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CHAPTER SIX

T he Xenobeast watched as his female—as Xara—smiled up at him and settled down in his bed, a confusing blend of emotions swirling through him.

Mine.

He had never considered anything his before. He’d been designed without attachments, without a sense of self beyond his programming—until the Zarkari deemed him defective.

He’d been engineered to serve, to obey without hesitation, without question, without error.

He’d done so, without complaint or deviation.

But the day had come when he’d had to choose between obedience and his instincts.

He’d chosen the latter and as a result he’d been exiled, thrown him onto this hostile planet with nothing but his rage and the lingering echo of betrayal.

Long years of solitude, of nothing but survival, and now this female had changed everything.

When she’d first seen him clearly, her hazel eyes studying his face, his body, his movements, he’d been prepared for the inevitable: The screaming. The panic. The desperate attempt to flee.

It didn’t come.

She simply stood there on the ledge, small and fragile, her soft body swaying slightly with exhaustion. The moonlight caught in her short, dark curls and illuminated the curves of her face. Fear flickered in her eyes—he could smell it, taste it on his sensory tendrils—but she didn’t try to run.

That alone unsettled him. He was engineered to inspire terror. His size, his appearance, his very presence was designed to break the will of enemies before combat even began. It was a tactical advantage his creators had engineered into his DNA.

Yet she remained, watching him with those intelligent eyes.

When she spoke, his translation implant activated automatically, converting her sounds to meaning. Not with perfect clarity—the language wasn’t in his database—but enough to piece together her attempt to thank him when she gestured to her wounded leg.

She was right to be grateful—the predator’s claws had torn through skin and muscle and she would have died without his intervention. The memory of her blood spilling onto the forest floor triggered a surge of anger that made his tendrils stir restlessly.

The fact that he didn’t respond didn’t prevent her from introducing herself—Xara. A name. Something he hadn’t possessed in years.

“Can you understand me? Do you speak?”

He could. Of course he could. But verbal response had been trained out of him long ago. Weapons didn’t need voices. Weapons followed orders and executed missions. Silence was discipline. Silence was survival.

One of his tendrils reached toward her of its own accord, brushing against her cheek. The contact sent a jolt through his nervous system. Her skin was warm and soft, unlike anything on this hostile world.

The Graxlin pup in her arms chirped, reaching toward him with tiny paws, and his chest tightened.

The pups had imprinted on her—unusual, but not inexplicable.

They were sensitive to energy patterns, and hers must be compatible.

But they also seemed drawn to him, which made less sense.

He was built for destruction, not nurturing.

She spoke again, asking about the pups. Her voice was melodic, pleasant. Then she sighed, disappointment evident in her posture.

“I should go back inside,” she murmured.

As she limped past him, her scent enveloped his senses—foreign yet intoxicating. His tendrils swayed toward her, sampling the complex chemical signatures of her body. She was in pain. Exhausted. Hungry.

He gestured towards the bed inside the inner cave, a sharp motion meant to convey his command. Rest. Recover.

She either didn’t understand or chose to ignore him, taking another step and swaying dangerously, her injured leg nearly buckling beneath her.

A growl rumbled from deep in his chest. Stubborn female. She would reopen the wound he’d so carefully dressed.

In one swift move, he closed the distance between them. He swept her into his arms, lifting her as effortlessly as he would one of the Graxlin pups. She gasped—a small, startled sound—but she didn’t scream. Her body tensed against his chest for a moment, then relaxed.

The contact was... problematic.

His body responded instantly to her proximity.

Heat spread through his core, his heart rate accelerated, and his tendrils curled possessively around her shoulders and arms. The primal part of his brain—the part his creators had enhanced for combat but couldn’t fully control—registered her as something to be claimed. Protected. Possessed.

Her warm breath against his chest sent shivers across his skin. The soft curves of her body fitted against his hardened muscles in ways that triggered instincts he’d suppressed for years. The sensation was distracting. Dangerous.

A low growl emanated from her stomach, audible even to non-enhanced hearing. Hunger. The sound cut through his inappropriate thoughts, replacing them with a single, urgent imperative: feed her.

He strode quickly to the bed, depositing her there with more haste than grace. The Graxlin pups immediately scurried to her side, their tiny bodies emitting soft pulses of blue-green light as they nestled against her.

She looked up at him, confusion evident in her expression. Her lips parted as if to speak again, and he motioned for her to stay. She tilted her head, studying him with those perceptive eyes. Then, surprisingly, she nodded.

Relief flooded through him, followed immediately by an unfamiliar urgency. He needed to hunt, to provide for her. The instinct overrode his usual caution, his preference for distance and solitude.

Without another glance at his female—at Xara—he turned and stalked from the cave, disappearing into the moonlit jungle.

The night was alive with sound and movement. Nocturnal creatures slithered through undergrowth, flew between luminous vines, hunted and were hunted in the complex ecosystem of the quarantine world. He moved amongst them like a shadow, his footfalls silent, his breathing controlled.

His mind, however, was anything but silent.

Xara’s presence in his territory disrupted patterns established over the long years of his isolation. She was injured and vulnerable—an alien female with no knowledge of this world’s dangers. Logic dictated he should have left her to die—one less complication in his carefully ordered existence.

Instead, he’d saved her. Brought her to his sanctuary. Tended her wounds.

Why?

The question nagged at him as he tracked the spoor of a jikari—a herbivore with tender flesh that should be easily digestible. Its meat would sustain her while she healed.

Perhaps it was simply that she posed no threat. She wasn’t Zarkari, wasn’t part of the military complex that had created him, used him, then discarded him when he refused to slaughter innocents. She was just... lost, as he had been when they first exiled him here.

Or perhaps it was the way she’d protected the Graxlin pups. A predator would have seen them as easy prey. She had seen them as lives to be preserved, even at a cost to herself. The concept was... familiar. Resonant.

The jikari’s trail led to a small clearing where several of the creatures grazed on phosphorescent fungi. He selected his target—a young male, separate from the herd—and struck with lethal precision. His claws severed the spinal cord at the base of the skull, granting a quick, painless death.

As he hoisted the carcass onto his shoulders, another realization struck him. For the first time in years, he’d be returning to his cave with someone waiting for him. Someone who spoke, who asked questions, who looked at him with eyes that held fear but also intelligence, even gratitude.

The thought quickened his pace as he headed back through the jungle, the jikari’s weight nothing to his enhanced strength.

When he reached the cave entrance, he paused, scanning the interior. Xara remained on the bed where he’d left her, though she’d shifted position to accommodate the pups. They were curled against her, their tiny bodies rising and falling with peaceful breaths.

She looked up as he entered, those expressive eyes widening at the sight of his kill. He detected no disgust in her reaction—just surprise, and perhaps relief.

He carried the jikari to the stone slab he used for butchering. With practiced efficiency, he skinned and dressed the creature, separating meat from bone, edible organs from waste.

As he worked, his awareness remained fixed on her presence. On her scent. On the sound of her breathing and the Graxlin pups’ contented chirps. On the way the firelight played across her features, highlighting the curve of her cheek, the fullness of her lips.

He caught himself staring and turned abruptly away, focusing on the task at hand. This fascination was... inconvenient. Potentially dangerous. He needed to maintain distance. Control.

When he’d finished butchering his kill, he selected a choice cut of meat—tender, with a good balance of fat and protein—and approached the bed. He extended his hand, offering the food, but she hesitated, her eyes moving from the meat to his face and back again.

A faint growl escaped him, impatience mingling with concern. She needed to eat. To regain strength. Why did she hesitate?

He held out the meat again, and she sighed. Her fingers brushed his as she cautiously took the meat, and the brief contact sent a strange current through his body along with a sense of satisfaction. He had proven himself a worthy hunter.