Page 32 of Tempted By the Alien Warrior

I glance around at the faces I’ve come to know so well. Somewhere along the way, this stopped being just about survival. I’m not just a guest here anymore. These people aremytribe now, too—the warriors, the elders, even the kids who tug at my hands and ask me to braid their hair. I’m building a life with them, and I’ll fight for them just as fiercely as I would for my sister or the friends I arrived with.

But asking them to reach out? To trust again after everything they've lost? That’s not a small thing.

For a while, no one speaks. The only sounds are the crackling fire and the bright voices of the kids in the tribe at their own table, unaware of the tension simmering just feet away.

Then, Morgan clears her throat. “No offense, Chief, but didn’t you already send warriors out to look for Emily?” She meets his gaze without flinching. “That was a risk. And sitting here doing nothing is a risk, too. One that grows every day the Pugj are out there growing stronger.”

A few warriors shift uncomfortably. Someone mutters under their breath, but no one disagrees with her. I watch Daggir as his fingers tap idly against the worn wood of the table.

Morgan presses on. “All I’m saying is… what’s the harm in trying?”

The chief doesn’t respond right away. The tension tightens, winding through the gathered warriors like a coiled rope ready to snap. Some glance at each other with unease flickering in their eyes. Others stare down at their plates as if the food before them is suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world. Even Sorrin shifts restlessly beside me.

Daggir’s gaze turns speculative. He’s weighing the risks, turning the idea over like a blade in his hands, testing its weight and its edge.

Seeing his hesitation, I speak up. “On Earth, forming alliances is how we’ve survived for thousands of years. There’s strength in numbers. And what’s the alternative? Sitting here and waiting for them to wipe us out?”

Draggar nods grimly, his arm tightening protectively around Haley. “The humans speak the truth. The Tussoll and Pugj are growing bolder. They’ve started raiding our supply caches in the norther part of the territory, and our hunters report being stalked. I’ve had to order the warriors not to travel alone anymore. There have been too many skirmishes. If we do nothing, we invite destruction.”

Finally, Daggir releases a heavy sigh. “The Silare and Icerii are fierce. They might even kill our warriors as soon as they set foot in their territories.”

Morgan shakes her head. “Not if we give them a reason to listen.” She glances around the table, meeting the gaze of each person gathered. A slow smile spreads across her lips. “This tribe can offer something no other tribe on the planet has.”

She gestures to herself, to me, and to the other women sitting around the table.

I meet her eyes and grin as her meaning becomes clear.

“I’m not saying we go in there and start—” She waves her hand vaguely. “—offering ourselves up like sacrifices. But think about it. Every tribe on this planet is struggling. The Laediriian people are dying out. But you,” she points to Daggir, “and your warriors, you’ve got mates now. You have hope. And there’s nothing more tempting than hope.”

She spreads her hands in a gesture that’s part shrug, part sales pitch. “Think of it as a little sugar to sweeten the deal.”

The Laediriians are quiet as they exchange puzzled glances with each other. The translator chips in our heads usually do a decent job. Actually, more than decent. But Earth idioms? Those get tricky. Sometimes hilariously so.

Like when Aria, blissfully unaware of the chaos she was about to unleash, asked one of the warriors to give her a hand moving furniture around the medic hut.

The poor guy went pale, stared at his own hand like he was mentally preparing to cut it off, and then asked if she preferred his dominant hand or if the other would be sufficient.

He still keeps his distance from her.

Enosir frowns. “You wish to feed them?” His voice is tinged with alarm, probably at the thought of giving up any food. The guy does love to eat. “How will sweetened food make them ally with us?”

Isabella snorts, and I stifle a chuckle.

Morgan opens her mouth, probably to explain, but before she can say anything, Crystal leans forward, one eyebrow arched high on her forehead. “Maybe talk less and smile more.”

Morgan shoots her a dry look. “Not helping, Hamilton.”

Crystal just shrugs, completely unbothered. “Hey, you’re the one pitching intertribal diplomacy using metaphors.” She crosses her arms. “And it was Aaron Burr, by the way.”

Morgan looks like she’s debating whether to groan or strangle her.

“Besides,” Crystal adds, smirking, “better sugar than the time I told Warrix to bite me, and he asked me if it was an Earth mating ritual.”

That earns an actual snort-laugh from me, and a strangled sound from Morgan that sounds like muffled laughter.

But Crystal just shrugs. Her lips curve into a smile like she’s enjoying herself.

Finally, Morgan turns back to Enosir, shaking her head. “It’s an Earth expression. Sugar means something sweet, like an incentive. If they have the hope of one day having mates, they might be more likely to join forces with this tribe.”

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