Page 20 of Return to Sender
It’s not a request. It’s a command from someone who’s just shifted into a completely different mode—no longer the precise diplomatic courier, but something far more dangerous.
The hunter reacts quickly, adjusting his aim, but Wi’kar is faster. With a movement almost too swift to follow, he disarms the man with brutal efficiency. The weapon clatters away as the hunter howls in pain, wrist bent at an unnatural angle.
“You chose poorly,” Wi’kar tells him with calm finality, then strikes a precise point on the hunter’s neck. The man crumples unconsciously to the ground.
“Dominique, move!” Wi’kar commands, his normally measured voice sharp with urgency and something else—something possessive that makes my pulse spike in ways that have nothing to do with adrenaline.
I don’t need to be told twice, darting toward the alley as Wi’kar engages the approaching hunters. His fighting style is nothing like the palace guards who trained me—it’s fluid, economical, absolutely beautiful in its precision. Despite the danger, I find myself momentarily mesmerized by the way he moves, thecontrolled grace of a predator who’s been hiding his true nature beneath diplomatic protocols.
The moment breaks when energy fire from the other hunters forces me to take cover behind a sturdy market stall. Wi’kar dispatches his opponents with moves that look more like deadly dance than combat, then moves to join me, ducking low as bolts sizzle overhead.
“Are you injured?” he asks, eyes scanning me with clinical efficiency that somehow feels like the most intimate caress I’ve ever received.
“I’m fine. But we need to go—there are more coming.” I gesture toward the marketplace entrance where additional figures are pushing through the panicked crowd. “And they know who you are. The bounty makes you sound like some kind of mind-controlling alien overlord.”
His jaw tightens, and his scent carries sharp notes of anger. “I am aware,” he cuts me off. “AXIS informed me of the situation. We must reach the ship immediately.”
“What about the supplies? You said we needed—”
“Secondary concern.” The way he says it, low and intense, makes something warm bloom in my chest. “Your safety is the priority.”
Not the mission. Not the protocols. Me.
I study his face, noting the way his jaw has tightened and his eyes have gone hard with something that looks like barely controlled anger. “Agent Wi’kar, are you experiencing protective instincts? Because you look like you want to hunt down everyone who hurt me.”
The silver patterns at his temples pulse brighter, and his voice when he speaks has gone rougher around the edges. “That is—the situation is—we must focus on tactical considerations.”
“Is that Gluxian for ‘yes, I’m being possessive and it’s scrambling my higher brain functions’?”
“The direct route to the spaceport is compromised,” he states firmly, clearly changing the subject before his pheromones betray him any further. “We will need to utilize the maintenance tunnels beneath the market district.”
“How do you possibly know about those?”
A faint shimmer passes across his temples—something I’m learning happens when he’s particularly pleased with himself. “Standard OOPS courier protocol: always identify secondary evacuation routes before entering potentially hostile environments.”
“Of course it is. Let me guess—you also memorized the structural engineering reports and the sanitation schedules?”
“Only the relevant sections,” he replies with perfect seriousness, which somehow makes it even more endearing.
I laugh despite everything. “You are absolutely ridiculous, and I’m starting to find it charming, which is deeply concerning for my mental health.”
His posture shifts slightly—less rigid, more... pleased? And the corner of his mouth twitches in what might almost be a smile.
“The nearest access point is approximately 27 meters southeast,” he continues, pulling out a small device that projects a tactical map. “We will need to move quickly and remain in close proximity.”
“How close?” I ask, then immediately regret the question when his eyes darken and his voice drops an octave.
“Close enough to ensure your protection,” he says, his voice rougher than usual. “Close enough that I can shield you from any threat.”
We break cover simultaneously, sprinting across the now-emptying marketplace. Shouts and energy fire follow us, but Wi’kar stays slightly behind me, his body positioned to shield mine from attack. I can feel the heat radiating from him, catch his scent even through the chaos—and it’s doing things to myconcentration that are entirely inappropriate for a life-or-death situation.
We’re almost to the access point when new hunters emerge from a side street, cutting off our route. Wi’kar reacts instantly, changing direction and pulling me behind a massive pillar. Energy bolts impact the stone, sending fragments flying.
His hand on my arm burns through the fabric of my sleeve, and when I glance up at him, there’s something in his expression that makes my breath catch. Not just professional protection—something personal, possessive, almost desperate.
“Alternative route,” he says tersely, though his thumb strokes unconsciously across my wrist. “The fountain. Service corridor behind the eastern water feature.”
I peer around the pillar. The central fountain is visible about fifty meters away, but the open plaza offers little cover.
