Page 3 of Taken By the Alien Killer
“Surprised?” I ask, tapping the edge of the board. “You shouldn’t be. It was always going to happen, eventually. Prearranged. Prepackaged. Preposterous.”
His golden gaze drops back to the game. But it’s too late. I saw it. That little flicker of pain behind the iron.
He moves a pawn. Wrong square.
It takes me half a second to spot the blunder—and another to realize he’s given me an opening. Rayek doesn’tmakemistakes. Not in chess. Not in war. Not unless something inside him is unraveling.
I pounce.
My rook slides in, cornering his king. I don’t even hesitate. He knows it, too. His eyes narrow as he sees what he did. What he let me do.
“Check,” I say sweetly, leaning forward over the board. “You sure you’re okay today? I mean, it’s a lovely day for brooding and sulking, but your game’s kind of a mess.”
Still no reply.
His hands rest on his knees, fingers flexing slightly, claws tapping the fabric of his trousers. He’s not used to losing. Not used to being this rattled. I can see it in the way his shoulders tense, the way his breath goes shallow.
I press the advantage—not on the board, but in him.
“Come on,” I coax, cocking my head. “Say something. Grunt. Growl. Glare at me in disapproval. You’re supposed to make a move, remember?”
His gaze lifts, locking with mine. It’s sharp. Wounded. And something else—something dangerous and hot and barely held in check. My heart skips a beat, unbidden.
“I made my move,” he says, voice low. “You just haven’t noticed it yet.”
My stomach flips. Hard.
But before I can ask what the hell that means, he blinks, glances back at the board, and adjusts his position like nothing ever happened.
Fine. He wants to pretend? I’ll let him.
I slide my queen across the board, cornering his king for real this time. “Checkmate,” I whisper, tasting victory, but not the sweet kind.
Rayek doesn’t even look surprised. Just nods once, a short, stiff motion.
I lean forward, propping my elbow on the table and resting my chin on my knuckles. “That’s what, five wins in a row? You’re losing your edge, Commander.”
His mouth twitches at the title I know he hates being reminded of. His eyes stay on the board, but there’s something coiled in his posture. Something fraying at the edges.
I let my voice soften. Just a little. “You okay?”
Still no answer.
Damn him and his silences.
I reach across the table and nudge his knight back toward the center of the board. My fingers brush his, just barely.
It’s like touching static—warm and charged and fleeting.
He doesn’t pull away. But he doesn’t move either.
“I didn’t ask for this,” I murmur.
His eyes lift. “Ask for what?”
“This… arrangement.” I shrug, trying to play it off. “The betrothal. The legacy. The whole ‘prize bride’ thing. It’s all very storybook, don’t you think?”
There’s a muscle ticking in his jaw again. I’ve learned to read that muscle like a mood ring.
