Her Alien Protector: Voxeran Fated Mates #6

by Hall, Presley

  But he doesn’t do either of those things. Instead, he pulls his gaze away from me and looks around the small clearing surrounded by the drooping trees.

  “You’ll stay here tonight?”

  “Yes,” I answer, a little defensively. What’s wrong with this spot?

  Rather than critiquing my choice, he nods. Then he points to a small bush nearby with heart-shaped leaves and bright red berries. “Those are edible.”

  With those words, he turns and strides away into the forest.

  I stare after him, blinking in shock. Is he leaving already?

  A strange pang in my chest makes me wince. I was just thinking to myself that I hoped he would give up on his strange mission to follow me, but I didn’t expect him to do it so soon. And even though I spent a good portion of the day trying to ignore his presence nearby, I find that I miss it as soon as I’m alone again.

  Maybe he’s just foraging, I think. He pointed out the berries to me, and now he’s going to go find something for himself.

  Doing my best to put the massive Voxeran out of my mind, I walk over to the bush he pointed out and begin harvesting the berries, storing them in another small piece of cloth that I dig out of my pack. I sample a few as I work and find that they’ve got a sweet, slightly earthy taste. The juice bursts over my tongue, reminding me that I’m thirsty as well as hungry. I’ve got a water skin that I filled up at a stream I passed by earlier, so once I’m satisfied with my stash of berries, I head back over to my pack and take several longs sips of water.

  Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I glance at my surroundings. Without conscious thought, my gaze darts to the spot where Bohrir disappeared into the woods, and I drag my lower lip between my teeth.

  I still don’t know how to feel about the fact that he showed up in the forest—that he tracked me all the way from the Voxeran village. Given my previous experience with alien men, it’s the kind of thing that should make me even more distrustful of him. And yet, somehow, it doesn’t.

  My thoughts and feelings when it comes to Bohrir are all a jumbled mess.

  I sigh, crouching down near my pack to replace the water skin. Well, if he doesn’t return, my feelings about him won’t matter anyway.

  As if summoned by my thoughts and determined to prove me wrong, the massive Voxeran comes striding out of the forest half a moment later with a small deer-like animal slung over his back. My heart does a little stutter-step when I catch sight of him, and although I pretend to be occupied with my pack, I can’t help but stare at him from beneath my eyelashes.

  The small gash on his temple makes him look dangerous and wild, and the muscles in his chest and arms bunch as he lifts the felled animal from his shoulders and sets it on the ground. He’s wearing nothing but a loincloth, as all the Voxerans do, and it leaves so much of his body on display that it feels almost indecent to look at him.

  I’ve never been able to forget what it felt like to be thrown over his shoulder in almost the same way that dead animal just was. Even through my terror and shock, I was aware of the flex of muscles in his back, the scent of his skin, and the strength of his arms as he held me firmly in place so he could run. Almost every inch of me felt like it was touching him somehow, and it overwhelmed me.

  He’s so… powerful. Bigger and stronger than any of the other Voxerans I’ve seen. And yet, I’ve seen a gentleness and carefulness in him sometimes that seems so incongruous with his imposing frame.

  Keeping several yards of space between us, Bohrir sets about making a fire, getting a crackling blaze going in no time. As I set up my small, makeshift camp, he skins and dresses the animal he brought down and rigs up a spit with several large sticks so that he can roast it over the fire. I’ve stopped trying to disguise the fact that I’m watching him at this point, intrigued and fascinated by how easily he’s made himself at home in the woods.

  “Did you know how to hunt before you got to Nuthora?” I ask finally as the scent of cooking meat teases my nostrils.

  Bohrir glances up. He hasn’t looked at me often since returning from his hunt, but I get the feeling he’s been aware of my presence as I am of his.

  “Not much,” he says in his deep, rumbling voice. “But I knew how to fight. Many of those skills are adaptable to hunting, and everything else I learned quickly.”

  “Is that what you did back on your home planet? Fight?”

  I know it’s probably stupid to be asking him questions. It’ll only make him think I want him here, that his presence is welcome. And it’ll invite questions about my own past, which is something I work hard to avoid thinking about. Staring into that empty abyss of the unknown is uncomfortable and disquieting.

  “Yes.” Bohrir adjusts the spit a little, turning his attention back to the roasting animal. “I was a warrior back on Vox—for most of my life, really. I became an apprentice when I was a youngblood. Even then, I was larger than most of my peers. And I had a talent for fighting, so it was what everyone expected, the natural choice of occupation for me.”

  Something about the way he says it makes my brows draw together. “Was there something else you wanted to do instead? Some other path you wanted to take?”

  Bohrir’s eyes snap up, his violet-blue gaze meeting mine. His expression is startled, as if he didn’t expect me to ask that question. Then he shakes his head, smiling ruefully.

  “There was, although I’ve never regretted being a warrior. I’m proud to serve my prince, even in this godsforsaken place.” He gestures around us before glancing at me again, an almost bashful look cross his features. “But when I was younger, I wanted to be a farmer.”

  I almost laugh. Not because it’s funny, but just because it’s the last thing I ever would’ve imagined he’d say.

  “Really?”

  His smile widens, one side of his mouth curving higher than the other. It occurs to me that I haven’t seen him smile all that much. I haven’t seen him frown either, or seen his face crease with anger. More often than not, his features are set in a serious, solemn expression.

  I like the smile better.

  “Yes, really,” he says with a quiet chuckle. “As difficult as that may be to imagine.” His eyes take on a slightly faraway look as he removes the spit from the fire and begins to carve off hunks of cooked meat with his knife. “Vox is an arid planet with a good deal of desert. Some of the land can be very difficult to work, but we’ve developed irrigation systems and techniques for growing the food we need. Being able to coax the ground to bring forth plants that will flourish and thrive is something not everyone has a skill for—but I always believed I could be good at it.”

  I don’t know why, but the image of this large beast of a warrior with his hands in the dirt, encouraging delicate plant shoots to grow, makes a shiver run down my spine. It’s not from fear or disgust, though. It’s from something warmer and softer than either of those emotions.

  After a while, Bohrir finishes carving the animal he roasted, although he leaves some meat on the bones. He sets several pieces of meat aside before sitting down in front of the fire to tuck into his dinner. I watch him eat for a few moments in silence before I realize that he carved those extra chunks of meat for me. As with everything else he’s done, he seems to want to avoid forcing the issue, but I’m certain that he set those pieces aside in case I wanted them.

  I tap my fingertips against my thighs, debating internally. I haven’t finished off the berries I picked yet, since I wanted to wait until I got my little camp set up before I ate. The smell of the meat is making my mouth water; after two long days of walking, my body craves something hearty and filling.

  And I know he didn’t poison it or anything. First of all, he’s eating it himself. Second of all, despite my natural inclination to distrust everyone on this planet, he’s never done anything that would make me think he’s capable of something like that.

  So even though I still don’t entirely understand what his motives are, I pick up my satchel of berries and step close
r to the little fire pit he’s built. I settle on the ground across from him, opening the satchel and placing it between us next to the fire. Then I pick up one of the hunks of meat he set out for me and bite into it.

  It’s warm and juicy, and I let out an unconscious noise of pleasure as I chew. I’m even hungrier than I realized.

  My skin prickles with awareness, making me glance up toward Bohrir. He’s gazing at me with an unreadable expression on his face, his oval pupils large and dark in the light of the fire. I can’t guess his thoughts, but the intensity of his stare makes me flush.

  Shit. Did I moan that loud?

  As if remembering himself, the big Voxeran wrenches his gaze away from me. I’m careful to keep my noises to a minimum as I continue eating, although I can’t stop myself from scarfing down the food. When I finish, he grabs his knife and slices off a few more bits of meat, presenting them to me silently.

  I take them, then nudge the cloth satchel filled with berries a bit closer to him. I know it’s not much, but it’s all I have to offer.

  He shoots me a small smile and a nod, then reaches out and grabs several of the juicy berries, popping them into his mouth. As he eats, a small bubble of pride rises in my chest. My haul of berries isn’t much, but it is something. He may have followed me out here because he was worried about me, but I’ve managed to keep myself alive in the Nuthoran wilderness for two days, and that’s an accomplishment I can tell he respects.

  That means something to me. Maybe it shouldn’t, but it does.

  The rest of our meal is mostly silent, and by the time I finish my second serving of whatever animal it is that we’re eating, I’m pleasantly full and sleepy. The sun has fully set, and the fire has been slowly dying out until just a few flickers of flame and embers remain.

  I clear my throat and stand, reaching down to pick up the now empty satchel that contained the berries. Bohrir’s gaze tracks the movement, then he looks up at my face, his dark blue eyes hard to read in the dim light.

  “Thank you,” I say quietly. I’m sure it’s not quite the right thing to say, sure there are better words to express what I’m feeling, but I can’t come up with them at the moment.

  He nods, still watching me. “Thank you.”

  For what?

  For the berries? For not running away or trying to attack him with a stick again? For the company by the fire, such as it was?

  I don’t ask. I just give him an awkward wave and then stride back over to the spot where I left my pack. I set up a little sleeping area near the base of one the drooping trees, and I push aside the thin, flexible branches to reach it.

  As they fall into place behind me, they block out some of the starlight and partially obscure Bohrir and the remains of the fire from my view.

  But even as I settle onto the ground, sleep tugging at me with an insistent pull, I feel acutely aware of his presence.

  8

  Bohrir

  Since arriving on Nuthora, I’ve slept under the stars more times than I can count. All of us slept in the open for many days until we found a place to settle and built our little village in the wilderness on this planet, and I’ve slept on the ground at various times when we’ve traveled—most recently, on our trip to Pascia.

  But tonight, I have a difficult time finding sleep.

  It’s not because of the hard ground beneath me or the unfamiliar surroundings. It’s because of Willow. Despite the distance I’m careful to keep between us, I’m acutely aware of her presence nearby. She ducked beneath the shelter of a rasklar tree after sharing the evening meal with me, and I could hear light rustling sounds as she moved about, getting ready to settle in for the night.

  Now, as I stare up at the starlit sky, I can hear the quiet, even sound of her breathing. She seems to be asleep, which I’m grateful for. This planet is harsh and dangerous, and I know Willow has faced even worse trials than my fellow warriors and I have. But I like to imagine that just for this moment, she’s able to find peace. Perhaps she’s able to sleep a little more soundly, knowing that I’m nearby.

  Knowing that she’s not alone.

  My gaze drifts back to the sight of her sitting across the fire from me. The way the light from the flames danced over her features, she looked beautiful and mysterious. Fragile as a delicate flower, but also strong somehow. The strength she has inside her seems to radiate from within, shining from her dark green eyes.

  It’s the strength of a survivor.

  Gods, I wish I had killed Gornok. I know it would’ve been too great a risk, that it was smarter to just take Willow and run. But I hate knowing that he’s still out there, and that he never had to face the consequences of holding another being captive like he did. True, he lost his prized possession when I stole her away—but he deserved far worse than that. He deserved a knife through his throat.

  My hands have clenched into fists, and I force them to relax, drawing in a deep breath and letting it out. These kinds of violent, vicious thoughts are unlike me. I wasn’t lying to Willow earlier when I told her that despite my aptitude for fighting, I always craved a simpler and more peaceful life.

  Although I’ve fought when I needed to, I’ve never found pleasure in it.

  Still, I think I would kill Gornok with a smile on my face if I ever got the chance.

  As I allow myself to indulge briefly in that fantasy, a soft noise catches my attention. A whimper.

  I sit bolt upright, cocking my head as I scan the dark woods around me.

  When the sound comes again, I’m sure I didn’t imagine it. It’s coming from the rasklar tree Willow is sleeping under.

  Fear for her surges through me in a rush, and I leap to my feet, grabbing my dagger from where I left it resting beside me. Another sound comes—louder this time, more like a cry than a whimper—and I rush toward the tree, a flood of terrible possibilities flashing through my mind.

  Did some predatory animal sneak beneath the branches?

  Is she being attacked?

  Or has the very vegetation turned against her? Stinging vines usually prefer patches of ground that get more sunlight, but perhaps there’s a cluster of them beneath the rasklar tree.

  I reach the tree in a few long strides, pushing aside the branches as I prepare to fight, to save Willow from whatever is attacking her. But as I get a glimpse inside the darkened space, I pause.

  She’s still… asleep.

  Nothing has harmed her. Nothing is attacking her. Her eyes are closed, and she’s curled up on her side, one delicate hand tucked beneath her cheek.

  I blink, my heart still racing in my chest. It takes me a long moment to absorb the fact that the Terran woman isn’t in danger, and when I finally do, I take a step back and allow the branches to fall back into place. If she doesn’t need my protection, there’s no reason for me to be watching her while she sleeps—and the last thing I want is for her to wake up and find me looming over her. That might clinch her distrust of me for good.

  Trying to forget how lovely and soft she looked curled up in sleep, I turn to go back to my own little makeshift camp. But before I can take a step, another soft noise filters out from within the tree’s hanging branches.

  It’s Willow’s voice, although this time it’s not just a soft grunt or a cry. This time, she’s speaking.

  “…found Max,” she murmurs. She mutters something else I can’t make out, and then, “I knew you would.”

  I stand still, my ears straining to hear more as my brows furrow. Max? I’ve never heard her mention that name, although the truth is, we’ve barely spoken. It’s possible that it could be the name of one of the pirates in Gornok’s band, but if so, it’s not one that I met.

  And somehow, I don’t think it is. There’s a softness in her voice, even muffled as it is by sleep. A fondness that I doubt she feels for any of her previous captors.

  So who is it?

  A strange and unpleasant feeling expands inside my chest. Something almost like jealousy, although that makes no sense. I do
n’t even know who this person is. Why should I be jealous of them for being in Willow’s life? For being part of her dreams?

  And yet, as illogical as it is, I am.

  There’s so much of her life I don’t know about, and I find myself almost desperate to learn more. Willow is like a beautiful locked box, mysterious and alluring. Even from the very little I know about her, I’m drawn to her, and I have a feeling that finding out what’s beneath her quiet exterior will only make me care about her more.

  Perhaps I can get her to tell me. Maybe there’s still a chance to earn her trust and be allowed past the walls she’s erected around her heart.

  The thought fills me with a sudden determination, and I resolve to try. Now that I’ve made it clear I don’t intend to carry her back to the village, and she seems to have accepted my presence, it feels like a small window has opened between us. A fragile, precarious opportunity to get to know each other out here in the wilderness, far away from the distractions of the village.

  I remain frozen in place for another moment or two, waiting to see if Willow will talk in her sleep again. When she doesn’t, I quietly return to the spot where I was lying earlier and stretch out on the ground. I set my dagger close by in case any threats do materialize during the night, keeping my ears pricked for new sounds as I slowly allow sleep to steal over me.

  * * *

  Dawn sunlight slanting through the trees wakes me, and I roll over onto my back, stretching lightly. It got a bit cool last night, and the grass around me is covered by a thin layer of dew.

  My thoughts immediately turn to Willow, hoping that she was warm enough. I don’t know if she’s planning to travel more today or to stay here, but either way, I resolve to make it a priority to find something I can use to make a blanket for her. An animal skin would work nicely if I can hunt down something big enough.