Page 9 of The Dreamer and the Deep Space Warrior (Xaal Alien Romance #1)

Ved

The short female before him wasn’t scared of him. At least, not anymore. Which was strange. Her species was considerably smaller and weaker. According to Exxo’s calculations, even their most renowned and feared fighters would have difficulty besting a Xaal.

Yet she stood before him wielding only a basket.

“But where are you from? Another planet?” She looked up at him with beautifully rounded eyes that were the warmest shade of brown he’d ever seen. It reminded him of sehga honey and the rich soil that marked the fertile lands of his home. He’d never seen a Xaal with such eyes.

When he’d interacted with her last night, the planet had been dark, and his backup generator had not yet stabilized. But now he could see that her skin was the color of heated bronze—glowing and resplendent. She was bursting with sunlight.

“ If you are finished analyzing , Qon, you may want to again consider that by the Interplanetary Accord under section 4.2XJ, she should not be aware of your existence ,” Exxo reprimanded, not for the first time.

“Finish your diagnostics,” he growled in his own tongue .

“ I know you one-track-minded brutes do not often multi-task, but I, on the other metaphorical hand, can do more than one thing at a time. To include witnessing you salivate— ”

Interrupting what would undoubtedly be some brazen declaration from his neurolink, Ved finally answered Isobel Nott. “Runus is my planet.” He paused as the response he wanted to say formed in a language she could understand. At least Exxo was good for that. “And that’s very far from here.”

“And the people whom you killed”—she swallowed hard, her bare throat bobbing and capturing his attention—“you were dueling with them before this happened?”

Ved nodded. “They were from an enemy clan. They fought dishonorably.” The words of her language were muck brew in his mouth, and he felt like he should be whispering them.

Xaal languages, like everything else that belonged to them, were made for battle.

Full of arson and acid. Violence and venom. Hers was something else entirely.

“I see,” she said, but in such a way that made Ved think she did anything but.

The natives of this planet were not inherently warriors. Not in the way his species was. This female had never known bloodshed, yet he’d been on the planet for less than a setting and had already made her witness it. The Authority could detain him for that alone.

He needed to get off this nevskoln planet. Fast.

Despite that very thought, he continued to analyze her.

She bent with her knees and placed the basket on the floor.

He’d scanned it earlier only to find exactly what she’d said—food and drink.

That, at least, he could understand. There was no better way to say peace than by sharing precious resources of the land.

She was what confused him, though. He’d encountered plenty of non-warrior beings, but nothing like her.

Everything from her hair to the shape of her face to her slight form was new to him.

Despite standing confidently enough, she moved like she didn’t want to take up space—like she was uncertain.

Not in the cowardly way of an insecure opponent but in a way that reminded him once more of the gentler creatures on Runus, as though she must be quiet and furtive to survive.

As though she came from an environment that required her to appear less than she was.

Even now, she tried and failed to keep from fidgeting.

Her hands flattened down the bright-colored garb she wore before drifting to her arms as if she were cold.

She patted her hair next, which was curly and soft.

He’d already run his fingers over it when he tended to the small wound on her head.

Never had he touched a female’s hair before, and he shouldn’t have touched hers.

His hand had sunk into it, though, the coils wrapping around his fingers eagerly.

Even now, riotous wisps of curls dangled here and there, coming undone from the tie she had them in—practically begging him to touch them.

Had he inhaled some toxin in the air? Had he died after all, and this was the afterlife of a disgraced Xaal?

“Ved?” Isobel Nott asked, her lips pulling down in a mannerism he didn’t recognize. She had said something he didn’t catch.

“Isobel Nott?”

“I’m having trouble understanding how all of this is possible.” Her chest heaved with her confession. “Are you a dream? I did hit my head rather hard.” She stepped forward and hesitantly reached out for him, her fingertips hovering over his breastplate. “Are you real?”

He flattened her palm against the armor as he put his hand over hers. It dwarfed it. Everything about this female was delicate. And unlike the Suls, who were also small in stature, she didn’t have rows of razor-sharp teeth and a powerful sucker for a face .

“I’m real,” he finally said, and she pulled her hand back like she’d been shocked. At the declaration or at his touch, he wasn’t quite certain.

Emotion rippled over her features before she shook her head to dispel it. “Thank you. For being real and for—” She gestured to the healed spot at her temple. “But I have to get home. The sun is close to setting, and my family will be wondering where I’m at.”

He could tell she had more questions, more concerns—the spark of it was in her eyes—but perhaps it had been too much at once for her.

Ved couldn’t quite reason why he felt compelled to tell her as much as he had.

Instinct told him to be cautious, but in his sixty-three cycles, he’d never had an interaction quite like this.

Last night, while disassembling the body of his enemy, Exxo had lectured him about exactly why he should have killed Isobel Nott.

Not that he needed his neurolink to. And though Ved had murdered for lesser reasons, he didn’t like the idea.

Xaal believed fighting was sacred. Killing just to kill was rarely their way.

And he wasn’t going to kill someone who was unconscious. That was the way of cowards.

Even if he had to, he didn’t think he’d want to destroy something like her. It would be like stepping on a flower somehow growing through the shattered remains of a downed ship—negligent and senseless.

Ruinous.

He’d had a moment of weakness last night, but he refused to let the Authority control him. If, when they sent their droid assessors, they found out about Isobel Nott, he would deal with it then.

She moved away, leaving that floral scent in her wake. “It was nice meeting you, Ved.”

He watched the way her mouth formed around his name. It sounded somehow softer coming from her, like petals falling from her lips. He had the terrible notion of having her say it again.

Banishing those illogical thoughts to the depths of himself—and making a mental note to ask Exxo to recheck the air quality—he took a step back. He needed to get his ship operational. He had little time for distractions, no matter how inquisitive they were or how curious he found them.

Even so, he tracked her as she stepped away. The flowy purple material she wore swished around her as she moved.

“You’ll be here tomorrow?” she asked, pausing at the entry to look back at him.

“Downed ship,” he responded.

Her cheeks turned a beautiful red color before she wiggled her fingers—neither of which were mannerisms he could fully decipher. Then she was gone.

“Well met, Isobel Nott,” he rumbled to himself before Exxo launched into a lengthy, data-backed admonishment.