Aliens Love Curves

Chapter 10 - Stryker

T hree days of exquisite torture. Seventy-two hours of carefully measured words and calculated distances since that moment in the botanical gardens when I let my control slip. Our once-easy partnership has transformed into a delicate dance of avoidance – quick glances when the other isn't looking, subtle shifts to maintain proper distance, conversations that stay firmly in safe territory. Our easy banter has been replaced by stilted conversation, our casual touches now calculated and rare. I've replayed that moment a thousand times, wondering if I should regret it.

In quiet moments, I catch myself reliving that kiss. The way Casey's body melted into mine, how her fingers sent electricity through my scalp, the soft sound she made when our lips met. The memory haunts me during briefings, distracts me during training sessions, and makes those nights on the couch a special kind of hell.

I don't.

My reflection stares back at me as I adjust my formal uniform, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles. The shareholders' ball demands perfection, and the midnight blue fabric with silver trim suits my pink skin well enough. But it's not my appearance that has my tail twitching with nervous energy.

The memory of her lips against mine, her body pressed close, the way her fingers tangled in my hair – no, I can't regret that. Even if it's made our shared apartment feel like an airless chamber, tension thick enough to cut with a blade.

These thoughts plague me as I adjust my formal uniform. The shareholders' ball begins in an hour, and I'm already on edge.

A soft rustle from the bathroom catches my attention. She's been in there for over an hour, preparing. The sound of her movement, the faint scent of her perfume seeping under the door – every detail heightens my awareness of her presence.

"Casey?" My voice sounds rougher than intended. "We should leave soon."

"Just a moment," she calls back, and something in her tone makes my pulse quicken and my tail twitch with anticipation.

"Almost ready."

The door opens, and my carefully constructed world tilts on its axis—my world stops turning.

Casey emerges in a dress that makes my breath catch and my tail freeze mid-twitch. The material – some impossible fabric that seems to capture and release light – flows over her curves like liquid starlight. Silver at first glance, it shifts colours with each movement: hints of lavender, whispers of blue, fleeting moments of gold. The bodice hugs her generous curves before flowing into a skirt that moves like captured moonlight. Her hair cascades over one shoulder in subtle waves, exposing the elegant line of her neck and a tantalizing expanse of skin that makes my fingers itch to touch.

"You look..." Words fail me. Beautiful seems inadequate. Stunning feels trite. Every compliment I can think of falls short of the vision before me.

A blush colours her cheeks, the pink spreading down her neck. "Thank you," she says softly, and for a moment, we're back in the gardens, all protocol forgotten— the awkwardness of the past three days melts away.

The scent of her perfume reaches me – something exotic and fresh, like Ovan wildflowers after rain. My tail moves of its own accord, curling toward her before I force it still.

She clears her throat, professional mask sliding back into place, though I notice her pulse fluttering at her throat. "Shall we?"

The journey to the ballroom is a study in torture. In the confined space of the transport glider, Casey's scent surrounds me, and each slight turbulence brings her shoulder or hip brushing against mine. By the time we arrive, my nerves are stretched razor thin.

The grand ballroom takes up an entire floating platform, its crystal walls offering panoramic views of Ova's twilight sky. Antigravity chandeliers cascade like frozen waterfalls of light, their crystals refracting rainbow hues across the gathered crowd. The effect is magical – dozens of alien species in their finest attire—a mix of shareholders, executives, employees, and various alien species from across the sector, moving through patches of prismatic light while soft orchestral music floats through the air.

We've barely crossed the threshold when Harlan materializes beside us, resplendent in formal attire that emphasizes his cerise skin and athletic build. My tail twitches in irritation at his impeccable timing.

"Casey," he purrs, taking her hand and pressing his lips to it. "You're absolutely stunning. That dress... it's as if it was created from starlight itself."

I bristle at his poetic praise, particularly when Casey's cheeks flush with pleasure. My own inarticulate response to her beauty suddenly seems woefully inadequate. My tail lashes once, hard, but I maintain my neutral expression. I'm here as her manager, nothing more.

"Thank you, Harlan," she replies, her voice warm. "The ballroom is magnificent."

"Nothing compared to you, my dear." His hand settles at the small of her back as he begins guiding her through the crowd. "Come, there are some people you simply must meet."

I follow at a professional distance, playing my part as the dutiful manager while watching Harlan's every move. He leads us toward a group of serious-looking men whose expensive suits and confident bearing mark them as shareholders.

"Directors," Harlan announces, "allow me to introduce Casey Peace, our potential champion for the Annual Sky Race. Casey, meet the board of directors."

One of the men – tall, gray-skinned, with calculating eyes – steps forward. "Tell me, Ms. Peace," his voice carrying harmonics that identify him as Centaurian. "I'm most curious about your approach to complex flight patterns. How do you handle inverse gravity wells during high-speed turns?"

I watch Casey straighten, shifting from charming party guest to confident pilot in an instant. She answers without hesitation. "The key is to treat the gravity well as an asset rather than an obstacle," she explains, her eyes lighting up with passion. "By using the gravitational shift to increase momentum while simultaneously adjusting the stabilizers, you can create a slingshot effect. The trick is timing the roll exactly right to maximize acceleration through the curve."

"That's an extremely advanced technique," another shareholder comments, his crystalline features refracting the light. "It's a risky technique few pilots would risk."

"Few pilots have Casey’s instincts," I interject, unable to help myself. I step closer. "I've seen Casey execute manoeuvres flawlessly—manoeuvres that would challenge most experienced riders. Casey's innate ability read a glider is better than any pilot I've worked with. Her instincts and ability help her safely push a glider to its limits is unmatched."

The shareholders murmur appreciatively, but I'm more affected by the look Casey gives me – grateful, warm, and tinged with something that makes my blood heat.

One side of his brow rises enquiringly. “And you are?”

“Casey’s manager.” I open my mouth again to give my name, but I’m already dismissed when the grey-skinned alien turns his back on me to talk to interrogate Casey further.

"Tell us about your experience with prototype crafts," a third shareholder asks. "The SkyDancer X1 is... unique."

Casey launches into a detailed explanation of prototype handling, her hands moving gracefully as she describes control adjustments and response patterns. Her enthusiasm is infectious, and I notice several shareholders leaning forward, caught up in her expertise.

"The key to any prototype," she concludes, "is understanding that it's not just about controlling the glider – it's about partnering with it. Learning its quirks, its strengths. The SkyDancer X1 has a personality all its own."

"Beautifully put," Harlan interjects smoothly. The music has shifted to something slow and intimate, strings and wind instruments weaving together in an age-old invitation to dance. "Speaking of partnerships... would you honour me with a dance?"

My tail goes rigid as Casey accepts, allowing Harlan to guide her onto the dance floor. His hand settles possessively on her waist, the other clasping hers as they begin to move. The silver fabric of her dress catches the light, creating an ethereal effect that draws every eye in the room—including mine. I have to consciously relax my clenched fists, and I quickly glance around to see if anyone saw them.

Focus on the mission, I remind myself. I force myself to focus on the shareholders, who have clustered near a crystalline pillar. Their voices carry in the ambient noise just enough for me to catch fragments of conversation.

"Remarkable young woman," one says. "Her technique is unconventional, but that might be exactly what we need."

"Her unconventional approach could be exactly what we need."

"Agreed. The publicity alone would be worth it – a human champion in our prototype."

I edge closer, pretending to examine a hovering ice sculpture. On the dance floor, Harlan pulls Casey closer, whispering something that makes her laugh. My claws flex involuntarily.

"What about the containment issues?" one shareholder asks in a lower tone. "After the last breach—"

"The new shielding is holding," another cuts in. "The latest batch of containers—"

"Not here," a third shareholder hisses. "The walls have ears."

On the dance floor, Harlan holds Casey closer than strictly necessary. My blood simmers as I watch his hands slide lower on her back, landing on the top of her rounded ass. My fists clench again, and before I can think better of it, I'm striding across the floor.

I stab him in the shoulder with my finger. "May I cut in?"

Both Casey and Harlan look startled by my interruption. A flash of annoyance crosses Harlan's perfect features and his nostrils flare, and for a moment, I think Harlan will refuse, before his diplomatic mask slides back into place and his perfect manners win out.

"Of course," he says smoothly, though his eyes flash with annoyance, holding a warning. "I should check on our other guests anyway."

Casey steps into my arms, her body tense. "What are you doing?" she whispers furiously, though she maintains a pleasant expression for our audience, there’s a note of anger in her voice. "That was completely—"

" I just overheard the shareholders. They approved you for the race," I murmur, leading her in a smooth turn that takes us further from prying ears. Her face lights up and she instantly relaxes in my arms. "But there's more. They mentioned something about containment issues and shielded containers. Something they didn't want overheard.”

Under the pretense of a complex dance move, she presses closer. All traces of her anger fades, replaced by keen interest. The scent of her perfume fills my senses, bringing back memories of the gardens. Her hand feels small in mine, but strong, capable. We move together with an ease that makes my chest ache. "Tell me everything."

"They seemed worried," I continue, fighting to stay focused. "Something about a breach—"

"Mind if I reclaim my partner?" Before I can elaborate, Harlan's voice cuts through our conversation like a blade. He's returned with impeccable timing, his smile never reaching his eyes. "There are some other people eager to meet our potential champion."

I have no choice but to step back, watching as Harlan whisks Casey away. She glances over her shoulder at me, questions evident in her eyes, but allows herself to be led into the crowd.

For the next hour, I watch from the periphery as Harlan parades Casey from group to group. She plays her role perfectly – charming potential sponsors, engaging in technical discussions with engineers, laughing at the right moments. But I notice the small tells others might miss—how she creates subtle distance when Harlan stands too close, the way her eyes seek me out periodically, the slight tension in her shoulders when Harlan's hand lingers too long.

Or perhaps that's just what I want to see.

The evening air calls to me, and I find myself on one of the exterior balconies, letting the cool air calm my jangled nerves. Out here, the sounds of the ball fade to a distant hum, replaced by the soft whisper of Ova's wind. The planet's three moons cast shifting shadows across the floating platforms below, their light painting the clouds in shades of silver and gold.

The sound of laughter draws my attention back to the ballroom. Through the crystal walls, I see Casey surrounded by admirers as she works the room. Her dress catches the light as she moves, creating an effect like captured starlight—she's radiant, her smile dazzling. Harlan remains a constant presence at her side, touching her arm, leaning in close to whisper in her ear. Each gesture feeds a growing knot of tension in my chest.

My tail curls inward – a gesture of discomfort I haven't made since my academy days. Watching her with Harlan stirs something primal in me, and the urge to stride in there, to claim her attention, to make it clear to everyone that she's... what? My partner? My temptation? My impossible desire?

But I can't. We're undercover. The kiss in the gardens changed everything and nothing. Casey is still my partner, still our best chance at uncovering whatever Quickening Gliders is hiding. And I still want her in ways that compromise our mission and my judgment. Whatever tension crackles between us, has to take a backseat to the mission.

A burst of laughter draws my attention. Casey’s head is thrown back in genuine amusement. I watch Harlan lean in closer to whisper something that makes Casey laugh again. I can't quite suppress the growl that rumbles in my chest. The line of her throat, the curve of her smile, the way her eyes crinkle at the corners – every detail sears itself into my memory.

The night air carries the scent of her perfume from our brief dance – a haunting reminder of how perfectly she fit in my arms. The memory of the gardens surfaces again: her soft gasp as I kissed her, the way her curves pressed against me, the look in her eyes when we parted...

"Credit for your thoughts?"

Her voice startles me. I hadn't heard her approach – a testament to how lost I was in my observations. She stands in the doorway, the ballroom lights creating a halo effect around her form.

"Just getting some air," I manage, though my tail betrays me, swishing in response to her presence, she’s more beautiful than any being has a right to be.

"Just thinking," I manage.

She moves to stand beside me at the railing, close enough that I can feel her warmth. "About the shareholders?"

"Among other things."

She moves to stand beside me at the railing, close enough that I can feel her warmth. "The shareholders seem impressed."

"They'd be fools not to be." The words come out rougher than intended.

A gentle breeze plays with her hair, carrying her scent to me – flowers and stardust and something uniquely Casey. My tail twitches with the effort of maintaining distance.

"Harlan says they're meeting tomorrow to finalize their decision," she says softly. "If what you overheard is true..."

"It sounds promising." I turn to face her. "Casey, about the gardens—"

"Don't." She turns to face me, placing a finger against my lips. The touch sends electricity through my body. "Not tonight. Tonight, we focus on the mission."

I catch her hand before she can withdraw it, pressing a kiss to her palm. Her breath hitches, pupils dilating. The moonlight plays across her skin, making her appear almost ethereal.

"Stryker..." My name on her lips is half warning, half plea.

"Casey?" Harlan's voice floats from the ballroom. "Where did you disappear to?" The moment is instantly broken.

She steps back quickly, composing herself. A slight tremor in her hands is the only evidence of our charged exchange. "Coming!"

With one last look – filled with confusion and want and things we can't allow ourselves to say – she returns to the ball. To Harlan. To our mission.

I remain on the balcony, the phantom sensation of her skin against my lips a sweet torture. The moons continue their dance across the sky, indifferent to the complexities of hearts and duties below.

Inside, I watch as Harlan claims Casey for another dance. His technique is perfect, his movements graceful, but there's something calculated in his attention that sets my teeth on edge. When his hand slides lower on Casey's back, my claws dig into the balcony railing, leaving marks in the polished surface.

The night wind carries snippets of conversation from nearby balconies – shareholders discussing profit margins, engineers debating thrust ratios, socialites trading gossip. But all I can focus on is the way Casey's dress catches the light as she turns, the memory of her warmth against me, the growing certainty that I'm in far too deep.

Whatever we uncover about these mysterious shipments, whatever danger lurks beneath Quickening Gliders' gleaming surface, my greatest threat may be my own heart.

As the last dance ends and the ball begins to wind down, I make my way back inside. We have a mission to complete, secrets to uncover, roles to play. But watching Casey bid farewell to Harlan, seeing the way his eyes follow her movement, I know one thing with absolute certainty, I'm in deep trouble.

And the worst part is, I don't want to be saved.