The Alien’s Claim by Zoey Draven

Chapter Forty-One

“Erin!” Jaxor called, his voice carrying across the hallways, over bloodied and dead Jetutians and Luxirians alike. Their blank, lax faces stared up at him as his belly coiled with dread.

Most of the battle had taken place outside, but had slowly spilled into the ship as they drove the Jetutians back, which was what they hadn’t wanted. Vaxa’an wanted the fighting outside, on Luxirian soil, so his warriors could storm the vessel afterwards with little resistance.

“Erin!” he called again, tearing through the vessel, checking every hallway, every room he passed.

Vrax, vrax, vrax, he chanted over and over in his mind, the panic rising. He refused to think the worst. She had to be on the vessel! He’d watched her step on board from the shadows of the forest, though Vaxa’an had to physically hold him back from storming after her.

He circled back, going down the second hallway that led to the main entrance of the vessel. One of the first rooms was the medical bay and he stilled when he came across it, cursing himself for not following this hallway first. Because once inside, he knew this was where Erin had been.

There were two dead Jetutians inside. Laccara was on a metal table, her limbs loose, her face slack. For a moment, he thought she was dead, but then he saw her chest rise and fall. Blood coated the walls, thankfully none of it red, so it wasn’t human blood.

Another pair of legs was sticking out from the other side of the table. Jaxor jumped over one of the dead Jetutians and he stilled when he saw it was Tavar.

There was a blade in his back. He was lying face down on the floor, blood pooled around him. When Jaxor rolled him over, he saw his eyes were open and unseeing.

Gone then, Jaxor thought, blowing out a short breath. Gone to the blackworld.

Jaxor rose, casting a glance at Laccara. She was alive. Tearing the Com band off his wrist, a communicator, but most importantly a tracker, he placed it next to Laccara. It was the best he could do for her—Vaxa’an would find her. But Jaxor wouldn’t risk Erin’s safety for her.

Turning from her, he scanned the rest of the room. His stomach dropped when he saw another trail of blood, this one leading from the medical bay to a different door on his left. Po’grak? he wondered.

It was entirely possible. Jaxor hadn’t seen him—or his body—all night. Had he carried Erin away from here? Or had she managed to escape and he’d followed?

His blood went cold and without another thought, he stormed through the door and followed the trail of blood down a long hallway. There wasn’t a Jetutian in sight. In this part of the vessel, it almost seemed deserted.

The blood led him to a white door, but the blood trailed left, down another corridor, which took him to a grey door.

Behind the grey door was a storage room.

“Erin,” he called out, but the room was empty. He turned, frowning, peering at the walls, the ceilings, the floor, wondering if there was a hidden entrance somewhere. It was only after searching the room a second time that he saw a latch in the floor and he scrambled for it, lifting it open.

Cool air whistled up to meet him and without hesitation, he jumped down, landing on his feet, on Luxirian soil.

All that way just to end up in the forest again, he thought.

It didn’t take him long to get his bearings. He was at the back of the vessel, far away from the fighting, which had seemed to lessen considerably, judging from the sounds ringing through the air.

That was when he heard it. A soft cry, barely discernable, from within the thickness of the forest looming in the distance. But he recognized it immediately.

Jaxor sprinted for it, his heartbeat pounding in his throat.

Nix, nix, nix, let her be safe, he prayed. I will give anything as long as she is safe.

* * *

Erin criedout when Po’grak managed to take hold of her ankle and yanked her back down to the ground.

He found me, he found me, was all she could manage to think. He must’ve seen her leave the medical bay, had followed after her.

The force of hitting the ground knocked the air out of her lungs and, panicking, she gasped, desperately trying to breathe. She was already so weak from her captivity in the Mevirax dungeons. She was winded and her limbs felt like they weighed a hundred pounds each.

“Give that to me,” Po’grak hissed, reaching for the needle gun in her grip half-filled with the vaccine.

The only reason why she wasn’t dead already was because he was injured himself. Tavar had stabbed him in his side. That same blade was in his grip now as he crawled towards her on the ground, lime green blood gleaming on its tip. There was a trail of the blood inside the dark forest. It seemed to glow in the low light.

Still gasping for air, Erin drew back her leg with whatever remained of her strength and kicked him as hard as she could across the jaw. Erin heard a snap, heard his hiss, but she was already scrambling up from the ground, her fingernails clawing at dirt and moss, all while keeping the needle gun in her grip.

She only made it a couple strides away—her heartbeat felt like it would beat its way from her chest or simply burst from the exertion—before Po’grak slammed into her, using the overwhelming bulk of his body to take her down to the ground again.

“No!” she rasped. “No!”

Po’grak clawed for the vaccine but she struggled against him, kicking her legs beneath him, trying to get free. His claws raked down her arm as he grappled for it, icy hot blood spilling. Her blood this time.

Po’grak’s bellow of anger and rage almost made her eardrums burst.

“You are not worth this!” he yelled.

Then she gasped, feeling pain explode in her chest. Time seemed to still. Even Po’grak stilled over her. When she looked down, disbelief and shock raced through her, seeing the blade jutting from her chest.

Po’grak grabbed for the vaccine and he easily pried it from her loose fingers this time. In her shock, she released it.

“Now I must find another,” he cursed, looking down at her, but not really addressing her.

In the whirring, frantic state of her mind, she knew he meant another human. Another human woman. Because that was all she was to him. Cattle for slaughter. A prize to be won. There was no difference in his eyes. He’d wanted her for the Pit, nothing more.

Another bellow rang out through the clearing, one achingly familiar. Erin felt the trickle of her own hot blood leak out from the wound and she lay perfectly still, strangely calm, knowing she shouldn’t move too much, in case her movements pushed the blade deeper.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught movement, but her vision had begun to blur, her eyelids growing heavy. She felt something wet track down her cheek. She thought it might be blood too because it felt hot, but then she realized she was crying.

“I don’t want to die,” she whispered, her heart twisting at the thought.

Po’grak’s body rolled off her suddenly, the weight of him gone so she felt like she could breathe again.

That was when she saw Jaxor.

He was on top of Po’grak, his face contorted in fear and rage. Erin watched as he plunged a long, gleaming sword straight into Po’grak’s chest, pinning him to the earth. Jaxor pushed the sword so deep that the hilt was flush with the Jetutian’s plated armor. He’d pierced it through the armor in his strength and in his fury.

Erin’s vision wavered again and she blinked, looking at Jaxor. Po’grak was still on the ground, and his breaths sounded raspy and thick.

Jaxor was off Po’grak in an instant and at her side. Erin looked up at him, her lips dry, her tongue tasting strangely metallic.

Blue eyes and a grim, handsome face. The sight of him made her cry harder, made her heart flutter and clench in sorrow and relief.

His hands shook as they smoothed back her hair. “Rixella, oh Fates, you…you need to lie very still, tev?”

“You did come,” she whispered, reaching up towards him.

He grabbed her hand, holding it, his grip strong and warm. She was starting to feel cold, but she wasn’t shivering.

“Vaxa’an!” Jaxor bellowed loudly, his voice echoing through the line of trees. To her, his voice was hoarse and raspy when he said, “I will get you help, luxiva. You will be well.”

There was something important and then she remembered. Her eyes flicked toward Po’grak and she said, “The vaccine, Jaxor. Get…get the vaccine.”

She saw it then, the glimmer of the needle in the moonlight. She tried to reach for it, but her limbs were heavy and weak. She was so, so tired.

Her eyes fluttered shut. Then she heard, “Nix, look at me, rixella. Look at me.”

“You did come,” she whispered.

Then everything faded.