Page 30 of Bound to the Alien Orc (Alien Gambits #1)

Chapter 30

P ain throbs through my skull as consciousness slowly returns. I blink, my vision blurry, the room spinning around me. It takes a moment for the events of the past few hours to come crashing back—the confrontation in the square, Garrox’s fury, Claws dragging me away...

I try to move, but my hands are bound, the rough fibers biting into my wrists. Panic gushes through me, my heart hammering against my ribs.

Where am I? What happened?

I force myself to take a deep breath, pushing down the rising fear. I need to stay calm, to think. Droilin is out there, preparing for the Rite. He’s risking everything for me, for Morcrest. I can’t let him down now.

Gritting my teeth, I test my bonds, feeling for any weakness. To my surprise, they’re loose, the knots sloppy. Amateurs. Clearly, they don’t see me as a threat.

A grim smile tugs at my lips. They’re about to learn how wrong they are.

With a few deft twists, I slip free of the ropes, rubbing my chafed wrists. I take stock of my surroundings, squinting in the dim light. I’m in some kind of utility room, with a sink, cupboards, and shelves littered with pots, pans, and random kitchen utensils. Old appliances and machines gather dust in the corners.

The air is stale and cold; the windows shuttered tight. I try the door handle, rattling it, but it’s locked. There’s no way out. The only illumination comes from a single bare bulb, casting harsh shadows on the walls. Muffled voices drift in from beyond the locked door, too indistinct to make out.

My heart thunders in my chest. I know Garrox is somewhere nearby, probably waiting to make his move. And Claws... I shiver, remembering his touch, his vile threats.

I shiver, wrapping my arms around myself. The memory of Claws’ leering grin, his brutal hands, sends a wave of revulsion through me. I can still feel the sting of his blow on my cheek, the bruise no doubt blooming under my skin.

No. I can’t think about that. Not now.

Anger rises in me, hot and fierce. I won’t be his victim, his plaything. I won’t sit here like a helpless damsel, waiting to be rescued or worse. No, I’m going to fight back, and I’m going to make them pay.

My hand drifts to my pocket, hope flaring in my chest as I feel the familiar shape of my plasma conduit. They didn’t take it.

Idiots.

I palm the tool, a smile spreading across my face.

My mind races, adrenaline sharpening my thoughts. I need a plan, a way out of here. But more than that, I need to help Droilin, to even the odds in his favor. Garrox is a serpaxians — no way he’ll fight fair in the Rite. He has to be planning something.

I search the room, moving as quietly as I can. I don’t know how much time I have before Claws come back for me. The voices have stopped, leaving an eerie silence, broken only by the pounding of my heart.

I rummage through drawers and cupboards, looking for anything I can use. In the third drawer, my fingers close around the solid weight of a heavy wrench. I heft it, feeling the cold steel against my palm. It’s not much, but it’s a start.

If they come for me, I’ll be ready.

I try the windows next, but it’s no use. They’re sealed shut; the locks unyielding. Desperation claws at my throat, my pulse racing. I can’t fail, not now.

Think, Tasha, think! You’re an engineer, you solve problems. You can figure this out.

My gaze lands on the cluttered work surface, and a sudden idea sparks to life. A kitchen is a workshop of sorts, isn’t it? Different tools, same principle — you build something.

Keeping the wrench close at hand, I scour the shelves, my mind whirring. Pots, scrap metal, pliers... there! A hunter’s knife juts from a chopping block, its edge gleaming dully.

As I search the kitchen, my eyes land on an old toolbox tucked in the corner. I pry it open, hope rising as I spot a bundle of wiring and some scrap gundrian metal. Perfect for crafting my weapon.

I almost laugh out loud. Garrox and his goons. They really do not know what a human is capable of.

With trembling hands, I gather my materials, my heart in my throat. I can’t make too much noise, can’t risk drawing attention. But if I can pull this off...

As I lay the components out before me, my mind works furiously. I can do this. I have to do this. For Droilin.

My plasma conduit humming softly as I strip wires, my fingers flying over the blade and hilt. Few know the secret of gundrian metal — that it’s self-conducting, that with the right tools and a spark of ingenuity, you can turn it into a weapon. An electrified blade, surging with its own power.

It won’t be perfect, but it might give Droilin the edge he needs. And that’s all that matters.

I work feverishly, every second counting. I can’t let them catch me, can’t let them stop me.

Sweat beads on my brow as I race against the clock, flinching at every creak and groan of the old building settling. The seconds tick by, each one an eternity, the pressure mounting.

Just a little more, almost there...

With a final, delicate twist, it’s done. I hold up my creation, hardly daring to breathe.

Please, let it work.

A flick of a switch, and the knife flares to life, electricity crackling along its length. A fierce grin splits my face.

Yes!

Triumph courses through me, bolstering my courage. But my elation is short-lived. I have a weapon now, but I’m still trapped. The door is locked; and the windows are barred. The walls are thick stone, impenetrable.

How can I get this to Droilin in time?

I rack my brain, desperation rising like bile in my throat. I can’t mess up the Rite, can’t put Droilin at more risk. But I have to do something!

The electrified knife hums in my palm, a reminder of my purpose. It won’t be perfect, but it might give Droilin the edge he needs in the fight ahead. That’s what I tell myself, at least.

But if I’m being honest, making this weapon is as much for my sanity as it is for Droilin. Crafting something with my own two hands makes me feel useful, gives me a sense of control when everything else is anarchy. It’s the only thing keeping the panic at bay, the only thing stopping me from collapsing in despair.

I don’t even know how I’ll get it to him, or if it will make any difference. But I have to try. I have to do something, anything, to help Droilin and stop feeling so utterly powerless.

As long as I keep my mind focused on helping Droilin, I won’t break down entirely. I just have to hold it together a little while longer.

The sudden sound of footsteps outside the door sends ice through my veins.

No, not yet! I’m not ready!

In a flash, I stash the blade in my boot, praying it won’t be found. Then I throw myself back to the floor, hastily re-knotting the ropes around my wrists. If I can make them think I’m still bound, maybe I’ll have a chance...

My heart thunders, my breathing ragged. I force it to slow, my eyes to close, to be as still as a hibernating znatfly. Don’t let them see your fear.

The door creaks open, and an all too familiar stench wafts over me. Claws. I hear his heavy tread, sense his looming presence as he enters the room.

My blood turns to ice.

“Hello, Pink Meat. Are you ready for me?”

His voice drips with cruel amusement, making my skin crawl. But I bite my tongue, holding myself still.

“Oh, we’ll have plenty of fun together, I promise you that.” Claws laughs, the sound like nails on a chalkboard. “But first, the Rite. Don’t worry, though. I’ll make sure you’re nice and ready for me.”

Bile rises in my throat. My stomach churns with disgust and fear. But I swallow it down, forcing my voice to remain steady.

“Such pretty skin,” Claws murmurs, as he traces a grotty finger along my neck, over the fresh bruise from where Droilin claimed me. “Too bad your mate couldn’t protect you.”

“What do you want from me?”

Claws chuckles, his breath hot and rank against my cheek as he leans in close.

I fight the urge to recoil.

He grins, his lips curling back to reveal more of his yellowed tusks.

“It’s not about what I want, my sweet Pink Meat. It’s about what the High Chieftain wants. And he has very specific instructions for you.”

“Like what?” I ask, dread rising within me.

Claws leers, his eyes roving over my body.

My skin crawls.

Claws straightens, his tone turning mocking. “Like making sure you’re prepared for the Rite. Garrox can’t have his honor tainted, see? Can’t have you... interrupting.”

My stomach clenches, fear and anger warring within me. Is this their plan, then? Use me as a distraction, to throw Droilin off his game? Well, I won’t make it easy for them.

“Interrupting what?” I spit, unable to hold back my anger. “I’m sure the fight is rigged, anyway.”

Claws raises a brow, his expression smug. “You’re here to ensure a fair fight. Nothing more.”

My jaw clenches, fury burning in my veins. They’re going to cheat, to take the win.

He reaches for my bonds, and my heart stops. But his inspection is cursory, his tug on the ropes half-hearted. I hold my breath, clinging to the illusion of captivity.

“Enough talk,” Claws growls, yanking me roughly to my feet. “Follow me. We have work to do.”

My pulse racing, I let him drag me from the room. Through the window, I can see the twin suns are sinking low, casting long shadows across the Frosthok. The air is charged, a buzz of anticipation and excitement hanging in the air.

He shoves me toward the door, his grip bruising on my arm. I stumble, catching myself at the last moment.

“Where are we going?” I demand, but Claws remains silent, his expression cold and closed.

As he marches me through the twisting corridors of Garrox’s compound, my mind races. The knife is a comforting weight against my ankle, but I can’t let my guard down yet.

Claws’ silence tells me nothing, but I know one thing for certain — wherever he’s taking me, it won’t be good.

I hope Droilin can feel my thoughts, my love, my strength.