Page 13

CHAPTER 13

RAVEN

I sit there, swaddled in Karc’s impossibly warm embrace, his scaled chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm beneath my cheek. The limo glides through the city, the hum of the engine a faint backdrop to the storm raging in my head.

His hand strokes my hair, slow and deliberate, like he’s trying to smooth out the jagged edges of my thoughts. It’s infuriating. He’s infuriating. How can someone so… other feel so right?

“I don’t deserve you,” I mumble into his chest, my voice muffled but loud enough for him to hear. The words sound bitter and raw.

His hand stills for a moment, then resumes its rhythmic motion. “You’re wrong,” he says, his voice low but firm, like he’s stating a fact as undeniable as gravity.

I pull back slightly, just enough to glare up at him. His golden eyes meet mine, steady and unflinching. “I’m not,” I insist, my voice cracking. “You’re this… this warrior , this alien prince or whatever the hell you are, and I’m just… me. Broken, messed-up me. I can’t even let you say you love me. I’m a disaster, Karc. A walking, talking dumpster fire.”

He doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t even smirk. Instead, he cups my face in his hand, his touch warm and impossibly gentle. “You’re wrong,” he repeats, his voice softer now. “You’re not broken, Raven. You’re strong. So damn strong. You’ve been hurt, but you’re still here. You’re still fighting. That’s not weakness. That’s strength.”

I want to argue, to tell him he’s full of it, but the words stick in my throat. His eyes bore into mine, and for a second, I can almost believe him. Almost.

He brushes a strand of hair from my face, his fingertips lingering on my cheek. Nothing more needs to be said in this moment. God, I wish I had the guts to tell him what's inside my heart. I'm afraid to even think it to myself.

The limo pulls up to Kirk's mansion, and he guides me inside with a gentle hand at the small of my back. My muscles ache from the emotional roller coaster of the day.

"Let me take care of you," he says, leading me to his master bath.

The tub fills with steaming water and fragrant bubbles. I sink into the warmth, letting it seep into my bones. Through half-closed eyes, I watch Karc move around the bathroom, setting out fluffy towels and lighting candles.

He returns with a tray of cheese, fruit, and charcuterie, along with a glass of crisp white wine. My hands drip with bathwater, but he doesn't hesitate to feed me by hand - a grape here, a slice of prosciutto there. The intimacy of it makes my heart flutter.

"Time for your massage," he says after I'm done soaking. He helps me from the tub, wrapping me in the softest towel I've ever felt.

The massage table waits in an adjoining room. His scaled fingers work magic on my muscles, finding knots I didn't even know I had. When he reaches my left shoulder - the one I'd messed up during a particularly ambitious parkour run - I almost cry with relief as the six-month-old tension finally releases.

"Sleep now," he whispers, helping me into his bed. The sheets feel like clouds against my skin.

No grabby hands. No suggestive comments. No expectations. Just pure care and consideration. My chest tightens as I realize no man has ever treated me like this before.

I drift off to the most peaceful sleep I've had in years. When I wake, the rich scent of coffee pulls me from my dreams. Red golden light streams through the windows - I must have slept for hours.

I find the white silk robe hanging over a chair and slide it on before joining Karc in the kitchen. He turns at my approach and smiles.

"Sugar or cream?" he asks.

"Yes," I reply, leaning against the counter as he busies himself with the coffee maker. The rich aroma fills the space, mingling with the faint scent of his scales—something earthy and warm that’s uniquely him. "Karc, you’re amazing."

He shrugs his massive shoulders, the robe straining slightly with the movement. "I know," he says, deadpan, his golden scales glinting in the morning light streaming through the windows.

I laugh, the sound bubbling out of me before I can stop it. He joins in, his deep chuckle a low rumble that vibrates through the air. For a moment, it’s easy to forget the weight of everything—the danger, the secrets, the fear. It’s just us, sharing coffee in his kitchen like any other couple.

He hands me a mug, his fingers brushing mine in a way that sends a spark up my arm. I take a sip, the bitterness tempered by the sugar and cream he added just the way I like it. "You’re really good at this," I say, gesturing to the coffee and the kitchen in general.

"Centuries of practice," he says with a smirk, leaning back against the counter. "You learn a thing or two when you’ve been around as long as I have."

I raise an eyebrow. "Centuries, huh? You’re really not just saying that to impress me?"

He snorts. "Trust me, if I wanted to impress you, I’d tell you about the time I wrestled a Tiranosauron on my homeworld. Bare-handed."

My jaw drops. "You’re kidding."

"Would I lie to you?"

"Depends," I say, narrowing my eyes playfully. "Are you trying to impress me?"

He laughs again, and the sound is so warm, so genuine, that it makes my chest ache. "Maybe a little," he admits.

I take another sip of coffee, then set the mug down on the counter. "What’s your home planet like? Dangerous, right?"

He nods, his expression growing more serious. "Brutal. Stark landscapes, but beautiful in their own way. My people live in harmony with the environment, the way the Precursors intended. Much of it remains undeveloped, untouched. It’s… stark, but sacred."

"The Precursors," I echo, remembering the term from our late-night conversation. "Who—or what—are they?"

Karc hesitates, his golden eyes flickering with something I can’t quite place. "They’re… complicated. Enigmatic. We Vakutans believe they engineered all life in the galaxy, including us, the Grolgath, even humans. They’re like… God-ancestors, I suppose you could say."

I tilt my head, studying him. "You don’t sound too sure about that."

He shrugs again, but there’s tension in the movement this time. "It’s not something we talk about lightly. The Precursors are… sacred. Their designs are beyond our understanding. Some say they’re still guiding us, even now, in ways we can’t see."

I let that sink in, the enormity of it making my head spin. "That’s… a lot to take in," I admit.

He reaches out, his hand brushing mine. "It is. But it’s also why I’m here. Why I do what I do. The Precursors’ designs—they’re bigger than any one of us. And if we’re lucky, we get to play a small part in them."

I stare at him. There’s something in his voice, in his eyes, that makes me feel like he’s talking about more than just the Precursors. About us. About me .

But before I can respond, he straightens, his expression shifting back to that easy, confident smirk. "More coffee?" he asks, holding up the pot.

I nod, holding out my mug. "Sure. And don’t think I’ve forgotten about that Tiranosauron story."