Page 82 of Claimed By the Alien Assassin
Her ribs rise with a breath that mimics a sigh of contentment. "Yours too," she whispers, pressing her face closer, cheek against the front of my chestplate, feeling the faint thrum of my armor’s residual power.
The shuttle pitches slightly, a gentle reminder of motion, of our place between worlds. She grips me tighter for a heartbeat. "Promise me…" Her voice wavers—rare cracks showing where my solidity comforts her. "When this is over, we’ll… keep building, not just fighting."
I draw her closer, smoothing hair strands across her shoulder. "I promise." The words firm in my throat like iron. I brush my lips to the top of her head. "This isn’t the end."
She tilts her chin upward, eyes half closed as she studies me through low light. "Then what is it?"
A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. I don’t even have to think: "The beginning of everything."
Her soft laugh is the best music I’ve heard in a long time. "Good answer, assassin."
I rest my cheek atop her head. "Only way I learned."
She reaches between us, fingers finding my hand, and I thread my fingers with hers in the dim compartment. Everything else—the battles, the politics, the ghosts of our pasts—falls away. For once, I don’t carry the weight of prophecy or bloodlust or vengeance. I carry her trust. That’s lighter than any armor I’ve worn.
Time stretches; the stars drift. We stay like this, wordless, letting the future fold gently around us. We breathe together. We’re warm. Alive. Whole. And for the first time in a long time, I let myself believe that this—this quiet, this comfort—is just the start.
CHAPTER 24
JOSIE
Islip through the low-lit corridor of the Hellfighters’ ship, the carbon-fiber floor humming softly beneath my boots. Dayn’s voice echoes through the adjacent workshop, clipped excitement vibrating through the walls. Somehow, after all we've been through, life with him feels both normal and impossible—and I wouldn't trade it for anything.
I poke my head into the engine bay. Dayn crouches over a stripped-down quantum thruster, fingers dancing across its exposed conduits. The scent of grease and ozone hangs heavy, a familiar aroma I’ve come to cherish. He glances over, steel-blue image-inducer flickering for a heartbeat before settling into his human guise. "You taste that?" he asks, voice dim and amused.
"That’s life," I grin, wiping a smudge of sooty graphite from my cheek and offering him a spare wrench. "Routine—or glorified chaos."
He stands and grabs my hand. The thrust of us together is in those little moments, more than any explosive mission. "Let’s calibrate that bomb bay next," he suggests. I arch an eyebrow. "Only if you'll help me test the new bomb-disarm algorithm. Winner buys dinner."
We laugh, merging like two mismatched puzzle pieces clicking into place. Cooking in the galley is a ritual now—we debate synthe-food flavor profiles, argue about spice levels and efficiency, and sneak in actual garlic because we’re rebels at heart. Today, it's risotto with real parmesan—illegal but worth it. He stands behind me, arms around my waist as I stir, murmuring critiques: "Too creamy," he teases. "Less stock next time, engineer queen." I flick a drop onto his cheek. "Try feeding me burnt piss, lover."
That’s us. Teamwork in action.
But serenity fades as quickly as it arrives. An alarm blares. Green lights flash across the console. "Bounty hunter ships intercepting us from port side," the comms officer announces. Adrenaline buzzes in my veins like cheap caffeine. Our calm routine vanishes; battle protocol kicks in. I snatch my toolkit and jog toward the armory. Dayn is already ahead, aura shimmering between calm and steel.
We fight side by side in zero gravity, my fingers dancing across locks while Dayn secures the perimeter. Every breath tastes metallic. Backup generators kick in, floor plating snaps into place, and plasma rifles slide into our hands with familiar weight. It's seamless, instinctual—the chaos we're built for.
And then there's the quieter victories: hacking a corrupt planetary governor threatening mass deportation, disabling surveillance drones with sly code shortcuts, turning tyranny into a tinker’s puzzle. My nights are often spent lit by holo-screens, Dayn asleep against me on the cot, his growl soft and content. Other nights, we’re booted into shivering in jungle rain, dodging space kraken tentacles that glow with bioluminescent agony while I splice open a power line and whisper, "Try this on for size, you overgrown squid." His fierce chuckle warms me faster than any flame weapon.
He’s my anchor. My partner in bed and battle.
Still, not every day is seamless. We bicker—over food, over risk, over who left the molten plasma torch on and nearly set the bridge electrified. I come back to find the ship rebooting from his “safety timeout” and a grin on his face: “You know nothing about containment protocols.” My cheek twists. "If you hadn't disappeared to charm Krattian diplomats, maybe the torch would be off." We snarl, but the fire never burns. We argue, then we kiss. It's fierce and full of relief. Laughter in the middle of shouted words, surprise in the eyes, forgiveness in the lips.
That night, we collapse into bed, skin and clothes still warm from the heat of debate. I trace the lines of his jaw as he tries to apologize, me wrestling him under the blankets. Before I know it we’re laughing in breathless gasps, his hands tangled in my hair, my fingers dusting against the indentations of his collarbone. Ninth time. Spontaneous. Joyful. Not about claiming, but about celebrating—celebrating that we exist, together, despite and because of the chaos we cause.
I press my forehead to his. "I've never been so grateful for your stubborn heart," I whisper, voice shaking with emotion.
His hand sweeps down my spine, firm and reassuring. "And I've never been more alive. Because of you, spark girl."
The ship drifts on, its engines a steady murmur. Outside, the galaxy pulses with danger—and we’re in the thick of it, but together.
When we finally settle, my cheek brushing his shoulder, I realize this is who I am now: not just a rogue engineer or tinkerer with explosive gadgets, but part of a fierce symphony of love, purpose, and war. A spark in the storm—and a storm in the spark.
I close my eyes, breath warm against his chest. Routine or chaos, every day we choose each other. Every moment is ours to make. And in the quiet hum of the ship, I know this: Home isn’t a place. It’s him. It’s us. And it’s fucking perfect.
I switch off the datapad’s holo-screen and snap it shut, the muted thud echoing louder than I expect in the dim light of our cabin. Fatigue blankets me, but pride battles through every muscle. Tonight we push ourselves to the edge, yet here we are—holding each other close, voices lower than whispers, hearts wild with solidarity. I run my thumb along his jawline, tracing the stubble that sprouts thicker by the day, and inhale the scent of him—aged metal, coffee, and something fiercely protective.
Dayn’s hand drifts to my cheek, gentle as a feather but anchored like steel. His eyes are shadows and stars, reflecting all we’ve been through and all that’s still to come. “We did good,” he murmurs, voice hoarse from adrenaline and emotion. I tilt my head, pressing my mouth to his collarbone. My words taste of surrender and celebration in one breath. “We did.”
