Page 25 of Xara and the Xenobeast

“Sorry, little one.”

The cave was silent except for the soft crackling of the fire and the pups’ occasional chirps. The remains of last night’s meal had been cleared away, the fire stoked, fresh water placed in the makeshift basin he’d fashioned from a piece of wreckage.

She frowned, taking in these details. How long had he been awake? How long had he slept with her before slipping away?

She gathered the pups and made her way to the basin, washing her face and hands in the cool water. As she did, she found herself studying her surroundings more critically, remembering the evidence she’d discovered the previous day of artificial construction. Now that she was aware of the possibility, she identified a few indications she’d missed before—a scorched area like the ones she’d seen deeper in the cave network. The too smooth slab of stone he used to butcher his kills.

Now that she was looking beyond the rough-hewn surface, she could see that the space was meticulously organized. Every item placed with precision, nothing out of alignment. Even the way he moved reflected that same sense of order. She’d noticed it beforewhen he returned from hunting—the careful placement of each foot, the economy of movement, the way he cleaned his work space each time.

The discipline of a soldier, she realized, even though she suspected he wouldn’t see it that way.

The pups scattered across the cave floor, exploring and playing. Dot stayed close to her feet, while the other two wrestled and tumbled over each other.

Trouble was clearly the most aggressive, always nipping at his sibling, always wanting to be on top during their play fights. The other was more strategic, less forceful but ultimately more successful in their contests. Soldier, she thought with a smile as she watched them. They were developing distinct personalities already.

A shadow fell across the cave entrance, and she looked up to see him standing there, silhouetted against the vines. He carried a brace of rabbit-sized creatures with iridescent scales instead of fur.

Her breath caught at the sight of him. In the soft light, his alien beauty was even more striking—the play of light across his silver skin, the ripple of muscles, the way his sensory tendrils seemed to reach toward her even as the rest of him remained perfectly still.

“Good morning,” she said softly.

He inclined his head slightly—acknowledgment, not greeting—and moved past her to the fire, where he began preparing the morning meal with the same methodical precision she’d observed in everything he did.

She watched him work, fascinated by the contrast between his massive strength and the delicate way he handled the food. His claws, capable of tearing through predators with ease, moved with surgeon-like precision as he filleted the meat.

The pups, sensing food, abandoned their play and crowded around his feet, chirping excitedly. He paused in his work to look down at them, and she could have sworn she saw the corner of his mouth twitch upward.

Dot tried to climb his leg like a tree, and one of his tendrils reached down and placed her gently on his shoulder.

“She likes you,” she said, approaching cautiously.

He glanced at her, then down at the pup, who was now nuzzling against his neck, her bioluminescent markings pulsing with contentment.

“Did I tell you that I’m calling her Dot?” she asked, testing the waters.

His eyes flickered to hers, unreadable but attentive.

Encouraged, she pointed to the aggressive pup, who was now trying to climb his other leg. “And you already know he’s trouble.”

The third pup—the clever one—had managed to snatch a small piece of meat while they were distracted and was now retreating to a corner to enjoy his prize.

“And that one,” she said with a laugh, “is Soldier. He’s always planning his next campaign.”

Something crossed his face too quickly for her to read, but he didn’t look away.

“So now we all have names, All of us but you. What do we call you?”

A frown darkened his brow and for a long moment she didn’t think he was going to answer her, but he finally spoke, his voice rough and low from disuse.

“Xenobeast.”

“Xenobeast?” This time she was the one to frown. “That’s not a name.”

He hesitated.

“Made,” he finally said, and her throat tightened.

“That’s what they made you to be?” she whispered, and he nodded abruptly, looking back down at his kill.

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