Page 46 of Claimed By the Alien Assassin
She’ll know. I don’t have to say more.
Her breath catches. She sets down the data-pad, crosses to me. Fingertips brushing my arm—cautious electric.
I turn, jagged blades of guilt and steel in my eyes. She sees the dark warping them.
“You did it.”
I nod once—slow, regretful.
She steps closer, searching my face as though trying to find the man she loves beneath the mask of vengeance.
“Why?” she asks. Voice brittle like ice underfoot.
Because if I don’t answer, silence will shatter both of us.
“I… could not stand to watch them torture innocents,” I admit, voice hoarse. “The cruelty—they were treating prisoners like broken machines to be tested until they stop breathing. He haunted my mind. When he was vulnerable, alone in that room—I made it end.”
The words hang. My chest heaves.
She stands quiet, only her breath building a fragile rhythm.
“I didn’t tell you because…” I close my eyes. “You deserve better than the monster I am.”
Her hand cups my jaw, gentle warmth. I flinch—expecting recoil. Instead, her lips brush mine—soft and fierce.
“You’re my monster, Dayn.” She whispers. “My hero.”
Her voice locks something open inside me. Relief and shame war across my ribs.
She steps back, gaze steady, embers dancing behind her eyes. “They needed to know we can hurt them back. That we won’t hide.”
I watch her posture, the steady set of her shoulders. Pride and justification roll through her—not fear, not regret.
I exhale loud. “You believe me?”
She steps forward, pressing her forehead to mine. “I always have.”
Heat builds—between us and the dawn, the workshop cracked with wounds and hope.
For the first time since I took his life, I feel… not ashamed, but seen. Accepted.
And when she kisses me again—longer this time—I let it fill every scar.
Because vengeance is a weapon. But love… love is survival.
Night has a softness I rarely feel. It drapes over us—two silhouettes melting into the mattress of cold metal and worn fabric that we’ve claimed as ours. My body hums with every nerve awakened and soothed in equal measure by Josie’s touch. This is different. Slower. Reverent. A balm after blood—after cruelty that threatened to drown us both in darkness.
I trace her spine with gentle fingertips. Each curve is precision and promise. Each sigh she exhales presses something deeper into my chest—something I’ve purposefully frozen for years.
She shifts closer, the scent of sweat, post-battle oil, and faint honey drifting off her skin. Taste of warmth and survival. “Dayn,” she murmurs, voice soft and thick with sleep and dreams, “we need more. Not just sabotage and ambushes.”
She breathes against my shoulder. I hum softly in response, letting her words drift and shimmer in the air between us.
“We need everyone.” Her fingers rest on my chest, still ringing there like a drum. “Moms. Kids. Techs. Mechanics.Farmers. Every single person who calls this home has to stand with us. Not out of fear—but becausetheybelieve too.” She tilts her head, eyelashes catching the dim room light. “When Snowblossom fights back... it won’t just be because they’re attacked. It’ll be becausewesaid so.”
I swallow, running a thumb over her rib. Nostalgia murmurs beneath pride. I haven’t believed in redemption for a long time. My kind—Shorcu—don’tearnredemption. We survive, but forgiveness? It’s a myth whispered in human lullabies.
“I don’t know how to rebuild a colony,” I confess, voice low. “I know how to break doors and bodies. Cut threats. Signal fear. Not... unite a planet.”
