Page 9 of Alien Warrior’s Claim (Nyxari Bondmates #1)

MIRELLE

S even days had passed since I'd left Hammond's camp. Now I was preparing to return: bringing vital resources that might help the humans survive Arenix's approaching seasonal dangers.

The silver patterns below my skin radiated gentle heat as I organized supplies for the human camp—medicinal plants identified by the Nyxari, preserved meat, and detailed maps showing safe water sources and danger zones for the approaching seismic storms.

I wore the navy blue shirt and expedition jacket I'd managed to salvage from the crash. The familiar, worn fabric provided what little concealment I could manage for the markings, which had become too extensive for the makeshift bandages I'd used before. Among the Nyxari, there was no need to hide them, but in Hammond's camp, visible markings only fueled his growing suspicion.

The translation stone on my neck warmed against my skin, ready to bridge our languages. Despite my focus on the supplies, my awareness of him remained acute, a constant background hum that grew stronger with proximity.

Rivera approached, helping to pack the last of the medicinal herbs. "Hammond won't be pleased to see you return so soon," she cautioned. "Are you sure about this?"

"His displeasure doesn't concern me," I replied, though we both knew it wasn't entirely true. Hammond's growing paranoia posed a real threat to everyone in his camp, especially the marked women. "They need these supplies."

"And Lazrin?" Rivera asked quietly. "Will he accompany you?"

The question made me pause. I hadn't explicitly asked for his escort, yet I knew he would come. Our bond ensured he'd sense my intentions, just as I constantly sensed his presence.

"To the border, yes," I acknowledged with reluctance. "Hammond's patrols have grown more aggressive. Having Nyxari protection until I reach the camp perimeter is... practical."

Rivera studied my face, seeing more than I wanted to reveal. "It's not weakness to accept help, . Especially from someone who cares for your safety."

I busied myself with securing my pack, avoiding her knowing gaze. "It's complicated."

"Only because you make it so," she replied with gentle directness.

I had no answer for that. The tension between maintaining independence and accepting the reality of my connection to Lazrin had become the central conflict of my existence on Arenix. Each day, the silver patterns spread further across my skin, binding me more deeply to this alien world and to him.

As I completed my preparations, I sensed him waiting near the settlement's edge—present but not imposing, available but not insistent. His restraint should have comforted me, yet it only underscored the unnatural power he held. How easy it would be to simply command me to stay.

But he never did.

That restraint planted a seed of an idea—one that would germinate throughout the day ahead. I needed to test the boundaries of this connection, to know with certainty whether his respect for my autonomy was genuine or merely a patient strategy to win my trust.

I hoisted my pack and made my way toward the settlement's edge where he waited. Time to begin the journey to Hammond's camp—and to test just how far Lazrin's patience extended.

We arrived at the human settlement just before midday. The guards at the perimeter eyed Lazrin warily but allowed us entry after I explained our purpose. Lazrin remained at the edge of camp as agreed, his presence a reassuring weight in the back of my mind as I headed over to the medical area where Selene worked.

A shadow fell across our work area. I looked up, expecting Lazrin, but found Hammond instead. His expression was carefully neutral, but tension radiated from his rigid posture.

"Distributing alien drugs to our medical staff now, Duvane?"

I straightened, meeting his gaze directly. "Sharing knowledge that could save lives, Commander."

"Knowledge from an unverified source," he countered, picking up one of the plants with exaggerated skepticism. "These could be toxic to humans."

"The Nyxari have tested everything I've brought," I replied evenly, touching my translation stone. "And I've personally used several of these remedies without ill effect."

Hammond's mouth tightened. "Your continued good health may have more to do with those markings than with the safety of these alien concoctions."

His implication hung in the air—that I was fundamentally changed, no longer fully human. The accusation stung, especially because I'd begun to wonder the same thing myself.

"Dr. Selene can test everything before use," I said, refusing to be baited. "Science doesn't require blind trust."

Selene nodded firmly. "I'll establish proper protocols, Commander. Nothing will be administered without thorough examination."

Hammond looked like he wanted to argue further, but merely nodded curtly before moving away. I watched him cross the camp, stopping to speak with his security team, his gestures sharp with suppressed anger.

"Don't take it personally," Selene said quietly. "He's afraid."

"Of the Nyxari?"

"Of losing control." She sorted the medicinal plants into categories. "The Honor Pact created a power structure outside his influence. Every successful interaction between our communities threatens his authority."

Near the edge of camp, I found Elana and several marked women who had chosen to stay with the humans. They gathered around me, voices lowered as they asked about conditions in the Nyxari settlement.

"Is it true they have proper dwellings? With actual beds?" one woman asked, glancing over her shoulder.

"Yes," I confirmed. "The structures are made of some sort of living stone that responds to needs—warm, secure against predators, and surprisingly comfortable."

"And the Nyxari themselves?" Elana asked, her expression serious.

"They treat us with respect," I replied honestly. "The Honor Pact is exactly as Rylis described—a choice freely made, never coerced."

The women exchanged meaningful glances. Finally, Rivera spoke. "Several of us have been thinking about accepting the Honor Pact. Conditions here are... deteriorating."

"Hammond's been restricting rations," another added in a whisper. "Those he suspects of sympathizing with the Nyxari receive less."

I frowned. "That's outrageous."

"Equality doesn't fit his leadership style," Elana said dryly. "But we're not here to complain. We want to know if the offer still stands—if the Nyxari would accept more volunteers."

"Of course," I assured them. "Rylis made it clear that any marked woman is welcome, regardless of when she chooses to accept the Pact."

Relief flickered across several faces.

“I would like to go to the camp,” one of the women, whose name I remembered was Ivy, said.

“Me too,” another woman from the back said. “I can’t stay here. Not much longer.”

“I don’t feel like I have any rights under Hammond,” another said. “I’d like to come.”

“We need to arrange a meeting point then,” I said slowly, thinking quickly. “Let’s meet tomorrow at the giant copse of trees at the forest’s edge. It’s away from Hammond’s guards. Anyone who makes it there is welcome to come.”

There were murmurs or assent as people agreed with the plan. As the women dispersed, I felt a strange mix of emotions—satisfaction that more might find safety, yet unease at the deepening rift within the human survivors.

I gathered my empty containers and prepared to leave. The sun was lowering toward the horizon, and I'd promised to return to the Nyxari settlement before dark. As I neared the camp's edge, the familiar warmth across my shoulders intensified. Lazrin awaited me in the forest beyond.

A new thought struck me, one that had been forming for days. Lazrin always maintained his distance, watching but never interfering in my interactions with the human camp. His restraint was careful, deliberate. But was it truly respect for my independence, or merely a calculated strategy to win my trust?

The uncertainty gnawed at me. I needed to know where the boundaries lay—to test how far his patience extended.

Instead of heading directly toward where I sensed him waiting, I deliberately turned away, walking toward a section of forest the Nyxari considered dangerous. Lazrin had specifically warned me against entering that area, explaining that predators nested there during this season.

I felt a slight hitch in the warmth across my skin as I changed direction—Lazrin had noticed. Still, I continued my course, waiting for him to intervene, to assert control over my movements.

He didn't.

I reached the edge of the forest and paused. No sign of Lazrin, though my markings told me he remained nearby. Taking a deep breath, I stepped into the trees, following a faint game trail deeper into the section he'd warned against.

The forest here was different—the trees grew closer together, their translucent leaves a deeper blue that filtered the late afternoon sunlight into eerie patterns. Twenty minutes into my detour, the trail narrowed between dense clusters of thorny undergrowth. As I squeezed past a patch, my sleeve caught on a spine. I tugged impatiently, heard a rip, and felt a sharp sting as the thorn pierced my skin.

I hissed in pain, examining the small puncture. A drop of blood welled up, vivid red against my pale skin.

As I struggled with the minor injury, a new sensation bloomed across my markings—not the warm awareness of Lazrin's presence, but something sharper, more urgent. A prickling heat spread up my arm, across my chest, down my spine.

I froze, every instinct suddenly screaming danger.

The forest had gone silent. No insect chirps, no rustling leaves, no distant animal calls. Only an oppressive silence that pressed against my eardrums.

The heat in my markings intensified, focusing toward my right. I turned my head in that direction, eyes straining to penetrate the blue-tinted shadows between the trees.

I took a careful step backward, then another. The pressure in the air seemed to increase, as if something watched, tracked my movement, calculated its approach.

Then I saw it—a subtle shimmer in the air, like heat rising from sun-baked stone. The shimmer moved, flowing between trees with liquid grace, gradually solidifying into visible form.

My breath caught. The creature stood nearly as tall as a Nyxari but moved on all six limbs, its body covered in scales that shifted color to match its surroundings. As it focused on me, the camouflage faded, revealing iridescent blue-green coloration with vivid red bands around its neck and limbs.

I'd never seen anything like it, yet it was clearly a predator from its teeth and posture. I stood perfectly still, heart hammering. Running would trigger its chase instinct. Aggression would provoke an attack. My only hope was to back away slowly, to reach the edge of its territory without triggering its predatory response.

I took another step backward. The creature's muscles tensed, its head lowering slightly.

Through our bond, I felt Lazrin's urgent awareness of my situation. His consciousness brushed against mine, a wordless warning that needed no translation. The predator before me was lethal, and I had wandered directly into its hunting grounds.

I continued backing away, each step carefully placed. The predator paced forward, maintaining the distance between us. It was herding me, I realized with sinking clarity. Not attacking immediately, but guiding me deeper into its territory.

Another predator emerged from the undergrowth to my left, then a third behind me. They moved with coordinated precision, cutting off my escape routes with methodical efficiency.

My danger sense blazed through my markings, silver light now visible even through the torn sleeve of my jacket. I drew the blade at my hip—a poor defense against three apex predators, but better than nothing.

The first creature crouched, muscles bunching in preparation to spring. I braced myself, blade raised, knowing the odds were impossible but refusing to die without resistance.

The attack never came.

A massive blue form crashed through the undergrowth, positioning itself between me and the lead predator. Lazrin's blade flashed in the filtered sunlight, his lifelines blazing with protective fury. The predator recoiled, hissing a challenge at this new threat.

Two more Nyxari warriors appeared, flanking the other predators. Without exchanging a word, they coordinated their movements through subtle tail signals and body positioning. The predators, recognizing they now faced equally lethal opponents, began a strategic withdrawal, melting back into the forest with liquid grace.

When the danger had passed, Lazrin turned to face me. His golden eyes blazed with intensity, his translation stone activating as he spoke. "Are you injured?"

"Just this," I replied, holding up my hand where the thorn had pricked me. My translation pendant ensured he understood. "Nothing serious."

He approached, examining the small wound with careful attention. "The spines of that plant contain mild toxins. It requires treatment." From a pouch at his waist, he withdrew a small container of salve, applying it to the puncture with practiced efficiency.

"I walked into danger deliberately," I admitted, watching his face for reaction. "To see if you would intervene."

His expression remained neutral, though his tail flicked once—the only sign my confession had affected him. "I know."

"Yet you didn't stop me. You followed at a distance, allowing me to make my own choices." I studied him with new understanding. "Even knowing those choices might put me at risk."

"Your independence matters," he said simply, the translation stone on his throat pulsing gently. "Even when your decisions concern me."

"Why? Most males of any species would assert dominance, especially with the kind of bond you say exists between us."

Lazrin's gaze remained steady. "Because a lifebond forced is no bond at all. It must be chosen freely, or it becomes a chain rather than a connection."

As we walked back toward the settlement, I found myself studying him with new eyes. His restraint wasn't a strategy to win me over—it was fundamental to his understanding of what our connection should be. Not possession or control, but genuine respect for my agency.

"Those predators," I said after a while, "they hunted with coordination I wouldn't expect from animals."

"Shade Stalkers," Lazrin explained, his translation pendant glowing steadily. "Among Arenix's most intelligent hunters. They use strategy rather than brute strength, communicating through subtle chemical signals."

"Like the Nyxari use tail positions," I observed.

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "We evolved in similar environments. Some adaptations prove universally effective."

As the Nyxari settlement came into view, I felt an unexpected surge of relief. In just a week, this alien community had begun to feel like sanctuary—a place where the marked women could exist without Hammond's suspicious glare, without the weight of being considered contaminated.

We reached the outer dwellings as twilight deepened. The four marked women who had come with me greeted us, their silver patterns glowing softly in the gathering darkness. Some had adopted Nyxari clothing—simple, functional garments that accommodated their markings rather than concealing them.

"The rescue changed things," I said, stopping by the edge of the central gathering area. "The marked women still in Hammond's camp are suffering for our actions."

"Yet you would make the same choice again," Lazrin observed, his translation stone ensuring that I understood.

"Yes." There was no hesitation in my answer. "Those women needed rescue. The price was worth paying."

His golden eyes studied me with that penetrating gaze that always made me feel transparent. "And what of your own choice, ? You remain between worlds—neither fully rejecting our ways nor fully embracing them."

I touched the translation pendant at my throat, feeling its subtle warmth. "I'm still figuring out what these markings mean. What I'm becoming."

"Not becoming," he corrected, his translation stone pulsing. "Evolving. The patterns enhance what already exists within you. They don't replace it."

We returned to the settlement in thoughtful silence.

As night fell, I stood at the threshold of my dwelling, watching Lazrin lean against the wall of his own. The question I'd been avoiding rose unbidden to my lips.

"What am I becoming, Lazrin?" My translation stone warmed with the emotion behind my words. "These markings, the way they connect to ancient Nyxari technology—I don't understand what's happening to me."

He turned back, his golden eyes luminous in the darkness, his own translation pendant glowing softly. "You are becoming what Arenix needs—a bridge between worlds. Neither purely human nor Nyxari, but something new that incorporates the strengths of both."

It was both answer and non-answer, reassurance and further mystery. Despite our cautious reconnection today, I still felt adrift between identities. In the days ahead, I would need to make choices about which path to follow, which community to fully embrace.

The divide was widening. And I, with my marked skin and growing connection to this alien world, stood directly at its center.