by Presley Hall
Gemma blushes, her tan cheeks turning a dusky shade as she bites her lower lip. I suppress a smile at her reaction, not wanting her to feel any more self-conscious than she already does just for asking the question. She seems both fascinated by the mate bond and slightly terrified of it, which I can understand.
It certainly seems like an intense experience, and the analytical part of my mind can’t stop trying to break it down into an understandable and identifiable set of chemical responses in the body. There has to be some explanation for it, after all. My years of study in med school taught me never to be satisfied until I understood the root cause of something.
“Sometimes it’s hard to believe any of this is real,” Gemma adds as she drapes the last few articles of clothing over her arms. She glances over her shoulder at two Voxerans who are walking toward us, deep in conversation with each other. “Wormholes exist. Alien life exists. And it looks like that.”
She drops her voice even lower on the last word, her eyes widening a little. I follow her gaze to take in the two Voxeran warriors, and I can’t deny feeling a little of the same awe that’s so plain in her tone.
They really are incredible. They’re so massive and muscled, so almost-human and so very inhuman at the same time. The way their skin glistens with an almost iridescent quality makes it hard to look away sometimes, my eyes drawn to the ornate patterns of the white markings that cover their torsos and arms.
The fact that I’ve never seen any of them in more than a loincloth only makes their otherworldly beauty that much more obvious. So little of them is left to the imagination.
“Yeah,” I murmur quietly. Then I realize we’re both staring and drag my gaze away, turning my attention back to Gemma and gesturing to the clothes in her arms. “Hey, I can take those back to the meeting house if you want. No need for both of us to go unless you were headed that way anyway.”
She smiles, nodding shyly. “Thanks. That would be great. I was thinking of taking a walk around the village. Not that I mind sharing the meeting house with everyone, but sometimes I need a little… space to myself.”
“No shame in that,” I tell her honestly. I’m a doctor, not a psychologist, but I’ve seen enough patients go through traumatic events to understand that everybody handles it differently. Some of the women seem to always want to be around others, finding safety and security in numbers, while others—like Gemma—need solitude sometimes as they process the dramatic change their lives have taken.
I’m not sure which camp I fall into, honestly. I’ve always prided myself on being focused and hard to rattle, but I’ve definitely felt off-balance ever since we arrived on this planet. I’m not sure what to do to get my equilibrium back.
Gemma piles her armload of clothes onto the ones I’m carrying, and we part ways. I glance around at the buildings as I pass, marveling at what the Voxerans have built here. It may not seem like much, but considering we’re living on a prison planet where pretty much all of the other inhabitants would be happy to kill us if they could, this little haven of security and safety is a true accomplishment.
I may still be struggling to figure out what the rest of my life will look like on this planet, but I know one thing for sure—coming to stay with the Voxerans was the right choice.
It’s lucky we managed to defend ourselves at the crash site for as long as we did, but if Charlotte hadn’t found Droth and come back for us, our luck would’ve run out eventually. The other women and I all learned that we could be fighters when we had to be, but none of us are trained warriors like these men are.
As if to prove my point, the sound of clashing weapons draws my attention, and I turn my head to watch two Voxerans sparring in a large open space near the meeting house where most of the women are staying. They’re not fighting to inflict actual damage, just to hone their skills and practice their techniques, but it’s still breathtaking to witness. Their movements are smooth and powerful, their bodies glistening with sweat.
The bigger one, Axen, lets out a grunt as he swings his knife in a broad arc. His opponent, whose name I’m pretty sure is Zayre, barely manages to parry in time. The two of them kick up dust from the ground as Axen forces the smaller warrior back with a series of quick strikes.
My footsteps slow, my gaze riveted to the scene before me. A surge of arousal rises up in me as I watch Axen drop low, sweeping out a leg to take the other warrior down. Moving with animalistic grace and power, Axen crouches over his opponent, pressing his blade to Zayre’s neck lightly.
For a moment, they stay poised like that, and my gaze flicks up to Axen’s face. His lips are curled back slightly, his nostrils flared as he breathes hard, and there’s such feral determination in his eyes that I wonder if he’s ever lost a fight. Between his size and his strength, it’s hard to imagine him not emerging the victor every time.
I tighten my grip on the bundle of clothes in my arms, unconsciously holding my breath as the two men hold their position for a heartbeat. Then a grin spreads across Zayre’s face. He says something to Axen that I’m too far away to hear, and the larger warrior’s face relaxes. He smiles too, standing up and offering a hand to his friend. As Zayre regains his feet, Axen claps him on the shoulder.
The complete change in his demeanor fascinates me. It’s as if there’s a beast inside him, an animal kept on a leash that he lets loose when he fights and then pulls back and returns to its cage. I’ve only seen one other Voxeran who fights with such concentrated fury, and that’s Kzuri, the man who barely seems to talk.
I’m openly staring now, having forgotten all about the clothes I’m supposed to be bringing back to the meeting house—not to mention basic manners. Almost as soon as I have that thought, Axen seems to notice that he and his friend have an audience. He turns to look at me, a hint of the burning intensity from their fight still lingering in his amber eyes.
I swallow, unsure if I should say something. Unsure of what to say.
But before I can summon any words, Axen gives me a single nod. His gaze lingers on me for a moment longer, then he turns back to Zayre, raising his weapon and dropping into a ready stance again.
The younger warrior charges, obviously trying to get the upper hand by going in hard and fast, but Axen is ready for him. Grunts and pinging sounds fill the air as they clash.
My heart is beating harder, I realize—probably a sympathetic adrenal response from watching them fight so ferociously. It takes effort to drag my gaze from them, but I shake my head and force myself to turn away.
As I head toward the meeting house, I let out a long breath, rolling my eyes a little.
Come on, Elizabeth. Focus.
I can admit that I’m fascinated by these alien men, and I’ve even found myself hoping to see another mate bond form between one of my fellow humans and a Voxeran. I’ve never gotten to see the early stages of the bond, and the medical professional in me is eager to collect more data.
But just because I’m curious about the mate bonds—curious about the Voxerans—that doesn’t mean I want one for myself.
***
Thank you for reading!
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Also by Presley Hall
Fated Mates of the Kalixian Warriors Series
Claimed - Book 1
Stolen - Book 2
Rescued - Book 3
Bound - Book 4
Broken - Book 5
Consumed - Book 6
NOTE: Each book in this series can be read as a standalone, but for ma
ximum enjoyment, it’s recommended that you read the series in order.
Voxeran Fated Mates Series
Her Alien Prince - Book 1
Her Alien Savior - Book 2
Her Alien Beast - Book 3
TBA - Book 4
TBA - Book 5
NOTE: Each book in this series can be read as a standalone, but for maximum enjoyment, it’s recommended that you read the series in order.