Page 67 of Salvaged By the Alien Pirate

The boarding craft launches into the heart of the Eclipse flagship, its shields barely holding against the concentrated fire. But I don’t flinch, even as another wave of emptiness washes through me where her vibrant presence should be. I can feel her, so close now, though her light flickers like a dying star.And nothing, not even death itself, will stop me from reaching her side. The hollow ache in my chest grows stronger with each passing moment, a physical reminder of what the bond-sickness is trying to tell me—that time is running out.

I grip the launch controls tighter, leaving deep grooves in the metal as I fight back the primal fear threatening to consume me. She has to survive. The alternative is unthinkable. The darkness where her fierce spirit should be burns through me like acid, but I force myself to focus. My crew needs their captain, not a mate drowning in desperation. Even if every heartbeat without her is agony.

The Eclipse flagship is a labyrinth of sterile corridors and pulsating energy fields—a cold, calculating environment that reflects the heart of their ideology. But I don’t need maps or sensors. I have Neon, and that’s all the guidance I need.

Chapter 24

Cirdox

Thesterilecorridorsofthe Eclipse flagship stretch before me like arteries of some vast mechanical beast, each pulsing with the cold blue light that marks their technological “superiority.” My tribal markings cast crimson shadows across gleaming walls, their glow deliberately dimmed but impossible to fully suppress—not with the fury burning in my blood. The bond pulls at my soul like a compass seeking true north, each pulse carrying fragments of Neon’s pain that fuel my rage.

The first security checkpoint appears ahead—four guards in pristine tactical gear that speaks to Eclipse precision and arrogance. Their enhanced sensors should have detected my approach, but they’ve grown complacent in their technological superiority. Fatal mistake. My wings snap wide as I launch myself forward, moving with a speed born of centuries of combat training and the primal drive to reach my mate.

The first guard dies before he can raise his weapon, my claws finding the vulnerable seam where helmet meets armor.The second manages to draw his sidearm, but a sweep of my wing sends him crashing into the wall with bone-crushing force. The third and fourth coordinate better, their modified reflexes allowing them to take defensive positions. But they’ve never faced a Kyvernian warrior fighting to protect his mate.

I move like smoke between them, every motion a perfect blend of power and precision. My wings become weapons, razor-sharp edges slicing through armor while blocking their retreat. One guard’s enhanced eyes widen in fear as he realizes too late that his precious technology is no match for primal fury. The other tries to trigger his emergency beacon, but my claws tear through his armor like paper, silencing him permanently.

A fifth guard emerges from a side corridor, his weapon already charged. But desperation makes him sloppy. I catch his energy blast on my wing, the reinforced membrane dispersing the charge even as I close the distance between us. His enhanced reflexes let him dodge my first strike, but he’s not prepared for how quickly I recover. My claws find his throat with surgical precision, and his dying gurgle carries a warning to anyone monitoring their comms.

I don’t bother hiding the bodies or silencing alarms. Let them know death stalks their halls. Let them feel the same fear they’ve inflicted on my mate. Let them realize too late that all their technology, all their “improvements,” mean nothing against a Kyvernian protecting what’s his.

The bond tugs harder now, each pulse carrying more of Neon’s fading strength. My markings flare brighter in response, their glow reflecting off pools of spilled blood like warning beacons. They thought they could take my mate, could use her against me? They’re about to learn exactly how fatal that mistake will be.

I move deeper into the ship, every sense heightened by protective fury. The sterile corridors all look identical, but I don’tneed maps or markers. The bond guides me unerringly toward her, each step carrying me closer to the heart of the Eclipse’s stronghold. More guards will come. More will die. And nothing—not their technology, not their numbers, not even death itself—will keep me from reaching her.

The air grows colder as I stalk through the sterile corridors of the Eclipse flagship, each step carrying me closer to their research wing. The clinical scent of antiseptic and ozone burns my nostrils, mixing with subtle undertones of fear and pain that make my tribal markings pulse with renewed fury. They dare experiment on my mate? They dare try to understand the sacred bond between us with their cold science?

My claws leave deep gouges in the metal walls as I fight to contain the primal rage burning through my veins. The bond-sickness claws at my mind, a creeping darkness that threatens to consume me entirely. But I won’t let it. Not when Neon needs me. Not when her brilliant light flickers so dangerously through our stretched connection.

The first patrol never sees me coming. My wings snap wide as I drop from the shadows above, using their enhanced strength to slam two soldiers into opposite walls before they can raise their weapons. The impact leaves dents in the reinforced metal, their bodies crumpling to the floor like broken toys. The third manages to get off a shot that scorches my shoulder, but the pain barely registers through the battle-fury singing in my blood. My claws find his throat with lethal precision, tearing through reinforced armor like tissue paper.

Let them come. Let them try to stand between a Kyvernian warrior and his captured mate. I am done with mercy. Done with restraint. They will learn why my people are feared across the galaxy, why even the ancient legends speak of our fury in whispered tones.

Another patrol rounds the corner—elite troops this time, their movements betraying extensive cybernetic enhancement. The first raises his weapon with inhuman speed, but I’m already moving, my wings carrying me through the air in a deadly dance. My claws rake across his faceplate, shredding the reinforced material and the flesh beneath. His partner’s energy blast catches my wing, leaving a trail of searing pain that only feeds my rage.

I spin, using the momentum to sweep my wings in a devastating arc that sends two more soldiers crashing into the ceiling with bone-crushing force. They don’t get up. The last tries to retreat, reaching for his emergency beacon with cybernetically enhanced reflexes. My fangs find his throat before his fingers touch the control, the taste of copper flooding my mouth as I tear through vital arteries.

The corridor falls silent except for my ragged breathing and the distant hum of ship systems. Through our bond, I feel Neon’s presence growing weaker, her usual fierce spirit flickering like a dying star. The emptiness where her vibrant mind should be burns through me like acid, feeding the primal rage that threatens to shatter my careful control. Each pulse of her pain drives my claws deeper into my palms, drawing blood that drips unnoticed to the polished floor.

I am coming, little hacker. And the Eclipse will pay in blood for every moment of pain they’ve caused you. They thought they could use our bond against us, thought they could break what makes us strong. But they don’t understand. This connection between us isn’t just about comfort or pleasure—it’s about two souls finding their perfect match, about strength multiplied rather than divided.

My markings pulse brighter as I sense her location more clearly now, like a beacon calling me home. She’s close, so close, and nothing—not their technology, not their numbers, not evendeath itself—will keep me from reaching her side. The darkness threatens to overwhelm me where her fierce spirit should be, but I force myself to focus through the pain. My mate needs her warrior, not a captain drowning in desperation.

The next group of soldiers doesn’t even have time to scream. I move through them like a force of nature, each strike precisely calculated to cause maximum damage. My wings sweep wide, using their enhanced strength to devastating effect as I tear through their ranks. Claws and fangs find weak points in armor with deadly accuracy, my body moving with the fluid grace of a predator born to kill.

Blood drips from my claws as I stand among the fallen, my tribal markings casting crimson shadows across their broken forms. This is what I am—what I’ve always been beneath the careful control of a Brotherhood captain. A warrior. A protector. A mate who will tear apart the galaxy itself to reach the one who holds his heart.

Hold on, Neon.

The ship’s antiseptic air carries traces of ozone and something worse—the metallic scent of blood. Her blood. The knowledge feeds the darkness clawing at my soul, threatening to unleash something even I might not be able to control. But I can’t let rage blind me. Not when one mistake could cost Neon everything.

A security door blocks my path, its control panel pulsing with encrypted lockouts. I smile grimly, remembering how Neon would tackle such obstacles—her fingers dancing across interfaces while making sarcastic comments about outdated protocols. The memory sends fresh protective fury through me. I tear the panel free with my claws, using brute force where she would have applied finesse. The door sparks and dies, sliding open with a protesting groan.

Through the smoke-filled corridor, K’vex emerges like a nightmare made flesh. My markings pulse brighter as I take inthe changes—fresh surgical scars threading across her carapace where gleaming metal now pierces organic tissue. Cybernetic ports dot her exoskeleton, their crimson glow a perversion of natural bioluminescence. The sight makes my stomach turn. They’ve already started transforming her into one of their soulless machines.

“I was wondering when you’d arrive.” Her voice carries that new artificial smoothness that sets my teeth on edge. All six hands move in unsettling patterns, their movements too precise, too calculated—like watching a puppet whose strings are pulled by cold algorithms rather than organic intent. “Your mate is quite resilient. The research division is particularly interested in how her neural architecture has adapted to your... primitive biology.”

My wings snap wide, tribal markings blazing with lethal intent as I face the traitor who handed my mate to these monsters. The metallic sheen creeping across her once-proud form only fuels my fury. This is what awaits Neon if I fail—this hollow shell where a warrior once stood.

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