Page 24 of Bound to the Alien Orc (Alien Gambits #1)

Chapter 24

I wake with a start, my heart pounding in my chest. For a moment, I’m disoriented, the unfamiliar surroundings sending a jolt of panic through me. But then I feel Droilin’s warm presence beside me, his arm draped protectively over my waist, and the events of the past few days come rushing back.

The sabotage, my exile, the shadowy figures lurking in the trading post... it’s all real. A part of me wants to burrow deeper into Droilin’s embrace, to shut out the world and pretend none of this is happening. But I know I can’t.

I slip out of bed, careful not to wake Droilin. He looks peaceful in sleep, the lines of worry smoothed from his face. I resist the urge to brush a stray lock of white hair from his forehead, not wanting to disturb his rest.

Instead, I move softly around the cabin, gathering my clothes. The air is cool, a frost seeping in through the cracks in the walls. I dress quietly, my mind already whirring with what could be ahead. I need to focus on clearing my name, on helping Droilin figure out what’s happening with the luminore. Everything else... the Astral Hunters, the Black Eclipse... it’ll have to wait.

I’m just fastening my boots when Droilin stirs, his eyes blinking open. He smiles when he sees me, a soft, sleepy grin that makes my heart flutter.

“Morning,” he murmurs, his voice husky with sleep.

“Good morning,” I say, leaning over to give him a quick kiss.

He stretches, the blankets sliding down to reveal his bare chest. My eyes follow the movement, admiring the play of muscles beneath his green skin.

“I was trying not to wake you,” I reply, returning his smile.

He sits up, stretching his muscular arms above his head. “It’s alright. We’ve got a lot to do today.”

I nod, the pressing weight of our situation settling over me once again. Droilin wraps his arms around me, pulling me close.

He kisses the top of my head, his voice soft and reassuring.

I nestle against his broad chest. He feels so good, so strong and solid. I could stay like this forever, safe in his arms. But we can’t, not now.

I sigh, sobering at the reminder. “Droilin, I’m worried.”

His hands cup my face, his eyes intense. “Tasha, I promise you, I won’t let anything happen to you.”

It’s too hard to resist leaning into his touch, drawing strength from his certainty. “I know, and I trust you.” I take a deep breath, squaring my shoulders. “So, what’s the plan?”

Together we agree to focus on the luminore and clearing my name for now. The rest... we’ll deal with it as it comes.

We head out into the trading post, the bright sunlight a welcome change from the dimness of the cabin. Until Lieutenant Vortok tells us the road to the Jrosk mine is clear, we’re limited to staying in the marketplace.

The market is already bustling, the air filled with the shouts of vendors and the sizzle of cooking food.

I can tell Droilin is on high alert, his gaze constantly scanning the crowd, his hand never straying far from his weapon. I find myself watching everyone as well, my nerves thrumming with an incessant undercurrent of anxiety.

As we weave through the stalls, a glint of light catches my eye. I pause, my gaze drawn to a display of jewelry, the metal and gemstones sparkling in the sun.

“See something you like?” Droilin asks, noticing my distraction.

I shake my head, about to move on, but he stops me with a gentle hand on my arm.

“Wait here,” he says, a mischievous glint in his eye.

I watch, curious, as he approaches the vendor, pointing to something I can’t quite see. They haggle back and forth, Droilin’s posture relaxed but his voice firm. Finally, he hands over a few coins, accepting a small package in return.

He comes back to me, a grin on his face. “Close your eyes.”

I raise an eyebrow, but comply, my lips twitching with amusement. I feel him move behind me; his breath is warm on my neck as he fumbles with something.

“Okay, open them,” he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice.

I look down, my breath sticks in my throat. Around my neck hangs a delicate chain, and from it dangles a luminore crystal, its facets catching the light and throwing off a dazzling rainbow of colors.

“Droilin, it’s beautiful,” I whisper, touching the luminore reverently. I turn to him, my eyes wide. “You didn’t have to do this.”

He shrugs, looking pleased with himself. “I wanted to. It matches your hair clip and I want you to have something to remind you of our time together, no matter what happens next.”

His words send a pang through my heart, and I have to swallow past the lump in my throat. I step closer, wrapping my arms around him, and lean up to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you, Droilin. I will treasure it always.”

We continue through the market, my fingers constantly straying to the necklace, a smile playing on my lips. But then, I see it. A plasma conduit, sleek and shiny, displayed on a vendor’s table.

My heart leaps, my palms itching with the need to hold it, to feel its weight in my hands. It’s a top-of-the-line model, the kind I could only dream of back on the space station. With a tool like that, I could fix anything!

Droilin must notice my covetous gaze, as he says with a wink,

“Ah! I think this is a much more appropriate gift for an engineer.”

He picks up the tool and inspects it, before asking the vendor, “How much for this plasma conduit?”

The trader is a small gnome-looking alien who looks a little suspicious, and a lot greedy, with large frog-like eyes and slits for a nose rubs his chin, eyes Droilin up and down. He names a price that makes me choke, the number far beyond what I know these tools are worth.

“Two thousand credits,” he says causally, though his demeanor is anything but.

“That’s highway robbery,” I state blindly.

“It’s the price,” the trader snarls, his beady eyes narrow in my direction.

“Five hundred,” Droilin offers.

“Eighteen hundred” the trader counters.

The trader scoffs, crossing his arms.

But Droilin doesn’t blink. He leans in, his voice low and intense, and haggles in earnest. I watch, fascinated, as he and the vendor go back and forth, their words sharp and quick.

“Fine, eight hundred and fifty credits. That’s my last price,” the trader concedes, a sour expression on his face.

Droilin smiles, holding out a hand. “Six hundred, and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

The trader grumbles but shakes his hand.

Droilin straightens, a satisfied smirk on his face. He hands over a handful of credits, far less than the original asking price, and the vendor passes him the plasma conduit with a grudging nod of respect.

“Here,” Droilin says, pressing the tool into my hands. “I know you’ve been missing your work.”

I run my fingers over the sleek metal, marveling at the craftsmanship. “Droilin, I don’t know what to say. Thank you.”

He smiles, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear before he pulls me close, his lips brushing my forehead. “Anything for you, Tasha.”

I’m about to reply, my heart full to bursting, when a flicker of movement catches my eye. A cloaked figure, weaving through the crowd, their gait purposeful, their head down.

I stiffen, my hand tightening on the plasma conduit. Droilin senses my abrupt tension, his gaze sharpening as he follows my line of sight.

The figure is coming closer, their path taking them directly towards us. I can see his hands now, reaching into his cloak, and a glint of metal —

“Droilin,” I hiss, my heart in my throat.

He’s already moving, shoving me behind him, his blade free of its sheath.

The cloaked figure lunges, a wickedly curved dagger in their hand. But Droilin is faster. He meets the blade with his own, the clash of metal-on-metal ringing through the market.

The crowd parts, screams and cries rising. The two circle each other, Droilin a wall of muscle between me and the attacker.

A Jrosk warrior steps up to help, but Droilin shouts at him to stay away. “Keep the crowd back. This is my fight.”

I scramble back, my mind racing. This is no common thief. The way they move, the skill with which they wield their weapon... this is a trained killer.

Is this an Astral Hunter? Or is the Black Eclipse? Both are assassins, I guess.

Droilin and the assassin clash again, his blades sparking as they meet. The assassin is smaller, but wiry and quick, dancing out of the way of Droilin’s powerful blows.

“Stay back, Tasha,” Droilin grits out, his jaw set in a hard line.

I nod, but can’t keep myself from watching the fight, the plasma conduit clutched tightly in my hands.

The assassin feints to the right, but Droilin sees through the ruse, his blade whistling past their ear.

“Why are you after her?” Droilin demands, his voice rough with the effort of the fight.

The assassin rasps, “She’s an easy mark.”

Droilin growls, a primal, feral sound, and launches another attack. He moves with a speed and grace, his movements honed by years of training.

But the assassin is no easy opponent. He parries his blows, His own blade flashing in the sunlight.

I watch, my heart in my throat, as they fight. The market has erupted into pandemonium, people screaming and running in every direction. But I’m rooted to the spot, unable to tear my gaze away from the battle before me.

Droilin is holding his own, but I can see the strain on his face, the sweat beading on his brow. The assassin is relentless, his attacks coming faster and faster, his blade seeking any opening, any weakness.

And then, in a move so swift I almost miss it, the assassin’s free hand darts out, a glittering powder flying from his fingers. It hits Droilin full in the face, and he staggers back, his blade lowering for just a fraction of a second.

But it’s enough. The assassin lunges, his blade aimed straight for Droilin’s heart.

Time seems to slow down. I see the dagger descending; the sunlight glinting off its razor-sharp edge. I see the look of triumph in the assassin’s stance.

And I see Droilin twist his body away from the blade, without success. His face is a mask of surprise and pain when the assassin’s blade slices his side as he falls.

“NO!” The scream tears from my throat, raw and desperate. Without thinking, I charge forward. The plasma conduit raised high. With all my strength, I bring it down on the assassin’s wrist, the metal connecting with a sickening crunch.

The assassin howls in pain, the dagger falling from his suddenly limp fingers. He wheels on me, his eyes blazing with fury beneath his hood, fangs bared in a snarl.

But Droilin is there, his blade slashing in a vicious arc. It catches the assassin across the chest, and he stumbles back, a spray of yellow blood blooming across his cloak.

For a moment, everything is still, the only sound our rough breathing and the distant screams of the market-goers. The assassin sways on his feet, his hand pressed to the gash in his chest.

“You’re not worth the trouble, human.” the Hunter rasps, the sound sending a shiver down my spine.

Then, with a final, hate-filled glare, he turns and flees. The assassin disappears into the panicked crowd, leaving only a few shimmering black feathers lying on the dirt which I pick up.

I’m at Droilin’s side in an instant, my hands running over him, checking for injuries. He’s panting, his face pale, but he manages a weak smile.

“I’m alright,” he assures me, though his voice is strained. “It’s just a scratch.”

I help him to his feet, my heart still racing. I can feel the adrenaline coursing through me, my limbs shaking with the aftermath of fear and exertion.

“That was an Astral Hunter,” I say, my voice trembling as I show Droilin the feathers. “They found us. They —”

“I know,” Droilin interrupts, his tone grim. He looks around at the overturned stalls and the frightened faces of the traders. “We need to get out of here. It’s not safe anymore.”

Before I can respond, a familiar voice cuts through the madness. “Droilin! What in the void happened here?”

We turn to see Lieutenant Vortok pushing his way through the crowd, his eyes wide as he takes in the scene. His gaze lands on Droilin, noting his disheveled state and the unusual yellow blood on his blade.

“We were attacked,” Droilin explains, his voice strained as he clutches his side. “A cloaked figure, an Astral Hunter, a cult assassin hunting humans. He came at us with a dagger.”

Vortok’s face hardens, his hand going to the hilt of his own sword. “An assassin? Here?” He turns to his men, his voice booming across the market. “Fan out! Search every inch of this trading post. I want that assassin found, dead or alive!”

The warriors nod, immediately dispersing into the crowd, their weapons at the ready.

Vortok turns back to us, his gaze assessing. “Are you alright?”

I nod, though I can’t stop my hands from shaking. “We’re okay. Just shaken.”

Droilin grimaces, his hand still pressed to his side. “I’ll live. The bastard just caught me by surprise.”

Vortok frowns, stepping closer to examine Droilin’s wound. “That needs tending. We should get you to a healer.”

But Droilin shakes his head, straightening with a wince. “No time. We need to get to the Jrosk mines, now more than ever.”

Vortok’s brow furrows, but after a moment, he nods. “The roadblock is clear. We drove off the raiders this morning.” His eyes meet Droilin’s, a silent understanding passing between them. “Go. I’ll handle things here.”

Droilin clasps Vortok’s arm, a gesture of gratitude. “Thank you, my friend.”

Vortok nods, his expression grim. “I’ll send word if we find anything,” before he strides off, shouting orders to his warriors.

I turn to Droilin, my hand finding his. “Are you sure you’re alright? That wound looks bad.”

He tries to smile, but it comes out as more of a grimace. “I’ll be fine. We need to—”

“No,” I interrupt, my tone brooking no argument. “You need rest, Droilin. At least for a little while.” When he opens his mouth to protest, I squeeze his hand, my eyes pleading. “Please. For me. Just a few hours to catch your breath and tend to your wound. Then we’ll go, I promise.”

He looks at me for a long moment, conflict warring in his eyes. But finally, he sighs, his shoulders slumping. “Alright. Just for a little while.”

Relief washes through me and I lead him back through the market, keeping a wary eye out for any more cloaked figures. But we make it back to our cabin without incident.

As soon as the door closes behind us, Droilin staggers, his hand going to his side. I catch him, alarm spiking through me at his ashen face.

“Droilin!” I guide him to the bed, my hands shaking as I help him sit. “Let me see.”

He doesn’t protest as I lift his shirt, revealing a deep gash along his ribs. It’s bleeding sluggishly, the surrounding skin is already beginning to bruise.

I swallow hard, fear a cold knot in my gut. “Stay here,” I order, already moving to grab a clean cloth and some water.

My mind races as I work, cleaning the wound with trembling fingers. This is all my fault. If it wasn’t for me, Droilin wouldn’t be hurt. He wouldn’t be in danger. The guilt is a heavy weight on my chest, making it hard to breathe.

“Stop it,” Droilin says softly, startling me from my thoughts.

I look up, meeting his gaze. “Stop what?”

“Blaming yourself. I can practically hear your thoughts.” He reaches out, his hand cupping my cheek. “This isn’t your fault, Tasha. None of it.”

I lean into his touch, my eyes stinging. “But if it wasn’t for me —”

“If it wasn’t for you,” he interrupts gently, “I wouldn’t have a reason to fight. You give me strength, Tasha. You give me hope.” He smiles, his thumb brushing away a tear I didn’t even realize had fallen. “I would take a thousand wounds if it meant keeping you safe.”

A sob catches in my throat and I rush forward, mindful of his injury, as I wrap my arms around him. He holds me tight, his chin resting on top of my head.

We stay like that for a long time, just breathing each other in. His heartbeat is strong and steady under my ear, a reminder that he’s here, that he’s alive.

Finally, I pull back, swiping at my damp cheeks. “Thank you,” I whisper.

He smiles, a real one this time, though it’s still tinged with pain. “Anytime.”

I finish bandaging his wound in silence, my touch gentle. When I’m done, I help him lie back, pulling a blanket over him.

“Rest,” I murmur, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “I’ll wake you in a few hours.”

He catches my hand, pressing a kiss to my palm. “Stay with me?”

I nod, toeing off my boots and climbing in beside him. He drapes an arm over my waist, pulling me nearer.

As I listen to his breathing even out, I let my own eyes drift closed. The adrenaline is fading, leaving me hollow and exhausted. But a spark of something else kindles in its wake, a fierce resolve.

At least the Astral Hunter got what was coming to him. I remember the satisfying crunch of metal on bone, the way they crumbled beneath my blow. Maybe he’ll think twice before underestimating a human female again.

As I drift off, my hand finds the luminore crystal around my neck, my fingers curling around it like a talisman. I can’t believe I’ve fallen in love with an Orc, but he is my universe, and I will do what it takes to save him, to keep him safe.

Whatever comes next, whatever danger we face, I will protect Droilin. He is my heart, my love, and I will fight tooth and nail to keep him safe.

Because without him, I am lost.