The Alien’s Claim by Zoey Draven

Chapter Nine

When Jaxor returned to his base, something squeezed in his chest as he realized that the female was nowhere to be seen.

“Vrax,” he rasped, hauling himself out of the tunneled pit and throwing the sack of fire fuel onto the ground, some of the freshly dug-up contents spilling out. “Erin!”

He’d been gone a couple hours, at least. The twin suns had already descended and he was in a foul mood, considering all of his traps had been empty and one of the shield links he used to hide his base from prying eyes above needed replacing with parts he didn’t have.

Now, his female was nowhere to be seen and—

His eyes caught on something near the fire pit. A dribble of something red. Blood? Her blood.

Panic and fear shot through him, his Instinct roaring inside him that his mate was injured—hurt and gone. That sheer panic twisted in his chest, making it difficult to breathe, and when he saw another patch of blood, he damn near lost what little he possessed of his mind. His vision went dark, his claws curling into his flesh, and he tracked the trail all the way to his sleeping quarters.

“Erin!” he bellowed, tugging on the door. It was bolted from the inside, but he easily tore the heavy metal away. He heard a gasp and his nostrils flared when he scented her.

When his dilated pupils adjusted to the darkened space, relief made him dizzy as he saw Erin, blinking, dazed. She’d been sleeping, he realized, his heart pounding in his chest, his breath ragged, the door still hanging from his grip.

He scanned the cave. He saw nothing, no threat. A weird sense of disbelief went through him. A part of him had believed that he could dull his Instinct when it came to her. That he could fight the Fates’ pull, that he could fight her when the time came.

Dread pooled in his belly next, even as he dropped the door and approached her, still scenting the faint trace of metallic blood in his nostrils.

“Jaxor?” she questioned, her eyes going from the door, which he would now have to fix before nightfall, to him. “What in the world—”

She was laying underneath the furs, though she’d pushed up onto her elbow in alarm the moment he’d charged inside.

“Hey!” she cried in surprise when his hands delved underneath the furs, ripping them away from her body. “What are you doing?”

He lifted her tunic until she snatched it down, fighting him. He ignored her, pressing his hands to her, inspecting her. Where had the blood come from? Was she hurt? He flipped her over on her stomach, the tunic riding up until it displayed the bottom curve of her buttocks.

He growled, but ignored the way the sight of her bared flesh made him feel. His gaze ran down her legs and then, peeking up from the furs that bundled around her feet, he saw cloth wrapped around her left foot.

Jaxor moved closer and bent her leg up, bringing her impossibly small foot closer. She was still struggling to turn over, making little sounds of frustration, but he held her down with his other hand easily.

Unwrapping the bandage, he gritted his teeth when he saw a cut adorning the sole. It wasn’t deep enough to need stitching, but there was still blood. When he prodded the area around it gently, his female hissed and stilled on the furs.

“There was blood,” came Jaxor’s voice, deep from his chest, unrecognizable. Dark and changed. His own voice threaded with the beast’s inside him.

He heard Erin swallow. “I cut my foot by the fire. I didn’t realize I’d left a trail.”

Jaxor’s lips pressed together. His eyes flitted to the two chests he kept inside his sleeping quarters. One that had contained weapons until that morning when he’d removed them, the other with food and water rations and supplies for wound care. Every now and then, a kekevir had made it past the tunnel and into his base. Sometimes, it would catch him by surprise before he managed to get a weapon. He kept the bandages and healing salve as a precaution. Now that Erin was here, he would need to begin work on a gate to ensure her safety.

Rising away from her briefly, he rummaged through one of the chests and took out the last clean cloth—he’d have to boil more later—and a bottle of healing salve he’d traded a fur for in Lopixa last rotation.

In his absence, Erin had rolled over, pressing her back to the wall of the cave and watching him warily as he approached her. When her gaze went to what he had in his hands, she said quietly, “I can do it.”

When she reached out a hand for the cloth and salve, he ignored it and knelt before her. It took him a moment to realize he was growling. It was a rumbling deep in his throat and he pressed the palm of his hand to his eyes in an attempt to calm the beast inside him. As if Jaxor wasn’t mad enough as it was, his Instinct felt like another being’s will had burrowed deep into his mind, tearing at it, clashing with it, changing it.

He made a concerted effort to stop growling and only when it was silent did he take his hand away. Erin, surprisingly, let him take her left foot in his hand. He slid it onto his lap and her foot twitched when it brushed against the furs of the pants he’d pulled on that day.

That small twitch made his brows furrow. He looked down at her foot and for the first time marveled at the strangeness of it, how small it was, how delicately the bones sloped and arched, how soft the sole was, obviously without callouses to help with the hardness of walking on the rough facev floor of his base.

Strangely, it was the first true realization that she was of a different species. That he didn’t truly know a single thing about her race, except for what he’d gathered from the Mevirax, who’d gathered it from the Jetutians, who’d gathered it from the Krevorags.

Jaxor felt frozen as he looked down at her foot, nestled against his thigh. When he looked up at her, she was watching him. She was neither frowning nor smiling. Her lips were parted slightly, as if she’d come to a similar realization…that this should never have happened. That the Fates should have never given Jaxor something so precious, so valuable to protect and care for.

He swallowed. The growling started again and Erin jolted, beginning to pull her injured foot away.

Jaxor kept it in place, pushing those thoughts from his mind. He felt unsettled. Something in him felt wrong. It had felt wrong since the moment he’d seen her, when, for the better part of five rotations, he’d been so certain in his destiny.

Almost methodically, as if it were his own wound, he washed it, brushed a thick layer of healing salve over it—ignoring the way her first toe, the largest of them all, twitched when he did—and wound the clean cloth over it, securing it tightly.

When he was done, he rose, not quite meeting her eyes. Not sure if he didn’t want to or simply couldn’t.

“Thank you,” she whispered, so quiet he barely heard it.

“Do not ever thank me,” he murmured just as quietly back, turning away from her, replacing the supplies in the chest before closing it. He was met with silence and in that silence, he felt himself grow angry. At her, at himself, at the Fates, at the Mevirax, and beyond all, at the Jetutians.

Always so fucking angry, he thought. But he needed that anger, he needed to hold onto it or else everything he’d worked for would be for nothing. He’d developed the trust of the Mevirax, which were a people that did not trust easily, especially a direct descendant of Kirax’an. It had taken him twice as long. And it had paid off. He’d made the agreement with Tavar, the leader of the Mevirax. It would be Jaxor that would deliver the females to the Jetutians. After so long, not only could he finally avenge his mother, he could finally help his people. He could help restore what had been ripped away from them.

Hope.

But this female, this rixella, threatened everything. Already, his trust with Tavar was fractured. He hadn’t met with him that night in the forest. Jaxor could only imagine what the leader was thinking.

Vrax, he cursed silently.

Jaxor knew what had to be done, but he didn’t know if he had the will or the strength to do it. Even scenting her blood, even thinking she was injured, sent him into a frightened panic.

He eyed the door lying halfway inside the cave. He needed to repair the hinges before nightfall, which wasn’t that far away.

“Is there somewhere I can bathe?” came her voice. His abdomen tightened.

“There are no hot springs here,” he returned, his voice still foreign to him. “Only the falls.”

Then he left, stalking out to where he worked metal, plucking the bent hinges off the ground on his way. As he stoked up a fire in his makeshift furnace, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the female slink from the cave, limping. She walked on her toes to keep from putting pressure on her wound.

Jaxor tried to ignore her, as best as he could, but every few seconds, he found his gaze drawn helplessly back to her. In another moment, she reached the falls. The water flowed down from the facev directly above the crater, misting her dark hair as it landed in the pool beneath.

Early on, he’d dug out some of the facev floor to deepen and widen the pool, and chiseled a larger drainage line through the crater so it wouldn’t flood his base. During the hotter lunar cycles, he would swim there, cooling off. For a brief moment, he imagined Erin doing the same. He imagined swimming with her, touching her, seeing her smile. He imagined that his touch wouldn’t make her stiffen and pull away, but that it would please her, that she would want it. That she would want him.

In another life, perhaps,he reminded himself, regret mingling with loss. Not in this one.

Erin turned her back to Jaxor and knelt near the edge of the pool, though she was mindful not to get her bandaged wound wet. He watched, strangely fascinated, as she cupped water in her palms, leaning over the side. Even from a distance, he watched her shiver as she splashed it against her skin, starting with her face, her hair falling forward, getting in her way.

Next, she splashed her arms, soaking her tunic. Despite himself, Jaxor remembered the moment he’d first seen her. It had been after he’d broken into the Golden City, accessing a forgotten and unused escape route leading to the Ambassadors’ and Prime Leader’s terraces. After he’d dispatched the two warrior guards at the domed house, he’d snuck inside, following a strange, tantalizing scent he now knew was hers. He’d located the two females in the bathing quarters, Erin and her friend, Crystal, Cruxan’s new mate.

They’d both been nude, in the process of washing. When he’d first appeared at the threshold of the room, Crystal had balked, immediately ducking into the water in fright.

But Erin…

Even as Jaxor’s Instinct had roared to life at the sight of her, pulsing hot in his blood, as disbelief and anger and desire and need mingled in his mind and body, as foreign sensations and wants assaulted him, almost bringing him to his knees…his fated mate had simply looked at him. Calm, even then. Steady. She’d been completely naked, her hair wet, droplets of water tracing down her body, but she hadn’t seemed afraid.

Her full breasts on display. Brown, small, pebbled nipples that his mouth had watered for. A tapered waist that flared into wide hips his claws curled to grip. Dark, sparse curls that concealed her sex from his gaze. Her eyes had been wide but knowing. As if she realized too what was to come next.

That image, that first moment, was forever imprinted on his mind.

It took a moment for Jaxor to realize he’d turned to her completely, watching as she washed herself, turning his back to the furnace, wasting precious fuel. Her spine was curled, the bones poking through the back of her thin tunic. He watched a shiver rack her body and he worried that the water was too cold, especially with the chill in the air.

As if sensing his gaze on her, Erin’s head turned, pausing. Wet tendrils of hair framed her face. Her spine straightened as her head craned towards him. And again, she simply watched him from her kneeling place.

Steady. Calm. As if she knew he needed to watch her, as if she knew it pleased the beast inside him. And she allowed it.

Balanced. The stray thought came to him. And suddenly, he knew why the Fates had chosen her for him. Because she would be sane when the madness overtook him. And when that temporary madness overtook her, like last night when she pressed the blade to his throat and cut him, he could challenge her.

He brought a shaking hand to run over his right horn and then he forced himself to turn away, forced himself to refocus his scattered thoughts on the furnace. What had he been doing?

Hinges, he remembered.

He wrapped his hand in a protective hide, took up his tongs, and thrust one of the hinges into the flames, watching the metal brighten and loosen.

Jaxor’s gaze went back to her. She was still watching him, but when he caught her looking, she jerked her head away, as if surprised, as if embarrassed.

His jaw ticked. Relief filled him. Perhaps this obsession was not only his own. Did she feel the depths of it too? Did humans feel the Instinct’s pull too?

When he managed to refocus his attention on the furnace, he cursed and realized his mistake. He’d left the metal too long. It sat in a melted, unusable pool at the bottom. He’d have to start again.

As he looked up at the sky to gauge the time, Jaxor knew there would be a storm soon. He felt it in the air. How violent it would be was unknown, but he would open more drainage lines as a precaution. At the very least, he could prop the door against the cave wall as protection from the storm if he couldn’t finish the hinges in time.

The sky was darkening quickly. Nightfall approached rapidly during that season.

Just then, he heard the kekevir begin to rouse. Small chirring sounds echoed down the tunnels, spreading into the base. They knew night came too. They could also sense the storm.

Jaxor looked at the furnace. The hinges could wait, he decided. But he’d left the kekevir too long. They bred and grew rapidly and needed to be culled on a regular basis, especially with the storm approaching. It would be a long night otherwise.