Page 53 of Destined For Her Alien Daddy

Ahead of us, the passage widens into a larger chamber filled with tilted columns and concentric floor plates that gleam faintly under the emergency lights. Ghar raises one hand, silently signaling caution before entering first.

There it is again.

Always first.

Always between.

“You’re doing it right now,” I say sharply.

Ghar scans the chamber before answering. “Doing what right now?”

“Orbiting me like some overprotective bodyguard with a biological imperative.”

Brakk groans loudly. “Oh, fantastic. We’re having the soulmate argument in the haunted gravity room.”

Sira folds her hands behind her back. “The timing does appear unfortunate.”

“I’m not having this conversation because the timing is good,” I snap. “I’m having it because I’m tired of pretending the bond isn’t turning both of us into weirdos.”

Ghar finally looks directly at me.

The emergency light catches gold in his eyes while dust drifts slowly between us. He looks exhausted, furious, and painfully restrained all at once.

“I am already a weirdo,” Brakk mutters. “I would appreciate acknowledgment of my cultural leadership.”

Nobody answers him.

I step closer to Ghar before I can second-guess myself. “Every time something moves, you put yourself between it and me before you even think. Every time the tunnel changes, your body reacts before your brain catches up. You keep watching me like the universe assigned you homework.”

“Something is hunting us,” he says evenly.

“That is not the point.”

“It is exactly the point.”

“No,” I say, my voice roughening despite my best efforts. “The point is that I can’t tell anymore where your choices end and the bond begins.”

That lands harder than I intended.

I see it immediately in the slight tightening of his jaw.

The chamber around us hums faintly with distant ruin vibrations while suspended droplets drift in slow spirals near one wall. Brakk suddenly becomes fascinated by his fusion cutter. Sira watches us with the calm attention of someone observing weather patterns.

Ghar steps closer.

Not aggressively.

Deliberately.

“I told you before that instinct exists,” he says quietly. “I will not lie to you about that.”

“Great,” I say bitterly. “Honesty. Fantastic. So what exactly am I supposed to do with it? Because every time you touch me, my nervous system behaves like it’s been hijacked.”

His nostrils flare slightly.

I push forward anyway because stopping now would require emotional maturity I do not currently possess.

“You keep acting like protecting me is automatic,” I continue. “Maybe it is automatic. Maybe your species wired itself into soulmate mythology so deeply that none of this is actually voluntary.”