Page 9 of Alien Warlord's Fury
He arranged his sleeping mat inside the hollow. "They would have forbidden it."
"Since when do you defy the council?"
"Since they made the wrong decision." He met my eyes, his expression solemn. "The younglings must be saved. You cannot do it alone."
"The equation is simple."
"Nothing about this is simple." I handed back the water skin. "You're risking everything—your position, your standing with the Aerie. Why?"
For a long moment, he didn't answer. When he did, his voice was low, almost reluctant. "Because it is necessary."
It wasn't the whole truth. I could feel it, a pressure at the edges of my awareness, like there was something more trying to push through. Something he wasn't saying.
But exhaustion was catching up with me, making my thoughts fuzzy. I crawled into the hollow, keeping to one side as Nirako settled on the other. The space was tight, forcing us to lie closer than I was comfortable with.
His heat radiated across the small gap between us, his scent—pine and something else, something uniquely him—filling my nostrils. My markings pulsed lazily, responding to his proximity. For the first time since the council chamber, the silver light hummed not with pain but with possibility. I let the quiet throb cradle me, pretending it was merely exhaustion and not the lure of the warrior beside me.
"Sleep," he said, his voice rumbling in the enclosed space. "I will keep watch."
"We should take shifts."
"You need rest more than I do. Your markings drain your energy."
I wanted to argue, but he was right. Again. My eyelids were already heavy, my body demanding sleep despite the adrenaline still coursing through my veins.
"Wake me in four hours," I murmured, already drifting.
The last thing I saw before sleep claimed me was Nirako's face, his eyes watching me with an expression I couldn't decipher. Protective? Concerned? Something else entirely?
I drifted under with that mystery etched behind my eyelids, softer than any lullaby.
Whatever it was, it followed me into dreams filled with silver and gold light, twining together in patterns that seemed almost like writing. Like they were trying to tell me something important, if only I knew how to read them.
NIRAKO
Iwoke before dawn, the forest's dim light filtering through the canopy. Claire slept beside me, curled into herself, her face tense even in sleep. Her markings flickered occasionally, responding to whatever haunted her dreams.
I rose silently, checking our surroundings. The forest had changed overnight. New cracks split the earth near our camp, thin fissures that hadn't been there when we'd settled.
Plants along the western edge had withered, their leaves curled and blackened. The air carried a faint metallic tang. Something was wrong with the land itself.
Claire stirred, her eyes opening to find me watching her. She sat up quickly, pushing tangled hair from her face. The morning light caught in those strands, turning them to threads of wildfire. I felt an absurd urge to smooth them back, to claim a gentleness I had never been trained to show.
"How long until we move?" No greeting, just urgency.
"We eat first." I handed her a portion of dried meat and fruit. "The terrain ahead is unstable."
Her gaze drifted westward, eyes unfocusing briefly. "The younglings don't have time for breakfast."
"The younglings need us alive." I kept my voice level. "Eat."
She took the food reluctantly, her markings pulsing with irritation. I felt it through our developing bond—a sharp, impatient energy that pushed against my own steadier rhythm. I matched my breathing to hers until the frantic cadence eased. In the small quiet that followed, I realized my calm existed now for her benefit as much as for the mission’s.
We broke camp efficiently. Claire moved with nervous energy, constantly looking west, her attention scattered. I noticed how she winced occasionally, pressing fingers to her temples when she thought I wasn't watching.
The visions were getting worse.
Worse for her meant worse for me; our fates had tangled long before either of us admitted it aloud. I vowed, in that silent admission, to shoulder whatever storm reached her first.
