Page 92 of Claimed By the Alien Assassin
DAYN
Istand in the back of the observation bay, hands folded across my chest, as Josie leans into the hololink projection before her. The lecture hall floats in ethereal light, a holographic panorama of student faces scattered across Novaria Academy, but everything else dims out for my gaze—because she’s not just lecturing; she’s teaching with a wrench in one hand and a coolant regulator in the other. I hear the hiss of steam and feel a current of warm air even from here. Her voice threads through it—sharp, melodic, intoxicating:
“Now, when thermal oscillations trigger a coolant spike, you have to override the manual servo with a harmonic pulse. Like this…”
In that moment, she’s toggling a panel while shifting hips to balance on a ladder, her utility belt swinging low. She glances over her shoulder at me briefly, and I catch the gleam in her eye before she flicks the coolant back into steady flow. She’s chaos incarnate—and still, somehow, every bit my salvation.
A grin quivers across my face. The galaxy hasn’t grown less dangerous. If anything, it’s a nest of hornets. But we’ve made a dent. She’s using our fight to train the next generation. And as she speaks, I’m struck again by the alchemy of us—me, oncea weapon with no anchor, now watching my wife mold futures with the same hands that once carved through combat armor.
Her lecture wraps, and holographic screens blink off, students exchanging thumbs-up and cheerful emojis. She straightens her composure, brushes grease from her forearm, and with signature grace bows.
I join her as the feed fades, walking down the short set of stairs to the cold metal floor she just mended. She meets me with a grin, and I thank her with a nod—no words needed. She pockets her tools in that familiar rhythm only I can read like Braille.
“Not bad,” I say—her voice low in my ear, quiet enough that only she can hear.
She elbows me playfully. “For a glorified knife-sharpener, you’re almost poetic.”
I shrug. “I keep pace.”
On the deck behind us, the Hellfighters hustle. Garrus is clearing supply crates to make room for evac gear and comm pods. Dowron leans over a datapad, obviously filling out mission specs.
Josie’s glow dimples a smile. “Warm up, hero—we’ve got a distress ping.”
As the alarm chime pulses through the hangar, I slide my combat pack onto one shoulder. My armored plating feels like a second skin again, but this time with purpose—this time, bound to someone who will step right through it for me.
Josie approaches Dowron, the hum of urgency buzzing between them. Dowron shifts the holo-comm display: coordinates at the very fringe of Vortaxian space. No planet name. Just a little dot and the words: “Unregistered colony - Distress.”
Josie’s eyes lock with me. “No one wants to own it.”
I know that look—she’s already deciding to bail me into whatever hell awaits. I nod wordlessly. Emotion boxes shut. Logic override. Only one answer applies:
“I’m in.”
She reaches for my pack—hooks a finger through the strap and gives it a soft tug. “Figures.”
Garrus hustles over. “Josie McClintock, Maverick of the multiverse, and Captain Assassins-At-Heart—again.” He smirks. “Have fun. Dowron wants a debrief on how fast we get roped into saving the unknown.”
She winks and steps closer, voice low only for me. “Let’s go rescue some misfits.”
I tuck a hand around her waist and kiss her shoulder, feeling the warmth of her utility belt beneath my fingers. “Always.”
We depart the hangar as the transport spins into life—a sleek composite shuttle with extra armor and thrusters primed for drop runs. Inside, she’s already looping mission data—planetary sensors, suspected troop positions, unknown variables. She bounces between each screen like she’s dancing, and I love that storm more than peace.
I strap in and lock my helmet into the console’s docking clip. She slides into her seat beside me, tools balanced on her thigh, eyes sparkling with adrenaline.
“All systems green,” she murmurs, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
I reach over and squeeze her hand, warmth rushing through my gloved fingers straight to my chest. “Lounging on our honeymoon deck was nice too,” I tease.
She blows out a laugh, eyes warming. “Next one.”
The engines roar, doors seal shut, the gravity shift tangles our guts. As we lift off, headed toward a crisis on the edge of everyone’s map, I feel time unravel between us. Not becausewe’re separated, but because something bigger than either of us unfolds mere kilometers away.
This mission may not be the start of everything—that happened already, with a bolt and a proposal in the dark. But it's the next chapter: two people born from conflict, forging purpose and love above the void. We’re bonded by chaos. Kissed by destiny. And I—blade turned husband—am home.
I cup her cheek before we drop from hyperspace, voice firm with promise:
“I’ll keep you safe, no matter what..”
