Page 60 of Rizzed Up By My Alien Neighbor
Nessa turns away, blinking furiously. “This is… insane.”
“Then feel free to leave,” I say quietly, voice neutral but heart racing. “I won’t hold you here.”
She hesitates. Pizza steam rises between us. The suburban sounds persist—uninvited witnesses.
Sammy looks between us. “Mom?”
Nessa closes her eyes, exhales. I hold my breath.
Her words slice deeper than I imagined. In Vakutan culture, the Jalshagar bond is hallowed—a pledge between mates, forged in blood and destiny. Yet even we know that a bond never overrides the other’s consent. To force one’s will is to desecrate the sacred.
Still… the sting of rejection burns hotter than any plasma blast. She might not realize it, but every syllable cuts deeper than any battlefield scar. My tail tightens—an unconscious reflex of stress—and my claws press into the carpet beneath my knees.
She’s right, of course. She always is.
In that crowded suburban living room—pizza fumes, spilled juice boxes, the hum of normalcy—I feel like a cosmic intruder. Every fiber of my being urges me to intercede: protect her from moral compromise, shield her from Lipnicky’s schemes, stand sentinel against the world’s cruelty. This is what a mate does. This is what the Jalshagar bond commands. But… I have no right.
So I bow my head, the scarlet scales of my neck whispering under my breath. My voice becomes a gentle rumble, like a lullaby for a battle-weary soul:
“You are not mine.”
It echoes through the silence, collapsing walls I built around my heart. “Unless you choose to be.”
I raise my eyes. On the couch, Nessa stares at me—still, bright-eyed, mouth parted. I don’t know how much she comprehended. I don’t know what she’ll say next.
But then she whispers: “That’s the first real thing you’ve said all night.”
Her voice is quiet, distant, but steady. Something flickers in her eyes: raw, real surprise. Maybe respect. Maybe… something more.
Not acceptance yet—but not rejection.
The air shakes between us; the moment stretches. I exhale slowly, releasing weeks’ worth of tension.
I shift, letting my human posture reassert itself: one foot forward, one backward, hands loose at my sides. The jar of our bond is open—unsure, unfinished, but undeniably present.
I glance toward Sammy, who leans against the wall, expression eager. More questions burning behind those tenacious eyes, but I let them wait.
I turn back to Nessa. “I will wait,” I promise softly. “As long as you need.”
Her jaw clenches, head tilts. She doesn’t move. The minutes stretch. Then:
She exhales, low. She stands and crosses to me—the sound of her feet creaking on the wood-floor. She reaches out and rests a hand on my scaled forearm.
That touch, it hums through me like a song I’ve never heard but always remembered.
I do not respond. I do not lean in. I stand still, allowing her autonomy to guide us.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
Silence returns—but it’s not empty.
It’s the quiet resignation of a truce.
It’s the fragile heartbeat of possibility.
It’s the space between two converging orbits—charged, hopeful, uncertain.
And as I stand in her presence, aware of every rasp of her breath and tender tremor in her voice, I know the bond is more than cosmic magic.
