Page 35 of Bonded to the Star-Beast

Time has no meaning. There is only the fever, a burning sun inside me, and the bond, a cold ache in my chest. Sometimes, through the haze, I feel him. Not a hallucination, but a presence. A low thrum of protective energy on the edge of my awareness. He is close.

He defied the council. He came for me.

The thought is a flicker of clarity in the delirium. It should terrify me. He is coming to drag me back, to force the claiming. But the feeling that bleeds across the bond isn't triumph. It's a gut-wrenching, soul-deep worry. His worry. For me.

Another moment of lucidity. I am awake enough to sip water from the canteen placed beside my head. It is fresh. My other canteen, which was nearly empty, is now full. He brought me water. He is providing for me, but he is not here. He is keeping his distance.

Hypothesis: Subject Jaro is exhibiting behavior inconsistent with traditional Xylosian claiming protocols. He is providing resources without asserting dominance. He is respecting my stated demand for autonomy, even in my most vulnerable state.

This data does not compute.

I slip back under, into the churning sea of fever dreams. The forest pulses with impossible colors. Plants with crystalline leaves sing in a language I almost understand. The world is data, pure and overwhelming, and my mind is the processor, overheating, on the verge of catastrophic failure.

And then, the forest changes. The screaming colors soften. The deafening sounds coalesce into a single, rhythmic pulse, like a great heart beating. The air is warm, fragrant with the scent of night-blooming jasmine and something else... something that smells like him. Like home.

He is here. Not as a hallucination or a distant echo, but standing before me, solid and real. He is in his humanoid form, dressed in the simple leathers he wore on our journey, his amber eyes clear and steady. The fever-heat recedes, leaving only the gentle warmth of the bond pulsing between us.

“Where are we?” I ask, and my voice is whole, my thoughts lucid.

“I do not know,” he says, his own voice clear, without the cultural or linguistic barriers that have always stood between us. “A place our hearts made, I think.”

I look down at myself. I am not sick. I am not weak. I am whole. “A shared dreamscape. Induced by the bond's resonance under extreme physiological stress.”

He gives a small, sad smile. “You are still a scientist, even in a dream.”

“It's who I am, Jaro. It's all I am.”

“No. It is not.” He takes a step closer, and the air around us shimmers. “I have felt your heart, Kendra. It is more than just data and analysis.”

“What is this place?” I ask again, looking around at the surreal, beautiful forest.

“A place where we can speak without misunderstanding,” he says. “A place for... truth.”

The word hangs in the air. Truth. A variable I have been unable to accurately quantify.

“Alright, Jaro. Let's talk about truth,” I say, crossing my arms. “Tell me the truth about the claiming ceremony.”

He doesn't flinch. He just looks at me, his gaze direct. “It was the only path I could see.”

“The only path? Or the easiest path? The one your culture laid out for you, a path of dominance and possession that required no thought, no empathy, no understanding of who I am.”

There. The anger is still there. Sharp and clean.

“I thought it would protect you,” he says, his voice low. “I thought giving you my name, my status, would shield you from Vex and the others. I thought it was what a warrior does for his mate. He claims her. He protects what is his.”

“What is his,” I repeat, the words tasting like poison.That's the core of the problem, isn't it? The fundamental error in your logic. I am not a thing to be owned.“Did you ever once consider what that ritual would do to me? To the person inside the 'alien female' you were so determined to protect?”

He looks down, his massive shoulders slumping slightly. It is the first time I have ever seen him look defeated. “I... did not understand. My people... we do not think of it in this way. The bond is a sign of strength. The claiming is a demonstration of that strength. It is how we have always survived.”

“By possessing your females? By treating them as territory to be conquered and held?” The questions are sharp, accusatory, but they need to be asked.

“It is not... it was not meant to be a cruelty,” he says, finally meeting my eyes again. The raw vulnerability there is staggering. “It was meant to be an honor. To be claimed by the prince... it is a high station. I did not see... I could not see it through your eyes.”

I feel my anger begin to soften, replaced by a weary sadness.He's not malicious. He's just... indoctrinated. A product of his culture, his world.

“And you, Kendra,” he says, his voice taking on a new intensity. “Why did you run? Why must you always be alone? Why is the idea of accepting protection so terrifying to you?”

His questions hit their mark, piercing through my scientific detachment.Because no one ever protected me. They managed me. My intellect. My potential. But not me. Never just me.

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