Page 31 of Alien Mercenary’s Wife (Lathar Mercenaries: Warborne #7)

T he galley hummed with the comfortable chaos of a family dinner.

T'Raal settled into his usual spot at the main table, very aware of Reese beside him as she chatted with his crew.

Her left shoulder pressed against his arm when she leaned forward to respond to something Skinny said, and the casual contact sent heat racing through him.

It'd been three days since they'd become lovers, and he still wasn't used to having her this close in public… how she thought nothing of just taking the seat next to him, or brushing her fingers against his as she reached for the salt. Little things that said more than words ever could.

"The neural stimulator's working better than expected," Tal said to Reese as he cut into his steak. "The range of motion in your left leg has improved much more than I expected."

"Feels like it." Reese flexed her foot under the table, the movement bringing her thigh against T'Raal's. "I can actually walk without planning each step three moves ahead."

"That's good progress," Eric said from across the table."How's the coordination? Fine motor control? Perhaps we should look at the neuro-transmitter pathways," he commented to Tal. "See if we can retro-engineer something to help there."

Reese picked up her fork with her left hand, the movement smooth and controlled. "Better. Not perfect, but functional."

T'Raal watched with satisfaction. She was improving daily. He reached for her free hand, threading their fingers together on the table where everyone could see.

The gesture drew attention he hadn't intended. Conversation paused for just a moment, crew members exchanging glances with amused looks.

"About draanthing time," Red muttered.

"Language," Marika chided, with a smile.

"What? It's true." Red gestured toward them with her fork. "Dad usually walks around looking like someone kicked his favorite pets. Now he looks... content."

Heat crawled up T'Raal's neck. "I don't look content."

"You look content," Sparky confirmed cheerfully. "Relaxed. Like someone who's getting regular?—"

"Sparky," T'Raal cut him off with a warning growl.

"—sleep," Sparky finished with an innocent expression. "I was going to say sleep."

Laughter rippled around the table. Even Reese smiled, her thumb stroking across his knuckles, making it hard to focus.

"The point is," Skinny rumbled. "You both look happy. Good to see."

"Thank you," Reese said quietly, and T'Raal caught the way her smile softened.

The conversation moved on to ship business and crew gossip, but T'Raal remained aware of her knee against his thigh. Her fingers entwined with his. The way she leaned into his space when she laughed at something Fin said.

It felt right. Scarily right.

When the meal ended and Red and Fin began clearing dishes, waving away their help, Reese rose.

"Walk me back?" she asked.

"Always."

The corridors felt more like home with her beside him. She matched his pace easily, their shoulders brushing with each step.

"I think they like me," she said as they neared his quarters.

"They love you." The admission came easier than expected. "You fit."

"Do I?" She paused outside his door, studying his face. "Even with all the complications I bring? It's a lot to ask people to take on."

"Especially because of the complications." He palmed the door control, gesturing for her to precede him into his… their quarters. "We're not exactly a crew that shies away from difficult situations."

She settled onto his bunk, pulling her legs up to sit cross-legged.

"I need to go back to Earth," she said.

He turned to look at her.

"No."

"T'Raal—"

"Absolutely not." He remained standing, every protective instinct flaring to life. "They tried to kill you once. They'll try again."

"The court hearing is in six days." Her expression said she'd already decided. "If I don't appear, they win by default. Everything we've worked for disappears."

"Then we fight them from here." He began pacing the small space, too agitated to stand still. "Video testimony, encrypted transmissions, whatever it takes."

"That's not how the legal system works." She watched him pace. "I have to be there in person to present evidence. To cross-examine witnesses. To make the case that'll save the other veterans."

Her logic made sense, but that didn't make it any easier to accept.

"The people trying to kill you have unlimited resources," he said, turning to face her directly. "Professional killers, government backing, the kind of influence that makes witnesses disappear."

"I know." She shrugged. "But what's the alternative? Let them win? Let Hughes and Ryans and the others die while we hide out here in the safety of your ship?"

Her words stung because they were true. They were safe, but at what cost to the others?

"There has to be another way."

"If there is, I haven't found it." She unfolded her legs, rising to move toward him. "I have to do this. It's who I am."

Her hands settled on his chest, warm through the fabric of his shirt. Instead of comfort, it just reminded him how much he could lose.

"I could forbid it," he said quietly.

"You could try." There was no challenge in her voice, just a statement of fact. "But you won't."

She was right. He wouldn't… he couldn't.

"Conditions," he said finally.

Her eyebrows rose. "Conditions?"

"If you're going back into that feeding frenzy, you're going prepared." He moved to his desk, pulling up files on the display. "Tal checks your neural stimulator, makes sure it's functioning at optimal levels. Eric and Lina examine your condition, confirm that the treatment is working."

"Reasonable." She moved to stand beside him, studying the medical protocols he was outlining. "What else?"

"Weapons training. If someone comes for you, I want you ready." He glanced at her. "The range aboard the Sprite. Tomorrow."

"Also reasonable." Her smile carried anticipation that sent heat through him. "Though I should warn you, I'm not exactly a novice with firearms."

"I remember." He grinned. "But our weapons have different characteristics from your equipment. I want you to be familiar with everything we carry."

"And after the training?" Her voice dropped to a whisper.

"After the training, we see how well you've learned to handle... new equipment."

The double meaning wasn't subtle. Didn't need to be. Heat flashed through her, her breathing quickening.

"I think I can manage that," she said, rising onto her toes to bring her mouth closer to his.

"We'll see," he murmured against her lips before claiming them in a kiss that promised everything.

The Sprite's firing range occupied a section of the lower deck that had been altered specifically for the purpose.

Reinforced bulkheads, energy-absorbing backstops, and targeting systems that could simulate everything from close-quarters combat to long-range precision work.

T'Raal had insisted on the space when they'd acquired the ship…

a crew that couldn't shoot straight wouldn't stay alive long.

Reese stood at the firing line, studying the array of weapons he'd laid out. Her stance was perfect—feet planted, shoulders square, like someone who'd spent years making accurate shots under pressure. Her hands were steady as she examined a Tavkronian pulse rifle.

"This one's interesting," she said, hefting the weapon to test its balance. "Heavier than I expected."

"The Tavkronian build for durability over portability." T'Raal moved behind her, close enough to guide her grip. "The weight helps with recoil compensation. Energy weapons don't kick like projectile systems, but they've got their own characteristics."

His hands covered hers on the rifle, adjusting her finger placement on the trigger mechanism. The contact sent heat racing up his arms, though he tried to maintain professional focus. This was just training, regardless of what his body thought about the woman pressed back against his chest.

"Different firing patterns," he continued, his voice rougher than intended. "Sustained beam versus pulse bursts. Power settings from stun to complete disintegration."

"Complete disintegration?" She glanced back at him, eyebrow arched. "That's excessive for most situations, isn't it?"

"Most situations, yeah. But sometimes you have to make sure your target doesn't get back up." He guided the rifle toward the range targets. "Try a few shots. Get used to the feel."

She sighted down the barrel with practiced ease, controlled her breathing, and squeezed the trigger. The pulse rifle discharged with a soft whine, energy blast striking the target dead center. Three more shots followed in rapid succession, each one grouped tightly around the first.

"Not bad," he said, though 'not bad' was a significant understatement. Her accuracy was impressive even by military standards.

"I had good training." She lowered the rifle, turning in his arms to face him. The movement brought them chest to chest, close enough to feel her body heat through their clothes. "What's next?"

The simple question made his pulse spike. The challenge in her voice got to him like nothing else, and he struggled to stay professional against the need to push her back against the range wall and kiss the breath out of her.

"Latharian combat rifle," he managed, reaching for the next weapon. "Standard Imperial issue. Higher rate of fire, but requires more precise handling."

She accepted the rifle, her fingers brushing his as she took control of the weapon. The brief contact was electric, jolting through him. Her scent surrounded him—clean soap mixed with something uniquely her that made it damn hard to concentrate.

"Show me," she said, looking up to him through her lashes.