Claimed By The Touch-Starved Alpha Beasts

The interior of the military base was a stark contrast to the wild jungle. It was a labyrinth of polished steel, bright LED strip lighting, and sterile white walls.

Cassandra followed a step behind Jefferson.

Every time they passed a patrol of soldiers, the men would stop dead in their tracks. They would snap a rigid salute to Jefferson, but their eyes-wide, dilated, and feverish-were locked entirely on Cassandra.

They looked at her like she was water in a desert. Like she was a miracle. It was a hungry, desperate kind of reverence that made Cassandra's stomach twist into knots.

She shrank in on herself, crossing her arms over her chest and rubbing her own shoulders. She stepped closer to Jefferson's broad back, using his massive frame as a shield.

Jefferson noticed.

He didn't say a word, but he subtly shifted his path. He moved half a step to his right, perfectly positioning his body between Cassandra and the staring soldiers. He squared his shoulders, his posture radiating a silent, lethal warning.

The soldiers immediately dropped their gazes to the floor, terrified.

Cassandra let out a small breath she didn't know she was holding. She looked up at the back of Jefferson's head, a sudden rush of gratitude warming her chest.

He led her into a small, sparsely furnished room. It contained a simple bed, a metal table, and two chairs. It looked like a holding cell, but it was clean.

Jefferson pointed to the bed. "Sit."

Cassandra sat on the edge of the mattress. She pulled her knees up, wrapping her arms around her legs.

Jefferson pulled out one of the chairs and sat across the room. He didn't look at her. He raised his left wrist, tapped the comm-link, and pulled up the holographic interface.

For the next three hours, the room was dead silent except for the rapid tapping of Jefferson's fingers and the soft, synthetic hum of the AI processing data.

Cassandra watched him. He was completely absorbed. Lines of text-some alien, some looking suspiciously like English letters-scrolled across his eyes in the reflection of the hologram.

A soldier knocked on the door and left a tray of food and water on the floor before practically fleeing. Cassandra was starving, but her anxiety kept her glued to the bed.

Finally, Jefferson lowered his wrist. The hologram vanished.

He rubbed a hand over his face, looking exhausted. The rigid posture he maintained had softened just a fraction.

He looked directly at Cassandra. His icy blue eyes were intense, but clear.

He cleared his throat.

"Hello," Jefferson said.

Cassandra froze.

"You... un-der-stand... me?" he asked. His pronunciation was stiff, the syllables carefully measured, and his accent was thick and metallic. It was broken, fragmented English, but it was undeniably her language.

Cassandra's breath hitched. The sheer relief of hearing a language she understood, after hours of terrifying isolation, hit her like a physical blow.

Tears welled up in her eyes, spilling over her lashes before she could stop them.

"Yes," she choked out, a wet, breathless laugh escaping her lips. She nodded frantically. "Yes. Oh my god, yes. I can understand you."

She wiped her face with the back of her dirty hand. "How did you do that?"

"AI... an-a-lyzed... basic words," he said, tapping his comm-link. "I... can... speak... slow. You... safe."

Cassandra stared at the device. The technological gap between them was staggering.

Jefferson stood up. He walked over to the door, picked up the tray of food, and brought it to her. He set it on the bed beside her.

"You need to eat," he said softly.

Cassandra looked at the grey, paste-like substance in the bowl. Her stomach growled loudly, betraying her hesitation. She picked up the spoon and took a small bite. It tasted like bland oatmeal, but it settled heavily in her empty stomach.

Jefferson watched her eat for a moment before speaking again.

"I... Jef-fer-son," he said, practicing the heavy syllables. "You... Ca-san-dra."

He pronounced it Ca-san-dra, placing heavy emphasis on every syllable. It sounded like a royal decree.

Cassandra nodded, swallowing the paste. "Yes."

"Good." Jefferson clasped his hands behind his back. "Med-i-cal wing... now," he instructed slowly. "Doctor... scan you. En-sure... health."

Cassandra's grip on the spoon tightened. Hospitals. Doctors. Scans. The words triggered a new wave of anxiety.

She looked up at him, her eyes wide and fearful.

Jefferson stepped closer. He looked down at her, his expression turning deadly serious.

"I... prom-ise," he said, his voice a low, steady rumble that vibrated in the small room. "No harm. I... pro-tect."

Cassandra looked into his eyes. She saw no deception. Only a fierce, unyielding resolve.

She slowly put the spoon down and stood up.

"Okay," she whispered. "I trust you."