Page 77 of Claimed By the Alien Assassin
I rest my chin on her head, closing my eyes. The heat of her body against mine and the drums below remind me—life is more than missions. It’s moments like this.
The Drift is loud, messy, unpredictable—but right now, in the pulse of lights and love, I understand why these moments matter. And I step forward with her, ready for every wild beat to come.
I pull her closer, inhale her laugh, and swear to protect more than victories: this life we scaffold, side by side, in chaos and clarity.
I ease the creaky door closed behind us, and that single click feels louder than all the neon chaos of The Drift below. We’re on a rooftop suite borrowed for the night—no protocol, no polishing exosuits—just raw, flickering lights and a decaying nebula etched across the wide viewport overhead. Josie settles onto the edge of the low bed. The scent of damp cotton sheets and stale synth-cleaner drifts. I let my fingers trail down the ridged plates of my armor, each click and hiss a memory: kills, confidences, gory urgency. I unclip the gauntlets and peel them off, laying them gently on the bedside table as if they’re relics. My armor slides off one plate at a time until I stand bare-chested before her, scarred yet human.
She watches me with slow appreciation, eyes luminous in the pale nebula glow. I catch my breath at the vulnerability and let my throat work past words. “I’m not invincible,” I mumble, less to her and more to myself. Josie edges off the bed and reaches out, fingertip tracing a straight scar above my collarbone, the line of old pain and survival. Her touch is a benediction. “No,” she says softly. “But you're here.”
My hand finds the clasp of her braid—each twist of dark hair coiled like a rite she'd hidden. I release it, letting silken strands spill down her back. She closes her eyes, tilting her head into the motion, breathing out slow and measured. That rustle of hair marks the untangling of walls she'd built around herself. I lean forward and kiss the base of her neck, inhaling the warmth and the faint trace of dust from the alley markets. I draw breath around her scent—perfume, spice, heartbeats.
We stand inches apart, the hum of the universe echoing behind the glass. My hands go to her hips, feeling the curve and the strength beneath the soft coveralls. She presses her palms against my chest, over scars and sinew, anchoring. Her voice is a reverent murmur. “I choose you. Again.” I tighten my arms. My voice rattles, but it holds the bedrock of truth. “And I choose you.” Her eyes glisten—star-bright and steady.
Lingered kisses follow, gentle and deliberate. Our breaths sync as I guide us to the bed, laying her down like she’s sacred. I follow, every touch mapped by memory and deep intent. Nothing needs to be erased tonight—no past horrors, no looming missions—just us rebuilding each other bead by bead. I lie beside her, tracing patterns across her skin with deliberate reverence. She sighs, and that sound unthreads a knot in my chest I didn’t know I had. I brush a fingertip across the curve of her waist. “Tell me the world again,” I whisper.
She shifts, hand finding mine. “This one,” she breathes, “where the sky isn’t broken and you’re not on the edge*.” Hervoice curls over a quiver in her spine, one neither of us hides from anymore. I slide in close and she matches the contour of my shoulder. My arms wrap around her, making sense of chaos.
We move quietly—deliberate, patient—hands exploring bones and flesh, skin and sorrow. No fevered rush. No demands. Just pilgrimage. Every breath feels like prayer.
At length, we rest tangled. I brush sweaty hair from her brow. The nebula outside the window pulses, drifting colors washing over us—faint green stardust and twilight purple. She nestles against me again. I rest my head on her chest and feel the even thrum of her heartbeat through fabric. It steadies me.
“I’ve never felt this,” I admit, voice gray with wonder. “Sane.” She kisses my collarbone softly. “That’s love, Dayn.”
The room’s hum dims, the lights of the city flicker beneath us. I shift slightly, pressing closer. “I’m scared I’ll forget this,” I say. “When the fight calls.”
Her hand smooths across my chest. “You won’t. We don’t forget home.” She raises our joined hands between us. “Promise?”
“Promise,” I vow.
Together we watch the celestial tapestry unfold—silent witnesses to each other's fragility and strength. When I wake hours later, dawn-tinted starlight catches her eyelashes as she sleeps. I swallow hard. Everything ahead looks possible again. Not because the missions have changed, but becausewehave changed.
I brush a kiss on her temple before stepping onto the balcony, bare feet cool on metal plating. The nebula’s glow fades, replaced by distant morning lights. Our world waits—ripe, dangerous, and real.
But now I carry her inside me. A fortress built of memory, breath, and quiet pledges.
And tonight’s union wasn’t about heat or escape. It was a covenant. We chose each other again. And we’ll need that choice in the darkness to come.
I wander 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 pulsespikes. 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.”
