Page 14 of Taken By the Alien Merking

Brooke stood before him. Even in the dim light, her skin glowed like polished obsidian.

Zetron’s heart thrummed in his chest, a rhythm as old as the sea that birthed him. The air was thick with unspoken words, the tension between them a living thing. The king could not tear his eyesaway from her; she was a force of nature, a tempest that threatened to upend his well-ordered world.

“You heard.” Zetron finally spoke, his voice a low rumble that resonated in the cavernous space. It was not a question. The truth was etched in the lines of Brooke’s face.

Brooke’s lips parted, but Zetron raised a hand, silencing her before she could utter a sound. He needed a moment to gather his thoughts, to fortify the walls that crumbled the moment he’d tasted her lips.

“I had intended to reveal my identity in due time,” he said, each word deliberate, measured. “But fate, it seems, is fond of its little games.”

Zetron stepped closer, his movements fluid and predatory. He was the apex predator of his domain, and yet, in Brooke’s presence, he felt as though he were the one being hunted.

“Zetron Kallithar,” he continued, his gaze never wavering from hers, “King of the Quxoni, protector of the deep.”

A flicker of something crossed Brooke’s features, but she remained silent, her eyes locked onto his. Zetron saw the wheels turning behind those dark orbs, almost hearing the cacophony of thoughts vying for attention within her mind.

The king took another step, closing the distance between them. He smelled the faint trace of the soap she’d used, a scent that had taken on a new allure after their night together. It was a reminder of the vulnerability they had shared, a vulnerability that Zetron had never offered to another.

“I am not accustomed to explaining myself,” he admitted, his voice dropping to a whisper that seemed to caress the air between them.

Zetron paused, his eyes drifting over her face, memorizing the contours and curves. He was a king unaccustomed to denial, and yet, he knew that with Brooke, he stood on the precipice of a desire that could unravel the fabric of his carefully constructed life.

He reached out, his fingers brushing against the soft fabric of her shirt, a silent question hanging in the air. The king waited, his breath caught in his chest. The next move was hers to make.

He had expected many reactions from Brooke upon learning his true identity, but the sheen of unshed tears in her eyes was not one of them. A pang of something unfamiliar twisted in his chest, a discomfort that bordered on pain. This was not the fiery indignation of a warrior, but the quiet vulnerability of one who felt deceived.

The king’s mind raced, his usual calm disrupted by the sight of Brooke’s distress. He was a leader, a fighter, a negotiator—not acomforter. Yet, at that moment, Zetron would have given anything to erase the hurt from her face. He was unaccustomed to the tender dance of emotions, to the delicate art of reassurance. His world was one of command and action, not gentle words and softer sentiments.

Zetron’s gaze swept over Brooke, taking in the subtle quiver of her lips, the tension in her jaw, the way her hands clenched at her sides. He saw the battle within her, the struggle to maintain her composure. It was a silent plea that called to something deep within him, a protective instinct that roared to the surface, demanding action.

He withdrew his hand, the warmth of her still lingering on his fingertips. The king knew he had to bridge the chasm that now lay between them, to explain the machinations of his world and the threats that loomed like shadows over their potential alliance. But where to begin? How could he make her understand the complexity of his reign, the dangers that lurked beneath the tranquil beauty of Sanos?

Zetron’s thoughts turned to the counsel of his general and science advisor, to the dire warnings of the anti-alien faction that sought to undermine the summit. They spoke of treachery and subterfuge, of a resistance that would do anything to prevent the union of their peoples.

As he stood there, mere inches from Brooke, Zetron grappled with the weight of his kingship. He was not just a man, but a symbol—a beacon of hope for his people. The decisions he made would ripple through the ages, shaping the future of not just the Quxoni, but potentially the humans of Earth as well.

With a steadying breath, Zetron sought to convey the gravity of their situation without overwhelming her. “Brooke,” he began, his voice a low thrum that resonated with the authority of his position. “There are forces at play that seek to disrupt the harmony we strive for. My identity, my role as king, it complicates matters, but it does not change the essence of who I am.”

He watched her closely, gauging her reaction. “I am still the same being who swam beside you, who sought to protect you from harm. My title does not alter the connection that formed between us, nor does it negate the respect and admiration I have come to feel for you.”

Zetron took a step back, allowing her the space she needed to process his words. He was a king, yes, but he was also a male who had tasted the sweetness of Brooke’s kiss, who had reveled in the softness of her skin. He would not let his kingship become a barrier between them.

“I understand if you feel betrayed, if trust has been eroded by this revelation,” he said, his tone sincere.

Brooke’s voice pierced the thick air like a harpoon, sharp and cutting. “What about the treaty? My people?” Her words hung between them, the weight of her emotion palpable in the cavern’s stillness. There was no mention of their shared warmth beneath the blankets, no acknowledgment of the way their hearts had raced in unison. In her eyes, Zetron saw the glint of betrayal, the sting of deception that he, a king, had inadvertently dealt.

Zetron’s chest tightened, an unfamiliar sensation constricting his breath. He had faced down insurgents, battled sea beasts of nightmare proportions, but this—this was a tempest of a different kind. The Brooke before him was not the woman whose cries of passion had echoed in the cavernous expanse of his sanctuary. This was Captain Brooke Harris, the representative of Earth, the negotiator who had come to Sanos with the future of her people etched in the lines of determination on her face.

A surge of hurt, raw and unrefined, washed over him, momentarily clouding his judgement. He was Zetron Kallithar, ruler of the Quxoni, master of the deep. He was not supposed to feel such vulnerabilities. And yet, there it was—a sting that threatened to unravel the stoic facade he had presented to the world for centuries.

With a deep, steadying breath, Zetron summoned the full force of his alpha dominance, letting it cloak him like a suit of armor. His voice, when it came, was as cold and unyielding as the ocean depths. “If you wish to discuss the future of Earth, so be it. The treaty remains a priority.” He paused, the silence heavy with unspoken truths. “We can postpone… other discussions for a more appropriate time.”

Brooke’s brow furrowed, her lips parting as if to argue, but Zetron continued, his tone leaving no room for debate. “You will discover the consequences of our actions soon enough.” The double meaning of his words was not lost on him. There was the political fallout from their untimely interlude, and then there was the personal—a bond had been forged between them, whether Brooke chose to acknowledge it or not.

Zetron turned away from her, the muscles in his back rigid with the effort of maintaining control. He strode to the mouth of the cave, his gaze sweeping over the lush foliage that cloaked the island. The rustle of leaves and the distant crash of waves against the shore were a balm to his frayed nerves. He was a creature of the sea, born of its power and mystery. He would not allow the tumultuous emotions of a human female to unsettle him.

And yet, as he stood there, the echo of Brooke’s question reverberated through him. The treaty. It was the reason she was here, the reason he had allowed himself to entertain the possibility of analliance with Earth. It was a chance to bring prosperity and peace to his people, to ensure the survival of the Quxoni for generations to come. But at what cost?

Zetron’s thoughts were a maelstrom of duty and desire. He had tasted the sweetness of Brooke’s lips, had felt the intoxicating heat of her body against his. She was unlike any female he had ever known, human or Quxoni. She was fire and spirit, strength and resilience. She challenged him, stirring something primal within him that he had long kept buried beneath the mantle of his kingship.

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