Page 4 of Alien War Daddy's Got Rizz
Behind me, Molly Jaiden is still breathing.
Then, I feel something strange. I should leave.
Window’s right there. Night’s cool on my skin. The city breathes below me, hungry and wide. This is the part where I walk away and make Molly sweat for a few days, let her stew in the idea of how easily I could’ve ended her.
Instead, I pause.
Something’s crawling under my skin. Like a shadow I can’t shake.
Behind me, she speaks. “Wait.”
I turn, slow. She’s still standing behind her desk, palms braced flat against the surface like it’s the only thing holding her upright. Her voice is steadier than it should be.
“I can prove I’m worth it,” she says.
“You already made your pitch.”
“You haven’t seen the good part.”
I narrow my eyes. “And what’s that?”
She breathes deep—centers herself—and gestures toward the nearest holo pane. It flares to life again, light spilling over her face in ghost-blue flickers. Her fingers dance across the interface, too fast for most eyes to follow. I track every movement.
The screen blooms.
A profile expands.
The image of a woman appears.
And the world ends.
I don’t mean it metaphorically. I mean it like this: the minute I see her, I stop existing the way I did ten seconds ago.
Blonde hair. Tied back like she means business but hasn’t yet had her spirit crushed by the weight of it. Blue eyes. Clear, butnot soft. There's war behind those eyes. A kind that hasn't been named. A mouth made to say impossible things. Her face is oval, chin a touch defiant, the curve of her cheekbones sharpened by a life that's clearly tried her, but failed to dim the spark beneath the skin.
Her name flickers beneath the picture.
Yara Greenfield.
The sound it makes in my head doesn’t belong to any language I know. Itrings.
Something inside me detonates. Like a pressure valve’s been sealed too long and just got kicked open. My knees don’t buckle, but they think about it. My chest goes tight. Heat spikes up my spine like I'm about to shift into full combat mode. But it’s not rage. It’s not even lust. It’s...
Jalshagar.
I haven’t felt it in decades.
Didn’t think Icouldanymore. Thought it was some primal relic, a ghost limb of an extinct need. But this? This isn’t myth. This isreal. It’s gravity. A pull so visceral, so immediate, it overrides everything else—instinct, training, strategy.
I can't breathe.
My mouth is dry, tongue heavy behind my teeth. Every inch of me strains toward the image like it's something I can touch if I just lean hard enough. I hear my own heartbeat pounding in my skull like a war drum. My hands curl into fists without asking permission.
Molly notices.
Her voice is soft. Testing the water.
“I take it… she interests you?”
