Page 11 of Bonded to the Star-Beast

I look up at the alien male. He is staring at his own chest, at an identical, glowing blue crescent mark on his navy-blue skin. His expression is one of stunned, horrified recognition.

He looks at me, and his amber eyes are wide with something I can't decipher. Awe? Fear? Reverence? He takes a stumbling step forward, his hand outstretched, not in a threat, but in a gesture of... discovery.

He speaks, his voice a deep, resonant rumble. The words are guttural, alien, but my wrist-comp, its translator damaged but partially functional, flickers to life.

“Maa-na... khol...”

The screen on my comp flashes a single, terrifying word: [POSSESSION].

I scramble backwards, my mind reeling.Possession?

He takes another step, his eyes fixed on the glowing mark on my chest. He points from his mark to mine, then back again. He says another word, his voice filled with a strange, possessive certainty.

“Vaa-kosh.”

The translator flickers a new interpretation, just as horrifying as the first: [PROPERTY].

“No,” I whisper, the word a ragged gasp. I shake my head, pushing myself further away from him, my back hitting the cold metal of my shelter. “No. I am not...”

He doesn't seem to understand my words, or perhaps he doesn't care. His focus is absolute, a predator that has found its... what? Its prey? Its prize?

His culture, his instincts, whatever ingrained tribal lore he operates on, has given him a conclusion. He sees the mark, and it means something to him. Something fundamental.

He takes a final step, looming over me. He is no longer a monster of fur and claws, but he is no less intimidating. He is a warrior. A prince, if I am to judge by the innate authority that radiates from him. And he has decided that I belong to him.

He crouches down, bringing his face level with mine. The scent of him is overwhelming, a wild, clean musk of ozone, forest, and something uniquely, powerfully male. It should be terrifying. It is. But beneath the terror, my own traitorous body responds with a flicker of something else. A pull. An inexplicable, biological resonance.

No. I will not be a specimen. I will not be a prize. I will not be property.

“I am not your possession,” I say, my voice low and fierce, each word a piece of sharpened flint. I meet his glowing amber gaze without flinching, channeling every ounce of defiance I have left. “I belong to no one.”

He frowns, the word “no” one of the few universal concepts, it seems. He cocks his head, as if confused by my resistance. To him, this is a settled matter. The marks have appeared. The bond, whatever it is, has been declared.

He reaches out, his large hand moving towards my face. I jerk back, pressing myself harder against the metal wall.

“Don't touch me,” I hiss.

His hand stops, hovering in the air between us. His eyes narrow, a flicker of frustration, of challenged authority, entering them for the first time.

We are locked in a standoff, two beings from different star systems, bound by an impossible, agonizing biological event. He, the warrior-prince, driven by an instinct I cannot comprehend. And I, the scientist, the survivor, refusing to surrender the one thing I have left.

My choice.

The glowing blue crescent on my chest pulses with a strange, insistent heat, a silent testament to the bond I refuse to accept. His mark pulses in reply. We are connected. We are marked. And I have no idea what that means.

But I know one thing with absolute, unshakeable certainty.

I will not be claimed.

Chapter 6: CLAIMED

Iam not his possession. The words are a shield, the only weapon I have left against the overwhelming reality of him. He crouches before me, a creature of myth and nightmare, and the glowing blue crescent on my chest pulses in time with the one on his.

He doesn't understand my language, but he understands defiance. His amber eyes, still glowing with a faint, residual light from his transformation, narrow slightly. He cocks his head, a gesture of confusion that would be almost endearing on a lesser creature. On him, it is unnerving.

He points a large, navy-blue finger first to the mark on his chest, then to mine. He repeats the gesture, his expression insistent.See? We match. It is done.

“I see it,” I say, my voice steady despite the tremor running through my body. I force myself to my feet, using the buckled wall of the pod for support. I will not be interrogated on myknees. “But I don't know what it means. And I certainly don't accept your... interpretation.”

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