Page 24 of Charmed By the Alien Warrior

The night stretches into day, and my captor travels at a fast pace, moving quickly through the jungle. My mouth feels like sandpaper, and my stomach growls loud enough that even Bigfoot grunts in irritation. But he doesn’t offer me water or food, of course. I focus on staying awake, scanning my surroundings for anything familiar, but the jungle looks different now.

The trees thin out, and the foliage shifts in color and density. This doesn’t look like Anuriix territory. Just as I have that thought, I hear shouting. My pulse spikes.Where the hell am I?

Not Anuriix territory, that’s for sure. Or at least, not what I’ve seen of it.

We pass through wooden gates, thrown wide open, and into a village. I can’t see much from my awkward position, but voices echo around us. A few of them the guttural snarls of other Pugjs, but the other voices...for a split second, they give me hope.

The other voices are smooth and deep with a lyrical quality that reminds me of laughing gray eyes. The other voices belong to Laediriians!

But the hope growing in my chest is quickly dashed when the voices draw near and congratulate Bigfoot on his capture of a female and then direct him where to put me.

Shit.I should have known. It’s the Tussoll tribe. Chief Daggir was right—they’re allied with the Pugj. Thoughts race through my head as I try to remember everything I’ve heard about the other tribe.

I never really paid much attention to the talk surrounding what’s going on among the the different tribes on this planet other than enough to know that there’s some bad blood between them. It’s just my luck to get thrown into the middle of some tribal conflict. As my mom would say, “If I didn’t have bad luck, I wouldn’t have any luck at all.”

Bigfoot carries me into a building, the air cooling immediately as we enter. Warm, polished wooden walls surround me, and the floor glimmers with blue stone veined with gold. The door swings shut behind us, muting the noises outside.

“Set the female there,” a low, growling voice commands.

Bigfoot doesn’t hesitate, dumping me on the floor with a thud that rattles my teeth, before removing my gag. Pain jolts through my body, but I bite back a whimper.

I quickly glance around the room, noting several other aliens. My gaze darts over them, taking in every detail as quickly as possible.

Another Pugj looms near the door, his massive, shaggy frame impossible to ignore. He stands with an air of authority,so I immediately nickname him Chief Bigfoot in my head. Then, there are five Laediriians—two flanking a chair that looks suspiciously like a throne, standing stiff and expressionless like guards, and one seated like royalty. Another sits on a chair near the first, with his own guard at his shoulder.

The two warriors standing on either side of the throne catch my attention first. My gaze snags on one of them, a massive figure almost rivaling the bulk of the Pugj. A wicked scar carves its way from his broad forehead, slicing through his brow ridge, down past one milky white eye, and bisecting his wide mouth. The scarred Laediriiian’s presence alone is enough to make me uneasy. He doesn’t move or speak, but his sheer size and the harshness of his face scream danger.

The other Laediriians are… different. At first glance, they share the features I’ve come to associate with Draggar’s tribe: shades of blue-green skin, silver hair—some with teal highlights, elf-like ears, raised ridges instead of eyebrows, and those fascinating armored ridges.

But these guys are a little different. They’re smaller. Almost puny in comparison. Their muscles lack the bulk and definition I’m used to seeing on the warriors from the Anuriix tribe. They don’t look like gym bros, more like… well, guys who skipped leg day. Even their height is off, only a few inches taller than the average human man.

My eyes dart to the one seated on the throne, and immediately, a cold shiver creeps down my spine. Unlike the others, this Laediriiian doesn’t bother with simplicity. He’s draped in what looks like blue silk, the fabric flowing over his frame like a toga, leaving one shoulder bare. His posture is relaxed, almost too casual, but the calculated intensity in hiscold eyes tells me he’s dangerous. Everything about him screams control and arrogance.

It’s clear who he is. This is Haavor, the chief of the Tussoll tribe.

And he’s seated on an intricately carved chair. A throne.

The longer I study him, the more my unease grows. There’s something... off. The other Laediriians defer to him like he’s more than a chief, and when his lips curl into a sneer, it all clicks into place.

He’s not just leading a tribe. He thinks he’s leading everyone.

Fucking hell, it’s alien Nero.

Then, he opens his mouth and confirms exactly that.

“Female,” he announces, his voice dripping with smug authority. “I am Haavor, the chief of the Tussoll tribe.” He spreads his arm wide in an almost royal flourish and pauses as if he expects me to applaud or something.

Maybe he wants me to bow or curtsy.Yeah, I’m not doing that.

When I don’t react, his face hardens and he continues his introduction, “And the supreme leader of all Laediriians.”

Haavor sits back with a smug sneer on his face, obviously proud of his title. His make-believe title.

From everything I’ve learned about the people on this planet, there are no supreme leaders. There aren’t any presidents or prime ministers or kings or emperors. Instead, each tribe is led by a chief who is usually chosen by the tribal members, and each chief is only responsible for their own tribe. Not the entire species.

I arch an eyebrow skeptically. “And? Am I supposed to be impressed?”

His face darkens and his heavy brow draws down until his eyes are shadowed.

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