Page 26 of Alien Devil’s Wrath (Vinduthi Stolen Brides #2)

We moved together through slaughter. Bodies everywhere made the floor slick—Mondian scales mixed with Merrith blood, Krelaxian gore pooling dark.

An Orlian guard slipped in the mess and went down hard.

A Gravewing was on him instantly. Her hand found mine.

Her fingers were steady—no tremor, no fear.

Just warm certainty as she led past dying guards and feeding creatures.

The door was heavy but not locked. He’d fled too fast to secure properly.

We pushed through, and I slammed it behind us, engaging every lock, throwing deadbolts.

The mechanism was complex—multiple pins, reinforced steel.

Battle sounds continued outside—screaming that ended abruptly, wild pulse fire, wet sounds of Gravewings feeding—but inside went quiet except our breathing.

Slade’s office screamed compensation for inadequacy.

The desk was polished mahogany, worth more than most homes.

Old Earth wood, imported, the size of a small shuttle, dominating the room.

Covered in neat paper stacks, expensive pens in crystal holders, a decanter of amber liquid that cost more per ounce than medicine.

Behind it sat a leather throne. The leather from some extinct Earth animal, treated, supple. Worth fortunes.

Walls covered in military honors. Medals, commendations, certificates. Half I knew he hadn’t earned. Battle of Keras Ridge. He’d been in a supply depot three systems away. Mondian Pacification. He’d taken credit for my unit’s work. Stolen valor matching stolen trust.

But what caught attention was the wall safe behind his largest award, claiming excellence in combat leadership. The safe barely visible, edges hidden by frame, but unmistakably there. He’d keep the Regalia close, where he could gloat. Where he could touch it and remember beating me.

The room reeked of his cologne—expensive cedar and musk, trying to cover moral decay.

But something else about this space. Walls thicker than standard.

Sound traveled differently. The door we’d entered was reinforced steel, multiple locks.

No windows. Ventilation through secured ducts too small for entry.

The warden’s office was a panic room—blast-proof walls, encrypted locks, designed for riots or assassination attempts. He’d built himself a fortress within a fortress. Perfect for our needs.

I turned to check Bronwen for injuries, already reaching for bruises on her throat, cuts on her arms, needing to catalog every hurt.

She launched herself at me.

Her mouth crashed into mine, hungry and demanding.

Her hands tangled in my hair, pulling hard, forcing me down to her level.

She bit my lower lip until blood welled, then sucked it away, licked the copper clean.

The sound she made—part moan, part growl—sent heat straight through me.

Her tongue found mine, aggressive and needy.

I responded without thinking. Lifted her, legs wrapping around my waist immediately. Carried her to Slade’s precious desk, supporting her weight, feeling her warmth through torn fabric.

I set her on polished surface. Papers scattered, floating down. An expensive pen holder crashed, crystal shattering. A framed commendation fell, glass spreading in fragments. She laughed against my mouth, delighted at the destruction.

“I knew you’d come.” Words between desperate kisses, her touch everywhere—checking wounds, pulling clothes, claiming. “My brilliant sweetheart, tearing through walls for me. The way you destroyed them. You were everything I imagined.”

I mapped her body, finding each hurt. Each injury catalogued, filed. Each would be paid in blood.

“Did they—” Words stuck in my throat. If they’d touched her beyond violence?—

“No.” She understood immediately, framing my face. “They knocked me around, tried scaring me. But nothing worse. Slade wanted me intact for interrogation. Had plans for after dealing with you.” Her smile turned vicious. “Dead men don’t get plans, though.”

“I’ll kill him slowly.” Words came out barely human. “Make him understand what he’s lost. Show him what happens when someone touches what’s mine.”

“Yes.” Her legs tightened around my waist. I could feel her heat through clothes, smell arousal mixing with adrenaline and violence. The combination was intoxicating. “But first, stop protecting and start using me.”

The door’s first impact reverberated through reinforced metal.

But panic room construction held firm. The door didn’t dent. We’d have time.

She pulled back enough to meet my gaze. Her eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, but focused. Not lost to lust—calculated. She framed my face, thumbs tracing my jaw until finding fangs. They were already extended—had been since seeing those throat bruises.

“You know what I want.” Voice steady despite chaos outside, despite another door impact. “What I’ve wanted since understanding what you could give me.”

Her thumb pressed against one fang until a drop of blood welled. She brought it to her mouth, sucked it off while maintaining eye contact. The gesture sent possession roaring through me.

“Stop protecting me, Zarek.” She rolled her hips, and we both gasped. I was hard, had been since she’d kissed me, and she ground against me through clothes. “Make me your weapon. Make me yours.”

Another impact. The door held—breaking through blast-proof construction would take hours. Hours we could use.