Page 44 of Salvaged By the Alien Pirate

"What changed?" I ask softly, though my heart thunders with the weight of her potential answer.

She's quiet for a long moment, her neural implants casting shifting patterns across her skin as she thinks. "You did something no one else has done since Kira," she says finally. "You saw past the walls. Past Neon the infamous hacker, past all the carefully constructed defenses. You saw me—really saw me—and still wanted to stay."

"Because you're worth staying for," I say simply, though the words send fresh fire through my veins. "Your strength, your determination, that fierce heart that won't let you stop fighting for what's right—how could I not want that? Want you?"

She makes a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "Even knowing everything I've done? Everything I am?"

"Especially knowing that." I catch her chin gently, forcing her to meet my gaze despite how the simple touch sends heat racing through my blood. "You think your past makes you unworthy of trust? Of connection? Look at me, Lyra. Really look. I'm a pirate, an outcast who turned his back on everything he was born to be. And yet here we are."

"Here we are," she echoes softly, her enhanced eyes studying me with an intensity that makes my markings pulse brighter. "With you dying from bond-sickness because I keep choosing fear over action. Every day I hesitate, telling myself I'm protecting us both, when really..." Her voice catches, implants flickering with barely contained emotion. "I'm killing you slowly, using my past trauma as an excuse while watching the fever burn you alive. What kind of person does that make me? Someone so afraid of loss that they'll cause it through their own fears?"

The admission hangs between us, heavier than any declaration of love. Because this isn't about fate or biology or some cosmic force pushing us together. This is about choice. About seeing each other—truly seeing—and choosing to stay anyway.

"Then stop fighting," I growl, wings mantling with barely contained need. "Stop running from what we both know is inevitable."

"It's not that simple." But she doesn't pull away when I draw her closer, doesn't resist when my wings create a private universe of shadow and shared breath. "The bond... it terrifies me. Not because it's forcing us together, but because it'sshowing me everything I could lose. Everything I've spent years convincing myself I didn't want."

"I know." I press my forehead to hers, sharing heat and hope and desperate need. "But we're stronger together than apart. You proved that today. We make each other better, challenge each other, protect each other. Isn't that worth the risk?"

She traces the burning lines of my tribal markings, her touch both soothing and inflammatory. "And if I lose you anyway? If the bond-sickness takes you before—"

"Then at least we'll have had this," I cut in, catching her hand and pressing it harder against my chest where she can feel my heart thundering beneath her palm. "These moments, this connection. Better than dying alone, wondering what might have been."

"Damn you," she whispers, but there's no heat in it. "When did you get so wise, pirate?"

"About the time a fierce little hacker invaded my ship and turned my world upside down." The words come out rougher than intended as another wave of fever hits, but I force myself to continue. "The time you put yourself between me and a plasma blast. The moment you chose to trust me with your pain, your fear... your real name."

She's quiet for a long moment, her fingers gentle as they trace my burning markings. Finally, she releases a shaky breath. "Lyra," she whispers, like sharing a secret. "My name is Lyra. And I'm tired of running."

The admission hits me harder than any physical blow. I pull her closer, my wings creating a cocoon of shadow and shared warmth around us. "Then don't," I murmur against her hair. "Stay. Fight with me, not against me. Let me be your sanctuary, like you've become mine."

She makes a sound of pure frustration before crushing her mouth to mine. The kiss is desperate, almost angry—all teethand tongue and barely contained need. My wings snap tight around us as I respond with equal fervor, pouring centuries of longing into the connection.

When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard. "I won't watch you die," she says fiercely, raw honesty bleeding through her usual walls. "Not like this. Not when I can do something about it."

"Then stop fighting what we both know is inevitable," I growl, my voice rough with fever and need. My wings snap tight around us, caging her against my chest. "You're mine, little hacker. You have been since the moment you stepped onto my ship."

She tenses, those enhanced eyes flashing with defiance even as her pulse races beneath my touch. "I don't belong to anyone."

"No?" I catch her chin, forcing her to meet my gaze despite how the simple contact sends fire racing through my blood. "Then why does your body betray you every time I'm near? Why do those precious implants of yours malfunction at my touch?"

"Bastard," she hisses, but doesn't pull away. The bond pulses between us, raw and demanding.

"Your bastard," I remind her, letting my claws scrape lightly across her skin. "And you know what I am—what we are together. Stop denying it."

The bond-sickness burns through my veins, but her proximity makes it bearable. Makes it worth every moment of agony that led us here. Because now she's where she belongs—in my arms, under my wings, finally accepting what we both knew from the start.

She settles against me with a sound that's half surrender, half challenge. "If you die on me," she mutters, "I'll find a way to bring you back just so I can kill you myself."

My answering laugh is more growl than humor. "That's my mate."

Chapter 15

Neon Valkyrie

“Ican’twatchyoudie.”The words escape before I can stop them, my enhanced vision cataloging how the bond-sickness burns through Cirdox’s veins. His tribal markings pulse with fever-bright intensity, each flash a countdown I can’t ignore. “After this mission. When we’re safe. Then I’ll complete the bond.”

Cirdox’s wings shift against the Void Reaver’s bridge, casting shadows that dance like restless spirits across the polished metal. Even standing still costs him now—I can see it in the subtle tremor of his wings, the way his markings pulse erratically against his bronze skin. My implants helpfully inform me his temperature has risen another 0.3 degrees in the last hour alone.

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