Page 25 of Alien Devil’s Wrath (Vinduthi Stolen Brides #2)

T he wall gave way under my fists. Metal shrieked and buckled, reinforced panels tearing apart at the welds.

Each strike sent tremors through the structure.

My knuckles split against sharp edges, then healed before the blood could dry.

Rage fueled strength I didn’t know I possessed, even for a Vinduthi.

The command center opened before me—monitors flickering dead, emergency lights painting everything red, sparks cascading from destroyed circuits. Smoke rose from damaged panels. Burning electronics mixed with blood and terror-sweat created a stench that coated my throat.

And there she was.

Standing on top of a console, legs spread for balance, pressing a stolen comm unit against her mouth.

The sound coming from it made my teeth ache—the Gravewings’ hunting screech, that specific frequency that drove them to territorial violence.

Amplified through the comm system, focused and weaponized.

Three guards writhed on the floor below her.

A Poraki’s amphibious skin had gone grey with dehydration and fear, his webbed hands clamped over bleeding ears.

Dark red seeped between his fingers, staining his uniform.

A Krelaxian convulsed, his mottled brown body seizing.

Foam gathered at his mouth, pink with blood.

His eyes had rolled back, vessels burst from pressure.

A Merrith had vomited—bile and rations spreading across the floor in a puddle that reflected emergency lights.

The stench was sharp, acidic. The pale, translucent skin of the Merrith showed every broken blood vessel as he tried crawling toward the door, but his legs wouldn’t work.

He dragged himself forward using only arms, fingernails scraping against floor, leaving trails of sweat and piss.

Bronwen stood above them conducting their destruction.

Her hair hung wild, dark strands tangled and matted with blood—not hers, from the smell.

One sleeve was ripped at the shoulder, showing skin marked purple and yellow.

Finger marks, clearly defined. Her cheeks reddened from sharp blows.

And…her collar hung loose where someone had grabbed it. A bruise darkened on her throat.

Someone had wrapped their fingers around her throat and squeezed.

The rage went from hot to ice. Not burning fury that had driven me through walls. This was deeper, older. The kind that gave you focus so sharp it could cut. Every death would be precise. Every kill would be payment for those bruises.

She saw me emerge through the destroyed wall. Her face lit up.

“Finally!” She lowered the comm unit briefly, shifting her weight on the narrow console edge. “I was just teaching these gentlemen about frequency damage and structural weaknesses in various anatomies.”

Her voice carried that bright tone she used when discovering something particularly violent. No fear. No trauma from being captured. Just enthusiasm.

“The Merrith inner ear is even more delicate than expected. Six canals instead of three, all interconnected.” She gestured as she explained.

“Hit them at 2.4 kilohertz and their entire equilibrium system collapses. The Krelaxian took higher frequencies—their delicate hearing makes them more vulnerable. And the Poraki?” She tilted her head.

“His amphibious adaptations mean the fluid in his ears resonates at unique frequencies. The results are exactly what I’d hoped! ”

The Merrith guard tried rising despite his destroyed equilibrium.

Blood streaked from his nose—pressure changes had ruptured vessels throughout his delicate sinuses.

More blood leaked from his ears, dark against his pale skin.

He fumbled for his weapon, too uncoordinated to work the holster.

The energy pistol was halfway out when his knees buckled.

I crossed the distance in two strides. My boot connected with his chest.

The impact folded him. His more fragile Merrith bones didn’t just crack—they caved inward.

The entire front of his ribcage collapsed.

Bone fragments pierced organs. Heart punctured before he started flying backward.

He hit the wall hard enough to dent metal, leaving a crater.

Blood painted an arc across Slade’s pristine walls.

The body slid down, leaving red streaks, landing in a heap that barely looked like it had been Merrith.

“The kinetic energy transfer!” Bronwen touched her fingertips together in appreciation. “You adjusted for Merrith bone density. Their calcium structure is different from Krelaxian or Mondian—more brittle, less flexible. I could actually hear the harmonics of the fractures!”

Movement in peripheral vision. Slade.

He stood frozen near the weapons rack, nothing like the officer who’d commanded through fear.

His uniform hung wrong at one shoulder where someone had grabbed him.

The fabric torn at the seam. Hair stuck up in sweaty spikes, one section plastered to his forehead.

Emergency lights made his skin look grey, waxy.

He was smaller than memory had made him. Fear had diminished him.

His hand shook grabbing a pulse rifle from the rack. The weapon looked too heavy, his grip white-knuckled but uncertain. He fumbled with the safety. When he swung it toward Bronwen, I was already moving.

But she was dropping. Not falling—controlled descent, using the monitor bank for cover.

Her body folded and twisted, every movement calculated.

The pulse rifle discharged, energy bolt scorching air where she’d stood.

The monitor exploded in sparks and melted plastic.

Ozone mixed with burning electronics. Another monitor caught fire, small flames licking console.

Then the ceiling caved.

A Gravewing crashed through the weakened structure.

Twelve feet of wingspan barely fit. The creature had to fold wings to squeeze through.

Dark scales absorbed light rather than reflecting, making it look like animated shadow.

Its talons curved like scythes. Eyes caught emergency lights and threw them back red.

Its beak could snap a spine without effort.

It fixed on Slade immediately. He backed toward the door, each step telegraphing terror. His fear-scent filled the air—sharp, acidic, unmistakable. Gravewings hunted by fear as much as sight.

“Run, coward!” Bronwen called after him, laughing from behind the overturned desk. “That’s your specialty, right? Leaving people to die while you save yourself? Just like Zarek’s squad! Do they give medals for that?”

The Gravewing lunged, wings folding as it dove.

Slade reacted exactly as I’d known he would. He grabbed his surviving guard—a Nerath whose four arms had been trying to coordinate a defense—and shoved him into the creature’s path. Used him as a shield. Same as he’d used my squad.

The Nerath screamed once before the Gravewing’s talons found all four of his shoulders, piercing armor and flesh like paper.

Blood erupted from multiple wounds. The creature’s momentum carried them upward.

It shook him violently, and I heard vertebrae separate.

Then it slammed him into the ceiling hard enough to embed him in metal panels.

He stuck momentarily, blood dripping steadily, before falling.

The body landed wrong, all four arms at impossible angles.

More Gravewings poured through the breach. Two, then five, then a dozen. They’d been circling for hours, drawn by Bronwen’s calls, and now had access. Their shrieks harmonized, creating frequencies that made walls vibrate. Glass cracked in the remaining monitors.

The command center became carnage.

A Mondian soldier made it three steps before a Gravewing’s claws closed around his scaled shoulders.

His natural armor meant nothing to those talons.

The creature lifted him ceiling-ward, and his scream cut off when its beak found the soft spot where his skull met spine.

Blood sprayed in a wide arc. An Ewani ratman tried hiding under a desk, his mottled fur standing on end with terror.

A Gravewing’s talons pierced straight through the metal surface, grabbed him by his narrow chest, dragged him out.

He had time for a chittering curse in his own language before it opened him from throat to groin. His intestines spilled steaming.

I fought toward Bronwen. A Lyrikan guard blocked my path—young, his silver-white hair still styled despite the chaos. Terror filled his color-shifting eyes. I grabbed his head and twisted. The crack was loud even over Gravewing shrieks. His body dropped. I stepped over without looking.

A Gravewing dove at me. I caught the Lyrikan’s corpse and held it up as shield. The creature’s talons tangled in armor and bone. While it struggled, making frustrated shrieks, I grabbed its neck. Vertebrae were delicate despite size. One sharp twist and it dropped, wings spread and twitching.

Bronwen moved beside me through slaughter. Not away from danger—toward it. She still had the comm unit, directing Gravewings. A click pattern made them attack in formation. Another pattern circled them back. She was conducting murder while humming—some cheerful tune I didn’t recognize.

A Krelaxian guard grabbed her. She let him pull close, let him think he had control.

Then whispered in his ear. I couldn’t hear over chaos, but his mottled skin went pale.

Every muscle locked. He stood paralyzed by whatever she’d said as a Gravewing descended.

Its talons burst through his back and emerged from his chest. He was alive when it started feeding, tearing flesh from shoulders.

“His office!” She pointed to a reinforced door past carnage. Slade’s name engraved on brass, letters polished. “He ran but left it unlocked! We can barricade!”