Page 20 of Alien Mercenary’s Wife (Lathar Mercenaries: Warborne #7)

This was what he'd looked like yesterday during the firefight. Focused, lethal, and with the kind of precision that came from years of real combat, not training exercises. She knew he was pulling his punches for her, and slowing down so she could keep up. Even restrained, he was impressive as hell.

Her body responded better than it had in months.

Reflexes she'd thought were gone for good started coming back, rusty but functional.

The neural stimulator helped with response time, but trusting him made the difference.

Letting herself take risks she wouldn't usually attempt with her leg the way it was.

That trust nearly got her into trouble.

The final movement in the sequence required her to catch his feinted strike and redirect it into a takedown that would leave him vulnerable on the ground.

The muscle spasm hit without warning, her left knee buckling just as he committed to the attack. Instead of redirecting his momentum safely, she fell backward with nothing but empty air to catch her.

Strong arms wrapped around her before she could hit the deck. The movement spun them both around, his momentum carrying them into a controlled fall that ended with her pressed against his chest on the training mat.

For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. She was pinned beneath his larger body, his arms still wrapped around her, and his face close enough that she could feel his breath against her cheek.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice rough with concern and something else. A rough burr that made her want to press her thighs together, but she couldn’t, because his hard, heavily muscled leg was between them.

She should answer. Should tell him she was fine, that it was just a cramp and he could let her go now. Instead, she noticed the way his pupils had dilated, the careful control in his breathing, and the fact that he was supporting his weight on his forearms to avoid crushing her.

"I'm fine," she managed, though the words came out breathier than intended.

His gaze dropped to her lips before returning to her eyes. "Good. That's good."

This was dangerous territory. She should roll away, joke about her clumsiness, and restore the careful distance they'd maintained since she'd come aboard.

Instead, she studied the gold flecks in his eyes, and wondered what would happen if she lifted her head just a few inches and found out whether he tasted as good as he looked.

"Reese," he murmured, the rough growl of his voice doing things to her body that should have been illegal. Heat spiraled through her system. When was the last time someone had said her name like that?

Footsteps echoed in the corridor, growing louder as voices approached. T'Raal's head snapped up, and he rolled away from her with fluid grace. He rose to his feet and extended a hand to help her up.

"We should probably call it a day," he said, his voice carefully neutral even as heat and darkness simmered in his eyes.

"Probably," she agreed, her voice tight. "And thank you… For the techniques. For catching me."

He smiled down at her.

"Any time. That's what partners do."

T'Raal lifted his mug and took a drink of Terran tea.

He'd read about it in one of his books and had to try it.

The galley's soft lighting cast familiar shadows across empty tables as he settled into his usual spot with the steaming mug and his comm unit.

Ship's night cycle meant most of the crew had settled into their quarters hours ago, leaving the communal spaces quiet except for the Sprite's constant mechanical heartbeat.

Zero's face materialized on the small screen, his expression carrying the grim focus that meant serious business.

"Brought Reese up to speed earlier about the corporate network hunting her," he said without preamble. "Figured you should know what we're dealing with."

T'Raal leaned forward, setting the mug aside. "Talk to me."

"Anselm Corporation. Shadow organization with government contracts and unlimited funding.

They own controlling interest in CosGen Biotech, which owns Nexus Dynamics—the bastards who made Reese's and Eris’s defective implants.

" Zero's words cut like steel. "They've been systematically eliminating lawsuit participants.

Professional killers, not random accidents. "

"How many dead?"

"Dozens that I can confirm. Probably more." Zero pulled up data streams on his console. "Car crashes where brake lines were cut. Equipment failures on maintained systems. Sudden heart attacks in healthy thirty-year-olds. All veterans who were part of Reese's class action."

Ice settled in T'Raal's stomach. "Professional cleanup."

"Yeah, but these aren't corporate security goons… they're specialists." Zero's expression darkened. "Same people who held my sister. They stripped her cybernetic neural pathways, studied them to develop technology like the Scorperio units."

"How's Jesh now?"

"She's good now, thanks. Took time to recover from what they did to her."

"How long did they have her?"

Zero's jaw tightened. "Years. She was in the same shuttle as me during the explosion that brought us to this universe.

Since you found me in the wreckage years ago, they had her the whole time I was missing her.

" He looked down as he typed, his expression dark.

"They experimented on her to reverse-engineer her neural networks.

" He paused, meeting T'Raal's eyes through the screen.

"She survived because she's as stubborn as hell. "

"So they perfected the neural pathway manipulation on her, then used that knowledge to create the Scorperio program?

" T'Raal asked, scanning through the data-pack Zero had sent over to him.

"And now they're eliminating the survivors who can testify that the implants were deliberately designed to fail. "

The pieces clicked into place. "That's their endgame. Not just covering up defects, but eliminating everyone who can testify they knew about them."

"Exactly. The lawsuit was getting too close to court, so they escalated from accidents to direct action. That metro bombing? That was targeted." Zero's fingers drummed silently against his console. "They missed once. They won't miss again if we give them another shot."

"What kind of backing are we talking about?"

"Government contracts, political influence, the kind of funding that makes problems disappear at the highest levels." Zero's smile held no warmth. "But they're not invincible. They make mistakes, leave digital footprints. The trick is hitting them before they adapt."

"They know she's with us?"

"Probably. They had surveillance of the shuttle extraction. Got footage of Red on the ramp with that machine gun." Zero grinned, genuinely amused. "She looked like something out of one of the human action films. Rumors are going around on the human feeds about who and what she is."

T'Raal heard soft footsteps approaching down the corridor.

"Zero, I'll call you back," he said quietly. "Keep monitoring their feeds. I want to know if anything changes."

"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 level despite 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?"

"Two. They're a throuple. Multiple marriage isn't uncommon in the galaxy—sometimes more than three, depending on species and culture." He shrugged at her surprised expression. "Love's complicated out here."

"Prison, royalty, mercenaries." She shook her head with what might have been amusement. "That's quite a combination."

"Everyone's got a past. What matters is what they do with their future." He met her eyes directly. "Besides, half my crew's wanted by someone. Glass houses and all that."

The easy acceptance in his voice seemed to catch her off-guard.

"What about you?" he asked. "Any family out there?"

"Parents who had children out of obligation, not love. Military was the first place I ever felt like I belonged." She paused, vulnerability flickering across her features. "Until my body decided to betray me."

"Your body didn't betray you. Defective equipment did." The words came out harder than intended. If he could get hold of the assholes who had done this to her, he'd rip them limb from limb. "You're not broken, Reese. You're injured. There's a difference."

The way she looked at him then—surprise and something deeper, warmer—made the air between them shift. Tension built like static before a storm, electric and dangerous and impossible to ignore.

"Thank you," she said quietly. "For saying that. For meaning it."

She looked away, not embarrassed but almost uncomfortable, like she wasn't used to someone defending her. He got the feeling that no one had protected her before, and that realization made all his protective instincts flare. Badly.

"Of course I mean it. You're strong as hell, beautiful, and even hurt, you handled yourself well under fire. What's not to?—"

His comm unit erupted with the sharp trill of an emergency signal, and he reached for the device instantly.

"T'Raal."

"Boss, we've got a problem." Red's tone made him straighten. "Long-range sensors picked up Blood Core signatures. Two ships, heavy configuration, running intercept courses."

"ETA?"

"An hour to weapons range. Maybe less if they're pushing their engines."

T'Raal was already standing. The Blood Core were another mercenary group vying with the Warborne and the Reapers for top billing, but they were way more ruthless and bloodthirsty than either. Which shouldn't have been possible, but the Core had no morals or standards that anyone could work out.

"Wake everyone. Full alert." He caught Reese's eyes across the table, noting how quickly she'd shifted from vulnerable woman to alert soldier. "We're about to have company."

"Copy that, boss. Red out."

The comm fell silent.

"Blood Core?" Reese asked, already moving toward the corridor.

"Mercenary unit. Different league entirely." T'Raal gathered his gear with practiced efficiency. "They don't operate by the same rules we do."

"Hostile?"

"Unknown. Could be coincidence, could be trouble. Either way, we prepare for the worst and hope for something better."