Page 44 of Signed, Sealed, Seduced
“The connection,” he says softly. “The way the markings respond to you. It is not something I have experienced before.”
I prop myself up on his chest, studying his face. “Are you saying this is new for you too?”
“Everything about you is new,” he admits, his hand stroking along my spine in a gesture that’s both possessive and soothing. “The way you respond to my touch, the way you make me feel... it is unlike anything I have known.”
The admission makes my heart clench with emotion. “So we’re both figuring this out as we go.”
“Yes,” he agrees, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. “Together.”
I settle back against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my ear. The crystalline markings continue to pulse gently, a visible reminder of the connection we’ve forged. Outside the viewport, the asteroid belt continues its eternal dance, and I realize I’m exactly where I belong.
“Promise you’ll be here when I wake up?” I murmur, already half-asleep.
His arms tighten around me, and I feel his lips press against my hair. “I promise,” he says simply. “Where else would I be, now that I have found you?”
The words follow me into dreams, a promise I never knew I needed until this moment. For the first time in longer than I can remember, I sleep without one eye open, without the constant vigilance that has been my companion for years.
I sleep in the arms of an alien warlord who burns with crystalline fire, who sees me as more than just a courier, more than just a delivery system. Who makes me feel like I’m home.
And when I wake, hours later, he’s still there, his markings pulsing gently in the starlight, ready to begin again.
12
Delivery Confirmed
Suki
“No,absolutelynot.Thatgoes in the secondary manifest, not the primary.” I snatch the data tablet from the bewildered Zaterran guard’s hands. “See this marker? Gold means diplomatic clearance required. Silver is standard transport. How are you people still alive with organizational skills this bad?”
The guard—Krell, I think his name is—gives me a look that would probably terrify most humans. On his imposing Zaterran features, it’s somewhere between constipation and existential crisis. I’ve been getting that look a lot these past few days.
“The system has functioned adequately for seven centuries, courier,” he says stiffly.
“Adequately?” I laugh, the sound echoing through what used to be Henrok’s war chamber and is now my impromptu logistics command center. “Your idea of ‘adequate’ is why it takes seventeen approval stamps to move a crate of fruit from the landing bay to the kitchens. No wonder you guys are always scowling—you’re probably all malnourished.”
I’ve commandeered the massive obsidian table where Henrok and his commanders normally plot military strategies. Now it’s covered with data tablets, holographic shipping manifests, and a chaotic but methodical reorganization of Zater Reach’s entire supply chain. Three Zaterran logistics officers stand at attention around the table, looking like they’d rather face a firing squad than another hour of my overhaul.
“You are...” Krell searches for a diplomatic word, “...unconventional in your methods.”
“That’s a polite way of saying I’m driving you crazy,” I grin, making another notation on the central manifest. “Look, I get it. Change is hard. But trust me, when we’re done, you’ll be able to process incoming shipments in half the time with a third of the personnel.”
The massive doors at the far end of the chamber slide open, and all three Zaterrans snap to rigid attention. I don’t need to turn around to know who just entered—the sudden shift in atmospheric pressure is enough. That, and the way my skin prickles with awareness.
“I see you’ve conquered my war chamber more effectively than any enemy force has managed in three centuries,” Henrok’s deep voice carries across the room, amusement warming his formal tone.
I spin in my chair, unable to suppress the smile that springs to my face at the sight of him. He’s dressed in what I’ve come to recognize as his “diplomatic attire”—slightly less intimidating than full battle armor, but still impressive enough to make lesser beings quake. The crystalline markings along his exposed forearms pulse with a steady rhythm that I now know speeds up when he’s... stimulated.
“Conquest implies resistance,” I counter, leaning back in my chair. “Your logistics team surrendered the moment I pointed out they were using a filing system from before humans invented the wheel.”
Henrok dismisses the officers with a slight nod, and they practically sprint for the exit, clearly relieved. When the doors close behind them, his posture relaxes almost imperceptibly—a change only someone watching closely would notice.
“They are unaccustomed to such... direct criticism,” he observes, moving toward me with that predatory grace that still makes my heart skip.
“They’ll survive. Their egos might not, but they will.” I gesture to the chaos spread across the table. “Want to help? I could use another pair of hands that understands what an inventory actually is.”
“My understanding of supply logistics is primarily military in nature,” he admits, coming to stand beside my chair. Hismassive frame casts me in shadow, but it feels more like shelter than intimidation. “But I am willing to learn your system.”
“My system?” I laugh. “Henrok, this is literally how the rest of the galaxy has been managing shipments for the past century. You guys are the ones with the weird, convoluted process that requires blood samples and probably virgin sacrifices just to accept a delivery of toilet paper.”
