Page 11 of Alien Devil’s Prey (Vinduthi Stolen Brides #1)

I stared at the coordinates glowing on the screen, my mind running scenarios while another part of me—the part that had kept me alive hunting my master's murderers—assessed the woman sitting across from me.

Tamsin had just handed me the location of the real Regalia. But more than that, she'd given me something I'd never expected to find: a partner whose hatred burned as deep as my own.

This changes everything, I thought. I need to get a message to Rylos, update the mission parameters. But the comms were still dead. That would have to wait.

"The Maw," I said, testing the name. It felt appropriate—a place that devoured ships and lives with equal hunger.

"Kelloch's fortress." Her voice carried the kind of controlled hatred that took years to perfect. "He's turned that asteroid into a monument to suffering. Processing levels, holding cells, training facilities where they break people into compliant property."

The details painted a picture I'd seen before, in other facilities run by other monsters. The Conclave's network of allies was vast and cruel, each one finding new ways to monetize human misery.

"The approach will be tricky," she said, pulling up a star chart. "The electromagnetic interference that hides the station also blinds sensors. We'll have to navigate by visual reference and dead reckoning for the final approach."

"Can you do it?"

She looked at me with something approaching incredulity.

"I've been studying their approach vectors for years.

I know every asteroid field, every navigation hazard, every sensor blind spot between here and The Maw.

" Her confidence was absolute, unshakeable.

"The question is whether you can get us inside once we arrive. "

I considered the problem. A fortress built into an asteroid, defended by paranoid slavers with everything to lose. It would require precision, timing, and no small amount of luck.

"What do you know about their security protocols?"

"Standard Kythara operating procedure," she said, calling up a schematic from memory.

"Automated defense platforms in the outer approaches, manned patrol ships in the middle zone, and layered screening at the station itself.

They'll scan for weapons, contraband, anything that doesn't match their manifest expectations. "

"And inside?"

"That's where it gets complicated." Her expression darkened.

"Kelloch doesn't trust anyone, not even his own people.

The station is compartmentalized—different security zones, limited access between levels.

The Regalia will be in his personal vault, deep in the core where only he and his most trusted lieutenants can reach it. "

The scope of the challenge was becoming clear. This wasn't just a theft—it was a surgical strike against one of the most paranoid crime lords in known space.

"We'll need a cover story," I said. "Something that gets us past the outer defenses and into the station proper."

"I've been thinking about that." She called up another display, showing shipping manifests and cargo schedules.

"The Kythara take delivery contracts from legitimate businesses that don't ask too many questions.

If we can forge the right credentials, make ourselves look like a routine cargo delivery. .."

"They'll still scan us."

"Not if we're carrying exactly what they expect to find.

" Her smile carried sharp edges. "I know a forger on The Rustbucket—a waystation in the Hadrian Belt.

She owes me favors, and she's good enough to fool Kythara sensors.

It's also the kind of place we can get off-the-books parts and labor to fix the Drifter . "

The Rustbucket. I'd heard of it—a ramshackle trading post that catered to the kind of people who valued anonymity over comfort. Exactly the sort of place where someone like Tamsin would have contacts.

"How long to reach this waystation?"

"Four hours, if we leave now." She was already plotting the course, her movements confident and decisive. "We can be in and out with new identities, cargo, and repairs within a day. That gives us just enough time to reach The Maw before the Conclave's system goes live."

The timeline was tight, but workable. More importantly, it gave us the tools we needed to approach Kelloch's fortress without triggering every alarm in the sector.

"There's something else," she said, her voice carrying a new weight. "Something you need to understand about The Maw before we commit to this."

I waited, recognizing the tone of someone about to reveal an uncomfortable truth.

"Kelloch isn't just a slaver," she said, her voice dropping. "He supplies the entire sector. The Maw is the central hub for human trafficking. We're not just hitting a fortress—we're walking into the beating heart of an empire."

The implications settled over me like a cold wind.

Success would cripple the Kythara's operations for years, striking a blow against the Conclave's network that would resonate throughout the criminal underworld.

Failure would mean worse than death—it would mean becoming part of Kelloch's collection, another trophy in his monument to suffering.

"You're having second thoughts," Tamsin observed, reading something in my expression.

"No." The answer came without hesitation. "I'm calculating the cost of failure."

"And?"

"It's acceptable." I looked at her directly, letting her see the resolve that had carried me through three years of hunting my master's murderers. "The prize is worth the risk. What it could accomplish—it's worth any price."

Something shifted in her expression then, a recognition that went deeper than tactical partnership. She understood the weight of carrying a cause larger than yourself, the burden of being responsible for something that mattered more than your own survival.

"Then we do this," she said simply.

I watched her plot the course to The Rustbucket, feeling the ship's systems respond. The next few days would determine whether we were heroes or corpses, but in this moment, with Tamsin beside me and our target finally within reach, I felt something I hadn't experienced since the Sovereign's death.

Hope.