Page 11 of Claimed by the Alien Assassin

DAYN

I wake to the weight of her—Josie, tangled against my chest, the warmth of her breath across my collarbone, her heartbeat steady beside mine.

The workshop’s shadows stretch long across the floor, cells of darkness sharpened by the first silver fingers of dawn.

My arm aches; the undertow of unreality is heavy.

This... feels like crossing a line that exists only in memory until it’s gone.

I close my eyes, pulling her closer. Her hair is a midnight halo, warm and softly perfumed, and I grip the curve of her back with a possessive hush. All instinct wants to freeze this dawn still. But nothing stays still. Not in war. Not in matters of the heart.

I shift, pressing a fingertip to the holo-switch on the table.

A soft glow flares, revealing layers of data screens: sensor-grid maps overlaid with target coordinates, timers counting down to the strike.

I inhale the electric hiss, the delicate hum of power cells, and feel the tactical side of me reclaim the dawn.

My voice is quiet when I speak. “Target’s live in fifteen minutes.”

She stirs, lashes fluttering like broken birds. “Already?” she whispers, voice thick with sleep and satisfaction.

“Seconds,” I say, eyes on the screens.

She smiles without lifting her head. “I like waking up with you.”

“Feels dangerous.”

She laughs and rolls out of the crook of my arm. Her hair spills across her face as she stretches, bare feet grazing the cool concrete. “Good dangerous.” She stands, pads to the table and grabs a data chip. “We ready for Hargon and Tessa?”

“Awaiting command.” I watch her hands work, precise. I envy that brevity in her. I envy the way she leaps forward even when the ground’s crumbling.

“They’re probably still fighting over who gets to hold your... that,” she says, nodding to the image inducer.

I frown. “It’s tactical.”

She snorts. “Sure it is. Tactical sexbot.”

I raise an eyebrow.

She swings round. “What? You’re the perfect blend of cold laser and cuddle protocol.”

I don’t respond. Instead, I slip into combat mode—shoulders back, spine straight—the signal to these kids that I’m not just the brooding alien they’ve painted in whispered rumors.

The door slides open, and two teenagers tumble in—Hargon and Tessa—eyes darting like hunted birds. They carry a grab bag of tools and nervous energy, fear radiating in every jittery movement.

Hargon clears his throat. “Is he... Alliance?” he asks, voice tight.

Tessa snorts. “No, he’s a reprogrammed mechanoid, saw him flicker last night.”

I stare. She follows my gaze, voice squeaky. “You saw him glitch, didn’t you? Like that holo-face flickered off.”

I hold their gaze, silent as a cat in darkness.

Josie cackles—high and sharp. “You two are ridiculous.”

Both teens jump, like startled deer.

“Josie!” Tessa stammers. “Sorry! We just?—”

“He’s human enough to drop a gravity charge next hour,” I say, deadpan. “Alliance doesn’t do that unless someone screamed ‘Vortaxian.’”

Hargon gapes.

“You sure?” Tessa asks.

I nod once. “Sure.”

Hargon squeaks. “He’s not Vivi-borg?”

I cock my head. “No.”

“We thought so.”

I glance at Josie. She’s biting her lip, trying not to laugh.

I sigh. “Alright, let’s focus. You two wired up the decoys?”

The kids nod frantically. Tessa nearly steps on Hargon.

“Relax,” I say, tone softening. “You’re good at this.”

I move to one panel and pluck the panel open. Wires run like veins beneath—sensor lines crunching through the network to the Vortaxians. I reach in, my fingertips brushing the synthetic casing. My skin tingles.

I whisper, “Disrupt relay in three... two...”

Josie leaps in beside me, voice gentle. “Do it.”

I press the release. Sparks flick like fireflies trapped in wires. The lights scream, flicker and die on the grid. A low buzz becomes a dying howl of malfunction.

The lights die. Silence spreads through the workshop like dust settling. The kids stare. Breath held.

I lean back. “Grid’s down.”

Hargon hoots. “That was...”

“Awesome?” Tessa finishes, wide-eyed.

“You’re more than awesome,” I say, voice low.

They beam. My chest thunders—not from mission success, but from what it cost: trust earned.

Josie bumps my arm. “See? Not a sexbot.”

I flash her a rare grin.

The teens scramble away, whispers bouncing behind them, hope buried now among the locals.

I turn back to her. She’s smiling—soft, warm, unstoppable.

I reach for her and find that I don’t need weapons when I hold her. I just need her heartbeat under my palm and the hope I see in her eyes.

“Tomorrow,” I murmur, “we’ll step harder.”

She nods. “Together.”

And the world outside our workshop waits. For the revolution… and for us.

Morning light slants across the workshop floor, carrying the smell of warmed metal and renewed purpose. The sensor grid’s down, but the energy in the air is something else—something alive. I breathe it in, letting it settle in my lungs like a promise.

The workshop door opens, and Josie strides through before me, boots slapping against the concrete, hair spilling like black flame. Her grin cuts through the gloom.

“Dayn!” she exclaims, voice buoyant, as two miners dart in behind her, carrying paint – one has a can of yellow, the other red.

I watch as they set to work on the wall—brushes flicking bright petals with fire behind them. A flower, yes, but not just a flower; a firebrand, a declaration.

I step in fully. “You planning a war of aesthetics?”

She laughs, that laugh I’m learning to lock into my soul, and slaps my arm. “It’s called symbolism, genius. And yes, I’m plotting revolution and murals.”

I admire the wall. Bright orange and yellow, petals sharp like spears. A flower that burns, not wilts.

A kid with soot-stained cheeks—Tessa, the same one from last night—skips forward. “It’s the Snowblossom Reborn,” she says, breathless. “Like you said.” She points to Josie. “She’s making us believe again.”

Josie inclines her head. “That’s the mission, kiddo.” She looks at me. “See? This is what we did.”

I swallow. I see it. I feel it. The shift changes everything.

People won’t whisper to me, not yet—not the assassin. But they talk around Josie like she’s a solar flare, drawing everyone within orbit. She greets workers, asks about mechanics, jokes with engineers covered in grease—and they laugh. Real laughs, not survival coughs.

I stand back and watch her–the way she leans in when someone tells her about broken ration units, the way she touches shoulders with reassurance, the way she speaks of hope like it’s currency.

My chest tightens. I’ve trained to kill. I’ve trained to vanish. I haven’t trained to stand by while a woman I love becomes the living spark for revolution, standing at the front of a dozen trembling flames squeezed into every cracked corridor of this colony.

I step toward her, gently guiding a stray streak of paint from her cheek with a fingertip. She looks at me, paint flecked across my hand and cheek, and smiles.

“Perfect,” she says. My heart flares in my chest, loud and stubborn.

Her voice drops. “We’ve got movement east. Patrols are lighter there.”

I nod. “Grid is still down. They’ll patch it today—but we bought ourselves hours. Let’s make ’em count.”

She considers, lips curling. “Engineers want to sabotage the supply carts next. No real violence, just... inconveniences.”

I frown thoughtfully. “I like that.”

Her eyes light. “You do?”

“Disruption without bloodshed.”

She crosses her arms. “You’re getting soft.”

I laugh and lean in. “Only if you think soft is a bad thing.”

She rolls her eyes. I love her even when she rolls them.

The camp grows louder—whispers, laughter, the clatter of pots in what passes for a kitchen. Josie’s laugh echoes across the yard, bright and fight-worthy. A dozen heads snap, people pause. They smile. They believe.

A Vortaxian drone hums overhead. I shift instinctively, scanning—alert, ready.

She watches me. “You tense?”

“Always.”

Her hand brushes mine. “I’ll be your calm.”

I meet her eye. “And you mine.” My words taste like night-burned iron and fragile hope.

Even in this flicker of dawn, I can feel the noose tightening. Colonel Kernal isn’t blind. He’s planning. I smell it—like ozone before lightning.

I step behind Josie, let her stand forward. I stay back, cover her, guard her. I’ll do anything to keep that laugh alive.

Because if she falls, everything falls.

She turns, sees me, and winks.

In that moment, I don’t feel like a killer.

I feel like something else.

Something worth fighting for.