Page 240 of Destined For Her Alien Daddy
“I chose you after the bond,” she says. “Again and again. When you annoyed me. When you protected me without making me feel small. When you let me argue. When you trusted me with the archive. When you broke in front of me and didn’t punish me for seeing it.”
My throat tightens.
She blinks hard. “Every decision after that belonged to me.”
I cover her hand with mine. “Every decision belonged to me as well.”
The bond hums between us, present but no longer tyrannical. It is not a chain. It is not a command. It is a door that opened before we understood the room beyond it. We have walked through, fought inside, nearly died in its doorway, and now sit together in the quiet deciding to remain.
I lean down and kiss her.
There is no urgency in it. No desperation pretending to be passion because death stands near with a clock in its hand. Her mouth is warm beneath mine, soft with surprise for one heartbeat before she melts closer. I kiss her as gently as my body allows, learning the shape of calm affection after decades of knowing tenderness mostly as memory or grief. Her fingers curl in the fabric at my chest, careful not to pull at bandages. Mine slide to the back of her neck, threading through thick curls that feel softer than anything in the galaxy has a right to feel after everything we have survived.
She breaks the kiss with her forehead resting against my jaw. “That was unfairly good.”
“I apologize.”
“You do not.”
“No.”
She smiles against my skin. “Good.”
I hold her for a while. The room’s quiet deepens around us, and instead of emptiness, it becomes shelter. I feel the ship’s steady motion, hear the faint hum of ventilation, smell cooling tea and clean blankets. Anita’s breathing slows against me. Mine follows. For the first time in decades, no part of me listens for orders. No part of me waits for incoming fire. No priest speaks in memory. No officer calls my name. No ancient design asks me to become useful.
Peace does not arrive as thunder.
It arrives as Anita’s hand over my heart.
I close my eyes.
“What?” she asks softly.
“I feel peaceful.”
She lifts her head, and the wonder in her face nearly undoes me. “You do?”
“Yes.”
“Right now?”
“Yes.”
“With me?”
“With you.”
Her eyes fill again. “Damn it, Ghar.”
“Is peace distressing?”
“No. I mean yes. I mean I’m happy for you and emotionally compromised by it, which is very rude of you.”
“I will attempt to be less peaceful.”
“Don’t you dare.”
I touch my thumb to the corner of her mouth. “It is the first peace I have felt in many years.”
