Page 28 of Xara and the Xenobeast

The thought was both terrifying and exhilarating.

No one had needed him before—not as anything but a weapon. His creators had wanted his strength, his killing efficiency.They’d never wanted his thoughts, his questions, his refusal to destroy the innocent.

But she looked at him and saw... what? A protector? A companion? Something more?

“I guess you do like me after all,” she’d said when she’d discovered his arousal, her eyes wide but unafraid. Not disgusted or frightened, but almost... pleased.

The memory made his skin burn hotter. What would she do if she woke now and found him watching her? If she saw the hunger in his eyes, felt the heat radiating from his skin? Would she still smile? She hadn’t pulled away from him in her bath, but she didn’t know what he was capable of doing—what he had done.

Carefully, with excruciating control, he began to withdraw his arm from beneath her hand. Her fingers tightened reflexively, a small sound of protest escaping her lips. He froze.

“Stay,” she murmured, the word slurred with sleep.

His heart hammered against his ribs. Had she spoken consciously? Or was it just dream-talk, meaningless sounds shaped by unconscious wants?

Either way, he couldn’t deny her. Not when every cell in his body yearned to be closer to her.

He settled back, allowing her hand to remain on his wrist. The pups shifted, adjusting to his movement, then settled again with contented chirps.

Dot crawled onto his chest, curling into a ball directly over his heart. Its tiny body rose and fell with his breathing, a strange counterpoint to the turmoil inside him.

Outside, the jungle hummed with night sounds—predators hunting, prey hiding, the endless cycle of survival. He’d been part of that cycle for so long, existing only to persist another day. Fighting not for joy or purpose, but because surrender wasn’t in his programming.

Now, watching her sleep, feeling the weight of trust from these small creatures, he wondered if there could be more—more than survival, more than exile, and more than the half-life he’d carved out of pain and solitude.

Her scent wrapped around him, intoxicating and maddening. Beneath it, he detected subtle changes—chemical shifts that had occurred since her arrival. Her body adapting to this world, to its atmosphere, its food.

To him.

The thought sent another surge of heat through him, and his markings flared brighter, casting blue-silver light across her sleeping face. She was changing, becoming part of this place. Part of his territory.

Mine.

He had no framework for this—no training, no programming, no experience to guide him through these unfamiliar waters. His creators had designed him for war, not connection. For killing, not caring. But he’d refused to be only what they made him. He’d chosen differently and paid the price for that choice, but he’d survived.

Perhaps this too was a choice. Not just to protect her, not just to tolerate her presence, but to... what?

Want her? He already did, with an intensity that frightened him.

Trust her? Against all logic, against years of brutal training, he did.

Love her?

He didn’t know if he could love, but watching her sleep, feeling the weight of her hand on his skin, he knew one thing with absolute certainty: he would die before he let anything harm her.

The fire crackled, sending shadows dancing across the cave walls. Outside, a predator screamed—a hunting call, distant but clear. The pups stirred, sensing danger even in their sleep and one whimpered softly.

Instinctively, he curved his body around them, shielding them from a threat that couldn’t reach them here. His arm brushed against hers, skin to skin, and the contact sent another jolt through him.

She sighed, turning toward him in her sleep. Her face was inches from his now, her breath warm against his cheek. So close. So vulnerable. So trusting.

He could taste her breath—sweet with fruit, rich with life. His sensory tendrils coiled forward again, drawn to her warmth and this time, he didn’t pull back. He let one tendril brush her hair, absorbing the texture, the scent. Another traced the curve of her ear, the line of her jaw. Mapping her, memorizing her.

She made a soft sound—not quite a moan, not quite a sigh. Pleasure, not pain. His control slipped another notch, and the markings on his skin pulsed faster, brighter.

Take. Claim. Mine.

He could. She was right here, warm and soft and...

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