Page 2 of Taken By the Alien Killer
The words hang there, heavier than they have any right to be.
I swallow. My throat’s dry, and not from the heat.
“That was… weirdly sweet,” I say, voice too light. “Careful. I might think you actually care.”
His gaze doesn’t waver. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t think that.”
For a second, I don’t breathe. Then I make a show of rolling my eyes.
“Fine. Be a statue. See if I care.” I set my piece down with a satisfyingclack.“Check.”
He studies the board. Moves his queen. Neutralizes my play.
Typical.
I fidget with my necklace, metal warm against my collarbone. The truth hovers behind my lips like steam against a closed door, waiting to burst out.
Kaspian is coming.
The words itch in my mouth. They don’t want to stay hidden. They want out. But if I say it—if I say it—I’ll have to see the reaction. Hear the silence that follows. Watch his expression, or worse, watch itnotchange at all.
So I don’t.
I take another sip of wine, letting the fruit sting the back of my throat.
“Your move,” I whisper.
I roll the bishop between my fingers, pretending to be thinking, but I’m not really. The board’s all but decided. Rayek’s down a rook and two pawns. His game’s sloppy today—off-balance, reactive. I wonder if it’s me. I wonder if it’s him.
I wonder if it’s what I haven’t said.
The words are there, scratching behind my teeth, aching to spill. And maybe if I toss them out casually, like it’s no big deal—like I’m talking about the weather or Sneed’s terrifying obsession with polished boots—then they won’t sting.
I toy with the idea a moment longer. Then I let it slip.
“Kaspian’s coming.”
I don’t even look up. Just nudge a knight forward and pretend it’s nothing, even as the air shifts like I just dropped a bomb in the courtyard.
Rayek’s hands freeze above the board.
I hear it before I see it. The stillness. His breathing, once steady, now caught somewhere between inhale andwhat the hell. He doesn’t speak. Of course he doesn’t. Rayek’s silences are like entire conversations—loud, weighty things full of unspoken words and shredded restraint.
I glance up, careful-like, pretending I’m only checking his move. But I see it.
His eyes aren’t on the board anymore.
They’re on me.
And they burn.
Not with anger. Not exactly. Something tighter. Harder. Like a vice clamped around his ribs. His jaw clenches just once, the way it always does when something cracks his armor and he’s trying desperately to weld it back together.
I school my features into a lazy smirk, like I don’t notice the way he’s just gone stock-still.
