Page 14 of Signed, Sealed, Seduced (You’ve Got Alien Mail #1)

An Accord

Suki

I don’t wait for an escort. With the container clutched in my hands like the bomb it essentially is, I storm through the corridors toward the command center.

The guards follow, not attempting to stop me but clearly alert for any sudden moves.

Zaterrans we pass flatten themselves against walls, their eyes widening at the sight of a human female marching through their sacred halls with such purpose.

Let them stare. I’ve been played, used as a pawn in some game I don’t understand, and I’m done being passive about it.

More than that, I’m terrified of what Henrok will think when he learns the truth.

The memory of our moment during the ion storm burns in my chest—the way he’d looked at me, the vulnerability in his voice, the connection I’d felt building between us.

Was it all meaningless if I was just an unwitting saboteur?

The command center doors are closed when I arrive, two senior guards blocking the entrance. They straighten as I approach, hands moving to weapons.

“The First Blade is in council,” one informs me. “No entry.”

“Tell him Suki Vega is here with his override beacon,” I snap, my voice sharper than intended. “He’ll want to see me.”

The guards exchange glances, uncertainty evident in their posture. One speaks quietly into a comm device, then nods sharply.

“Enter,” he says, stepping aside.

The doors slide open to reveal a large, circular chamber dominated by a holographic display of the Zater Reach system. Around it stand several Zaterrans in formal attire, their conversation halting abruptly as I enter. At the far side, standing with his back to me, is Henrok.

Even from behind, he radiates controlled power—shoulders set, spine straight, every line of his body speaking of command and authority. But there’s something else in his posture, a tension that wasn’t there before.

He turns slowly, his expression shifting from irritation to something else as he registers my presence—and what I’m carrying. Those garnet eyes lock onto mine across the empty space, and I see the exact moment he realizes what I’m holding.

“Leave us,” he commands, his voice resonating through the chamber.

The other Zaterrans withdraw without question, filing past me with curious glances. I notice how they give me a wide berth, as if I’m something dangerous. Maybe I am. As the doors close behind them, Henrok’s gaze locks with mine across the empty space.

“You opened it,” he says, his tone unreadable.

“Damn right I did.” I stride forward, anger and fear propelling me across the room. When I reach the central display, I slam the container down on its edge. “You thought I was a gift? Turns out, I was just the gift wrap.”

He doesn’t flinch at my outburst, those garnet eyes studying me with unsettling intensity. But there’s something else in his expression now—concern? Disappointment? I can’t tell, and it’s killing me.

“Explain.”

“This,” I gesture to the container, “is an override beacon for your defensive grid. At least, that’s what Vex’ra says it is. And someone used me—my ship, my job, my whole damn life—to deliver it right to your doorstep.”

Now he moves, closing the distance between us with those long, predatory strides. I steel myself for his anger, for accusations, for the moment he realizes I’m not worth the trouble.

Instead, his massive hand covers mine where it rests on the container. His skin is warm, almost burning, and I can feel the crystalline patterns on his forearm pulsing with rapid rhythm.

“You were unaware of its nature?” he asks, though it doesn’t sound like a question.

The gentle tone, the way he’s looking at me—not with suspicion but with something that might be protective concern—nearly undoes me.

“Of course I was unaware!” My voice rises despite my efforts to control it. “I’m a courier, not a saboteur. I pick up packages, I deliver them, I get paid. That’s it. That’s the job.”

His thumb brushes across my knuckles, a gesture so subtle I almost miss it. “You are distressed,” he observes, his voice softer now.

“Distressed?” I let out a laugh that sounds more like a sob. “I’ve been used, Henrok. Someone violated my ship, my life, my choices. They turned me into a weapon against you.” My voice cracks on the last words. “Against you, and I didn’t even know it.”

Something shifts in his expression—a hardening around his eyes, a tension in his jaw. The crystalline markings on his arms pulse faster, deeper red now.

“Who?” The single word vibrates with lethal intent. Not directed at me, I realize. At whoever did this to me.

“I don’t know.” I run my free hand through my hair, frustration mounting. “The package was a standard pickup from the Junction. Routine job, triple pay for hazard delivery to Zater Reach. I never saw the client.”

He lifts the container with his free hand, opening it to examine the beacon. The crystalline markings along his arms pulse with what I’m learning to recognize as barely contained rage.

“This device,” he says, his voice dangerously soft, “could have disabled our entire defensive network. In the middle of an ion storm, when we are most vulnerable.”

“I know that now,” I say, my anger giving way to a sick feeling of guilt and fear. “Someone set me up. Used me. And they could have gotten you killed.”

The last words slip out before I can stop them, revealing more than I intended. Henrok’s eyes snap to mine, something intense and unreadable flickering in their depths.

“You are concerned for my safety,” he says, and there’s something almost wondering in his tone.

“Of course I am.” The admission comes easier than it should. “Whatever else this is, whatever game someone’s playing, I don’t want you to get hurt because of me.”

He sets the beacon down carefully, then turns to face me fully. This close, I can see the fine details of his face—the sharp angles of his cheekbones, the way his crystalline markings pulse in rhythm with his heartbeat, the intensity of his gaze as he studies me.

“Triple pay,” he says suddenly. “For a ‘routine’ delivery.”

Put like that, it does sound suspicious. I should have questioned it more. But in my line of work, unusual requests with generous compensation aren’t exactly rare.

“I needed the credits,” I admit, looking away. “My ship needed repairs, I had debts to clear. It seemed like... luck.”

“There is no such thing as luck in matters of war,” Henrok says, his voice hard. “Only calculation.”

He moves to the holographic display, tapping a sequence that brings up a new image—my ship, suspended in the repair cradle.

“Your vessel was sabotaged,” he states flatly.

“Precision work. The navigation system was programmed to fail at exactly the right coordinates, forcing you to crash at my personal landing pad. The communications array was similarly compromised, preventing you from sending distress signals to anyone but us.”

I stare at the display, a cold knot forming in my stomach. “They wanted me to crash here. To be brought inside.”

“Yes.” His expression is grim as he turns back to me. “And in the confusion of your arrival, the package would be delivered without the usual security protocols. A clever strategy.”

“But it didn’t work,” I point out. “You didn’t trust me from the beginning. You had the package scanned, kept under guard.”

“Standard procedure,” he says, though there’s something in his tone that suggests it wasn’t just procedure that made him cautious. His eyes meet mine again, and I see something there that makes my breath catch. “Though I admit, my caution was not entirely... professional.”

“What do you mean?”

He’s quiet for a long moment, studying me with that intensity that seems to see straight through to my soul. “You were not what I expected,” he says finally. “Your defiance, your competence, your...” He pauses, seeming to search for words. “Your effect on me was... unexpected.”

My heart does something complicated in my chest. “Effect?”

“You made me want to trust you,” he says simply. “Despite every tactical instinct I possess. That concerned me.”

The admission hangs between us like a charged particle in the air. I can feel my pulse accelerating, can see the way his gaze drops briefly to my throat where my heartbeat is probably visible.

“I didn’t mean to,” I say softly. “I never meant for any of this to happen.”

“I know.” His voice is gentle now, the hard edge of command replaced by something warmer. “Your reaction to the beacon’s nature, your immediate desire to warn me—these are not the actions of a willing saboteur.”

Relief floods through me so strongly it’s almost dizzying. “You believe me.”

“I believe you,” he confirms. “Though that does not diminish the danger. Someone has gone to considerable effort to place you in my fortress. Until we know why, you are both asset and liability.”

“So what happens now?” I ask, though I’m not sure I want to know the answer.

Instead of responding immediately, he moves closer, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. The heat radiating from his body is noticeable even through his armor, and I catch that scent again—wood and minerals and something uniquely him.

“Now,” he says, his voice dropping to that register that does strange things to my insides, “we discover who sent this. And why they chose you as their courier.”

He reaches out, his fingers brushing against my cheek in a gesture so unexpected it makes me gasp. His touch is warm, careful, as if I’m something precious rather than a potential threat.

“And you will help me,” he continues, his thumb tracing along my jawline. “Because whoever did this to you—whoever used you, violated your ship, your life—they will answer for it.”

The protective fury in his voice sends a shiver through me that has nothing to do with fear. “You’re angry on my behalf,” I realize aloud.

“Someone harmed what is mine,” he says, the words rumbling from deep in his chest. “That is... unacceptable.”