Page 30 of Claimed by the Alien Assassin

DAYN

I ’m in the middle of calibrating my new vibroblade in the weapons bay when the comm device chirps with an encrypted message.

It’s from Kael—a ghost from my past I thought dead.

My pulse picks up tempo. We were once bound in blood and silence, two Shorcu assassins carving paths through impossible missions.

Then he disappeared. Now he’s back, promising info on the resurgence of the Vortaxians.

I don’t trust it. Can’t. But neither can I ignore it.

The corridor hums, lights shifting as I step into the hangar where Josie is tightening exosuit armor. She looks up—eyes warm curiosity. I hold the commpad in front of her. “This came from Kael. He says he knows why the splinter faction is rising.”

Her brow furrows. “Isn’t that exactly what Dowron warned you about? He thought Kael was MIA.”

I press a finger to my lips. “It’s a trap. But it’s also a lead.” The look that lights in her eyes—half excitement, half steel—I knew it once I told her. She stands, slips her hand into mine. “Then we go. Together.”

Dowron’s voice is ice when I tell him. “You’re gambling on a ghost,” he says, hands clasped behind his back. The uniforms of Ministry officials crease like rigid steel.

I glance at Josie. She meets my gaze without flinching. “We both are.”

Dowron exhales. “Your pack, my approval—limited. That satellite station is orbiting a destroyed star. Hazardous environment. And Kael won’t be alone.”

Josie raises an eyebrow. “When is our happiness ever simple?” She smirks and then swallows. “Let’s go.”

The shuttle rumbles its way out of the hangar, baltro-smeared walls vibrating with the engine’s roar. The nebulaed haze of the collapsed star engulfs us as we approach the station—a skeletal hulk, metal bent and scarred. The window frames the station’s orbit like a dead eye. My throat tightens.

Inside the shuttle, Josie grips my hand. “Whatever happens,” she murmurs, “promise me you’ll come back. Not leave me behind.”

I slide an arm around her. “Always present,” I say. She leans her cheek to my shoulder. “Present,” she echoes.

We zero-G into the station, footstraps clattering as we land.

The airlock bursts open. The stale scent of old machinery makes me twist my lip.

We move through corridors that clang like empty coffins.

Could be any trap—floor beneath our boots trembles with the station’s decay.

I feel Josie’s tension beside me, breathing close enough to synchronize. I squeeze her hand—an anchor.

Ahead, Kael is waiting, silhouette jagged. “Dayn,” he says as if he thinks that’s enough. My vibroblade hums at my hip. “You’re alive.”

Kael smirks, lean and predatory. “Barely. I’m here because the Vortaxians are harvesting something on this station—something that led them from faction to fanaticism.” His voice drops, echoing in the hollow metal. “But you? You’re soft now. Look what love turned you into.”

I lift my chin. “I turned into a man who knows what matters.”

Kael laughs—low and rough. “Cute.” Then a shimmering force field pops to life behind us. Automated turret arms emerge, scanning, tracking.

Kael steps back. “Glad you brought back-up.” He lapses silent, and I know the trap has sprung.

I pivot, grabbing Josie. I throw her behind me as the turret detonates with deafening clicks and lasers hiss. Sparks flare. The shield flickers. Hot metal sprays across the floor. The air smells of ozone and burning wires. I pop my shield and shove Josie deeper into cover.

“Gatekeeper protocol engaged,” I growl. The turret refuses to shut down. I scramble to the side, draw my blade, scent of scorched air burning in my lungs.

Josie crawls toward me, face pale. “Be careful.”

I nod. “Always.”

Kael watches, arms folded. “Let’s see if the old instincts still work.” He dives behind a console, pulling out twin pistols. I leap forward. My blade hums, swinging low to deflect an energy bolt from the turret. Sparks cascade across my chestplate.

“Dayn—” Josie’s voice cracks. I turn just enough to see her exposed. The turret’s red targeting light snaps onto her.

Adrenaline coils around my spine. I slash upward, catapulting a blade into the turret’s servo. It sputters. I pivot, unsheathing my other vibroblade. I jab the first blade into the turret’s core, twisting. The machine chokes, pulses, then collapses. The shield flickers out.

Kael strafes forward, guns blazing. I hack one mag to scrap metal before he collapses to the deck, circuits dead. He lies still—maybe unconscious. His eyes flicker open, pain registering.

Josie barrels to my side. I crouch near Kael, checking vitals. Shrapnel and edges of blade mark his armor. I press a medgel patch to his neck. He coughs. “You still got it.” He smirks.

I grip her hand. “We still got each other.”

Kael glares at me—could be bloodlust, or respect. “You were the best Shorcu I’ve known,” he says. “You might just be the first one with a cause I actually believe in.” He closes his eyes.

Josie kneels. “We’re taking you home.” She presses her hand to his forehead. “Just rest.”

The ragged hum of the station resumes—ghostly, broken. We gather Kael, return to the shuttle. My arm around Josie as she supports him. I feel her tremble with adrenaline and relief. I brush her hair back. “You okay?”

She blinks. “I was terrified.”

I inhale her scent—vanilla and sweat. “But you faced it.”

She tilts her head. “With you.”

On the shuttle, Kael lays slumped against the wall. Joins breathing in stutters. Josie sits with me as we cross hyperspace. He whispers, “You’re right, Dayn. Past doesn’t define us.” Then he’s asleep.

Josie sighs. “You chose us.”

I wrap my arm around her. “I always will.”

She leans in, pressing her cheek against me. “Not perfect. Just present.”

I kiss her temple. “Swear.”

The shuttle hums like a lullaby, stars streak past. I close my eyes. My future is lit—not by blood and silence—but by flames of love and purpose. And I’m present. Always.

I pull the thin, recycled-air blanket more securely around us, and the low hum of the shuttle’s life-support system fills the cramped bunk compartment like a lullaby.

Outside, the gibbous moon of some distant system glows pale and unforgiving through a viewport.

The stars shimmer—cold, unblinking witnesses to every step we've taken, every bloody choice made—and tonight they feel different. They feel… hopeful.

Josie rests her head against my chest, her breath warm and even.

I can feel the gentle rise and fall of her shoulders beneath her soft coverall.

The scent of her curls—vanilla shampoo mingled with the tang of post-battle sweat—settles around me like an anchor.

I hesitate before consummating the moment, forcing myself to stay present here, now, without thinking ahead or backward.

We push half-eaten trays to the side—stew clinging to the plating with greasy sincerity, two cups of mint tea still steaming faintly. We don’t speak. We don’t need to.

She traces idle patterns against my arm, her palm moving in time with the soft rhythm of my heartbeat. "Dayn," she murmurs after some time, fingers catching on a scar just above my elbow. The name sounds like home on her lips.

I close my eyes, tilting my head to listen to the whisper of the engines and her breathing. "Mmm?"

She shifts. I feel her warmth tilt ever so slightly, night stands no longer threatening.

"I didn’t know it could feel like this." Her voice is low, and I can feel the vulnerability behind her words. Not fear, but cautious wonder. I swallow hard, thinking of the wars we've waged, the bodies stacked in tunnels, the roar of blades and gunfire. And I realize she’s right—this… feeling isn’t survival. It's a beginning.

I thread my fingers through hers. "Nor did I," I confess, keeping my tone soft, earnest—a rarity. I let my thumb circle her knuckles. "But it’s ours."

Her ribs rise with a breath that mimics a sigh of contentment. "Yours too," she whispers, pressing her face closer, cheek against the front of my chestplate, feeling the faint thrum of my armor’s residual power.

The shuttle pitches slightly, a gentle reminder of motion, of our place between worlds. She grips me tighter for a heartbeat. "Promise me…" Her voice wavers—rare cracks showing where my solidity comforts her. "When this is over, we’ll… keep building, not just fighting."

I draw her closer, smoothing hair strands across her shoulder. "I promise." The words firm in my throat like iron. I brush my lips to the top of her head. "This isn’t the end."

She tilts her chin upward, eyes half closed as she studies me through low light. "Then what is it?"

A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. I don’t even have to think: "The beginning of everything."

Her soft laugh is the best music I’ve heard in a long time. "Good answer, assassin."

I rest my cheek atop her head. "Only way I learned."

She reaches between us, fingers finding my hand, and I thread my fingers with hers in the dim compartment.

Everything else—the battles, the politics, the ghosts of our pasts—falls away.

For once, I don’t carry the weight of prophecy or bloodlust or vengeance.

I carry her trust. That’s lighter than any armor I’ve worn.

Time stretches; the stars drift. We stay like this, wordless, letting the future fold gently around us. We breathe together. We’re warm. Alive. Whole. And for the first time in a long time, I let myself believe that this—this quiet, this comfort—is just the start.