Page 7 of Return to Sender
“So we’re stuck together?” I throw my hands up, the movement making his shirt—his shirt—ride up slightly. Wi’kar’s eyes flick down, then away so quickly I almost miss it. “Fantastic. I traded a golden cage for a silver one with better hygiene protocols.”
I gesture around his pristine quarters. “This place is like a morgue with better lighting. Do you actually live here, or is thisjust where you store your collection of rule books and spare regulation underwear?”
His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. “My living arrangements are optimal for my duties.”
“Optimal.” I move closer, invading his personal space just to see what he’ll do. “Do you guys even have emotions, or did you replace them with extra efficiency subroutines?”
“Gluxians experience emotions,” he replies, but his voice has gone lower, rougher. “We simply regulate their expression more effectively than humans. Our scent glands communicate emotional states without the need for...” his eyes flick to my mouth, “...dramatic displays.”
“Dramatic displays?” I step even closer, close enough to see the way his pupils dilate. “You mean like this?”
I reach up and deliberately muss his perfectly styled hair. It’s softer than I expected, and the sharp intake of breath he tries to hide sends heat racing through my veins.
His scent glands flare brilliant silver, flooding the air with something that smells like lightning and barely controlled want.
“What exactly are you feeling right now, Agent Perfect?” I whisper, my fingers still tangled in his hair. “Annoyance? Panic? Or something else entirely?”
“I am experiencing...” he starts, then stops, his breathing uneven. His hands twitch at his sides like he wants to reach for me but won’t let himself. “Concern regarding our predicament.”
“Liar.” I’m close enough now to see his chest pulse with his heartbeat, to catch the way his lips part slightly as he struggles for control. “Your scent is telling a completely different story.”
Before he can respond, I turn away, leaving him standing there looking like I’ve just scrambled all his circuits.
“What honor is there in being a delivery boy anyway?” I toss over my shoulder, going for his pride since direct assault onhis self-control is proving... distracting. “You’re nothing but a glorified mail carrier with a fancy uniform.”
That gets a reaction. His scent glands flare bright silver, and his entire posture shifts into something more dangerous, more primal.
“I am a Tier-1 Diplomatic Courier entrusted with materials that affect interstellar relations,” he says, each word precise and cutting. “My role requires absolute integrity, discretion, and unwavering adherence to protocol. Lives depend on my reliability.”
The passion in his voice catches me off guard. There’s the man beneath the regulations—someone who genuinely believes in what he does, who takes pride in being trustworthy when trust matters. Someone who probably chose this life precisely because it gave him purpose, structure, meaning.
It’s... attractive. Damn it.
“Alert,” AXIS interrupts before I can process this revelation. “Incoming transmission from Human Concord vessel Royal Pursuit. Priority Alpha.”
My blood turns to ice. I know that ship. It’s Dante’s personal flagship.
Wi’kar’s eyes meet mine, and for the first time, I see clear conflict there. Real emotion breaking through his perfect control. He’s calculating, weighing options, and I can see the exact moment he realizes what this means for both of us.
“Accept transmission, audio only,” he commands after a heartbeat of hesitation.
“Diplomatic Vessel Protocol Prime,” a familiar, cultured voice fills the room. Prince Dante of House Folkov, in all his arrogant glory. “Our scans indicate you are harboring a fugitive royal asset. Power down your engines and prepare to be boarded.”
My heart hammers against my ribs. This is it. The moment of truth.
But Wi’kar doesn’t immediately respond. He’s looking at me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle, as if he’s trying to read something in my face. As if my answer might actually matter to him.
“Diplomatic Vessel, respond,” Dante’s voice comes again, sharper now. “Failure to comply will be considered an act of aggression.”
I see my chance and take it, stepping close enough that Wi’kar can probably count my eyelashes.
“You turn me over to that peacock,” I whisper urgently, “and I’ll tell them you kidnapped me. I’ll say you invoked the bonding clause deliberately to steal a princess for your own twisted purposes.” I let my voice drop to barely audible. “Your precious career will be space dust. Your family’s honor will be ruined. Your entire species will be seen as untrustworthy.”
His eyes narrow. “That would be false.”
“Do you think Dante cares about truth?” I challenge, pressing closer until I can feel the heat radiating from his body, until I’m drowning in that clean, precise scent that’s becoming dangerously familiar. “He wants me as a war prize, not a wife. And he’d love to make an example of the alien who ‘stole’ his property.”
Wi’kar’s breathing has gone shallow, and his scent is doing complicated things that make my head spin.
