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CHAPTER TEN

T he Xenobeast headed back to his lair, his body thrumming with arousal and his mind swirling with confusion.

Females were off-limits—that lesson had been painfully drilled into him since the first time his body exhibited signs of arousal.

He was too dangerous to trust with a female, and his training had been focused on directing lust into violence.

But none of that training had prepared him for her.

Even now, her soft, curvy body pressed against his, and the scent of her arousal filled his nostrils. She had been warm and... willing in his arms, but he could never take the chance of hurting her.

He didn’t let her down once they reached the bottom of the cliff but marched directly back to his cave and deposited her firmly but gently on the bed.

The two pups who’d been left behind squeaked excitedly, tumbling all over her, but their bodies flickered with distress when they realized her leg was bleeding again.

Fuck. How had he forgotten her injury? It only proved his instincts were correct—he was too dangerous to be trusted with a delicate female.

He knelt down next to the bed and carefully removed the remains of the bandage before cleansing the wound.

Fortunately, the new damage was only minor.

He retrieved more of the healing moss from his rapidly diminishing supply and placed it carefully over the wound.

His focus has been on her injury but as he began to tie the fiber strips around the moss he became increasingly aware of the smooth golden skin beneath his hands.

Her scent surrounded him, the warm, feminine fragrance making his pulse quicken and his cock stiffen. A growl built in his throat, his need for her growing by the second.

His fingers trailed across her inner thigh and she gasped, a soft startled sound than only added to his arousal. He looked up and found her watching him, her eyes wide and dark, those pretty lips parted as she leaned towards him.

He jumped back so quickly that he almost fell, his usual control deserting him, and she gave a frustrated sigh. He ignored it, pointing sternly at the bed as he rose to his feet. Stay.

“Don’t you growl at me,” she said, sitting up straight despite the pain in her leg. “I’m not one of your—whatever you hunt out there. I’m a person. A scientist. I’m just trying to understand what’s happening.”

He stared at her, momentarily frozen by her outburst. No one spoke to him that way. Not since... before. Her finger jabbed toward his chest, stopping just short of contact, her eyes flashing with defiance rather than fear.

“You’ve been feeding me, tending my wounds, protecting me—which I appreciate, by the way—but you won’t talk to me. Won’t explain anything.”

She jabbed a finger at him again not quite touching him but making her point.

“I understand you’re some kind of apex predator with the whole silent-and-deadly routine, but if you expect me to stay put, you’re going to have to give me something. Information. Communication. Anything. I know you understand me.”

She was right. He understood her perfectly through his translation implant. He’d been trained to comprehend dozens of languages, though speaking them had been deemed unnecessary for a weapon. Weapons didn’t need to communicate—they needed to execute.

But she wasn’t treating him like a weapon. She was treating him like a person.

The realization unsettled him deeply.

He turned away, retrieving a piece of meat from the fire, offering it as a distraction while he gathered his thoughts. When their fingers brushed, the contact sent another jolt through his system—her skin so warm and soft against his.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “But food isn’t answers.”

He studied her face—the determined set of her jaw, the intelligence in those hazel eyes. She wasn’t going to back down. She wasn’t going to cower.

He hesitated, then picked up a stick from the floor. With deliberate movements, he began to sketch in the dirt near the fire pit. Simple lines formed a crude but recognizable figure—elongated limbs, a scaled body, large multi-faceted eyes.

She leaned forward, her curiosity instantly engaged. “What is that? Who are they?”

He tapped the drawing, then pointed at the already fading mark on his arm.

“The lights? They’re made by these creatures?” She studied the drawing intently. “Are they sentient? Do they have a civilization?”

The barrage of questions made his mouth twitch with something almost like amusement. He nodded once, a short, sharp movement, and her eyes widened.

“I knew you understood me!” Her face lit up with a smile that made his chest ache. “Do they have a name? These beings?”

He hesitated. Speaking was forbidden. Communication led to connection, and connection led to weakness, but her eager expression broke through decades of conditioning.

“Tal’Shai,” he said, his voice a deep, rough rumble from disuse. The sound of his own voice startled him. How long had it been since he’d spoken aloud?

“Tal’Shai,” he said, his voice a deep, rough rumble from disuse. The sound of his own voice startled him. How long had it been since he’d spoken aloud?

Per pretty lips parted in shock.

“You can talk!” She leaned toward him, excitement radiating from her entire body. “These Tal’Shai—up on the cliff you seemed to indicate that they were hostile. Was that what you were trying to tell me?”

The smallest Graxlin pup chose that moment to scamper across the bed, chirping excitedly. It climbed onto his knee, then began batting playfully at one of his sensory tendrils. The tendril curled reflexively, gently lifting the pup into the air as it squealed in delight.

Xara laughed—a bright, unexpected sound that punched straight through his defenses and into some long-dormant part of him. The sound was pure joy, unrestrained and genuine.

He froze, his tendril still holding the squirming pup. Her laughter was... beautiful. Like nothing he’d heard in years. Decades, perhaps.

“Look at you,” she said, her voice warm with amusement. “The big, scary predator playing with a baby.”

He should have been offended, should have growled and asserted his dominance, reminding her of what he was capable of. Instead, he found himself carefully lowering the pup back to the bed, where it immediately pounced on another tendril.

“Tal’Shai—territorial,” he said again, his voice still rough. “Boundaries.”

“Boundaries?” She caught the word immediately. “That’s why you were warning me?”

He nodded once, and she frowned thoughtfully.

“Boundaries,” she repeated. “Do you know that because you’ve interacted with them?”

The question hung between them, loaded with implications. He looked away, uncomfortable with her perception, but he could feel her studying him, her gaze traveling over his powerful body, over the silver markings that pulsed beneath his skin, and the claws that could tear through chitin and bone.

“They’re afraid of you,” she said softly. It wasn’t a question, but she wasn’t entirely correct. It would be more accurate to say that they respected his abilities.

He met her eyes again, expecting to see that same fear reflected there. Instead, he found something closer to understanding.

“Made to be feared,” he admitted, the words scraping his throat like rough stone.

The pup continued to play with his tendril, completely unafraid. It chirped happily as it swung from the appendage, tiny claws gentle against the sensitive flesh. The other two pups had crept closer, watching the game with interest.

“Not by everyone, apparently,” she said, smiling at the pups.

Something shifted inside him—a tectonic surge of emotion he couldn’t name. He had been engineered for death, built to destroy, trained to kill. Fear was his companion, his weapon, his shield. Yet these creatures didn’t flinch from his claws or his scars. Not the pups. Not the female.

“Don’t know what I am,” he said softly.

“I think they know exactly what you are,” she countered. “They just see something different than what you think you are.”

He almost reeled at the assertion. What was he, if not the weapon his creators had intended? What remained when the killing stopped?

One of the other pups grew bold, scrambling onto his knee to join its sibling. He found himself lifting it carefully, cradling it in one massive palm. Its tiny body was warm against his skin, its markings pulsing with contentment.

She smiled again, warm and soft. “See? They trust you.”

Trust. The concept was foreign, dangerous—trust was for the weak, the naive, the soon-to-be-dead—but something protective stirring in his chest as the curled into a ball in his palm.

“Tal’Shai,” he said, forcing himself back to safer ground. “Won’t help. Threat.”

A delicate eyebrow arched.

“I’m a threat?” A smile curved her lips as she tilted her head, studying him. “But you don’t see me as a threat, do you?”

The question caught him off-guard. Did he see her as a threat? She was small, soft, injured. Physically, she posed no danger to him. But the way she looked at him, the way she spoke to him—as if he were more than just a beast—that threatened something far more fundamental than his physical safety.

“Rest,” he said instead of answering. “Heal.”

She looked like she wanted to continue the conversation, but her exhaustion was evident in the shadows beneath her eyes. Her brief excursion had drained what little strength she’d regained.

“Fine,” she sighed, settling back against the bed. “But this conversation isn’t over. Now that I know you can talk, I have about a thousand questions.”

Of course she did. He could see the curiosity burning in her eyes, the scientist’s need to understand.

The third pup, seeing its siblings receiving attention, approached cautiously. When he made no move to stop it, it climbed up his arm, tiny claws tickling against his skin. It settled on his shoulder, chirping contentedly.

“They really do love you,” she murmured sleepily, her eyes fluttering closed.

He remained still, acutely aware of the small lives trusting him not to harm them. The pup in his palm had fallen asleep, its tiny chest rising and falling with each breath. The one on his shoulder nuzzled against his neck, its fur soft against his skin.

He should return them to her and move away, protect himself from this dangerous softening. Instead, he found himself settling more comfortably beside the bed, careful not to disturb Xara or the sleeping pups. Her breathing deepened as exhaustion claimed her.

He watched her face relax in sleep, struck by how vulnerable she looked. How trusting. His sensory tendrils reached toward her of their own accord, drawn to her warmth.

One tendril gently brushed a dark curl from her forehead. She didn’t stir, her breathing remaining deep and even. Encouraged by her lack of response, he allowed the tendril to explore a little further, tracing the delicate shell of her ear and the soft vulnerable pulse of her neck.

Time passed. The pups slept, tiny bodies warm against his skin, and Xara slept equally peacefully. He should have moved away.

He didn’t.

The smallest sound broke the silence as she whimpered. Her face contorted, no longer peaceful. Another whimper, then a soft cry. Her body tensed, hands clutching at the bedding.

Nightmare.

He immediately settled the pups against her stomach and slipped into the bed behind her.

His tendrils reached for her, wrapping gently around her shoulders, her arms, her waist. He gathered her carefully against his chest, mindful of her injury, cradling her as he might one of the pups.

The feel of her body against him reawakened his simmering arousal, but it was less important that providing her comfort.

Her body stiffened momentarily, then relaxed against him as the whimpering stopped. Her breathing steadied and, without waking, she turned towards him, her face pressing against his chest, one hand coming up to rest over his heart.

The contact froze him in place. No one touched him like this. No one sought comfort from him, yet here she was, nestled against him, quieted by his presence and trusting him even in sleep.

The realization settled into his bones—she was his to protect.

The thought should have alarmed him. Instead, it filled him with a strange, fierce warmth as he held her, watching over her sleep, his tendrils wrapped protectively around her small form.

His. To protect. To keep safe.

The universe had taken everything else from him and stripped him down to the beast, the weapon, the monster. But this—this soft creature who defied him and laughed at him and trusted him—this, perhaps, it would let him keep.