Page 75 of Alien Warrior Chef… With Benefits
I press my cheek to Rekkgar’s chest, his breath steady, rhythmic, his heartbeat steady as a drum. He holds me close against the storm in my skull.
We stand, pressed together, as the energy pulse ripples again—harder, deeper—like it’s tearing through the gravity that binds souls. I taste metal in my mouth. I grit my teeth, close eyes.
Rekkgar’s voice vibrates in my ear. “Hold on, Ruby. We are leaving. Now.”
I nod once, head against his ribs. He slides an arm around me, protective and calculated, path-mapped by training and war. I grip his tunic with one hand, his hand locked around mine with the other.
As the pulse fades to tremors, guards slump. The lights flicker. Alarm drones loop their calls—now just noise. But Rekkgar stands unhindered. He breaks our embrace, looks at me with raw gentleness. “When I say run,” he murmurs. “Run.”
I nod, heart stuttering at the gravity of trust. “Together.”
He presses a final kiss to my temple—brief, scorching. I lean into it. My world tilts.
Then he nods sharply and pivots, leading me through the shadows of the corridor. The echo of Aelphus’s final words trails behind as doors seal shut again: “You cannot outrun fate, Ruby Adams.”
And we move into the darkness—heartbeat to heartbeat—ready for whatever lies beyond.
The corridor light flickers as Rekkgar steers me away from the chaos of the amphitheater. His forearm presses between my shoulders and the crowd’s swell—his barrier of vigilance. My heart thumps like war drums in my chest, adrenaline flooding my veins. I tear off my blood-streaked apron, sleeves tangled, and fling it to the corridor floor. It lands with a wet, desperate thud. Dust motes spiral in the dim light.
“Enough,” I growl, voice ragged but fierce. I yank my plasma torch from my belt—its metal grip cold and deadly in my hand. Sparks flare when I ignite it; the hiss of ionized fuel roars in my ears. The flame’s blue glow stains my cheek in an elemental promise. “He’s not going to take me – not without a damn fight.”
For a moment, Rekkgar freezes, his broad chest heaving as he processes the flame in my grip. Then his jaw tightens and he nods. “I wouldn’t expect anything less, Ruby.”
I step forward, forging ahead of his armor and muscle, weapon aloft. Every footstep echoes louder than any applause I’ve ever heard. I taste salt on my lips—fear, sweat, defiance.
We round the corner toward the central control bay, where the main override panel glints like an altar. My torch hisses as if eager to carve through steel. “We shut this down,” I say, voice shaky with righteous adrenaline. “We stop his broadcast and open the doors.”
He nods, stance ready, senses tuned. He positions himself between me and anything that might threaten us—his back a protective wall.
I touch the override console and it resists. Aelphus had expected competition, but not resistance. He didn’t expect me to take a torch to his authority. The panel’s surface is smooth—untested steel. Rekkgar gently places a hand over mine, steadying us both.
I slide the torch tip down the casing until the seal melts and sparks fly. Metal edges curl, molten. The console hisses, circuitry exposed. My chest burns. Every nerve screams.
“Ruby,” Rekkgar murmurs, voice low but urgent. “That’s enough.” The glow from the torch reflects off his cybernetic eye—and the scar beneath it—and I see how far I’ve come. I’m more than afraid girl trying to survive a life. I’m a woman in revolt.
But I’m not done.
I press the torch deeper, heat building. The circuitry sighs and groans. Suddenly, the panel shatters inward and I plunge the torch into the guts of the console. Sparks shoot, alarm bells scream, and the corridor lights flicker. Emergency drones scatter as I rip the power feed from control.
Air whooshes down the halls as shutters peel open across the station’s inner bulkheads. The hiss is deafening—oxygen flooding long-sealed passages. The Vortaxian guards begin swarming toward us, weapons drawn. I drop the torch and wrench a fire extinguisher from its cradle, emptying the extinguishing agent in a cloud of white mist. Blinders for them—cover for us.
Rekkgar grips my waist and yanks me into a low sprint. We charge down the gap between shutter and wall, shielding our heads from the mechanical grind, minds wired by instinct. My boots click on metal grates, his steps thunder behind me. The echo of battle drones sounds distant—too late to catch us—but we keep going.
Framing lights stitch a path ahead. We slip through a maintenance crawl, hallway narrow as my racing pulse. I stumble but catch the lip of grated floor—thankfully gritty. Rekkgar catches my hand. “Steady,” he whispers. My chest’s rhythm matches every sparse beam of light, every thrum of rescue airflow.
We emerge into a service elevator. It’s small—bare metal and panic—but better than crowds or robed guards. I slam the control pad. The doors close. The engine vibrates. I lean, catching my breath, the torch’s heat still throbbing in my veins.
Rekkgar catches me in his arms, wrapping me in the scent of sweat, ozone, and sacred victory. Fingers twist in my hair as he presses his lips to my brow. “You’re fierce,” he murmurs. “My fierce queen.”
I let myself collapse in his arms, knees shaking, but my grin is full of fighting spirit. “No more hiding.”
The elevator dingsand we step into Earth Bites’ rear service corridor—where flour, sugar, and spice linger in the air. It smells like safety. Familiar. Almost comforting. I take a shuddering breath—grounding myself in home.
But home is changed now. We passed through a trial by fire. If I walk back to that bakery after what just happened, I’ll never be the same.
I turn to Rekkgar. Torch in hand, eyes blazing. “We go back together?”
He brushes his thumb across my cheek. “Always.”
