Page 55 of Claimed By the War Brute
There’s work left to do, darkness to cut through. But for now, in this quiet, we’ve built something new: purpose. Partnership. A future not written by war, but forged by choice.
And for the first time since Horus IV, I believe in it.
CHAPTER 39
SYD
Istep backstage, holokeytar slung over my shoulder, the hum of Novus Haven’s drone lamps shrinking behind us as Garrus and I pull aside. The night air wraps around me like a silk scarf, hot with engine-lamp heat and the faint scent of celebratory sweat. The crowd is disappearing, but the resonance of applause still vibrates in my bones. Garrus slides his arm around my waist—strong, solid, sure—and I lean into him, the warmth of his scaled chest reassuring.
“You were fire,” he murmurs, voice low and gravelly, as we walk to the ship. He pauses on the ramp, eyes glinting. “You okay?”
“More than okay,” I reply softly, tilting my chin up to meet his gaze. His golden eyes hold me steady—like the stars themselves.
Back in the observation deck, the Vigil’s End rocks gently like a cradle. I settle into the curved bench, a blanket draping around me. The nebulae swirl outside, color bleeding across the viewport like brushstrokes of rebellion. I cradle a warm cup of spiced tea, each sip filling my lungs with sweetness and quiet.
“This—” I gesture at the stars, the lights, the soft hum of the ship’s engine, “—this feels like peace.”
“It’s a start.” Garrus settles beside me, shoulder brushing mine. He breathes in, slow and measured, as if gauging the calm after storms. We sit in silence for a while—not awkward, but a quiet conversation of souls.
“Garrus…” I whisper, voice fragile enough to crack. “Do you think we’ve really left it all behind?”
He glances at me, lips curving. “Nothing ever leaves you completely. But this,” he gestures between us, “this is ours.”
My fingers find his, rough against mine, and I squeeze. “Promise me we’ll keep doing this—make music, missions, moments like tonight.”
He releases a slow breath. “Promise.”
The ship rocks again, and I smile. “Rock you’re impossible?”
He chuckles, a low rumble in his chest. I lean forward and kiss him—careful at first, soft, gauging. His arms tighten around me, bowing me deeper, mouth opening. It’s slow and honest and electric, his breath hot against my lips, tasting faintly of iron and tea. His hand slides up my arm, trailing heat through my sleeves.
We break apart, foreheads touching. “You’re real,” I breathe.
He nods against my skin. “Always.”
Later, in the forge bay, sparks hiss as Garrus welds new weapon modules. The air smells of hot metal and machine oil. He hums small and rhythmically—my song loop, punctuated by steel protests. My heart warms. I walk up behind him, tracing the line of his neck with a fingertip.
He doesn’t stop working, but I see muscles under his scaled skin flex. “Planning to serenade me and my death-machine?” I tease.
He glances over his shoulder, half-smile. “Might just work.” Steel groans. He flashes me a look—tender and dangerous. “You’re into noise.”
“I’m into you,” I fire back with shameless honesty.
He sets down his tools. “Fair.”
I lean against the bench, watching him with appreciation—not just for the muscles or the fight, but for him: steady, bruised, alive. “So… next job?”
He nods, hands brushing mine as he passes me a plasma torch. “Target: Solus Vell. Corporate tech lord. Building rogue AIs. Dangerous.”
“Dangerous,” I confirm. “Just our speed.”
He exhaled, a long, soft sound. “Dowron wants it quiet. We choose how.”
I smile. “That’s my kind of diplomacy.”
He watches me work the torch. Soft sparks light my face. “I never thought this would be my life,” I admit.
He turns, molten gold eyes searing with intensity. “After everything… you’re still standing.”
