Page 31 of Alien Devil’s Wrath (Vinduthi Stolen Brides #2)

S lade never saw me coming.

My hand closed around his wrist just as the plasma blade would have kissed Zarek’s neck.

The bones ground together under my grip.

His radius cracked first—a clean snap. Then the ulna, slightly lower pitch.

His fingers spasmed open. The blade fell, deactivating automatically before it hit the floor with a metallic clatter.

“Hello,” I said conversationally.

He tried to scream. I covered his mouth, feeling his jaw work uselessly against my palm.

His terror scent exploded—acid and ammonia and prey.

Through my new vision, I watched his pupils dilate rapidly.

His pulse climbing. Capillaries in his sclera were dilating from stress, creating delicate red patterns. Beautiful fear responses.

“Shh.” I turned him to face me without letting go of his broken wrist. The bones ground together, creating vibrations I could feel through his tissue. “Let’s be quiet. I want Zarek to see this.”

His pale eyes widened further. So many physiological tells—micro-tremors in his facial muscles, sweat beading despite the cool air, his expensive cologne unable to mask the sharp stench of his terror.

“You kept him fighting for eighteen hours,” I said, examining him from angles my new vision allowed without moving my head. Seeing him in spectrums beyond human perception. “Such dedication. Exhausting himself to keep me safe while I transformed. While I became this.”

I smiled, letting him see the small fangs my transformation had given me. Not as prominent as Zarek’s, but sharp enough to tear.

“Would you like to know what eighteen hours of transformation feels like?” I tilted my head, watching his pulse in infrared, seeing his blood pressure spike.

“Every cell dying and being reborn? Every bone dissolving and restructuring? Every neuron rewiring itself? I was conscious for most of it. Floating in and out, feeling everything.”

His guards raised their weapons. The Mondians’ scales rattled—threat display. The Krelaxian’s finger tensed on the trigger.

“Don’t,” I said without looking at them. “Not unless you want to see how fast I’ve become.”

I released Slade’s mouth but kept his wrist. He gasped, tried to speak. What emerged was a whimper—the frequency of universal distress.

“You were going to hurt him,” I continued, walking him backward. Each step calculated to increase his instinctive prey response. “Then do things to me. Plans, you said. Projects.”

We reached the wall. I pressed him against it, feeling his ribs compress just to the edge of cracking. His breathing went shallow, rapid.

“Here’s what’s actually going to happen,” I said. “You’re going to die. Quickly, because unlike you, I have other priorities. But I want you to know this first.”

I leaned close, lips nearly touching his ear. His terror spiked into transcendence.

“You created this. Your need to hurt Zarek, to make him suffer, that’s what triggered my transformation early. Your cruelty called me back from unconsciousness. You literally created the thing that’s going to kill you.”

Tears gathered in his eyes. Not even interesting. Autonomic response to extreme fear.

“Any last words?” I asked, mimicking his earlier question to Zarek.

He tried to speak. His mouth worked, throat convulsing. What emerged was: “Please?—”

“Boring,” I said.

My hand moved from his ribs to his throat. I felt each structure—the thyroid cartilage, the cricoid below it, the delicate hyoid bone floating above. The carotid arteries pulsing rapidly on either side. The vagus nerves running alongside. So many options for ending a life.

I chose efficiency.

My grip tightened in one motion. His trachea collapsed with a wet crunch.

The hyoid snapped. But I didn’t stop there.

Compressed the carotids simultaneously, cutting blood flow to his brain.

The vagus nerves got caught in the pressure, triggering immediate cardiac arrest—his heart stuttering, stopping, falling silent.

Three killing methods simultaneously executed. He was dead before his brain could process what had happened. No final thought. No last moment of understanding. Just existence to void.

His body went limp. I held him up for another heartbeat, studying the way life left his eyes. Pupils dilating fully. Skin losing color almost imperceptibly as circulation ceased.

“At least the physiological cascade was remarkable,” I murmured, then let him drop.

He crumpled at my feet, head lolling at an angle confirming vertebrae had separated. Very thoroughly dead.

I turned to face the room.

The guards stood frozen. Weapons raised but trembling. They’d just watched me appear from nowhere and kill their commander with one hand. Their fear pheromones created layers. Sharp Krelaxian anxiety, musty Mondian dread, acidic Poraki terror.

Zarek was still on his knees, staring at me. Blood ran from the shallow cut on his throat, mixing with everything else painting him red. His exhaustion pulled at me, but underneath was awe. Pride. Love so fierce it made my chest tight in ways that had nothing to do with transformation.

I walked to him, stepped delicately over Slade’s corpse. The blood on the floor was tacky under my bare feet—they’d lost my shoes somewhere during capture.

“Sorry I took so long,” I said softly, holding out my hand to help him up.

His hand engulfed mine. Even exhausted, even broken, his grip was steady. Warm. Home. He rose to his feet, swaying. I moved closer, let him lean against me. My new strength held his weight easily.

“You’re—” His voice cracked. Eighteen hours of fighting had left him hoarse.

“Upgraded,” I finished. “We can discuss the technical specifications later. Right now, we have a compound to escape and guards to evade. Or kill. I’m flexible.”

The Mondian guards were backing toward the door, scales rattling—autonomic fear response. One reached for his comm unit.

“I wouldn’t,” I said pleasantly. “I’m still learning my own strength. Might accidentally remove your arm instead of just taking the comm.”

He dropped the device. It clattered on the blood-soaked floor.

But I bent down and picked up Slade’s command pad, still clipped to his belt. The screen was active, his biometrics keeping it logged in even after death.

His body had other useful items. Credit chips in his breast pocket—untraceable bearer chips, the kind corrupt officials loved.

I pocketed them all. A data stick on a chain around his neck, hidden under his uniform.

That went into my pocket too. Another stick in his boot—paranoid man, multiple backups.

Good for us.

"What are you doing?" one of the guards asked, voice shaking.

"Shopping," I said absently, still rifling through pockets. "Your boss won't need these anymore, and life out there is expensive."

“Tsk, tsk,” I said, fingers flying across the interface of the command pad. “Still logged in. How sloppy.” I found what I was looking for quickly. “Shield controls. Full compound access. And look—emergency protocols.”

I selected ‘Total Shield Failure’ from the emergency menu. The screen flashed red, requesting confirmation. I pressed Slade’s limp thumb to the scanner.

“Shield generators disengaging,” the system announced. “Warning: planetary defense grid offline.”

The guards’ eyes widened. Without shields, every prisoner who could find a ship could escape. The chaos above was about to get exponentially worse.

“Run,” I told them. “Or die. I’d prefer you run—I want to test my tracking abilities. But dying is faster if you’re in a hurry.”

They ran.

Their boots thundered down the corridor, probably heading for whatever rally point remained. They’d bring reinforcements. Or try to escape themselves now that the shields were down. The entire remaining guard force would either converge on this location or flee the planet.

“Can you walk?” I asked Zarek.

“Yes.” A lie. He could barely stand. I could feel his muscles trembling.

“Can you walk if I help?”

“Yes.” Truth this time. He’d crawl if it meant staying with me.

I pulled his arm over my shoulders, careful of his injuries. Took most of his weight. His exhaustion was almost physical, but also his determination. His absolute refusal to slow me down.

“The impound dock,” I said, checking Slade’s pad again. “Level B-3. Where they keep confiscated ships. With the shields down, we can take any of them.”

“Compound failing.” His words came between harsh breaths. “Riots. Gravewings. Structure?—”

“Isn’t it magnificent!” The chaos above had reached critical mass—I could hear it through the walls. “Everyone will be too busy surviving to stop us. And with the shields down, half of them will be racing for ships too.”

Despite everything, he made a sound that might have been a laugh. It hurt him—I felt the spike of pain from his ribs—but also the flash of genuine amusement.

We moved toward the door, stepping over the bodies of guards he’d killed defending me. Forty-three, Slade had said. Forty-three people dead because they’d tried to reach me while I was helpless. The hallway beyond was painted with evidence of his dedication.

“You did all this for me,” I said softly.

“Would do it again.” No hesitation. Just fact.

“I know.” I pressed closer to his side, careful not to jostle his dislocated shoulder. “But now you don’t have to do it alone.”

Alarms wailed through the facility—not the steady alert from before but chaotic, overlapping. Multiple systems failing simultaneously. Through the walls, I could hear structural supports groaning. Water rushed through broken pipes three floors up. Fires crackled in the ventilation system.

And now, a new alarm: “Warning: Shield failure. All personnel to evacuation stations. Warning: Shield failure.”

“Which way?” I asked.

“Down.” He pointed to a service corridor. “Impound dock is sublevel.”

“Then down we go.” I started toward the stairwell, already mapping the path with my new senses. “With everyone panicking about the shields, we might even get a clear path.”

Behind us, boots thundered—but they were running away, not toward us. The compound was entering full evacuation mode.

We reached the stairwell door. I yanked it open—my new strength nearly tore it from its hinges—and pulled Zarek through. The emergency lighting painted everything red, and somewhere above, an explosion rattled the structure.

“Almost there,” I said, supporting his weight as we descended. “Just a little further.”

I felt his trust. Complete and absolute. He’d held the line for eighteen hours, and now I’d carry him the rest of the way.

Together, we descended into the madness, Slade’s command pad our key to freedom.