Page 40 of Alien Prince (Alien Abductions and Seductions #1)

Chapter Six

Kael

I can’t believe I agreed to this. During the storm, I made her a promise, and now that we’ve safely returned to my dwelling, she clearly expects me to make good on it.

Teaching her about our culture seems like the most efficient way to hasten her integration.

Or, more likely, her inevitable failure.

But it quickly becomes evident that I might have underestimated her. Greatly.

Emily sits across from me in the study, her arms crossed and her chin raised in that infuriating way she does whenever she thinks she’s winning an argument. For whatever reason, she’s always arguing.

“Why does everything have to be about lineage and legacy?” she demands, her voice sharp but not shrill. “Your people act like bloodlines are the only thing that matters. What about individuality? What about… I don’t know, love?”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, willing myself to stay calm. “Our traditions are what hold Erythos together,” I explain for what feels like the hundredth time. “Without them, we would fall into chaos.”

“Maybe your traditions are the chaos,” she shoots back. “Ever think of that?”

My fingers twitch. I’m caught somewhere between wanting to applaud her nerve and wanting to silence her with sheer proximity. Her defiance is like a fire that consumes every inch of space between us, and it’s driving me mad.

“You presume to understand a culture you’ve only just encountered,” I say, my voice low and sharp, “a culture that has thrived for centuries. Your kind hasn’t even left their home world to explore all that space has to offer.”

She doesn’t flinch. If anything, she leans closer, her eyes blazing with the same maddening determination that has haunted me since the moment we met. “Maybe I don’t understand everything yet,” she says, her tone softer now but no less fierce, “but I do understand people, and people don’t thrive on rules and expectations alone. They need connection. Emotion. Freedom.”

Her words cut through me, not because they’re true—they aren’t—but because they carry a weight that feels too personal. Too… right.

I stand abruptly, needing the space to think, but as I pace the room, her presence only grows louder in my mind. I glance back at her, and she’s watching me with that same fire in her eyes, her arms still crossed as if daring me to disagree.

And I want to. I need to, but instead, all I can think about is how much I want to cross the room, pick her up, throw her over my shoulder, and carry her to bed.

The thought is primal, almost violent in its intensity, and it shakes me to my core. I clench my fists, forcing myself to focus, to ignore the way her lips press into a defiant line or the way her voice lingers in the air like a challenge. None of the others the vessel suggested for me affected me like this.

“Are you going to say something,” she says, breaking the silence, “or are you just going to keep pacing like an angry cat?”

I turn slowly, meeting her gaze head-on. “You are the most infuriating creature I’ve ever met,” I say, my voice low and dangerous.

Her brow arches, and to my astonishment, she smiles. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Of course, she will.

“You and thinking everything negative is a compliment.” I snort and force myself to sit back down, leaning forward so that the space between us feels charged but controlled. “If you truly want to learn about my culture,” I add, my tone measured, “then stop arguing long enough to listen.”

Her smile fades slightly, but the fire in her eyes doesn’t dim. “Fine,” she says, “but only if you promise to actually answer my questions instead of giving me the ‘this is how it’s always been’ speech.”

I suppress the urge to growl, leaning back in my chair. “We’ll see,” I say, though I know this battle is far from over.

And worse, I know that every argument, every fiery retort she throws at me, will only make it harder to resist the pull I feel toward her.

A pull I cannot, will not , act on.

The next day, I watch her from across the council chamber, her head bent over an ancient text she insisted on reading. That she already learned how to read our language… Her intelligence boggles my mind. We spoke of this days ago, but the reason why she understands me is because we have microbes in our clothing that allow us to understand speak of whichever alien species we are engaged with. I am not speaking English, although that is the language Emily hears me speak. Likewise, I hear her speak Fraklious, the language of my people.

She would have to go back to wearing her attire from Earth when the vessel first captured her if she wished to learn Fraklious. Honestly, that might assist her in her current endeavor, but the thought quickly leaves my mind as I notice the glow of the bioluminescent torches casting soft light on her features and making her look almost… serene.

Almost.

But I know better. That serenity lasts only until she finds something to question, something to challenge. And she will. She always does.

When the vessel brought her here, I thought I had figured her out. She was supposed to be fragile and timid. The vessel brought another female from a planet, like Earth, that lacks space travel. I thought Emily would be like the other, unable to withstand the complexities of my world. I planned to dismiss her as easily as I dismissed the others.

But Emily is not what I expected.

She is fire wrapped in softness, a contradiction that unsettles me more than I care to admit. Her quick wit is sharp enough to cut, yet there’s a warmth to her, a compassion that challenges everything I thought I knew about Earthlings.

And that’s what makes her dangerous.

I catch myself watching her too often, studying the way her brow furrows in concentration or the way her lips press together when she’s about to argue with me. It’s infuriating. Fascinating. And utterly inappropriate.

She looks up suddenly, her gaze meeting mine. I don’t have time to look away, and we’re locked in a silent standoff. Her eyes, so unlike the glowing violet of my people, are filled with something I can’t quite name. Curiosity? Determination? Or maybe something else…

“Are you going to keep glaring at me,” she asks, tilting her head, “or are you actually going to help me understand this?”

Her tone is challenging, but there’s no malice in it. It’s just… her. Direct. Unapologetic.

I stand and cross the room, stopping beside her. She holds up the text, pointing to a passage written in ancient Erythosian script. “This part doesn’t make sense,” she says, glancing up at me. “It says something about lineage being bound to the stars. What does that mean?”

I hesitate. “It means our bloodlines are sacred,” I say carefully. “Our ancestors believed they were written into the fabric of the universe, their destinies tied to the stars.”

She frowns, her gaze dropping back to the page. “That’s… beautiful, I guess, but also kind of sad. Like you don’t get a choice in anything.”

I stiffen. “It is not sad,” I say, my tone sharp. “It is tradition. Purpose.”

Her brow furrows again, and I know what’s coming before she even says it. “Purpose is great,” she says softly, “but what happens when your purpose isn’t what you want? Doesn’t that make you feel… trapped?”

Her words strike deeper than I expect, and I have to look away. How does she do that? How does she see through the walls I’ve spent years building and strike at the heart of truths I barely acknowledge myself?

I can’t decide if I want to protect her or push her away. The thought of her navigating this world alone, vulnerable to the dangers she doesn’t yet understand, fills me with a fierce, possessive need to shield her.

But then she says things like this—things that make me question, make me feel—and I want nothing more than to send her back to Earth before she destroys the control I’ve fought so hard to maintain.

“Kael?” Her voice pulls me back, and I realize she’s watching me again, her expression curious but not unkind.

I clear my throat, forcing my tone back to indifference. “You ask too many questions,” I say, stepping back. “Focus on the text.”

Her lips twitch, almost as if she’s holding back a smile. “Fine,” she says, turning back to the page.

But I can still feel her presence, her fire, and I know this battle is far from over.