Page 9 of Raven Blackwood (Cyborg Guardians #2)

Koha’vek

The morning light filtered through the trees, casting shifting patterns across the floor of my small dwelling.

I had lived here for months, a lone survivor in an unfamiliar world, but it was not loneliness that weighed on me—it was uncertainty.

A warrior who had never wanted war, a historian without a home, I had no place among my own kind or among the humans who despised me for my origins.

And yet, here I remained on Earth, unwilling to leave and unsure why.

The human woman I rescued shifted slightly on the couch.

Ava, she had called herself. The first time she woke, she had been terrified of me, not that I could blame her.

My only resemblance to humans is that I am bipedal, I walk upright, and my facial features are similar to those of humans.

But I have a tail, and I am a reptilian humanoid.

I’ve learned in my time here that many humans have an irrational fear of reptiles, in particular, those that slither on the ground and have no legs.

She had been unconscious most of the first night, her fever breaking the following morning. Now, she was recovering nicely, though her ankle injury still didn’t allow her to walk without assistance. It had been years since I had cared for another being in such a way.

I studied her face as she slept, her expression troubled even in rest. I was annoyed at what had brought her to these remote mountains alone. Her anguish at the incident gnawed at me. A human woman alone in the wild was a rarity, and she would have died had I not found her.

When she had awakened briefly that first night, fear and defiance laced her words. Her own kind stole her home, offering to allow her to stay for sexual favors. I had seen that look before in soldiers who had nothing left to fight for.

I stood, stepping away from the couch to the small table where I had prepared a simple meal—a stew of deer meat and wild herbs.

She needed to eat; it would help her continue healing.

Humans were fragile, something I had come to understand during my time on this world.

I had learned that the hard way when I was in charge of guarding those we had captured for the slave trade. Dead humans were of no value.

An audible gasp drew my attention back to the bed. Ava’s eyes flickered open, dark and wary, searching the room before settling on me. Her expression softened when she looked at me.

“Koha’vek, what have you made for us today? It smells delicious.”

“More deer stew, I’m afraid. I will go out today and try for a rabbit or a bird.” I realized I liked the sound of my name in her voice.

She tensed, instinctively trying to sit up, but a wince of pain stopped her. “That hurt.” Her voice was rough, hoarse from disuse.

“I wish I could get around better; I might be able to go out and forage for some plants and mushrooms we could add to it.”

“You’ll need more time to heal. It's only been a few days,” I reminded.

A long silence stretched between us before she finally asked, “Why did you help me?”

I had no answer that would satisfy her. I had seen too many of her kind die under my watch. I couldn’t let her be one more. Instead, I handed her a bowl of stew. “Eat.”

She hesitated, then accepted it with a solemn nod. I watched as she took a slow bite, her expression unreadable.

For now, she was here. And I was not alone .

Ava

I wasn’t dead. I had Koha’vek to thank for that, and I was grateful. Although I was still sore, I was feeling much better.

When I first became fully aware of my surroundings. I wish I hadn’t.

The alien repulsed me. He watched me too closely, his golden eyes unreadable.

His skin was olive green, and his features were sharp and angular in an unsettling way.

The ridges along his jawline flexed as he observed me, and I forced myself not to flinch.

I had heard stories of his kind’s ruthlessness and unforgiving nature.

The invaders had come and gone, leaving only destruction in their wake.

And yet, he had saved me.

I took another slow bite of the stew, not because I wasn’t hungry but because I needed the time to think. My soreness from the fall was nothing compared to the dull ache of knowing I had nowhere to go. Even if I did, he already told me I couldn’t leave.

Did I really want to? He was the first being who had been kind to me in a very long time. His presence was sort of growing on me. I sighed. There was still a part of me that longed to go home, the home that was before those bastards stole it.

“You are thinking of your lost home again.” He leaned back against the chair, arms crossed. “I lost my home, too. Now home is wherever I am.”

The simplicity of his statement unsettled me, as if it were that easy.

I just shook my head. It almost sounded as though he had nothing to lose.

Silence stretched between us. He did not offer false comfort, nor did he pry further. He simply nodded as if acknowledging a truth neither of us could change.

For now, I was here. And for the first time in a long while, I wasn’t alone.

Koha’vek

Ava stirred, her breathing even as she slept on the couch I had prepared for her. The bruises along her temple had darkened, but the swelling had gone down. Each day, she grew stronger, her spirit as unyielding as the mountain winds outside.

For the past few days, she had asked questions—more than I was accustomed to answering. At first, they were practical: where we were, how I had found her, what I planned to do with her. But as time passed, the questions became more personal.

"You don’t seem like the type who enjoys war," she had said just last night, her voice quiet but steady.

I had stared into the fire, unwilling to meet her gaze. "Because I am not."

She hadn't pressed further, but I had seen the understanding in her eyes. And perhaps something else—curiosity or even trust.

Now, as I stepped outside, the crisp mountain air filled my lungs.

The world was silent but for the occasional rustling of branches in the wind.

I had been fortunate to find this isolated dwelling.

It allowed me to disappear from the eyes of both humans and my own kind.

And yet, Ava had disrupted that solitude in a way I had not anticipated.

For the first time in years, I wasn’t alone. And the truth I had been avoiding pressed in on me—I didn’t want to be.

Ava

The cabin smelled of wood smoke and the faint, lingering scent of dried herbs. I had always been stubborn, but even I had to admit that I was healing faster than expected. Whether it was my own resilience or the careful attention of my reluctant savior, I wasn’t sure.

Koha’vek was an enigma. He was a warrior who did not wish to fight, an alien who seemed to want nothing more than to disappear into the mountains. I had caught him watching me more than once, his golden eyes unreadable, but he never said what was on his mind.

Today, I felt well enough to move without the sharp sting of pain at every step. I tested my ankle, biting back a wince. It was still tender, but at least I wasn’t completely useless.

The cabin door swung open, and Koha’vek stepped inside, his gaze flickering to me before he set down a small bundle of wood near the hearth. “You shouldn’t push yourself.”

I crossed my arms. “I’m fine.”

He let out a soft, almost amused huff. “You are human. You do not heal as quickly as you think you do.”

I smirked. “And you’re a terrible conversationalist.”

For the first time since I had met him, Koha’vek hesitated, and then—to my complete shock—he chuckled. It was a deep, rich sound, so brief I almost thought I imagined it. But it had been real.

Something between us shifted at that moment, subtle but undeniable.

I wasn’t sure what it meant yet. But I had a feeling I was going to find out.

Koha’vek – A Few Days Later

The fire crackled as I watched Ava from across the cabin. She was reading a book she had found in the storage chest, her fingers tracing the edges of the pages as she lost herself in the words.

A strange thing had begun to happen over the past few days.

At first, I had told myself it was nothing—that her presence was simply an inconvenience I had yet to resolve.

But the more I watched her, the more I found myself anticipating her laughter, her sharp-witted remarks, and the way she met my gaze without fear.

I had spent years avoiding attachments, telling myself I was better off alone, that it was safer that way. But now, I was beginning to question whether that was what I truly wanted.

I was Mesaarkan. She was human. We had no place in each other’s worlds. And yet, I could not deny the truth.

I had begun to care for her.

The realization was unsettling, yet I did not push it away. Instead, I let it settle within me like the slow burn of embers in a dying fire.

Because for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t just surviving.

I was living.