Page 78 of Alien Prince

I close my eyes, leaning into him despite every part of me that screams I shouldn’t. His warmth is soothing, his presence grounding in a way I don’t want to admit.

Outside, the storm rages on, but for the first time since this whole ordeal began, I feel… safe.

And that might scare me more than the storm ever could.

Chapter Six

Kael

I can’t believe I agreed to this. During the storm, I made her a promise, and now that we’ve safely returned to my dwelling, she clearly expects me to make good on it.

Teaching her about our culture seems like the most efficient way to hasten her integration.

Or, more likely, her inevitable failure.

But it quickly becomes evident that I might have underestimated her. Greatly.

Emily sits across from me in the study, her arms crossed and her chin raised in that infuriating way she does whenever she thinks she’s winning an argument. For whatever reason, she’s always arguing.

“Why does everything have to be about lineage and legacy?” she demands, her voice sharp but not shrill. “Your people act like bloodlines are the only thing that matters. What about individuality? What about… I don’t know, love?”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, willing myself to stay calm. “Our traditions are what hold Erythos together,” I explain for what feels like the hundredth time. “Without them, we would fall into chaos.”

“Maybe your traditionsarethe chaos,” she shoots back. “Ever think of that?”

My fingers twitch. I’m caught somewhere between wanting to applaud her nerve and wanting to silence her with sheer proximity. Her defiance is like a fire that consumes every inch of space between us, and it’s driving me mad.

“You presume to understand a culture you’ve only just encountered,” I say, my voice low and sharp, “a culture that has thrived for centuries. Your kind hasn’t even left their home world to explore all that space has to offer.”

She doesn’t flinch. If anything, she leans closer, her eyes blazing with the same maddening determination that has haunted me since the moment we met. “Maybe I don’t understand everything yet,” she says, her tone softer now but no less fierce, “but I do understand people, and people don’t thrive on rules and expectations alone. They need connection. Emotion. Freedom.”

Her words cut through me, not because they’re true—they aren’t—but because they carry a weight that feels too personal. Too… right.

I stand abruptly, needing the space to think, but as I pace the room, her presence only grows louder in my mind. I glance back at her, and she’s watching me with that same fire in her eyes, her arms still crossed as if daring me to disagree.

And I want to. Ineedto, but instead, all I can think about is how much I want to cross the room, pick her up, throw her over my shoulder, and carry her to bed.

The thought is primal, almost violent in its intensity, and it shakes me to my core. I clench my fists, forcing myself to focus, to ignore the way her lips press into a defiant line or the way her voice lingers in the air like a challenge. None of the others the vessel suggested for me affected me like this.

“Are you going to say something,” she says, breaking the silence, “or are you just going to keep pacing like an angry cat?”

I turn slowly, meeting her gaze head-on. “You are the most infuriating creature I’ve ever met,” I say, my voice low and dangerous.

Her brow arches, and to my astonishment, she smiles. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Of course, she will.

“You and thinking everything negative is a compliment.” I snort and force myself to sit back down, leaning forward so that the space between us feels charged but controlled. “If you truly want to learn about my culture,” I add, my tone measured, “then stop arguing long enough to listen.”

Her smile fades slightly, but the fire in her eyes doesn’t dim. “Fine,” she says, “but only if you promise to actually answer my questions instead of giving me the ‘this is how it’s always been’ speech.”

I suppress the urge to growl, leaning back in my chair. “We’ll see,” I say, though I know this battle is far from over.

And worse, I know that every argument, every fiery retort she throws at me, will only make it harder to resist the pull I feel toward her.

A pull I cannot,will not, act on.

The next day, I watch her from across the council chamber, her head bent over an ancient text she insisted on reading. That she already learned how to read our language… Her intelligence boggles my mind. We spoke of this days ago, but the reason why she understands me is because we have microbes in our clothing that allow us to understand speak of whichever alien species we are engaged with. I am not speaking English, although that is the language Emily hears me speak. Likewise, I hear her speak Fraklious, the language of my people.

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