Page 33 of Claimed By the Alien Assassin
She smiles without lifting her head. “I like waking up with you.”
“Feels dangerous.”
She laughs and rolls out of the crook of my arm. Her hair spills across her face as she stretches, bare feet grazing the cool concrete. “Good dangerous.” She stands, pads to the table and grabs a data chip. “We ready for Hargon and Tessa?”
“Awaiting command.” I watch her hands work, precise. I envy that brevity in her. I envy the way she leaps forward even when the ground’s crumbling.
“They’re probably still fighting over who gets to hold your... that,” she says, nodding to the image inducer.
I frown. “It’s tactical.”
She snorts. “Sure it is. Tactical sexbot.”
I raise an eyebrow.
She swings round. “What? You’re the perfect blend of cold laser and cuddle protocol.”
I don’t respond. Instead, I slip into combat mode—shoulders back, spine straight—the signal to these kids that I’m not just the brooding alien they’ve painted in whispered rumors.
The door slides open, and two teenagers tumble in—Hargon and Tessa—eyes darting like hunted birds. They carry a grab bag of tools and nervous energy, fear radiating in every jittery movement.
Hargon clears his throat. “Is he... Alliance?” he asks, voice tight.
Tessa snorts. “No, he’s a reprogrammed mechanoid, saw him flicker last night.”
I stare. She follows my gaze, voice squeaky. “Yousawhim glitch, didn’t you? Like that holo-face flickered off.”
I hold their gaze, silent as a cat in darkness.
Josie cackles—high and sharp. “You two are ridiculous.”
Both teens jump, like startled deer.
“Josie!” Tessa stammers. “Sorry! We just?—”
“He’s human enough to drop a gravity charge next hour,” I say, deadpan. “Alliance doesn’t do that unless someone screamed ‘Vortaxian.’”
Hargon gapes.
“You sure?” Tessa asks.
I nod once. “Sure.”
Hargon squeaks. “He’s not Vivi-borg?”
I cock my head. “No.”
“We thought so.”
I glance at Josie. She’s biting her lip, trying not to laugh.
I sigh. “Alright, let’s focus. You two wired up the decoys?”
The kids nod frantically. Tessa nearly steps on Hargon.
“Relax,” I say, tone softening. “You’re good at this.”
I move to one panel and pluck the panel open. Wires run like veins beneath—sensor lines crunching through the network to the Vortaxians. I reach in, my fingertips brushing the synthetic casing. My skin tingles.
