Page 21 of Charmed by the Alien Warrior (Spirit Mates of the Laediriian Exiles #2)

Haley

“Draggar!”

The urgent shout snaps my attention away from the quiet conversation Draggar and I are having and to the open door of the Womb Hut. The Womb Hut houses the artificial wombs the Anuriix tribe uses to reproduce.

The tribe only has two wombs, and only one is in use right now, and it contains the growing offspring of Draggar’s brother, Danir. Danir died earlier this year, leaving his child an orphan before it’s even born. Except Draggar and I have agreed to raise the baby as our own. The thought of us creating a family together fills me with a strange mix of hope and trepidation.

For so long on Earth, having a child was an impossible dream. A dream that I’d long since accepted I’d never achieve. Endometriosis made sure of that. But now, here I am, with a spirit mate by my side and a child on the way. This isn’t the life I always fantasized about, it’s better and for the first time, I feel like I’m exactly where I belong.

I turn to see one of the tribe’s young hunters sprinting toward us through the propped-open door like he’s being chased by a dicro. He looks barely older than fifteen—though with the Laediriians’ towering frames, it’s hard to tell exactly how old they are sometimes.

The poor boy looks completely winded, his wiry chest heaving as he comes to a skidding stop in front of us. His silver hair clings to his sweaty forehead, and his eyes are so wide and panic-filled it makes my heart leap with concern.

Damn, I hope it’s not bad news about the mission.

Just a day ago, Sorrin’s eponir returned to the village riderless, and the rest of us human women have been sick with worry. Draggar and his father, Chief Daggir, assured us that Kaja—Sorrin’s mount—likely got spooked, and the two of them are fine.

But I saw the exchange of looks between father and son, the flicker of concern in their usually steady gazes. And Daggir didn’t hesitate to send out scouts to search for signs of trouble, but they haven’t arrived back, yet.

“Take your time, Merix. Breathe.” Draggar steps forward, placing a calming hand on the boy’s arm.

Merix’s head bobs in a quick nod, and he gulps down air. Slowly, his breathing evens out, though his eyes remain frantic. Finally, he blurts out, “The guard at the gate sent me to find you! There are Xeniiv males asking for you.”

I feel Draggar stiffen beside me, his presence turning as solid and unmoving as stone. The faint tension I’d sensed brewing behind his silver eyes now radiates from him in waves, settling in my chest like a nervous ball of energy. His jaw tightens, his lips pressing into a grim line.

“Do you think it’s Sevix?” I ask, my voice quiet.

“Perhaps,” he murmurs. “He promised he would come to me if he needed our assistance.”

Sevix is the young hunter Draggar met in the jungle, a male from the Xeniiv tribe who risked everything to provide for his starving people. It’s a tragic story, one that’s stayed with me since Draggar told me about it.

The Xeniiv’s troubles aren’t just bad—they’re catastrophic. Their new chief, from what I’ve heard, is nothing short of a tyrant. He’s selfish, manipulative, and willing to sacrifice his own people to save himself. Under his leadership, the Xeniiv have been left to rot, their food sources poisoned, and their land stripped bare with the warriors leaving to join up with the Tussoll tribe.

The fact that he’s aligned himself with the Pugj, the very enemies who have caused so much pain to the Anuriix, only adds insult to injury. While the chief and his warriors feast and grow fat on the Tussoll’s generosity, the rest of his tribe is starving.

And then there’s Sevix. He’s just a young hunter—too young to have the weight of so many lives on his shoulders. Yet that’s exactly what he’s taken on. From what Draggar said, Sevix defied his chief by sneaking onto Anuriix land to hunt and provide for the remaining Xeniiv who are too weak to fend for themselves.

When Draggar caught him, he could have punished him. Sevix was poaching, after all. But instead, Draggar listened. He saw the desperation in him, the quiet courage. And he made a promise to Sevix that if he needed help, he could come to us.

If it really is Sevix at the gate, then things must have gotten worse.

“What will you do?” I ask Draggar, my voice soft as I look up at him.

His gaze shifts to mine, and for a moment, I see the burden he carries in his eyes. The weight of leadership, of being the chief’s first warrior—his second in command—and in charge of decisions that could mean life or death. Not just for our tribe, but for others.

But Draggar’s greatest strength has always been his enormous heart—well, hearts—and I know he’ll always do what’s right.

“I'll speak with them. If it is Sevix, we may finally have a chance to help his people,” he says.

I nod, even as a flicker of worry tightens in my chest. Helping the Xeniiv means putting our own people at risk—my friends and the tribe that has welcomed us—especially with the Pugj’s shadow looming over everything. But I know Draggar. He won’t turn his back on someone in need. And neither will I.

Draggar’s gaze shifts to me. “Stay here,” he says firmly.

I shake my head. “Uh-uh, nope. I’m coming, too. Where you go, I go.”

One thing I quickly learned about Laediriian warriors is that they’re protective of their mates. So, for a moment, I think he’ll argue, but then his gaze softens and I feel a rush of warmth through our bond, and with a sigh, he nods.

Merix is already moving, motioning for us to follow, and Draggar falls into step beside him. I trail just behind them, my mind racing with questions and concerns I don’t dare voice yet. If this is Sevix, what will he ask of us? And if we agree to help, what will it cost us?

We make our way through the village, and the familiar sounds of daily life surround us. The soft murmur of conversation from the elders seated around the fire pit, the clinking of tools from Maalin’s forge, and the sound of warriors sparring in the training arena.

I spot my friends gathered near the central fire pit. Maddie, Aria, and Crystal are hard at work helping the elders prepare the midday meal. It takes a lot of work and time to feed as many people as there are in the tribe, especially since we arrived and added to their numbers, and I’m proud at the way my friends have stepped up to help out.

Crystal is bent over a bowl of casae tubers, focused on peeling them. Maddie is smiling at something Aria said, though the smile on her face falters when she notices me and Draggar.

Under the shade of a nearby tree, Rose is seated on a sturdy log next to one of the elders, Hasal, as he teaches Zoe and two young boys in the tribe who are of a similar age. They’re seated cross-legged on the ground, their small hands clutching pieces of bark and charcoal sticks as they practice forming letters.

Rose was a teacher back on Earth—actually, she was Zoe’s teacher—and I know she’s missed being in a classroom.

It’s such a quiet, ordinary moment, one that speaks to how far we’ve come since the crash. And yet, the weight of Merix’s news hangs heavy over me, a reminder that the peace and safety we’ve found here is fragile.

Crystal looks up from her work as we pass, and her sharp blue eyes narrow. “Haley! What’s going on?”

I slow my steps and shake my head. “I don’t know for sure,” I say, glancing back at Draggar, who has come to a stop, patiently waiting for me to join him. “But there are some Xeniiv guys at the gate.”

That gets their attention. Maddie’s knife pauses mid-slice, her brow furrowing as she exchanges a glance with Aria. Crystal straightens, wiping her hands on her pants as her eyes widen in shock.

“The Xeniiv?” she echoes. “What do they want?”

“I’m not sure yet,” I reply, my tone honest but clipped. I don’t want to linger, not when my curiosity is pushing me to hurry to the gate. “Draggar’s going to speak with them. It might just be one of his contacts… Sevix.”

I can see the worry deepen in their eyes. It’s not hard to guess what they’re all thinking. They haven’t forgotten the stories Draggar shared about the Xeniiv tribe’s plight—or the dark shadow that is the tribe’s chief, Sevvern, and his alliance with our tribe’s enemy. Then, there’s the worry we’ve all felt since Sorrin’s mount returned.

“Be careful,” Maddie says, her voice soft but firm, and I know she’s thinking of her sister. She glances in the direction of the gates, then back to me.

I nod, offering her a small, reassuring smile even though my stomach twists with unease. “We will.”

As I turn to catch up to Draggar, I feel the weight of their gazes following me. The tension is palpable now, like a low hum in the air, and I can’t help but glance back at my friends. Crystal has already returned to the tubers, but her movements are slow as she slices through the purple flesh of the vegetables, while Maddie and Aria exchange quiet whispers.

I fall into step beside Draggar, and his hand finds mine without hesitation, his large fingers twining with mine in a gesture so natural that it feels as if we’ve been walking this way for a lifetime.

As we near the gates, thrown wide open like they always are during the daytime, I can make out the muffled sound of voices. Four figures stand just outside the wooden wall that surrounds the village, their faces are gray with exhaustion and lack of nourishment. Their frames are gaunt and covered in tattered clothing. The harsh sunlight exaggerates the hollows of their cheeks and the weariness that is carved into their features.

Merix is already there, standing beside a guard in the center of the entrance, blocking the Xeniiv’s path. The guard’s hand rests warily on the hilt of his sword as if he’s waiting for the slightest provocation to draw it on the four people in front of him. Beside him stands Jaran, and I brace myself.

Most of the guys in the Anuriix tribe have been welcoming, but Jaran has made it painfully clear he considers us unworthy of joining the tribe. His expression is a storm of barely contained anger. On the other side of him looms Vrok, his jaw clenched with tension as his sharp eyes track the Xeniiv’s every movement.

“They claim to be from the Xeniiv,” Jaran spits, his voice thick with disdain. “And they’re asking for refuge.”

Refuge? My gaze darts to Draggar, who stands at my side. His brow furrows, and his grip on my hand loosens, though his body remains tense.

“Let them in,” Draggar says, his voice steady but commanding. “And Merix, go tell Chief Daggir we have guests.”

Merix nods and takes off running, though he doesn’t have far to go as he meets Daggir only a few yards away. The guard begins to move out of the way, but Jaran places a hand on his arm, pulling him to a stop.

“Guests?!? They’re not any guests of ours,” Jaran sneers. “You would put us all at risk for a handful of dross. Wait until Daggir hears about this.”

“What will I do, Jaran?” Chief Daggir walks up beside us, his gray eyes flashing with anger. “They are unarmed, and their desperation is written on their faces. If they meant harm, they wouldn’t come this way.” His gaze locks with Jaran’s, then, Vrok’s, before he continues to speak, his words coming out like steel. “Step aside.”

For a moment, I think Jaran might argue further, his jaw tight as his lips press into a thin line as a shadow of defiance flickers across his face. I notice Vrok’s hand hovering near the hilt of his sword, but Daggir doesn’t waver.

And finally, Jaran mutters under his breath and steps aside, Vrok silently following suit.

The guard shifts uneasily before moving to the side, allowing the Xeniiv to step through the open gate. Draggar’s hand is still entwined with mine, and he gives it a little squeeze of reassurance, but his gaze remains on the four figures before us.

The Xeniiv’s movements are slow and hesitant, as though they’re conserving what little strength they have left. The tallest among them—a man with hair that is such a pale silver it’s nearly white—leans heavily on a crutch fashioned from a thick branch. He takes another step forward, a grimace on his face. Tattoos swirl over his narrow arms and across his gaunt chest. His leg is wrapped tightly in rough bandages, stained with what looks like dried blood. Despite his obvious pain, his silver eyes flicker between Draggar and me with curiosity.

Beside him is a young hunter, with shaggy hair and a lean, wiry build. He’s clutching an old, rusty sword in his hand. His jaw is set, but his gaze is wary, darting around as if he expects an attack at any moment. This must be Sevix.

The last two are elders. One is stooped with age, his back curved and his steps shuffling. The other has milky white eyes, his sight clearly long gone, though his hand rests on Sevix’s shoulder for guidance.

The man with the crutch clears his throat and draws his shoulders back. “I am Kael of the Xeniiv tribe,” he begins, his voice hoarse. “We have come seeking mercy from the Anuriix.”

Draggar’s gaze fixes on him. “Where is Sevvern?”

At the mention of the Xeniiv chief, Kael spits on the ground, his face drawing tight with anger and grief. “Gone,” he says bitterly. “He abandoned us. Five nights ago, he took his loyal warriors and left. He was heading for the Tussoll village. He has some mad plan to become a king.”

A murmur of shock ripples behind me and I realize we’ve drawn a crowd. I glance around and notice my friends just feet away, tension on their faces as they listen to the tale. Even Emily is with them, her face pale and her eyes wide.

“King?” Chief Daggir’s voice is low and deadly calm, but there’s a simmering anger beneath it. His shoulders are tense and his jaw clenches as he processes the words.

“Yes,” Sevix says, his voice cracking. “And now, the Xeniiv are no more. Only the four of us remain in the village. We came here because we have nowhere else to go.”

Kael takes a shuffling step forward, his gaze meeting Daggir’s with quiet determination.

“We have made mistakes,” he says, his voice steady despite his pain. “But those who stand before you now, we are not your enemies. We seek only refuge and survival.”

Daggir’s silence stretches as his piercing gaze sweeps over the group. The tension radiating from him is palpable, a weight pressing down on all of us.

Finally, he asks Kael, “Why are you not with the other warriors?”

Kael lowers his head, shame flickering in his silver eyes. “I disagreed with my chief. He punished me and demoted me back to a hunter when I told him he was wrong.”

“You defied your chief?” Daggir’s tone shifts, sharpening with interest.

Kael nods, his shoulders straightening despite the weight of his words. “What he wanted to do, it… it wasn’t right.” He swallows hard.

Daggir’s gaze lingers on him for a moment longer before he finally nods. “Then welcome to our tribe.”