Page 20 of Zayrik (The Protectorate Warriors Alien Fated Mates #6)

Nyla

I DIDN’T RUN.

That surprised me more than anything else today.

I should’ve bolted the second Zayrik looked at me like that. Like he saw past every excuse and every lie, like he understood me without needing to be told anything at all. Like he could read every secret written beneath my skin.

And worse.

He wasn’t going anywhere, and he’d already decided I was worth staying for.

Even now, back in the storage bay, I could feel his presence on my skin. A phantom touch that wouldn’t fade. His voice still echoed in my head, deep and certain as gravity.

“I’m not leaving.”

Damn him.

Damn the way those words slipped past every wall I’d built.

I pulled the locker open harder than I meant to, metal shrieking against metal.

A pack of ration bars tumbled out and hit the floor, the sound too loud in the confined space.

Perfect. I crouched down to gather them, biting back the shake in my hands.

Trying to ignore how the position made my ribs ache, how every movement reminded me of his hands steadying me during our escape.

This was stupid.

I wasn’t some fragile girl who couldn’t handle pressure.

I’d lived through worse than this.

Hell, I thrived in worse.

In blood and shadow and necessary violence.

But Zayrik...

Zayrik was something else entirely.

Not just a complication.

A trigger.

A shift. A threat to the part of me I kept locked down so tight I barely remembered what it felt like to want anything that wasn’t survival. He made me remember what it was to feel. To need.

And then I’d kissed him.

No, I’d grabbed him. Pulled him in like oxygen. Like the last breath before drowning. Like something wild and desperate and necessary.

And the worst part?

I’d meant it.

Not as a distraction. Not as a ploy.

As pure, undiluted want.

Desperate, aching, impossible want and it still burned in my blood, hours later.

I sank back on my heels, gripping the locker door to steady myself. My ribs still throbbed, but that wasn’t what hurt. What hurt was the part of me that wanted to believe him. The part that ached to trust his promises, to let myself fall into whatever this was becoming.

The part that wanted him to stay, anyway.

Despite everything.

Because of everything.

Zep fluttered down from the shelf and chirped softly, rubbing his nose against my cheek. The familiar gesture made my throat tight, eyes burning.

“I’m fine,” I whispered, lying to both of us. My voice sounded raw, even to me.

He made a sound that said he didn’t believe me.

Neither did I.

I’d been hiding from Zayrik for hours now, pretending to reorganize inventory that didn’t matter.

Pretending like my legs didn’t still shake from the kiss I shouldn’t have wanted.

Like my heart didn’t stutter every time I heard his footsteps down the corridor.

Like I couldn’t still taste him on my lips, couldn’t still feel the heat of his hands.

The storage bay felt too small, too warm. Every shadow held memories of that kiss. Every breath carried his scent. Male heat and something uniquely him that made my pulse skip.

But eventually, I knew what would happen.

He’d come find me.

He always did. Like he could sense when I was spiraling. When I needed... No. When I wanted...

And when he did—

“Still avoiding me?”

I flinched, heat flooding my face.

Damn it.

Zayrik stood in the doorway, arms folded, filling the space like he owned it. Like he belonged there. His voice wasn’t cold. Just quiet. Knowing. Like he already understood exactly why I was hiding.

I looked back down at the ration bars, trying to ignore how my skin prickled with awareness. “I’m busy.”

“That why you’ve been stacking the same pack for fifteen minutes?”

I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Not when he saw through me so easily.

He stepped into the room slowly. Not threatening. Not trying to corner me. But every inch of space he claimed made my lungs feel smaller. Made the air thicker, charged with something dangerous and electric.

“You kissed me,” he said simply.

My head snapped up. “Don’t.”

“You did.”

“It was a mistake.” The lie tasted bitter.

His jaw ticked, but he didn’t stop. “Then why do your hands still shake?”

I curled them into fists, tucking them against me. Fighting the urge to reach for him. “I shouldn’t have done it,” I muttered. “I panicked.”

“You kissed me like your world was ending.”

“Because it was,” I snapped—louder than I meant to. The words echoing in the small space. “It was ending.”

The quiet that followed was stinging. Breathless. Loaded with everything we weren’t saying.

I stood, too fast, the rush of blood to my head making everything spin. The movement brought me closer to him, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body. Close enough to remember exactly how it felt pressed against mine.

Zayrik watched me, his gaze steady. Dark blue eyes holding something that made my stomach flip. His voice came quieter now, rough around the edges. “You kissed me like you needed something to hold on to.”

I flattened my mouth, fighting the shiver his voice sent down my spine. “Don’t you dare make this something it’s not.”

“Then tell me what it is.”

I hated him in that moment. Not because he was cruel. Not because he was wrong.

Because he wasn’t.

Because he was seeing everything I was trying to bury. Every secret, every fear, every desperate want I couldn’t afford to feel.

My shoulders sagged. “I can’t afford this.”

“This?” he echoed, the word soft but intense.

“You,” I said, eyes locked on his. The confession burned in my throat. “This... connection. This pull. I don’t have space in my life for someone who’ll make me forget how to survive.” Someone who makes me want more than just making it through another day.

“You think I’d let you forget how?” he asked, stepping closer. The movement brought his scent with him something feral and clean that made my lungs tighten.

His voice dropped lower, intimate. “You think I don’t understand survival?”

I didn’t move back. I didn’t want to. Every cell in my body screamed to close the distance, to taste him again, to let myself fall. But I was terrified that if I didn’t hold my ground now, I’d never be able to walk away again.

“I don’t want to need you,” I whispered, the words catching in my throat.

His expression changed, just a flicker. But it wrecked me. Because it wasn’t disappointment. It wasn’t pride.

It was pain.

Raw and real and matching something broken in my own chest.

And still, he stepped forward, closing the distance until I could feel his breath on my skin. “You already do,” he said, the words a rough caress.

My breath caught. I wanted to tell him he was wrong.

I wanted to scream and shove and deny.

I wanted to grab him and never let go.

But I didn’t.

Because we both knew it.

Knew this thing between us was stronger than either of us had planned.

So instead, I turned away. Pretended to focus on the supplies again. Pretended I couldn’t feel the ghost of his touch on my skin. Pretended I could still breathe in this room without tasting him on my lips.

Behind me, I heard his footsteps retreat. Deliberate.

He was giving me space.

For now.

But I knew the truth.

We were on borrowed time.

And the next time we touched?

The next time he looked at me like that?

I wouldn’t have the strength to pull away.

Wouldn’t want to.

The thought should have terrified me more than it did.

Instead, I felt like I wanted to give in.

Like I’d found something worth the risk.