Page 20 of Alien Warrior Chef… With Benefits
He freezes, clearly struggling. “But I?—”
I pull my hand away long enough to place a finger against his lips. The pad of my finger brushes warm, chapped flesh, and my pulse stutters.
“You saved me,” I say, voice gentler now. “No one’s ever gone full berserker for me before. I mean, I wouldn’trecommendit as a way to win a girl’s heart, but... for a first, it’s kind of epic.”
He lets out a grunt that almost sounds like a laugh. It’s low and rusty, like he forgot how.
“That was… not controlled,” he murmurs.
“No,” I agree, nudging his arm. “But it was honest. And you werethere.”
We stand in silence, the weight of unsaid things pooling between us, then I draw in a breath that tastes like cinnamon and street smoke and maybe hope.
“Come on,” I say, nudging my chin toward the alley. “Let’s go walk off the awkward.”
His brow arches. “Walk?”
“Yes, Rekkgar. Humans have this ancient tradition called ‘walking and talking.’ It's a sacred ritual designed to prevent emotionally constipated conversations from stagnating in closed spaces.”
“I do not suffer from gastrointestinal blockages,” he says flatly.
I blink up at him, then dissolve into laughter so hard it folds me at the waist.
“Oh gods. Okay, now Ineednoodles. Immediately.”
To his credit, he doesn’t argue. Just follows silently beside me, massive form casting a long shadow as we step into the Novarian dusk. The air’s cooling now, the sky overhead bruised with plum and soft gold, tendrils of steam lifting from the wet street as night layers itself over the city.
The noodle stand I love sits nestled between a jewelry vendor and a pop-up selling flame-spiced Skren eggs. The old woman behind the counter—Madi, a Trinitari with four arms and a jawline like a sun-scarred glacier—recognizes me instantly.
“You bring a new boy?” she asks, clicking her teeth and peering up at Rekkgar. “Youalwaysbring a new boy.”
“I’ve never brought anyone, Madi,” I say, settling onto a narrow metal bench. “You’re confusing me with Ly?—”
“I know who you are. This one is different.” Her top two hands flutter like she’s tasting our chemistry. “He’s got that ‘kill anyone who upsets you’ vibe. I like it.”
Rekkgar stiffens, clearly unsure how to respond.
I grin. “Two bowls of fire-gut special. Extra egg.”
“And tea?” she asks, already pouring it before I nod.
The bench creaks beneath him when he sits. His thighs barely fit between the table and the bench edge, and I catch myself watching the way his scales shift under his tunic sleeves. There are newer scars I don’t recognize—pale silver claw marks cutting across his forearm, almost like tribal paint slashed in anger.
We sip in silence for a bit, letting the steam fog our glasses and the smell of spiced broth loosen the tension.
Finally, I ask, “Why didn’t you come back?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Sips again. His throat moves slowly, deliberately.
“I was ashamed,” he says. “Of what I did. What I became.”
“You became a protector,” I whisper. “That’s not shameful.”
“It felt like I failed,” he says. “Honor is everything to my people. And I lost control. In front of you.”
“Your honor didn’t save me, Rekkgar.” I lean in, wrapping both hands around my cup. “Youdid.”
His head bows slightly. The cybernetic eye dims for a moment, softening.
