Page 22 of Alien Devil’s Wrath (Vinduthi Stolen Brides #2)

T he guards dragged me through the compound’s entrance, their grip unnecessarily tight on my arms. The transition from rough stone to polished metal floors told me everything about this place—sterile, controlled, the opposite of the living chaos I understood.

“Move faster,” one guard muttered, yanking me forward—a Poraki whose amphibious skin had dried to an unhealthy grey in this sterile environment.

I whimpered—the sound felt ridiculous coming from my throat, but his grip loosened slightly. Males like these always underestimated tears, regardless of species.

The walls were reinforced steel, no windows, no natural light. Every twenty meters, a security checkpoint with cameras. The cameras tracked movement but had a two-second delay in their rotation pattern. I filed that away.

We passed a room where guards lounged during shift change. I counted twelve inside—a mix of species taking breaks. Krelaxians comparing notes, humans playing cards, a Mondian cleaning his weapon. The wall display showed the time. Three hours until the next rotation.

The detention level smelled sharp—industrial cleaners that burned my nostrils. They shoved me into a cell—white walls, white floor, single bench, small ventilation grate near the floor. A small window broke the solid door. It sealed with a pneumatic hiss.

“Warden will see you soon,” the Poraki guard said through the small window. “Try to get comfortable.”

Their footsteps faded. I counted to one hundred, then dropped the terrified act.

The room was six paces by four. The bench was bolted down but had a loose bracket that could become a weapon with enough work. The ventilation grate was standard size, too small for escape but useful for other purposes.

I pressed my ear to the door. Footsteps passed every few minutes—regular patrols, predictable timing. The walls were thick but not soundproof. I could hear muffled voices from adjacent cells.

Time to meet the warden.

Joric Slade entered my cell two hours later, flanked by two guards.

He was exactly what I expected—polished surface over rot.

Pressed uniform, styled hair, the kind of masculine beauty that came from genetics rather than character.

After days of Zarek’s raw, honest violence, Slade looked fake, manufactured.

“You’re the woman who was traveling with the Vinduthi.” Not a question.

I pressed myself into the corner, letting my eyes go wide. “Please, I don’t know anything. He forced me to guide him. I was so scared?—”

“Stop.” He held up a manicured hand. “I’ve reviewed the nest footage. You directed those creatures to attack my men.”

Footage. They had cameras in the nest? No, more likely helmet recorders on the patrol. Some must have transmitted before dying. Noted.

“I don’t know what you mean,” I whispered, adding a small tremble to my voice.

He studied me, eyes cold. Zarek had mentioned those eyes—how they’d looked when he left his squad to die. I could see it now, the kind of cold that came from viewing people as pieces on a board.

“You’re going to tell me everything about his mission,” Slade said, his voice soft with the promise of pain. “Why he’s here. What that device is. Who sent him.”

“I told you, I don’t?—”

His hand cracked across my face. Not hard enough to really hurt, just enough to establish dominance. I let my head snap sideways, added tears to my eyes.

“Please,” I sobbed. “I’m just a guide. I live out there, in the wastes. He found me after his crash, said he’d kill me if I didn’t help.”

His backhand caught my other cheek, harder this time. The copper taste of blood filled my mouth where my teeth cut the inside of my cheek.

“The device,” he said patiently. “Tell me about it.”

“A retrieval from a ship. That’s all I know. He needed to reach a crashed ship, said the cargo was important.” I made my voice small, pathetic. “He didn’t tell me what. Just dragged me along, threatened me when I tried to run.”

Slade pulled a chair from the wall, sitting down to study me. “You know what I think? I think you’re not nearly as simple as you’re pretending.”

“I don’t understand?—”

“The way you moved through that nest. The sounds you made to control those creatures.” He leaned forward. “That’s not random knowledge. That’s years of study.”

I let pride flicker across my face before hiding it. Just enough for him to catch, to think he was breaking through my act.

“I... I’ve lived here for five years,” I admitted, voice still shaking. “You learn things. How to survive.”

“Five years.” His smile was all teeth, no warmth. “A convict then. What was your crime?”

“Theft,” I lied. “Food theft from a transport. They sent me here to die, but I adapted.”

He stood, circling me slowly. “Adapted. Yes, I can see that. You’ve become quite the survivor.”

His fingers traced along my jaw where he’d hit me. The touch made my skin crawl, but I held still, playing the cowed prisoner.

Slade leaned in, his smile all teeth. “Let me be clear about what happens next. You’re going to tell me everything about the Vinduthi. His weaknesses. His plans. In return, I might find a place for you here. Better than dying in the wastes, don’t you think?”

“He’ll come for me.” The words slipped out before I could stop them.

Slade laughed—a sound without humor. “Oh, I’m counting on it. Why do you think I left him alive?”

He moved to the door, then paused. “Think about my offer. Tomorrow, we’ll talk again. And if you’re not more cooperative...” He shrugged. “There are worse places than this cell.”

The door sealed behind him. I waited until the footsteps faded, then moved to the ventilation grate.

The grate was secured with standard screws, but the metal was old, slightly corroded. I could work with this.

I knelt beside it, placing my lips close to the opening.

The sound I needed wasn’t complex—just a specific pattern of clicks that would carry through the ventilation system and out into the night air.

I’d discovered it three years ago, watching Gravewings react to the death clicks of their prey.

The pattern triggered their hunting response, made them aggressive, territorial.

Click-click-click. Pause. Click-click. Pause. Click-click-click-click.

The sound was quiet, barely audible even to me, but it would travel through the metal ductwork, getting louder as it resonated. The compound’s ventilation system would carry it to every external vent, broadcasting my little invitation to the night hunters.

I repeated the pattern twelve times, then sat back.

The Gravewings were probably circling miles away, but the sound would draw them. First one or two scouts, then more when they found the compound full of warm bodies and bright lights—everything they hated and wanted to destroy.

I wasn’t calling for rescue. Zarek would come on his own terms, in his own way. I was just preparing the battlefield, adding chaos to order, creating the kind of environment where we both thrived.

A guard walked past my cell, and I quickly resumed my position in the corner, shoulders hunched, the picture of defeat.

“Everything alright in there?” he asked through the window—another Krelaxian, younger than the commander who’d taken us.

“Yes,” I whispered, adding a small sob. “Please, I just want to go home.”

He moved on, and I settled on the bench to wait.

Home was wherever Zarek was. And he was coming. My magnificent monster was going to tear this place apart looking for me, and I was going to make sure he had all the lovely chaos he needed to work with.

I tapped out a rhythm against my thigh—not the Gravewing pattern, just a nervous beat. The kind of thing a broken, frightened woman might do to comfort herself.

The kind of sound that would make them underestimate me right until the moment everything went wrong.