Page 30 of My Big Fat Fake Alien

“Raven, I—” The words catch in my throat. I want to tell her how I feel, how she’s become more than just a mission to me. But before I can continue, she presses a finger to my lips, silencing me.

“Wait,” she whispers, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I can’t…I’m not ready to…”

I nod, understanding her unspoken words. The pain in her eyes isn’t new. It’s old, weathered, and deeply rooted. She’s been hurt before, and she’s not ready to trust again, not fully. Not yet.

I press a kiss to her forehead, my arms wrapping around her as she leans into me. Her tears dampen my shirt, but I don’tcare. I’ll hold her as long as she needs, for as long as it takes for her to heal.

“It’s okay,” I murmur, my hand stroking her hair. “Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”

I’ve seen battles fought on battlefields, in the stars, and in the shadows. But the fiercest fight of all is the one within oneself. Raven’s fighting that battle right now, and I’ll be here to help her win it—when she’s ready.

CHAPTER 13

RAVEN

Isit there, swaddled in Karc’s impossibly warm embrace, his scaled chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm beneath my cheek. The limo glides through the city, the hum of the engine a faint backdrop to the storm raging in my head.

His hand strokes my hair, slow and deliberate, like he’s trying to smooth out the jagged edges of my thoughts. It’s infuriating. He’s infuriating. How can someone so…otherfeel so right?

“I don’t deserve you,” I mumble into his chest, my voice muffled but loud enough for him to hear. The words sound bitter and raw.

His hand stills for a moment, then resumes its rhythmic motion. “You’re wrong,” he says, his voice low but firm, like he’s stating a fact as undeniable as gravity.

I pull back slightly, just enough to glare up at him. His golden eyes meet mine, steady and unflinching. “I’m not,” I insist, my voice cracking. “You’re this… thiswarrior, this alien prince or whatever the hell you are, and I’m just… me. Broken, messed-up me. I can’t even let you say you love me. I’m a disaster, Karc. A walking, talking dumpster fire.”

He doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t even smirk. Instead, he cups my face in his hand, his touch warm and impossibly gentle. “You’re wrong,” he repeats, his voice softer now. “You’re not broken, Raven. You’re strong. So damn strong. You’ve been hurt, but you’re still here. You’re still fighting. That’s not weakness. That’s strength.”

I want to argue, to tell him he’s full of it, but the words stick in my throat. His eyes bore into mine, and for a second, I can almost believe him. Almost.

He brushes a strand of hair from my face, his fingertips lingering on my cheek. Nothing more needs to be said in this moment. God, I wish I had the guts to tell him what's inside my heart. I'm afraid to even think it to myself.

The limo pulls up to Kirk's mansion, and he guides me inside with a gentle hand at the small of my back. My muscles ache from the emotional roller coaster of the day.

"Let me take care of you," he says, leading me to his master bath.

The tub fills with steaming water and fragrant bubbles. I sink into the warmth, letting it seep into my bones. Through half-closed eyes, I watch Karc move around the bathroom, setting out fluffy towels and lighting candles.

He returns with a tray of cheese, fruit, and charcuterie, along with a glass of crisp white wine. My hands drip with bathwater, but he doesn't hesitate to feed me by hand - a grape here, a slice of prosciutto there. The intimacy of it makes my heart flutter.

"Time for your massage," he says after I'm done soaking. He helps me from the tub, wrapping me in the softest towel I've ever felt.

The massage table waits in an adjoining room. His scaled fingers work magic on my muscles, finding knots I didn't even know I had. When he reaches my left shoulder - the one I'd messed up during a particularly ambitious parkour run -I almost cry with relief as the six-month-old tension finally releases.

"Sleep now," he whispers, helping me into his bed. The sheets feel like clouds against my skin.

No grabby hands. No suggestive comments. No expectations. Just pure care and consideration. My chest tightens as I realize no man has ever treated me like this before.

I drift off to the most peaceful sleep I've had in years. When I wake, the rich scent of coffee pulls me from my dreams. Red golden light streams through the windows - I must have slept for hours.

I find the white silk robe hanging over a chair and slide it on before joining Karc in the kitchen. He turns at my approach and smiles.

"Sugar or cream?" he asks.

"Yes," I reply, leaning against the counter as he busies himself with the coffee maker. The rich aroma fills the space, mingling with the faint scent of his scales—something earthy and warm that’s uniquely him. "Karc, you’re amazing."

He shrugs his massive shoulders, the robe straining slightly with the movement. "I know," he says, deadpan, his golden scales glinting in the morning light streaming through the windows.

I laugh, the sound bubbling out of me before I can stop it. He joins in, his deep chuckle a low rumble that vibrates through the air. For a moment, it’s easy to forget the weight of everything—the danger, the secrets, the fear. It’s just us, sharing coffee in his kitchen like any other couple.

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