Page 15 of Claimed by the Alien Assassin

DAYN

C old settles along my spine as I step out into the night. The air is thick with wet dust and the drugged lull of a colony trying to sleep through terror. I can taste the anguish on the wind—burnt copper and broken faith. Breath hangs heavy, the only soundtrack to the sting in my mind.

I watch Josie inside the workshop, her silhouette hunched over circuits, the furor in her working stance like a starshock.

I’ve seen grief. I’ve been grief. I’ve bled for revenge, sharpened it like a blade.

But this—what Kernal’s pulling—this is something darker.

Controlled cruelty wrapped as “order,” echoing an old Shorcu massacre I escaped years ago. And silence will not stop it.

So I leave the warmth of her fire, stepping into shadows I once knew as home. My image inducer hides me, but the scales beneath itch for exposure. Tonight, I let them breathe.

The officer’s quarters sit on the rim of the base like a rotten fang. I move with predator grace, tendons taught. Each breath folds into night, careful, predatory. I disable the lock—a quick twist of wire and pulse. The door clicks shut behind me.

The room smells of antiseptic and distant screams. The Vortaxian officer—Captain S’kar—leans over a desk, recalibrating a torture device. His belt clinks with restraints and instruments of cruelty. He doesn’t hear me enter. I wait, seeing the jagged lines of his brittle arrogance.

He stands, smooth scales shimmering beneath his uniform as he turns. Those eyes—predator and judge. I step forward; he stiffens—thinks he can intimidate me with a glare. His wrist twitches. His blade is half-drawn.

I smile. “You question them?” My voice is low Shorcu octave, thick with promise. "You think you’re Vortaxian mercy?”

His lips curl. “I follow orders.”

Orders spat at my spine like daggers. I step closer. “Tell me.” A final breath. “Tell me who gave them. ”

He sneers. “This planet was a distraction. Your people are expendable for peace. My orders are clear.”

I shift. A whisper in my throat. “Then you will be expendable.”

In one fluid motion, he brandishes his blade—and I respond the way I was trained. Claws flash. I bat aside his weapon; metal spits. My first strike is near-silent. A clawed sweep across his forearm. The Vortaxian staggers backward, flesh splitting like wet cloth. He drops his weapon.

His eyes widen—fear of a predatory myth come alive. He takes a step back and I follow. He trips toward the display rack affixed to the wall—cages of knotted trophies, scalps of native fauna. He gasps—foul recognition.

“I fought wars,” I murmur. “But this? You turned brutality into theater.”

He chokes. I wrap a wrist around his throat—not violent, ritualistic. I pull him forward, leash-quiet. Step by step until we stand before the rack.

I let his weight pull him forward. His uniform hangs between display beams. His injuries darken. I don’t speak. The silence is the message.

When the colonists find him in the morning—strung up, powerless, shivering—they will know what grief unmasked can do. We are not your toy soldiers. We are wolves. We are the fang in their empire.

I turn and walk away. My claws retract without a thought. I feel the rush—ancient satisfaction, lethal and cold. But also—I feel a hollow. The cost is deeper than flesh.

Behind me, somewhere in the night, a soft whisper: “Dayn?”

I trace it until I find her. Josie stands in the corridor’s dim hum, eyes bright with questions before she sees him—sees blood and cruelty in one breath. Her face pales.

I step into her open arms. She trembles—not with regret, but with raw fear. I don't retreat. I press my wounds against her.

“She deserved that,” I whisper. My voice barely human.

She searches my eyes. “You did it.”

I press a kiss to her forehead. “I did.”

She doesn’t recoil. She holds me as vultures wheel above. I taste guilt in her sorrow, pride in her grip—and the bond trembles between us.

I let shadow swallow us as I whisper, “We grow claws for this fight. For them.”

She nods, voice broken but fierce: “I know.”

I walk into the workshop at dawn, boots heavy with the weight of the previous night’s hunt. The air is crisp, metallic with dew and dust. My armor still smells like old blood and ambition—iron and regret fused together. I don’t speak. I don’t meet Josie’s eyes.

But she sees me. And that’s more dangerous than any battlefield.

She’s at the holo-table, sunlight streaming in over her shoulder, illuminating the curve of her cheek, the concern in her posture. She doesn’t ask where I’ve been. She just watches — quiet, patient.

I drop my pack and let every tool clatter, the room rattling like my heart. She flinches, but steps forward.

“Dayn,” she says softly. And I know I’m busted.

Silence stretches. The humming of welding torches becomes unbearable white noise.

I swallow, voice low: “They found him. Vortaxian officer… strung up.”

She’ll know. I don’t have to say more.

Her breath catches. She sets down the data-pad, crosses to me. Fingertips brushing my arm—cautious electric.

I turn, jagged blades of guilt and steel in my eyes. She sees the dark warping them.

“You did it.”

I nod once—slow, regretful.

She steps closer, searching my face as though trying to find the man she loves beneath the mask of vengeance.

“Why?” she asks. Voice brittle like ice underfoot.

Because if I don’t answer, silence will shatter both of us.

“I… could not stand to watch them torture innocents,” I admit, voice hoarse. “The cruelty—they were treating prisoners like broken machines to be tested until they stop breathing. He haunted my mind. When he was vulnerable, alone in that room—I made it end.”

The words hang. My chest heaves.

She stands quiet, only her breath building a fragile rhythm.

“I didn’t tell you because…” I close my eyes. “You deserve better than the monster I am.”

Her hand cups my jaw, gentle warmth. I flinch—expecting recoil. Instead, her lips brush mine—soft and fierce.

“You’re my monster, Dayn.” She whispers. “My hero.”

Her voice locks something open inside me. Relief and shame war across my ribs.

She steps back, gaze steady, embers dancing behind her eyes. “They needed to know we can hurt them back. That we won’t hide.”

I watch her posture, the steady set of her shoulders. Pride and justification roll through her—not fear, not regret.

I exhale loud. “You believe me?”

She steps forward, pressing her forehead to mine. “I always have.”

Heat builds—between us and the dawn, the workshop cracked with wounds and hope.

For the first time since I took his life, I feel… not ashamed, but seen. Accepted.

And when she kisses me again—longer this time—I let it fill every scar.

Because vengeance is a weapon. But love… love is survival.

Night has a softness I rarely feel. It drapes over us—two silhouettes melting into the mattress of cold metal and worn fabric that we’ve claimed as ours.

My body hums with every nerve awakened and soothed in equal measure by Josie’s touch.

This is different. Slower. Reverent. A balm after blood—after cruelty that threatened to drown us both in darkness.

I trace her spine with gentle fingertips. Each curve is precision and promise. Each sigh she exhales presses something deeper into my chest—something I’ve purposefully frozen for years.

She shifts closer, the scent of sweat, post-battle oil, and faint honey drifting off her skin. Taste of warmth and survival. “Dayn,” she murmurs, voice soft and thick with sleep and dreams, “we need more. Not just sabotage and ambushes.”

She breathes against my shoulder. I hum softly in response, letting her words drift and shimmer in the air between us.

“We need everyone.” Her fingers rest on my chest, still ringing there like a drum.

“Moms. Kids. Techs. Mechanics. Farmers. Every single person who calls this home has to stand with us. Not out of fear—but because they believe too.” She tilts her head, eyelashes catching the dim room light.

“When Snowblossom fights back... it won’t just be because they’re attacked. It’ll be because we said so.”

I swallow, running a thumb over her rib. Nostalgia murmurs beneath pride. I haven’t believed in redemption for a long time. My kind—Shorcu—don’t earn redemption. We survive, but forgiveness? It’s a myth whispered in human lullabies.

“I don’t know how to rebuild a colony,” I confess, voice low. “I know how to break doors and bodies. Cut threats. Signal fear. Not... unite a planet.”

She laughs—barely more than a breath. “That’s why I need you.” She shifts so I can look into her eyes. “You’ve got more than claws, Dayn. You’ve got heart. And every scar means something.”

My heart stutters. The raw sincerity in her wrecks me—with love so fierce I tremble across old wounds.

“But unity?” I whisper. “How?”

She smiles and pushes up to sit across me. Moonlight glints off her hair, rim-light on her jaw. “We start with a rally. Not a raid. Not a covert strike. A speech. In the square—here”—she taps my chest—“we invite everyone. We show them we’ve got their backs—as well as what we’re risking.”

My breath hitches. Crowd in the square. No shadows. No safe. “You’d do that?”

She tilts her head. “For you. For all of us.” She reaches to clasp my hands. “I want people to know why we fight. To know there’s a face behind the weapons. To look at Dayn and realize he’s not a monster. He’s me. He’s us. And he’s ours.”

A pounding thrum builds in my chest. I press her hand to my lips. “You make me believe.”

She trembles, eyes soft. “Then let’s do it together.” She stands and offers me her hand. “Tomorrow.”

I take her hand—calloused and warm. I stand with her and know this is how the revolution becomes real. When fear steps back and unity steps forward.

She leans into my chest, voice soft as a vow. “You’re not alone.”

I pull her close, bury my face in her hair. The scent of determination and sleep floods me. “Neither are you .”