Page 11 of Bound to the Alien Orc (Alien Gambits #1)

Chapter 11

M y steps are heavy, my pace brisk as I stride towards Tasha’s cell. My heart is pounding in my chest. The anticipation of seeing her, of finally getting answers, drives me forward. Thoughts swirl in my mind as I consider the possibilities. Why is there such a rush to name some human engineer an assassin? Why is the trial going ahead without an investigation? Who else is involved, and what is their goal? Most importantly, how is it all connected?

My gut churns, a mix of trepidation and excitement warring within me. I can’t shake the feeling of impending danger, the nagging sensation that there’s more to this than meets the eye.

I throw off these thoughts as I descend towards the outpost’s lower level. The detention area is situated in the bowels of the space station, deep within the belly of the beast. The corridor is dimly lit, the walls bare, devoid of decoration or comfort. A single, unblinking light illuminates the passage, casting shadows in the corners and along the ceiling. In this dreary darkness, it’s unfathomable to believe Tasha’s radiant spark is kept hidden here.

As I approach the detention area, I spot the guards stationed at the entrance. One of them is a massive Juntarian with a scar running from his eye down his cheek. He looms over me, his face set in a scowl, his expression betraying nothing. He is a hulking figure whose stature is imposing and commands attention. His skin is a mottled green which absorbs the harsh fluorescent light. His eyes bore into me as I approach, an unspoken challenge hanging in the air between us. As an honored warrior of Morcrest, I am not intimidated.

As I size up the guards, I can’t help but feel disdain. These space station sentinels, they’re more mass than muscle, posted comfortably in a high-tech fortress, far from the grit and grime of ground combat. Their most formidable weapon is their menacing glares, honed to perfection in the absence of true conflict. But a glower is only as intimidating as the resolve behind it.

In the blink of an eye, I could have both of them disarmed, their limbs broken and twisted, the threat neutralized. But I’m confident it won’t come to that. Being the Personal Guard to my High Chieftain who was almost assassinated, I’m not taking any chances. I have to remain on alert while the culprit is loose.

“I’m here to see Tasha William, the human engineer,” I state, my tone firm and authoritative.

The Juntarian guard grunts, the sound reverberating through the hallway. ‘Xenolux’ according to his name badge. He eyes me warily, his gaze raking over my form.

“What’s your business with her?” Xenolux growls, his eyes narrowing.

Beside him, a bank of screens flickers, casting an ethereal glow on his body and his companion, a slender female whose species I am not familiar with.

With a quick flick of her wrist, she taps the screen, her long, dexterous fingers moving in a blur. She seems to monitor the surveillance cameras, the flickering images reflecting off her sleek, black skin. She operates the touch-sensitive panels with practiced ease, registering the comings and goings within the detention area.

“I’m here to speak with the human engineer about the explosion of my High Chieftain’s ship,” I press, my voice taking on a sharper edge.

“Name?” the female demands, her tone laced with irritation.

“Droilin, Personal Guard to High Chieftain Garrox of Morcrest,” I reply, my eyes narrowing.

I pull my datapad out of my pocket and hold it up for the female to see. My record displayed prominently the seal of Morcrest and the High Chieftain’s signature apparent.

“Well, Droilin, it’s good to know your credentials,” she drawls, her tone sarcastic, “but it’s not enough. We can’t just let anyone walk in here. There are protocols.”

My jaw clenches. A mixture of irritation and frustration boils inside me. The need to see Tasha, to find out what she knows, is burning within me, but the guards are proving to be an obstacle.

“I received a message from her advocate, Trexton Humbrage, to speak with her urgently.” I state, my tone firm. Tension mounts within me. “This is official business in an active investigation.”

“We have orders,” Xenolux says, his voice rumbling like thunder, “No one gets in without proper authorization.”

The female nods, her expression set in a stubborn line.

“Our duty is to protect the space station, not allow random strangers to roam freely,” she counters, her gaze defiant.

“I’m not a random stranger,” I growl. “I’ve already provided my credentials. Check the records if you require more proof.”

The two guards exchange a glance, a wordless communication passing between them.

“No,” the female states, her voice taking on an authoritative note.

My hands clench into fists at my side, the frustration and anger building within me. I take a steadying breath, the pressure intensifying in my chest, my pulse thundering in my ears. I can’t lose control, not when I’m so close.

“Listen, you two,” I snarl, “I’m not here to cause any trouble. Who do I need to speak to for authorization?”

“Someone from the Planetary Police. But no one is available,” Xenolux retorts, his expression unreadable.

“Not good enough,” I snap, my temper flaring. “I need to speak with the prisoner, and you two are not going to stop me.”

Nothing is going to get in my way of seeing Tasha, nothing. I square my shoulders, meeting the guards’ defiant gazes.

Both stiffen, the air around us thickening. Xenolux is the first to speak, his tone measured.

“I’m not interested in wasting my time fighting you, Droilin. But, let me remind you, there are two of us, and only one of you.”

The two guards exchange another look, their expressions tight. If this were combat, our confrontation would be over in seconds. But bureaucratic battles like this do nothing, only add to my frustrations and dislike of this space station.

I consider for a moment testing the mettle of these guards, my luminore blade burning at my side, but before I do something reckless, a noise rings out from behind me.

The door I need authority to get through opens and a tall scowling guard exits with another human female. She looks nothing like Tasha. Where Tasha is wild and untamed, this human appears tense and her demeanor aloof. The door slides shut behind them, the sound echoing down the hallway.

“I am Officer Neve McCoy of the Planetary Police. What is the issue here?” she asks. Her voice is cool and authoritative, a stark contrast to the heated exchange I had been having with the guards.

At her words, the tension in the room shifts, the guards visibly relaxing slightly.

“There’s no issue,” Xenolux asserts, his gaze fixed on McCoy. “This... Morcrestian wants to see a prisoner, but he has no authorization,”

McCoy ignores him. Instead, her focus turns to me. “State your purpose,” she demands, her gaze unwavering.

I’m not sure if she is an ally or an adversary. Either way, I don’t have time for these games.

“I am Droilin. Personal Guard to High Chieftain Garrox of Morcrest,” I reply, noting her slight widening of the eyes at my response. “I received a message from Trexton Umbrage to speak with his client, Tasha Williams. I’m here to discuss with her the details of the case.”

McCoy doesn’t respond right away, but studies me closely, her gaze sharp and assessing. After a moment, she seems to reach a decision but is interrupted by the Juntarian.

“I was given orders not to,” Xenolux mutters, filling the silence as his face reddens.

McCoy’s brow arches, her expression stern.

“Well, it seems like those orders were given by the wrong person,” she declares, her gaze flashing with a hint of disdain. “Now, open the door, and let the male in.”

“Orders are orders,” Xenolux fires back, his stance rigid, his hand clenched into a fist.

“Listen here,” McCoy snaps, her voice rising an octave. “This is an official police investigation. You are interfering with a criminal case, and if you don’t comply, you’ll have a lot more to deal with than a disgruntled High Chieftain’s Personal Guard.”

Xenolux hesitates, his scarred eye twitching as he considers her words.

“Fine,” he grumbles, his expression souring.

“I will report this to my boss,” he threatens, his gaze never leaving McCoy.

With a quick wave of his hand, the massive door slides open with a hiss.

“Be my guest, but first you’ll make sure a guard is stationed outside William’s cell after this man leaves. No one else is to visit her until after her trial. It’s on my authority you can quote if anyone questions it.” McCoy retorts, a sly smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

“After you,” she directs to the scarred guard, her voice taking on a saccharine note.

The air is thick with tension, the two of them having a stare down. It’s clear McCoy won this round.

“Thank you, Officer McCoy. I appreciate the assistance.” I nod at the female as I stride towards the door, ignoring the Juntarian, his gaze burning holes into my back.

I smirk at his frustration since I may be in an alien station, dealing with the worst type of bureaucracy, but I will get what I want. Even if a tiny human woman had to help me.

Without another word, I stride past the guards, ignoring the glare of Xenolux and his companion as I pass them. The frowning guard who escorted McCoy out leads me into the belly of the detention center. The soft hiss of the doors closing echoing after me.

I walk behind the guard. It’s hard not to notice the difference between the polished corridors of the upper levels and the cold, soulless environment of the detention area. The air here is tinged with an unpleasant metallic scent.

As I pass the cells, I see the faces of criminals, their expressions a mix of fear, anger, and desperation. I can’t help but worry that Tasha is surrounded by such vile, violent felons.

Finally, the guard stops in front of a cell. It is a stark room with no furnishings except a cot and a toilet. A single light source illuminates the space, casting harsh shadows along the walls and ceiling.

“Oh, they’re lining up for this whore tonight. When is it my turn again? How about I take her right now,” a voice from a neighboring cell sneers, his tone dripping with venom.

“What did you just say?” I growl, my fists clenching at my sides.

“She’s a whore. And the best fuck I’ve had in a long time.”

My vision flashes red, a blinding rage surging through me. With a roar, I charge the cell, the fury burning white-hot, an inferno that consumes me.

Before the guard can stop me, I have my arms through the cell bars, my hands wrapping around the throat of the creature inside. I squeeze, the pressure building as the rage takes over.

“How dare you speak about her like that. I’ll make you feel pain.” I snarl, the words spilling from my lips like a torrent of poison.

The Juntarian guard grabs at me, his grip tough, but I shake him off easily.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry!” the creature gasps, his voice barely a wheeze.

His eyes bulge, his struggles grow weaker.

“That’s enough,” the Juntarian orders, the command ringing out in the cramped space.

His voice echoes off the walls, a booming reminder that this is a place of law and order. Not of vengeance. My rage abates, the fury ebbing, a tide retreating, and my rationality returns.

I release my grip, the creature crumpling to the floor, a heap of gasping breaths.

“Don’t ever talk about her like that again,” I spit, the warning clear.

The guard looks at me, his gaze piercing, an unspoken message passing between us.

“Aren’t you going to do anything? He just attacked me. You can’t let him get away with that,” the creature chokes out, his voice hoarse.

The guard glances at the prisoner, his expression neutral.

“I didn’t see anything but some scum choking on his slop.”

His words are a dismissal, a warning that he doesn’t want to hear any more about the incident.

The Juntarian leads me away from the cell, towards another. He enters a code on a panel outside the door, which slides open, revealing the cell.

Tasha stands, her eyes wide, her face pale and tired.

“Another visitor for the little human, and an eager one at that,” the Juntarian announces, a smirk curling his lips. “You have ten minutes. Make them count.”

I walk into the cell, the door hissing shut behind me.

Tasha’s face is impassive, her expression carefully guarded.

“Droilin, please,” she blurts out, her voice hoarse, “I’m being framed. You have to believe me.”

I can sense her desperation, the fear and anguish emanating from her like an alarm. My need to protect her, to comfort her, is overwhelming.

My steps are steady, each footfall resounding off the walls. The room is bare, the cot pressed against the far wall, the viewport showing the expanse of the galaxy.

Tasha is standing in the center of the room, her body trembling, her hands wringing together. It pains me to see the once bubbly human female, now so tired and frayed.

“Are you ok? Those other prisoners are saying vile things about you. What’s happening?”

“They’re the least of my worries. My Advocate is the real problem, he’s a complete sleazebag. The bastard threatened me!”

“What do you mean, threatened you?” My blood boils at the implication.

My hands curl into fists at my sides, a burning rage building within me. If that scumbag touched her...

Tasha shakes her head, her brows knitted.

“He said if I didn’t do what he wanted” she glances away, her lips trembling before she continues.

“I’d get the death penalty, if I didn’t let him use me.” Her eyes meet mine for a fleeting moment. “I think the Planetary Police lady can get him to back off though.”

Anger surges within me, a white-hot flame burning through me. My teeth clench, my jaw tightening.

But I can’t lose focus. I want to find out the truth, and to do that, I need Tasha’s help.

I clench my jaw, my teeth grinding together as the fury burns within me. “Is this the advocate that sent me the message?”

I vow, then and there, that I will kill Trexton Humbrage if he lays one finger on Tasha. It will be his last mistake.

Tasha nods, her expression somber. “Yes, but the message wasn’t from him. I stole his datapad and sent you the message. I’m desperate, Droilin.”

I nod with approval, a smirk pulling at my lips. “Clever human. Your message said you know who did it?”

Tasha looks away from me and moves to sit on her bed, her shoulders slack. “I know who didn’t do it. It wasn’t me.”

She’s exhausted, and it’s not helping her cause.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm the frustration rising within me. She lied to get me here, that’s obvious, but I need the truth, not more lies.

I sit next to her on the cot, my body a hair’s breadth away from her, and the intoxicating scent of her skin washes over me. I struggle to contain myself. Our proximity is doing nothing to help my concentration.

Her dark hair is tangled, the waves wild and untamed. Her eyes are red-rimmed, her cheeks flushed. I want nothing more than to wrap my arms around her, to protect her from the world.

The urge is overwhelming, the need to comfort her, to take care of her is primal. But I know it’s not what she needs right now.

I push the thoughts aside, focusing on the task at hand, my touch gentle.

It is clear she is innocent. The only thing that concerns me is if she is aware of the conspiracy surrounding her.

“Tasha, I know this is hard, but do you have any idea who would want to frame you for this crime?”

I can feel the tension building within her, her shoulders tensing, her jaw clenched. She takes a deep breath, the air filling her lungs.

Finally, she looks up at me, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

“That’s the thing, Droilin, I have no idea. I’m just an engineer, and a human engineer at that. What would anyone gain by framing me for an assassination attempt on the High Chieftain here at the outpost?”

Her words resonate with me, and the nagging sense that something is not right returns.

“Tell me everything that happened as you remember it,” I demand, my gaze never wavering. I stand and move to the other side of the cell to better focus on her words without the distraction of her proximity.

Tasha sighs, her forehead creased. She bites her bottom lip, a habit I’ve noticed before when she is stressed. “I’ve told the Planetary Police and the guards this so many times. But it never makes any difference.”

“Tasha, it makes a difference to me.” I reply, my voice edged with a note of steel. “You asked me to come here. Now, I need you to tell me what you know.”

Tasha sighs and recounts her version of events. I listen intently for any inconsistencies from the footage I watched, but none come. Until she mentions the drone.

Her story matches what I already know, other than this mysterious drone. Morcrestians do not use such technology. There was no evidence of a drone when Jaicen and I scoured the ship for clues.

Could there have been a drone, and no one found it? If there was, why would the evidence be destroyed? It makes no sense.

There’s also the possibility that Tasha is making it up. But I quickly dismiss the idea. Why would she invent such a fantastical story? She would be found guilty either way.

No, I don’t think she’s lying, but I’m still at a loss for who could be the real culprit.

As she finishes her version of events, Tasha sits quietly for a moment before taking a deep breath. Her voice is barely audible.

“I just know that I didn’t do it. Droilin, I was trying to fix the ship. That’s all. It was broken. That’s what I was hired for. I fixed it, went for dinner, and told Kyor that the job was done. And when I was in the canteen, the explosion happened. Why would I want to hurt anyone?”

I ask for more details and as she speaks, I notice, and not for the first time, how striking she is. As she stands to pace around this soulless cell, I can see her spirit is undimmed. Her eyes shine with a resolve which I admire. Her hair, a mass of dark curls, frames her face, accentuating her sharp cheekbones and full lips.

A wave of shame washes over me. This isn’t the time for distractions of this nature. I shake off the thoughts, focusing back on the matter at hand. After the altercation with the other prisoner, I am surprised how strongly I feel about this female stranger. I should not let personal sympathy or a stir of desire cloud my better judgement.

Tasha finishes recounting her story, her voice trailing off, her gaze fixed on the floor, as she leans against the wall. A heavy silence hangs in the air, the severity of our situation weighing heavily on both of us.

“Droilin,” Tasha starts, her voice a whisper, “you have to believe me. I didn’t do this. I can’t lose my chance. My life. My future.”

Her words strike a chord with me, the raw emotion in her voice unmistakable. Her eyes burn with intensity, searching mine for a sign of belief, of hope. I hold her gaze, my expression impassive. I can’t afford to get close, not if I’m unable to guarantee she’ll walk free.

“Droilin, please,” she murmurs, her voice soft.

I’m not sure what compels me, but the next moment I’m holding her in my arms, my grip tight, her body warm against mine. The smell of her, a hint of something floral and exotic, a mix of spice and sweetness, fills my senses, sending a rush of heat through my veins.

“I believe you,” I declare, each word soaked in a profound sincerity that echoes the depths of my unwavering support for Tasha.

I’m not sure why, but I pull her closer, my desire rising as her scent invades my nostrils. She buries her head in my chest, the warmth of her breath sending a shiver down my spine. She feels so small and fragile in my arms.

“Tasha, I promise to do whatever I can to help you.”

I take a step back, not wanting to make her uncomfortable.

“I know Droilin. I understand. But I can’t die here. Not like this.”

The desperation in her voice, the raw emotion, tugs at something deep within me. The way she’s being treated, it’s not right. Tasha’s been thrown into a cell, branded as a criminal, with no concrete proof of her involvement. A sour taste forms in my mouth. It’s too similar, too familiar. I’ve seen this kind of injustice before, up close. I draw parallels between my father’s fate and Tasha’s. My father was subjected to a trial, a sham of a proceeding, without a shred of evidence, and was executed. And now, it could very well destroy Tasha, too.

I’m about to say something, offer some reassurance, when I’m cut off by the Juntarian guard.

“Time’s up,” he announces, his deep voice echoing in the cell.

“Please,” Tasha whispers, “Droilin, please. You’re my last hope. I have nowhere else to turn. My trial is tomorrow and there’s no investigation, no due process.”

The guard gives another low grunt, a warning that our time is up.

“Don’t worry Tasha, I won’t let them execute you without a fight.” My voice is low and strained.

The guard moves into the cell as I remember the glittery clip, which fell from her hair during her struggle in the workshop. I reach into my pocket, pulling out the item, and slide it into her palm.

“This is yours,” I whisper, my hand brushing against hers.

Tasha’s eyes widen, a spark of recognition flashing in her gaze. “You found it,” she murmurs, her tone soft and grateful.

Before the guard can pull me away, Tasha stands and leans close, her lips brushing against mine, a gentle caress. Her kiss is tentative, her touch light, but it sends a rush of heat through my veins, a rush of desire burning white hot.

The guard yanks me away, his grip firm, the moment broken. I stumble backwards, the sudden separation jarring.

“Thank you, Droilin,” Tasha whispers, her voice low and filled with emotion.

I nod, a lump forming in my throat, my feelings too raw, too intense to be expressed.

I can’t take my eyes off her. As the Juntarian leads me out, the door sliding shut behind me with a resounding thud.

With a quick nod to the guard, I turn and exit the detention area.

The lights along the corridors seem brighter, the air less stuffy as I make my way back towards the upper levels. The realization of the depth of corruption, of the danger Tasha is in, weighs heavily on me.

Her kiss lingers, a phantom sensation on my lips, the warmth of her skin still imprinted on mine. A dull ache forms in my chest, the memory of her pain, the fear in her eyes, a vivid reminder that she’s depending on me, the one person she can trust.