The Alien's Claim (A SciFi Alien Warrior Romance) (Warriors of Luxiria Book 8)

by Zoey Draven

  He seemed relieved when she was next to him again but she hurried inside, pulling the tunics from underneath her soaked shirt. The outer layer of one was wet, but the ones underneath were, mercifully, completely dry.

  Erin smiled, pleased, looking back at him. He ducked into the cave and she motioned for him to sit, though she frowned when she saw all the blood on the furs. She would have to wash them out in the rain later.

  Now that some of the adrenaline from the kekevir attack was beginning to wear off, she noticed how cold it was. Especially with her tunic soaked through. There was a small area in the cave that she assumed Jaxor had used for fires before. They would need one soon if they were going to be stuck in the cave for most of the day.

  Jaxor repositioned himself. Just as Erin suspected, the wound was still bleeding through the stitches, but not nearly as much. She snatched up the pot of salve off the ground, dipped her fingers in. But just when she reached out, she froze, thinking it was probably best that he did it.

  “Maybe you should…” she trailed off. “Unless you want me to.”

  Jaxor studied her. She swore she saw a challenge in his gaze, one that made her spine stiffen and her fingers twitch forward. But at the very last moment, he grabbed the little pot and smeared the salve over his own wounds.

  When he was covered, Erin took in a deep breath and, after ripping one of the tunics into one long strip, wound it around the middle of his bare chest with his help, knotting it at the end.

  “There,” she said, rocking back on her heels, surveying her work. Dark blue blood was already dotting through, but hopefully it would begin to clot soon with the pressure from the wrap. “Are you in pain?”

  “Not more than expected,” was what he replied, almost wryly. Reaching out behind her, he dragged over the nearest chest, metal scraping on the stone. It was the chest that she knew contained food rations.

  She watched as he fished out a dark bottle. The neck was slim and long. The bottom was round.

  When he saw her looking, he rasped, “Luxirian Brew. From Otala.” At her blank look, he added, “The strongest of them all.”

  Realization hit her when he uncorked the bottle and lifted the neck to his lips. “You’re drinking at a time like this?”

  After a healthy chug, he noted, “This seems like the perfect time to drink, rixella.”

  Erin paused, cocking her head to the side. Well, he had a point there. He was in pain after the kekevir attack, they were rained in for the foreseeable future, and neither one of them seemed to know how to act around the other, despite a mutual attraction and a mutual dislike.

  Maybe it was the perfect time to drink. Hell, she didn’t remember the last time she’d had a drink.

  Erin sighed, sitting down in front of him, shivering.

  And when Jaxor held the bottle out to her, those blue eyes knowing, Erin took it without hesitation.

  “Cheers,” she murmured and then took a swig.

  Chapter Thirteen

  His human female was a happy drunk, Jaxor realized as he watched her without hesitation. Erin was flat on her back, smiling up at the ceiling of the cave, talking about something he didn’t understand. Something called a ‘show’ on ‘tv.’ Apparently, she liked this ‘show’ a lot and had been recounting an ‘episode’ in full detail for the better part of the last hour.

  “And then he goes, ‘Through concentration, I can raise and lower my cholesterol at will.’ And Pam asks, ‘Why would you want to raise your cholesterol?’” Erin was laughing now, full body-shaking laughs that filled Jaxor with something warm and unfamiliar. “And he responds, ‘So I can lower it.’”

  She peeled off in another bout of laughter. Meanwhile, Jaxor had no idea what ‘cholesterol’ even was but she obviously found it very amusing.

  “God, I love Dwight so much,” she said, her words slightly slurred, her eyes bright when she turned her head towards him, as if to ensure she still had his attention. As if he could ever look away from her, though he had no idea who this ‘Dwight’ was or what she was even speaking of.

  Jaxor wondered about the tolerance of humans when it came to Luxirian Brew. She’d had a couple sips, at most, but was the Luxirian equivalent of a couple bottles deep.

  He shifted against the stone wall, bringing his knee up. A sharp twinge in his side made his jaw tick, but he’d had worse injuries. Much worse. Luxirians healed fast regardless. He would snip the stitches in the morning and, with the healing salve, the skin would be mended the day after that. Like the attack never happened. The only evidence of it would be a faint scar.

  But damn that kekevir. He should have built a gate a long time ago. If Erin had been down there and been caught unaware, she would be…

  He growled, which made the female stop talking. She frowned and then said, “No, no, don’t get all huffy on me again. You get all growly when you get angry.”

  “I am not angry,” he rasped, making an effort to stop. At you, he added silently. He was angry at himself. At that reckless part of him that enjoyed living so close to such dangerous things. Maybe he was tempting the Fates. Maybe he hadn’t built a gate because secretly he wished the kekevir would finally end him. Once and for all.

  She turned over on her stomach until she faced him, propping her head up in the palms of her hands. Her small feet waved in the air behind her and Jaxor’s gaze caught on one of them, seeing the cut he’d bandaged the day before. She’d taken the cloth off sometime that morning, probably since it got soaked in the storm.

  “You’re always angry,” she murmured softly, a small, almost conspiratorial smile darting over her features. “Just like me. Maybe that’s why your Fates clumped us together. Because we can be angry together.”

  Jaxor blinked. He’d had enough of the Otalian Brew to relax his limbs and dull the pain in his side, but not enough that he would let her strange comment float from his mind.

  “You are always angry, female?” he asked quietly. “Because you were taken away from your planet? Because I stole you from the Golden City?”

  She was shaking her head, waving her hand in the air flippantly before it settled back underneath her chin. “No. No. I was angry a long time before this.” A speculative look came next. “I don’t think I’ve ever admitted that though. Before here, at least.”

  Jaxor wondered if ‘here’ meant Luxiria, or if ‘here’ meant in that cave, right at that moment, with him.

  “Tell me why,” he commanded, his voice thick. Unconsciously, he leaned forward, towards her, ever so slightly. His Instinct thrummed with the knowledge that she was close, that he could reach out and touch her. Despite the blood loss and the pain from earlier, his body still recognized Erin as his. And he needed her. Desperately.

  “What will you give me if I tell you?” she asked, giving him a small, unabashed, buzzed smile he felt straight in his cock.

  Jaxor could think of a few things…

  Erotic, dark thoughts swarmed his mind. He imagined biting her neck the way he did in the forest. He imagined leaving an even bigger mark and imagined that she would crave that. He imagined—

  Jaxor’s claws bit into his thigh when he curled them and he rasped, “What do you want?”

  “Bargaining with me?” she asked, tilting her head to the side, her eyes glued to his. This intrigued her, he realized, his heartbeat quickening. And seeing her this way intrigued him. “I want you to tell me why you left the Golden City.”

  Jaxor’s lips pressed together. He brought the bottle to his lips and took another healthy swallow. The fermented drink burned down his throat but he welcomed it.

  “I left because…” he started.

  Jaxor had left for a variety of reasons. The Plague. His mother’s murder by the Jetutians, followed shortly by his sire’s willing death to join her in the blackworld. His older blood brother’s ascension to the throne as Prime Leader.

  Then came the anger. The grief. The knowledge that his sire had never thought Jaxor capable of ruling, that he’d simply b
een the spare heir, if anything had ever happened to Vaxa’an.

  Because Vaxa’an had always been more. More than Jaxor could ever be. He’d been born first. He’d been the better warrior. He’d been level-headed and calm, where Jaxor had been impulsive and mischievous.

  Then came the longing for revenge for his mother’s death. And Vaxa’an had brushed aside this need, wanting instead to not pursue war with the Jetutians, their oldest enemy. The enemy that had threatened their entire race, that had caused the countless murders of their females and of the males that loved them.

  And his brother had chosen to do nothing.

  Jaxor had been young then. He’d been impulsive and emotional. And like always, though he’d suffered the same loss Jaxor had, Vaxa’an had been logical. To invite a war with a shockingly powerful enemy—more powerful than the Luxirians had given them credit for—when a large portion of their race had been wiped out, when their planet still grieved and most were still in shock, when the throne was changing hands…that war would not have ended well.

  Jaxor realized that now. But he’d been blinded in his youth, fresh from warrior training, with bloodlust and sorrow as his only companions.

  “I left because the Golden City seemed haunted after the Plague,” he finally settled on. “By my mother, by my sire, by the countless we lost. The terraces were quiet. Unbearably so. And I could not take it.”

  He’d left to seek out the Mevirax. Jaxor’s nostrils flared and he took another swig of the Otalian Brew.

  Erin was studying him to the point that it made him shift. Jaxor wasn’t used to being looked at. Not so closely. All his lifespan, his brother had been the one to claim most of the attention. At every Lunar Celebration, at every dinner, in the streets of the Golden City, even during mock battles in warrior training, Vaxa’an was the future Prime Leader. Jaxor loved him, just like every other being on Luxiria.

  But later in life, Jaxor could never look his blood brother in the eye, knowing that a part of him hated Vaxa’an. Knowing that a part of him wanted everything he had, wanted everything he would have. Jaxor wished he could be happy and proud to have such an accomplished brother, but all Jaxor could feel was loathing mingled with his love and adoration.

  He’d hated himself for it.

  Erin was still looking at him, her eyes gleaming with knowing, as if she could hear every last unspoken thought in Jaxor’s mind.

  “I always liked being on my own, anyways,” he finished lamely, unsettled by her scrutiny.

  She didn’t comment on his answer, nor did she comment on his blackened mood, though she was probably used to it. Instead, she held up her end of the bargain, saying, “I am used to being angry because my father left my mother and me when I was baby. Then my stepfather, the father of my half-siblings, whom I love dearly, was an abusive cheat. And then my mother fell into depression and became a little too dependent on certain drugs to keep her going. Then came the neglect, not only of me, but of Jake and Ellora.”

  His happy drunk of a female was becoming decidedly less happy the longer she spoke.

  “I am angry because I was forced to grow up too fast. I am angry because I’m always expected to be good. Be the good person. Do the good thing. The right thing.”

  She was frowning now, her eyes misting with human tears. Tears that Luxirians did not shed.

  “And sometimes, I don’t want to be good. Sometimes I dream of doing all the things that I know I shouldn’t. And then I feel terrible because what kind of person wants to be bad?”

  Erin reached for the bottle hanging from Jaxor’s hand, her movements slow but jerky. For a moment, with dread coiling in his belly, he almost pulled it away from her. But he let her take it and watched as she craned her neck back and swallowed the drink, her eyes squeezing in an expression of distaste when she settled it on the cave floor.

  A long moment of silence passed between them. Jaxor thought over her words, looking at her as she looked at him. He hadn’t expected her answer to make him feel…well, angry. Angry that she’d had that life. Angry that he couldn’t wipe away the look in her eyes or make the tears go away.

  You are getting too deep, his mind whispered. Wade in too deep and you might never want to come out.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered after another moment, her words lilting and barely there. “I didn’t mean—”

  “Now is the time to do something you want to do,” he told her, cutting off her apology. “Do you honestly think that I care whether you are good or you are bad?”

  Her brow rose, interest entering her gaze. “What do you mean?”

  “What do you want to do? That you shouldn’t?”

  Her lips parted. Her tears were almost dry and that gladdened Jaxor. Relieved him and quieted the prowling beast inside.

  She stared, their eyes glued to each other. Tension rose between them, hot and prickly. Jaxor’s belly clenched, he felt desire and lust grow and heat.

  Her lips parted and he leaned forward unconsciously again, ignoring the way the stitches in his side pulled. Erin was on the verge of saying something, but then her breath whistled from her lips.

  Cheeks warming, her chin lifted. Her eyes flicked to his hair. Her voice was breathless, full of things that went unspoken between them just moments ago, as she asked, “How about a haircut?”

  Her question was so ridiculous and so out of place that he actually laughed. Which seemed to shock them both.

  Jaxor cleared his throat, slightly embarrassed. “Rebax?”

  “I…I’ve only seen Luxirians with long hair,” she said. “Never short. I’ve been wondering what you would look like with short hair.”

  She had?

  “And this is something bad that you think you should not do?” he asked slowly, trying to understand her reasoning, cocking his head to the side. He couldn’t help but recall her brief moment of hesitation, that heated look in her hungry eyes.

  She shrugged one shoulder. She was still lying on her stomach facing him, her feet still swaying behind her. Back and forth. Back and forth. Methodically. Like she was lulling him into a trance, the rixella that she was. Because he would cut his hair for her.

  “Of course,” she said, frowning. “When was the last time you asked someone if you could cut their hair? It’s a terribly rude thing to ask, especially of someone you hardly know.”

  Confusion dropped his brows. He couldn’t tell by her tone if she was teasing him or testing him. Or both.

  “Tev,” he rasped.

  “What?” she asked, cocking her head to the side, surprised.

  “You may cut my hair, rixella.”

  Long hair, especially among Luxirian warriors, was desirable. It was seen as a sign of wisdom, which came with age, considering Luxirian hair grew slowly compared to some species. And among unmated warriors, it was seen as a sign of virility, based on the shine and the length. Jaxor had known a Luxirian warrior who had claimed a mate without speaking to her once. She’d accepted him just from his hair alone.

  No unmated Luxirian warrior would ever willingly shear their hair. Only those exiled, disgraced, or insane would.

  Considering Jaxor was an odd combination of all three, perhaps he should have cut his hair long ago. He hated it anyways. It tangled in his horns and fell into his eyes at inopportune moments.

  “I can?” she asked, pushing up from her spot on the floor, shuffling towards him on her knees. She looked thrilled, shocked, excited at the prospect. Jaxor wondered if short hair among human males was seen as more desirable.

  Jaxor couldn’t deny her now.

  He inclined his head and said, “There is still a small knife in the other chest. I shoved it inside the lump of fuel.”

  Now, he was testing her. She would have a knife very near his throat. She was drunk. She could get very brave, very reckless ideas in her head…and not the kind he would welcome.

  Erin was already crouching in front of the chest. She dug through its contents, shuffling aside rations and water gourds, unti
l she found the lump of kibbisa that held the knife. The soft fuel crumbled in her hands and she returned to him with the blade.

  “Are you certain?” she asked, kneeling by his side, the side where she’d stitched him up. She reached forward, swaying a little as she repositioned herself, and picked up a handful of his hair.

  Little pricks of pleasure tingled his spine. Her hands in his hair felt sublime and Jaxor jerked his head once, in a nod. “Do it.”

  Erin hesitated for just a moment. She whispered, “This is ridiculous, you know. I can’t believe you’re letting me do this.”

  “It is just hair, rixella. It does not matter,” he said. At least, it didn’t seem to matter to him anymore. Not when her fingers were sliding through his hair and she was so close that he could scent her.

  “It’s just…” she trailed off. “Your hair is so pretty and I’m a little drunk off that horrid stuff. What if I mess up?”

  “Are you scared, rixella?” he asked, turning his head carefully to look at her. She was eye-level with him, kneeling at his side, with him sitting down. She was so close that he saw flecks of gold in her dark eyes and saw the way her eyelashes fluttered at his words.

  “No,” she said, frowning, that delicious anger rising in her eyes. “Now I’m gonna give you a hack job because you said that.”

  He gave her a dark grin. “Do it then.”

  The challenge in his tone was unmistakable. Jaxor didn’t remember the last time he’d had this much…fun. He wanted to laugh again at her ruffled expression.

  “Do something bad to me,” he rasped, his voice lowering. “I know you want to.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Erin’s spine steeled in determination even as her heartbeat thudded wildly in her chest. Her head swam pleasantly from the alcohol, though her vision was beginning to blur and swirl.

  Tomorrow, she would think that this was a terrible decision. To challenge Jaxor to a drunken haircut just because she could. But right now, this seemed like the best decision.