Page 48 of Claimed By the War Brute
She laughs—soft, spent. “That… that was something.”
I pull her close, murmuring against her skin. “You’re everything.”
She kisses me again—long, slow, sacred.
And in the quiet after, with her body curled against mine, I realize something profound:
This wasn’t just release. It was rebirth.
CHAPTER 35
SYD
Icurl beneath the oversized blanket in the observation deck, the fabric warm against my skin, almost cocoon-like. The dark stretches out before me—stars pinning the void, nebulas blooming like cosmic fireworks. The edge of the blanket tickles my cheek as I draw it closer, but I don't mind. It's quiet, except for the low hum of the Vigil’s End drifting through space. My mug of jetwater kisses my lips with its cold sting, and I let the steam settle on my breath before I take another sip.
Below me, I hear Garrus’s boots shuffling and the clank of metal—I know exactly where he is. His forge bay is the heart of this ship now, every clang a pulse in our makeshift family. I feel a swell in my chest, a quiet pride mixed with something deeper—something like... belonging. Yeah. The stars don’t look so empty anymore when I know he’s down there, bent over his work, doing something he loves.
The jetwater is almost gone, so I set the mug on a small shelf and slip off the bench. My feet are bare, the cold of the metal grate beneath them a stark reminder of reality. But I tread softly, because I’m not running anymore. Not from systems or men or ghosts. I’m here now—where I’ve chosen to be.
The faint click of the forge bay’s access hatch betrays my approach. Garrus is draped over the weapon prototype, adjusting a stabilizer coil. He’s humming—low, gravelly, almost a growl. It’s not a Vakutan war chant; it’s one of my old loops from Syfer Station. It draws my breath in, folds it into longing.
I tap the table with a grin. “You planning to serenade me with that death machine?”
He swivels slowly, golden eyes softening when they find me. “Might work. You’re into noise.”
I lean in on the bench beside him. “I’m into you,” I reply, shameless and grinning.
That rare, crooked smile curves his lips. He turns back to the weapon, and I watch his hands—massive, scarred, precise—as they fit electronic conduits. Each connection hums with purpose.
“So,” I say, quieter. “What’s our next job?”
He doesn’t skip a beat. “Target named Solus Vell,” he says, tension easing from his shoulders. “Former Coalition tech lord. Building sleeper AIs in the Belt. Dangerous.”
“Dangerous,” I echo. “Just our type.”
Garrus nods, sparks dancing from the coil. “Dowron’s covering it up. Wants it done quiet. But he’s letting us choose how.”
I nod, feeling the weight and responsibility that comes with that freedom. “And we will.”
He stops, regards me over the tube of forged metal. “We?” His tone isn't teasing—it’s intentional.
I stand, tug on the blanket wrapped around me. The fuzzy weave brushes against my arms. “Yeah. We.” My voice softens. “I never thought this would be my life.”
He sets aside the tool and turns fully. His gaze pins me steady. “After all that... you're still standing. You didn’t let him take you down.”
I inhale sharply. The air tastes metallic, warm. I reach out, tracing the scar on his forearm. “You didn’t either. And you were alone a lot longer than I was.”
He closes the distance, so close I can feel the heat of his armor against my face. Nobody else here—just us. The ship hums around us, as though it knows.
His massive hand finds mine. It’s calloused but gentle as he places it over my heart. The difference in our scale is startling: my flat palm dwarfed by his glove, but the connection isn't. He stands unmoving.
“You know what you are, right?” I murmur, throat tight.
He shakes his head, brow furrowing. “A weapon?”
I laugh in the back of my throat. “No.” I can’t help the tears that pinch the corners of my eyes. “You’re my safe place.”
His chest rumbles—intentionally or not, I don’t care. He leans down and kisses the top of my head, then pulls me gently into his arms. “And you’re mine,” he whispers.
