Page 14 of Claimed By the War Brute
“Next stop,” I murmur. “Your call.”
“Anywhere,” she replies, dark gleam bouncing off her features. “Anywhere’s better than here.”
The shuttle moves on. We both lean back, fatigue and adrenaline coiling in quiet triumph. The galaxy is burning behind us, but here—in this moment—we have something untouched. A promise. A bond. A revolution.
CHAPTER 13
SYD
The ship is smaller than I expected—an older Vortaxian courier tucked into the Imperion Ascendant’s shadow like a malnourished wolf pup at the edge of the pack. Not priority-class, but fast, lightspeed-capable, and only barely armed. Now it’s unguarded, thanks to Garrus ripping open every lock and override in a merciless symphony of brute precision. Sweat’d pooled at my temples before I even staggered in behind him, weightless adrenaline pumping like rocket fuel in my veins.
The door hisses shut behind us with a confirming klunk. My hands shake so bad I almost drop the stolen keycard he fed me. I lean back against the bulkhead, chest heaving, half-laughing, half-coughing, tasting raw metal and burnt fear in the air.
“Tell me you know how to fly this thing,” I gasp, voice thick with disbelief and hope. I notice my hands fluttering like fledgling wings over the console, my fingers itching for some control.
He glances at me—half scowl, half smirk—eyes golden and intense. “I’ve flown worse,” he growls, sliding into the pilot seat. His hands dance across unfamiliar controls, switching capacitors, calibrating thrust channels. The console hums to life, and somehow—I believe him. He dares the ship to deny us.
I plant myself in the co-pilot chair, hands shaking so hard I nearly short out the systems grid. Every line flickers under my fingertips. The escape protocol is so short it feels like telling a bet. But we need to hit it just right: break shields, hit unclaimed space, punch jump—ghost mode. My pulse pounds so loud I feel dumb, but also… alive.
He sets the coordinates. The engines lurch. We peel away from the warship like molten slag drop from a forge. No hesitation, no drag—just clean escape. Stars slice by as the shields dissipate, scraping against stray fire from the cursory Vortaxian guns. Nothing hits. They’re still recalibrating. We punch free. The jump systems ignite. The world—or what feels like it—goes from streaks of violet to molten blur.
Then silence. Stillness. We’re in hyperspace. We made it.
I don’t realize I’m crying until he turns and sees me, silver light from the console glossing over tears. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t pity. He rests a hand on my wrist—large, calloused, and startlingly tender. Something cracks loose inside me: every shred of fear, humiliation, rage, and horror floods outward. My skin heats with tears I can’t stop. I don’t try.
Before I know it, I’m pressing into him, lips all fire and wanting. He stiffens—then his body hums with an answering growl. He yanks me forward, catches me by the waist, slamming me against the wall. His mouth devours mine, teeth scraping, hot breath consuming. It’s urgent, raw, desperate—like two warriors fighting to reclaim something precious after losing it all.
His hands roam with fierce possessiveness, stripping armor, clutching my spine, pulling me flush with him. I claw at his chest plates, free his scalemail so I can feel him against me. Every breath, every inch of contact—confession.
I press my palm to the wall behind us, knees grazing the console. His body heats mine until I feel molten. And his whisper—my name, but deeper, like foundation.
“Syd.”
I moan it back. “Garrus.” My voice is sex and relief and all the broken fragments of hope swirling into color again. His lips brush my neck in a vow that hammers my heart:I will protect you.
But it’s more than that now. It’s hunger. It’s claiming.
He pulls back just enough to look down at me, the molten gold of his alien eyes alight with something between reverence and raw, primal need. His taloned fingers hook under the edge of my shirt, dragging it over my head in a single rough motion. His scaled hands are rough, alien, scorching where they skim my skin. I gasp as cool air meets damp heat along my chest, and he watches me—watches the way my nipples tighten under his gaze.
“You’re beautiful,” he growls, voice deeper now, lower, rough around the edges like it’s barely holding back.
“Show me,” I whisper, daring him.
He doesn’t hesitate. He presses forward, mouth finding my throat, tongue dragging along my pulse as his claws skim my waist. His body dwarfs mine—easily seven feet, broad and sculpted with scaled muscle. The ridges along his shoulders and elbows graze me in places I never expected to feel good, but gods, they do. I melt under every alien inch of him.
He lifts me like I weigh nothing, setting me on the edge of the console. My legs part for him instinctively. My breath hitches as he leans in, pressing his snout-like mouth to the underside of my jaw.
“I want to taste you,” he says, voice ragged.
“Yes,” I breathe, already trembling.
His scaled hands are shockingly gentle as they slide down my hips, then under the band of my pants, dragging them down withcontrolled urgency. When I’m bare before him, he pauses—just for a second—to look. Really look. And the reverence in his eyes nearly undoes me.
He kneels.
The alien who just destroyed a warship, who fought through hell to get me here, kneels between my legs with worship in his gaze.
His mouth is hot. His tongue is broad and textured, unlike anything human, and when he licks into me—gods.I cry out, my hips bucking into him without thought. The first drag of his tongue over my pussy has my spine arching off the console. It’s more than pleasure—it’s overwhelming, shattering. He growls low against me, the vibration thrumming through my clit.
