Page 90 of Claimed By the Alien Assassin
Garrus raises his glass once more. “To survival. To chaos. To unexpected family. And to not detonate anything… yet.”
We all clink glasses. The moment feels tender and apocalyptic all at once. It’s ours—realer than any law, truer than any emotional confession. In this murky hangar, with smoke traces from recent drills lingering in the air and the scent of hot metal & engine fuel wrapping around my spine, we claim each other.
After the group files out, leaving us alone beneath the cavernous roof, Dayn sweeps me into a kiss that tastes of starship smoke and warm steel. He lifts me effortlessly, carrying me toward the observation deck on the edge of the bay.
Inside, good thing we snuck the thermal blanket. It’s frayed, patched in places, but soft against my cheek as I lie curled against him. Through the panoramic viewport, stars blur intojeweled fire as the ship shifts for departure. I hum softly; he hums back.
We brush fingertips against each other’s scars—mechanical, physical, emotional. I feel his breath rattle my ear, and I whisper, “You are the calm I didn’t know I needed.”
He tightens his arms. “And you’re my reason I wake up still in love.” His lips press to my forehead. “You’re not a mistake. You’re my miracle.”
I laugh in a whisper. “We’re both pretty damn messy.”
He smirks. “Perfectly messy.”
As the engines hum to life and the observation deck glows with soft instrumentation lights, our souls hum a quiet harmony. I press a kiss to his knuckles, the ring there shining in the dim light.
He tucks me gently into his arms. We fall asleep that way—no battle cries, no frantic fear. Just warmth, soft breaths, and tenuous promises beneath a sky woven with stars.
Tonight, we rest. Tomorrow, who knows? But right here, right now, we are enough—and together, we’re unstoppable.
I wake to the hum of the ship’s life support systems, bright morning light spilling through the observation port. My fingers sting from last night’s kiss, and the ring Dayn slipped on my finger feels as real as the beat of his heart against my chest. I turn, expecting his form still cradled beside me—but the bunk is empty. In my pocket, my comm blinks: an incoming message. I tap it open, breath hitching as I read.
“Josie McClintock, graduate and alumna—Novaria Academy of the Sciences hereby invites you to return as Visiting Professor of Applied Exoplanet Engineering and Resistance Technology. Your knowledge, experience, and leadership are exactly what our students need in these critical times. Reply by docking cycle Delta-3 to confirm.”
My throat tightens. This is everything I once craved—prestige, stability, a place among scholars and tech-savvy peers. I can almost feel the polished hallways, the hum of data displays, the weight of a chalk-dusted lab coat. It’s heady. It’s promising.
But then I hear Dayn’s voice drifting from the corridor—industrial and musical in a way that shouldn’t make sense: he’s humming one of my made-up songs. I follow the sound, snaking through corridors until I find him in the armory bay, polishing his knives, blades glinting a stark tribute to his craftsmanship and past. I watch him carefully inspect the edges, almost reverently, as though the metal is part of him—and that’s when I know.
He didn’t ask me to let go of my dreams; he just showed me what real dreams feel like.
I clear my throat. He looks up, the knife still in hand, face rough with concentration. He raises his eyebrows. “You awake?”
I step closer, heart hammering. “Something came through.” My fingers close around the comm unit in my pocket, like a lifeline.
He stops polishing and follows my eyes. “The Academy?”
I nod. The echo of hope ricochets inside me. “They want me back—to teach.”
He smiles—a slow, proud thing that does bad things to my resolve. “That was your dream, once.”
My voice catches. “Itismy dream.”
He sets the knife down with precision, wiping each blade. “And this?” He gestures to himself, the knives, the engine hisses and battle stations echoing from deeper in the ship.
I swallow. “This ... you ... us. I want it too.”
He steps toward me, closing the gap I created with my shock. His breadth fills the doorway, scent of warmed metal and engine oil clinging to him. I inhale deeply, tasting the reality of our life together.
He nods quietly. “Then you take it. Don’t choose. Let the galaxy fold itself around both.”
Tears prick my eyes. “Can I?”
“Of course.” He lifts a hand to wipe my cheek. “You’re brilliant enough for two worlds.”
I close the distance, pressing my forehead to his. “I don’t want to lose you.”
He chuckles low and presses his fingers to my cheek. “You won’t. Not if we decide together.”
