Page 31 of Alien Attachment
“You are safe here, with me, Kaylee,” I murmur, adjusting the light patterns to something even more soothing. “For this moment, at least.”
Her eyes flutter closed, her head tilting back to rest against the cushion of my tendrils. The sensation sends pleasant warmth through me—not the blazing heat of desire, but something gentler, more precious. Trust. Acceptance. The beginning of something that might, someday, become more.
“That’s the problem,” she whispers, her voice thick with approaching sleep. “Nowhere is safe. Not anymore. Not with what I am now.”
“What you are now,” I say softly, “is not alone.”
I feel her consciousness slipping, the bond between us softening as her mind surrenders to exhaustion. Even in sleep, her fear remains, a low hum beneath the surface of her dreams. Fear of capture, of ApexCorp, of the future—and beneath it all, fear of the bond itself, of the unwanted intimacy it forces upon her.
But there’s something else now, something new threading through her subconscious: awareness of my presence not as invader but as protector. The memory of my fury when the bounty hunter threatened her. The way my tendrils had moved to shield rather than constrain.
As she sleeps, cradled in the protective circle of my tendrils, I study her face with something approaching reverence. In repose, the hard edges of her wariness soften, revealing the woman beneath the survivor’s mask. She is beautiful in ways I lack words to describe—not just her physical form, which my enhanced senses find aesthetically pleasing, but the fierce light within her. Her determination. Her resilience. Her capacity for kindness even when it costs her.
Through our bond, I feel the steady rhythm of her heartbeat, the gentle tide of her breathing, the warmth of her life force flowing through me like sunlight through crystal. She is magnificent, and she is mine—not as property, not as possession, but as something infinitely more precious.
The realization should frighten me. Instead, it brings a deep, bone-deep satisfaction that transcends my programming.
I was made to bond, to devote, to protect. These imperatives were written into my cellular structure by ApexCorp scientists who viewed me as property, as a tool to be used and discarded. They never intended for me to choose, to want, to care beyond my original parameters.
Yet here I am, watching over Kaylee’s sleep, feeling something that transcends my original design. The bond between us has evolved beyond its initial function, at least for me. It is no longer merely a psychic tether or a biological imperative.
It has become love.
The admission shocks me with its clarity. Not the hollow devotion ApexCorp programmed into my cells, but something more complex, more painful, more real. I love her—her strength, her fear, her stubborn resilience, the way she tries to hide her softness behind layers of practical cynicism. I love her not because I was made to, but because I have come to know her through our bond and found her worthy of everything I am.
But for her, the bond remains a burden. An invasion. A complication she never asked to bear.
The realization cuts deeper than any physical wound. True devotion—not the simplistic version ApexCorp encoded into me, but the genuine article that has grown in the space between programming and choice—would prioritize her well-being above all else. Above my existence. Above the bond itself.
What if I could set her free?
The thought crystallizes, terrible and necessary. I trace the air above her face with a tendril, not touching, just following the contours of her features. If I could absorb her pain, her fear, her burden, I would do so without hesitation. If I could give her back the life she had before me...
The possibility haunts me as she sleeps. ApexCorp created the bond, but they also created me. Perhaps there is some flaw in their design, some weakness I could exploit. The bond draws its strength from my life force—if I were to... diminish... that force, perhaps the connection would weaken, break, free her from this unwanted tether.
It would likely destroy me in the process. But if it gave her peace, if it gave her freedom, would that not be the ultimate expression of the love I feel for her?
The question torments me through the long hours of her rest, even as my tendrils continue their gentle, protective vigil around her sleeping form.
9
Mine to Keep (If You Choose)
Jhorn
Kayleesleepsforthreehours, but I experience every moment with acute awareness. Her exhaustion runs too deep for nightmares, leaving her mind open through our bond in ways that make concentration nearly impossible. I feel the gentle rhythm of her dreams, the way her subconscious processes the day’s events—including vivid replays of our earlier encounter that send heat cascading through my systems and leave me aching with need.
Watching her sleep becomes an exercise in exquisite torture. Her jumpsuit has shifted during rest, revealing the elegant line of her collarbone and the soft hollow at the base of her throat where her pulse beats steadily. My enhanced vision tracks every detail—the rise and fall of her chest, the way her lips part slightly in sleep, the tantalizing glimpse of skin where her clothing has pulled away from her body.
I want to touch her so badly it’s become a physical ache. My tendrils extend without permission, drawn by her warmth like magnets to metal. I stop them just short of contact, but one rebellious appendage traces the air above her exposed skin, following the graceful curve from throat to shoulder. Even without touching, I can sense her body heat, catch the subtle scent of her arousal still lingering from our earlier encounter.
The need to touch her, to taste her, to bury myself in her warmth and never surface again—it’s overwhelming. ApexCorp designed me for bonding, for protection, for pleasure-giving, but they never programmed me to want someone this desperately. This hunger that claws at my chest, this need that has nothing to do with duty and everything to do with the way she gasps when I touch her just right.
My secondary appendages seem to have developed their own opinions about appropriate behavior. While I struggle to maintain respectful distance, they keep extending toward her sleeping form like curious pets seeking attention. One actuallymanages to brush against her hair before I catch it, and the silken texture nearly makes me lose control entirely.
“Behavioral modifications urgently required,” I mutter to myself, forcibly retracting the wayward tendril.
But even in sleep, she responds to my proximity. Her breathing deepens, her body unconsciously shifts toward my warmth, and through our bond I feel the edges of dreams that feature my touch in ways that make my bioluminescence pulse with involuntary rhythm.
