Page 5 of Alien Devil’s Wrath (Vinduthi Stolen Brides #2)

T he dust storm hit without warning. A wall of grit and sand scoured exposed skin raw as we scrambled for shelter. The shallow cave Bronwen found barely fit us both. We pressed close together to avoid the worst of the wind ripping past the entrance.

I gripped the stone wall, knuckles white, waiting for the fresh wave of fire in my shoulder to subside as the fragments inside shifted, scraping raw tissue.

The ones in my thigh sent fire up my leg.

My healing factor was working, but slowly.

The wounds kept trying to close around the foreign objects, creating inflammation instead of proper repair.

“Your pupils are dilated,” she said, her gaze mapping my features, analytical and curious in the dim light. “And there’s a tremor in your left hand you’re trying to hide.”

“I’m fine.” The words were grit, forced through my teeth.

She shifted on her toes, those dark eyes sharp with interest. “Stalker venom is cumulative. Right now you feel functional, but the alkaloids are building in your system. In a few hours, your nervous system will start shutting down.”

I assessed my condition. The pain was manageable. My strength remained mostly steady. My vision was clear.

“I feel fine.”

“Of course you do. That’s what makes it so interesting.” She was already moving, reaching for something in her pack. “The toxin doesn’t cause immediate symptoms. It accumulates until it reaches critical mass, then triggers cascading organ failure.”

Her voice carried genuine excitement, like she was discussing a fascinating puzzle. She spoke about my potential death like it was the most engaging problem she’d encountered all week.

“Why do you care?” I growled.

Her smile was cheerful and utterly without warmth. “Dead Vinduthi warriors are much less useful than living ones.”

She knelt before me, close enough that her knees brushed mine, close enough that her warmth soaked through my clothes.

“I’ve been dying to test this mixture on someone with your kind of healing,” she said, producing a small mortar and pestle carved from bone.

She ground fungus spores into paste, humming under her breath. The mixture glowed faintly blue-green. When she added a few drops of clear sap, it began to emit a cool, medicinal scent.

“Such a lovely color,” she murmured. “Like bioluminescent algae, but actually useful.”

She reached for my shoulder, and I caught her wrist.

“Don’t.”

“The poultice needs to go directly on the wound.” Her voice was patient but eager. “The compound will neutralize the alkaloids and dissolve the barb fragments.”

My fingers tightened around her wrist. Her skin was soft, warm, and her pulse beat steadily beneath my thumb. No fear. No concern about being restrained by a Vinduthi warrior who could break her bones without effort.

“Please,” she said, those dark eyes fixed on mine. “Let me help you.”

Against every instinct, I released her wrist.

Her fingers were practiced as she applied the poultice, but far from clinical. She was clearly enjoying herself, spreading the cool mixture over the inflamed wound in slow, deliberate strokes that served no medical purpose.

“Your skin is remarkable,” she murmured, her fingertips trailing along the grey traceries on my arm. “These patterns are beautiful. Do humans find them intimidating? They should. They mark you as something designed to kill.”

Every touch sent fire through my nervous system. Every brush of her fingertips made my cock strain against my pants. She leaned closer, her breast brushing my uninjured shoulder, her lips nearly touching my ear.

“Your body temperature runs higher than human normal,” she whispered, her breath warm against my neck. “Probably more efficient metabolism. Impressive adaptation.”

Heat radiated from her skin as she bent over to tend to my leg, filling the confined space, and every nerve in my body lit with a primal awareness. Want gathered low in my belly, sharp and demanding.

My fangs ached. The claiming urge clawed at what remained of my control.

“There,” she announced, sitting back on her heels and examining her work.

The poultice had already begun to draw the heat from the wounds, the angry red inflammation fading.

Within minutes, the barb fragments dissolved and the wounds started knitting properly.

“That worked even better than expected. The alkaloids should be neutralized within the hour.”

The difference was immediate. The throbbing pain receded, my vision cleared, strength returned to muscles that had been fighting poison.

“Thank you,” I said grudgingly.

Twenty-two kilometers to go, according to the tracker’s steady pulse. We could make it by midday tomorrow if we kept this pace.

She was quiet for a moment, her gaze traveling over my face, my throat, lingering on my mouth. When she spoke, her voice carried a breathless quality that hadn’t been there before.

“Tell me about the Claiming Bite.” Her pupils were dilated, her lips slightly parted. “I’ve heard rumors, but I want to know the truth. The DNA transfer, the permanent bonding, the complete transformation.”

She leaned forward, heat radiating from her body.

“Would it hurt?” she asked softly, practically vibrating with excitement as she exposed the vulnerable curve of her throat. “When you sank your fangs in right here?” Her finger traced a path along her pulse point, and I nearly lost what remained of my control.

“What?” The word came out as a growl of pure need.

“The Claiming Bite.” She bit her lower lip, and the small act of aggression sent a jolt of heat straight to my groin. “Extra strength, speed, enhanced senses, extended lifespan, accelerated healing. The most comprehensive biological upgrade imaginable.”

She laid her palm flat against my chest, a gesture of ownership over the heart that now beat for her.

“I want it,” she said simply, her voice filled with genuine enthusiasm. “I want you to bite me. Mark me.” She paused, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Make me yours completely. Isn’t that what I’m supposed to say? Or should I swoon?”

My body went rigid. Every muscle locked. Fury and outrage and terrifying desire crashed through me.

She was talking about the most sacred act of my people like it was a convenient transaction. Like it was something to be purchased rather than experienced and cherished.

“You don’t ask for that,” I snarled, my voice thick with barely controlled rage. “Ever.”

“Why not?” Those eyes lit up with curiosity. “It’s clearly an advanced form of biological bonding. The practical benefits alone would be incredibly useful.”

An upgrade. A tool. A convenience.

She saw the most profound bond possible between two beings as nothing more than a way to improve her capabilities. She didn’t understand that it would bind us both forever, that she’d belong to me as much as I’d belong to her.

The claiming urge roared through me, primitive and overwhelming. Every instinct I possessed demanded I pin her to the cave floor and show her exactly what the bite meant.

Instead, I leaned back against the stone wall and closed my eyes.

“That’s not something we offer to outsiders.”

“But I just saved your life,” she pointed out cheerfully. “Doesn’t that earn me some insider privileges?”

“No.” The word was final, absolute. “Find another way to enhance yourself.”

When I opened my eyes, she was watching me with that same sharp, predatory smile.

As if my refusal was just another puzzle to solve.