Page 22 of Alien Prince

“Thank you.”

Gemma's smile fades, her expression turning guilty and almost remorseful. “Don't thank me just yet,” she says, her voice low.

It's as if our souls are intertwined, and her strength and resilience only add to her allure. I can not deny I need it.

Needher.

For without her bones, her blood, I am weak. Without her, I fear I am nothing.

Inside Gemini, I am alive.

But in her presence, I am also more than a being of infinite celestial existence.

I am a man without a body, a soul ripe for reaping.

As much as I try to deny it, there's something more than just physical attraction drawing me to Gemma. It's as if our souls are intertwined, and her strength and resilience only add to her allure. But the guilt of having to keep possessing her weighs heavily on me.

I hate myself for being like my family, using people as mere vessels to maintain our power. And yet, in order to get back to the palace, I'll have to possess Gemma once again, stealing her body and wearing it like a mask.

My celestial form, while invisible to most, cannot interact with the physical world or bypass the palace's security measures. Only by inhabiting a physical body can I navigate the treacherous path back to my royal prison.

It sickens me to think about it, using Gemma this way, and I can feel the weight of my guilt growing with each passing moment.

Loud voices and gunshots echo outside the pod, causing both of us to startle.

“Do you hear that?” she asks, but I don’t think she is legitimately expecting a response.

Gemma and I jump to our feet and scramble to look out the one-way window through the door. In our haste, our bodies briefly brush against each other. Gemma doesn’t seem to notice, that militarized hard focus stealing the soft and delicate features and plastering that determined mask on her beautiful face. Gone is the woman I saw peace and light in and here stands a warrior.

A quick glance out the window shows a group of rebels in black are going through each pod, pulling out the nobles from their dirty deeds and forcing them to admit their wrongs to a camera. Gemma's body stiffens as a slightly familiar voice yells out above the chaos, “Gemma?”

Her face shows the first signs of fear and disappointment as she turns to face the source of familiarity. The man from the bar, the one who shot her.

Panic befalls her stellar eyes, and for the inkling of a moment, I see the woman behind the mask return before hardening again and quickly gazing around the pod.

“Fucking asshole,” she spits. “Of course it’s him.”

“Who the hell is he, Gemma?” I ask, a twinge of jealousy and confusion reigniting as I watch her stare at him and the others through the window. They are only a couple doors away, and soon they will be here if we do not make a move now.

“It’s complicated,” Gemma says, her voice firm and resolute as that male voice outside once again shouts her name as she quickly readjusts her clothing.

“This man shot you. What is so complicated about that?” I growl, moving beside her as the instinct to shelter and protect what is mine takes over.

Gemma glares at me, her voice drenched in venom. “You have no right to access my memories.”

I huff out in frustration, “Perhaps if you wouldn’t project so loudly, I’d be able to ignore them.”

Her grunt of disapproval both disappoints me, but also engages me.

“This fucking carousel isn’t a free ride.” She bites.

I sigh in exasperation. Something tells me it is pointless to try and argue with her at this moment. But just because I don’t press her, doesn’t mean this conversation is over.

“Gemma!” Her name rings out again, louder, closer.

I know he can’t see me, but that doesn’t mean I am invisible. I am a force of energy all on my own, and I could easily dissuade him with possession. Infiltrate his feeble little human brain and pop him like a balloon.

But something tells me I need to keep my distance, I need to get a hold of myself. If only to avoid a fight with Gemma until we are back in the impenetrable fortress that is that stupid fucking ivory tower.

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