Page 59 of Xara and the Xenobeast

Before he could stop himself, he bent down and pressed his forehead against hers, a gesture of connection his people used between bonded pairs. Her scent filled his senses—warm skin, sleep-mussed hair, the lingering traces of their coupling. His.

“Go,” she whispered against his jaw. “I’ll be here when you get back.”

Another dangerous promise. Another reason to hope.

He pulled away reluctantly and whistled for Flicker. The pup immediately scrambled up his arm to perch on his shoulder, chirping excitedly.

“Extra eyes,” he explained when Xara raised an eyebrow.

“Smart,” she agreed. “They can sense things we can’t.”

He nodded once, then slipped into the jungle without another word.

The forest was alive with morning activity. Winged creatures darted through the canopy, iridescent scales flashing in the dappled light. Carnivorous vines unfurled, tracking heat signatures. Somewhere distant, a pack of six-legged predators howled.

Home. This deadly, beautiful place had been his prison, then his sanctuary. Now it was his territory to defend.

He moved silently, checking traps already set, adjusting triggers, refreshing poisons. Flicker remained quiet on his shoulder, occasionally tugging at his sensory tendrils when it wanted his attention.

They had covered nearly five miles when the pup suddenly stiffened, its bioluminescent patches flashing rapid warning patterns. The Xenobeast froze, every sense on high alert.

Nothing. No sound, no movement, no?—

There. A faint distortion in the air, almost imperceptible. A stealth field.

He dropped flat as a needle-thin projectile sliced through the space where his head had been. Flicker squealed and dove into a pouch at his waist.

A stealth drone. Zarkari make, latest generation. Smaller than his fist but armed with enough neurotoxin to drop a creature three times his size.

They were getting closer.

He rolled behind a massive root system as another projectile embedded itself in the soil. The drone was silent, its propulsion system dampened to near inaudibility. But he could feel the air displacement, track its movement through the subtle shifts in the jungle’s background noise.

There. Three meters up, hovering near a tangle of vines.

He waited, muscles coiled, counting the seconds between firing sequences. The drone would have a pattern—everything Zarkari did was patterned, predictable.

Five seconds. Four. Three.

He launched himself upward, claws extended, catching the drone mid-firing cycle. It struggled in his grip, attempting to deploy secondary defenses, but he crushed it with brutal efficiency, metal and circuitry crumpling like paper.

Flicker poked its head out of the pouch, chirping questioningly.

“Good warning,” he told the pup, stroking its head with one finger. “Saved us.”

The drone’s presence confirmed his fears. This wasn’t a random patrol. This was targeted reconnaissance—mapping the terrain, identifying threats, establishing a perimeter.

The hunting party wouldn’t be far behind.

He needed to get back to the cave. To Xara.

The return journey was faster, less cautious. Speed mattered more than stealth now. When he burst into the clearing before their cave, he found Xara kneeling beside one of the larger traps, adjusting the trigger mechanism. The other two pups were nearby, playing with discarded scraps of tech.

She looked up at his approach, her smile fading as she read the tension in his stance.

“What happened?”

“Drone,” he said, holding up the crushed remains. “Stealth tech. Looking for us.”

---