Page 22 of Hunted By Khor (Alien Mate Hunt #1)

T he nightmares started two nights after Vek died. Not about the attack itself, but about the portal. Standing before it while my body tears itself apart, unable to go through because the tonic has made me too specific to Khor. Unable to stay because Lily needs me.

I wake gasping, sheets soaked with sweat. He's already there. Not asking questions, just pulling me against him until my breathing steadies. His tail wraps around my waist, the weight of it grounding.

I press my face into his chest, inhaling his sulfur-and-spice scent. “The portal can't actually hurt me.”

His hand strokes down my spine, claws gentle. “No.” He shifts, pulling me closer. “But leaving might.”

I push back slightly to look at him. “That's not helpful.”

His head tilts, that alien movement I've learned means he's being literal. “Not trying to be helpful.” His pupils contract in the darkness. “Being truthful.”

We don't talk about it more. Instead, he fills me until I can't think about anything except the stretch and pressure and heat. The breeding has changed since the attack. Less desperate, more deliberate. Like we're trying to memorize each other.

Day 23

I find myself organizing the den while he's out checking territory. Not survival organization. Domestic. Making spaces for things. Creating something that looks like a home instead of just shelter.

My hands move without conscious thought, arranging the water vessels by size, the dried meats by type. I'm humming something, a half-remembered Earth song, when I realize what I'm doing.

When did I start thinking of this as home?

He returns with fresh meat and finds me arranging the furs in a way that makes no survival sense but feels right. Blood from his kill still stains his claws. He stops in the entrance, watching me work.

He sets down the meat, his tail twitching with what I've learned is amusement. “Nesting.”

I throw a small stone at him, not hard. “Just organizing.”

He catches it easily, examining it like it's precious. “Nesting behavior.” He sets the stone carefully on a ledge. “Common when females are either breeding true or...” He stops. His spines half-extend then flatten.

I turn from the furs to face him properly. “Or what?”

His weight shifts, something he does when choosing words carefully. “Or deciding to stay.”

I throw a fur at him. He catches it, laughing. The sound is still strange, like rocks grinding, but I've learned to love it.

That night, the sex is playful. He lets me explore him properly for the first time.

I trace every scar, learn the story of each one.

The parallel marks on his ribs from his first harvest. The puncture wounds on his shoulder from a territorial fight.

The burn marks on his back from acid rain before he knew to find shelter.

“You're scarred everywhere,” I tell him.

“Survival requires payment.”

He's right. My body carries its own stories now. The scars on my feet from obsidian. Marks from his claws and teeth. Changes from the tonic that go deeper than skin.

Day 25

We're lying in the thermal pool, my back against his chest, his tail wrapped around my waist. The mineral water burns slightly against my skin, but it's become comfortable. Steam rises around us, creating a private world.

His claws trace patterns on my stomach under the water. “Tell me about Lily.”

The question surprises me. I tense, and he feels it immediately. His hand stills.

I lean my head back against his shoulder. “Why?”

His chest rumbles with something that might be thought. “Want to understand what pulls you away.”

So I tell him. The words come slowly at first, then faster.

About the accident that was my fault no matter what anyone says.

About the medical bills that multiply faster than interest. About how she's the only family I have left.

My hands move as I talk, gesturing even though he can't see them clearly through the steam.

He listens without interrupting, his breathing steady against my back. When I finish, water laps against stone in the silence.

Finally, he shifts, sending ripples through the pool. “You feel debt.”

I turn in his arms to face him, water sloshing. “Love.”

His head tilts, considering. “Same thing sometimes.”

I pull back, studying his alien features. “That's cynical.”

His tail tightens around me, keeping me close. “That's honest.” His claw traces my jaw. “Love creates obligation.” The touch moves to my throat. “Obligation creates debt.” His thumb rests over my pulse. “Debt demands payment.”

I catch his hand, holding it against my neck. “So I'm just currency being passed around?” My voice rises slightly. “Earth to Pyraxis to Earth again?”

He pulls me closer, until our foreheads touch. “No.” His other hand spans my lower back. “You're someone choosing which debt matters more.”

I turn to face him, water sloshing. I study him in the dim light. “And you?” My fingers trace the scars on his chest. “What debt do you carry?”

He catches my hand, presses it flat against his scales.

“None anymore.” His hearts beat under my palm in that alternating rhythm.

“Paid for you.” A beat. “Claimed you.” Another beat.

“Protected you.” His claws trace down my spine.

“Trained you to protect yourself.” He pulls me fully against him. “No debt remains.”

My legs wrap around his waist in the water. “Then why do you want me to stay?”

He's quiet for a long moment. The water laps around us. Steam swirls. Then, in his language, he says something the translator can't parse. When I look confused, he tries again in broken English, his accent thick.

“Want you because you are you.” His hands frame my face. “Not debt.” His thumbs trace my cheekbones. “Not obligation.” His forehead touches mine again. “Not biology.” His voice drops to barely audible. “You.”

It's the closest to a declaration of love his language allows.

Day 26

He watches me organize our supplies again. Creating patterns that make no survival sense. I'm stacking the water vessels in a spiral, purely for aesthetics.

He crouches beside me, mimicking my position. “Why arrange this way?”

I set another vessel in place, completing the pattern. “Because I want to.”

His head tilts sharply, confusion clear. “Want without purpose?”

I sit back on my heels, looking at my handiwork. “The wanting is the purpose.”

His tail sweeps the ground, leaving marks in the dust. “Human thinking.” He touches one vessel, slightly adjusting its position. “Circles with no end.”

I watch him improve my pattern with one small change. “Maybe.”

That night I trace the ridge patterns on his scales, learning that they spiral clockwise on his left side, counterclockwise on his right.

Learn which direction feels good when stroked, which causes discomfort.

His anatomy is endlessly fascinating. Two hearts on opposite sides, beating in offset rhythm.

The secondary breathing vents that seal during sandstorms. The way his tail can sense temperature changes, warning of weather shifts.

My fingers find a soft spot behind his jaw. “Your body makes sense for this place.”

He captures my hand, presses it against his chest. “Yours adapts.” His other hand traces my transformed muscles. “Better than making sense.” His claw follows the line of a new vein visible under my skin. “Changing to fit.”

I lie down beside him, our bodies aligned. “The tonic changed me.”

His tail wraps around my thigh. “You changed you.” His hand rests over one of my three hearts. “Tonic just gave permission.”

Day 27

The words escape while he's knotted inside me, both of us locked in that space where thought becomes optional. His knot pulses with each heartbeat, keeping us joined.

“I love you.”

His whole body goes still. Even his breathing stops. The knot swells slightly larger.

His hand finds my face in the darkness. “Say again.”

I turn to kiss his palm, tasting salt and sulfur. “I love you.” My hands grip his arms. “Not just need you.” I rock slightly, making us both gasp. “Not just want you.” I clench around him deliberately. “Love.”

He's quiet so long I think he won't respond. His tail coils tighter around me. Then, his voice rough: “Your word.” He shifts, going deeper. “Human word.” His teeth graze my shoulder. “We have no equivalent.”

I try to turn to see him but the knot keeps me in place. “What do you have?”

“ Vei'thar nala ketra. ” The translator struggles, outputs: “Mine-until-death-beyond-choosing.”

My breath catches. “That's not the same.”

His hand moves to my throat, resting over my pulse. “No.” His thumb traces where bond bite would go. “More specific.” His other hand splays across my stomach. “Love allows leaving.” His voice drops. “ Vei'thar does not.”

I reach back, finding his face by touch. “Then I'm vei'thar ?”

“You are not mine yet.” His teeth press against my throat, not breaking skin.

“No bond bite.” The pressure increases slightly.

“Still can choose portal.” His knot pulses harder.

“But want you to be vei'thar .” His arms tighten around me.

“Want beyond biology.” His voice breaks slightly.

“Beyond tonic.” He breathes against my neck.

“Want because you threw rock at comfort.” A soft laugh.

“Because you survived four hunters.” His hand finds mine. “Because you are chaos in female form.”

It's not love. But it might be better.

Day 28

Tomorrow the portal opens.

We don't talk about it. Instead, we fuck everywhere.

Against every surface of the den, leaving marks and scents.

In the thermal pool until the minerals burn our oversensitive skin.

On the ridge where he first showed me the names, adding our own cries to the history there.

Under the stars where the sand is still warm from day heat, his scales reflecting moonlight while he moves inside me.

Each time feels like goodbye.

Each time feels like begging to stay.

My body has never been more his. The tonic has made me so specific that just his scent makes me wet. But my mind keeps circling back to Lily in her hospital bed, machines keeping her stable, waiting for money that might never come.

We're lying exhausted on the furs when I ask again. “What would you do?”

He pulls me tighter against him, as if he could press the answer into my skin. “Already told you.” His voice is tired. “Would depend if my mate could survive without me.”

I trace patterns on his chest. “Lily can't survive without the money.”

His hand stills mine. “Money extends life.” His tail wraps around my ankle. “Not the same as survival.”

I sit up to look at him. “It is on Earth.”

He meets my gaze steadily. “Then Earth is already dead.”

Harsh but maybe true. Earth trades its daughters for resources. Pyraxis is dying of environmental collapse. Everything is ending. The only question is where I want to be when it does.

Day 29 - Morning

Tomorrow the portal opens at dawn.

We wake before sunrise, neither having slept much. My body knows what my mind won't admit. That I've already chosen. I can feel it in how I press against him, how my hands won't stop touching, memorizing.

I sit up, pulling my knees to my chest. “I need to tell you something.” I swallow hard. “I want the bond bite.”

His whole body tenses. His pupils dilate completely. “Now?” His voice cracks. “Today?”

I touch the spot on my throat where it will go. “Tomorrow.” My fingers shake slightly. “As the portal opens.” I lean down until our faces almost touch. “Want to choose while I still can, not because time ran out.”

His hand comes up to cover mine on my throat. “That's... specific timing.”

I nod against his hand. “Need to see it.” My voice drops. “The portal.” I swallow. “Need to know I could go through but chose not to.”

He studies my face, searching for doubt. “Can.” His thumb traces the spot. “But risky.” His other hand frames my face. “Portal energy might interfere with bonding.”

I turn to kiss his palm. “Or might make it stronger.” I meet his eyes. “Won't know unless we try.”

He traces the spot on my throat where the bite will go, pressure gentle but intent. “Once done, cannot be undone.”

My hand covers his. “I know.”

He hesitates, then asks carefully, “Your sister...”

“Will survive or not. But I can't save her by destroying myself. And leaving you would destroy me. The tonic made sure of that.”

“Not just tonic.”

“No. Not just.”

We spend the day preparing. Not for the portal, but for after. For survival together. He shows me where to find water when the rains come. Which caves flood, which stay dry. How to read the desert's moods.

I show him human things I remember. Patterns for weaving plant fibers into rope. Ways to preserve meat that Earth developed. Small efficiencies his people never needed.

“Your knowledge is useful,” he says.

“Your planet is hostile.”

“Yes. But you adapt.”

“Have to.”

“Tomorrow,” he agrees.

That night we don't have sex. Just hold each other, skin to scales, breathing synchronized. His tail wrapped around me. My fingers tracing his scars.

“Nervous?” he asks.

“Terrified.”

“Of bonding?”

“Of wanting it so much.”

“The wanting is the point.”

“Is it?”

“Without wanting, it's just biology. With wanting, it's choice.”

One more day.

One more night.

Then the portal opens and I choose to close it forever.

Not for him. Not against Lily.

For me.

Because I'm someone who survives now. And survival means knowing which life is worth living.

“I want you,” I tell him in the darkness. “Whatever that means in your language.”

“ Vei'thar nala ketra ,” he responds.

Mine-until-death-beyond-choosing.

Tomorrow, it becomes truth.