Page 40 of Alien Mercenary's Wife
"Copy that. And boss? Take care of her. She's been through enough of their shit."
"Will do."
The connection ended as Reese padded into the galley, her movement fluid and natural thanks to Tal's neural stimulator. She wore comfortable ship clothes—soft pants that hugged her curves and a loose shirt that made her look younger and more vulnerable than the hardened veteran he knew her to be. Her dark hair was loose around her shoulders, catching the soft lighting, and the sight sent a jolt through him. Heat pooled low in his stomach, and he was glad there was a table between them.
"Sorry," she said when she spotted him and gestured toward the tea selection. "Couldn't sleep. Thought some chamomile might help. I didn't mean to disturb you."
"You didn't." He studied her face in the soft lighting, noting the tension around her eyes. "Can't sleep either. Ship's quiet this time of cycle."
She selected her tea and settled onto the bench across from him. Their position put them close enough that her scent reached him… clean soap and something uniquely hers that made his pulse quicken.
"Your conversation sounded serious," she said, cradling her mug like a shield.
"Yeah, Zero was filling me in on what he told you earlier. About what you've been up against." T'Raal kept his voice leveldespite the protective anger building in his chest. "Seems I've been underestimating how far these bastards are willing to go."
"Systematic elimination of witnesses." She delivered the words with the flat tone of someone stating tactical facts rather than personal threats. "Professional killers with unlimited resources and government backing."
"You knew all this and you're still here? Still fighting?"
That earned him a look that told him exactly why she'd been an effective unit commander. It was hard enough to cut diamonds. "Where else would I go? They've already killed most of my unit, destroyed my body, and apparently they've got the resources to hunt me anywhere in human space."
"You could have disappeared. New identity, outer colonies, places where these assholes couldn’t find you."
"And let them win?" Steel entered her voice. "Let them keep killing veterans who trusted their government to give them safe equipment? Fuck that."
The casual profanity, delivered with absolute conviction, sent heat racing through his system. Here was a woman who'd been systematically hunted by professional killers, sitting in his galley at oh-three-hundred hours, declaring war on an enemy with unlimited resources. It should have been suicide. Instead, it sounded like justice. And it was hot, so hot.
"The Warborne don't back down from fights either," he said quietly. "Especially when family's involved."
"Family." She tested the word like she was learning a new language. "Still getting used to that concept."
"What's not to understand? Someone threatens you, they threaten us. Simple math." He leaned forward slightly, drawn by the way uncertainty flickered across her features. "Means you don't have to face this alone anymore."
"And if I get you all killed in the process?"
"Then we die fighting for something that matters instead of just credits." He shrugged. "Better end than most mercenaries get."
She was quiet for a long moment, steam rising from her mug as she considered his words. Whatever internal calculation she was running seemed to come out in his favor.
"I never asked for a family," she said softly. "Didn't think I deserved one."
"Deserves got nothing to do with it. You're crew now. That makes you family whether you asked for it or not. Besides, families choose each other. Blood's just biology."
The admission hung between them, more personal than he'd intended. But something about the quiet intimacy of the empty galley, the way soft lighting caught highlights in her dark hair, made the soft words important.
"Is that how it works with your daughter?" she asked. "Red?"
"Red's special. Been raising her since she was small." He chose his words carefully, not wanting to get into the circumstances that had brought them together. That wasn't his story to tell, it was Red's. "She's grown into someone I'm proud to call family."
"And now she's married to a man with Mirax Ruas tattoos."
He snorted. "Sparky's a good man. Chaotic, dangerous, completely mental, but he'd die before letting anyone hurt her. That's what matters."
"Prison tattoos don't bother you?"
"Not particularly. Her other husband is a high king."
Reese blinked. "Other husband? How many does she have?"
