Page 21 of Alien Protector's Bond
“I will assist you, then you assist me.” I moved closer, aware of the necessary intimacy. My hands could easily encircle her wrists—a reminder to be careful with her more fragile physiology. “It must cover all exposed skin.”
Her eyes widened slightly, but she gave a brisk nod. “Practical necessity. Let’s get it over with.” Dismissive words, but a slight flush rose on her cheeks—human response to discomfort or anticipation. I hadn’t been taught to notice the faint freckles across her nose, or how her eyes changed color with emotion.
I dipped fingers into the paste, the blue-on-pale contrast stark as I carefully applied it to her arms. The bond hummed, unsettling but hard to resist—an insistent current demanding acknowledgment. My hands dwarfed her forearms. Her muscles tensed, then relaxed as I maintained a clinical approach. Her pulse jumped beneath my fingers—fear? Discomfort? Something else?
The markings responded differently, warming, brightening beneath the paste, patterns shifting subtly, following my fingers as if seeking connection. “Your markings,” I observed. “They respond to contact.”
She shivered beneath my fingertips, silver lines pulsing in perfect synchrony with my lifelines. In that mirrored glow, I realized the universe had painted matching constellations across our skin so we’d never lose each other in the dark.
“They seem to respond specifically to you,” she admitted reluctantly. “The bond, I think.”
The bond. Unchosen, yet growing despite resistance. Among Nyxari, lifebonds were sacred, celebrated—but only between Nyxari. Connection with a human, especially marked, violated every teaching.
I paused, meeting her gaze. The admission cost her—tightness around her eyes, slight lift of her chin. Pride and vulnerability warred. She was as uncomfortable as I, yet practical enough to acknowledge it.
“The bond may serve our escape,” I said finally, resuming. True, yet incomplete—a tactical observation avoiding deeper implications. “If it allows sensing location or status.”
She held still as I applied paste to her face, careful around eyes and mouth. This proximity, once unthinkable, felt... less alien than it should.
“Is that how it works for your people? Like a tracking system?” Careful probing at forbidden knowledge.
“More complex,” I admitted, searching for words for things known only from teachings. “For true lifemates, awareness beyond physical senses. Emotions, intentions... sometimes thoughts, in moments of great intensity.” Profound bonds created unity, strengthened both while maintaining identity.
My tail flicked once—betraying discomfort. Sacred knowledge, not for outsiders. Yet was she still merely an outsider?
“Is that what scares you?” she asked quietly, gaze sharp. “That I might access your thoughts?”
Closer to truth than I wished. The vulnerability—not just shared knowledge, but deeper intimacy. To be truly known... compelling, terrifying. My hands stilled. “What scares me,” I said carefully, “is I was sent to protect my people from the very thing I now participate in.”
Her expression sobered. “I didn’t ask for these markings either, Ravik.”
My name on her lips sent an unexpected ripple through my lifelines. Few humans spoke my true name. Another small bridge, another crack in the wall of separation.
I finished applying paste to her neck, then handed her the mixture. My own discomfort was greater than expected. Among Nyxari, such contact was rare outside family or ceremony.
Her smaller hands worked efficiently. Hesitant at first, then more confident. The sensation... not unpleasant. Precise fingers, even coverage, minimal contact respecting unstated boundaries.
When her fingers traced my lifelines, they brightened despite my suppression. Golden patterns reached toward her touch, momentary connections sending warmth cascading through me. Involuntary betrayal by the forming bond.
“So they react to me too,” she observed, voice carefully neutral.
“Yes.” No point denying the visible.
She worked silently—arms, face, exposed chest where clothing tore during capture. The air charged with unsaid things. The paste dried quickly, invisible but effective.
“Should last six hours,” I explained, retreating to technical safety. “After that, structure breaks down, especially near vent energy fields.”
She nodded, wiping residue from her hands. “More than enough time.”
“Tomorrow,” I said, moving back, reestablishing distance. “First phase. You access the command center via vents. Icreate a diversion near the water reclamation unit.” Sound plan, leveraging strengths, accounting for limitations. Yet risk remained.
“And if something goes wrong?” she asked, practical, not fearful.
My tail twitched. “Then we improvise.”
A small, genuine smile touched her lips. “Starting to think there might be more to you than duty and scowls, Shadow Canyon.”
The casual clan reference triggered another ripple. Few outsiders knew clan designations, fewer used them familiarly. She continued to surprise, challenge preconceptions.
