Izhima

Bethany
My cooking show’s ratings are the pits, and my producers are threatening to take it off the air. When my sister wins tickets to an alien space cruise, I think I’ve found the solution: the world is in love with aliens right now, so why not use alien chefs as guests? Except when I set up my first interview, the frustratingly handsome alien chef can’t even get my birthday cake right.

Izhima
I’m not a people person. I’m a food person. And I just want to be left alone to cook. But when a human female barges into my kitchen and tries to sabotage my latest recipe, she ends up ejecting us both out of the airlock. Now I have to risk my own life to get the unconscious woman to safety.

But when the human wakes up with amnesia and the dirtbag crew of a salvage ship starts eyeing her in unsavory ways, I have to convince everyone—including the female herself—that she’s my mate. And the once-abrasive female is becoming more tempting by the minute…

This forced proximity, enemies to lovers romance is full of "touch her and you die" moments with a grumpy alien chef who saves a human female with amnesia. Survive thrilling adventures on a hostile space ship, laugh over cute and funny comedy moments, and fall in love with a unique paranormal fantasy shapeshifter who will be a warrior for his fated mate.

I squeeze another artful loop of green frosting onto the stack of golden-brown funnel cakes when the sound of someone clearing their throat draws my attention.

Annoyed by the interruption, I glare over my shoulder. A human with auburn hair pulled away from her pale cheeks stands just behind me. She wears a black dress that hugs the curve of her waist and hips, slit to expose a considerable portion of her thigh. My heart cramps in my chest, and I suddenly understand why we’re restricted from interacting with the humans; with her watching, I don’t think I could concentrate enough to make a dumpling, much less cook for the entire cruise ship.

“You’re not supposed to be in here, tekina,” I say, using the galactic word for human. I can’t afford to be distracted, but I also can’t seem to take my eyes off her.

“I’ll leave in a minute.” Her pink lips spread in a winsome smile that makes my groin tighten. “I only need a few seconds of footage for the show.”

My eyes narrow. The cruise director told me the human who ordered the cake is some sort of video celebrity on her planet. I glance at the order on my ICC to read the name I’m supposed to scrawl across the surface of the completed cake. They gave me the words in a dialect called English, and I sound out the phonetics as best I can. “Are you Beth?”

She ignores me, her gaze drifting to the stack of funnel cakes I’ve assembled. Her bright smile withers to a frown. My heart sinks. Though the confection isn’t complete, I’m proud of how it’s coming along. The whipped green frosting I concocted has a perfect balance of rich and sweet that won’t overpower the delicate flavor of the cakes.

“Is that… my cake?” she asks. She’s staring at it as if it’s a delivery of three-day-old fish.

My Iki’i is overwhelmed by the itchy feeling of her dismay, yet I don’t understand why. I set the piping bag aside and turn to face her fully. “Is this not what you expected?”

“Absolutely not. Where did you find the recipe for this… this… whatever this is?” Her annoyance feels like a flame thrower.

My own indignation rises. Perhaps I was wrong about why the crew is restricted from the human guests. This female is quite abrasive. I lift my chin. “I searched our database on human cake extensively to formulate this recipe. This will please the human desire for both fat and sugar.”

“Oh, my God. You have no idea what you’re doing.” She strides past me and the island counter toward the appliances on the far wall as if she owns the kitchen.

“Now hold on—”

“We need to fix this. Fast.” She glances around, veering toward the big door next to the garbage chute. “I need butter, eggs, sugar, flour—”

I hurry after her and grab her arm, my irritation barely in check. “This is my kitchen, and you’re not supposed to be in here. Just tell me what’s wrong, and I’ll fix it.”

She jerks away, her brown eyes flashing. “There’s no way you can salvage this on your own. All of it’s wrong. I’m not leaving this up to chance. Now where’s your cooler?”

Before I can stop her, she reaches up and hits the button for the garbage chute.

“Wait, don’t—” My words are sucked away as the door irises open and a hurricane of wind and flying utensils sweep through the kitchen. Normally, the chute opens to a repository that is ejected through a secondary airlock. An airlock which is apparently stuck open.

In less than a breath, we’re swept out into black, empty space with the rest of the kitchen’s contents.

I barely have time to assemble my wits, hardening my matrix to protect myself against the cold vacuum of space. But then I see Bethany spinning next to me, her face a mask of terror. The whites of her eyes are turning red, and crystals of frost are creeping across her skin.

Kuzara. She might be a pain in the ass, but if I don’t do something, she’ll be dead in mere moments. I stretch out a hand and pull her against me, encapsulating her in my matrix before hardening again. I’ve just cut my survival time down exponentially, but I’ve more than doubled hers. On my own, I can survive space quite a while in a state of hibernation, but maintaining oxygen and warmth for her will drain me quickly. I can only pray someone on board the Romantasy notices what happened before it’s too late.

This damn female is going to be the death of us both.