Page 30 of Tamed By the Alien Warlord
They try. I help. I don’t sleep. Don’t stop. I sew flesh. I disinfect wounds. I clamp a vein and scream for plasma. His body fights—but I fight harder.
Reaper nanobot canisters are cracked open and jammed into the ports on his ribs. They flood his system—tiny metallic miracles designed for regeneration. I watch through a scanpad as the bots stitch micro-tissues, regrow burned ligaments, and even begin sprouting the cellular foundations of a new arm. But his internal organs are barely holding. A rupture in his second lung sac threatens to collapse the whole system. He’s not out of the woods.
Not yet.
Somewhere between dressing his shoulder and reattaching a fluid line, I break down.
“You colossal, noble, beautifulidiot,” I sob, slamming a fresh stim injector into his thigh. “What were you thinking?! You’ve got one arm now, you maniac! You can’t just blow yourself up for a girl you collared three days ago!”
But he did.
And it wrecks me.
Because he didn’t just do it foragirl.
He did it forme.
My pirate.
My fate.
My warlord idiot.
I cradle his head, smoothing back the charred strands of hair.
“You better wake up,” I whisper. “Because if you do, I’m gonna show you exactly how I feel. I’m gonna kiss you until your one good arm begs for mercy. I’m gonna love you so hard your new prosthetic shorts out. I’m gonna be the best, mostadoringsex slave this galaxy’s ever seen, you hear me?”
Silence.
And then?—
A twitch.
His eyelids flutter. A soft rasp leaves his cracked lips.
“You…” he breathes. “…still talk too much.”
My laugh is half-sob, half-scream.
And all relief.
CHAPTER 13
LANZ
The medbay lights hurt my eyes. Not because they’re bright—but because they remind me I’m still alive.
My body is a patchwork of agony. Every breath feels like chewing gravel soaked in fire. My right side throbs with phantom pain, even though I know there’s nothing left of the arm. Still, the pain isn’t what makes my chest tight.
It’s her.
Georgia.
She’s here. Sitting beside me, looking like hell and heaven at the same time—tangled hair, blood-smeared cheeks, and those firestorm eyes daring the universe to mess with her again.
“You’re awake,” she breathes. Not relief, not a question. Just a fact. And then, “You nearly died, you stupid, arrogant slab of alien meat.”
“I missed your voice,” I rasp. My throat feels like it was sandpapered by a plasma drill.
