Page 45 of Xara and the Xenobeast

As the day’s light began to fade, casting long shadows through the cave entrance, he watched her arrange their evening meal with the pups clustered eagerly around her feet. She moved with easy confidence through the space he’d created, belonging there in ways he couldn’t articulate,,in this place that was, improbably, becoming home.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Xara lay awake in their shared bed, watching the dancing shadows cast by the fire’s flickering light. The flames had burned low, leaving mostly embers that pulsed like a heartbeat against the cave walls. She’d been trying to sleep for hours, but her body refused to surrender to rest.

Ash breathed deeply beside her—not quite asleep, but settled. His massive form generated heat that radiated across the small space between them. She’d grown to find comfort in that steady rhythm, the rise and fall of his chest as predictable as tides.

Three small lumps of fur were scattered across the bed. Dot ad curled into a tight ball against her stomach. The other two nestled against Ash, one tucked into the crook of his arm, the other sprawled across his chest, rising and falling with each breath.

Their little family. The thought caught her by surprise, but she couldn’t deny the truth of it.

She shifted slightly, careful not to disturb Dot. The movement sent a twinge through her leg, a reminder of how close she’d come to death when she first arrived. How he’d saved her.

And kept saving her.

She watched him in the dim light. His features had softened in repose, the harsh angles of his face less severe. The sensory tendrils that framed his face lay mostly still, occasionally twitching as if responding to dreams. His skin seemed to reflect the firelight, the iridescent silver taking on amber undertones that highlighted the faint bioluminescent patterns beneath.

Beautiful. Dangerous. Hers?

The memory of their activities in the underground spring sent heat flooding through her body. The way his mouth had felt against hers, hungry and hesitant all at once. The gentle strength in his hands as he brought her pleasure—a pleasure that hadn’t occurred again, even though his wounds had healed.

She swallowed hard. How long could they continue this way? Sleeping side by side, pretending not to notice the current that sparked between them whenever they touched?

She was tired of waiting. Tired of wondering.

Carefully, she shifted Dot to a warm spot on the bed where the pup immediately curled into a tighter ball, purring softly. Then, heart hammering against her ribs, she inched closer to Ash.

The bed was a marvel of his creation—broad and sturdy, lined with soft mosses and salvaged fabrics. She moved across it silently until barely a handspan separated them.

She studied him up close, noting the details she’d grown so familiar with. A thin scar traced the line of his jaw. Another,deeper mark crossed his shoulder. Warrior’s marks. Survivor’s scars. Each one a story of pain endured.

Her hand hovered above his forearm, hesitating. Was she crossing a boundary? Would he reject her advance?

The memory of his lips against hers gave her courage. She lowered her fingertips to his skin.

He flinched at the contact, muscles tensing beneath her touch. For a heartbeat, she thought he might pull away—but then he went utterly still, as if afraid any movement might shatter whatever was happening between them.

Emboldened, she let her fingers trace the contours of his forearm, feeling the ridges of muscle, the smooth texture of his skin. It was cooler than human skin, but warming rapidly beneath her touch. The bioluminescent patterns beneath pulsed faintly, responding to her caress.

She moved closer still, until her body pressed against his side. The pup on his chest stirred, blinking sleepily before settling back down with a contented chirp.

She continued her exploration, trailing up to his bicep, his shoulder, the strong column of his neck. His pulse jumped beneath her touch, rapid and strong, and she felt an answering flutter in her own chest.

His eyes opened, finding hers in the dim light. They glowed with an inner luminescence, pupils dilated wide. He didn’t speak—but she read the question in his gaze.

She answered by pressing her palm against his cheek. His sensory tendrils stirred, brushing against her wrist with feather-light touches that sent shivers down her spine.

“I’m tired of pretending,” she whispered, the words barely audible above the crackling embers. “Tired of wanting you and not having you.”

He remained motionless beneath her touch, but his breathing had quickened, his chest rising and falling in shallow bursts. One of his hands moved, hesitant, to rest at her waist. The weight of it, the heat, made her skin tingle even through the thin fabric of her sleep shirt.

She leaned closer, her lips a breath away from his. “Tell me to stop,” she murmured, “and I will.”

His response was to tighten his grip on her waist, pulling her fractionally closer. His other hand rose to her face, his claws retracting as he gently traced the curve of her cheek. A tendril brushed her temple, twining into her curls with a touch so intimate it made her gasp.

She closed the final distance between them, pressing her mouth to his. This kiss ignited instantly. His lips parted beneath hers, hungry and demanding. His hand slid from her waist to her back, drawing her against the hard planes of his chest.

The pup squeaked in protest at being disturbed, scampering down to join its siblings at the foot of the bed, but she barely noticed, lost in the sensation of his mouth on hers, his hands mapping the curves of her body through her clothes.

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