Page 32 of Charmed By the Alien Warrior

My eyes drift to the wound on Mara’s thigh. I don’t know if she’ll allow me to tend to her, but I have to try.

“How did you injure your leg?” I ask, keeping my voice as neutral as possible even though I feel like tearing whoever hurt her into pieces.

She glances down at her leg as though she’s just now remembering the injury, her expression distant.

“It was Bigfoot.” At my confused look, Mara’s lips twitch. “Um… the Pugj that took me. He stuck his claw into my leg.”

At her words, a surge of furious heat floods my veins shooting through my body. My vision tinges red, and the urge to storm back to the Tussoll village, find the beast who made the mistake of daring to lay a claw on her, and stick my sword into him is almost overwhelming. How dare he—

But then her next words cut through the haze.

“I paid him back by stabbing him.” There is an unexpected glimmer of dark satisfaction in her voice.

I blink in surprise, caught between admiration and concern. These humans… they are dangerous beings. They may be physically smaller and more fragile, but there’s a ferocious strength in them—in Mara—that I’m only just coming to realize.

For a moment, I see her in a different light. She isn’t just a fragile creature to be protected. There is a fire in her, one that I feel drawn to.

“Well, let’s make sure his claw doesn’t kill you.” I manage a small smile, even as my hands tremble slightly with the thought of treating her wound.

I shift closer, my heart pounding harder than I’d like. She’s watching me now, her eyes sharp on my every move, despite her obvious exhaustion. So, I keep my movements slow and deliberate as I carefully tear the material of her pants to make the ragged hole a little bigger. The sharp, angry lines of the claw mark stand out against her pale skin, and I can see the strain in her jaw as she holds herself still.

“This might sting,” I warn, using the waterskin I was able to bring with me to dampen a cloth before pressing it gently to the wound to clean it.

Mara flinches, her fingers digging into the leaves beneath her, but she nods.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur, my voice low. “I’ll be quick.”

“It’s okay. Do what you have to.” She nods, her jaw tight, but she doesn’t flinch again. Her jaw is held so tightly it looks as if it will break.

My fingers brush against her skin as I clean the wound, and I feel a strange tug in my chest, something that seems to go deeper than just concern. It’s a need to protect her, to ease her pain, but it’s more than even that.

I’ve fought alongside the other warriors in the tribe, faced countless dangers together, and tended to numerous wounds over the years. But this feels different. It’s something I can’t quite name yet.

The silence between us grows, becoming tense. I almost resort to my normal banter to break it, but somehow it feels wrong in this moment.

“You did well defending yourself,” I say quietly.

My gaze is fixed on the jagged wound as I smear salixa gel on it, but my mind is on Mara’s courageous fight against the Pugj who took her. I saw the trampled grass and the blood stained ground, and I know how hard she fought him.

She chuckles, though it’s strained. “Probably not as good as a warrior, though.”

“Maybe not,” I concede as I finish wrapping a bandage around the wound, tie if off, and then sit back to admire my handiwork. “But you still fought back, and that’s what matters.”

Her eyes meet mine, and for a moment, there’s something unspoken between us, something fragile yet undeniable. I force myself to break eye contact with her before tucking the medic kit back into my satchel.

“I’m sorry about Kaja,” Mara says suddenly. At my questioning look, she explains, “That she ran away.”

“Ah. She’ll be fine,” I reply with a faint smile. “Kaja is a smart eponir. She’s fought in many battles and knows to return to the village if we’re separated. She’s probably being spoiled by the tribe even now.”

Mara nods, but her expression softens, the faintest shadow of worry lingering. The sight tugs at me, deeper than I’d care to admit.

Wanting to lighten the mood—both hers and mine—I dig into my satchel and pull out the bag of travel rations. “Here,” I offer, passing it to her.

Mara takes it with a small, surprised smile, and we settle into an unspoken rhythm, sharing the food as we rest and passing the travel rations the humans calltrail mixback and forth. Once we’ve eaten our fill, I tuck what remains back into my pack, but the quiet lingers, stretching thin. Just as I consider speaking to fill it, Mara’s voice speaks, breaking through the stillness.

"Thank you," she whispers, her gaze fixed on her clasped hands. "For coming after me, for the shiv.” Her voice wavers, and when her eyes finally meet mine, something raw and unguarded flashes in their depths. My chest tightens, and my thoughts falter.

“The shiv?” I ask, grasping at the unfamiliar word. The chip in my head translates most of the human words she and the other females use, but there are still some it doesn’t recognize.

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