Page 3 of Rescued By the Alien Hit Man

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 heexuded. 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.

CHAPTER 2

CIKARIUS

The jungle of Dufair cloaked me in shadows as I followed a faint trail, my senses sharp beneath the luminescent canopy. The air was thick with the heady scent of alien flora, damp dirt clawing at my nostrils. Bioluminescent leaves above me cast a ghostly glow on the ground below, illuminating the lifeless bodies of several guards. A female voice pierced the silence, fear palpable as she yelled, “Amund!”

Something stirred within me, an unfamiliar sensation that defied my calculated nature. I paused for a moment, allowing the silence of the jungle to swallow any sound I might have made.

“Guards!” Her voice came again, more desperate this time. Glancing over my shoulder at the lifeless bodies of men strewn across the mossy ground, I knew these guards wouldn’t be able to help her. And neither could I, not really. She called for protectors who could no longer answer, and I was a phantom on a mission, bound by an objective that allowed no detours.

Yet, as the woman’s cry echoed, a protective instinct I never experienced before coiled tight in my chest. There was no logic in it—the Violet Phantom did not stray from his path. But theemotion was there, as real as the grip of my blade and the thrill of the hunt that usually surged through my veins.

Her scent wafted towards me, blending with the fragrant aroma of the jungle. It wasn’t the sickly-sweet scent of most beings; hers had a unique quality, like courage hidden beneath layers of fear. My genetically engineered instincts urged me to continue, despite the conflicting emotions swirling within me. The mission came first.

With each step closer to her, desire clawed its way to the surface, threatening to consume me. I burst through the tangled curtain of vines and towering ferns, my senses acutely tuned to the unfolding chaos ahead. The sight of her cowering form only intensified the feeling. Mia Clarke - a woman whose very existence challenged everything I thought I knew. Rich brown hair pulled into a ponytail swished as she scrabbled away from the slavers. Her green eyes, like a sea I longed to drown in, beckoned me closer. A metal pendant nestled in the hollow of her neck caught the bioluminescent light. Her fear should have been intoxicating, should have sharpened the thrill of the hunt. Instead, it summoned a fierce need to protect that I hadn’t known existed within me. My long line of assassin ancestors bred out chivalrous feelings long ago.

“Stay down,” I said, my voice low and authoritative, barely audible over the cacophony of alien calls and the slavers’ grunts.

In a dance of deadly grace, I moved among the slavers. My hands, precise instruments of destruction, disarmed one, snapped the neck of another. Each movement was practiced, honed by countless missions, as I became an avatar of death in the luminescent wilds.

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