Page 11 of Tamed By the Alien Warlord
But the outpost is ours.
Smoke curls from the walls. Sparks flicker from shattered terminals. And Georgia moves through the wreckage like a ghost, eyes sharp, scanning every display, every file, every hint of something more.
She finds it near the central uplink tower—a half-intact data node, charred but readable.
Her fingers hover over it, hesitant for once. When the screen flickers to life, I see the truth in her eyes before she speaks it.
“She wasn’t taken,” she whispers. “Jasmine… she wasn’t captured.”
My heart sinks.
“She wassold.” Her voice cracks like glass.
I kneel beside her. She’s staring at the logs. Transport orders. Authorization codes. Helios Combine signatures.
“Trafficked,” she murmurs. “By the same bastards I worked for.”
She looks… shattered. But then her spine stiffens. Her hands curl into fists.
“I want names,” she says. “I want dates. I want blood.”
My claws twitch. “You’ll have all three.”
She turns to me, breath ragged. “You mean that?”
“I don’t make vows lightly.”
A long silence stretches between us. I reach out and brush a stray lock of hair from her cheek. She doesn’t flinch.
“I’m coming with you,” she says.
I nod. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
The drone hums softly above her. Her jaw sets. Her rage simmers.
And I know—without question—that if I had to leap in front of another bullet for her tomorrow, I would.
And not just because of the collar
She looks at me differently tonight.
Not just with that usual spark of rebellion behind those gorgeous green eyes—but something deeper. Softened.Grateful.
Which I hate. I don’t need thanks. I don’t need praise. I kill Helios Combine personnel for sport, not sentiment.
Still, her voice is gentler than usual when she speaks.
“I want to thank you,” she says, standing just inside our quarters. Her wild red curls are messy from her fight earlier, her dress slightly askew, freckles darkened by sweat and fury. “You didn’t have to help me find Jasmine. But you did.”
I grunt, turning away, stripping off the last of my armor. The ship hums quietly beneath our feet—alone now, silent, drifting in orbit. No threats. Just her. Justus.
“I did it because Helios is a rot that needs to be cut out,” I say. “Your sister was just… conveniently in the same direction.”
“That’s not true.”
She moves closer. I can hear it—the subtle hitch in her breath, the quiet pad of her bare feet on the metal floor.
“Maybe,” I admit.
