Page 4 of Her Alien Guardian

The ship grew eerily quiet, the absence of weapons fire and alarms suddenly more terrifying than the chaos that had preceded it. I strained my ears, trying to catch any hint of what was happening. The officers’ voices dropped to urgent whispers, too low for me to make out individual words.

Then a new sound filled the air—the deep, resonant groan of metal under immense stress. It started as a low rumble, building to a hair-raising screech that set my teeth on edge. I imagined the hull of theConquerorbuckling under some immense, invisible force, and a fresh wave of terror washed over me.

The creaking and groaning continued for what felt like an eternity. Then abruptly, it stopped. In the silence that followed, I could hear my own ragged breathing and the pounding of my heart.

Suddenly, there was movement on the bridge. Hushed voices, too quiet for me to catch more than a word or two. Something about ‘boarders’ and ‘surrender.’ My blood ran cold. Had the Magisterians somehow managed to board our ship?

Two sharp cracks split the air—the unmistakable sound of blaster fire. I flinched, biting back a scream. Then… nothing. No return fire, no shouts.

A few seconds later, heavy footsteps approached from the ward room. I tensed, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might explode out of my chest. Lieutenant Jorg burst into the comfort room, his face a mask of rage and desperation. His uniform was torn and singed, a trickle of blood running from a cut above his eye. In his hand, he clutched his service blaster, the barrel still smoking from recent use.

His wild eyes locked onto mine, and I saw something there I had never seen before: fear. Pure, unadulterated terror lurked behind the anger, transforming his usually handsome features into something almost feral. He strode toward me, each step echoing in the sudden silence that had fallen over the ship.

“Well, well,” he snarled, his voice raw and strained. “At least I can deny those Magisterian dogs one small pleasure.”

He raised the blaster, pointing it directly at my head. I could see down the dark barrel, a yawning void that promised oblivion. Time seemed to slow, each heartbeat stretching into an eternity. I saw Jorg’s finger tighten on the trigger, the muscles in his arm tensing as he prepared to fire.

A kaleidoscope of emotions washed over me. Fear, of course—primal and all-consuming. But also a strange sense of relief. Perhaps death would be a release from the life I had known, from the endless cycle of pain and pleasure that had defined my existence aboard theConqueror of Bresla.

I closed my eyes, waiting for the searing pain that would herald the end. Instead, a deafening crack split the air, making me flinch against my restraints. But the sound hadn’t come from Jorg’s blaster. It had come from behind me, from the ward room.

My eyes flew open just in time to see a look of utter shock pass over Jorg’s face. His mouth opened in a silent scream as a crimson stain blossomed on his chest, spreading rapidly across his uniform. The blaster slipped from his fingers, clattering to the floor as he stumbled backward.

For a moment, he remained upright, swaying slightly as if caught in some macabre dance. Then, like a marionette whose strings had been cut, he collapsed. His body hit the floor with a dull thud, lifeless eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.

I lay there, frozen in disbelief, my mind struggling to process what had just happened. The acrid smell of ozone filled the air, mingling with the metallic tang of blood. In the sudden silence,I could hear my own ragged breathing and the faint crackle of electrical fires still burning somewhere in the ship.

Footsteps approached from behind, slow and deliberate. I tensed, unable to turn my head to see who—or what—was coming. The restraints suddenly felt tighter, more confining than they had ever felt before.

My heart pounded in my chest as I strained against my bonds, desperate to see the source of those measured footsteps. The air seemed to thicken, charged with an electric tension that made the fine hairs on my arms stand on end.

A shadow fell across me, impossibly large. I caught a glimpse of deep blue in my peripheral vision, so vibrant it seemed to pulse with its own inner light. Slowly, almost reluctantly, I turned my head as far as my restraints would allow.

My breath caught in my throat as I beheld the figure looming over me. He was massive, easily seven feet tall, with broad shoulders that seemed to fill the entire doorway. His skin was a rich, cerulean blue that shimmered slightly in the dim light of the comfort room, like the surface of a calm ocean under a moonlit sky.

He wore a Magisterian captain’s uniform, the crisp lines and gleaming insignia strange amid the chaos surrounding us. The fabric stretched taut across his muscular frame, hinting at the raw power contained within. In one enormous hand, he held a sleek, advanced-looking weapon—undoubtedly the source of the shot that had felled Lieutenant Jorg.

But it was his face that truly captured my attention. Chiseled features that could have been carved from blue marble stared down at me, a study in contrasts. His jaw was strong and square,his cheekbones high and pronounced. Yet his eyes… his eyes were what made my breath hitch.

They were a swirling mix of silver and violet, like twin galaxies contained within his gaze. And in their depths, I saw something wholly unexpected: compassion. Warmth. An understanding that seemed to penetrate straight to my core.

For a long moment, we simply stared at each other. I felt revealed in a way that went beyond my physical nakedness, as if those mesmerizing eyes could see every thought, every fear, every secret I’d ever held.

Then, he spoke. His voice was deep and resonant, like distant thunder rolling across a vast plain. Yet there was a gentleness to it, a careful modulation that seemed at odds with his imposing presence.

“Hello,” he said, the word somehow both commanding and soothing at once. “I’m Captain Alpha. I’m here to rescue you, I suppose.”

I blinked, my mind struggling to process his words. Rescue? The concept seemed almost foreign after so long as a captive. And yet… there was something in his tone, a certainty that made me want to believe.

They had told us, in the humiliating training school where I had learned the duties of a starfleet concubine, that if the Magisterians captured me, I would long for my Vionian masters. As brutal as the crew of theConqueror of Breslahad been in their use of my body, I had felt certain that the alternative would be much worse. Given to the enlisted men of the Magisterian marines, I would be fucked to death in their mess hall—the inevitable fate of every captured Vionian concubine.

“What’s your name, honey?” Captain Alpha asked in a voice so deep it seemed to shake the bench beneath me.

Honey?

“I wouldn’t tell you,” I said, “even if I thought you cared.”

CHAPTER 3

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