Page 81 of Alien Mercenary's Wife
His soul mate.
His everything.
"Which makes her," Daaynal continued with obvious satisfaction, "an Imperial Princess. My daughter-in-law. And under my protection, whether she knows it or not."
T'Raal looked up at his father, seeing calculation mixed with affection. Daaynal had maneuvered him into accepting his heritage, but he'd also given him the perfect reason for saving Reese.
"You planned this," T'Raal said.
Daaynal shrugged. "Even I cannot plan the will of the gods, but… I am not above taking an opportunity when it presents itself."
His smile was warm as he grasped T'Raal's shoulders. "If it takes a mated pair bond to bring you home, then I'll gladly welcome my new daughter as well."
Home.
The word hit harder than T'Raal expected. He'd spent his life building his own family, rejecting the one genetics had tried to force on him. But standing here, seeing hope in his father's face, he realized how much he'd missed having something deeper than choice.
"The rescue," he said finally.
"Will be immediate and thorough." Daaynal moved back to his desk, already reaching for comm controls. "Imperial Prince T'Raal retrieving his kidnapped mate… The press will love it."
"And after?"
"After, we discuss what it means to be my son. What it means to be part of this family." Daaynal's expression grew serious. "You've built something remarkable with your crew, T'Raal. I don't want to destroy that. But you're also my heir, and that comes with obligations."
It was the price he'd expected. But Reese would be alive to argue with him about the cost.
His mate. The woman the gods had chosen for him.
Home. With him.
"Understood," he said.
Daaynal's smile was wide. "Then let's go save my daughter-in-law."
20
Her left leg seized without warning, muscles locking tight as her implant misfired again. Reese bit back a curse. Fucking neural tech. Without Tal's stimulator, her body was shutting down faster than she'd expected.
The restraints cut into her wrists with every bump in the road, the transport's metal bench digging into her thighs. Mason slumped beside her, breath coming in short, labored gasps. One look at the bruises covering her face and arms told Reese everything she needed to know. Shit, they'd really worked her over.
The transport felt like a metal coffin.
Across from them, the two guards couldn't have given less of a shit about their prisoners. Enhanced bulk took up most of the cramped space, their military-grade gear marking them as corporate security. Not regular rent-a-cops—these were the kind who disappeared problems permanently.
"How long to the facility?" one guard asked.
"Twenty minutes. Less if traffic stays clear."
Twenty minutes until whatever disposal site the corporation used for their 'inconvenient problems.' She'd seen the files, knewexactly how this worked. Corporate detention facilities didn't keep records. People went in, didn't come out. Not unless it was face-down in some forgotten alley with a bullet in the skull.
Reese tested her restraints with subtle movements. Quality steel cuffs. Both guards carried neural disruptors—high-end models that could fry what was left of her implants with a single shot. Even if she could somehow get free, even if her useless legs suddenly decided to work, she was outgunned and outnumbered.
Her left hand cramped viciously, fingers curling into a claw. She refused to show pain, not giving these fuckers the satisfaction.
Everything she'd fought for was ending in the back of a corporate transport. The lawsuit, the evidence, the hope that someone might finally pay for murdering her squad—all of it reduced to another convenient accident. Another veteran who couldn't handle civilian life.
Hughes would never know what happened to her. Ryans and the handful of survivors still fighting their own losing battles against corporate lawyers and government indifference—they'd wait for her check-ins that would never come. Wonder if she'd run. Or been silenced.
