Page 78 of Alien Assassin's Heir

Luna watches us, her expression unreadable. Then she leans, just enough that her shoulder brushes mine. It’s a tiny thing, that touch—but it feels like the first sunlight after years of storms.

“You still want this?” she asks, her voice barely more than a whisper.

I turn my head toward her, meeting those blue eyes that once cut me open, that still hold every part of me in their grasp. “More than I’ve ever wanted anything,” I answer. My voice comes out rough, cracked. There’s no hunger in it, not the kind that once drove us together in secret corridors and dark corners. What fills me now is fiercer, older. Devotion carved into bone.

Her lips tremble, the faintest curve of a smile—or maybe the shadow of tears. “I don’t know if we’ll survive this,” she admits.

“Then let’s make sure if we don’t,” I murmur, “it wasn’t because we held back.”

She stares at me for a long, breathless stretch. And then she leans in, closing the gap, her lips brushing mine in a kiss that doesn’t blaze like fire—it sinks like an anchor. There’s no rush, no frantic edge. Just surrender.

I kiss her back slowly, one hand cupping her jaw, feeling the faint tremor that runs through her. She doesn’t pull away this time. She lets me carry her weight, lets me take what she offers and give it back tenfold.

When Solie sighs and turns onto her side, Luna gently eases her onto a pillow, brushing her hair back with tender fingers. Then she stands, her hand slipping into mine. No words are needed. I rise and follow, lifting her easily into my arms.

She doesn’t protest.

The bedroom is dim, the only light the pale spill of Arkosh’s twin moons through the shutters. I set her down on the bed, but she doesn’t let go of me, tugging me down beside her. Our mouths meet again, unhurried, and I realize this is not about desire at all. It’s about claiming something we’ve both been denied too long: peace.

We don’t tear clothes away. We shed them slowly, piece by piece, as though each layer is another burden dropped to the floor. She presses close, her breath warm against my throat, whispering my name like it’s both a confession and a prayer.

I hold her like she’s fragile glass, though she’s survived more storms than most soldiers I knew. My hands map her skin with reverence, not greed. Every kiss is slower than the last, every movement a vow. Her fingers knot into the ridges of my scales, and instead of fear, there’s trust in her grip.

When we finally come together, it’s not about fire—it’s about recognition. About two halves finally acknowledging they were carved from the same stone. She arches into me, gasping softly, and I bury my face in her neck, breathing her in like I’ve been starved.

“I thought I lost you forever,” she whispers, voice trembling.

“You did,” I murmur against her skin. “And somehow, you found me anyway.”

She shudders, her body tightening around mine, and I hold her through it, rocking her gently, reverently. There’s no battle here, no urgency. Just the slow, inexorable truth of us.

Afterward, she collapses against me, her cheek on my chest. Our bodies are slick with heat, our breaths ragged, but thesilence feels sacred. My arms stay around her, unwilling to let go even for a second.

Her fingers trace absent shapes along my ribs. “If I let myself believe this,” she says quietly, “then I have to believe in everything that comes with it. That means letting you protect me. Protect us. Even if it terrifies me.”

I tip her chin up so she has to look at me. “Luna, I don’t want to own you. I don’t want to cage you. I want to stand between you and the dark, even if it swallows me whole.”

Her eyes shine with unshed tears. She presses her forehead to mine. “Then don’t you dare leave me again.”

I kiss her gently, sealing the vow.

That night, I don’t sleep much. I keep my arm locked around her, feeling her warmth, listening to the soft breaths of the child in the other room.

By dawn, resolve has hardened inside me.

The next day, we start preparing.

We don’t talk about it openly around Solie, but Luna and I both know what needs to be done. I take her to the old markets at the edge of Wildwood, the ones Vale swore weren’t monitored. We buy false ident chips from a smuggler who smells of grease and fear. Luna haggles harder than I expect, her old sharpness flashing like steel.

“Two adults, one child,” she says, sliding her hand over Solie’s shoulder. “Clean. No echoes. And if you cheat us?—”

The smuggler swallows when I bare my teeth in silent agreement. He stammers out the deal, hands shaking as he passes over the chipset.

Back at the safehouse, Luna burns old documents—shipping manifests, old ID cards, anything that could link her to Wildwood. The smoke curls bitter through the vents, and Solie wrinkles her nose. “Why’s Mama burning papers?” she asks.

Luna glances at me. I kneel to meet the girl’s eyes. “Because sometimes, firefly, you’ve got to let go of old things to make room for new ones.”

She frowns, considering, then nods with solemn gravity.

At night, when she’s asleep, Luna and I whisper through plans. New routes. Safe planets. Which names we’ll take. She insists on packing Solie’s stuffed lizard, frayed at the tail. I insist on stashing weapons where she won’t find them.

It’s fragile, this hope we’re building. But as Luna curls against me in the darkness, her breath steady, I cling to it like a man clutching the last raft in a storm.

This isn’t lust. It isn’t even love in the way most people mean it.

It’s survival bound to devotion. It’s purpose.

And it’s the one thing I refuse to surrender again.