Page 41 of Claimed by the Alien Assassin

JOSIE

I find Dayn leaning against the bulkhead in the low crimson glow of the aft lounge, knees pulled close, silhouette carved by distant nebula light shimmering through the viewport.

The hum of the Hellfighter vessel feels hollow tonight, like a nervous system on standby.

The corridor’s chatter faded long ago—everyone else is off somewhere, prepping for whatever fractured mission Dowron’s salted schedule with.

A new recruit, the one who questioned Dayn’s loyalty, is already riding heat teams now, looped out of our shared quarters.

The roster’s thinning. The fractures are spreading.

I come in silently, but he—being Dayn—knows. He straightens, that predator grace softened by exhaustion, heavy rain after the fire. The red cast turns his eyes molten and deep.

“Hey,” I murmur, perching on the edge of the bulkhead seat.

He nods. “Hey.”

The ache is in both our body language. We’ve built an empire of chaos together, side by side in every fight, but the unity around us is unraveling like old wiring.

I shift closer, knees brushing his. The contact sends a pulse through both of us—a reminder that we’re still aligned, still tethered beyond the politics and the noise.

“Recruit Connor’s been spreading dirt,” Dayn says, dark voice low. “Saying I’m a monkey’s paw, a Vortaxian spy.”

I turn my chin to face him. “Because you listen to people?” His defense is already bruised.

He shrugs, hurt sting flickering like an afterburner. “Or because I keep us together. Everyone else blames me for the fractures.”

I reach for his hand. Steel-trapped warmth.

My thumb runs over callouses earned in both sabotage and sacrifice.

“I’m tired,” I say suddenly, voice small.

“Not of you. You’re the one thing I don’t have to fix.

But I’m tired of always being the bridge—mending trust, blood, broken promises.

” My chest tightens with the burden I’ve carried alone too many nights.

Distracted, Dayn closes his eyes for a second, the facade cracked. He takes a breath deeper than I ever hear him take. “I know.”

I press closer, forehead to his shoulder. The tension is palpable, a taut wire on the verge of fray.

Then he does something rare—something that cracks open more doors than any explosion or dagger strike. A confession.

“I was nineteen,” he begins, voice ragged like metal under strain. “First mission after training. I was ordered to take out a supply convoy leaving a rebel colony. We were supposed to cut communications, supply lines—no witnesses.” He pauses, the trauma humming in his chest.

I hold our silence.

“The first time I squeezed the trigger… the man was holding his daughter’s hand.

Little girl. He dropped to the floor, blood seeping in rings, and the girl kept pulling at him.

I didn’t hesitate. Even then I didn’t hesitate—” His throat clots, head shakes.

“But when the girl started crying—” he closes his eyes, his voice breaking.

“I felt something rip inside me. Guilt, shame… like I’d been trained to kill, not to be a monster. ”

My heart tears wide open. The code of an assassin is loyalty to the kill; Dayn’s code allowed softness. Rare, but real.

He continues, voice quieter now: “First time—I loved someone back home. She used to smooth my hair after missions. She left me when I got too dark. Said I wasn’t the man she thought she loved.”

My fingers slide through his hair, warm strands slick with sweat. “I’m still here,” I whisper.

He exhales, slow and jagged. “Then I killed again. It was easier. Each time the ache got further away. But you—you remind me of who I wanted to become that night after the convoy. And every night with you, that man comes back.”

The red nebula light turns pink, bathes us in rose and promise. I slip into his lap, arms wrapping the broad shoulders I once feared. I make him look into my eyes.

“I don’t need you to protect me from your past,” I say softly, voice sure. “I love all of you—the wolf and the broken boy, the assassin and the protector.” My thumb traces the line of a scar. “You don’t have to carry those ghosts alone. Not anymore.”

He searches my gaze, like he’s afraid to hope. Then he nods, slow affirmation, a promise given back.

We lean into each other and I kiss him—long, unhurried, rebuilding trust and unity between us. It’s not just passion; it’s a covenant. We’re acknowledging collectively that we’ve carried weight beyond missions and sabotage—now we share it.

He holds me tight, voice muffled against my hair. “You’re not alone. Not ever.”

Our sixteenth time together unfolds in the softness of dawn. His mouth grazes the smooth shell of my ear, reverent. My skin melts at the curve of his jaw, tremors flowing between us like electric current. The engine of the ship hums beneath us, a backdrop to our new harmony.

We make love matter-of-factly, the world outside swallowed by our reunion.

No rush, no explosive fervor—just the pure warmth of two souls realigning.

I trace the ridges of his back; he holds my waist close.

The whole world might be fracturing, but here, in the sanctuary of each other, we’re fucking whole again.

After, I lie curled into his side. Dayn brushes a stray lock from my face. “Storm’s coming,” I admit, voice hushed.

He tightens his arms. “Then we’ll face it like this,” he says. “Together.”

I smile into his chest, closing my eyes to the first rays of actual light streaming past the viewport. Despite every fracture, every betrayal, every weight of command and conscience, we’ve rediscovered our base truth: we build from love, not fear.

The Hellfighters may fracture. The diplomats may scheme. The galaxy may spin on unpredictable axes. But here, in this quiet reassurance, we are anchored. And I believe—truly believe—for the first time that love isn’t compromise; it’s resistance.