Aliens Love Curves

Chapter 12 - Stryker

T he scent of Casey's perfume hits me before I see her – something exotic and floral that makes my tail twitch. When she emerges from the bathroom, the sight steals my breath and makes my blood simmer. The deep purple fabric hugs her curves before flowing to the floor, the colour making her skin glow. She's beautiful – and she's about to have dinner with another man.

"You're staring." A small smile plays at her lips as she fastens an earring.

"Can you blame me?" The words slip out before I can catch them.

Adjusting an earring in the mirror. She meets my eyes, her expression softening. "Stryker... we need to talk about tonight."

Something in her tone sets my nerves on edge. "What about it?"

"I've been thinking," she turns to face me, worrying her lower lip. "We need to give Harlan an opening. A way in."

"I'm going to tell him we had a falling out. That whatever's between us is over." She steps closer, her eyes pleading for understanding. "If he thinks he has a chance with me..."

My tail goes rigid. "What? Absolutely not." The words come out as a growl that makes her jump slightly.

"Think about it logically—"

"Logical?" I close the distance between us, unable to help myself. "There's nothing logical about putting yourself at risk. About letting that man think he has any right to—" I cut myself off, my tail lashing with agitation.

"To what, Stryker?" Her voice is soft, dangerous. "To touch me? To want me? Isn't that exactly what we need?"

"No." I reach for her before I can stop myself, my hand cupping her face. "What we need is to find evidence without compromising your safety. Without letting him get his claws into you."

She leans into my touch for just a moment before pulling away. "This isn't about safety and you know it. This is about jealousy."

The accusation stings because it's partly true. "This is about protecting my partner."

"Your partner?" Her laugh holds no humour. "Is that what I am? Because lately it feels like I'm something you think you own. Don’t forget like you, I got here of my own volition—I earned the right to be here working this undercover role."

"Casey—"

"No, listen to me." She steps close again, close enough that I can see the flecks of gold in her eyes. "That kiss in the simulator...it complicated things. But we can't let it compromise our job—this mission. People's lives could be at stake."

The mention of the kiss makes my blood heat. "So your solution is to throw yourself at Harlan?"

"My solution is to use every advantage we have." Her hand rests on my chest, just over my thundering heart. "Trust me, Stryker. Please."

I cover her hand with mine, holding it there for a moment. "Then I'm coming with you. As your manager."

"Stryker—"

"Non-negotiable." I lift her hand to my lips, pressing a kiss to her palm. "If you're going to play with fire, at least let me watch your back."

She sighs, but I catch the slight relief in her expression. "Fine. But follow my lead."

THE RESTAURANT HARLAN has chosen sits atop a floating spire, its crystal walls, all shimmer and starlight, offering panoramic views of Ova's sunset. He's waiting at a private table, rising smoothly as we approach, his cerise skin almost luminescent in the soft lighting. His eyes darken visibly when he sees me.

"Casey," he purrs, taking her hand and pressing his lips to it. "You're absolutely exquisite." His eyes flick to me, hardening. "I wasn't expecting... company."

"Stryker insisted," Casey says, her voice carrying just the right note of irritation. "Apparently, I can't be trusted to handle a simple dinner meeting."

The barb lands. I feel it like a physical blow, even knowing it's part of the act.

"Nonsense," Harlan pulls out her chair, his hands lingering on her shoulders. "You can handle anything you set your mind to. It's one of your most... attractive qualities."

Throughout the meal, I watch Harlan work his charm. Every gesture is calculated – the way he leans in when Casey speaks, how his hand brushes hers when reaching for the wine, the low, intimate tone of his voice when he compliments her flying.

"You should have seen her in training today," he says, refilling Casey's wine glass. "The way she handles the prototype... extraordinary."

"Her technique needs refinement," I counter, unable to help myself. "The inverse rolls are still sloppy."

Casey's head snaps up, genuine anger flashing in her eyes. "Excuse me?"

""Just being honest. As your manager, it's my responsibility to—"

"Your responsibility?" She sets down her glass hard enough to make the crystal sing. "Let me tell you about responsibility, Stryder. Your job is to support me, not criticize every breath I take. I'm sick of it. Sick of your hovering, your constant judgment, your... your suffocating presence."

The venom in her voice feels too real, cutting deeper than it should. "Casey—"

"No." She pushes back from the table, her hands trembling slightly. "I'm done. Whatever this was between us – professionally or personally – it's over. Excuse me. I-I need some air."

As she storms toward the restrooms, Harlan's smile turns predatory. "Trouble in paradise?"

My claws dig into my palms under the table. "Our relationship is purely professional."

I force my hands to unclench.

"Is it?" He takes a slow sip of wine, watching me over the rim. "That's not what I've observed.” He leans back, swirling his wine. “The way you look at her when you think no one's watching... the possessive gestures, the barely contained jealousy... it's quite entertaining, actually, and rather pathetic."

"You're out of line." My voice comes out as a low growl.

"Am I? Or are you the one who's forgotten his place?" His eyes glitter with malice. "She's destined for greatness, Stryker. She doesn't need some washed-up instructor holding her back. And after tonight's little display..." He chuckles softly. "Well, let's just say her bed might be warmer than you think."

Red edges my vision. My tail lashes violently, and I have to consciously retract my claws before I shred the tablecloth. "If you think I'll let you—"

"Let me?" His laugh is silk over steel. "You have no say in what – or who – Casey does. That's the beauty of tonight's... revelation, and after tonight's little display, even less influence than before."

Before I can respond, Casey returns. She takes in our tense postures, the barely contained hostility. Her face is composed but her eyes hold a message I can't quite read.

"Is everything alright?" she asks, noting our tense postures.

"Just a professional disagreement," Harlan says smoothly. "About your training schedule."

"Actually," Casey stifles a yawn that seems just a touch too theatrical, "I should probably call it a night. Early practice tomorrow."

The ride back to our apartment is thick with tension. As soon as the door closes behind us, I round on her.

"Want to explain what that was about?"

"Which part?" She kicks off her heels, relief evident in her expression. "The part where I put on a show about ending our fake relationship, or the part where I saw illegal medication and medical equipment being transferred between hovering gliders outside the restaurant's bathroom window?"

I blink, momentarily derailed. "Illegal medication and equipment?"

"Yes., by the look of it, black market stuff hovering in the blind spot between buildings. Very clumsy transfer operation. Almost like they're getting careless " She starts pulling pins from her hair, each one punctuating her words. "But you seem more concerned about our fictional breakup."

"Fictional?" I step closer, unable to help myself. "Because those words felt pretty real, Casey. It's not—" I stop, running a hand through my hair in frustration. "You could have warned me."

She meets my eyes, something vulnerable flickering in her expression. "They had to. Harlan needed to believe it. Would you have played along? Or would you have let your... feelings... compromise the mission?

The word 'feelings' hits like a physical blow. "This isn't about feelings. It's about your safety."

"No," she says softly, "it's about trust. Do you trust me to do my job, Stryker? To make my own decisions?"

I want to argue, to tell her that trust isn't the issue. That the thought of her getting closer to Harlan makes me want to tear something apart. That the kiss we shared in the simulator meant more than any mission.

Instead, I force myself to step back. "You're right. I'm sorry. Tell me more about the medical equipment."

Her expression softens slightly. "That's more like it, partner.

I hesitate before I speak, but my innards are turning inside out. "What you said earlier... Do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Believe it? About me being suffocating, controlling?" My voice roughens. "About being done with... whatever this is between us?"

She softens, reaching up to touch my face. "Stryker... you're not suffocating. You're protective. Sometimes frustratingly so. But right now, I need you to trust me more than you need to protect me."

I lean into her touch despite myself. "I do trust you. It's him I don't trust."

"Good." She smiles slightly. "Then trust that I can handle him. That I know what I'm doing."

I catch her hand before she can withdraw it, pressing my lips to her palm like I did earlier. "Just... be careful. The way he looks at you..."

"Is exactly what we need," she finishes, but her pulse jumps at my touch. "Now, do you want to hear about this medical equipment, or do you want to keep worrying about my virtue?"

I force myself to step back, to focus on the mission and nod.

As she describes what she saw, I try to focus on the details, the implications. Not on how the evening light plays across her skin, or how the memory of our kiss still burns in my veins.

I'm an enforcer. She's my partner. The mission has to come first.

But later, lying on the couch, all I can think about is Harlan's words about her bed being warmer than I think. About the way she felt in my arms in the simulator. About how this pretense of pushing me away might become reality. Listening to her breathing as she sleeps, I can't help but wonder: when did protecting her heart become as important as protecting her life?

Sleep eludes me, my mind a tangle of duty and desire, protection and trust, what's real and what's pretend. My mind replays her words at dinner. They were just for show, part of the mission. So why do they feel like truth? I'm no longer sure which I fear more – losing Casey to Harlan's schemes, or losing her to our own deceptions.