"You don’t seem like the type who enjoys war," she had said just last night, her voice quiet but steady.
I had stared into the fire, unwilling to meet her gaze. "Because I am not."
She hadn't pressed further, but I had seen the understanding in her eyes. And perhaps something else—curiosity or even trust.
Now, as I stepped outside, the crisp mountain air filled my lungs. The world was silent but for the occasional rustling of branches in the wind. I had been fortunate to find this isolated dwelling. It allowed me to disappear from the eyes of both humans and my own kind. And yet, Ava had disrupted that solitude in a way I had not anticipated.
For the first time in years, I wasn’t alone. And the truth I had been avoiding pressed in on me—I didn’t want to be.
Ava
The cabin smelled of wood smoke and the faint, lingering scent of dried herbs. I had always been stubborn, but even I had to admit that I was healing faster than expected. Whether it was my own resilience or the carefulattention of my reluctant savior, I wasn’t sure.
Koha’vek was an enigma. He was a warrior who did not wish to fight, an alien who seemed to want nothing more than to disappear into the mountains. I had caught him watching me more than once, his golden eyes unreadable, but he never said what was on his mind.
Today, I felt well enough to move without the sharp sting of pain at every step. I tested my ankle, biting back a wince. It was still tender, but at least I wasn’t completely useless.
The cabin door swung open, and Koha’vek stepped inside, his gaze flickering to me before he set down a small bundle of wood near the hearth. “You shouldn’t push yourself.”
I crossed my arms. “I’m fine.”
He let out a soft, almost amused huff. “You are human. You do not heal as quickly as you think you do.”
I smirked. “And you’re a terrible conversationalist.”
For the first time since I had met him, Koha’vek hesitated, and then—to my complete shock—he chuckled. It was a deep, rich sound, so brief I almost thought I imagined it. But it had been real.
Something between us shifted at that moment, subtle but undeniable.
I wasn’t sure what it meant yet. But I had afeeling I was going to find out.
Koha’vek–A Few Days Later
The fire crackled as I watched Ava from across the cabin. She was reading a book she had found in the storage chest, her fingers tracing the edges of the pages as she lost herself in the words.
A strange thing had begun to happen over the past few days. At first, I had told myself it was nothing—that her presence was simply an inconvenience I had yet to resolve. But the more I watched her, the more I found myself anticipating her laughter, her sharp-witted remarks, and the way she met my gaze without fear.
I had spent years avoiding attachments, telling myself I was better off alone, that it was safer that way. But now, I was beginning to question whether that was what I truly wanted.
I was Mesaarkan. She was human. We had no place in each other’s worlds. And yet, I could not deny the truth.
I had begun to care for her.
The realization was unsettling, yet I did not push it away. Instead, I let it settle within me like the slow burn of embers in a dying fire.
Because for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t just surviving.
I was living.
Chapter Ten
Raven
The scent of roasted chicken and herbs filled the air as Hannah set the last dish on the table. Grace had outdone herself, making sure we ate well despite the tension hanging over us like a storm cloud. It had been a long day of reinforcing the ranch, but there was still an uneasy energy in the room, one none of us could shake.
Grace sat down heavily, resting a hand on her swollen belly. She gave us a tired smile, but I could see the worry in her eyes. Hannah reached for her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze before we all started eating.
For a while, the only sound was the clatter of utensils against plates. The food was good and hearty, but the weight of everything that loomed ahead dulled the flavor. Finally, Grace let out a heavy sigh and set her fork down, rubbing at her temples.
