Page 34 of Alien Boss. Human Pet

Inertial dampeners whine in protest as Taylor's nose jerks upward mere heartbeats from impact. Spray kisses the undercarriage as we peel away from the waves, acceleration pinning me to the leather seat.

Sweat stings my eyes when I finally dare to breathe. "I guess that's a fail."

Raekon's laughter shakes the entire cabin. He unfastens his harness just to lean over and bite my earlobe - sharp enough to sting, gentle enough to make my thighs press together. "Perfect score. Did you truly believe I'd test you onrings?" His tongue flicks the tiny hurt. "Next time I'll cut life support during re-entry."

I'm still shaking when he programs the autopilot, but his claws tracing possessive circles on my thigh tell me all I need to know about how proud he is. The bastard.

The ocean swallows Taylor whole, the shimmering surface closing over us like liquid glass. I guide the shuttle through the depths, marveling at the bioluminescent fish that dart past the windows. Their scales catch the light, painting the cabin in rippling hues of blue and green.

"Beautiful, aren't they?" Raekon murmurs, his clawed hand resting on my thigh. "Reminds me of the coral reefs on Vakuta's southern hemisphere."

I glance at him, my heart swelling with affection. "I still can't believe I get to see things like this. And that I get to share it with you."

He grunts, but I catch the way his scales flush a deeper gold. "Focus on your piloting, little flower. Those fish won't distract me from docking procedures."

I stick my tongue out at him but obey, guiding Taylor into the hangar bay with practiced ease. The forcefield shimmers as we pass through, and I set the shuttle down with barely a bump.

Raekon is out of his seat before the engines fully power down, his long strides carrying him to my side. He helps me out of the cockpit, his claws brushing against my waist in a way that makes my breath catch.

Pyke's office is as imposing as ever, the holographic globe casting shifting patterns of light across the walls. The captain himself rises from his desk as we enter, his smile warm but his eyes sharp.

"Willow, Raekon. Please, sit." He gestures to the hover chairs, and I sink into one gratefully. Raekon remains standing, his arms crossed over his chest.

Pyke ignores his posturing and slides a sleek, chromatic box across the desk toward me. "As you're both aware, it's time for Willow's final assessment before formally joining Project Veritas."

Raekon's growl is low and menacing. "She's already proven herself. This is unnecessary."

"Raekon," I say softly, placing a hand on his arm. "It's okay."

Pyke nods, his expression patient. "It's just a formality. Willow's intelligence and psyker power pale in comparison to the other attributes she offers to Project Veritas."

Raekon's eyes narrow, and I can practically see the steam coming out of his ears. "If you're implying?—"

"I meant her decency and strength of character, Raekon," Pyke interrupts, his tone firm but not unkind. "She's an asset to this organization in more ways than one."

Raekon subsides, though he still looks like he wants to punch something. I turn my attention to the box, my curiosity piqued. "What's this? Graduation gift?"

"If you like," Pyke says with a chuckle. "Though it's actually just the standard issue gear given to Project Veritas agents."

I open the box, my eyes widening at the contents. A sleek red bodysuit, a compad, an image inducer, and a plasma pistol gleam up at me. I immediately grab the image inducer, turning it over in my hands.

"I've always wanted to play around with one of these," I say, my excitement bubbling over. "Do I get to keep it?"

Pyke's smile is indulgent. "It's yours, Willow. Welcome to Project Veritas."

The moment the image inducer is in my hands, I can’t resist testing its limits. I flick the tiny dial on the side, and my reflection in Pyke’s desk shifts from my own red hair and freckles to Raekon’s chiseled jawline and golden scales. I smirk at my newly broad shoulders and ridges, mimicking Raekon’s usual scowl.

“Hmm. Needs more brooding,” I say, deepening my voice into a gravelly baritone that’s almost convincing. Almost.

Raekon crosses his arms, his scales rippling with irritation. “Willow, you’re going to overload it.”

I roll my eyes—his eyes now—and cycle through a few more looks. Pyke’s military buzz cut, complete with his signature frown. A random stranger with neon pink hair and a nose ring. Finally, I settle back into my own face and turn the device off. “All right, all right. Party pooper.”

I step closer to Raekon, tugging at his sleeve. “Bend over, you grump. I’m going to give you a kiss.”

He raises a brow ridge but obliges, leaning down with a sigh that’s more theatrical than annoyed. I smirk, my finger hovering over the inducer’s dial. Just before our lips meet, I flick it on and feel the subtle shift as my features morph into Jim Rader’s pinched, greasy face.

Raekon’s eyes snap open, and he jerks back with a growl that’s half-amused, half-horrified. “Willow!”

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