Page 15 of Signed, Sealed, Seduced
Little Courier
Suki
Thedronefreezesinstantly,its weapon powering down with a soft whine. I open my eyes to see it hovering in place, suddenly docile as a pet rock.
And behind it, filling the doorway with his imposing presence, stands Henrok.
He’s dressed differently than at dinner—some kind of battle armor that makes him look even larger, if that’s possible. The dark plates seem to absorb light rather than reflect it, and they’re etched with the same crystalline patterns that decorate the fortress walls. Those patterns pulse with a soft red glow that matches the alarm lights, making him look like some ancient war god stepping out of myth.
The crystalline lines on his skin seem to pulse in rhythm with his armor, his garnet eyes practically glowing in the chamber’s chaotic lighting. He looks furious. And somehow, unfairly magnificent.
“Hi,” I manage weakly, my voice barely audible over the wailing alarms. “Fancy meeting you here.”
His expression doesn’t change as he steps into the chamber, the drone moving aside for him like an obedient pet. With a gesture that’s almost casual, he silences the alarms, returning the lighting to its normal blue glow. The sudden quiet is almost as jarring as the noise had been.
“Courier Vega,” he says, his voice dangerously soft. Each word is precisely enunciated, like he’s carefully controlling his tone. “You appear to be lost.”
I straighten, trying to reclaim some dignity despite being caught red-handed in what is clearly a restricted area. My knees are shaking slightly from the adrenaline, but I lock them in place and lift my chin. “Actually, I was just looking for a bathroom. Your guest quarters are seriously lacking in directional signage.”
“The cleansing chamber is connected directly to your quarters,” he points out, his tone flat as processed steel. “Through the door marked with the universal symbol for water.”
Oh. Right. That door.
Heat creeps up my neck. “Well, maybe I wanted a different bathroom. One with a view.”
His eyes narrow slightly, and I notice how the crystalline patterns around his temples pulse faster when he’s irritated. “You disabled a level-three security lock, navigated three restricted corridors, and accessed a command center... in search of a scenic place to relieve yourself.”
When he puts it like that, my excuse does sound pretty flimsy. But I’m committed now.
“Okay, fine.” I cross my arms defensively, trying to ignore the way his attention tracks the movement. “I was looking for my package. And a way to contact OOPS without your scary diplomat breathing down my neck. Sue me for not trusting the people who kidnapped me and slapped a tracker on my wrist.”
Something flickers across his features—too quick to identify. Anger? Surprise? The armor makes it harder to read his body language, but I catch a subtle shift in his stance, like he’s forcing himself to remain still.
“Your package is secure in our holding facility,” he says after a moment. “As I told you it would be.”
“And I’m just supposed to take your word for that?”
“Yes.” The simplicity of his response catches me off-guard. No justification, no defense. Just absolute certainty that his word should be enough.
The audacity is almost admirable. Almost.
“That’s not how this works,” I inform him, gesturing between us. “You don’t get to just say ‘trust me’ after your people mistook me for a sex slave and then locked me in a room with a guard.”
His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly, the only sign that my words have any effect. “You were not locked in. The guard was for your protection, as I explained.”
“Right. My ‘protection.’ Which is why he abandoned his post, leaving me free to wander into your super-secret command center.” I take a step closer, emboldened by frustration and the leftover adrenaline from nearly getting fried. “Face it, Hen-rock. Your security sucks.”
The deliberate mispronunciation hits its mark. Something dangerous flashes in his eyes—not anger, exactly, but something darker and more complex. The crystalline patterns on his armor pulse once, briefly, like a heartbeat.
“The guard was relieved of duty for a scheduled rotation,” he says, his voice dropping to a rumble that seems to vibrate through the floor. “His replacement was delayed by the very security breach you caused.”
Oh. That... actually makes sense.
“Still,” I press on, unwilling to concede the point entirely. “If I can break out this easily, your fortress isn’t exactly Ancient Fort Knox.”
“I don’t know what ‘Ancient Fort Knox’ is,” he says, taking a step toward me. Suddenly the space between us feels charged with something I can’t—or don’t want to—identify. “But I assure you, had the security systems been fully activated, you would not have made it three steps from your door.”
He takes another step, and I have to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. This close, I can see the fine details of his armor—the way the crystalline etchings seem to move in the light, the perfect fit that suggests it was crafted specifically for his body. The realization that he’s probably armed beneath all that plating sends a thrill through me that’s part fear, part something else entirely.
