Page 39 of Salvaged By the Alien Pirate

His wing brushes my shoulder as he moves closer, the gentle touch sending shivers down my spine. “The Brotherhood lost another supply ship yesterday,” he murmurs, his crimson eyesdark with concern. “Third one this month. Right along a route that was supposed to be secure.”

I stiffen, the implications hitting hard even as my body betrays me by leaning into his touch. “You think one of your captains is compromised.”

“K’vex has been asking too many questions about our delivery schedules.” His wings shift restlessly, creating a cocoon of warmth around us that makes it hard to think. “And Vornak’s been pushing for more aggressive action against Eclipse territories. Could be genuine concern, or...”

“Or they’re testing your defenses,” I finish, my heart racing as he leans closer, his fever-hot breath ghosting across my neck. “That’s why we need this detector working. If we can prove the Eclipse is tainting luminore supplies...”

“We can expose whoever’s helping them distribute it,” he growls, his clawed fingers trailing down my arm in a possessive caress that makes my implants stutter and glitch. “But you’re pushing yourself too hard.”

I turn to face him, a mistake that brings us dangerously close. “Says the Kyvernian burning up with bond-sickness because his mate is too stubborn to commit.”

His eyes flash with heat that has nothing to do with fever. “My mate is protecting herself from past hurts. I can be patient.” He cups my face with surprising gentleness. “But watching you work yourself to exhaustion while these encrypted transmissions eat at you... that’s harder to bear.”

The tenderness in his voice cracks something inside me. My neural interface fills with streams of data as I access the stolen files, each line of code bringing me closer to answers I’m not sure I want to find. The encryption is sophisticated, bearing Kira’s unmistakable signature. She always did have a flair for the elegant solution, even when using it for terrible purposes.

“I have to finish this,” I whisper, though my hands have stilled on the components. “Before more ships disappear. Before the Eclipse’s tainted luminore spreads further. Before...”

“Before you lose someone else you care about?” he asks softly, understanding darkening his gaze.

I close my eyes against the truth in his words, but his warmth surrounds me, offering shelter I’m finally starting to believe I deserve.

> INITIATING DECRYPTION SEQUENCE...

>

> WARNING: Hostile code patterns detected

>

> PROCEED Y/N?

My hands hover over the interface, suddenly unsure. These files could tell us everything—who’s working with the Eclipse, where they’re striking next, how deep the conspiracy really goes. But they could also be exactly what Kira wants me to find. A trail of digital breadcrumbs leading straight into another trap.

“You’re hesitating,” Cirdox observes, his voice carefully neutral. “Why?”

“Because I know her,” I say softly, memories of late-night coding sessions and shared dreams of exposing corruption flooding back. “Know how she thinks. These transmissions... they’re too easy to track. Too perfectly laid out.” I rake my fingers through my hair, a nervous habit from my early hacking days. “It’s like she wanted me to find them.”

“Then spring the trap,” he growls, the predatory note in his voice making my pulse jump. “But on our terms.”

Before I can respond, my upgrade chimes with an incoming transmission. McCoy’s face appears in my enhanced vision, her expression grim. “We’ve got movement. Eclipse transport just entered the sector, heading toward the abandoned medicaldepot near Morcrest. Small vessel, probably a scout, but the signature matches what we discussed.”

Ice floods my veins as the implications hit. “They’re testing our new defenses,” I say, already running calculations. “Seeing if we can detect their modified luminore shipments.”

“Agreed.” McCoy’s image flickers as she accesses additional data. “My team’s tracking them, but we need to know what’s in that cargo hold. If they’re moving more of their tainted supplies...”

“We’ll handle it,” Cirdox cuts in, his wings mantling with barely contained eagerness despite the fever burning through him. “The Void Reaver can be there in two hours.”

“Wait.” I grab his arm, feeling the heat of his skin even through his armor. “You can barely stand. The bond-sickness—”

“Will have to wait,” he says firmly, though I see how the effort of maintaining control makes his tribal markings pulse erratically against his bronze skin. His wings shift restlessly, creating patterns of shadow that draw my eye despite my best efforts to stay focused. “This is our chance to prove the Eclipse is weaponizing medical supplies. We can’t waste it.”

He’s right, damn him. But watching him fight through the fever, seeing how each movement costs him more energy he can’t spare, makes something twist painfully in my chest. My implants helpfully inform me that my own vital signs are elevated—heart rate increased, stress hormones spiking, emotional response patterns indicating heightened concern. They also note, with clinical precision, how my body temperature rises 1.2 degrees when his wing accidentally brushes my shoulder.

“Fine,” I say, gathering the half-finished detector components while trying to ignore how his scent—metal and smoke and something fiercely alien—makes my enhanced senses malfunction in the most inconvenient ways. “But we do thissmart. No heroics, no unnecessary risks.” I meet his gaze steadily, though it costs me to see the fever burning in those crimson depths. “I mean it, Cirdox. I won’t watch someone else die because I wasn’t fast enough to save them.”

The words hang between us, heavy with unspoken meaning. His hand catches mine as I reach for the last component, the heat of his skin sending electricity through my nerve endings that has nothing to do with my implants and everything to do with the way he looks at me—like I’m something precious and dangerous all at once. We both know I’m not just talking about this mission. The ghost of Kai’s death, of Kira’s betrayal, shadows every choice I make.

“I’m not him,” Cirdox says softly, his hand catching mine. The contact sends electricity through my nerve endings, making my implants misfire spectacularly. “And I’m not leaving.”

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