Page 45 of Cherished By the Alien Outlaw

But the distance between us and the approaching storm shrunk with every step we took. The wind howled around us and whipped across the sand, forcing us to wrap our arms around each other for support. We leaned into the gusts that tried to knock us to the ground or send us backward into the fury slowly churning our way.

I tried to keep pace with him as we huddled close together, our focus solely on putting as much distance between us and the storm as we could. If it caught us, it would be over.

“I think . . . I read you cover your face. Breathe through a shirt.” It wouldn’t be much if the storm passed over us, but it might help. I vaguely remember one of those shows sharing details about a few people who’d gotten caught in sandstorms.

They were buried and by the time anyone dug them out, they were already dead.

“Look!” I pointed ahead. Trees, spindly and pretty much leafless, clustered in the distance. But it was vegetation, something that might offer some form of shelter.

Firion grunted, picking up the pace even more, his arm around my back, urging me on. Hope ignited my heart. We could make it. All we had to do was reach the trees. We crested a hill and started down the other side, my legs burning as we pushed forward, determined to get to them before the storm reached us.

The wind howled, a menacing beast roaring this way, as if the desert was pissed off at us for disturbing its peace.

The wind whipped around us with increasing fury, each gust growing stronger, threatening to tear us away from each other. My heart hammered against my ribs, and the taste of gritty sand filled my mouth. It seemed as though the entire desert had come alive, angry and bent on making sure we went no farther.

Firion's arm slipped from my back, and he took my hand in a grip that told me he’d never let go. I clung to him, matching his pace as we sprinted toward the questionable sanctuary of the trees. The foliage lashed back and forth, the branches whipping through the air like frantic arms trying to fend off an attacker.

As we broke through the tree line, a small oasis stretched out ahead, and my gaze landed on odd, hut-like structures near the shore of the pool. Unlike anything I'd seen before, they appeared to be made outof some kind of woven fabric that buffeted in the wind, swaying and shifting but remaining in place. Stakes pinned the huts to the ground, their ropes pulled taut, but they remained standing.

The huts clearly belonged to someone, but were they a possible friend or another enemy?

They could belong to Veerenads.

Fear coiled in my gut, and terror clawed its way up my throat. Not just for myself, but for Firion. The thought of losing him now, after everything we'd been through, was unbearable. He was my everything—my protector, my lover, my hope for a future in this alien world.

The sandstorm roared like an oncoming freight train, the air thick with a blinding cloud of debris. It stung my skin and made my eyes water, reducing my visibility to a short distance in front of us. We had to move quickly before the full force hit.

“That one,” Firion shouted over the howling wind, pointing to the one set aside from the others, on the right.

I nodded, my breaths coming in short, ragged gasps as we pushed toward it. Sand scraped against my clothing and skin, and the wind threatened to knock us off our feet.

We reached the hut, its fabric walls billowing and straining against the ropes holding it in place. It was clear these structures were not a natural part of the landscape. They’d been constructed by intelligent beings, likely travelers or traders who journeyed across thedesert on a regular basis. They would be used to harsh desert conditions.

And they’d be likely to protect their homes.

My heart flipped over, and fear jolted through my bones. We had no choice, but would someone shoot us and ask questions later when we ripped our way into their home?

They could be almost anyone. There was no time to speculate about who might have built them, or what their intentions might be if we appeared among them. All that mattered was that we had a chance to survive the storm inside one of the huts.

Firion’s hand slipped from mine, and he quickly unfastened the flap on the front. The sandstorm had descended, filling the air with howling wind and grit that stung every inch of my exposed skin, making it nearly impossible to see or suck in a breath. But his focus remained clear, protecting me. Without a second thought, he thrust the flap open and urged me inside, more concerned about getting me out of the storm than checking what might be in there. That was the most telling.

I ducked inside, relief washing over me as I left the sand's endless hits behind. The air was instantly warmer, still humming from the vibrations of the wind but far more tolerable. The walls of the hut, though made of a thick cloth, held strong, sheltering us from the worst of the storm's rage.

There was just enough light filtering in through the seams and fabric to let me take in my surroundings.A single cot bed, large enough to accommodate someone Firion’s size, had been placed along the right wall, and was neatly made up with thick, worn blankets.

Packs were piled along the left wall, organized in a row. The simple rug in tan with a few lavender threads woven through had been spread across most of the ground. A low, wooden table, weathered but functional, sat in the middle, and I assumed someone would sit there to enjoy a meal or sort through papers, assuming whoever lived in this hut had papers to sort through. The overall simplicity of the small room hinted at a life built around efficiency, with little need for luxury.

While empty, but it was clear this hut had been recently used. The blankets were still slightly indented where someone had sat on the side of the bunk. A faint scent of something familiar yet like spices I couldn’t quite place lingered in the air. Whoever lived here hadn’t been gone long, and if they were wise, they’d return and get out of the storm.

Firion joined me in the hut, tugging the flap closed behind him. The sudden shift from wild rage to relative stillness was jarring, the outside world reduced to muffled howls and the occasional, distant creak of the hut’s fabric straining against the storm. Relief made me sag. We were safe for now.

Firion’s gaze swept the small space, taking in the details within seconds, assessing the situation as he always did. His assessment lasted only a brief moment before he turned to me, his eyes softening as he reached for me, pulling me into his arms. I sank against him,burying my face in the warmth of his chest, letting the tension melt away, though the fear of what might come next kept jolting across my nerves.

His heart pounded, a steady thrum that reassured me. We’d made it through the worst of it. Now, we just needed to stay out of trouble until the storm passed. Safety, even temporary, was a rare thing for us, and I wasn't going to let it slip through my fingers.

Firion held me close, and I let my muscles slowly loosen. We were in someone else's space. But my worry about being caught was overshadowed by the relief of finally being out of the relentless desert wind, even if only for a little while.

A subtle sound caught my attention, a rustling just outside that was different than the sounds made by the storm. I stiffened and lifted my head, my eyes meeting Firion’s. We turned towards the entrance.

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