Page 17 of Tamed by the Alien Warlord
LANZ
T he cruiser reeks of death and heat discharge. My boots crunch over the bodies of the fallen—guards, mercs, Combine loyalists. I’ve lost count. Doesn’t matter. All I care about now is Nakamura’s scent. He’s close.
“Push forward,” I snarl.
Reapers fall in behind me, stepping over wreckage with the quiet confidence of predators. Their weapons drip blood. Faces smeared with soot and splatter. Gash has a fresh cut across his cheek, but he grins like he’s at a feast.
“Captain,” he pants, “you want the rest of his crew dead or begging?”
“Dead,” I answer without looking back. “Leave begging for the auction block.”
We hit a squad near the engineering bay. They don’t even get a shot off.
A woman screams as my claws carve her spine in half. Another begs for mercy—I drive a bone spur through his eye. There’s a rhythm to it now, a terrible cadence. Cut. Slash. Crush. The Reapers answer my fury with their own, a chorus of death that drowns out the alarms.
Blood coats the walls like paint.
I don’t feel tired. I don’t feel pain. I only feel the heartbeat of my mate thrumming in the back of my skull. The faint echo of her scent… and something wrong with it.
A metallic whine signals the last secured door.
“Nakamura’s through there,” I say.
The Reapers step aside.
I draw my plasma blade.
The door hisses open.
He’s waiting, calm as always. Like he’d invited us to tea instead of death.
“Captain Lanz,” he says, folding his hands behind his back. “So nice of you to drop in.”
My vision narrows. “I’ve slaughtered half your crew.”
He smiles politely. “You say that like I’m supposed to care.”
I take one slow step forward. My men fan out, blocking all exits.
“Where is she?” I growl.
“Oh,” he hums. “You’ll want to see this.”
He activates the holoprojector beside him.
Georgia.
Strapped to a medical bed. Unconscious.
But that’s not what makes my blood freeze.
Jasmine stands beside her. Gun in hand.
“Jasmine?” I whisper, throat tightening.
She’s expressionless. Mechanical. Her eyes are glass. And the pistol in her hand is aimed squarely at her sister’s heart.
“I told you I was improving the neural compliance formula,” Nakamura says. “She’s completely under my control now. A triumph of science, really.”
“You bastard,” I snarl, taking another step.
“Careful,” he says. “She’s still connected. Any sudden moves, and I might lose my grip.”
The rage comes fast, flooding my chest. I want to rip him apart. Tear the smug smile from his face and feed it to him.
But Georgia…
He’s using her.
He knows she’s my weakness.
“What do you want?” I growl.
He turns from the hologram, eyes alight with hunger. “Simple. I want Reaper DNA. As much as I can get. You, Captain, are the perfect specimen. Alpha. Pure. Violent. Controlled.”
He gestures to a sleek blade resting on the desk between us. “Slit your throat. Bleed out. I’ll take your body and extract what I need. In exchange, I’ll let the sisters live.”
“You think I’d believe you?”
“You’re out of options,” he replies. “The second you or your brutes kill me, she pulls the trigger.”
I look at the blade.
It’s ceremonial. Long, curved, and cruel. Combine steel—stolen tech from a dozen species.
I glance at my men.
Gash’s knuckles are white on his rifle. Rith growls under his breath.
None of them move.
They’re waiting for me to give the order.
And I… I’m frozen.
I am a killer. A warlord. A Reaper born of violence and raised in chaos.
But for the first time in my life, I hesitate.
Because if I move wrong, she dies.
Georgia. My Georgia.
The only softness I’ve ever known.
I turn back to Nakamura, voice like ice. “If I give you what you want, you’ll let them go?”
He nods solemnly. “You have my word.”
His word means nothing.
But her life?
Everything.
The knife is cold in my hand.
And the room spins.