Page 31 of Xara and the Xenobeast

For a long moment, they stood like that—her hand on his chest, his silver eyes locked on hers, the air between them charged with unspoken emotion. Then, slowly, one of his hands rose to cover hers. His touch was gentle, those lethal claws carefully sheathed for the first time.

Dot squeaked, breaking the moment as she tried to climb up his leg, and one of his tendrils immediately responded, lifting her to his shoulder.

Despite everything—the weight of what she’d learned, the emotion thick in the air—she couldn’t help but laugh.

“I think they knew all along,” she said softly. “They chose you too.”

She watched him cradle Dot, this being created for destruction who now treated a tiny life with such care. The contrast made her heart ache.

“You’re more than what they made you,” she said quietly. “You always were.”

The tablet lay forgotten on the floor, its secrets revealed. But as she stood there, her hand still pressed against his chest, she knew the most important truth wasn’t recorded in any file.

It was standing right in front of her, written in every choice he’d made since the day they met.

That afternoon Ashdisappeared off to hunt again and Xara decided it was time to make some changes. The cave had clearly been his sanctuary for years, but it bore the stark efficiency of someone focused solely on survival.

She wanted to make it a home.

She began sorting useful items from debris, creating designated areas for cooking, washing, and storage, building on his original system. The pups tumbled around her feet, determined to help.

She smiled when Dot dragged a twisted piece of metal twice her size toward her pile. Her markings pulsed with pride as she praised her.

“Good job! That’s perfect.”

Trouble squeaked indignantly as he struggled with a bundle of fibrous vines, and she laughed and knelt to help him.

“Those are perfect for the sleeping area,” she said, taking them from his tiny claws. “Thank you.”

She’d decided to create her own sleeping space—not because she didn’t want to share his bed, but because the unfulfilled desire between them was growing harder and harder to ignore. She wanted him to come to her because he was ready, not because she was only an arm’s length away.

Soldier dragged in leaves with silvery undersides that felt surprisingly soft to the touch. Perfect for bedding.

“Where did you find these?” she asked, stroking his head.

The pup chirped and scurried toward a small crevice near the back of the cave. She followed, ducking beneath a low-hanging stalactite to discover a smaller chamber only a few feet high. Daylight filtered through a narrow opening in the ceiling, illuminating a patch of the silver-leafed plants growing along the wall.

“Well done, Soldier,” she murmured, gathering an armful of the leaves.

By that evening, she had transformed the main chamber. The fire pit was properly ringed with stones, salvaged metal containers lined one wall for storage, and she’d even fashioned a crude broom from stiff reeds to sweep the floor clear of debris.

The pups darted around her legs as she worked, occasionally disappearing to bring back new treasures—shiny pebbles, bits of tech with blinking lights, even a small creature that resembled a cross between a lizard and a butterfly, which promptly escaped when she shrieked in surprise.

Finally, she turned her attention to the sleeping area. His bed was on a low ledge lined with vegetation and covered with moss. She created her own space nearby, building it with soft vines and lining it with the silver leaves, creating something that looked almost inviting.

The pups immediately tested it, tumbling onto the new bedding and rolling around with delighted squeaks.

“I’m glad you approve,” she laughed, watching them play.

She was so focused on her work that she didn’t notice his return until a shadow fell across the cave entrance. She looked up to find him standing there, silver eyes taking in the transformed space. His expression, as always, was difficult to read, but she thought she detected surprise in the slight tilt of his head.

“I hope you don’t mind,” she said, gesturing to her handiwork. “I thought it could use a woman’s touch.”

He moved into the cave, his gaze sweeping over the organized supplies, the cleaned floor, the improved fire pit. One of his sensory tendrils extended, brushing against a stack of metal containers she’d arranged by size.

He made a low sound in his throat—not quite approval, not quite a question.

“It seemed like the least I could do, since you’ve been keeping me alive,” she explained, watching him inspect her work.

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