Page 18 of Tamed By the Alien Warlord
I stalk back to the command chair and drop into it, the screen blooming before me with Georgia’s feed—borrowed directly from the spy-drone on her borrowed ship, still connected to our uplink.
And there she is.
My mate.
My torment.
She’s standing in the sterile white lobby of Nakamura’s pleasure wing, all soft fabrics and submissive posture, her voice syrup-sweet. “You must be Dr. Nakamura,” she coos.
My claws dig into the armrest.
He’s tall. Thin. Polished like a synthetic. His smile is too smooth. His fingers twitch as he studies her like a prized acquisition.
I don’t growl. I don’t scream.
But Iwatch.
She’s flawless. Her tone is breathy, but her eyes are calculating. Every head tilt is rehearsed. Every giggle? Weaponized.
“May I say,” Nakamura purrs, “the agency undersold your beauty.”
Georgia laughs—a soft, tinkling sound. “They do that. Makes the surprise sweeter.”
He offers her a drink. She accepts. Doesn’t sip.
Smart.
He touches her wrist.
I crush the armrest.
Metal splinters under my grip. Sparks spit out, and I don’t care.
“I’ve studied Companion profiles,” Nakamura says. “Their dedication is unparalleled. But I must ask… do you know what your duties here might entail?”
Her eyes sparkle, even if I know it’s all act. “Emotional support. Conversation. Discretion. I believe your exact words to the agency were ‘no strings, no scandal.’”
His smile widens. “Just so. Though most Companions eventually become permanent… partners. If they’re pleasing.”
She dips her head. “Then I’ll have to be very… pleasing.”
My vision turns red.
She’s doing it right. She’s playing the game. Not a single word has been a lie—but none have been the truth either. That’s what makes her so damngoodat this.
But it hurts like a blade between my ribs.
I don’t want her to be good at it.
I want her here.
Biting me. Yelling at me. Pulling my focus with every toss of her messy hair and every smart-ass quip about warlords and space drama.
She belongs at my side. Not playing pretend in a snake pit of human rot.
And then the bastard kisses her hand.
Not just a brush of lips.
