Page 27 of Signed, Sealed, Seduced (You’ve Got Alien Mail #1)

Handing in My Wings

Suki

I’ve been putting this off for three days.

The secure comm unit sits on my desk—my actual desk, with my actual name etched into the obsidian surface in flowing Zaterran script.

Not a crate I’ve repurposed. Not a ship console.

A real desk that isn’t going anywhere, in an office that isn’t moving at faster-than-light speeds toward the next drop-off point.

“You are procrastinating,” Rusty observes, rolling into my office with a steaming mug of what passes for coffee in Zater Reach. “This unit has observed you reorganizing the same manifest files seventeen times in the past hour.”

“I’m optimizing,” I correct him, accepting the mug. “There’s a difference.”

“This unit has been programmed with over seven thousand psychological response patterns,” Rusty counters. “Avoidance behavior is pattern number forty-two.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re insufferable since your personality upgrade?”

“First Blade Henrok. This morning. After this unit suggested his training regimen showed signs of decreased efficiency due to ‘excessive nocturnal activities.’”

I choke on my drink. “You didn’t.”

“This unit did. First Blade Henrok’s crystalline markings achieved maximum luminosity. Fascinating biological response.”

“He was embarrassed,” I translate, grinning at the mental image. “And probably plotting ways to turn you into spare parts.”

“Negative. First Blade Henrok has increased this unit’s security clearance by two levels since your relationship began.”

With a deep breath, I activate the secure comm unit, inputting the direct line to OOPS Dispatch. The connection resolves into the familiar, weathered face of Madge “Mother” Morrison.

“Dispatch,” she barks without looking at the screen.

“Hey, Mother. Still running the galaxy’s most dysfunctional delivery service?”

Her head snaps up, eyes narrowing. “Vega. Figured a black hole finally swallowed you.” Her gaze flicks over my surroundings. “Nice digs. Doesn’t look like a courier bunk.”

“It’s not. I’m calling from Zater Reach.”

“That frozen rock with the trigger-happy Zaterrans? Thought that was a drop-and-run job.”

“It was supposed to be. Things got... complicated.”

After a tense conversation about the sabotage beacon and her role in sending me here, I finally get to the point.

“Actually, Mother, I’m calling to tender my resignation.”

The words hang in the static-filled silence. Mother’s expression doesn’t change, but something shifts in her eyes.

“Took you long enough,” she says finally, reaching for something off-screen. “Finally found someone willing to put up with your terrible taste in synth-coffee?”

“Something like that. Let’s just say Zater Reach has grown on me. And its First Blade isn’t half bad once you get past the obsidian armor.”

Mother snorts. “Always knew you’d end up somewhere weird, Vega. You never did fit the standard courier mold. Too mouthy. Too clever for your own good.”

We wrap up the call quickly—Mother marking me as ‘lost in service’ to avoid paperwork, telling me to keep my ID chip for emergencies, and giving me some surprisingly profound advice about not losing my own orbit to someone else’s gravity.

“Good luck, kid,” she says, raising her glass. “Dispatch out.”

The screen goes dark, and just like that, it’s done. I’m no longer OOPS Courier ID 87392. I’m just Suki. Of Zater Reach. And the relief I feel is overwhelming.

A soft chime announces a visitor, and I don’t need to turn to know who it is. My body recognizes his presence before my eyes confirm it—a subtle shift in the air, a prickling awareness that’s become as familiar as my own heartbeat.

“Your meeting concluded early,” Henrok observes, his deep voice sending a pleasant shiver down my spine.

I turn to face him, taking in the imposing figure he cuts in his formal attire. The crystalline markings on his exposed forearms pulse with a rhythm I’ve learned to read—steady, calm, with just a hint of quickening as his eyes meet mine.

“Not much to discuss,” I shrug, moving toward him. “Just officially handing in my wings.”

Understanding dawns in his garnet eyes. “You spoke with your OOPS superior.”

“Mother. It’s done. I’m officially unemployed.”

His mouth twitches in what I now recognize as his version of a smile. “I believe ‘Supreme Logistics Overlord’ is an occupation.”

“With terrible benefits,” I counter, stopping just short of touching him. “No health plan. No retirement package. Just a grumpy warlord and a sassy droid for company.”

“Unacceptable,” he agrees solemnly, though his eyes betray his amusement. “Perhaps we should negotiate terms.”

“Oh? What terms did you have in mind, First Blade?”

His hand rises to cup my face, thumb brushing my cheekbone with a gentleness that still surprises me. “Lifetime security. Full diplomatic status. Access to all areas of the fortress.” His voice drops lower. “My continued devotion.”

My heart does a complicated little flip. “Those are some pretty generous terms. What do you get out of this arrangement?”

“You,” he says simply. “Here. Where you belong.”

Any lingering doubts I might have had dissolve like morning mist. “I accept your terms,” I tell him, rising on tiptoes to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “But I want it in writing. With your fancy seal and everything.”

“As you wish,” he murmurs against my lips. “Though I believe there are more pleasant ways to seal an agreement.”

Before I can respond, he’s lifted me into his arms with that effortless strength that never fails to send heat spiraling through me.

“Henrok!” I laugh, even as my arms wind around his neck. “I have work to do. Very important logistics things.”

“They can wait,” he declares, carrying me toward the door. “This is a diplomatic matter requiring immediate attention.”

“Is that what we’re calling it now?”

Over Henrok’s shoulder, I catch a glimpse of Rusty watching us leave. “This unit will reschedule your afternoon appointments,” the droid calls after us. “And activate privacy protocols. Again.”

Instead of taking me to his quarters, Henrok carries me to the observation deck where we had our first real conversation. The space has been transformed—soft lighting, scattered cushions, and a view of the nebula that takes my breath away.

“You planned this,” I accuse, though I’m smiling.

“I may have anticipated the outcome of your conversation,” he admits, setting me down gently. “This moment deserves proper recognition.”

His hands frame my face, thumbs brushing over my cheekbones. “You chose this. Chose me. Chose to stay.”

“I chose us,” I correct him, my voice barely above a whisper. “I chose home.”

The word hangs between us, heavy with meaning. For someone who’s spent five years never staying anywhere longer than a few days, the concept of home was foreign. But looking at Henrok, feeling the solid warmth of his presence, I know I’ve found it.

“Home,” he repeats, as if testing the word. “Yes. You are home, Suki. Mine.”

When he kisses me, it’s different from all the others we’ve shared. This kiss is a claiming, a celebration, a promise all wrapped into one. His mouth moves over mine with a reverence that makes my knees weak, his hands sliding into my hair to hold me exactly where he wants me.

“Mine,” he growls against my lips, the possessive word sending fire through my veins. “No more running. No more leaving. Mine.”

“Yours,” I breathe, my hands fisting in his shirt. “Always yours.”

He lifts me again, this time carrying me to the nest of cushions he’s arranged. The soft fabric welcomes my body as he lays me down, his massive frame covering me like a living blanket of heat and strength.

“I have wanted to do this since the moment you told me you were considering resignation,” he confesses, his voice rough with desire. “To celebrate your choice properly. To show you what it means to me.”

His hands are everywhere—mapping the curves of my body through my clothes, relearning territories he’s claimed countless times before. But this feels different. More intense. More possessive.

“Tell me,” I gasp as his mouth finds that sensitive spot beneath my ear. “Tell me what it means.”

“It means you are mine completely,” he says, his hands making quick work of my shirt. “No more divided loyalties. No more looking to the stars with longing. You belong to me, to this place, to this life we are building together.”

The fervor in his voice makes me shiver. I’ve always been independent, self-reliant, belonging to no one but myself. But the way Henrok says it—like I’m precious, like I’m treasured—it doesn’t feel like a cage. It feels like freedom.

“Show me,” I whisper, my hands tugging at his clothes. “Show me what it means to belong to you.”

He strips us both with an efficiency that speaks of long practice, but when his skin finally meets mine, the familiar becomes extraordinary. His crystalline markings pulse with increased intensity, casting ethereal light across our joined bodies.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, his hands skimming over my exposed skin. “Perfect. Mine.”

When he moves over me, his weight supported on his forearms, I feel the solid reality of my choice. This alien warrior who has become my everything, this fortress that has become my sanctuary, this life that has become my purpose.

“Are you certain?” he asks, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. “There is no returning from this choice, Suki. If you are mine, you are mine completely.”

“I’m certain,” I tell him, my hands sliding up his chest to cup his face. “I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.”

He enters me slowly, watching my face as if memorizing every expression. The stretch and burn of accepting him never gets old—this moment of adjustment, of accommodation, of two bodies becoming one.

“Stars,” I gasp, my back arching as he fills me completely. “Every time, it’s like the first time.”

“Every time is the first time,” he agrees, beginning to move with the controlled power I’ve come to crave. “Every time, I am amazed that you are here. That you are mine.”

His rhythm is deliberate, thorough, designed to drive me slowly out of my mind. Each thrust sends pleasure spiraling through me, building toward something inevitable and overwhelming.

“I love you,” I whisper, the words torn from somewhere deep inside me. “I love you so much it scares me sometimes.”

“Do not be afraid,” he commands, his pace increasing. “I will never hurt you. Never let you go. You are safe with me, always.”

The promise in his voice, combined with the exquisite friction of our bodies, sends me tumbling over the edge. My climax crashes through me like a wave, leaving me breathless and shaking in his arms.

He follows me over, his own release accompanied by a sound that’s somewhere between a growl and my name. For a moment, we’re lost in the aftermath, breathing hard and clinging to each other.

“No more wings,” I murmur against his chest as we settle into comfortable tangled limbs. “No more flying away.”

“No more wings,” he agrees, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. “But roots. Deep roots that will anchor you here, with me, for as long as you wish to stay.”

“Forever, then,” I say, surprising myself with the certainty in my voice. “I want to stay forever.”

“Forever,” he echoes, and I can hear the smile in his voice. “I can work with forever.”

As we lie there in the afterglow, I think about the courier I used to be—always moving, never settling, allergic to commitment and connection.

That woman seems like a stranger now. This woman, the one who just officially resigned from her old life to embrace a new one, feels like who I was always meant to be.

“Henrok?” I say softly.

“Yes?”

“Thank you. For seeing me. For wanting me. For making me want to stay.”

His arms tighten around me. “Thank you for crashing on my landing pad,” he replies, making me laugh. “Best malfunction in the history of interstellar travel.”

“Definitely,” I agree, pressing a kiss to his chest. “Though I have a feeling our story is just getting started.”

“Indeed,” he murmurs, and there’s something in his voice that makes me look up at him. “Speaking of stories... there has been some concerning chatter in the intelligence networks. A courier named Kaylee has gone missing near the Averian Fringe, carrying biological samples for ApexCorp.”

My blood runs cold. “ApexCorp? They’re bad news, Henrok. Corporate scum who don’t care who gets hurt as long as they get their profit.”

“The situation may require... intervention,” he says carefully. “Someone with courier experience and diplomatic immunity might be valuable in such an operation.”

I sit up, studying his face. “Are you asking me to come out of retirement for a rescue mission?”

“I am asking,” he says, his hands sliding up my sides, “if you would be interested in a new career path. Diplomatic troubleshooter. Problem solver. Rescuer of couriers in distress.”

The idea sends a thrill through me. Purpose. Adventure. The chance to help people like me who get caught in corporate schemes they never signed up for.

“With you?” I ask.

“With me,” he confirms. “Always with me.”

I lean down to kiss him, already feeling the familiar excitement of a new challenge. “I accept your offer, First Blade. When do we leave?”

“Tomorrow,” he says, rolling me beneath him again. “But tonight, we celebrate your new career. Thoroughly.”

As his mouth descends on mine, I can’t help but smile. I may have handed in my wings, but I have a feeling I’m about to discover that the best adventures happen when you have someone worth coming home to.

The courier who crashed on his landing pad is gone. In her place is a woman who chose love, chose home, chose a future filled with possibilities.

And if that future includes rescuing other couriers from corporate schemes while working alongside the alien warlord who stole my heart?

Well, that’s just a bonus.

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