Page 76 of Claimed By the Alien Assassin
In the end, he disarms me with a swift twist and I stumble, sword clattering to the concrete. Panic flushes through me as Irealize how wide the gap has grown between us. Outputting the final strikes in my heart, I drop his gaze.
His voice stops me as he steps forward to catch me. “Josie,” he murmurs, arms wrapping around me. The world tilts as his embrace presses steel to warm skin, and the ring’s tension dissolves in his grip.
My pulse races in his exosuit’s hum. He presses gently, whispering, “You are my home, Josie. Not this place. Not this fight.” Beneath his armored chest, I feel the subtle rise and fall of truth.
I press my forehead to the warm plates of his suit, tears bleeding onto synthetic fabric. “I believe you,” I whisper back, over the hum of the base.
He tilts my face up, brushing his fingers under my eyes. “Then come home with me. Tonight.” His voice wavers but remains steady in purpose.
I close my eyes, letting the echoes of the crew’s sparse applause drift around us. “I’m right where I belong,” I say.
He kisses my temple as the crew’s footsteps fade into background. “Good,” he breathes.
We drift away from the ring into the corridor, our fingers entwined through his armored gauntlet. The echo of steel and purpose hums softly around us. I taste his lips, salt and warm reassurance against the cold flange of his control systems.
“No matter where we are,” he murmurs.
I close my eyes. “Even here.”
He kisses me again, gentle beneath the weight of tomorrow’s missions. And for the first time, I know—this isn’t the end of us. It’s just another battlefield, and we’ll face it—together.
The soft whirr of exosuit motors surrounds us as we walk to our bunk compartment. I slip off the sparring gloves and curl against him, the steady thrum of duty and love lulling me intoour newfound certainty. This place isn’t home—heis. And that makes all the difference.
CHAPTER 21
DAYN
Iwander into The Drift’s neon-lit craziness with half a mind to stay in the shadows. The air’s thick with exotic spices, alien booze, and the tang of desperation—like all the world’s abused feelings had been hollowed into a scent. Junk merchants, exotic dancers, and fight promoters pack the stalls. The music pulses through me like a drumbeat for my own pulse, and for a moment I just want to disappear behind steel plating. Bright lights don’t feel like celebrations—they’re traps.
Josie, however, vibrates against my side. She breathes in like it's fresh air. “Come on, Dayn—live a little!” With her trademark grin and that centrifugal energy, she pulls me deeper into the hive. She drags me past tables scattered with specimens and snacks I can’t identify—squid that glows, fermented pods that sort of hiss, drinks bubbling over with glowing dust.
“Try this,” she says, pressing a spoonful of purple jelly toward me. My nose wrinkles—smells like burnt hay and regret. I taste it—slimy, tongue-tingling, with a scorched aftertaste. I clamp my eyes shut, swallow. She laughs, bright and fearless. “Tastes like a dare, huh?” A tickle of pride and real love darts through me. I kiss the top of her head. “You daredevil.”
We drift until we find the dance floor—half-packed, everyone cheering two Vakutans slamming chests, swinging tentacles. Josie laughs, eyes glittering. “C’mon, let’s wreck their rhythm!” Before I can object, she drags me into the center. Her laughter is my axis as music spikes. The Vakutans grin, wobbling drunk, eager for a challenge.
A Fleder drone lowers overhead, tambourine of lighting effects. Josie plants her hands on her hips, sways the way only she can—loose and unstoppable. The Vakutans lurch forward. She bumps the first with a hip-check. He stumbles. My pulse spikes. I sweep her arm—smooth arc—and she spins. But I accelerate the spin to give her momentum. She arcs like a comet, straight into the DJ booth.
What follows is a blur of world-toppling noise. Speaker stacks shake. Josie lands on her backside, laughing. I cross the floor, tugging her to her feet. We hold hands like criminals. The Vakutans stare—mouths dangling. Then they sprint for the exit. The crowd roars.
A barkeep points. “You two—out of here!” He thumps a punch coaster. “Sector's closed!”
Josie beams vengeance and charm. I whip out a holo-credit. He hesitates. I clap the credit on the counter. “Just a souvenir.”
He snatches it, eyes flicking judgment. “Fine. But don’t come back to DJ booth.”
We glide back through the market chaos. Josie’s shoulder brushing mine, scent of perfume and spice. I taste joy I forgot I could.
One stall features glitchy puppet show—liquid shadows singing old Earth lullabies. Josie drops credits in, resting her head on my shoulder. I fold strength around her. “This was your idea.”
She tilts her head, nudging me. “Yours, too.”
A stray street vendor offers hand massages with sweet moss oils. She pulls me in. My armor clinks. I slump into the chair. Her hands ease tension in my neck. She whispers, “Better?”
I close my eyes. “Bless you.”
Our senses swirl—jostling crowds, flavors, noises. Beats of my heart sync with hers. That’s when I realize: I don’t want to hide. Not with her.
By the end of the night, we stand on a balcony overlooking a waterfall of holo-lights. The bass pounding below feels like drums of war—but we hold hands above it. She leans against me. “See?” she murmurs. “Pleasure doesn’t kill you.”
