Page 70 of Alien Warrior Chef… With Benefits
“You feel it too?” I murmur.
She tilts her chin up. “Every course. Every breath.”
I brush her lips. A promise. Not public or performative. Just private. Fierce.
“Then let’s cook our story louder,” I declare.
She laughs—soft thunder—fierce and free. “Let’s.”
He lingers. We’ll see him later.
But for now, apron dust, spice sweat, and hot lights can’t touch what’s been forged here.
We step back into rehearsal. He’s out there—but we have each other—and our story is too real to break.
I guide Ruby up to the upper deck where the simulated ocean hums beneath ambient lights, and salt-kissed mist drifts against my skin. The horizon shimmers in artificial aqua, but the moment holds a gravity that feels more real than any planet I've trained on or conquered. The deck is hushed—only the soft pulse of water and distant murmurs of late-night staff. I lead her to a bench carved from pale driftwood both real and replicated. She settles beside me, leaning into my side, and I wrap my arm around her, strong and protective.
She breathes in deep, the mist filling her lungs. I can smell the trace of jasmine from her hair, the lingering aroma of parsnip caramel on her skin. Her shoulder presses into my warmth with quiet desperation.
“Rekkgar,” she murmurs, voice low and trembling. “I’m not lying when I say it feels like they—Aelphus—are circling. Watching too much. It’s unsettling.”
I remain silent, steady. I feel the tension in her body and let my arm tighten slightly—not choking, just enough to steady her world.
“Do you think…” she breathes, pauses, “he sees our bond and thinkshemight have found his jalshagar?”
I freeze—fingers gripping the bench. That thought claws through my chest with sharper teeth than any revelation I’d feared. I swallow hard in the stale hum of simulated waves.
“How could he even think that?” I manage quietly, though my heart hammers against my ribs.
She lifts her head, eyes glossy. “You said he believes the prophecy—that the perfect mate is discovered through food. And all his attention… it’s not admiration. It’s something else.”
I close my eyes. In the swirl of Holonet lights and sponsor logos, I’d suspected ambition. Now I realize it’sworse: a man used to taking what he wants, now maybe seeing me as an obstacle—and her as something toclaim.
My jaw tightens. I inhale, the mist cold, my mind sharpening. “He’s not thinking hemay have foundhis jalshagar. He’sactinglike he already has.”
Ruby’s breath catches. I open my eyes. Her face looks small under the artificial moonscape, vulnerable and luminous.
“I’m not hers,” I say firmly, stepping closer, letting the bond throne in my chest. “I’m yours. I amherjalshagar.”
She turns to me, eyes wide. “Yes,” she whispers, “you—youaremine.”
I press a finger under her chin. The air shifts around us, colder now, tinged with electric clarity. “But this… situation… Aelphus isn’t playing by the rules. He never does.” My tone softens. “He sees you as trophy, Ruby. He seesusas a story he can use—to elevate himself.”
I pause, the words cold knives in my chest. “He’s not interested in sharing your spotlight. He wants to eclipse it.”
Ruby’s head lowers. She presses her fist against the bench, the roses of fear in her voice trembling. “What do we do?”
I cup her face, cool mist chilling my palm. Her breath is misted in front of us, small puffs that disappear quickly. “We don’t let it go beyond this bench tonight. We don’t let his shadowtrap us into fear. But weprepare. He’s thrown his first chess piece. Now we need to playourstrategy.”
Ruby breathes, draws closer. I kiss her—soft at first, but fierce with intent. My lips mold to hers in slow devotion. When we pull apart, she’s trembling.
“This,” her voice breaks with the strength of tears, “is not comfort. It’s promise.”
I hold her in my arms, the simulated ocean murmuring around us, and I swear thunder rolls through my chest, not from wind but from vow-binding.
He may sit on his golden deck, wine-draped and tempted. He may send roses and prophecy. Butwe—we have something far older and deeper. We have bond and blood, soul-work and sacrifice. Aelphus can send fleets. I’ll send steel. If he positions royalty and gold before you, I’ll stand before him with scarred armor and unyielding truth.
I trace her cheek, tasting salt and mint, promise and fear. “You are safe,” I whisper. “I am your blade.”
