Page 30 of Saved By the Alien Hybrid (Hybrids of Yulaira #1)

Rentir woke before the others, restless and uneasy about sleeping in a separate room from Cordelia. At least, he thought he’d woken first—he hadn’t seen any trace of Melam in the building.

He’d helped Cordelia to bed the night before as she’d begun nodding off by the bath, but she’d pressed a hand to his chest and shook her head at him when he tried to climb in alongside her.

He had shamelessly whined like a kicked whelp, which had caused her eyes to grow tortured, but she held her ground.

Reluctantly, he’d retreated to the room beside hers.

The bed was too soft and the sheets too fine. The room was cavernous compared to his quarters. It had made him long for the comfort of Cordelia’s already familiar warmth all the more. He thought he may have drifted off for a few hours, but mostly the night passed in a haze of exhausted awareness.

His hands trembled as he prepared breakfast for her.

He had no idea what was causing the weakness in his body.

His training as a young hybrid slotted for security detail had been just as rigorous as anything he’d been through in the last few days.

It should not have left him shaking like this.

He pressed his hands against the metal counter and hung his head in frustration when he spilled the juice concentrate he’d been trying to pour for her.

He was ravenous. His clothes felt too tight—his skin felt too tight.

Growling under his breath, he abandoned his task and returned to the industrial fridge where Melam had left massive hanks of meat hanging from hooks as big as his forearm.

Hunger rode him so hard that he felt delirious with it; where once he would have possessed the good manner to cut from the larger portion and plate his food, it was all he could do now not to snarl as he dug claw and fang into the icy cold flesh, tearing at it like a wild creature.

Blood quenched his parched throat, dribbling down his chin to soak the neck of his shirt. He paid no mind to the mess, thinking only of the fuel it could offer, fuel he desperately needed.

Why?

To mate. To fight. Fight for her.

He snarled into the flesh, feeling ever more mindless, riding the razor’s edge.

Cordelia. He wanted Cordelia. Wanted her under him. Wanted the sweet sounds she made when he brought her to come. Blood slicked between his fingers, coating his hands the same way her arousal had the night before.

Blood and sex, that was all his mind could focus on, the two things twining together until they were one and the same within him.

His claws rent through the flesh, tearing away strips he could fit in his mouth.

The soft plink of blood against the metal grate of the floor warred for supremacy with the loud hum of the cooling machine.

“Rentir.”

He snarled, whirling on the intruder. His lips peeled back from his teeth, revealing the mouth of a born predator that had only ever been playing at civility. He would have thought Melam unaffected by the sight were it not for the way his scyra rattled anxiously behind him.

“You are not well,” Melam rumbled.

“I am fine!” The little bloody flecks of spittle that flew from his lips contradicted him.

“You are not. Something is affecting you. I have seen behavior like this before, when the animals in the forest grow rabid with disease. You should let the medpod attend to you before you worsen.”

“I do not need the medpod!” He turned from the male, even though it made him bristle to have the stranger at his back.

He ran his claws over the half-decimated flank of meat he’d been eating, nearly as big as he was.

“I am only hungry. My injuries, our travel… I only need to eat, and I will be well again.”

“Like an animal? Rending flesh with your very fangs? Is that how you always eat?” His tone made it clear he already knew the answer.

Rentir turned back to him. Finger pointing, he advanced on the towering hybrid. “You want me to look weak in front of her.” His anger stoked into a frenzy. “You want her for yourself. I will kill you first. She is mine!”

“Rentir?”

His heart tripped over itself at the sound of her voice.

“I heard shouting. What’s going… on…” She stepped around Melam, her hair and clothes still mussed from sleep. Her breath came fast, as though she’d heard his raised voice and had come running to his side.

Shame speared at him as her eyes went wide. Cordelia looked between his bloody mouth and claws and the ruined meat behind him. When she sought guidance from Melam, that shame was crushed beneath the force of his anger.

“Get away from her,” Rentir said, moving to stand between them.

Cordelia flinched back from him, the scent of fear wafting toward him from where she stood.

Wounded, he looked back at her. “No,” Rentir said softly, reaching for her.

She sucked in a surprised breath, dodging his bloody hand.

Rentir’s fingers curled, and the fist fell to his side.

“He isn’t well,” Melam warned.

“Silence!” he snarled, bowing up at the larger male. His muscles bulged beneath his skin, making him feel as though he was straining at the seams, aggression suffusing his every nerve.

A small hand fell on his back, just between his shoulder blades. His sharpened scyra went soft as his tail reached for her, wrapping tight around her waist and dragging her close.

“Rentir,” she murmured. Her hand slid down his back and around his waist, joined by her other arm until he was wrapped in her embrace. “Just breathe, okay? Breathe.”

He pressed one of his sticky hands over hers; she flinched in disgust, but he could not help himself. Her touch evened out the wild tilt of his thoughts, bringing clarity back to him.

Melam looked unhappy, but he took a big step back, and then another, until the width of the narrow room was between them. Slowly, the tension ebbed from Rentir’s body, although he still struggled to pry his eyes from the other male.

“I think you should give us a minute,” Cordelia said from behind him. Her voice wavered with uncertainty.

Emotions rioted within him. He was angry that she was frightened, wanted to destroy what vexed her—yet as much as he wanted to vent that anger on Melam, he knew it was not the other male who was alarming her.

Guilt made it easier to grapple for control of his own instincts.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to lose himself in the warmth of her at his back and the press of her arms, a stark contrast to the bitter cold of the fridge.

He’d hardly noticed the chill before she’d touched him; if anything, he felt like he was burning up.

“I should remain,” Melam said, disrupting the fragile peace Rentir had found. “I will not be able to rest easy if I leave and you come to harm.”

“He won’t hurt me,” Cordelia said, even as Rentir growled a warning. “Will you, Ren?”

“Never,” he grated, heartened by her faith in him, even if he could hear the faint thread of doubt in the sentiment.

There was a sigh, and Melam’s heavy footsteps receded from the room. When the male’s scent ebbed, Rentir felt more in control of himself. He opened his eyes and turned to face Cordelia.

She wore nothing but her oversized shirt and her socks. The hem of the shirt hung to mid-thigh, and her arms were covered, but he could see the pinpricks on the bare skin of her thighs. Her breath fogged in the air, and her teeth chattered. Were her lips turning blue?

“It is too cold for you in here.” He took her by the wrist and led her back into the more temperate climate of the kitchens.

In the brighter light, he glanced down at the mess he had made of himself. He looked like a wild beast more than anything, one fresh off a kill. Disgusted, he pulled away from her. Her sleeve clung to his sticky hand as he peeled it off.

“What happened?” she asked quietly, looking toward the open door that led to the dining room.

“I don’t know.” He spat the words, incensed at himself, and was dismayed when she flinched at his tone. “I’m sorry. Please forgive me. I did not mean to raise my voice at you. I-I am struggling to control myself.”

Anger gave way to fear as he looked down at the blood drying on his claws. What was happening to him? Maybe Melam was right. Maybe he had become contaminated somehow, and now he was turning rabid.

“Has this ever happened before?” she asked.

“Never.”

She hopped up onto the nearby metal counter. Her gaze went distant, as though she was lost in thought. Her bare legs dangled over the edge. He couldn’t quite pry his gaze away from that tempting flesh. If he knelt down…

“Are you sure?” she asked.

He blinked, jarred from his train of thought. It took him a moment to realize what she was asking. “I…” He paused, remembering what Haerune had said to him about his strange behavior, and the way he’d given a wide berth to the other females. “Actually, it has. Not to this degree, but…”

“But?”

“I feel protective of you.” He hid his bloodied hands behind his back when he realized she was looking at them. “I have from the start. When you first met Haerune… my instincts were difficult to ignore, then, as well.”

And again with Stelas, though before this moment he’d chalked it up to battle fever.

Cordelia’s brows climbed. “You think it’s me? I’m making you violent?”

“No,” he blurted, stepping closer. “You are blameless in this. But I cannot deny… something strange is happening to me.”

A breath whistled out of her as she pushed her hair back from her face. The scent of her wafted over him, complemented by the soap she’d used to wash the night before. It was a balm to him.

Her brow furrowed. “You guys have seriously never been around another female before?”

He shook his head, quickly grasping her train of thought. “I… I am beginning to wonder if there was some purpose to that. We were not permitted even to see pictures of females. Haerune has seen anatomical diagrams in the files of the medbay, but that’s the most exposure any of us has truly had.”

“If this is really because I’m female, then Nyx and Pandora and Lyra…” Worry pinched her features.

“They will be safe. Haerune was of the same mind when we left. He will ensure that the others don’t get too close until he understands what’s happening.”

Her shoulders sagged. “Well, at least that’s something.” Her gaze went distant again, drifting over his shoulder. He followed her gaze to where the sun had begun to spill through the windows of the lodge.

Daybreak.

“We can figure it out later,” she said distractedly. “For now, you should shower, and we should get something to eat. Then we get to work. We need to get moving if we’re going to find the others before the Aurillon do.”

Reluctantly, he nodded in acquiescence.