.

Then Elana gasped beside me, drawing my attention to the forest's edge where a new figure had appeared.

This Nyxari was different from the warriors—older, with silver threading through his dark hair. He wore elaborate robes adorned with strange symbols that matched some of the markings on the warriors' skin. Around his neck hung a large, translucent stone that glowed with inner light.

The Elder approached with measured steps. The warriors, including Lazrin, inclined their heads in obvious respect. In his hands, he carried a small wooden chest, ornately carved with the same symbols that decorated his robes.

I stepped forward to meet him, positioning myself between the Elder and the other women. Up close, I could see that his emerald skin bore markings even more elaborate than Lazrin's, though they glowed with a softer light.

"I am Rylis, Shaman of the Eastern Settlement," he said, and I gasped as I understood his words perfectly.

The stone at his neck pulsed brightly as he spoke, somehow translating his alien language into something my brain could comprehend.

"You—I understand you," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

Rylis nodded, satisfaction evident in his ancient features. "The translation stone allows our thoughts to cross the language barrier." He gestured to the glowing pendant at his throat. "Technology from before the Great Division."

With ceremonial slowness, he opened the wooden chest. Inside lay several stone pendants, each about the size of a large coin, glowing with the same inner light as the one around his neck.

"These smaller stones will allow individual communication," he explained, removing one from the chest and offering it to me. "For those who wish to understand and be understood."

With cautious movements, I accepted the stone. It felt warm against my palm, its surface smoother than any natural material should be. The moment my fingers closed around it, the stone brightened, its glow intensifying until it matched the light emanating from beneath my bandaged arms.

"The stone responds to your markings," Rylis observed. "Just as our lifelines interact with the ancient technologies."

The Elder distributed translation pendants to the other women in my group. Each stone activated upon contact, glowing with varying intensity based on the extent of each woman's markings.

Our strange procession returned to camp—six human women accompanied by Nyxari warriors carrying slain predators as apparent peace offerings. As expected, our arrival caused immediate commotion.

Hammond stormed forward, his face darkening with anger. "What is the meaning of this? Why have you brought them into our camp?"

I lifted the translation stone now hanging around my neck. "They saved us from predators," I replied evenly. "Again. And they've brought translation technology so we can communicate." I held up the pendant, its soft glow visible even in daylight. "We need to hear what they have to say, Hammond."

Rylis placed a larger version of the translation stone in the center of the gathering. It immediately began to glow with intense light, creating a field that would allow everyone present to understand the conversation.

"Visitors," he began, his voice carrying clearly across the hushed camp. "I am Rylis of the Eastern Settlement. Our world is called Arenix, and it has been home to the Nyxari for countless generations."

He gestured to the twin suns. "Arenix is beautiful, but deadly to the unprepared. Its predators are numerous and cunning. Its plants both nourish and poison. Its weather shifts from nurturing to lethal with little warning. Without knowledge, you cannot survive here."

No one contradicted him. We'd learned that harsh truth already.

"The Nyxari once possessed great technology," Rylis continued, the translation stone at the center of our gathering pulsing with each word. "But the Great Division—a civil war that nearly destroyed our species—changed everything. Our cities fell. Our knowledge fragmented. And most devastating of all, our females became increasingly rare."

Murmurs rippled through the crowd at this revelation.

"Now, only one female is born for every ten males," Rylis explained. "Our population dwindles with each generation. We have adapted, finding balance with Arenix rather than domination. But our future remains uncertain."

"The energy wave from your vessel's destruction has altered certain females among you," Rylis said, confirming our suspicions. "These markings are not unlike our lifelines—the sacred patterns that guide our mating bonds."

Hammond stepped forward, his expression thunderous. "What are you saying? That you want our women?"

Rylis met his glare evenly. "I am saying that our peoples may offer each other what we both desperately need. You require knowledge and protection to survive Arenix. We seek companions who might one day bear children, strengthening our dwindling bloodlines."

"You're proposing some kind of trade?" Hammond's voice rose incredulously.

"I propose an Honor Pact," Rylis corrected, the translation stone flickering briefly as it processed this cultural concept. "A sacred agreement between our peoples. The marked women would be offered the choice—not forced—to join with a Nyxari warrior whose lifelines respond to their own. In exchange, your people would receive protection, food, shelter, and the knowledge necessary to survive on Arenix."

Stunned silence fell over the camp. I glanced between Rylis and Lazrin, understanding suddenly why the copper-haired warrior had watched me so intently since our first meeting. His markings—his lifelines—had responded to mine. In his culture, that meant something profound.

Hammond broke the silence, his voice shaking with barely controlled rage. "Absolutely not. These women are Earth citizens under my protection. We don't trade them to alien species for any reason."

"It would be their choice," Rylis repeated, the translation stone pulsing brighter as his tone intensified. "Not yours. Not even mine." He turned to address the wider gathering. "Consider carefully. Winter approaches. The seismic storms will begin within fifty cycles of the moons. Without proper shelter and supplies, few of you will survive to see the next turning of the suns."

Rylis seemed unsurprised by the resistance. "Consider our offer. We will return in three days for your answer." He turned to leave, the other Nyxari falling into step behind him.

Lazrin lingered a moment longer, his golden eyes finding mine across the clearing. The intensity in his gaze made my markings flare beneath their coverings, a warm, insistent pulse that seemed to tug me toward him. Then he too turned and disappeared into the forest with his warriors.

The camp erupted into chaos the moment the Nyxari left, voices raised in argument as factions formed. Some supported Hammond's defiant stance, while others advocated for accepting the alien help. The marked women huddled together, watching the debate with growing unease.

I sat alone by a small fire, turning the translation pendant over in my fingers. Its soft glow matched the rhythm of the crystalline webs beneath my skin—the same rhythm I'd seen in Lazrin's amber-gold patterns.

I found myself thinking of the way Lazrin had moved—his power and precision as he dispatched the predators, the intensity in his golden eyes when they met mine. Despite the alien nature of his features, something about him resonated within me on a level I couldn't explain away.

The translation stone rested against my collarbone, its weight unfamiliar but somehow comforting—a tangible connection to a world I was only beginning to understand.

Three days to decide. Three days before the Nyxari returned for an answer. Three days that could determine the fate of both our peoples on this alien world.