Page 43 of Alien Mercenary's Wife
She stared at the closed door. Shit. He must have heard her screaming.
Heat crawled up her neck. But…when was the last time someone had checked on her? When was the last time someone had cared enough to knock instead of pretending they hadn't heard her break down?
Her parents certainly hadn't. They'd treated her military service like an unfortunate phase, and her subsequent disability like a personal failing. The military doctors had offered pills and condescending smiles. Even her few civilian friends had learned to change the subject when she started looking too far away.
But T'Raal, an alien guy she’d only known for a day, had heard her and come to check on her anyway.
"I'm fine," she called back. The lie tasted bitter on her tongue.
Silence stretched out. She could picture him standing in the corridor, deciding whether to accept her obvious bullshit or push for the truth she wasn't ready to give. Military leaders learned to read between the lines, especially when dealing with soldiers who'd seen too much, and she knew her voice had given her away.
The quiet extended long enough to become uncomfortable.
"Door's unlocked," she said finally, the words escaping before she could stop them.
The panel slid open with a soft hiss. He filled the doorway, and her mouth went dry. Shit. She'd been right about the sleep pants. Dark fabric hung low on narrow hips, leaving his torso bare in a display of scarred muscle and alien strength.
Fucking hell. Talk about temptation.
No shirt, dark hair tousled from sleep. His gaze swept her sweat-soaked clothes and the tangled bedding, and then he looked at her. The gold flecks in his eyes caught the soft lighting, and she found herself staring despite every instinct screaming at her to look away.
"Bad dream?"
"Bad dream?"he asked, though the answer was written in every line of her sweat-soaked body.
She stared at him for a long moment, something vulnerable flickering across her features before her military mask reasserted itself. "Something like that."
Her voice carried the controlled edge of someone who'd learned to keep trauma carefully contained. Her hands trembled slightly as she reached for the water bottle beside her bunk.
"Mind if I come in?" he asked, but he was already stepping through the doorway.
She gestured toward the small space, and he settled onto the edge of the bunk. The guest quarters had been designed for Latharian proportions, making the furniture oversized for human comfort. She looked small against the bunk, fragile in a way that made something protective stir in his chest.
"Nightmares are easier to handle when you're not alone.”
She tilted her head. "Speaking from experience?"
"Some." He shrugged. "You want to talk about it?"
She was quiet for a moment, studying his face in the dim lighting. Whatever she saw there seemed to satisfy her, because her shoulders relaxed slightly.
"My final mission," she said. "Three Scorperio sections under my command. We received intelligence about enemy positions… minimal resistance, strategic target. It was a perfect opportunity."
"Command pulled me away from my sections," she continued. "There were electromagnetic signatures they wanted investigated—some kind of interference pattern that didn't match known enemy tech." Her voice tightened. "I was maybehalf a klick out when the pulse hit. Felt like someone had driven a spike through my skull. My implant barely stayed online because of the distance, but my soldiers..." She trailed off. "Their implants were completely fried. The pulse turned their neural interfaces into dead weight."
"The signal turned their Scorperios into tombs," she continued, her voice steady despite the pain in her eyes. "They were trapped in dead machines while the enemy picked them off."
"You tried to reach them," he said.
"Couldn't get close. They had overwatch positions, heavy weapons. Every time I tried to advance, plasma cannon fire forced me back." Her hands clenched in her lap. "I watched them die."
He held back his wince. "Any other survivors? Or just you?"
"Eris." Her voice roughened slightly. "I saw her Scorperio crawling across broken pavement, half-dead from the electromagnetic damage. She managed to crack the hatch and get out just before large-caliber rounds riddled her unit. The others weren't so lucky."
He nodded, understanding the guilt she felt even though it wasn’t her fault.
"We were set up," she sighed. "But then they said it was suit malfunction."
