Page 20 of Salvaged By the Alien Pirate

The data flickers, shifting, and I see it—fractured echoes of old patterns, subtle mutations in the code that shouldn’t exist, that wouldn’t exist unless someone had access to his framework, his techniques, his mind.

Realization crashes into me with the force of a collapsing star. No. No.

It’s not Kai, it’s her—Kira.

She took his name, his identity, twisted it into something new, something wrong.

She’s not just hunting me; she’s wearing his ghost like a second skin.

Ice floods my veins, freezing the nascent warmth, extinguishing the fragile hope. Kira, alive? Impossible, I felt her consciousness shatter, witnessed her neural link flatline, unless . . .

Cirdox shifts, his crimson eyes snapping open, sharp, alert. “Neon? What is it, what’s wrong?” He sees the sudden shift in my posture, the rigid tension that has replaced the fragile vulnerability.

I pull back, the protective walls slamming back into place, stronger, higher than ever. The warmth recedes, replaced by a bone-deep chill. “Everything,” I say, my voice cold, detached, all emotion banished, “everything is wrong.”

Because the pieces click into place, aligning with terrifying precision: the hunter, the ghost in the machine, the one who turned my own code against me, who anticipated every move, who knew me . . . better than anyone.

It wasn’t a stranger, it wasn’t a ghost; it was something far more insidious, far more dangerous. It was a betrayal I never saw coming.

Kira is alive.

She’s hunting me, and she’s coming for revenge.

Chapter 8

Cirdox

ThebridgeoftheVoid Reaver thrums with barely controlled tension, emergency lights casting crimson shadows across battle-scarred control panels. Warning indicators pulse in silent patterns across every station, their urgent messages reflecting off polished metal surfaces like trapped stars. From my command chair, I watch Neon work the tactical station, her implants casting ethereal blue patterns across her skin as she analyzes the enemy vessels. The constant hum of the quantum drive provides a bass note beneath the subtle beeps and chirps of scanning equipment. The sounds of the ship which usually soothe now set my teeth on edge.

The bond-sickness burns through my veins like liquid fire, making my tribal markings pulse erratically against my bronze skin. My wings tremble with the effort of staying still, their membrane-thin edges quivering in the recycled air despite centuries of military discipline. The environmental controls seem to be malfunctioning again, the temperature fluctuatingbetween extremes that do nothing to help the fever raging beneath my skin.

Each breath carries her scent—sweet and dangerous and something uniquely human that makes my blood sing with recognition. The primal part of me, the part consumed by bond-sickness, demands I claim her here and now. But the captain in me, the leader my crew needs, forces that desire down. The dichotomy tears at me—need versus duty, instinct versus control.

Static crackles across the main viewscreen as another sensor sweep penetrates the asteroid field, the interference creating ghostly patterns that mirror the growing chaos in my blood. The bridge feels smaller somehow, more confined, as if the metal walls themselves are closing in with each spike of fever.

“Three Eclipse scout ships,” Neon announces, her enhanced eyes tracking data streams I can barely follow. “Mark VII targeting systems, quantum-locked engines, and...” She pauses, frowning. “Something new. They’ve modified their cloaking technology using fragments of my own code.”

I lean forward, ignoring how the movement makes my wings tremble. “Explain.”

“Remember that virus I used to scramble their sensors?” Her fingers dance across the holographic interface, neural implants flaring brighter as she digs deeper into the analysis. “They’ve reversed engineered it, turned it into a tracking beacon that follows my neural signature. Clever bastards.”

A growl builds in my throat at the thought of them hunting my mate. The sound makes her glance up, those enhanced eyes catching the way my markings pulse with fever. Concern flickers across her face before she masks it, but the bond between us resonates with her worry.

“I’m fine,” I say before she can comment. The lie tastes bitter on my tongue, but there’s no time for weakness, not with Eclipse scouts closing in.

I activate the secure comm channel, reaching out to the few Brotherhood captains I still trust. The quantum-encrypted signal bounces through a dozen relays before connecting. “This is Cirdox. We have three Eclipse scouts approaching through the asteroid field. Requesting immediate—”

The bond-sickness hits like a supernova, molten agony that makes my wings snap wide with an audible crack. The fever surges, a tidal wave of burning need that threatens to drown me. My vision blurs, the tactical displays swimming before me as another wave of pain tears through my defenses. The familiar scents of the bridge—ozone, recycled air, the metallic tang of machinery—twist into something sharp and bitter that burns my enhanced senses.

“Captain!” Zara rushes to my side as I double over, her concerned face swimming in my blurred vision.

I try to straighten, to maintain some semblance of control, but another surge of fire races along my spine. My wings tremble with the effort to stay upright. “Complete... the transmission,” I manage through gritted teeth.

“Shadow Wing, this is First Officer Zara of the Void Reaver,” she says into the comm, her russet fur bristling as she watches me struggle. “Requesting immediate assistance. We have three Eclipse scouts on approach.”

“Copy that, Void Reaver,” Rhilnar Captain K’vex responds, her six arms moving in perfect synchronization across multiple control panels. “Shadow Wing is already in position. Stalking Mist will join us from the dark side of the asteroid belt.”

I surge to my feet, wings snapping wide with indignation. “I didn’t authorize—”

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