Page 19 of Claimed By the Alien Prince
CARYS
I sit at the table, staring at my research notes while the afternoon sun spills through the window, casting warm light across the room. The sounds of Verus hum in the background—soft rustles of leaves and distant calls of creatures I can’t name.
I’m so absorbed in my work that I almost jump when a soft knock interrupts my thoughts. My heart races, pounding against my ribcage like it wants to leap free.
“Carys,” Zevran’s voice carries through the door, low and steady.
“Come in.” I try to sound indifferent, but my pulse quickens at the thought of him entering.
The door opens slowly, revealing him with that familiar easy grace. He carries a data crystal in one hand, and my stomach tightens as he approaches. The way his bronze skin glows under the light catches me off guard every time—like he’s somehow woven from sunlight itself.
He places the crystal on the table between us, but his fingers brush against my wrist as he withdraws. Just a fleeting touch, yet electricity sparks up my arm, spreading warmth through me.
“Here,” he says simply.
“Thanks.” My voice is steadier than I feel, but I can’t help stealing a glance at him. Those cheekbones could cut glass; his presence fills the space around us like an intoxicating aroma.
As he leans against the wall beside me, I can feel the heat radiating off him—a reminder of how close we are. I focus on his eyes instead of letting myself dwell on what lingers beneath that surface connection.
“Did you manage to decipher any of your plant data?” He shifts slightly, and suddenly his hand rests at the small of my back as he peers over my shoulder at my notes.
It’s not romantic; it’s practical. But gods help me—it feels good. A shiver runs down my spine as his warmth envelops me, both grounding and intoxicating.
“I’ve got some interesting results.” I gesture vaguely at the scattered readings on the table. “But nothing groundbreaking yet.”
His breath brushes against my ear when he leans closer to examine a diagram I sketched—a moment too intimate for comfort but perfect in its tension.
“I have no doubt you’ll uncover something remarkable,” he murmurs softly before pulling away.
I blink rapidly as confusion spirals within me. What is happening? This shouldn’t feel so... alive.
After he steps back, I find myself yearning for more contact despite every rational part of me screaming to maintain distance—to protect myself from whatever this strange bond is growing between us.
Moments pass where we both drift into silence, filled with unspoken tension thrumming between us like a live wire.
Every time there’s a gentle knock at my door or when he slides into view unexpectedly, something inside me stirs—an undeniable excitement mixed with anxiety that churns together in an overwhelming wave.
It must be the wine, I tell myself during those long evenings we share over dinner—the heady Kiphian beverages making everything feel heightened and lush. Or perhaps it’s isolation gnawing at me—a slow burn igniting feelings best left untouched.
But even as these thoughts swirl like clouds overhead, they can't drown out how easily my body tilts toward him without permission; how each passing moment seems to magnify our connection rather than fray it further apart.
Zevran settles into the chair across from me, a contemplative look softening his features. “How are you feeling today, Carys?” His voice is low, almost soothing, and it catches me off guard.
“Fine,” I reply, a little too quickly. I’m not fine—not really. The weight of my research presses down on me like an anchor in a stormy sea. Yet, there’s something about his gaze that makes me want to spill everything.
He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees. “You’ve been cooped up in here for days. You need a break.”
I arch an eyebrow, skepticism prickling at the back of my mind. “A break? From what? This groundbreaking research? Staring out the same window for hours?”
“Exactly.” He gestures at my scattered samples with a grin that’s too charming for my own good. “Come have a seat with me. Relax for a moment.”
Despite my better judgment, I can’t resist the pull of his invitation—each word smooth as silk against the raw edges of my frustration. I set my samples down with a sigh, the tension in my shoulders easing just a fraction as I shift to sit beside him.
His knee brushes against mine, igniting heat that travels straight to my core—a reaction I thought might fade over time but only intensifies with each encounter. My pulse races, and suddenly this space feels too small, too charged.
“Great,” I huff, forcing myself to scoot away slightly and cross my arms defensively over my chest. Space—give me space.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, concern threading through his tone as he watches me with those impossibly green eyes.
I glare at him before pouting slightly. “I’m tired of feeling like this whenever you’re around.” Frustration laces every syllable; it spills out before I can stop it.
He chuckles softly, moving closer again despite the distance I’ve created between us. My breath catches as he reaches up and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear—his fingers grazing my skin send shockwaves coursing through me.
“You’re my mate,” he states simply.
I roll my eyes; sarcasm bubbles up like hot lava ready to erupt. “Oh please. Don’t start that again.”
But when he looks at me—truly looks at me—as if I'm the only thing in this universe worth noticing, something inside shifts ever so slightly.
“Why do you fight it?” His voice is gentle but firm, probing yet understanding.
“Because it doesn’t make sense!” I exclaim before I can stop myself. “You’re royalty! And I’m just... some human botanist who stumbled into your territory.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he replies softly but intensely enough that it pulls me in again. “None of that matters to me.”
Something tightens in my chest—a mix of confusion and longing battling within as the heat from our closeness wraps around us like an unseen tether pulling us together despite our efforts to resist.
“But it did matter!” My voice comes out sharp—too sharp—and regret floods over me when I see his expression darken for just a moment. "That's why you took me!"
“Yes, it did matter when I saw you, but that isn't the reason I took you,” he counters quietly but firmly as if grounding himself against whatever tide pushes between us.
"I took you because the moment I felt your skin against mine, I knew going another day without it would be torture. I knew that you were meant to be mine."
I scoff, causing a flicker of uncertainty to flash across his face before determination hardens his jawline—the lines on his forehead etching deeper as though each moment holds weight beyond its simplicity.
My heart thuds loudly in response to the challenge we’re weaving around one another—each thread connecting us tighter even when we fight against it.
“So what do we do now?” I ask finally, curiosity edging into my tone as apprehension grips tightly at the back of my throat.
Zevran takes a breath, steadying himself while keeping his gaze locked on mine—a fierce connection surging beneath the surface like an undercurrent waiting to pull us deeper than we’ve ever been willing to go.
“I think…” he starts slowly, carefully considering every word before they leave his lips as though they hold both truth and consequence in their power, “…we figure it out together.”