Page 88 of Alien Warrior Chef… With Benefits
The night is won—but my warrior is bleeding in my arms. The whir of med pads and orbital repairs hum like lullabies of survival.
I stand, shaky. My voice is a cracked anthem: “We survived.”
The bakery stands. Our bond bleeds true through every crack.
But there is one thing I know: whatever the dawn may bring—including empire, vengeance, love—this fortress of sugar and steel stands on two hearts bound by fire.
And I would rather die than lose him.
He dares not leave.
BecauseIwill never let him.
CHAPTER 26
REKKGAR
Idrift between echoes of pain and comfort, the sharp sting of the slash across my ribs mingling with the sweetness of cinnamon and cocoa—the scent of Earth?Bites at dawn, or maybe a dream. My senses swim. Pain is familiar—my scars carried me through war—but this agony is different. It's charged with something beyond physical rupture: there is light threaded through the hurt, a presence anchoring me in a storm-tossed sea.
I float in darkness, but glimpses pierce through—Ruby's face, too bright to be mine, illuminated by the frantic shimmer of emergency lanterns. Her hand is near—I feel it, pressing reassurance into my palm. Her voice is urgent but soft, calling my name so insistently that I grasp for reality and hope it doesn’t vanish again.
I come to in Earth?Bites. The aroma of coffee and battered sugar floods me before my eyes open. The bakery has become a makeshift triage center. White sheets are draped across counters turned repair tables. Holonet med-tech kits lie open beside tray of torn strawberry glaze. It's surreal. My body is propped up on a battered rolling chair, and beneath me, the tiles—once pastel—gleam with antiseptic and spattered blood.
Ruby sits beside me, apron smeared with flour, blood, and something sticky I can’t name. She is the forefront of my consciousness. Her red-rimmed eyes shimmer in panic and relief, a hurricane that somehow steadies me.
“You scared the hell out of me,” she whispers, voice cracking in a tremor of coaxed bravado.
I manage a grunt that edges past pain and more into gratitude. My hand presses her fingers, and when she smiles—raw and trembling—my pulse tightens.
Her voice quavers but she holds me by my gaze. “You’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.”
I exhale deeper than I’ve breathed in years. Not a victory, not yet. But a promise coalescing in the corner of a room that’s seen our worst and our best.
The hours pass.I drift in and out of consciousness. I feel hands on me—medics calmly cleaning wounds, stitches stitching deeper than flesh. I taste antiseptic and chocolate dust—like spilled nostalgia. I hear the hum of station life beyond the windows, the distant rumble of engines, the soft rumble of passerby voices.
Arms carry me in and out of that haze—Ruby’s grip tight, then Lyrie’s playful lisp, “You owe me a piping lesson before you collapse again,” she teases, fingers checking thumped armor. Vonn stands at the door, arms folded in happy suspicion, softening whenever she'd believed in me more than I believed in myself.
Moments crystallize: Ruby brushing my hair from my brow; a distant news anchor declaring Aelphus disavowed; the hum of volunteer medics thanking us for giving them something meaningful to protect.
By late afternoon, I push against the sheets. Ruby’s shoulders stiffen but she doesn’t leave. I need her near—need to push through half-awake sedation and fear.
“Help me sit up,” I murmur.
She does. Gently, firmly. I taste salt on her neck as she leans close—sweet like stolen jam straight from her freezer.
The attack’saftermath settles across Novaria like dust after a quake. The Vortaxians are driven back; the elite leaders carried off in restraints. The station’s triage centers are busy, but the bakery returns to purpose. They cleared our names—declared the assault an extremist plot, Aelphus’s rogue greedy cultists. His legal protections stripped. The statement unfolds in the media. The galaxy shifts. But more than the world’s clarity, something deeper shifts in me.
I stand behind the counter first time since the fight: palms pressed on the wood, sight sweeping the bakery reborn. Cups of coffee are being poured, pastries passed out. I taste strength I thought I’d lost.
Ruby stands beside me in the front window—reassurance incarnate—dusting powdered sugar off my shoulder like I don’t deserve it. She doesn’t say much. For once, the calm hum of cinnamon at dawn is enough.
In the days following, I pour more effort into rebuilding—not only the bakery, but the community. I weld support for a broken awning outside. I help anchor the signs rebuilt with bright pastel letters. I lift heavy boxes of supplies for Lyrie and Vonn. With each modest action, I feel something new settle: I’m not just her protector—I’m her partner. We stand shoulder-to-shoulder in rebuilding Earth?Bites and the neighborhood.
A week later,twilight slides over Novaria’s rooftops as I join Ruby on her rooftop terrace. The sky is a canvas of burnt orange and deep lavender. I can see our bakery lights below, flickering against the dusk.
She takes my hand. “Rekkgar.”
I turn to her, heart already suffused with love in every one of her syllables. She squeezes my hand and steps back, exhaling a breath of resolve and joy. “I want to marry you. Not because tradition says so—becauseIchoose to. Because I don’t want any more waiting.”
