22. Josie
JOSIE
I hear the distress call crackle through the Hellfighters’ comm grid just as I’m soaking in the last of the pleasure at The Drift.
The message is urgent—a splinter faction of Vortaxians is laying siege to a League world named?Drellis.
My chest twists. I thought we’d ended the threat when we killed Kernal.
Instead, the beast has sprouted new heads.
I catch Dayn’s eye across the hangar: resolve hardening in his gaze.
We gather in the briefing room, monitors flickering with live feed of burning villages and fleeing civilians.
The splinter Vortaxians move with brutal precision, their ideology an echo of Kernal’s zealotry.
I press my palm to the cold metal table and say, “We didn’t kill the beast. We just broke off a head.
” Dayn rises beside me, voice steady. “Then we finish it. Together.”
When launch orders come, I strap into a drop pod alongside Dayn and half the squad.
The descent is violent; AC alarms wail as we slam into the forest floor.
I stagger out of the hatch—everything is chaos: gunfire, staccato screams, tracer rounds cutting through the smoke and undergrowth.
Dayn dives into suppressive fire while I scan for an opening.
I spot it: an old mining drone, rusted but operable, near a collapsed supply crate.
Without thinking, I leap toward it, crawl inside, and ignite its ancient engines.
Sparks rain, dust clouds kick up—but the drone roars to life.
I grip the controls and push forward into the heart of battle: a demolition beast among soldiers.
Tracer rounds ping off its hull as it barrels through lines of enemy fire, swinging mechanical arms like wrecking balls.
Dayn’s team seizes the opportunity, surging behind the drone.
I guide it in wide arcs—clearing paths, smashing barricades, scattering cultist forces.
The carnage is biblical; bodies, smoke, the drone’s grinding steel.
A merc’s shout reaches me: “That’s the Sexy Engineer Massacre!
” The phrase sticks, a badge of unexpected glory.
When the last cultist flees, I shut down the drone and climb out, knees buckling. Dayn catches me, gripping my arm. “That was insane—and incredible,” he says. I laugh—the sound shaky, reverent. “Damage control.” We toss the control module to a squadmate; it’s war craftsmanship, not celebration.
In the aftermath, survivors stumble out—village families clutching ration packs, children blinking at survivors. A single trembling kid approaches me, and I kneel, offering a refurbished helper-drone as a comforting toy. Tears sharpen my voice. Dayn stands behind me quietly, an unyielding shield.
Back on the ship, corridor hums with sterile quiet. We reach our cabin and shed gear—exhausted bodies, war-weary hearts. He studies my face. “Are you okay?” his voice low, concerned. I settle on the bunk. “It worked. But it’s another monster. And I keep thinking: how many more heads?”
He lies beside me, voice soft but unwavering. “We’ll end them together—no matter how many.” I close my eyes against the afterimages of fire and smoke. “Together.” He holds me close. “No more lone wolves.”
Outside, stars pulse through the viewport—cold, distant, endless. In that moment, sealed in each other’s arms, I believe it. Our purpose isn’t just survival—it’s the fight to shape a world where we can belong. Where we don’t just stop monsters—we build something permanent in their wake.
I drift to sleep with Dayn’s breath steady against my hair, the pulse of unity stronger than any echo of war.
He pulls me fully into his lap, and I straddle him instinctively, legs wrapping around his waist. His lips find mine again—no finesse, just heat and teeth. He kisses like he’s still bleeding, like he needs to confirm I'm real beneath his hands before the next shell drops.
“I thought I lost you,” he growls, voice rough, the rasp of his breath brushing the curve of my jaw. “You ran into that blast zone like you didn’t fucking care?—”
“I had to?—”
“No, Josie.” He presses his forehead to mine. All three of his eyes burn into me, the third on his brow shimmering faint crimson. “You don’t get to be a martyr. Not you. You’re all I?—”
I shut him up with my mouth. Tongue first. Then teeth.
He groans into me, claws tightening at my waist. He lifts me again—effortless, strong—and turns us, laying me back over the slanted hull of a shattered exo-chassis.
The metal is scorched and still hot, but his scaled body shields me from it.
His hand rips at my coveralls, impatient.
Fabric tears. I gasp, bare skin meeting humid air.
“You’re burning,” he whispers, dragging his mouth from my lips down my throat, across the curve of my breast. “You’re always burning.”
He sucks a nipple between his lips, tongue lapping it wet. I arch up into him, fingers tangling in the dark, bristled hair at the base of his neck. His scales are hot under my palms, metallic and alive.
“Dayn—fuck—don’t stop.”
“I’m not stopping. Not ever.”
His clawed hand cups my other breast, thumb circling my nipple until it stiffens under his touch. Then lower—he moves with terrifying precision. His hand slides down my belly, fingers parting my folds. I’m soaked, and he growls against my skin at the feel.
“You’re ready for me already,” he says, voice shaking with restraint.
“I need you,” I choke out, grinding against his fingers. “Now.”
He doesn’t tease.
Two fingers—thick, hot, careful—slide inside me. I gasp, body pulsing around the stretch. His mouth returns to my breasts, devouring. I’m pinned under him, each movement precise, deliberate, like he’s memorizing every moan I make.
“You feel like lightning,” he murmurs. “Like gravity is pulling me through your core.”
He fucks me slow with his fingers, curling them just right. Every curl brushes that sweet, maddening place inside me. My clit throbs—so sensitive it aches—and when his thumb presses against it, I jolt, legs tightening around his waist.
“Fuck—*Dayn—*I’m gonna?—”
He pulls back just enough to look into my eyes. “Then come for me. Right now.”
I do.
The orgasm crashes through me like a wave slamming iron. My vision goes white. I cry out, bucking against him, pussy clenching around his fingers so hard I swear I see stars. My whole body hums, thighs trembling.
Before I can even recover, he’s tearing away the last of my clothes. Then he strips—fast, silent. His scaled chest gleams with sweat and soot. His cock—thick, curved, ridged along the shaft—stands flushed and ready between us, leaking at the tip.
I swallow hard.
He sees the way I look at it. At him . His body—so powerful, so utterly alien —but so familiar now it makes my chest ache.
He presses the head against my entrance and slides it through my slick folds, slow and teasing. I squirm. My body is still shuddering from the first orgasm, already greedy for more.
“Take me,” I whisper. “ Please. ”
“Tell me you’re mine,” he says, his voice cracking like lightning across open sky.
“I’m yours. Always.”
He thrusts.
I scream. The stretch is everything—sharp, perfect, real. His cock fills me to the brim, every ridge scraping my inner walls in the most delicious way. He goes slow at first, letting me adjust, and then he drives deeper, grinding against my clit as he bottoms out.
“Fuck—Josie—so tight, ” he snarls. “You take me like you were made for this.”
“Because I was .”
He starts moving—deep, brutal thrusts that push me up against the hull, one hand braced behind my head so I don’t slam into metal. His other hand grips my hip, fingers digging into my flesh. His cock stretches me with every stroke, the ridges stroking every nerve inside me raw and alive.
“Harder,” I beg. “Don’t hold back—Dayn, please ? — ”
He growls, hips slamming into me harder. The slap of skin against skin is obscene in the jungle silence. Every thrust drives the breath from my lungs, every grind of his cock against my clit makes my eyes roll back.
He pins my wrists above my head and fucks me harder. I scream again, broken, and my second orgasm hits fast—blinding, body-breaking. My pussy spasms around him, milking him, soaking us both in my release.
“I can’t— fuck —I can’t stop coming?—”
“That’s right,” he groans, voice ragged. “Give it to me. Give me everything. ”
His movements go ragged. Desperate. He pounds into me, cock twitching deep. Then his whole body locks and he roars, spilling inside me in thick, hot pulses.
We shake. Shudder. Collapse.
I lie there beneath him, dazed and fucked senseless, panting hard. His chest heaves against mine, his forehead pressed to my shoulder. Our bodies are sticky with sweat and soot, and I feel his come trickling out of me as he finally softens.
“Still think I shouldn’t have gone in after the beacon?” I murmur, voice hoarse.
He lifts his head, eyes blazing.
“I’d rather fight an army than lose you again.”
I smile. “Guess you’ll have to keep saving me, then.”
He kisses me. Slow. Deep. Then lays his head against my chest, listening to my heart.
And in the ashes of war, blood still cooling around us, the only thing that matters is this: we lived. We found each other again.
Later, sheltered in the aftermath glow beneath the night sky, he pulls me into his arms. I hear the almost-whisper of the jungle around us—leaves murmuring lullabies. He looks at me with solemn intensity. “You are a force of nature,” he says, voice low and coated in awe.
I arch a brow and challenge his broad chest. “You better get used to it.”
He laughs—a rough, rich sound that stills something in me. “I will.” He twists a strand of my hair around his finger. “I already am.”
We sit there for a long moment, dusk pooling around us, the scorch of battle and the softness of night weaving together. I lean into his warmth, heartbeat pulsing beneath my collarbone, feeling both battered and whole.
We remain wrapped in each other’s arms until the stars burn out overhead, until the whispers of the jungle soften to silence. He kisses my forehead, a promise sealed in every breath. “Together,” he murmurs.
“Together,” I echo—steady, fierce, unbreakable.