Page 49 of Claimed By the Alien Assassin
Her sigh is release. “Then let’s get some rest.”
She smirks sleepily. “I promise the speech will only have one part where I mention your damn growl.” She threads our fingers. “Okay?”
I laugh softly, low as thunder. “Deal.”
Between us, forgiveness and promise settle against my chest like rightful armor. And for the first time in centuries, I feel more than a warrior—I feelworthy.
CHAPTER 12
JOSIE
The station platform is a glare of polished metal under alien sunlight that never felt warm. Klein haze hovers near the treetops in the prefabs, borrowing from early morning mist of the rainforest. But today’s mist doesn’t soften—it feels staged, artificial, like the curtain before the show.
And Kernal’s smiling.
Oh, he issmiling. Wide enough that the sun hides behind his arrogance. Flanked by Vortaxian guards whose armor mirrors his vindictive polish, he stands on the raised dais and pronounces in his booming tone that this is a day ofUnity—a celebration, he says, to honor theVortaxian Empire’s benevolence.
I stand in the back row of colonists—thin line of humans standing like cattle waiting for tags. My jaw is tight. My hands are wrapped around the spokes of my folded comm pack so hard I can taste metal at my fingertips.
He smiles again, teeth glinting against his fleshy round face. He gestures grandly. “Today, we feast! Music, dance, loyalty!”
Behind him, streamers unfurl, slightly sticky to the touch, shimmering ivory and gold. My voice trembles with sarcasticdisbelief. “He’s throwing us a party? What’s next, death balloons?”
Dayn steps next to me, shifting sideways so I can’t glare too obviously. His hand brushes mine—solid and sure, grounding me. Good thing. Because beneath the sarcasm, the worry’s blooming—like fissure of heat under my ribs. This isn’t just showmanship; this isthe trap. I know it.Weknow it.
Another colonist leans near, voice low and shaky. “Why are we here?”
I glance at her. “Because if he said tomorrow we all got haircuts that made us look like Vortaxians, people’d line up in craters and smile.”
She smiles back. More fear-based than anything else.
Drummers start, low rhythms thrum in my chest—a heartbeat turned into battlefield call. A Vortaxian dancer pirouettes in front of the dais; his armor jingles like wind chimes in doom. Kernal laughs, and the soundshakesmetal plates.
I watch the crowd’s hesitation melt into a forced cheer. Claps follow, slow—like a stream trying to wake from winter.
I press my thumbprint into my comm pad. Just practice. My words are soft, clipped. “Team Delta—stand by. Facial sensors are scrubbed. We need to keep their eyes off the east flank zone.”
Tessa is next to me, knees slightly bent in ritual readiness. “And synchrony?”
“Group Omega’s planting the diversion crates along the corridor. Tonight’s show gets us cover.”
Hargon glances toward the stage. “Can’t wait for deejay,” he mutters.
I smirk. “Save your energy. We’ve got a different beat to drop later.”
Dayn squeezes my hand. “Whatever happens, I’m right next to you.”
I turn, nose bleeding a little from adrenaline—because I believe him.Needhim right next to me. “Good. Because I’ve never had more reason to.”
The gala blasts on.Officers serve trays of sliced fruit, thickly sugared pastries that could be used as explosives if anyone bothered long enough. Plasticky, unripe, and somehow symbolic. I slip a lemon wedge to Dayn—he sniffs it, wrinkles his nose. “Tastes like war?”
I grin. “Citrus flashbang.”
He laughs—a soft rumble beneath the ceremony’s clamor.
I look around. Children dancing to Vortaxian music, drunken colonists—it’s surreal, warped. I lace my fingers through Dayn’s. We’re in the crowd, but not of it.
Behind the dais, Kernal’s speech drones on: Unity, Loyalty, Resistance Is Treason. The words are razor-edged, aimed at digestion.
