Page 63 of Captured By The Alien Barbarian
I growl at him and let my hands fall to my sides, feeling utterly exhausted. It surprises me that he knew where I lived, as I had never sensed him nearby.
“I’m going to find her,” I say, the pain in my throat mirroring my determination. Nothing in the universe will stop me from finding my mate.
“I followed the track. They’ve taken her to the human settlement. Launching a reckless attack will only lead to certain death, especially in your current condition,” Melvall points out infuriatingly.
I find I honestly don’t care. I would prefer death over never being able to hold Ariana in my arms ever again.
I glance up at Melvall, whom I’ve known for most of my life. I’ve never genuinely trusted him before today, always keeping him at arm’s length. I realize that if I am going to save my mate, then I will need to. “Will you help me?”
“I may. I might find my own mate in the process,” Melvall says, laughing. Of course, he isn’t helping for free, the scoundrel. Though, as long as my Ariana is rescued, I don’t care what he does. “But we will need more warriors than just you and me. We’d be fools to rush in.”
I flex my fingers and toes, feeling the familiar sensation of claws lengthening and retreating. The agony is already subsiding, as my skin and muscles knit back together more rapidly than ever due to the medicine. My wounds will soon be healed enough for me to travel, though I’ll remain significantly weakened for some time.
Yet it’s enough. A plan is forming in my mind—one I would never have considered if it weren’t for Ariana.
“I know where we can find more warriors,” I say.
* * *
Melvall catchesme as I stumble down a small incline. I grunt my thanks to him. Neither of us mention my lingering weakness, or how it’s almost impossible for me to walk yet.
It’s unsettling to walk these familiar paths again. The trees seem smaller despite having grown larger over time.
I halt in my tracks as the huts become visible through the foliage. Their resemblance to human structures is uncanny, with red-brick exteriors and roofs adorned in reeds. The stone pathways weaving between the cottages and the central communal hall are a new addition, though.
Apprehensively, I observe a youngster racing through the doorway of the nearest building. He glances my way and his eyes widen in shock upon realizing I’m not someone he recognizes. He quickly retreats, and a cry reverberates through the abruptly silent village.
Every instinct within me urges me to flee. My feet shuffle uneasily as my claws lengthen, digging into the soil to resist the compulsion. For my mate, I must stay.
My tribe isn’t large, and soon enough, the members pour from their homes and rush towards the growing commotion.
Several men shout and charge towards us. They brandish their spears, with crackling lightning at the tips, ready for combat.
“Brothers!” I call out, lifting my chin defiantly, unfazed by their ferocity.
Behind me, Melvall has taken a step back, but upon seeing my resolute posture, his own confidence bolsters. For an outsider, encountering our tribe—and more so, discovering the location of our village—usually means certain death.
In this moment, I am more than grateful for having my friend at my side. And it’s a strange thought. Until today, I had considered Melvall as a mere acquaintance, but not someone that I truly trusted. It took meeting my mate to recognize just how much I appreciated his friendship.
I’m thrown when the warriors halt before us, utterly baffled by my disposition. “But... what?” one of them stutters.
My brow arches as his spear point dips towards the ground, and I realize his training must be inadequate given his lowered guard.
No wonder he’s inexperienced. He’s much younger than I am.
My voice is hoarse with emotion as I address him. “Zoran.”
The last time I saw my little brother, he’d barely begun walking. He turns his head from side to side, utterly in shock. Still, I’m glad to see the markings that adorn the side of his head, showing that he’s earned his place among the tribe.
One of the elders gently nudges the young male aside. I instantly recognize the now weathered face, with wrinkles etched heavily around his eyes and his once-glossy black hair turned white.
“Elder Dra-zeed, my heart is glad to see you still live.”
I bow deeply, bending at the waist, and my healing body protests the action.
Dra-zeed was my sire’s best friend, and I saw him almost every day growing up. He never found a mate of his own, so my dam shared our food with him. Though we did not share blood, he treated me like family and I considered him as such. Various expressions cross his face, and I anxiously await for his eyes to show contempt, anger, or disgust. Instead, hope emerges. “So you have decided to return, then?”
Before I can reply or request his help, a voice cries from the back of the group, and everyone freezes.
