The Alien’s Seduction by Zoey Draven

Chapter Four

Jaxor’an had always been intelligent, Cruxan knew. He’d been a warrior, a natural born leader, and he’d had a bright future ahead of him, serving his planet.

Until he threw it all away, seeking out the Mevirax and turning his back on his city, on his blood brother, shortly after the Jetutians unleashed their plague on Luxiria.

Cruxan’s lips pressed together as he examined the tracks left in the black sand. Careful not to disturb them, he crouched, trying to decipher what had happened there.

There’d been a struggle. Small tracks—human footsteps, though they dragged long through the sand—running back towards the city. They’d tried to escape, Cruxan realized, and Jaxor’an had caught them and continued on his way.

What purpose did he have taking the females, if not to deliver them to the Mevirax? It didn’t make sense. Nothing did anymore.

Cruxan launched himself back into the hovercraft, but only rose far enough above the sand so as not to disturb the tracks. It was more difficult to catch the strange scent that had been in his nostrils since the terrace from higher up, but he needed to preserve the sand tracks for as long as possible, in case he needed to circle back around.

It was only a short distance later when, by complete chance, he saw something white laying in the black sand. He descended, hopped out, and carefully scooped it up, letting the sand trickle through his fingers.

Cloth. From a tunic.

Its scent was strong and when Cruxan brought it up closer to his face, it muddled his mind again, fogging it over. He shook his head at his strong reaction, but wasn’t concerned. He’d been gifted with strong senses. An abnormality, but one that had served him—and Luxiria—well since they could be of use.

Clenching the cloth between his palm, he took to his hovercraft once more and kept his eyes peeled more closely.

He found more. Two more, leading north, strangely away from the Caves of Pevrallix, which was where the Mevirax were rumored to live. The pieces of cloth were dropped close to the sandcraft’s tracks, an easy road left by Jaxor’an.

But Cruxan knew that Vaxa’an’s blood brother was more intelligent than that.

So when he came across a series of similar tracks, branching out in five different directions, that would take him to five different places in Luxiria, Cruxan wasn’t surprised.

Jaxor’an had made them earlier that morning, he realized. They were fresh, though they had all been slightly smudged by the wind. A deterrent, meant to buy time.

But which tracks were the freshest? Which path did Jaxor’an take?

One of the females had been leaving him a trail, one he fully intended to follow. Tracking scent was difficult on the wild plains of Luxiria, but she had left him a path, an opening.

Circling high over the network of the five different trails, Cruxan kept his eyes scanning for a lone piece of light cloth.

It took him a while, but he found it. He didn’t bother lowering his hovercraft back down to the earth, but rather he zoomed over the trail that had been placed in the sand, hurtling west. He couldn’t be that much farther behind them, but he saw nothing in the distance up ahead.

Cruxan was determined, however. He was determined to find them by nightfall and then he would return them to the Golden City, to safety.

Nothing would stop him.

When Cruxan was a youth,he thought it was normal for other Luxirians to see the things he did, smell the things he did, hear the things he did, feel the things he did.

Compared to other races, Luxirian senses were strong. Very strong.

But Cruxan’s were even stronger.

He could smell the Luxirian sea from the Golden City if the wind was strong and direct. He could see almost as well in complete darkness as he did in full sunlight. He could hear the moans and cries of breeding partners from five levels down in the Golden City. And touch? It felt divine, like electricity over his skin.

It was why, just as night was falling over the planet, just as he spied the towering trees of a forest he’d never seen before, in a place of the wild lands he’d never been, Cruxan knew he’d found them.

Jaxor’an was smart enough not to build a fire in the darkness of night, even shielded through the thick canopy of white, mossy trunks and vines. But the moon was dark that night and he used a lantern, barely lit, flickering blue, instead of a fire.

It was his mistake. If anyone other than Cruxan was tracking them, Jaxor’an wouldn’t have been discovered. But Cruxan had seen the light over a mile away, as small as it was.

Cruxan powered down his hovercraft a safe distance away from the forest, eyeing the density of it, how it gave way to another of Luxiria’s harsh mountain ranges. He was unfamiliar with this land and that put him on his guard.

He would have to go on foot from there, in order to avoid attracting the Luxirian’s attention.

But it was a quick journey. The black sand soon gave way to moss, softening his foot falls and speeding his progress even more. He wound around heavy, ancient trunks, stepped over the rot of vines and mushy fruit from the trees that overwhelmed his nostrils with its sickly, sweet smell. He could hear the grating whispers of the old trees, but he tried to drown them out, focusing on the single light in the distance.

It wasn’t much longer before he was upon them.

And that scent, even hidden under the nauseating stench of the old forest, hit him square in the chest. His brows drew together, but he blocked it out, drawing his dagger from the sheath at his hip with a silent movement, studying the scene before him, hidden behind dark, spilling vines.

Jaxor’an.

The Prime Leader had been right.

He was sitting across the clearing from Cruxan’s position, crouched over the lantern, a lantern that looked to be of Lopixan style, Vikan’s outpost towards Luxiria’s coast. Had he been there as well, stealing?

Next, Cruxan’s eyes sought out the females, whose backs were to him. One had dark hair and the other…the other had hair like gold.

His pupils widened, something jolting down his spine, when he realized it was her scent. The one he’d noticed outside the dwelling on the terrace. The one he’d followed all the way there.

She was hunched over, her spine curled, as if trying to make herself as small as possible and something within his chest raged with torment at the sight.

Cruxan drew in a ragged breath, which was thankfully stifled enough as not to attract Jaxor’an’s attention. He shook his head, trying to shift the heaviness that was suddenly pressing on his mind.

Something was wrong. Something felt wrong inside him, but he couldn’t determine what exactly it was.

As though through a haze, he watched the golden-haired female, watched as her head turn ever so slightly until her delicate profile came into view. Her neck tilted to look behind her, her pink lips turned down into a frown.

Stunned, Cruxan watched, as she looked directly at him. She blinked, brows furrowing.

It hit him suddenly. Once, when he’d been younger, he’d foolishly jumped off a high boulder near his outpost, spurred on by the dares of his older peers. The distance had been too high, but he’d jumped regardless, determined to land on his feet, to show them all he could.

Except, he hadn’t landed on his feet. He’d landed straight on his chest, his face. He’d been bloodied and he’d had the air knocked right from his lungs. And he’d laid there, gasping into the earth, trying to make sense of what had just happened, but the world returned to him, just as suddenly as it’d been taken away.

He felt like that now. All over again. He couldn’t breathe. A hand was squeezing the air from his lungs and he couldn’t replenish it fast enough. His reality had just become a strange place, a place he’d never been before.

In a single instant, his Instinct roared to life, making his blood pump so fast in his body that it felt like it had nowhere else to go. In the back of his stunned, suspended mind, he wondered if he would bleed out, for surely, that was the only place his blood could go. Out. Away from his body, expelled just as he felt his soul attach to this small, beguiling, frightened creature in front of him.

His mate.

His fated mate.

His luxiva.

She was staring straight at him in the darkness, though even he recognized that she could not see him. At least not physically.

She did sense him, however. That much he was certain of. She felt the pull, felt her mate near, though she did not know what that meant or why. Not yet, at least.

Cruxan struggled to pull in air. He felt something in his hand and then remembered his dagger. He remembered Jaxor’an, remembered his mission.

He needed to get her to safety. Both of them. That was his first priority. He would deal with the reality of his awakened Instinct at another time. There was no other option.

With that realization in mind, though it was the most difficult thing he’d ever had to do, he ripped his gaze away from his golden-haired female and refocused it on his enemy. The Luxirian who had turned his back on his people, on his own brother, who had endangered these females, Cruxan’s female, by stealing them away into the wild lands of Luxiria.

He felt the rage build within, a much more familiar emotion to him. A welcome friend.

He embraced it, let it feed him.

Without another moment’s hesitation, Cruxan entered the clearing.

Flipping the hilt of his dagger in the palm of his hand, restless energy flowing through him, his gaze focused on the traitor.

“It has been a long while, Jaxor’an.”