Page 46 of Tempted By the Alien Warrior

She’s not going to stop. Not now. Not ever.

And I follow her, just a step behind, knowing sarding well that whatever comes next, we’ll face it together.

By the time the day begins to slip toward night, I can see the hazy outline of the cliffs we’re heading for rising like dark, jagged shadows against a sky streaked with pink and purple. We won’t reach them before nightfall.

The jungle slowly thins around us. The dense foliage gives way to scattered trees, boulders as big as a magnis, and patches of open ground. The path curves ahead, dipping gently between two steep ridges.

And then we see it. Lake Mariial.

Nestled like a secret between the stone arms of two ridges, the lake stretches wide and clear before us, its surface shimmering under the fading light. Tufts of tall grass sway lazily in the breeze rolling down from the cliffs. The air smells cleaner here, touched with the scent of fresh water and the faint sweetness of some unseen bloom.

Liseks, larger than the ones in Anuriix territory, swoop low over the water, their wings skimming the surface as they dive for prey. Along the shallows, vibrantly colored psittas wade with slow, deliberate steps, dipping their pointy beaks beneath the surface to snatch up water insectoids.

Emily halts so suddenly I nearly bump into her.

“Holy hell,” she breathes out. “It’s beautiful.”

It is. Even I have to admit it.

Near the water’s edge, I spot a massive tree with low-hanging limbs. Its roots twist into the soil like the claws of a giant beast, and the ground beneath its trunk is blanketed in thick, soft moss. It’s quiet here and sheltered. That makes it perfect.

“We’ll stop here for the night,” I say.

Emily nods, her eyes still fixed on the lake like she doesn’t want to look away.

We quickly begin setting up camp for the night. While Emily starts gathering kindling for a fire, I turn my attention to finding something for us to eat. Something that isn’ttrail rations.

Emily hasn’t complained, but I’ve seen the way she slowly eats her fill, as if she can barely stomach one more handful. We’ve both tired of trail rations.

She moves along the lake’s edge, her eyes scanning the ground, collecting bits of dry wood. Every so often, I feel her gaze flick to me. Not out of concern, but as if she can’t stop herself from seeking me out. Like even while focused on her task, some part of her is always aware of me.

I catch one of those glances and hold it for a heartbeat too long. Long enough to see the way her cheeks flush a deep red before she quickly drops her gaze and busies herself with the wood she’s gathered.

It still baffles me how just a glance from this one female can make my chest feel too tight and my blood surge through my veins in a searing wave. I drag my eyes away from her before I can make a fool of myself.

I spot a sturdy branch half-buried in the grass. It’s straight, sturdy, about as long as I am tall, and perfect for what I have in mind. Drawing one of my blades, I strip the leaves and carve one end to a sharp point, testing it with my thumb. If I’m fortunate, the lake will give us something more appetizing than preserved meat for our evening meal.

By the time I wade into the shallows, the light has shifted, turning the sky a deep shade of purple. The water is cold against my bare legs, but I welcome the bite. It sharpens me and helps me focus. I move slowly, each step deliberate and careful, sending thin ripples fanning out across the glassy surface of the lake.

Beneath me, shadows dart and flicker, slipping just out of reach before I can even aim my spear. Narrowing my eyes, I track their movements, patient and silent as a hunting xeno. I don’t intend to leave the lake empty-handed. Not tonight.

Not when she deserves better.

Then I see them. A pair of iascii weaving around a submerged rock, their short tentacles waving in front of them. I move closer, not even daring to breathe. They don’t seem to have noticed the predator in their midst, and when one glides close, I strike.

The spear cuts through the water with a clean hiss, and when I pull it back, both of the iasciis dangle from the end. They’re plump creatures with flaky pink meat that is filling and delicious, particularly roasted over an open fire.

When I return to our camp, Emily is kneeling beside a small pile of kindling at the edge of the tree we chose for shelter. Her brow is furrowed in concentration as she coaxes a flame to life. Her gaze lifts from her task, and as soon as she sees me, her face lights up.

Then, her gaze drops to the creatures dangling from my hands. “They’re pink. Hot pink,” she says slowly, blinking at the creatures like she’s not sure whether to be amused or alarmed.

I glance at them, puzzled by her reaction. “They’re iasciis,” I reply, setting them down on a flat stone to clean.

Emily lets out a short laugh and shakes her head. “They look like something Lisa Frank would come up with.”

I don’t know what that means, but her voice is lighter. She smiles—so wide I can see nearly all of her teeth—and just like that, something loosens in my chest. The tightness around my heart eases, just a little. I feel like I’m as tall as a cupressi tree. Like I’ve finally done something right. The corners of my mouth twitch upward against my will. Instinctively, I force them back into a firm line.

While I tend the iasciis over the fire, I feel her gaze drift to me in quick, stolen glances. Like she doesn’t want me to notice, but I do, because each brush of her gaze leaves a trail of heat on my skin.

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