Page 24 of Legacy for the Alien Warrior

“You are welcome.”

Neither of them moved. The ship hummed around them, the soft, rhythmic sound of the life support systems creating an intimate cocoon of white noise. Kara felt the moment stretching, tension building not from fear or anxiety but from something else entirely—something she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in years.

Before she could overthink it, she rose on her tiptoes and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek—or what passed for a cheek on his alien face. It was meant to be a simple gesture of gratitude, nothing more.

But as she started to pull away, Thraxar turned his head slightly, and suddenly her lips were brushing against the corner of his mouth. The accidental contact sent a jolt through her body that had nothing to do with the whiskey.

She should have stepped back immediately. Instead, she hesitated just long enough for Thraxar to respond, his large hand coming up to cup her face with surprising gentleness.

The kiss deepened, evolving from an accident to a deliberate exploration. His lips were warmer than a human’s, his taste exotic but not unpleasant. Kara’s hands found their way to his chest, palms pressing against the firm muscle there, feeling the rapid beat of what she assumed was his heart.

The sensation of his skin beneath her fingers was intoxicating—smooth in some places, textured in others, radiating heat that seemed to flow directly into her core. His tail curled around her ankle in a gesture that felt possessive and thrilling.

For precious seconds, she lost herself in the contact, in the simple pleasure of being touched and desired after so long. Then reality crashed back—the precariousness of their situation, the fact that Rory depended on her completely, the risk of complicating their escape with emotional entanglements.

Kara broke the kiss, stepping back so abruptly that she nearly stumbled. Thraxar’s hands fell away immediately, though his expression revealed both confusion and unmistakable desire.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice unsteady. “I didn’t mean to—I should go.”

“Kara—”

“Goodnight, Thraxar.” She turned and hurried from the lounge, not trusting herself to say more.

The corridor to their cabin seemed longer than before, each step an effort as her mind replayed the kiss in vivid detail. By the time she reached the door, her heart rate had barely slowed.

Inside, Rory slept peacefully, curled around the small blanket Thraxar had provided, his face relaxed in the innocence of childhood. The sight of him centered her, as it always did. Whatever else happened, whatever complications arose, he remained her constant, her purpose.

She checked his breathing, a habit formed during their time on the asteroid when illness could sweep through the miners’ quarters without warning. Satisfied that he was well, she slipped into the narrow bunk beside him, careful not to disturb his rest.

Sleep should have been impossible with her mind racing and her body still humming from the encounter in the lounge. Yet exhaustion claimed her quickly, dragging her down into dreams filled with strong green hands, intricate patterns that shifted beneath her touch, and a pair of eyes that saw her—truly saw her—for the first time in years.

In her dreams, she didn’t pull away.

CHAPTER TEN

Thraxar remained frozen in the lounge long after Kara disappeared down the corridor. His pulse hammered against his ribs, and his skin felt too tight, too hot. The taste of her lingered on his mouth—alien yet impossibly sweet.

But it was the undeniable physical response of his body that left him truly stunned.

Every Cire male knew the stories. The elders had been clear: only a female of their own species could trigger the mating response. It was biological certainty, evolutionary design—the foundation of their species’ continuation. A Cire male’s body simply couldn’t respond to other species in that particular way.

Yet here he stood, his body unmistakably, undeniably aroused.

Impossible.

He paced the small confines of the lounge, his tail lashing behind him in agitation. The ship’s environmental controls hummed steadily, but he barely registered the sound over the rush of blood in his ears.

Had the elders lied? Or had they simply been wrong? Either possibility unsettled him deeply. If they had been wrong aboutthis fundamental aspect of Cire biology, what else might they have misunderstood?

He stopped abruptly, his hand pressed against the cool metal wall. He should feel guilty. This reaction to a non-Cire female should fill him with shame—a betrayal of his species when they stood on the precipice of extinction.

But the guilt wouldn’t come.

Instead, a dangerous warmth spread through his chest when he thought of Kara’s determined eyes, her fierce protection of her young, the unexpected softness of her lips against his. She was unlike any female he had ever encountered, of any species.

“You don’t deserve a mate,” he muttered to himself, the words harsh in the empty room.

He had survived when his family perished. He had run when others stayed to rebuild. What right did he have to find connection when so many of his people remained alone?

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