Page 61 of Alien Warrior Chef… With Benefits
I barely have the words, but I whisper them anyway: “I love you.”
The room stills. My pulse thunders.
I exhale, waiting for the silence to fracture: doubt, withdrawal, confusion. But none come.
Instead, his voice rumbles low—an echo in the quiet night. “You are mine.”
I freeze, stunned by the gravity of those words—his claim not in possession but in belonging. Ownership of my heart, my truth. And I finally feel whole.
I roll over then, framing his face in my hands. Starlight and dawn sheen dance across his eyes. I press a kiss to his temple, then to his forehead. His arms come up, his hands bracing my back.
He breathes in deep. Says, “And you are mine, Ruby Adams. My light, my strength.”
My heart buckles on a sigh of joy too huge for words.
We lie there, breaths slowing until they sync. Skin touches skin. Heart touches heart.
Time collapses into that moment: something sacred, something forever.
Above us, the artificial stars shine on. Space continues its orbit around an indifferent planet—but under that weak hush of distant generators, two souls have found rest in each other’s arms and in that newfound promise, they are truly home.
CHAPTER 14
REKKGAR
Iwake to the slow, even cadence of Ruby’s breath, each exhale a gentle wave beneath my cheek. Her hair—golden like early sunrise—spills across my chest, warming skin that’s long been carved by ice and war. In this quiet, everything feels sacred. I’ve slept in bunkers carved from stone and metal. I’ve slept in trenches, with alarms blaring and battle cries in my ears. But here, now… this breath. This light. It’s unfamiliar, but not unwelcome.
I shift slightly to see her face better, and careful not to disturb the delicate arc of her neck—or the tender press of her eyelashes against her cheek. That’s when I feel it: the bond. Crystal-clear. Electric. Not a choice anymore, but a lock forged at soul level. I know without thinking that she is mine—and I am hers.
I sit up slowly, warmth receding like embers at dawn. The room is hushed, save for her breathing and the faint hum of the orbital station’s life systems. My heart pulses awareness through my veins, an echoing affirmation that something irrevocable happened between us. Not just flesh, but destiny.
I reach out, brushing a fingertip across her collarbone. She shivers, murmurs softly in the space between sleep and wakefulness. My hand moves up, trembling slightly, to tracethe underside of her jaw. Her skin is soft; her pulse steady. I want to store every nuance, every brush of warmth beneath my fingertips. Each detail affirms me.
I swallow. A rough rasp in my throat reminds me that I fought for years to harden everything—my heart, my body, my emotions. But hers has undone that steel with gentle precision. My fingers press into the duvet, knuckles white with unspent tension.This isn’t a fluke. This is real.
She opens her eyes slowly. Confusion flickers there first, before recognition dawns. Her lashes flutter, gaze drifting to my face. For a heartbeat, I feel naked—more exposed than any battlefield wound. My instincts roar with uncertainty:What if she regrets this? What if she feels less bound than I do?But her gaze doesn’t retreat. Instead, it softens into something like certainty: belonging.
“Morning,” I murmur, voice low—unused to tenderness. It tastes foreign on my tongue.
She smiles, half-awake and entirely unguarded. “Morning,” she repeats, sliding an arm around my waist. Her palm presses flat against my stomach, warm and sure. “Sleep okay?”
I nod, throat tight. “Yes.” But then, more honest: “I woke… feeling something.” The confession tastes strong and untested.
“What did you feel?” She shifts so she’s facing me, golden hair catching the ambient glow overhead.
I hesitate. The words feel too loud. Too fragile. Too … permanent. Still, I need her to hear them. “You. This bond…” I shift, pulling her closer. “I know I’m mine to you, and you to me.”
Her gaze tracks my fingers, then locks back to my eyes. I hold nothing back. “But I need to know you feel it too. Not as a memory. Not as a kiss. But as… truth.” I exhale, release. It’s a risk. But if I don’t say it now, I fear I’ll lose the courage to ever say it again.
She studies me, and I feel like I’m the one under interrogation. I almost flinch, but she breathes, unhurried. "Yes. I do." Her voice is quiet but unwavering. I let out a breath I didn’t know I held.
“It’s more than yes?” My voice cracks—just a fraction—but she doesn’t laugh or recoil.
“It’s… everything,” she says, pressing her forehead to mine. “Something I never even knew I wanted until it was here.”
The bond hums stronger then—through my chest, arms, bones. I close my eyes, lean in. Awake fully now. I cup her cheek and trace the curve of her jaw. “Then I don’t fear it.” I draw us together, our breathing deepening in sync. “Because if you belong to me, I’ll defend that bond with my life.”
Her lips brush mine, so soft it’s all a tremor. I taste the dawn on her tongue. My senses flood: the fading warmth of her skin at my knee, the smell of vanilla and earth swirling in the hush, the silky tang of morning air between us.
