Page 25 of Snared (The Legion: Savage Lands Sector #8)

I stood beside Lor as the recon unit descended from the skies—sleek Legion tech slicing through the canopy like silver fish in water.

My heart should have hammered against my ribs at the sight of more aliens, more warriors with weapons I couldn’t name and abilities I couldn’t fathom.

Instead, I felt strangely calm, anchored by Lor’s solid presence at my side and Phil’s gentle grip around my wrist.

The extraction vessel hovered overhead, its hull reflecting jungle light in iridescent patterns.

A hatch opened in its underbelly, and figures dropped down on suspension lines—five Rodinian soldiers, each moving with the same lethal grace as Lor, though none quite matched his commanding presence.

They moved through the clearing with the precision of seasoned warriors, securing the area with practiced efficiency.

Phil tightened his vine-grip on my wrist, a gesture I’d come to recognize as reassurance. I gave him a small pat in return. “It’s okay,” I whispered. “They’re the good guys.” At least, I hoped so.

Two of the soldiers collected the cryopod that held Vaskari’s unconscious form, handling the technology with reverent care.

They spoke in clipped phrases—a language I couldn’t understand but recognized from hearing Lor’s occasional muttered words.

Their movements were economical, their focus absolute as they swept the perimeter with devices that emitted soft pulses of blue light.

I should’ve felt overwhelmed. But I didn’t.

Maybe it was the way Lor never strayed more than a hand’s breadth from my side.

Or maybe it was the way Phil wrapped a second vine around my ankle in what felt like possessive protection.

Whatever it was, I felt anchored. Solid.

As if the chaos of the last few days had forged something in me that wouldn’t easily bend again.

The tallest of the extraction team approached us, his amber eyes scanning me with undisguised curiosity.

Unlike Lor, whose black-spotted golden skin reminded me of a leopard, this one bore striping patterns that evoked a tiger.

He wore more elaborate armor, with insignia I couldn’t decipher but understood marked him as command.

One of the commanders blinked at me—actually blinked—and said, “She’s Terran?” His translator device gave his words a metallic echo that didn’t match the deep rumble of his natural voice.

Lor’s tail flicked once behind him. “She is mine.”

I cleared my throat and waved a little. “Hi. Still very much here. Capable of speaking for myself.”

The commander’s eyes widened fractionally, then narrowed in what might have been amusement. “Apologies.” He inclined his head. “I am Strategos Veren of Legion Recon Unit Seven. We received Reaper Pardus’s emergency beacon and...partial transmission regarding the bioweapon situation.”

“I helped with that transmission,” I said, lifting my chin slightly. “The jungle’s neural network amplified the signal.”

Veren exchanged glances with his second-in-command, who had moved to inspect the containment unit holding the neutralized bioweapon.

They muttered between themselves, their translator devices occasionally catching phrases about how the Solarian Corridor was on the other side of the galaxy, how no one should’ve just fallen through an unstable rift that deep without triggering half the network alarms.

“The rift gate should have been decommissioned,” Veren said finally, addressing me directly this time. “Your presence here is...unexpected.”

“That makes two of us,” I replied dryly. “One minute I was researching cryptid sightings in Montana, the next I was jungle bait for your resident leopard-man here.”

Lor made a sound that might have been a suppressed laugh or a warning growl. With him, sometimes it was hard to tell.

“The Terran has formed a neural bond with the ecosystem,” Lor explained, his voice taking on that formal quality I’d come to recognize as his ‘official report’ tone. “She was instrumental in capturing Vaskari and neutralizing the bioweapon.”

Veren’s gaze sharpened. “A neural bond? With no neural implant? Impossible.”

Phil chose that moment to extend a tendril upward, forming a small, flower-like structure that bloomed beside my ear. The blossom pulsed with soft blue light, matching my heartbeat exactly.

“Not impossible,” I said, gesturing to Phil. “Just highly improbable. Story of my life.”

The soldiers stared at the display with expressions ranging from disbelief to wary respect. Veren recovered first, his professional demeanor sliding back into place.

“We will offer you transport to Alpha Colony Aeron,” he said, his tone suggesting this was a significant concession.

“It houses one of the closest stable portals back to Earth. Legion Command will want a full debriefing, of course, but given the...unusual circumstances, we can expedite your return.”

I should’ve leapt at the offer.

And part of me wanted to. My brother needed to know I was alive.

My bank probably thought I was dead. I had plants.

I had a whole podcast. I’d vanished without warning.

My listeners would have noticed my absence, maybe even reported me missing.

There would be questions, concerns, possibly even a police investigation.

My life was there, waiting for me to step back into it.

But when I looked up at Lor, at the tense set of his shoulders and the carefully neutral expression that didn’t quite hide the concern in his eyes, I already knew the answer.

“This isn’t goodbye,” I told him, holding onto the arm he flexed to keep his claws from showing. “It’s just...logistics.”

His expression softened, relief evident in the subtle relaxation of his powerful frame. “I will escort you myself,” he said, voice gruff.

The others wisely didn’t argue.

Phil unwound from my wrist reluctantly, the vine slithering back toward the heart of the jungle. But not before extending one last tendril to brush against my cheek in what felt unmistakably like a goodbye caress.

“I’ll miss you too, buddy,” I whispered.

Veren signaled to the vessel overhead, and a transport beam stabilized in the center of the clearing—a column of shimmering energy that looked solid enough to touch.

“Ready?” Lor asked, his hand finding mine, fingers intertwining with quiet intimacy.

I looked around at the jungle that had become more than just a setting—it had become a character in my story, a friend, a protector. Then I looked at Lor, whose golden eyes held promises I was only beginning to understand.

“Ready,” I confirmed, squeezing his hand. “Let’s go home. Both of them.”

The transport beam enveloped us, and the jungle disappeared in a flash of light.

The rift gate shimmered like quicksilver between ancient stone columns, each one inscribed with symbols so old they predated even the Rodinian records.

Colony vessel Aeron loomed above us, a behemoth of gleaming metal and pulsing light that seemed to stretch halfway across the sky.

I couldn’t help but gape. After a week in the jungle with only Phil and Lor for company, the sudden immersion in advanced alien civilization left me dizzy with sensory overload.

“It’s a Way Station,” Lor explained, his hand resting protectively at the small of my back. “Built by the Forerunners. No one knows how old the gates are.”

The docking bay we stood in was cavernous, with arched ceilings that soared at least fifty feet high.

Aliens of various species moved purposefully through the space—some humanoid, others decidedly not.

I spotted what looked like sentient crystalline structures floating in containment fields, and something that resembled an octopus piloting a mechanical exoskeleton.

“And I thought the jungle was wild,” I murmured, earning a soft rumble of amusement from Lor.

“The Nexus connects thousands of worlds,” he said. “This is merely one crossing point of many.”

Near the rift gate stood two Eridani Alpha soldiers—towering, built like sculpted gods with too-perfect hair and an energy that crackled like a thunderstorm behind their eyes.

They wore armor of a design different from Lor’s—more ornate, with sweeping lines that emphasized their broad shoulders and narrow waists.

Everything about them seemed calculated to intimidate and impress.

“Who are they?” I whispered, unable to look away from their imposing presence.

“Eridani Alphas,” Lor growled, his tail flicking in what I now recognized as irritation. “Elite warriors and form the basis of Legion Command.”

Several smaller figures moved around the Alphas—still taller than me but more slender, with the same ethereal beauty but gentler features. They attended to the Alphas with a deference that seemed both cultural and instinctive.

“And the others?”

“Omegas. Their counterparts.” Lor’s voice held a note of disapproval. “The Eridani believe in strict biological hierarchy. Alphas command, Omegas serve.”

I watched as one of the Alphas gently adjusted a panel on an Omega’s wrist device, his massive hand dwarfing the Omega’s arm but touching with surprising tenderness. Despite their intimidating size, the Alphas treated their smaller companions with care—like they were precious, valuable.

“They look like they could sell cologne and destroy armies simultaneously,” I muttered.

Lor made that sound again—half laugh, half growl. “An apt assessment. The Eridani are known for both their combat prowess and their aesthetic appeal.”

As we approached the gate, the two Alphas turned to watch us. The intensity of their gaze was physical—like walking into a wall of scrutiny. They looked at me. Sniffed, actually. The one on the left, with silver-streaked black hair that fell to his shoulders, inhaled deeply, his nostrils flaring.

“Terran female,” he said, his voice so deep it seemed to vibrate in my chest. “Omega-compatible. Interesting.”

I stiffened. “Excuse me?”