Page 2 of Snowed in with the Alien Pilot

As they lifted off, she focused on Murphy’s mission briefing. A simple diplomatic function, it had said. Show up, make nice with the brass, and try not to start an interplanetary incident. Her lips quirked. The ‘try’ had been underlined three times. Murphy knew her and her reputation well. But she could do this. Shewoulddo this. She’d faced down enemy fighters and navigated political minefields before. This was just another mission.

The city spread below them, a glittering carpet of gold and silver against the darkness. Despite herself, Evelyn found the view captivating. She rarely got just to enjoy a flight anymore. Either she was piloting and watching for hostiles, or she was monitoring flight sims as her staff kicked the ass of arrogant students who needed taking down a peg or two.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Rhade’s voice broke into her thoughts. “Your world has a kind of magic at night.”

She glanced at him, surprised by the wistful note in his voice. “Different from Lathar Prime?”

“Very.” He adjusted their heading with smooth precision. “Only the older parts of the city and the palace are beautiful. The rest of our cities are built vertically, reaching into the clouds. The lights form patterns and geometric designs that tell stories of our history. But there’s something about the organic spread of your cities, the way they follow the land's natural contours...” He trailed off, then added quietly, “It reminds me that beauty can be found in chaos as well as order.”

She blinked, startled by the observation. Most of the time, the Latharian pilots were all military precision and insufferable superiority. This glimpse of something deeper, something... personal, was different. Intriguing.

She shoved that thought away. She was not here to be intrigued by Rhade K’Vass, no matter how well he filled out that flight suit or how thoughtful his observations might be.

“Ten minutes to New Washington,” he announced, breaking the moment. “Should I request priority landing clearance?”

“No. The standard approach is fine.” She straightened, already dreading the next few hours. “They’re expecting us, and we’re early enough. I want to get this over with.”

He glanced back, his expression unreadable. “You really do hate these functions, don’t you?”

“Is it that obvious?” The words slipped out before she could stop them.

“Only to someone who’s watching closely.” His voice was warm and the look in his eyes made her heart skip a beat. “Though I confess, I find it difficult not to watch you, General. Especially in that dress.”

2

The shuttle’s cockpit reeked of her. Rhade’s nostrils flared, drinking in General Allen’s scent—flowers and something uniquely human that made his blood sing. Six months of catching traces of it in the academy hallways hadn’t prepared him for having her this close, this concentrated.

“Status report, Sub-commander?” That crisp tone could cut a diamond.

“Two minutes to landing, General.” He kept his voice steady even as she leaned forward to study the approaching lights of the diplomatic complex, the movement exposing the elegant line of her neck. Her upswept hair revealed skin that practically begged for his mark.

Draanth, that dress.

The deep blue silk clung to curves her uniform usually concealed. He’d nearly swallowed his tongue when she’d walked toward him across the hangar. Now, the whisper of fabric against leather sent fresh waves of her scent through the cabin, and his fingers tightened on the controls.

As he began the landing sequence, the city sprawled below them like a carpet of stars. Perfect precision—he was stilla starfighter after all, manufactured academic struggles be damned. Her slight nod of approval shouldn’t please him as much as it did.

“Excellent landing, Commander.”

She reached for her restraints, and his jaw clenched against the sudden surge of need. The need to push her hands aside, to tend to her himself, burned through him.

“Thank you, General.” He moved quickly to assist her, offering his arm as she rose. The height difference hit him like a punch to the gut—the top of her head barely reached his shoulder. Something primitive in him reveled in that. He was bigger, stronger. Built to shield and protect her.

Claim her.

Her fingers rested on his forearm with calm professionalism, but he felt the warmth of her skin through his flight suit. Their steps matched like they’d walked together a thousand times before. The evening air carried winter’s bite, and when she shivered, he automatically adjusted their path to block the wind.

Surprise flickered across her features before that professional mask slammed back into place. “Thank you, Sub-commander, but I can manage from here.” She withdrew her hand. “Return to the shuttle. Standard security protocols.”

The loss of contact was like a physical wound. “Of course, General.”

She walked away, the blue silk catching landing pad lights. Her spine was military-straight, but there was an underlying grace that made his hands itch. Would that rigid control extend to every aspect of her life? Or would she surrender...to him?

The diplomatic center’s doors spilled warm light across the pad as Murphy stepped out. The human President’s formal attire did nothing to disguise the predatory way he moved.

“General Allen.” Murphy extended his hand with practiced ease. “A pleasure to see you again.”

“Mr. President.” Her voice carried that same military precision, but there was a softness to it that set Rhade’s teeth on edge.

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