Page 4 of Zayrik (The Protectorate Warriors Alien Fated Mates #6)

Nyla

THE FIRST THING I REGISTERED was pain. Not jarring. Not new.

Dull, anchored deep, like someone had dug into my ribs and sealed it shut with fire .

I shifted, a hiss slipping between my teeth as the ache bloomed through my side. My arm tugged slightly, and I blinked down to find a stabilizer line feeding into the wrist port just beneath my skin .

Protectorate tech. Old. But still working.

Someone had used it. Cleaned the wound. Closed it.

Kept me alive.

That was the first real thought that landed.

I was alive.

And that mattered more than anything else.

The second thing? The air. Cooler than Katar Station. Cleaner. Circulating.

I cracked my eyes open, squinting against the dim lights overhead. The ceiling wasn’t familiar. Sleek metal panels, softly glowing interface strips. Not the station.

A ship.

My pulse kicked up. Nav’s voice crackled through my wrist device, tone as dry as ever. “Well. That was spectacularly reckless. Statistically speaking, you should be dead.”

I groaned, pressing a hand to my side. “Not helping, Nav.”

“Neither is bleeding out, but here we are.”

I tried to move, but my body protested hard. A searing burn in my side, the distant throb of my ribs reminding me exactly what happened before I blacked out.

The escape. The ship. The... Alaran.

The low rumble of a voice pulled my focus. “Finally awake, thief?”

I turned my head, vision still blurry, but not enough to miss the broad-shouldered figure leaning casually against the console, arms crossed.

Tall. Built like a fighter. And definitely not happy to see me.

Shit.

Memory hit like a jolt. The docking bay. The blaster. The new ship I’d tried to steal.

His ship.

I swallowed, testing my limbs. Sore, stiff, but functional.

Zep’s soft, worried trill reached my ears. My gaze flicked down. My little winged pet Laupin was perched just beside me, tail flicking, watching my every move.

Alive. Still with me. Some of the tightness in my chest loosened.

Then I noticed my jacket.

Gone.

I was suddenly seized by panic.

A brutal wave of dizziness slammed me against the bench after I stood up too fast.

The Alaran let out a dry sound, somewhere between amusement and exasperation. “Yeah. Thought you might try that.”

I forced a glare through my spinning vision. “Where’s my jacket?”

His brow lifted. “Really? Not a thanks for the emergency medical treatment ?”

My pulse was still hammering. My jacket wasn’t just a damn jacket. “I need it,” I said, voice tight.

He watched me with an unreadable expression, the only movement the slight flex of his jaw.

Nav chimed in from my wrist, speaking aloud again. “Your vitals indicate elevated stress. Perhaps focus on not reopening your wound before demanding belongings from the person who saved your life?”

“Shut. Up. Nav,” I hissed.

The Alaran’s eyebrow raised a fraction higher. “Your AI has a point.”

“My AI doesn’t have self-preservation programming,” I muttered.

“Accurate,” Nav agreed.

The corner of the male’s mouth twitched upward. Then with deliberate slowness, he leaned down and grabbed my jacket from a side chair. Exactly within his reach, exactly not within mine.

“I’ll bite,” he said, turning it in his hands. “What’s so special about this thing?”

“Give it back.”

His gaze was fixed on me. Then, he did precisely the reverse. He slid one hand into the lining, feeling for... something.

Ice crawled down my spine.

I moved. Fast.

Pain screamed through my ribs, but I lunged anyway , grabbing for it. He shifted effortlessly, yanking it just out of reach. I hit the seat hard, breath punching from my lungs.

He sighed. “You are absolutely terrible at this.”

I grit my teeth, not giving up. “I will claw your face off,” I snarled.

Zep bristled beside me, wings flaring, ready to launch.

“Both of you will stand down,” he said firmly, but without heat. He actually grinned. “Damn. Feisty, even half-dead. No wonder they’re after you.”

The words landed wrong. I stilled.

He caught it. His smirk faded just slightly, eyes narrowing in keen calculation. “You already knew, didn’t you?”

I swallowed. My heartbeat was too loud .

“What the hell did you do, thief?”

I wet my lips. “Nothing.”

He gave me a thorough once over. Assessing, reading, not missing a damn thing.

“Right,” he murmured. “Which is why Katar Station lit up like a warzone trying to keep you there. And why the second I won this ship the guy who lost it practically ran for his life .”

I didn’t answer. Because I didn’t have one.

Not one I could tell him, anyway.

His jaw shifted like he was weighing his options. Then, he tossed my jacket at me.

The breath I’d been holding finally released. I snatched it up, fingers immediately pressing into the lining, checking....

It was still there. Relief poured through me.

He noticed. Because, of course he did.

“I’m Zayrik, by the way,” he said, arms crossing again. “Since this impromptu partnership seems to be extending beyond your rescue.”

“Nyla,” I offered, then immediately regretted it. Stupid. Giving my real name to a stranger.

“I know,” he replied, making my blood run cold. “Your friendly AI mentioned it while you were out.”

I shot a murderous glare at Nav. The wrist device blinked innocently.

Zayrik pushed off the console, stretching his arms overhead like this was just another normal day. “Well, Nyla, since you’re awake, I should update you on our situation.”

I tensed. “What?”

He offered a grin, yet his eyes betrayed no mirth. “The ship’s damaged. And we’re drifting in a barely-traveled sector with just enough power to keep life support running.

“Define ‘ damaged ,’” I demanded, clutching my jacket tighter.

“Ship’s stabilizers are shot. Jump drives overheated.

Comm array is fried, and we have about one and a half rotations of life support remaining.

” He shrugged, as though discussing mild inconveniences instead of potential death.

“So, unless you’ve got some magical repair skills hidden in that precious jacket of yours. ..”

Zep chirped anxiously.

“The probability of rescue in this sector is approximately twelve-point seven percent,” Nav announced helpfully.

I closed my eyes. “Shit.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Zayrik responded.