“That’s all anyoneshoulddo,” he corrected. Then, softer, “I’m pleased you see that.”
Something passed between us in that moment. An understanding, maybe. Or the beginning of trust. I wasn’t sure which, and I wasn’t sure it mattered.
What mattered was that I was standing in an alien settlement with a leader whose sacred marks glowed when he touched me, whose laugh made something warm unfurl in my chest, whose people had built a sanctuary in the midst of chaos.
And somewhere out there, beyond the mountains and in the storms, Zara and the others were either surviving or they weren’t. Either coming for us or...gone.
I couldn’t help them from here. Couldn’t reach them, couldn’t protect them, couldn’t do anything but hope.
So instead, I stood next to Rezor and looked at the ruins of the past and the growth of the present, and tried not to think about how much I liked the way he smiled when I called him an ass.
“Come,” he said finally, breaking the moment. “There’s more to see. And you should know all that we protect so you can understand the disruption you’ve caused.”
Okay. Nice moment was over. I followed him back toward the settlement, Baleck trailing behind us, guards maintaining their careful perimeter. The sun was lower now, painting the valley in shades of orange and gold.
And as we walked, I realized with a start that I wasn’t cataloging escape routes anymore. I was memorizing the way home.Temporarilyhome.
CHAPTER 6
Rezor
The forest beyond the village wall was too quiet.
I crouched in the underbrush, weapon drawn, scanning the dense foliage for any sign of movement. The report had been clear: ahyaja, large and aggressive, spotted near the eastern perimeter just after dawn. The tracks I’d found confirmed it. Deep gouges in the soft earth, spaced wide enough to indicate a mature male. Dangerous.
Hyajawere apex predators, all muscle and teeth on four fast legs. They had jaws strong enough to crush bone and a hunting instinct that made them relentless once they’d marked prey. Most stayed deep in the forest, away from settled areas. But sometimes, driven by hunger or sickness, one would venture too close to the village.
When that happened, we hunted it. Before it decided to hunt us.
The wind shifted, carrying the scent of pine and dirt. Nomusk ofhyaja, no sound of its heavy breathing. Either it had moved on, or it was downwind, watching me the way I was watching for it.
I shifted my grip on the blade, muscles tense. My marks pulsed with the low heat that came with danger, with focused attention. Not the blazing fire they became around Cleo, but a steady warmth that reminded me I was alive, alert, ready.
Cleo.
I’d been avoiding thinking about her. Had been avoiding her entirely, in fact, for the past two cycles. After the tour of the village, after showing her the grow facility and watching her eyes light up with genuine appreciation, I’d made myself scarce. Given her space to settle. Given myself space to think.
That’s what I told myself, anyway.
The truth was more complicated. The truth was that every time I was near her, my marks burned and my thoughts scattered and I found myself watching the way she moved, the way she argued, the way she challenged me without fear, despite being half my size and completely at my mercy.
It was distracting. Dangerous, even. I had a village to protect, a prophecy hanging over our heads, and a military commander who thought the best solution was to exile or execute our visitors before they could fulfill whatever doom the seers foresaw.
I couldn’t afford to be distracted by an alien female whose presence made my sacred marks behave in impossible ways.
So I’d stayed away. Assigned guards to watch them, received regular reports on their movements, made sure they were fed and comfortable and supervised. But I hadn’tsought them out. Hadn’t allowed myself to be drawn back to Cleo’s presence.
The reports, at least, were reassuring. Cleo and Baleck had been exploring the village during permitted hours, speaking with anyone willing to talk to them. There weren’t many, but the aliens were curious, and theywerelearning our ways, our language, our customs. Cleo’s translator device was working remarkably well. According to the guards, she now spoke near-fluent D’tran, though her accent remained distinct.
She’d been to the grow facility three times. Just wandering around in there, apparently, studying the systems. Taking mental notes. The engineers who worked there reported that she’d asked intelligent questions about water flow, nutrient distribution, and climate control. Questions they couldn’t always answer, because much of what we’d built was salvaged and repurposed without full understanding of the original design.
Baleck had focused his efforts on the communal areas. The market, the workshops, the kitchen. Talking to people, learning names, making himself useful where he could. Several villagers had commented that he was pleasant, for an alien. High praise, considering.
And Mierva, recovering in their quarters, had apparently spent her waking hours asking the guards at her door about D’tran history and culture. The guards reported that she asked insightful questions about our isolation, our relationship with the land, our survival strategies.
They were adapting. Learning. Trying to understand us.
It should have been reassuring. Instead, it just made the situation more complicated.
