Page 46 of Cherished By the Alien Outlaw

The flap of the hut tore open with a violent snarl, followed by an enormous figure stomping inside, filling the small space. My heart stuttered, my throat tightening as I took in a male Zuldruxian warrior, though only his blue arms exposed by his tunic suggested his identity.

Reaching up, he tugged away a long swath of fabric he'd used to cover his face and yanked off glasses with only slits across the front, throwing everything aside.

He was colossal, at least a foot taller than Firion, with dark blue skin that seemed to absorb what little light the room offered. His silver hair fell in thick strands around his tusked face, and his eyes widened with shock as they landed on us.

With a growl, he pulled an enormous sword from the sheath on his back, and it gleamed in the murky light as if made of crystal. But that couldn't be. Something like that would shatter from one blow.

The three of us remained frozen in place, the air thickening with tension.

The warrior’s stunned expression quickly morphed into something more dangerous, his brows knitting together as his eyes narrowed with suspicion.

With a snarl, Firion stepped in front of me, his muscles tensing as he lifted the stone blade in his hand.

Chapter 24

Firion

The air inside the small hut felt as thick as the tension between us. The massive Zuldruxian male’s grip remained tight around the hilt of a crystal-like sword, the weapon reflecting the scant amount of light seeping into the room. I'd seen that sword before. But back then, my friend, Aizor, held it. How had this male gotten it from my traedor friend?

His chest heaved with his breaths, every muscle corded and ready to strike if I gave him an excuse.

My heart pounded against my ribs, heat coursing through my veins as I tried to think of a way out of this situation without coming to blows. Fighting another Zuldruxian would be disastrous. Even if I won, he wasn’t alone here. Others would kill me if he didn’t do so himself. And I wouldn’t risk them harming Talia.

This was his territory. There could be more of his clan outside the hut, waiting to add strength to his attack. We were in his space, in his land. For all he knew, we wereintruders bent on causing harm. We needed to de-escalate this before it turned deadly.

The Zuldruxian's body language screamed suspicion. His nostrils flared as he took in our scents, his gaze darting between me and Talia, who stood partially hidden behind me. But his eyes lingered on Talia for a moment too long, and a flicker of something dark edged across his features. My pulse sped up and every protective instinct inside me demanded I step between the two of them and destroy him if he made even one threatening gesture toward her.

As much as I loathed his gaze on my mate, I couldn’t afford to let this situation spiral out of control. A fight now could hurt Talia as well.

I tightened my grip on my stone blade, but I kept it at waist level, more of a defensive posture than one of aggression. He was taller and broader than me, but we were both warriors. If we battled, I’d do my best, but his strength could surpass mine. Defeating someone of his size would be a challenge in this small space.

“Who are you?” His voice came out as rough as the sandstorm battering the hut, a guttural growl filled with menace.

I held his gaze, refusing to back down. “I’m Firion.” I forced calm into my voice. “Traedor of the Dastalon Clan.”

A flicker of recognition flashed through his teal eyes. His body remained taut, though the grip on his sword relaxed a fraction. Our titles held weight in Zuldruxian society, and the designation of “traedor” showed leadershipand responsibility. It wasn’t a name to use in pretend.

“We escaped the Veerenad mining operation,” I said, my voice steady despite the danger electrifying the air between us. His sword remained ready to be used in defense or an attack. “We're on the run, making our way south. Then the sandstorm hit. This hut was the only shelter we could find.”

For a long moment, he said nothing, his eyes hard and unreadable. The silence stretched painfully, the only sounds coming from the storm roaring outside, rattling the walls.

Finally, he grunted. His sword remained poised, but his gaze, sharp and assessing, shifted to Talia again. My hand tensed around the hilt of my blade, blood rushing into my ears with a roar that matched the storm. Talia’s lungs hitched, but she stood strong beside me, her bravery only adding to my determination to keep her safe at any cost.

He took a single step forward. Every muscle in my body screamed to move, to position myself between him and Talia. I would try to take him, but even if I succeeded, it wouldn't be clean. It would be brutal, and there was no guarantee we’d both walk away.

Then his eyes softened a fraction, almost too subtle for anyone outside a Zuldruxian to notice. I’d met enough warriors to recognize a slight easing of the fury he’d hosted when he stormed inside the hut. He lowered the sword a bit more, though not enough that I couldrelax. His gaze remained on my mate, appraising her with a mix of curiosity and calculation.

“The Veerenads,” he rasped, his voice a deep rumble full of disdain. “I’ve heard their kind speak of taking prisoners, of using them in the mines.” He spat the words out.

“They captured us both. Talia is . . .” I stiffened my spine. “She's my fated mate.” I held out my other hand, showing him the symbol. “We need shelter from the storm, nothing else. We'll leave once the storm ends.”

He remained silent, his lips pressed into a thin line, before he slowly nodded. “I am Davon, and you have found shelter with the Taikeen Clan. As traedor, I welcome you.”

I tucked my stone blade into the back of my pants and grunted, dipping my head forward in a show of respect. “Thank you.”

Davon sheathed his sword with a swift motion, the crystal sliding back into its scabbard with a muted clink. His stoic strength spoke of years surviving under the rough conditions, something I’d expect from life in the desert, though I didn’t believe he was any older than me. His eyes, though they’d softened slightly, still appeared guarded as he spoke to us in a voice that rumbled like thunder.

“There are no empty huts in this oasis.” His voice remained devoid of emotion. “This is mine. You can remain here until the storm passes.” His words came out direct but weren’t unkind.

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