Page 25 of Claimed By the Alien Prince
He chuckles softly, moving closer again despite the distance I’ve created between us. My breath catches as he reaches up and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear—his fingers grazing my skin send shockwaves coursing through me.
“You’re my mate,” he states simply.
I roll my eyes; sarcasm bubbles up like hot lava ready to erupt. “Oh please. Don’t start that again.”
But when he looks at me—truly looks at me—as if I'm the only thing in this universe worth noticing, something inside shifts ever so slightly.
“Why do you fight it?” His voice is gentle but firm, probing yet understanding.
“Because it doesn’t make sense!” I exclaim before I can stop myself. “You’re royalty! And I’m just... some human botanist who stumbled into your territory.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he replies softly but intensely enough that it pulls me in again. “None of that matters to me.”
Something tightens in my chest—a mix of confusion and longing battling within as the heat from our closeness wraps around us like an unseen tether pulling us together despite our efforts to resist.
“But it did matter!” My voice comes out sharp—too sharp—and regret floods over me when I see his expression darken for just a moment. "That's why you took me!"
“Yes, it did matter when I saw you, but that isn't the reason I took you,” he counters quietly but firmly as if grounding himselfagainst whatever tide pushes between us. "I took you because the moment I felt your skin against mine, I knew going another day without it would be torture. I knew that you were meant to be mine."
I scoff, causing a flicker of uncertainty to flash across his face before determination hardens his jawline—the lines on his forehead etching deeper as though each moment holds weight beyond its simplicity.
My heart thuds loudly in response to the challenge we’re weaving around one another—each thread connecting us tighter even when we fight against it.
“So what do we do now?” I ask finally, curiosity edging into my tone as apprehension grips tightly at the back of my throat.
Zevran takes a breath, steadying himself while keeping his gaze locked on mine—a fierce connection surging beneath the surface like an undercurrent waiting to pull us deeper than we’ve ever been willing to go.
“I think…” he starts slowly, carefully considering every word before they leave his lips as though they hold both truth and consequence in their power, “…we figure it out together.”
CHAPTER 20
ZEVRAN
Istride through the palace halls, a small box cradled in my hands, its silk ribbon glimmering under the ambient glow of the ion-stone sconces. My heartbeat is steady, though anticipation thrums beneath the surface. I stop in front of her door and knock.
“Carys,” I call softly, adopting the gentle tone that’s become second nature since our bond ignited.
“Come in, Zevran,” she replies, her voice warm but laced with fatigue.
I push the door open to find her lounging on the bed, a handheld fan fluttering before her face like a makeshift shield against the oppressive humidity. The sight stirs something within me—an urge to protect and comfort.
“No sample studies today?” I ask as I take a seat on the edge of her bed, trying to read her expression. “Are you feeling unwell?”
She sighs dramatically. “It’s the heat.”
I nod, understanding all too well how relentless Verus can be. “I’ll arrange for your room to be properly cooled,” I mutter, irritation flickering at the thought of someone meddling with her comfort without permission. “It’s unacceptable.”
As I glance at her again, something urges me to offer more than just practical solutions. “Would a gift make you feel better?”
Her eyes widen slightly—a spark of curiosity igniting amidst her languor.
“What kind of gift?” she asks cautiously, tilting her head.
I don't flirt. Not exactly. But when I watch her unbox the sheer wrap, embroidered with delicate vines that mimic the very flora she studies, my hands twitch. They flex like I’m fighting the urge to rip it back off her shoulders as she drapes it over herself. The fabric clings lightly to her skin, accentuating curves that should distract me but don’t.
“Beautiful,” I murmur, and the word tastes foreign on my tongue.
She glances at me from under her lashes, a sly smile curling her lips. “It’s only a wrap, Zevran.”
