Page 27 of Alien Warrior Chef… With Benefits
Lyrie huffs. “You thinkanyonedoes?”
She storms off without another word, tail lashing behind her like a whip.
I sit in the center of the dojo long after she leaves, eyes fixed on the pale patch of tile where Ruby’s muffin used to rest.
The shame doesn’t go away.
But now... neither does the longing.
I walk slower than I ever have in my life.
Each step toward her bakery feels like treading deep space without a tether—adrift and choking on the vacuum of what might come. The sun has long since dipped below the jagged skyline, leaving the world around me painted in bruised violets and molten amber. The lamplights flicker on, one by one, their glows soft and golden against the steel-and-stone edges of the Interstellar Commons. The cobblestones beneath my feet are still warm from the day’s heat, but a cool wind snakes through the alleys, threading itself beneath my armor and chilling the sweat on my back.
My boots scuff the ground louder than I want. There’s a voice in my head—stern, commanding, my old captain’s voice from the war—screamingretreat. I ignore it.
The front windows of Earth Bites gleam like molten honey, light spilling across the threshold like an invitation. Inside, I see her. Alone.
She moves between tables with a cloth in hand, her back to me. She’s in a simple blouse—blue again—and her hair’s pulled up in one of those loose, Earth-style knots that looks haphazard but probably took her twenty minutes. Her hip tilts as she leans to wipe a smear of icing from the counter, and my breath catches in my throat.
She doesn’t see me yet. Good.
I savor this one last second—the final moment before everything I say either saves us or shatters her again.
The door chimes when I enter.
She spins, cloth still in her fingers. Her mouth parts slightly. Those bright eyes widen, then narrow, and her posture shifts so subtly that only a warrior would notice. Tension. Not fear—never that—but wariness laced with something else.
Something raw.
I step inside fully, let the door close behind me with a soft click. I don’t move closer. The distance between us feels sacred.
Her voice is soft. “You’re late.”
It slices deeper than any blade. Because I am. Days late. Lifetimes late.
“I didn’t know how to come back,” I say.
“Yeah, well…” Her eyes search mine, and when they settle on my mouth, I feel the ghost of our kiss between us. “You still did.”
I nod once. My throat’s dry. The air smells like caramelized sugar and lavender soap, and the scent is so unmistakablyherthat it nearly buckles my knees.
“I—” I start, but she lifts a hand.
“Don’t,” she says gently. “Don’t apologize. Not again.”
“I must. It’s part of my?—”
“Your code,” she finishes. “Yeah. I get it.” She offers a half-smile. It trembles.
I take a breath, but she speaks first.
“I have something to tell you.”
My stomach twists. I brace myself, nodding.
She swallows hard, then sets the cloth down on the nearest table, folding her hands together like a schoolgirl about to recite bad news. “My fiancé… Devran Kael. He’s dead.”
The words hit like an orbital strike. My pulse stutters. “What?”
