Page 70 of Salvaged By the Alien Pirate

My boots slip in my own blood as I round another corner, the corridor spinning dangerously. The extraction point seems impossibly far, and more hostiles pour in from adjacent sections. A blast catches my left wing, searing through membrane and muscle. The pain nearly drives me to my knees, but I force myself onward. I won’t fail her. Not again.

“Multiple hostiles converging on your position,” Zara’s voice crackles through my comm. “You need immediate extraction!”

I snarl in acknowledgment, unable to spare breath for words as I fight through another wave of attackers. My wings sweep wide, knocking back the closest soldiers while I empty my weapon into the rest. The recoil sends fresh agony through my injured side, but I barely notice. Every second counts now.

Finally, I reach the small boarding craft I arrived in which promises escape, if I can just get us there. I gather my remaining strength and launch us both forward, my damaged wings straining to carry us the final distance.

We crash into the cockpit as enemy fire fills the air around us. I slam the hatch closed with one hand while cradling Neon’s limp form against my chest with the other. The controls respond sluggishly to my blood-slicked fingers as I punch in the launch sequence.

“Hold on, little hacker,” I growl, executing a desperate spiral maneuver to avoid their targeting locks. Each violent turn sends fresh waves of agony through my wounds, but I can’t fail. Not now. Not with her life in my hands.

The journey back to the Void Reaver is a gauntlet of weapons fire and near misses. Neon remains terrifyingly still in my lap as I pilot one-handed, refusing to release her even as alarms scream warnings of multiple system failures. I feel her presence flickering like a candle in a storm, growing fainter with each passing moment.

When we finally dock with the Void Reaver, Zara and Grig rush forward, but I growl when they try to take her from me. My wings snap wide despite the searing pain, tribal markings pulsing with protective fury. Only when my legs buckle, nearly sending us both crashing to the deck, do I allow them to take her. The last thing I see before darkness claims me is her pale face, her neural implants still flickering with damaged light.

Don’t leave me, little hacker. Please. Just hold on.

Chapter 26

Neon Valkyrie

Consciousnessfiltersbacklikefragments of corrupted code slowly piecing themselves together, each bit bringing fresh waves of sensation. The antiseptic scent hits me first, and panic claws up my throat—too similar to the sterile lab where they’d stripped away my defenses one neural probe at a time. My implants spark wildly as my heart rate spikes, the monitors screaming in protest.

But then another scent cuts through the terror—spiced leather and starlight, uniquely Cirdox. The steady pulse of our bond wraps around my battered consciousness like a protective shield, grounding me in the present moment. This isn’t the Eclipse lab. I’m safe.

The soft hum of medical equipment still sets my teeth on edge, each tiny sound amplified through my damaged neural architecture—the whisper of fabric as someone shifts position, the subtle click of monitoring equipment, the barely audible whoosh of recycled air. My implants sputter and spark, failing toestablish stable connections with nearby tech. The malfunction sends electricity dancing along my nerve endings, making me flinch.

“Neural patterns destabilizing,” a Borovian doctor growls, his obsidian scales rippling with concern as he studies the medical readouts. “She’s going into fight-or-flight.”

McCoy stands behind the doctor in the medical bay, her stern features drawn with worry as she monitors the situation.

Before the words fully register, Cirdox is there, his wings creating a protective cocoon around me that blocks out the harsh medbay lighting. His presence through our bond radiates fierce love and worry despite what I can tell is significant physical pain on his end.

“You’re safe, little hacker,” he murmurs, pressing his forehead to mine. “I’ve got you. They can’t hurt you anymore.”

Memories flash through my mind in disjointed fragments—his roar of fury as he tore through the Eclipse facility, the way his wings had mantled over me when the extraction went sideways, how he’d refused to let me go even as his own wounds bled freely.

I grip his arms, anchoring myself in his solid presence as my breathing slowly steadies. His tribal markings pulse softly, their familiar crimson glow infinitely more comforting than the sterile white of the medbay lights.

“Neural patterns stabilizing,” I hear the doctor—or is it McCoy—say through the hazy fog of consciousness. My implants feel raw, like someone took sandpaper to my neural pathways, but I catch the subtle shift in her voice—something deeper than clinical detachment. Not quite envy in her expression, but a profound understanding as she watches us. “The specialized treatment protocols are working. She’s fighting.”

“She never stopped fighting.” Cirdox’s voice is raw, like he’s been roaring for hours. The pride and fierce love carrying through those words makes my chest tight.

I force my heavy eyelids open, ignoring how the light sends fresh spikes of pain through my damaged neural architecture. My implants spark erratically, but none of that matters when I finally focus on him. Dark circles ring his eyes, and fresh bandages wrap his torso, but his smile when our gazes meet could outshine the stars themselves.

“Took you long enough to wake up,” he teases gently, though I feel his relief singing through our bond.

“Had to make sure you missed me properly,” I manage to rasp back, earning a soft laugh that makes his wings quiver.

My breath catches at the sight of him. He looks like he went ten rounds with a Bravorian war squad and lost. Fresh bandages wrap his broad torso, already showing spots of crimson where his wounds have seeped through. His left wing hangs at an awkward angle, the membrane torn in several places. Dark bruises mottle his bronze skin, and there’s a nasty gash above his right eye that’s definitely going to scar.

But his markings pulse with pure joy as our eyes meet, and the smile that breaks across his face makes every bit of pain worth it. He’s the most beautiful male I’ve ever seen.

“Welcome back, little hacker,” he murmurs, his large hand engulfing mine. The contact sends warmth flooding through our bond, chasing away the lingering cold of unconsciousness. His thumb traces gentle patterns on my palm, the tender gesture at odds with his fierce warrior appearance.

“You look like shit,” I croak, but I squeeze his hand hard enough to make my knuckles white. I’m not letting go. Not ever again. The bond pulses with shared understanding—we both came too close to losing this.

He laughs, the sound rough with exhaustion but gloriously real. “You should see the other guys.” His free hand comes up to brush a strand of hair from my face, and I lean into the contact shamelessly. “Though K’vex and Kira won’t be threatening anyone for a very long time.”

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