Page 25 of Alien Attachment
The hunter’s laugh is harsh, devoid of humor. “Everyone. Every bounty hunter, merc, and two-credit scavenger in the sector. ApexCorp’s offering enough credits to retire on. You’re the most wanted fugitives in three systems right now.”
Cold dread settles in my stomach like badly recycled protein rations. If we’re that hot, nowhere in the civilized galaxy will be safe. And Obsidian Haven suddenly feels a lot less like a haven and a lot more like a trap.
“How did you track us specifically?” I press, needing to understand how they found us so quickly.
“Your ship’s transponder, like I said. But also...” He hesitates, glancing between Jhorn and me. “The bond. It’s giving off some kind of energy signature. Faint, but detectable if you know what to look for.”
Through our connection, I feel Jhorn’s surprise, followed quickly by calculation. “The bond can be tracked?”
“Not easily,” the hunter admits, rubbing his throat where Jhorn’s tendril had been wrapped. “Takes specialized equipment, close range. But ApexCorp’s got the best tech credits can buy.”
This keeps getting better. Not only are we the most wanted criminals in known space, but our psychic connection is apparently broadcasting our location to anyone with the right scanner.
“What do you want?” the hunter asks, eyeing us warily. “You’re not gonna kill me, obviously, so what’s the play here?”
I exchange a glance with Jhorn, seeing my own realization mirrored in his luminous eyes. We need to disappear, and fast. The Nomad is compromised, Obsidian Haven is crawling with hunters, and we’re apparently carrying a tracking beacon that can’t be removed without potentially killing Jhorn.
“A ship,” I say, making a decision. “Something clean, untraceable. And you’re going to help us get it.”
“The hell I am,” he spits.
Jhorn moves closer, his tendrils undulating with quiet menace. Up close, his size is even more intimidating—seven feet of alien muscle and barely contained violence. “You misunderstand,” he says softly, his voice carrying undertones that make my skin prickle with awareness. “It was not a request.”
The hunter looks between us, calculation replacing some of his defiance. “What’s in it for me? You kill me or let me go, I’m still out the bounty money.”
“You get to keep breathing,” I point out helpfully. “I hear that’s popular these days.”
“Plus,” I continue, warming to the idea, “you help us, and we make sure word gets out that we’re dead. Ship explosion, no survivors, very tragic. ApexCorp calls off the hunt, and all those other bounty hunters go home empty-handed. Leaves the field clear for future opportunities.”
His augmented eye whirs as he processes this. “You’d fake your own deaths?”
“Wouldn’t be the first time someone disappeared in the Fringe,” I say with a shrug. “Ships blow up. Accidents happen. Very sad, very final.”
“And if I refuse?”
I gesture toward Jhorn, who obligingly lets his tendrils shift to that ominous red glow again. “Then we find out exactly what ApexCorp designed him to do to uncooperative subjects. I’m betting it’s not pleasant.”
The hunter swallows hard, his gaze fixed on Jhorn’s alien features. “Fine. I know a guy. Hangar B-7. Has a modified Kestrel-class that’s not on any registry. Clean as they come.”
“Lead the way,” I say, gesturing with my blaster. “And remember—he’s watching. He’s always watching.”
As the hunter moves reluctantly ahead of us, Jhorn falls into step beside me. The bond between us has calmed, returning to its usual warmth, but there’s a new undercurrent—a shared understanding that we’re in this crisis together.
“Thank you,” I say quietly, “for not killing him when I asked you to stop.”
Jhorn’s gaze meets mine, serious and intent. “I will always listen to your voice, Kaylee. Always. But I will also always protect you. This is not programming. This is choice. My choice.”
Something shifts between us in that moment, a subtle realignment that I can’t quite name but feel in my bones. The almost-kiss from before hangs between us like unfinished business, and the way he went full protective alien mode has awakened things in me that I really shouldn’t be thinking about while following a bounty hunter through a criminal station.
But I am thinking about them. About the way his eyes blazed when he defended me. About the possessive undertones in his voice when he called me his. About how being protected, being claimed, felt better than it should.
The bond pulses once, bright and clear, and for the first time since this whole nightmare began, I don’t immediately wish it gone. We have a long way to go, and ApexCorp won’t stop hunting us. But as we follow the bounty hunter through Obsidian Haven’s shadowed corridors, I realize with startling clarity that I’m no longer facing the void alone.
And the alien watching my back with lethal intensity? He’s not just my protector anymore. He’s becoming something far more dangerous to my carefully guarded heart.
He’s becoming mine.
8
