Page 12 of Alien Devil’s Wrath (Vinduthi Stolen Brides #2)
T he alcove provided relief from the tunnel’s oppressive atmosphere. A natural widening in the passage where we could rest without worrying about spore concentrations or structural collapses. Water trickled from a crack in the wall, and mineral formations created natural shelves where we could sit.
I was reaching for samples of the rock formations when the sharp edge bit deep into my palm.
“Well, that’s inconvenient,” I said, examining the cut as blood welled dark against my pale skin. “Going to make grip strength problematic for the next few kilometers.”
Zarek was beside me before I’d finished speaking, those massive hands surprisingly gentle as he caught my wrist.
“Let me see.”
His fingers were careful as he examined the wound, tilting my palm to catch the dim light. This close, I could see the way his iron-grey traceries stood out against his skin. The dim light made everything seem more intimate, more charged.
“It’s manageable,” I said, transfixed watching him work. “Just needs proper cleaning to prevent infection.”
“Deep enough to be a problem in this environment.” He was already pulling supplies from his pack, his movements economical and sure. “These caves are breeding grounds for bacteria.”
He cleaned the wound thoroughly, his touch feather-light despite hands that I’d seen snap necks without effort. There was something mesmerizing about watching him focus that careful attention on me. The way he handled my injured hand like something precious.
“You’re very gentle for someone who dismantled six armed convicts,” I said softly, studying his face as he worked.
His eyes flicked up to meet mine. “You’re very small.”
“I’m tougher than I appear.”
“I know.” His thumb traced carefully along the edge of the cut, checking for debris. “But you’re still human.”
The way he said it, not like a weakness but like something valuable, made my pulse quicken. When was the last time anyone had treated me like something worth protecting instead of something to be used?
He bound the wound carefully, his fingers gentle around the delicate bones of my wrist. The makeshift bandage was neat, professional, clearly the work of someone who’d done field medicine before.
“There. That should keep it clean until we’re out of here.”
But he didn’t release my hand immediately. Instead, he sat back against the stone wall, still cradling my bandaged palm in both of his much larger ones. His thumbs traced idle patterns across my knuckles.
“How did you end up here?” he asked finally, his voice rougher than usual. “Five years ago, what brought you to this place?”
The question was more personal than any he’d asked before. I could deflect, make light of it, keep my past buried where it belonged. But something about the gentle way he’d tended my wound made deflection feel wrong.
Besides, he’d trusted me enough to follow me blind through toxic spores. The least I could do was return some of that trust.
“I tried to kill someone,” I said matter-of-factly. “My dosage calculations were insufficient.”
His grip on my hand tightened slightly. Not in surprise. More like encouragement.
“What kind of someone?”
“The kind who collected beautiful things so he could break them systematically.” I settled more comfortably against the stone, appreciating the way his attention focused on me. “I was indentured to him. A caretaker for his private menagerie.”
“What kind of creatures?”
“Everything rare and wonderful. Not just sentients. A young Selenthian whose fingertips would dim when he was frightened. A pair of Nexian mathematicians who could calculate probability patterns but couldn’t understand why their equations didn’t protect them from pain.
But also predators from a dozen worlds. Shade Crawlers from the northern wastes, juvenile Stalkers he was trying to domesticate, even a Glimmer Moth colony. ”
My voice went soft with memory. “The Poraki elder taught me the clicking languages that work on most pack hunters. The Stalkers showed me their dominance patterns. Even the Moths had their own form of communication through light pulses. I learned from all of them.”
I could see him processing this, recognition flickering across his features.
“They were beautiful, you see. Intelligent. Rare.” My tone went flat, clinical. “Everything that made them special also made them perfect subjects for someone who enjoyed sophisticated cruelty.”
“He tortured them.”
“For entertainment. To show dinner guests how exotic his collection was. Not just pretty creatures in cages, but thinking beings who could truly suffer.” I flexed my bandaged hand, remembering.
“He especially enjoyed my distress when I tried to intervene. That was almost as entertaining as their pain.”
Zarek’s breathing had changed, his grip on my hand becoming protective rather than gentle. The iron-grey traceries on his arms stood out sharp in the dim light.
“I tried reasoning with him at first. Begging. Even offered to take punishments in their places.” I looked up at Zarek, my smile sharp. “But he enjoyed watching me break almost as much as watching them die.”
“So you decided to put him down.”
“Like the rabid animal he was.” My voice carried genuine satisfaction at the memory.
“I’d been studying the plants in his gardens, you see.
Learning which ones produced the most useful compounds.
There was this lovely vine that grew near the water features.
Its sap looked like liquid silver, and just a few drops caused complete nervous system paralysis. ”
I traced patterns on his palm while I spoke, remembering the planning, the anticipation.
“I mixed it into his wine during one of his dinner parties. Had to sit there making polite conversation while I watched him drink poison, sip by careful sip. The paralysis started in his fingers, exactly as intended, and spread inward from there.”
“But he survived.”
“The concentration wasn’t sufficient for his body mass.
” Genuine regret colored my voice. Not for the attempt, but for the miscalculation.
“He convulsed for hours, lost all control of his bodily functions, probably experienced exquisite agony. But his physician had access to advanced medical support, and by morning he was stable enough to have me arrested.”
I looked up at Zarek, meeting his gaze directly.
“My only regret is the flawed methodology. I had one opportunity, and I wasted it on insufficient preparation.”
He was quiet for a long moment, studying my face in the dim light. When he spoke, his voice was rough.
“That’s why you want off this rock.”
“Exactly. He’s still out there, still breathing, still collecting beautiful things to break. That’s unacceptable.”
Understanding flickered across his features. “You’re not seeking freedom. You’re finishing an interrupted experiment.”
“Precisely.” I smiled at him, pleased that he understood so easily. “I learned so much during my first attempt. About dosages, about timing, about the importance of multiple contingency plans. The next application will be much more successful.”
The silence stretched between us, heavy and electric. We were both killers, both driven by unfinished business that had nothing to do with justice and everything to do with settling scores.
His thumb continued tracing across my knuckles, the gesture absent but possessive.
He spoke with finality. “Once we are clear of this world, you’ll need transportation. Contacts. Resources for a proper hunt.”
The offer hung in the air between us, more generous than I’d dared hope for.
“Are you volunteering to provide support?” I asked, tilting my head to study his face.
His answer was simple, devastating in its certainty.
“I’m volunteering to watch you work.”
The words settled deep in my chest, dark and wonderful and exactly what I’d been craving without knowing it. Someone who understood that some experiments were worth completing, no matter how long they took.
Someone who wouldn’t try to talk me out of necessary research, or my necessary vengeance, but would stand witness to it instead.