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CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

T he Xenobeast crouched at the entrance of their cave, watching dawn break over the jungle canopy.

Crimson light filtered through violet clouds, casting everything in a strange, beautiful glow.

Behind him, Xara slept, her breathing deep and even.

The smallest Graxlin pup—the one she’d named Flicker—was curled against her neck, its tiny body rising and falling with each breath.

Hope.

The feeling sat uncomfortably in his chest, foreign and fragile. Hope was dangerous. Hope meant having something to lose.

He turned back to the task at hand, carefully wrapping sharpened bone in vines soaked in paralytic sap. The trap would not kill—he wanted intruders alive for questioning—but it would immobilize. He had spent the night setting similar traps throughout the surrounding jungle while Xara slept.

“You should have woken me. I could have helped.”

He didn’t startle at her voice. He’d sensed her approach, the shift in air currents, the subtle change in the cave’s acoustics. He continued working, not looking up as she settled beside him.

“Need rest,” he said simply.

Her hand found his forearm, warm and small against his skin. “So do you.”

He glanced at her then, taking in the sleep-softened curves of her face, the determination in her eyes. His mate. The word still felt new, precious. Dangerous.

“Different,” he said. “Built for this.”

She snorted, a sound he’d come to recognize as amused disagreement. “You weren’t built to be a one-man army against an entire military force.”

No, he’d been built to lead that force. To command death on a scale that still haunted his dreams.

“Besides,” she continued, “we’re stronger together. You know that.”

He did know it. The knowledge terrified him.

Flicker chirped from the cave entrance, now awake and demanding attention. Xara smiled and reached for the pup, but the Xenobeast was faster, scooping the tiny creature into his palm. It immediately curled around his thumb, its bioluminescent patches glowing contentedly.

“He likes you better,” she said, but there was no jealousy in her voice, only warmth.

The Xenobeast felt that dangerous hope flare again. A mate who fought beside him. Young ones who trusted him. A home to defend.

A life he could build—if they survived.

“More traps,” he said, rising to his feet. “Need to scout.”

Xara nodded, taking the finished trap from him. “I’ll finish these and set them along the eastern approach. The pups can help me identify the best hiding spots.”

He hesitated, wanting to tell her to stay in the cave, to keep safe. But he’d seen her fight. Seen her stand her ground. She wasn’t fragile, despite her size.

“Be careful,” he said instead.

Her smile was quick, bright. “Always am.”

He didn’t believe that for a second.

Before he could stop himself, he bent down and pressed his forehead against hers, a gesture of connection his people used between bonded pairs. Her scent filled his senses—warm skin, sleep-mussed hair, the lingering traces of their coupling. His.

“Go,” she whispered against his jaw. “I’ll be here when you get back.”

Another dangerous promise. Another reason to hope.

He pulled away reluctantly and whistled for Flicker. The pup immediately scrambled up his arm to perch on his shoulder, chirping excitedly.

“Extra eyes,” he explained when Xara raised an eyebrow.

“Smart,” she agreed. “They can sense things we can’t.”

He nodded once, then slipped into the jungle without another word.

The forest was alive with morning activity. Winged creatures darted through the canopy, iridescent scales flashing in the dappled light. Carnivorous vines unfurled, tracking heat signatures. Somewhere distant, a pack of six-legged predators howled.

Home. This deadly, beautiful place had been his prison, then his sanctuary. Now it was his territory to defend.

He moved silently, checking traps already set, adjusting triggers, refreshing poisons. Flicker remained quiet on his shoulder, occasionally tugging at his sensory tendrils when it wanted his attention.

They had covered nearly five miles when the pup suddenly stiffened, its bioluminescent patches flashing rapid warning patterns. The Xenobeast froze, every sense on high alert.

Nothing. No sound, no movement, no?—

There. A faint distortion in the air, almost imperceptible. A stealth field.

He dropped flat as a needle-thin projectile sliced through the space where his head had been. Flicker squealed and dove into a pouch at his waist.

A stealth drone. Zarkari make, latest generation. Smaller than his fist but armed with enough neurotoxin to drop a creature three times his size.

They were getting closer.

He rolled behind a massive root system as another projectile embedded itself in the soil. The drone was silent, its propulsion system dampened to near inaudibility. But he could feel the air displacement, track its movement through the subtle shifts in the jungle’s background noise.

There. Three meters up, hovering near a tangle of vines.

He waited, muscles coiled, counting the seconds between firing sequences. The drone would have a pattern—everything Zarkari did was patterned, predictable.

Five seconds. Four. Three.

He launched himself upward, claws extended, catching the drone mid-firing cycle. It struggled in his grip, attempting to deploy secondary defenses, but he crushed it with brutal efficiency, metal and circuitry crumpling like paper.

Flicker poked its head out of the pouch, chirping questioningly.

“Good warning,” he told the pup, stroking its head with one finger. “Saved us.”

The drone’s presence confirmed his fears. This wasn’t a random patrol. This was targeted reconnaissance—mapping the terrain, identifying threats, establishing a perimeter.

The hunting party wouldn’t be far behind.

He needed to get back to the cave. To Xara.

The return journey was faster, less cautious. Speed mattered more than stealth now. When he burst into the clearing before their cave, he found Xara kneeling beside one of the larger traps, adjusting the trigger mechanism. The other two pups were nearby, playing with discarded scraps of tech.

She looked up at his approach, her smile fading as she read the tension in his stance.

“What happened?”

“Drone,” he said, holding up the crushed remains. “Stealth tech. Looking for us.”

Her eyes widened, but she didn’t panic. Instead, she rose to her feet, dusting off her hands with brisk efficiency.

“How close?”

“Too close. Need to accelerate preparations.”

She nodded, already moving toward the cave entrance. “I’ve reinforced the inner chamber and set up a fallback position. If we can funnel them through the main passage, we can pick them off one by one.”

Her tactical thinking surprised him, though it shouldn’t have. She’d proven her adaptability time and again.

“Good,” he said, following her inside. “But not enough.”

The cave’s interior had been transformed in the days since they’d discovered the beacon.

The entrance was narrower, reinforced with salvaged metal plating.

Inside, the main chamber had been divided into defensive zones, with makeshift barriers providing cover.

The pups’ sleeping area had been moved to the most protected corner, surrounded by the softest materials they could find.

It looked like a war camp. Because it was.

“I know it’s not enough,” she said, her voice tight. “But it’s what we have.”

He placed the dead drone on a flat rock they’d been using as a table. “Need more. Need advantage.”

“What kind of advantage?”

He hesitated, considering their options. They were outnumbered, outgunned. The jungle would help—it was as much a weapon as any blade or blaster—but against a full Zarkari strike team, even that might not be enough.

“Tal’Shai,” she said suddenly. “Could they help us?”

He stiffened. The Tal’Shai were not warriors. They survived through avoidance, not confrontation.

“No,” he growled. “They don’t fight.”

“But they know this planet better than anyone,” she pressed. “They must have defenses, knowledge we could use.”

“They won’t help.”

“How do you know? Have you asked them?”

He hadn’t. In all his years of exile, he’d maintained a careful distance from the native inhabitants. They tolerated his presence because he respected their boundaries, never approaching their settlements, never interfering with their ways.

“They fear outsiders,” he said. “With reason.”

Xara’s expression softened. “They might fear outsiders, but they know you. You’ve lived alongside them for years without causing harm. That has to count for something.”

He shook his head. “Not enough.”

“It might be,” she insisted. “And what other choice do we have? Wait here to be slaughtered?”

The truth of her words stung. Their chances, already slim, would dwindle to nothing if they remained isolated.

“Please,” she said, stepping closer. “If not for us, then for them.” She gestured to the pups, now all three huddled together in their corner, sensing the tension. “They deserve a chance.”

He closed his eyes, wrestling with his instincts. Pride warred with practicality, stubbornness with survival.

And beneath it all, that dangerous, fragile hope.

A life they could build. If they survived.

“Dangerous,” he said finally. “For them. For us.”

“Everything about this situation is dangerous,” she countered. “But together, we might have a chance.”

Together. The word echoed in his mind, warm and solid.

He opened his eyes to find her watching him, her gaze steady and certain. His mate. His partner in this fight.

“Will try,” he conceded. “No promises.”

Her smile was worth the risk. “That’s all I ask.”

He turned away, gathering weapons and supplies for the journey. The Tal’Shai village was half a day’s trek through difficult terrain—longer if they wanted to avoid detection.

“We leave at dusk,” he decided. “Safer in darkness.”

She nodded, already preparing a pack of her own. “I’ll get the pups ready.”

“No,” he said firmly. “Too dangerous for them.”

She paused, considering. “You’re right. But we can’t leave them alone either.”

He hadn’t thought of that. The pups were too young to defend themselves, too valuable to risk.

“Hidden chamber,” he said after a moment. “Behind waterfall. Safe place.”

Her relief was palpable. “Good. We’ll set them up there before we go.”

As she moved about the cave, gathering supplies and comforting the pups, he watched her with a mixture of pride and fear. She moved differently now—more confident, more aware of her surroundings. The soft academic he’d first encountered had been replaced by a survivor, a fighter.

His equal.

The thought should have troubled him. Instead, it filled him with that strange, persistent hope.

A future. A family. A life beyond mere survival.

If they lived through what was coming.

He checked his weapons one last time, then moved to help her prepare. The sun would set soon, and with darkness would come their chance to seek help.

He still didn’t believe the Tal’Shai would fight for them. But for her—for the chance of a future with her—he would ask.

It was a risk. Everything about loving her was a risk.

But as she turned to him, determination blazing in her eyes, he knew it was a risk worth taking.

Together, they might just survive.