Taken By the Alien Killer

Chapter 1

STAR

The Akuran sun doesn’t just shine—it performs. Everything’s bathed in that rich, gold syrup light, like the world’s been dipped in honey.

It drips warm across the ivory tiles beneath me, clinging to the silk of my lounging dress like it’s jealous I wore anything at all.

I shift, one leg curled under me, the other stretched toward the end of the chaise, and the light licks up the inside of my thigh that makes me feel vaguely indecent. Not that anyone’s looking.

Well. Maybe one person is. But he’s pretending not to.

Rayek sits across from me like he’s part of the furniture.

Giant, still, unreadable. I don’t know how someone his size can vanish into the background so easily, but he does.

Like a shadow that grew teeth. The only giveaway he’s alive is the occasional blink—or the way his golden eyes keep narrowing at the chessboard between us like it personally insulted his ancestors.

“Your move, big guy,” I say, flicking a pawn off the board and into my glass of fruit wine. It lands with a soft plop, sending a lazy ripple through the deep red liquid. The pawn bobs once, then spins, sinking like it knows it’s lost.

Rayek doesn’t answer. Just stares. Always so damn serious. Like he thinks every game of chess is a battle that could end lives.

“You know, most people play this for fun,” I try again. “Light banter. Witty remarks. Flirting, even. You’re allowed to smile. Won’t crack your face, I promise.”

He lifts one hand—slow, deliberate—and moves his knight two spaces.

I sigh theatrically. “Gods, your sense of whimsy is overwhelming. I might faint.”

“Try not to,” he rumbles without looking up. “There are stairs nearby. I’d rather not carry you down again.”

“Oh please. You live to carry me.” I stretch, just enough to make the bodice of my dress strain. A bead of sweat trails down between my breasts and disappears under the fabric. “Admit it.”

His gaze flicks up, just for a second. Just long enough to see. To notice. Then it’s back on the board, and his jaw tightens.

“I live to keep you alive,” he says.

“That’s not a denial.”

A silence stretches between us, taut as a drawn bowstring. The garden around us hums with life—chirping bugs, rustling leaves, the faint scent of those fat peach-blossoms that always bloom too early and drop their petals like they’re scandalized by the heat.

I swirl the glass in my hand, watching the wine lap at the sides. Sweet and tart, like most things on this planet. Like me, if I’m being generous. I pluck the pawn out and flick it away with a sharp click of my nail.

Rayek’s still as ever, massive arms resting on his thighs, hands steepled together like he’s meditating over battle plans.

The sun glints off his black scales—those silver striations catching the light like someone took a blade to him and the wounds healed into something beautiful.

He smells like metal and smoke and leather sun-warmed after a day of not enough shade. My stomach does something stupid.

“You know,” I say, prodding a bishop with the tip of one finger, “most people would kill for a day like this. Beautiful weather. Gorgeous company.” I smile. “Me, I just get the brooding bodyguard.”

“I’m not paid to entertain you.”

“Good thing,” I shoot back. “You’d owe me a refund.”

Another twitch of his lip. Not quite a smirk. But close. Victory.

I watch him for a moment longer, taking in the way he moves—not that he moves much. But I know him well enough to read the microexpressions, the weight shifts, the tiny tells. I’ve had over a decade of practice. I could map him blind.

Sometimes, he still surprises me.

I draw my next piece and tap it on the board absently, eyes drifting past him to the horizon. The city’s distant from here, just a shimmer of tall spires and gravity rails, blurred by heat. All of it feels fake today. Like it belongs to someone else’s life.

I lean forward, propping my chin on one hand. “Do you ever think about leaving?”

Rayek’s fingers pause above the board.

“Leaving what?” he asks carefully.

“This.” I gesture around the courtyard. “Akura. Chamberland. Guard duty. Me.”

His eyes cut to mine, sharp and sudden. “Never you.”

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 satisfying clack. “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 it not change 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 and what 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.

“Surprised?” I ask, tapping the edge of the board. “You shouldn’t be. It was always going to happen, eventually. Prearranged. Prepackaged. Preposterous.”

His golden gaze drops back to the game. But it’s too late. I saw it. That little flicker of pain behind the iron.

He moves a pawn. Wrong square.

It takes me half a second to spot the blunder—and another to realize he’s given me an opening. Rayek doesn’t make mistakes. Not in chess. Not in war. Not unless something inside him is unraveling.

I pounce.

My rook slides in, cornering his king. I don’t even hesitate. He knows it, too. His eyes narrow as he sees what he did. What he let me do.

“Check,” I say sweetly, leaning forward over the board. “You sure you’re okay today? I mean, it’s a lovely day for brooding and sulking, but your game’s kind of a mess.”

Still no reply.

His hands rest on his knees, fingers flexing slightly, claws tapping the fabric of his trousers. He’s not used to losing. Not used to being this rattled. I can see it in the way his shoulders tense, the way his breath goes shallow.

I press the advantage—not on the board, but in him.

“Come on,” I coax, cocking my head. “Say something. Grunt. Growl. Glare at me in disapproval. You’re supposed to make a move, remember?”

His gaze lifts, locking with mine. It’s sharp. Wounded. And something else—something dangerous and hot and barely held in check. My heart skips a beat, unbidden.

“I made my move,” he says, voice low. “You just haven’t noticed it yet.”

My stomach flips. Hard.

But before I can ask what the hell that means, he blinks, glances back at the board, and adjusts his position like nothing ever happened.

Fine. He wants to pretend? I’ll let him.

I slide my queen across the board, cornering his king for real this time. “Checkmate,” I whisper, tasting victory, but not the sweet kind.

Rayek doesn’t even look surprised. Just nods once, a short, stiff motion.

I lean forward, propping my elbow on the table and resting my chin on my knuckles. “That’s what, five wins in a row? You’re losing your edge, Commander.”

His mouth twitches at the title I know he hates being reminded of. His eyes stay on the board, but there’s something coiled in his posture. Something fraying at the edges.

I let my voice soften. Just a little. “You okay?”

Still no answer.

Damn him and his silences.

I reach across the table and nudge his knight back toward the center of the board. My fingers brush his, just barely.

It’s like touching static—warm and charged and fleeting.

He doesn’t pull away. But he doesn’t move either.

“I didn’t ask for this,” I murmur.

His eyes lift. “Ask for what?”

“This… arrangement.” I shrug, trying to play it off. “The betrothal. The legacy. The whole ‘prize bride’ thing. It’s all very storybook, don’t you think?”

There’s a muscle ticking in his jaw again. I’ve learned to read that muscle like a mood ring.

“I don’t think anything about this is a story,” he says quietly. “Not one worth reading, anyway.”

Our eyes meet across the board. There’s something between us. Always has been. But it’s louder now. Hotter. Hungrier. I feel it in my fingertips, in the way my breath catches when he stares too long.

And just like that, the moment is broken.