Page 1 of Rescued by the Alien Hit Man (Villains Do It Better)

CHAPTER 1

MIA

T he air in the Dufair jungle thrummed with life, charged with the energy of the countless bioluminescent plants that made Talamhmar’s moon a hot spot for scientists and botanists. I knelt beside a cluster of iridescent ferns that shimmered like a field of stars in the dark jungle, their fronds flowing with a soft green light. My fingers danced over their glowing fronds. Each touch sent a shiver up my spine—these were unlike anything we’d seen before. With precise movements, I extracted a fragile, luminescent specimen.

The ground was soft and damp beneath me, the recent rain accentuating the lush aroma of moss and the heady scent of alien blossoms. The jungle canopy above bathed me in ethereal light, casting the world around in hues of haunting blues and purples. Each plant cradled secrets within its radiant leaves—secrets I was determined to unlock.

Excitement skittered through me at finally being on Dufair. After months of begging my boss to let us get in some field work, he’d finally allowed Amund and me to venture to the moon for research.

“Remarkable, isn’t it?” Amund’s voice pulled me from my silent reverie. “These ferns could revolutionize our understanding of bioluminescence.”

“Absolutely,” I said without looking up, my hands steady as I placed the sample into a container. “This one has an enzyme I’ve never seen before. It might revolutionize bio-luminescent energy.”

“Ah, Mia, always thinking of the next big discovery.” His laughter was a warm blanket in the coolness of the moon’s evening. “I’ll scout ahead for more.”

“Be careful,” I said, watching his retreating figure dissolve into the vibrant thicket.

If my parents had still been alive, they’d have made the next big discovery. Once part of a family of three scientists hoping to find cures for disease and uncover alternative forms of energy, now it was just me.

Time slipped away as I continued my meticulous collecting, each new specimen more fascinating than the last. The jungle’s symphony was a constant backdrop—the rustle of leaves, distant calls of unseen creatures, the hum of life itself. But suddenly, an unsettling silence fell. The usual chorus of the jungle ceased, as if holding its breath. My ears strained for the familiar rustle of leaves or the distant calls of the jungle’s inhabitants, but there was nothing. Only a void where sound should have been.

“Amund?” My voice sliced through the stillness. No response, just the echo of my anxiety. I stood up, my heart hammering against my ribs. I tried again, louder. “Amund!”

Still nothing. Panic clawed at my chest, as I realized even the guards’ chatter had vanished. “Guards!” I called out, hoping one of the guards my employer insisted I bring with me would answer. Silence mocked me.

As I turned in a slow circle, every shadow seemed to pulse with unseen threats. My breaths came quick, my skin prickling with the anticipation of danger. A suffocating panic threatened to take hold, but I forced myself to take calming breaths. What if Amund was hurt and needed me?

“Guards!” Still nothing.

The quiet held a menace now, a prelude to a nightmare I couldn’t wake from. My hand closed over the hilt of the small utility knife I carried—pitiful against what might lurk beyond the glow.

“Amund, this isn’t funny,” I said to the dark, knowing full well he wouldn’t play such tricks.

I took a step forward, my mind racing. Should I seek shelter? Or find Amund and the others? But before I could decide, shadows shifted, and the night erupted into chaos.

The luminescent flora dimmed as if to hide from the terror that tore through the tranquil scene. A battle cry shattered the stillness, and slavers burst forth from the underbrush, their figures grotesque parodies in the bioluminescent glow.

The leader’s silhouette was unmistakable—the scars on his face catching what little light there was, making him a specter of violence incarnate. His men swarmed the clearing with the confidence of predators who had cornered their prey.

“Amund!” I screamed, hoping against hope he’d answer, that he’d somehow escaped notice. But my heart sank as I heard his voice cut short by a choked-off cry of pain.

I stumbled back, tripping over a root, my knife scattered to the ground. My palms hit the soft dirt, the damp soil cold and unforgiving. The slavers were upon us, their guttural language filling the air as they rounded up their quarry.

Then I saw him—Amund—falling to the ground a hundred meters away from me. A gash along his neck had turned his field shirt a dark rust. His eyes met mine in one final, desperate plea before the life drained from them. Something inside me tore away with his departing gaze.

“Amund!” I screamed, but my voice was lost in the chaos. Blood spattered across the glowing plants, their light dimming under the grim reality of violence. The slavers turned their attention to me next, their eyes gleaming with malice.

“Please, no,” I said, backing away until I felt the rough bark of a tree press against my spine. My mind filled with visions of capture, of enslavement, and worse. I’d rather die here, on this foreign moon, than endure whatever horrors awaited at the hands of these monsters.

“Get her!” The leader barked, his voice cutting through the air like a knife. The slavers lunged at me, and I braced myself for the end.

But as I cowered, waiting for the end, out of the shadows a shape detached itself from the darkness—a towering figure with skin the colour of bittersweet nightshade. Eyes that glowed with a fierce, unnatural yellow locked onto mine, mesmerizing and terrifying all at once. His presence alone commanded my terror-stricken attention.

He moved like a wraith, a silent storm of vengeance. Each motion was purposeful, each strike precise. Slavers fell before him, their cries ending abruptly. He was like death incarnate, and yet, in that moment, he was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

“Stay down,” he ordered, his voice low and resonant. It vibrated through the chaos, anchoring me to life even as everything else spelled certain death.

“Who—” was all I managed before he was upon them again, a whirlwind of deadly intent.

A slaver lunged for me, eyes alight with malice, but the mysterious savior intercepted, dispatching my would-be captor with a swift, almost casual efficiency. His movements were a blur, a symphony of violence performed with the precision of a master.

“Who are you?” I asked, clutching at the dirt, trying to find my bearings amid the bedlam.

“Cikarius Vex,” he said, without looking at me, his attention fixed on the remaining threats.

Then, as he surveyed the area for any lingering dangers, he stooped beside one of the fallen slavers. The moon’s bioluminescent glow painted his violet skin in surreal shades. His hand emerged, clutching an object that he promptly shoved into a side pocket of his leather pants.

“Come,” Cikarius said once the immediate danger had passed. “We have to get out of here now.”

“Amund.” I said, glancing at the still form of my colleague. A part of me wanted to run to him, to see if there was any hope, but deep down, I knew the truth.

Cikarius shook his head. “He’s gone.” His gaze scanned the area for more threats. “We have to move. Now.”

“I need to gather all that I can.” I pointed at the laptop, the samples, the equipment that belonged to my employer. Employee safety was their top priority, that’s why Amund and I had guards with us, but the samples plus my research would be worth a million credits.

He gave a curt nod, surveying the area for threats. I rushed around, gathering everything I could fit in the backpack, hoping it wouldn’t slow me down too much. Cikarius was decidedly more fit than I was. A trek through the jungle wouldn’t even raise his heartbeat, I guessed.

“Ready?” he asked.

I nodded, tears pooling in my eyes when I glanced over at Amund’s prone form on the jungle floor.

Cikarius’s hand extended toward me, an unspoken promise of protection. I hesitated only for a second—survival was a powerful motivator. With Amund gone and our guards likely dead, Cikarius was my lifeline in this neon nightmare.

I placed my trembling hand in his, feeling the strength in his grip. As we ran, I dared to glance back at the carnage. And though I knew I should feel nothing but fear, something else fluttered within me—an inexplicable sense of connection to this enigmatic stranger who had become my guardian in the dark.

We weaved through luminescent underbrush, the eerie glow of Dufair’s flora casting our shadows in a haunting dance against the dense foliage. Cikarius moved with an animal grace that belied his imposing frame, every muscle and sinew orchestrated to perfection. My breath came in ragged gasps, partly from exertion, partly from something far more primal as I watched the play of muscles under Cikarius’s form fitting clothing.

“Thank you,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper as we paused beneath the shelter of an overhanging fern, its fronds shimmering like a chandelier of soft green light.

“Don’t thank me yet,” he said, his gaze scanning the jungle perimeter, those yellow eyes piercing through the darkness and, it seemed, right into my very soul.

He pulled out the small tablet he’d taken from the slaver and his body tensed—a reaction so subtle, yet so at odds with his previous composure that my heart skipped a beat. What could unsettle such a man? He turned the object over in his hands, his expression unreadable. I swallowed the fear rising in my throat and stepped closer, driven by a mix of dread and curiosity.

“Is something wrong?” My voice was steady, but inside, I was anything but.

He didn’t reply immediately, his focus fixed on whatever he’d found. The silence stretched between us, punctuated only by the distant cry of some nocturnal predator.

I studied him. A muscle in his jaw clenched. His hands clutched the tablet. A war waged in his eyes, and I wondered if he would reveal what troubled him. His gaze finally met mine, the weight of concern in his eyes evident. Whatever revelation awaited me, our troubles were far from over.

He extended his hand, revealing the tablet, an image illuminated on its cracked screen. It was me—my photo, unmistakably captured in the sterile light of the Deiridh Airm Solutions research lab on Alfataken Station. My breath hitched, and an icy shiver ran down my spine.

Alfataken Station had security issues. What massive space station didn’t? But security at Deiridh Airm Solutions was beyond tight. Especially the research lab. How had someone infiltrated the lab and taken my picture?

“What does this mean?” I asked, though my voice quivered like a leaf in a storm.

Cikarius’s nod directed my gaze to the path we’d taken away from the lifeless form of Amund, my colleague and friend, now just a memory against the vibrant backdrop of Dufair’s flora. “This was no random attack on scientists. You were the target.”

Shock rippled through me, followed by a wave of nausea, freezing me in place. A target? But why? I had always been amicable, never one to stir up trouble or incite animosity among my peers.

“Everyone likes me,” I said, the words sounding feeble even to my own ears.

“Obviously someone doesn’t. Hiring slavers isn’t cheap or easy. Whoever did this has resources and a vendetta,” he said. “Did you piss anyone off lately?”

“No,” I replied, a sense of helplessness creeping in. “I can’t think of anyone who would?—”

He looked me over slowly, his yellow eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my stomach flip. He examined me from head to toe, and warmth bloomed beneath my skin where his gaze lingered. It was a look that stripped away the layers, seeing beyond the scientist, the botanist…seeing me. Heat spread through me, igniting every nerve ending. Something about the way he looked at me—predatory, assessing—made my pulse quicken.

“Turn anyone down lately?” he asked, his voice low, almost intimate.

My heart pounded as memories of polite rejections given to well-meaning colleagues flashed through my mind. “No, the scientists on my team are gentlemen.” But Cikarius was far from a gentleman, and a part of me—a reckless, untamed part—found that thrilling.

“Obviously, not everyone in your life is as agreeable,” he said, folding the tablet and slipping it into his pocket.

His presence enveloped me, a mix of danger and enigma. The air buzzed with tension, charged by the ferocity of his protection and the aura of mystery that clung to him like a second skin.

“Then what do we do?” My voice wavered between fear and something else—something darker, more primal.

“First, we get out of here alive,” he said, extending his hand towards me and I took it. His touch was electric, sending a shiver of arousal up my spine. Was it wrong to feel safe in the presence of someone so deadly?

I realized then, standing in the afterglow of violence and the shadow of death, how drawn I was to this man—a stranger who’d saved me, yet held the power to unravel my very existence. And as fear and desire tangled within me, I recognized that my world had shifted, irrevocably altered by the gravity of his yellow eyes.

“Time’s not on our side.” Cikarius’s voice cut through the stillness, a stark reminder of the danger shadowing us. “You need to come with me if you want to survive.”

“Where are we going?” I asked, my voice barely more than a whisper, trying to keep up with his long strides.

“To safety,” he said, his grip firm. His skin was cool against mine, a stark contrast to the heat coursing through my body. Every brush of our hands sent sparks of electricity through me, heightening my awareness of him, of us.

I yanked my hand out of his grasp and instantly missed the connection. My instinct was to protest, to demand answers, but his next words froze them on my tongue. “Your guards are dead. Amund is dead. There are more slavers out there.”

The weight of reality settled on my shoulders, heavy and cold. My hands trembled, not from the evening’s chill, but from the palpable threat that lingered like poison in the air.

“Why me?” I asked, not expecting an answer. The warmth of his hand was reassuring, grounding me amidst the chaos.

“Speculations can wait,” he said, his tone brooking no argument. “Right now, focus on surviving.”

Survival. It sounded so simple, yet it weighed heavily on me. With every step deeper into the jungle, I felt the enormity of what had happened—and what could still happen. My mind raced with questions that had no immediate answers, my body reacting instinctively to the man beside me who had saved my life with such deadly precision.

Cikarius extended his hand. An invitation—a lifeline—in the growing darkness. I hesitated, staring at his open palm. Could I trust this man? His capacity for violence was undeniable, his efficiency terrifying. Yet, those same hands had dispatched my would-be captors without a second thought.

A shiver that wasn’t entirely fear traced down my spine as I placed my hand in his. The contact sparked a shock of arousal, an inexplicable yearning for the strength that now encased my own. I wondered if safety was an illusion, a fleeting comfort in the arms of a killer.

His grip tightened, pulling me closer as we navigated through the dense underbrush. The proximity brought a flood of sensations—his cool skin against mine, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, the intoxicating mix of danger and safety that he exuded. I leaned into his presence, drawn to the enigma that he represented.

“Stay close,” he said, his breath hot against my ear.

“Of course,” I whispered back, feeling a heady mix of fear and arousal. If anyone could keep me safe, it was him, but the question gnawed at me—would I be safe from him?

As we continued tromping through the jungle, I made a silent vow: If I survived this ordeal, I’d confine myself to the sterile halls of Alfataken Station. No more fieldwork, no more risks.