Page 38 of Alien Attachment
Every instinct screams that this is a trap, that nothing good comes from mysterious alien structures that open at your approach. But Jhorn needs shelter, needs healing, and my options are distinctly limited. Sometimes survival means taking the risk and hoping for the best.
“Here goes nothing,” I mutter, and pull the travois through the shimmering barrier.
The atmosphere inside shifts immediately—warmer, denser, filled with that sweet-ozone scent that now makes my pulse quicken for entirely different reasons than I expected. The interior space resolves into something recognizable yet alien: curved walls that seem to grow from the floor, surfaces that might be furniture or technology or art, all flowing together in organic harmony.
And at the center, a depression in the floor that can only be described as a bed—a nest of the same flowing, translucentmaterial as the dome itself, but softer, yielding to pressure when I touch it.
With the last of my strength, I maneuver Jhorn from the travois onto this strange bed. The moment his body makes contact with the surface, something incredible happens. The material beneath him begins to glow softly, pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat. His tendrils, still limp, seem to respond, their own faint luminescence strengthening.
Through our bond, I feel a shift—his consciousness rising closer to the surface, drawn by the energy of this place. His breathing deepens, his color improving from ashen gray-blue to a richer indigo.
Whatever this place is, it’s helping him heal.
Relief crashes through me with such force that my legs give way. I sink to the floor beside the strange bed, my hand still wrapped around our bond-link, and finally let myself feel the terror I’ve been holding at bay.
The tears come without warning—silent at first, just a release of tension held too long. But as the reality of our situation hits me, of how close I came to losing him, they transform into something deeper, more primal.
I’m sobbing now, great heaving breaths that tear through my chest. All the fear, all the anger, all the confusion of the past days pour out of me in a flood I can’t control. Fear of ApexCorp, of capture, of what they would do to us. Anger at being thrust into this nightmare, at having my carefully controlled life upended by forces beyond my control.
And underneath it all, the terrifying realization of how much Jhorn has come to mean to me. This alien being who was thrust upon me against my will, who I resented and feared and tried so hard to keep at a distance... I can’t imagine losing him now.
Through our bond, even in his weakened state, Jhorn feels my distress. His consciousness reaches for mine, wrapping aroundmy pain like his tendrils might wrap around my body—gentle, protective, soothing.
Kaylee, his voice whispers through our connection, the first direct communication since his collapse. Don’t cry. I’m here. We’re safe.
“You almost died,” I choke out, gripping his hand tighter. “You pushed yourself too far. For me.”
For us, he corrects gently, and I feel his consciousness strengthening, drawn back from whatever brink he’d been teetering on. Always for us.
His eyes flutter open, those strange, beautiful eyes with their vertical pupils and deep, shifting colors. They find mine immediately, locking on with an intensity that steals my breath. Even weakened, even barely conscious, his focus is entirely on me.
“Jhorn,” I whisper, relief making my voice crack.
One of his tendrils stirs, then another, slowly regaining their animation. The bond-link between us pulses stronger, brighter, as if celebrating his return to consciousness. Slowly, with obvious effort, he raises a hand to my face, his fingers cool against my tear-stained cheek.
“My light,” he murmurs, his voice rough but gaining strength. “Why do you weep?”
The tenderness in his touch, in his words, breaks something open inside me—a wall I’ve maintained for so long I forgot it was there. All my careful distance, my stubborn independence, my fear of vulnerability... they crumble beneath the simple truth of his devotion.
I lean forward and press my lips to his.
It’s hesitant at first, this kiss—an exploration, a question. His lips are cooler than a human’s would be, firmer, with a texture that reminds me of silk over stone. The taste of him is that same sweet-ozone flavor that permeates this place, but richer, morecomplex, with undertones of something like cinnamon and sea salt.
He goes utterly still beneath my touch, surprise and wonder flooding our bond like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.
Then, with exquisite gentleness, he responds.
His hand slides from my cheek to the back of my neck, cradling my head as if I’m something infinitely precious. His lips move against mine, learning the shape of this human gesture, this expression of desire and affection. Through our bond, I feel his wonder, his joy, his reverence—emotions so pure and intense they take my breath away.
I deepen the kiss, my tongue tracing the seam of his lips. He opens to me with a soft sound of surrender that goes straight through me like lightning, and I explore the alien landscape of his mouth. His tongue meets mine, and the sensation is electric—literally. Tiny bioelectric currents dance between us, making every nerve ending sing with pleasure.
When we finally part, both breathless, his eyes have darkened to a deep, midnight blue, pupils expanded with unmistakable desire. His tendrils have fully reanimated, floating around us in a gentle dance of light and motion.
“Kaylee,” he breathes, my name a prayer on his lips.
“I was so scared,” I admit, my forehead resting against his. “I thought I’d lost you before I could tell you...”
“Tell me what?”
