Page 10 of Primal Vow

Taryn seemed to study him for a moment, those strange alien eyes missing nothing. Rhys could have sworn he saw one of those fleeting glimmers of something odd in Taryn's expression. Curiosity? It was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced once more by that inscrutable mask and his disgust.

Without a word, Taryn turned and strode away, leaving Rhys alone at the edge of the firelight once more. Rhys let out the shallowest of relieved breaths, the barest whisper of air escaping his lips. He hadn't given Taryn the satisfaction of seeing him flinch or falter, no matter how much pain he was in.

But a few minutes later, Taryn reappeared, approaching him. To his surprise, the alien produced a bag of what looked like medical supplies. He held something up to Rhys — a pill.

"What's that?" Rhys squinted at the pill, suspicious, but he didn't know anything about alien medicine.

"It will help," Taryn said, and that was that. He was back to being taciturn.

Rhys took a deep breath, wary… and then gave up. If this was the start of some Borraq torture, there wasn't much of a way to get out of it. Rhys had once seen someone give a pill to a cat, and he didn't exactly want Taryn to do the same to him.

But pain never came. A warmth spread through his body, and then through his aching shoulder. Rhys moved it experimentally, but the pain seemed to have faded completely. "Well… thanks," he said, taken off-guard.

The alien didn't respond, but for just a moment, his eyes lingered. Then he picked up his medical bag once more, and returned to the campfire.

Kindness from an enemy. It was enough to make your head spin. When it came to compassion, Taryn was ahead of Jak, who had just told him to man up and keep digging.

No. Rhys caught himself. He was a fool. Kindness from an enemy meant nothing. It was just a way to mess with your head, to make you lower your guard. Rhys had read things like that in the cheap, pulpy novels that were passed around the corridors of space stations.

He wasn't actually sure what the Borraq would be able to get from a useless, abandoned piece of space trash like him, but he was going to be on his guard anyway.

Taryn moved through the camp, interacting with his warriors. Rhys couldn't help but watch.

"We'll track them to the mountains," the one called Worrack stated. His voice was bold, betraying none of the concern that tightened the corners of his eyes. "They'll be forced to stop there."

Krye stood a little straighter. "Next time they won't get away."

"We'll be their end," Soren finished, crossing his arms — but his glance flickered towards Taryn, seeking reassurance.

When Rhys had first seen the squad of Borraq rushing the mine site, he'd thought that they were all warriors. After watching them set up camp, though, he'd soon realized that while Taryn was the real stuff, the other Borraq were pretty much just kids. If they were humans, they'd be worrying about spotty skin and breaking voices.

Not that they wanted to be thought of that way. Around the campfire, they were acting like the toughest of tough guys. Jorah, the last one, chimed in fiercely. "We'll avenge those we've lost on the front lines."

They all subtly looked towards Taryn, as if drawn by a magnetic pull. Taryn caught each of those glances, replying with a minute tilt of his head or a brief clasp on a shoulder — a silent dialogue of reassurance amidst the unsaid worries. "We will protect our land."

Rhys could see the effect Taryn's words had; the tension in the boys' stances eased, and they breathed a little easier. All it took was a few words of support from someone they looked up to.

Rhys had never seen anything like this scene, out in an alien jungle… but in a strange way, it felt like something that he'd always longed for.

As Rhys watched Taryn move through the camp, a strange ache bloomed in his chest. On the surface, it almost resembled envy — but not the petty, grasping kind he was familiar with from the ruthless circles back in the colony.

This was something deeper. A longing for something he'd never truly experienced.

In his scrappy life of grifting and dodging debt collectors, Rhys had never known the steadying presence of a mentor. The men who drifted in and out of his orbit were hustlers at best, leeches at worst. They saw him not as someone to nurture, but as a resource to be exploited.

But as he observed the dynamic between Taryn and his warriors, Rhys was struck by the respect, the sense of loyalty, that flowed both ways. These were hardened soldiers, killers by trade, yet they sought Taryn's approval like eager pupils. And the Borraq leader, in turn, showed a strange tenderness as he shaped them — firm when necessary, but always with an undercurrent of care.

A part of him hungered to be on the receiving end of that sort of relationship.

Damn. Rhys quickly banished the thought, disgusted with himself. Since when did he start pining for the approval of his captors? Taryn and his warriors would sooner gut Rhys than take someone like him under their wing.

And yet, as Rhys's gaze lingered on Taryn's powerful form, that inexplicable yearning remained. He felt unworthy, like an outsider peering through a window at something he could never truly grasp.

"I'm going to scout," Taryn said. "Hold the camp while I'm gone. Be wise, warriors."

Was that last comment a little pointed? The young warriors agreed that they would, their heads bobbing in eager nods. Taryn's back was broad and proud as he left the camp, slipping into the night.

Rhys settled down as much as he could. With their leader temporarily gone, the Borraq wouldn't have any plans for him. All he had to do was regain his energy.

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