Page 24 of Saved By the Alien Hybrid (Hybrids of Yulaira #1)

Cordelia was alarmingly weak. Her heartbeat was ponderous, and her skin was hot and clammy against his.

She didn’t have the coating of soft down he had to regulate her temperature—only a few paltry, widespread hairs that seemed good for nothing.

He couldn’t imagine her lasting long in this state, not while exposed to the elements.

He’d only known her so briefly, but if he lost her…

He shuddered. She mewled, shifting restlessly in his tightened grip until he eased it.

The thought of being parted from her was unbearable. He could not lose her.

His heart sang with relief as the trees finally thinned, revealing the sprawling structure of the lodge.

It was situated at the precipice of the forest and the beach beyond, so its pleasure-seekers might choose which habitat they would plunder.

It was constructed from glass and silvery wood from the local trees, all sleek lines and gleaming surfaces.

Cordelia roused as he slowed his pace. His muscles were screaming from the effort of carrying her so far. He only needed them to last a little longer.

“This place screams big money,” Cordelia muttered.

He agreed with that assessment. Only the extremely wealthy were ferried into Yulaira to use the lodge. It was dangled as a reward for the overseers.

“You can put me down now,” she said, wriggling.

“Hush.”

He carried her down to the manicured lawn, still being maintained after a year of disuse by the automated lawn mower. It buzzed over the blue-green grass as they approached, taking no notice of them. At the front of the building, the automatic doors opened with a welcoming musical chime.

The interior was polished wood and chrome. The desk at the front stood empty, as he’d expected. Most of the hybrids who had staffed this place died in their attempt to evacuate. The thought churned the omnipresent self-loathing in his gut.

If I had only stopped the auretians…

He smothered the thought. It could not be changed now.

“Put me down,” Cordelia insisted, struggling until he was forced to lower her lest he drop her.

She swayed for a moment, but otherwise she seemed alright. Her attention moved restlessly all around the lodge. He wondered how it compared to human structures.

Soothing music played from a hidden speaker as he ventured deeper into the lodge, searching for any sign of a medpod. He found a gym, a meditation room, and a bath with a churning, simulated rainstorm. The latter seemed to fascinate Cordelia.

“Is it raining in there?”

“It is fake.”

“Well, yeah. But it’s still raining inside. Trippy.” She lingered in the doorway as he moved on.

A room with massage tables—useless. A room with a sauna—pointless.

He did not have a use for such stupid luxuries.

He needed a medpod for his female before she worsened further.

When he reached a room filled with nothing but leather furniture and mounted heads, he was ready to break something in frustration.

He picked up a stuffed lotari near the door, but his hand stopped halfway to lobbing it across the room. With a sigh, he set the innocent, long-dead creature back down.

There was nothing for it but to keep looking. The medpod was here somewhere, he knew. Patience had once been his only virtue, but with Cordelia’s comfort on the line, he was violently irritable.

The hair on his arms stood on end. Cordelia… she’d been following him at a distance all this time, her soft steps echoing off through the corridor. The regular woosh of the doors opening and closing had paused. The hall was too quiet.

Just as he turned back to find her, she called out to him.

“Rentir.” Her voice was strained, laced with anger.

He was back in the hall at once, his blood running cold as he realized someone was standing behind her, holding a blade to her delicate throat.

He was a towering, bulky hybrid that Rentir did not recognize, with an amalgamation of traits that suggested he’d been bred for the harshest tasks on Yulaira.

Horns, fangs, a split chin, four arms, tentacles beneath his dark blue hair, a scyra.

There was even a third eye nestled sidelong between the primary pair. It moved independently of the others, peering down at Cordelia and back up while the other two pinned Rentir in place. His eyes were all colors at once, shifting through the full spectrum of light whenever he moved them.

“Who are you?” Rentir asked in a demanding tone, taking a step toward them.

The tip of the male’s blade dug into Cordelia’s skin in warning, a bead of blood forming beneath the blade. The scent bloomed in the air, kick-starting his heart into overdrive.

Rentir froze. “If you hurt her, I will kill you slowly.”

“Big threats from a little male,” the other hybrid rumbled. “Why are you here? And what is this creature?”

“Human,” Cordelia spat. “And pissed.”

“She is injured,” Rentir said. “I came in search of a medpod.”

The brute canted his head. One of the waist-length tendrils at his nape probed curiously at Cordelia’s throat. Rentir knew from growing up alongside Haerune that they possessed a sense of taste.

“Do not touch her,” he snarled, his scyra flexing into place.

He stepped forward, his hand falling to his blaster. Cordelia seized the moment of distraction. She ducked beneath the male’s arm at the exact moment she brought her elbow back into his gut. It wasn’t enough to wind him, but he loosened his grip.

Cordelia sprinted to Rentir, and he snatched her close, tucking her behind him as he drew his blaster.

“Female,” the other male mused, looking down at the bloodied tip of his blade with his third eye. “A strange flavor.”

Rentir’s lip peeled back from his fangs as he snarled, but Cordelia caught at his arm as he brought his blaster up.

“Don’t,” she whispered, looking anxiously between the two males. Did she not think he could protect her? Indignity made him bristle.

“I am Melam,” the other male announced, sheathing his blade at his thigh. “The lodge is my home. I was a guide before the rebellion.” He held up all four hands when Rentir, hand still tense on his blaster, didn’t return the introduction. “Peace. I would not have harmed her.”

“Yet you did,” Rentir said, remembering that drop of blood.

“Rentir, it’s okay.” Cordelia moved to stand beside him.

Rentir’s scyra retracted, and his tail wound around her waist, anchoring her where she was safest—within his reach.

For a moment, he was sure she would pry him away as she had so many times before.

Mercifully, she only glanced down in acknowledgment and turned her attention to Melam.

She held her hands up in a symbol of surrender, galling him.

“We got off to a bad start here. Let’s start over. I’m Cordelia, and this is Rentir.”

“What are you doing here?” Rentir asked, earning an exasperated look from Cordelia.

“As I said, this is my home,” Melam said.

“This facility was evacuated. There should not be anyone here.”

“Evacuated. Is that what you call leading two dozen people to their deaths?”

Rentir stiffened as regret panged in his gut. The evacuation had not been his call, but every hybrid death was a splinter beneath his skin, regardless.

“What’s he talking about?” Cordelia asked quietly.

“The evacuation operation was not successful,” Rentir explained with reluctance.

“Let me guess, giant laser?”

“A missile. One that this male’s ilk”—Melam pointed one long finger at Rentir—“knew the Aurillon possessed. Yet they chose to tempt their wrath. Rash actions have harsh consequences.”

“No one was forced to board the evacuation ship. We lost people, as well. Four gave up their lives to try and bring the others to safety.”

Melam regarded him silently for a moment, then nodded slowly. “You speak truthfully. No one was forced to board the ship, yet I cannot help my resentment. They were good males who should not have met such an end.”

“We feared they would strike the lodge. It is not as secure as the base is. We did only what we thought was in their best interest. If that missile had been aimed at this building made of glass and lumber, we did not believe any of you would survive.” When Melam said nothing, Rentir added, “Two of yours lived. It may be little comfort, given how many were lost, but…”

Melam straightened. “Two? Who?”

“Iath and Yuren.”

Melam’s shoulders sagged.

“Not who you hoped?” Cordelia asked softly.

He turned a look of anguish on her, regarding her for a moment before nodding. “My brother, Wellen. The only other of my batch to make it to maturity.”

“Only one?” Rentir asked in disbelief.

Melam set his lower hands on his hips. “We were only ten to start. Novelties for the pleasure-seekers at the lodge to gawp at.” He gestured broadly around the building.

“Not much use for ten of us in a place this small, so we were culled with great prejudice. I suppose I was the strangest amalgamation, the most delightful to stare at. Wellen was the strongest of us.” He sighed, looking up at the ceiling and blinking rapidly.

“I could not convince him to stay with me on that day. He was sure they would have destroyed this place in time to send a message. Too vulnerable, he said. And now, where are you, you fool?”

Rentir held his tongue, at a loss for anything helpful to say.

“I’m sorry,” Cordelia said earnestly.

To Rentir’s dismay, she gently pried away from his tail and stepped forward.

When she rested her hand on the sleeve of Melam’s thick suede coat, Rentir’s blood nearly boiled.

He checked his instincts, recognizing the gesture for what it was, even through the haze of hormones: sympathy for his suffering.

The pain of losing a brother… Rentir knew it all too well.

The cullings of his childhood stood out even among the violence that hounded his adult life.

He could not begrudge the man her compassion.

“Thank you,” the male said, looking down at her with his glittering eyes. He cleared his throat hard. “Well. What’s done is done. Let us tend to your injury, Cordelia.”

Some of Rentir’s goodwill soured at the way Melam purred her name.