Page 32 of Alien Devil’s Wrath (Vinduthi Stolen Brides #2)

T he third-floor landing opened into chaos.

Half the corridor was gone—blown out by a blast that had left scorch marks on the remaining walls.

Wind howled through the gap, carrying rain from the storm that had rolled in.

Bodies lay scattered across the floor. Some guards, some prisoners in the grey jumpsuits they all wore.

A Gravewing fed on remains I didn’t look at too closely, wings mantled possessively over its meal.

“Everyone’s fighting everyone!” Bronwen pulled me behind an overturned desk as energy bolts flew past.

She was right. Guards fought escaped prisoners. Prisoners fought each other. Gravewings dove through the holes in the walls, attacking anything that moved. The compound’s death had become a free-for-all where the only rule was survival.

Her eyes darted across the scene—cataloging exit routes, counting combatants, measuring distances. All in the time it took me to breathe.

“The guards still have comm coordination,” she said, pulling a unit from a corpse without looking at the body. “But if they think the breach is somewhere else...”

She keyed the unit, and her voice changed. Went from her usual brightness to panicked, breathless terror: “Containment breach in D-wing! They’re in D-wing! Send everyone—oh god, they’re everywhere!”

She clicked off, tossed the comm aside, and grinned at me.

“Three, two, one...”

The remaining guards in the corridor looked at each other. One touched his earpiece, listening to orders. Then they ran—not toward us, but away, heading for D-wing on the compound’s opposite side.

“So much more efficient than fighting.”

We moved through the battlefield. She guided us between conflicts, using prisoners and Gravewings as mobile cover.

When a guard spotted us, she pushed a wounded prisoner into his path, letting them tangle while we passed.

When a Gravewing dove at us, she made three sharp clicks with her tongue. It veered away, finding easier prey.

My ribs ground with each step. The separated shoulder sent lightning up my arm. But her strength kept me upright, kept me moving. I could feel her adjusting our pace to what I could manage—the careful way she supported my weight, the micro-adjustments when I stumbled.

The impound dock was four levels down and half the compound away. We’d have to cross the central hub—the most damaged section from the structural collapses.

“Can you make it?” she asked.

“No choice.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

I looked at her. Silver lines ran along her neck now, delicate designs that caught the emergency lighting. Her eyes held threads of silver among the brown. Mine.

“With you? Yes.”

She studied my face for a moment, then nodded.

The central hub had become a war zone. The massive open space—usually filled with processing desks and security checkpoints—was now a battlefield.

Prisoners had built barricades from destroyed furniture.

Guards held defensive positions behind overturned equipment.

Both sides had wounded. Neither would give ground.

“Crossfire,” I said. “No way through without?—”

Bronwen put two fingers in her mouth and whistled.

The sound cut through everything—gunfire, screaming, the structural groaning of failing supports. It wasn’t quite human, carrying harmonics that made my teeth ache. She’d learned it from predators that hunted in packs, creatures that called their family to feed.

The Gravewings came from everywhere.

They poured through the shattered skylights, erupted from ventilation shafts, flowed through holes in the walls. Dozens of them, drawn by her call. They descended on the hub in a coordinated assault that turned organized battle into blind panic.

Guards and prisoners alike scattered, their conflict forgotten in the face of aerial death. Weapons turned skyward. Screams echoed off what remained of the walls. The Gravewings didn’t discriminate—everything that moved was prey.

“Now!” Bronwen pulled me into the chaos.

We ran along the edge of the battle, using overturned desks and destroyed processing stations as cover.

She guided us like she could see the flight patterns before they happened.

When a Gravewing dove too close, she clicked at it—different patterns for different messages.

They responded instantly, veering away to find other targets.

A guard emerged from behind a barrier, rifle raised. Before I could react, Bronwen had moved. She grabbed the rifle barrel and squeezed. Metal crumpled. The weapon sparked and died. She shoved him backward into the path of two fighting prisoners, and we kept moving.

“You’re not killing,” I observed.

“Don’t need to! They’re doing it to each other.”

Through the hub. Down a service corridor. The lights here had failed, leaving only emergency strips along the floor. Water dripped from burst pipes above. Somewhere behind us, a structural collapse shook the entire building.

“Impound dock is through there,” I said, pointing to reinforced doors ahead.

“And they’ll be guarding it.” She paused, listening. “Six heartbeats. No—seven. Someone’s nervous, pulse elevated. Someone else is injured, rhythm irregular.”

“You can hear that?”

“I love this upgrade! I can smell them too. Fear and gun oil and... one of them is hurt badly. Internal bleeding from the scent.”

The doors were reinforced, designed to withstand prison riots. No way through without?—

Bronwen walked up and knocked.

“Hello!” she called out. “I need you to open the doors please!”

Silence from inside.

She knocked again, harder. The metal dented under her knuckles.

“I can keep knocking until the door breaks. Or you can open it. Your choice!”

Muffled voices inside. An argument: “Don’t open it!” “She’ll break through anyway!” “Slade’s dead, what’s the point?”

Then: “Back away from the door!”

We stepped back. The door opened slightly. A rifle barrel emerged.

Bronwen grabbed it, yanked hard. The guard—young, Polraki, terrified—came flying through the doorway. She caught him by the throat, gentle enough not to crush it, firm enough to control him.

“Now, here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to tell your friends to stand down. Then we’re going to take a ship and leave. Nobody else has to die.”

“Can’t—” he gasped. “Orders?—”

“Orders from who? Slade?” She examined his face. “He’s dead. I killed him about ten minutes ago. Crushed his throat. The cracking sounds were?—”

She paused, tilted her head.

“Well, you don’t need the details.”

The guard’s expression shifted to shock.

“So really, you’re following orders from a corpse. Seems inefficient.” She set him down but kept one hand on his shoulder. “Tell them to stand down.”

He looked at me, covered in blood and barely standing. Then at her, silver traceries visible in the dim light, smiling like this was all a game.

“Stand down!” he called back through the door. “Just... just let them through!”

“Smart choice.” She patted his head. “You might survive this!”

The doors opened fully. Six more guards inside, weapons lowered but ready. One was slumped against the wall, blood pooling beneath him—the internal bleeding she’d smelled.

We walked past them. They tracked our movement but didn’t raise their weapons. Smart. Or maybe just exhausted. The compound was dying. Their commander was dead. What was the point of dying for nothing?

The impound dock stretched ahead. Rows of confiscated vessels—transports, fighters, commercial haulers. Most were damaged, evidence of hard landings or violent captures.

“That one,” Bronwen said immediately, pointing to a small courier ship. “Fast, efficient, and recently fueled!”

We’d made it three steps when Gravewings shrieked overhead.

Gravewings. But not responding to her calls anymore. These were hunting on their own, maddened by blood and chaos. Three of them dove through the dock’s open ceiling, talons extended toward us.

I tried to push Bronwen aside, protect her?—

She laughed.

The sound was bright as she caught the first Gravewing by its throat. Her other hand found its wing joint. She twisted in opposite directions. Bone snapped. Cartilage tore. The creature’s shriek cut off as she separated its spine.

The second one hit me, talons raking across my back. Fresh pain on top of old. I went down to one knee.

Bronwen made a sound I’d never heard from her—a snarl that belonged to a much larger predator. She grabbed the Gravewing on my back, hauled it off, and did things that made wet sounds. The creature stopped moving.

The third wheeled away, self-preservation overriding bloodlust.

My hands shook. Not from fear. From wanting more. From almost losing control of the violence singing in my veins.

“Mine,” she said simply, helping me stand. “Nobody touches what’s mine.”

The possessiveness in her voice sent warmth through me despite everything.

We reached the courier ship. The hatch was locked, but Bronwen simply grabbed the handle and pulled. Metal protested, then gave way. We tumbled inside.

The controls were standard—I’d flown similar ships. My hands shook as I started the launch sequence. Bronwen sealed the hatch behind us, wedging the twisted metal into place.

“Can you fly?” she asked.

“Have to.”

Engines roared to life. Through the viewport, I saw guards finally mobilizing, running toward us. Too late.

I grabbed the controls and punched it.

We erupted from the impound dock into storm-lashed sky. Rain hammered the viewport. Lightning split the darkness. Behind us, an explosion lit up the night—a critical system had finally given way in the compound’s structure.

“We did it,” Bronwen said softly.

She pressed against my uninjured side, her warmth soaking through torn clothing.

Her satisfaction washed over me—not just at escaping, but at the chaos we’d left behind.

The compound would never recover. Slade was dead.

The shields were down. Every prisoner who could steal a ship was probably already gone.

I turned to look at her, exhausted and bleeding and never more certain of anything in my life.

“I love you,” I said. The words came out rough, cracked. “Should have said it hours ago. When you were transforming. When I thought?—”

She kissed me, fierce and possessive, then pulled back.

“I know,” she said softly. “I felt it. Every hour you fought for me. Every body you dropped. Every wound you took.” Her hand found mine. “I love you too. Have since you trusted me blind through toxic spores.”

“Your crew,” she said after we’d cleared the atmosphere. “They’re going to have questions.”

“Let them.”

“They might not accept?—”

“They will.” I turned to look at her, this brilliant, terrifying woman who’d become everything. “Or they won’t. Either way, you’re mine. That’s not negotiable.”

She smiled, and leaned into me carefully, mindful of my injuries.

“Yours,” she agreed. “Always.”