Page 17 of Signed, Sealed, Seduced
The question is pure bravado. We both know I don’t have much choice, not with his hand still wrapped around my wrist and a security drone hovering nearby.
His response is not what I expect. Instead of threats or warnings, he simply... moves.
One moment I’m standing before him, the next I’m lifted effortlessly into his arms, cradled against his chest like I weigh nothing at all.
“Hey!” I squawk, instinctively grabbing onto his armor to steady myself. The crystalline etchings are surprisingly warm under my palms, pulsing with that same rhythm I felt in his voice. “What are you—put me down!”
“You asked what would happen if you refused,” he reminds me, already striding toward the exit with long, purposeful steps. “This is your answer.”
I should be furious. I should be kicking and screaming and demanding he set me down immediately. Instead, I find myself acutely aware of every point of contact between us—the solid strength of his arms beneath me, the heat radiating from his body even through the armor, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against my side.
He’s so much larger than me that I feel almost delicate in his arms, like something precious being carefully transported. The sensation is both alarming and oddly... pleasant. When was the last time someone made me feel protected instead of just trapped?
“This is completely unnecessary,” I manage, trying to ignore the way my body seems to fit perfectly against his. “I have functioning legs.”
“Which you have already used to access restricted areas,” he points out, not slowing his pace as he carries me through the corridors. “This ensures you reach your destination without further... detours.”
“Detours,” I echo, struggling to maintain my indignation when part of me—a traitorous, clearly deranged part—is actually enjoying the sensation of being carried like this. “Is that what we’re calling breaking and entering now?”
He glances down at me, and for a split second, I swear I see something like amusement in his expression. “Would you prefer I drag you by the ankle? That is also an option.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Do not test me, little courier.”
The endearment should sound condescending. Instead, there’s an undercurrent of something almost... fond in his tone that catches me completely off guard. Like he’s not actually angry about my escape attempt, just exasperated by it.
Is the stern, imposing warlord actually... charmed by my defiance?
The thought is dangerous enough that I push it away immediately. Stockholm syndrome is a real thing, and I’m not about to start developing feelings for my captor just because he has excellent bone structure and calls me pet names.
Even if those arms are incredibly strong and he smells like safety and something uniquely him...
“You’re enjoying this,” I accuse, trying to distract myself from the traitorous direction of my thoughts.
“Am I?” He adjusts his grip slightly, and I notice how careful he is not to let the harder edges of his armor dig into my skin. “What gave you that impression?”
“You haven’t stopped almost-smiling since you picked me up.”
“I do not ‘almost-smile.’” But there’s definitely something suspiciously close to amusement in his voice now.
“Right. You’re far too broody and mysterious for anything as pedestrian as smiling.”
“Pedestrian,” he repeats, as if testing the word. “Another human term I do not recognize.”
“It means ordinary. Common. Something beneath the dignity of scary alien warlords.”
“Ah.” We pass under one of the glowing murals, and the shifting light makes his crystalline markings seem to dance. “And what would you consider worthy of a ‘scary alien warlord’s’ dignity?”
The question is clearly teasing, but I find myself considering it seriously. “I don’t know. Conquering star systems? Brooding dramatically in front of windows? Collecting rare minerals?”
“I do not collect minerals,” he says with mock offense. “I utilize them architecturally.”
“Right. Because that’s so much more dignified.”
This time, there’s no mistaking it—his mouth definitely curves upward at the corners. It’s barely there, but it transforms his entire face, making him look younger and infinitely more approachable.
“You have a very strange sense of humor, Suki Vega.”
