Page 8 of Alien Warrior’s Claim (Nyxari Bondmates #1)

LAZRIN

I pressed my palm against the cool stone wall of my dwelling, willing the ache to subside. Despite the late hour, sleep eluded me. My lifelines pulsed with relentless intensity, responding to her proximity in the adjacent dwelling. So close, yet forbidden to me by my own restraint.

The pain was exquisite—a burning need that demanded satisfaction. Every instinct urged me to go to her, to claim what the ancestors had clearly designated as mine. But such thoughts were unworthy of a Nyxari warrior. The lifebond was sacred precisely because it required choice, not merely instinct.

I pushed away from the wall, resuming my restless pacing. The chamber felt confining despite its spacious dimensions. My tail lashed behind me, betraying the agitation I fought to master.

Was she sleeping peacefully, just beyond that wall? Or did she lie awake as I did, feeling the inexorable pull between us?

I had seen the shock in her eyes when our skin touched in the forest, felt the tremor that passed through her body. Her silver markings had flared with light that matched the rhythm of my own lifelines perfectly. She couldn't deny the physical connection, yet she still resisted its deeper implications.

Patience, I reminded myself. She had taken the first step by accepting the Honor Pact, by coming to our settlement. The bond would continue to strengthen—if I allowed it the time and space to develop naturally.

With a frustrated growl, I seized my hunting blade and stalked from my dwelling near the settlement's eastern edge. If sleep would not come, I could at least make productive use of the night hours.

The settlement was quiet as I moved through it, most Nyxari long since retired to their dwellings. The moons cast their dual light across the living structures, silver and bloodred illumination dancing across the iridescent surfaces. A few sentries nodded respectfully as I passed, their expressions carefully neutral despite the unusual hour of my departure.

"Hunt Leader," one addressed me, "trouble with your rest cycle?"

"The stars pull my thoughts tonight," I replied.

He nodded understanding, his own lifelines briefly pulsing in acknowledgment before he resumed his patrol.

The forest welcomed me with its familiar symphony of night sounds. Bioluminescent flora painted the underbrush in ethereal hues of blue and green, providing ample light for my enhanced vision. I moved silently, my senses attuned to every rustling leaf and shifting shadow.

Not just any hunt would do tonight. I needed to bring back something worthy of her.

I tracked a vathrel—a rare six-limbed herbivore known for its tender meat—to a small clearing. The beast was massive, easily four times my weight, with a thick protective hide and dangerous tusks that could gore even a Nyxari warrior if one approached carelessly.

Perfect.

I spent nearly an hour in silent observation, my patience absolute as I waited for the right moment.

When I finally moved, it was with lethal dominance that had made me Hunt Leader among the most dangerous warriors of my people. My blade found the vulnerable spot beneath its jaw in one powerful stroke, severing vital connections instantly. The creature collapsed with barely a sound, its death clean and honorable—a worthy offering for her.

The butchering took time, but I worked methodically by moonlight, preserving the choicest cuts of meat and the softest sections of hide. The latter might be fashioned into more comfortable garments for Mirelle—the thin coverings she wore from her crashed vessel were ill-suited to Arenix's environment.

When I returned to the settlement, dawn's first light was kissing the eastern horizon. Several warriors were already gathering for morning training, their expressions shifting to surprise as they saw my burden.

Varek approached, his golden eyes widening slightly at the sight of the vathrel meat. "Zetkrai-voral," he said in our language, using the formal term for the most prized cut. "You hunted alone? In darkness?"

"The night was clear," I replied, as if this explained everything.

His gaze flicked to my dwelling—and Mirelle's adjacent one—before returning to me. The corner of his mouth twitched. "A worthy offering."

"A necessary provision," I corrected, though we both knew it for the lie it was.

I handed most of the meat to the settlement's food preparers, but kept the prized zetkrai-voral for myself. After cleaning the blood from my skin and changing into fresh garments, I brought a portion to the cooking hearth where I carefully prepared it with aromatic herbs and rare spices traded from distant settlements.

When it was ready, I placed the meal on a carved wooden platter and approached Mirelle's dwelling. The early morning light sparkled across its surface, highlighting the intricate growth patterns in the stone. I hesitated at the entrance, suddenly uncertain. Would she welcome this gesture, or see it as presumptuous?

Before I could retreat, the dwelling's entrance membrane parted. Mirelle stood there, her hair tousled from sleep, her eyes widening at the sight of me. The translation stone at her throat caught the morning light, its crystal structure absorbing the rays before emitting a soft glow, indicating it was ready to interpret our words.

"," she said, my name on her lips sending an involuntary shiver through me. Her translation stone warmed visibly against her skin as it activated. "Is something wrong?"

"No," I replied, offering the platter, my own translation pendant glowing subtly as I spoke. "I brought you nourishment."

She glanced at the steaming meat, surprise evident in her expression. "You cooked this? For me?"

"You require proper sustenance to adapt to Arenix," I said, keeping my tone even. "The proteins in this meat will strengthen your body against the planet's challenges."

A ghost of a smile touched her lips. "That's very... practical of you."

I inclined my head, refusing to acknowledge the heat rising in my chest at her almost-smile. "Survival is practical."

She accepted the platter, her fingers carefully avoiding contact with mine—a deliberate caution that spoke volumes about her awareness of what happened when we touched. The scent of her skin reached me—that unique, intoxicating human fragrance now familiar to me, yet still foreign enough to quicken my pulse.

"Will you join me?" she asked, gesturing inside her dwelling, her translation stone making sure I understood her invitation.

The invitation, however casual, sent a jolt through my system. To share a meal in her private space was a significant step in Nyxari courtship traditions—though of course, she couldn't know that.

"If you wish," I replied, struggling to keep my voice neutral as my translation pendant conveyed my words.

Inside, I was struck by how she had arranged the few possessions she'd brought from the human camp. Simple items, yet placed with care that transformed the space into something uniquely hers. She'd positioned her sleeping furs near the window that caught the morning light, and had already begun to collect specimens of local flora in small containers along a shelf.

She settled on a cushioned area that served as seating, and I joined her, maintaining a careful distance. The platter rested between us like a boundary neither dared cross.

Mirelle took a tentative bite of the meat, her eyes widening. "This is... incredible."

Pride surged through me at her approval. "It is vathrel," I explained, the translation stone on my neck warming as it processed the Nyxari term that had no direct human equivalent. "Rare on this part of Arenix, especially one of this size."

"You hunted this just for me?" Her gaze sharpened, perceptive as always.

"I hunted it for the settlement," I clarified, though my translation pendant might have betrayed the slight hesitation before my response. "But selected the finest portion for you. Your body needs additional strength to acclimate to Arenix."

She chewed thoughtfully, studying me. "The way you keep focusing on my physical needs makes me wonder if there's something you're not telling me. Is Arenix particularly dangerous to humans?"

"For anyone, yes," I replied. "Arenix can be unforgiving. The seismic storms I mentioned will begin soon, bringing acids that can burn unprotected skin. The seasonal shift brings new predators from the northern reaches. And certain plants release spores that cause respiratory distress in those without immunity."

I hesitated, then added, "Your markings may offer some protection, though we cannot be certain. Ancient texts mention similar patterns carved into buried structures before the Great Division. Few understand their significance now, but some elders believe these patterns once had a purpose."

"Is that why Hammond was sending the marked women on dangerous missions? Testing whether we'd developed some kind of resistance?"

The thought had occurred to me as well. "Perhaps. Or perhaps he feared the changes themselves."

She fell silent, finishing her meal with quiet efficiency. I watched her covertly, noting the graceful movements of her hands, the occasional flutter of her pulse at her throat when she swallowed.

"Thank you," she said finally, setting the empty platter aside, her translation stone pulsing softly. "For the meal. And for explaining more about Arenix's dangers."

I inclined my head in acknowledgment. "Today, Elder Rylis will begin teaching your group about which plants are safe to consume and which must be avoided. I would accompany you, if you permit it."

"You don't need my permission," she said, a hint of sharpness returning to her tone. Her translation pendant brightened with her emotion. "I'm not your prisoner, nor your keeper."

"No," I agreed. "You are neither of those things. You are my potential lifebond, which means your wishes have weight with me."

Her expression softened slightly. "Then yes, I'd appreciate your company. Your knowledge of Arenix will be valuable."

It was a practical acceptance rather than an emotional one, but it was acceptance nonetheless. I would take what small victories I could win.