Page 47 of Alien Assassin's Heir

CHAPTER 11

LUNA

Idon’t know what scares me more—how deeply I still feel for him, or how easy it’s becoming to imagine a future with him again. That’s the thought that won’t let me go, that digs its claws into me while I chop vegetables in my tiny kitchen, Solie humming tunelessly in the other room. I should be terrified of what this means. Instead, I’m standing here, setting three plates on the table instead of two, like I’ve already made my choice.

When I open the door, Kraj is there, filling the hallway with his broad frame, his scales catching the dying glow of Arkosh’s twin suns. He doesn’t need words—his eyes say enough. But he still smiles, a little hesitant, a little self-conscious, like he’s not sure if he belongs here.

“Dinner,” I say, voice steadier than I feel. “Come in.”

The smell of roasted beans and spiced root fills the apartment, and Solie barrels into the room, eyes bright. “Mister dragon man!” she squeals, flinging herself against his leg. He crouches, big claws tucked away, and ruffles her hair like he’s been doing it all his life. My chest tightens at how natural it looks. How natural it feels.

At the table, it almost feels normal. He sits across from me, Solie between us, her little legs swinging under the chair. Shechatters non-stop, testing him with question after question, her fork clattering against her plate as she leans too far this way and that.

“Can you change colors?” she demands between bites. “Like, can you turn pink?”

Kraj chuckles, low and warm, and his eyes shimmer—molten gold melting into a startling shade of violet. Solie gasps, covering her mouth with both hands. “Mama, look!”

“Show-off,” I mutter, but the corner of my mouth betrays me, curling upward.

“Again! Again!” Solie insists.

Kraj tilts his head, jawline sharpening, then softening, shifting subtly until he looks almost human for a heartbeat. Just a flicker. A trick. Solie squeals with laughter and claps her hands. “Youarea superhero!”

“I told you,” he says, grinning at her, and my heart aches at the sight.

After dinner, after dishes are stacked in the sink and Solie has been wrangled through bath time and tucked into bed, I collapse onto the couch. My body aches in that bone-deep way that comes from years of long shifts and longer silences. But tonight, the silence is different. Tonight, he lowers himself beside me, the couch groaning under his weight, our knees brushing in a way that feels deliberate. My pulse stutters.

For a while, we don’t speak. Just sit there, listening to the hum of the solar lamp outside the window, the occasional creak of pipes as the heater cycles. His warmth radiates through the space between us, his scent—earthy, faintly metallic, with a hint of something I can only callhim—curling into my lungs.

“You hate it here?” he asks finally, voice low, rough.

I shake my head. “No. I don’t hate. It’s… harsh. Demanding. But it’s honest. People here don’t pretend to be more than they are.”

He waits, golden eyes steady, patient in a way I never thought he could be.

“It wasn’t the frontier that wore me down,” I confess, words spilling before I can stop them. “It was missing someone I didn’t think I should miss.”

His breath catches, barely audible, but I hear it. Feel it. And when I finally look up at him, really look, I see all the years between us. The battles fought, the wounds carried, the mistakes we’ll never undo. But I also see the boyish grin he used to give me in the shadows of the IHC hallways, the warmth in his touch when he thought no one was looking.

He leans closer, slow, deliberate, giving me every chance to stop him.

I don’t.

When his lips find mine, the kiss is soft at first, tentative. Testing. But the moment I answer—tilting into him, clutching the rough fabric of his jacket—it deepens, hungry and desperate, like we’ve both been starving for this without realizing it. His hands cradle my face, claws careful against my skin, and I forget everything else. The war. The secrets. The lies.

For one long, breathless moment, there’s only us. Only this.

And when I finally pull back, gasping, I don’t push him away.

I fall. Again.

His kiss lingers on me long after our lips part, after the rush of air leaves my chest and I collapse against him, trembling. I don’t know who moves first, him or me, but it doesn’t matter—we’re already reaching for each other, already falling into a gravity neither of us can resist. The couch creaks under us, our knees tangled, my hands clutching at his jacket like it’s the only thing tethering me to the ground.

“Kraj,” I whisper, the word spilling out unbidden, raw.

“Say it again,” he growls softly, his forehead pressed to mine, his breath hot against my lips.

“Kraj.”