Page 24 of Alien Warrior Chef… With Benefits

REKKGAR

I wake before dawn, the dojo’s silence tight around me like a drawn blade.

My muscles ache from last night’s session, every fiber humming with tension I can’t release.

The air smells of metal and sweat—my own—and the distant echo of footsteps hints that the station is stirring.

But I don’t move toward the sparring mats.

Instead, I stand by the window, watching the pale curve of Novaria’s oceans below, and feel outrage churning in my gut.

Aelphus. He’s inexplicable luxury, a golden wave of entitlement, believing himself entitled to Ruby’s warmth as though she’s a trophy.

A diplomatic deity in gilded robes, tinged with silent menace.

The thought slaughters me from within. I fought battles, bled through desert sweats and trench mud, and I never encountered obsession like this.

Not until the warlords of old Deciduan nights, claiming mates like victory spoils.

That same fire burns in Aelphus’s eyes when he watches Ruby—covetous, ravenous.

I crush my fist against the cold window glass. If only breaking it with bare hands could unleash relief. But that’s not who I’ve become—not anymore. Not while Ruby breathes hope into me. Not while I’ve vowed to protect what we built, who we are.

I step back and stride to the training floor, boots echoing. The clang of metal on bone is familiar. I start with kata sequences—over and again. Each movement is precise: strike, pivot, parry. Each breath measured. I let adrenaline feed me until I’m slick with sweat, veins singing.

Halfway through, I pause. I step toward a heavy bag hanging from the ceiling.

I punch. First clean, then savage—fury spilling out.

The bag swings like a pendulum struck by war.

My shoulders quake; my jaw tightens. My breath thumps in my ears.

And still I don’t break it. Because she's worth restraint.

Minutes later, I stand dripping, chest heaving. I close my eyes. I clutch the bag.

When I open them, the dojo is still. A single bead of condensation shimmers in the overhead light, a silent star.

I breathe. I won’t push too far. I won’t become what I despise.

Hours later, I pace outside Earth Bites.

Lyrie and Vonn wave from the door—early crew, readying for the busiest day yet.

I can’t cross that threshold yet. Not until I quell the storm inside me.

My senses jitter: the scent of sugar and cinnamon drifting out; the soft hum of machinery inside; Ruby’s laughter echoing like a threat against my simmering rage.

I swallow down the temper. I won’t let them see. I won’t bring this tension into her sunrise. Instead, I focus on the task ahead. The semifinals demand our all. We need steel, not emotion.

I turn and walk to the garage where I store my bike. The leather seat is cold, oil-scented. I kick rubber tire into motion. I need space. Speed. Distance, but also clarity.

I roar down winding corridors, engines whining in automatic tunnels. Planet below spins through viewport windows. My vision narrows, but my heart loosens. By the time I return, I’m quiet. Focused. Ready.

Inside Earth Bites at midday, Ruby’s presence is everything—her voice light as whipped cream, her smile buoying every customer.

I stay silent, watching her move—swift, graceful, alive.

My fangs retreat. My heart soars. She’s still mine, unclaimed.

Her aura hugs me. I press a kiss to her temple as she passes by: a silent vow.

She smiles back—fueled with confidence. I swallow relief.

Lyrie sidles up with cheeky grin. “You’re back.” She nudges me. “Ruby’s stressing. But seeing you here… steady as always.”

I nod. “Here.” My eyes catch Ruby’s—they meet mine. That flicker—gratitude, distractive warmth. I hold it.

That evening, we return to the prep dome. Cameras swarm us like dusk-hungry moths. The station’s artificial skies flicker. Ruby and I stand shoulder-to-shoulder. The challenge is “A Culinary Love Story.” Four courses, four chapters:

Roots —Earth carrots in honey glaze.

Warrior’s Path —charred galactic tubers, smoky spice.

First Convergence —fusion of our styles.

Bond —a dessert of caramel heart, sugar petals.

Ruby flourishes cinnamon swirls. I place basil sprig with quiet precision. We’re fluid. Unfazed. But my senses remain taut, scanning crowds. Every golden hem. Every whisper. Every glance from the mezzanine.

At one point, she hesitates—hands shaking as she pipes sugar petals. My breath catches. I reach for her wrist, steady. She looks at me. I nod. Her fingers relax. She smiles.

I bend to whisper, “Let’s show them our truth.” She nods, spirit reinvigorated.

We finish plating. Course four: a heart shaped by molten caramel. Its center glows like sunrise. She tastes, tears pooled. I hold her gaze. She meets it and nods.

The cameras zoom. The dome hushes. I sense Aelphus’s presence. When he stands—cordial applause—every muscle in me clenches. But Ruby’s gaze finds mine, fierce and steady. No flinch. The plate slides to judges. Silence.

They taste course by course. Each bite: the judges pause. They sip broth. They close eyes. Then they nod. Ruby exhales. I exhale.

Backstage, the host gushes. Cameras flash. Ruby is swaddled in spotlight. And there—on the balcony above—Aelphus stands, arms crossed. He nods slowly, the thinest curl at his lips. Watching. Calculating.

Ruby sees him. Her face tightens. She stiffens. My heart sears with fury. I grip her hand.

He disappears behind curtains. The host ushers Ruby forward. She glances at me, swallowed. I remain silent. But inside: a vow coils tight. I will not let him eclipse our bond. Not this time.

Later, in our suite, I strip off the day’s armor—the apron, the sponsor tags—leaving raw Rekkgar in simple training gear. Ruby enters, shoulders collapsing, tears in her eyes. She closes the door and wraps arms around herself.

I step toward her. “Hey,” I say softly. She steps into me. I wrap my arms around her.

“I felt it today,” she murmurs into my chest. “He watched… I could practically taste his appetite.”

My heart clamps. I press my chin onto her head. “He sees our bond. He’d kill to stake claim.” My voice tremors with restrained rage. “But I’m prepared. I will stand between him and us .”

She lifts her gaze, eyes red but fierce. “It felt like hunger. I felt less free. More... prey.”

“No.” I cup her face. My gaze dives into hers. “Not prey. Partner. Equal. Soulbound.”

She closes eyes, pressing cheek to palm. “Hold me.”

I step forward. We connect chest to chest. I feel the steady belting of her heart against mine. I rock her gently.

The night hums around us—lower decibels than a battlefield, but weighted with different stakes. There’s no grenade blasts—only whispering alarms for the soul.

Eventually she speaks: “Promise me.” I lift brow.

She tilts her lips. “Promise you’ll protect us.”

I smile soft but fierce. “With blood, bone, breath.”

She closes her eyes. I kiss her forehead. “Tomorrow…” I whisper, “we finish this. Win our story. Then we’ll decide who we are beyond all this.” I track gold scars on her face in moonlight.

She kisses my palm, whispers, “Together.”

I nod.

Silence settles over us. Comfort that doesn’t need words.

I press her against me. “We’ll show him.”

Her breath hushes.

We stand like that—two bodies sealed by shared gravity, hearts braced for the dawn.

The next battle awaits. But we are ready.

The amphitheater’s crystalline ceiling refracts light into glittering shards across the stage, and the roar of crowd enthusiasm becomes a hurricane in my chest. Ruby stands at the center of the prep island, arms lifted in triumph, while I operate like a blade in motion—steady, swift, precise—behind her.

I taste the sweet burnout of adrenal drive, feel the press of heat against my back, and hear the syncopated rhythm of utensils scrubbing the silence into resonance.

Every fiber of me is locked in grace under fire, supporting her triumph without stealing the spotlight.

When the head judge steps forward, voice trembling with excitement, I sense Ruby stiffen beside me—a flicker in her spine, like she’s realizing just how high we’ve climbed.

She glows, but there’s vulnerability in that glow.

An ache deepens in my gut. This isn’t just about winning anymore.

It’s about what comes after . She thrives here—crowds, cameras, acclaim.

And if she thrives… will I still matter?

But it’s not yet time for doom. First, we stand tall.

The judge clears his throat. “Finalists for Galactic Panic Chef Surprise—what a phenomenal performance—please welcome our two champions heading to the finals!”

Applause cascades like molten gold. I can feel the waves of heat rush up Ruby’s spine. When our names are called, she beams—not just with victory, but with radiant, jaw-dropping promise. I catch her gaze. She smiles that soft, trembling-soul smile. Yes, this is good. This is everything .

And then?—

A shudder rolls through the station.

Lights flicker.

A low growl of concern hums through the crowd.

Then again—a cruel, deliberate flicker. Followed by klaxons.

The crystalline dome shudders as panels grind shut, metal shearing metal, leaving only dim emergency lighting. The roar of closed shutters reverberates like thunder above us.

A hush clogs the air. Ruby’s fingers twitch in my pocket. My heart jagged with alarm, I pivot, scanning the edges of the stage. The crowd freezes. The staff fumble at controls. Fear cracks.

And then a regal figure appears onstage: Emperor Aelphus. Golden skin gleaming like smelted dusk, robes flowing with silent grandiosity. He steps forward with catlike poise, eyes locking on Ruby and me. A current radiates through the chamber—authority, threat, and something more feral.

He raises a hand. Silence pierces deeper than applause ever could.

“People of Novaria… and the Holonet audience,” his voice purrs through the amplified system—not urgent, but chillingly calm.

“Your entertainment tonight has been admirable.” He glides toward the edge of the stage, spotlight following his every movement.

“But…” He pauses, scanning me first—my scars, my stance—then Ruby—her elation, her rise. “…I have come for something more. ”

He smiles slow, predator style. “I seek my destined.” A glance toward Ruby. “And I believe she is already among us.”

Dread unfurls like a poison vine in my veins. Ruby’s gasp echoes in the stillness. I stiffen beside her, cloak of steel around us, but everything inside me sears with rage. He will not steal her. Not now. Not ever.

He extends his hand toward Ruby—not a request, but a summons. “Step forward. You belong to something beyond mere competition. You belong to me. ”

The crowd murmurs, edge of panic sharpening. Ruby’s breath catches. She looks at me—eyes wild, sweet terror.

I squeeze her elbow. “Stay.” Not a request. A command. My spine is iron.

Ruby hesitates. Her gaze flicks between Aelphus’s golden silhouette and me. The hush stretches—hot, suffocating.

Aelphus’s voice rasps into the silence: “Come. The station is mine now—and so you shall be. For the bond of destiny is stronger than any mortal contract.”

I place my dark-scaled hand over Ruby’s. My voice draws through trembling steel: “You are mine.” My words puncture the hush. “Only mine.”

Ruby breathes out, lips quivering. “Rekkgar, I?—”

I press a finger to her lips. “Don’t say anything. Just follow me.”

Together, we step off the prep island. The floor rumbles. Staff scramble to barricade off cameras and silence feeds. I guide Ruby through side corridors—away from spotlight, glare, coercion.

But Aelphus’s voice trails after us, cold and intent: “You can run, warrior, but she isn’t yours to cage.”

I don’t respond. I swallow that claim and let resolve harden inside me.

In the hush of the backstage labyrinth, I pull Ruby close. The din fades to distant echoes of alarms. She trembles. Tears glitter in her lashes.

“You’re safe with me,” I whisper. “I won’t let him break us.”

Ruby wraps her arms around me—claws and scales and flesh pressed tight. “Promise me,” she whispers, voice brittle but resolute. “Promise.”

I press a kiss to her temple. “I swear it on my soul.” My voice is two tones: steel and prayer.

And with that vow, the lights flicker again—enough to send staff scurrying—and we stand ready. The stage is beyond the corridor, but our battle is born.

We will fight for her soul.

And if the final round becomes a battlefield… we will stand, blade in one hand, heart in the other, unshakeable, unstoppable.