Page 28 of Survivor (A Space Pearl’s Treat #2)

“Get to higher ground. Your aim will be better,” Vysar hissed through clenched teeth before launching himself into the bloody maelstrom.

I sprinted toward a nearby hill, my lungs burning as I scrambled up the slope, dropping to one knee in a shooter’s stance at the summit. Under Vraxxan’s tutelage, my skills had sharpened these past weeks. My aim and my growing strength had made me quite deadly with an arrow.

Deadly.

I’d never killed anything before, save for a few small animals.

But with my mate’s survival hanging in the balance, I didn’t hesitate.

Muscle memory took over, and I nocked an arrow, drew the bowstring to my cheek, and released.

The projectile whistled through the air before burying itself deep in a guard’s gut with a sickening thud.

The battle unfolded with ferocious intensity, a spectacle more savage than any Hollywood production.

Vraxxan moved like a force of nature—swatting away attackers with bone-crushing force.

Vysar was poetry in motion, his twin blades flashing like liquid silver, each strike precise and fatal.

The Peecha, though dwarfed by the towering Zarpazians, were wicked fast, darting like shadows as they dodged lethal blows and delivered their own with stunning precision.

I channeled my focus entirely on Vraxxan. While he grappled with ten or more guards simultaneously, I aimed my arrows at vulnerable joints and exposed flesh, disabling would-be attackers with flawless accuracy.

The battle and desperate need to protect my mate consumed my every sense.

So much so that I failed to notice the guard slithering up the hillside behind me until rough fingers tangled in my hair, violently wrenching me to my feet.

I swallowed the scream of rage and pain that threatened to escape, knowing any sound would divert Vraxxan's and his father’s attention.

A momentary distraction that could prove catastrophic in the blood-soaked chaos before me.

The guard clamped a stinking, slimy hand over my mouth, suffocating my curses as he dragged me toward the spaceship, slithering through dense foliage and inky shadows to avoid detection.

Once we reached the ramp, his demeanor transformed. He stomped up the metal pathway with savage pride, his boots clanging against the surface before hurling me forward like discarded trash. I crashed at the queen’s feet; the impact reverberating through my bones.

I scrambled to my hands and knees, my palms slipping on the slick metal as my vision swam into focus.

The queen loomed before me, a towering nightmare of scales and malice.

To my side lay Diarvet, his body a canvas of torture—flesh torn and weeping, a thick metal collar biting into his throat, and the hilt of a knife protruding from his side, dark blood oozing around the wound.

Yet despite his mangled state, his piercing blue eyes burned with defiance, his will unbroken.

“Thank you, Haslot.” The queen dismissed the guard with an almost polite nod, and I heard the thud of his footsteps recede as he rejoined the battle.

Suddenly, vicious fingers tangled in my hair, roots screaming as she yanked me upward until I was standing on my toes like a ballerina en pointe .

The queen’s face filled my vision, her pale gold eyes covering me with contempt.

Her gaze sliced over me from head to toe, her lips curling into a sneer that revealed razor-sharp teeth.

“What a useless lump of stinking flesh.” She spat. The warm, viscous liquid landed with a sickening splat in my hair, trickling down my scalp.

“Fuck you,” I hissed, my voice raw with hatred. I’d survived dying of cancer. This bitch wouldn’t break me.

A predatory smile played at her lips. “Humans are so ridiculous to think about sex at the time of death.”

I mentally amended my earlier retort. Idiot bitch.

Behind me, the cacophony of battle swelled—metal clashing against metal, guttural cries of pain and fury—but the queen remained unnervingly focused.

She extracted a dagger from the sheath at her side with ritual slowness.

The weapon gleamed obscenely. Solid gold inlaid with rough-cut jewels that caught the light like drops of frozen blood.

“I wanted to spill your blood on Zarpazia, on the same soil my precious Vreses walked. To take my time and let your screams play as music through the halls of the castle. But your bewitchment of my son makes that impossible now,” she mused, studying the blade as she rolled it through her fingers, the edge catching light with each rotation.

“Sorry to disappoint you,” I retorted, squaring my shoulders as much as possible when being held like a marionette.

“No matter.” The queen shrugged, the movement so graceful it was almost hypnotic, like a cobra preparing to strike. “Your blood will spill as retribution. Then, Vraxxan and I will return to Zarpazia and rule as destiny intended.”

“You leave Vraxxan alone,” I demanded, thrashing against her iron grip on my hair. Pain exploded across my scalp as strands tore from the roots, but her hold remained unbroken. The bitch was strong.

“Pitiful stinking human.” The queen’s eyes glittered with sadistic pleasure as she watched my futile struggles.

“Fuck you!” I hissed again, venom dripping from each syllable.

This time, she met my defiance with the thunderous crack of her hand against my cheek. The force sent me sprawling backward, stars exploding behind my eyes as an involuntary cry of pain tore from my throat.

“Lucy!” Vraxxan bellowed my name, his voice shattering through the chaos. The raw fear and love in his tone at realizing my predicament cut deeper than any blade, making hot tears sting my eyes.

The queen seized me by my hair again, wrenching me to my feet.

She spun me around to witness the raging battle.

Vraxxan fought like a man possessed, his movements a blur of desperate fury as he tried to reach me.

Vysar, Tark, and Ceeka battled alongside him, but the mass of guards separated them from the spaceship like a churning, violent sea. Uncrossable.

“Time to die, human,” she hissed, her breath hot against my ear.

The queen forced me to my knees again, her grip on my hair vicious as she yanked my chin upward, exposing my neck.

She would cut my throat, and I was powerless to stop it.

My gaze frantically searched through the haze of battle, finally locking onto Vraxxan, who fought like a demon trying to reach me.

Our eyes met and held across the chaos. I did not look away.

I wanted his face—even contorted with rage and desperation—to be my last sight in this world.

“I love you,” I whispered the words, knowing he could not hear.

From my peripheral vision, I watched the queen raised the blade high above her head, the gold catching sunlight in a blinding flash.

Just before she struck, a scream of defiant agony ripped through the air.

I jerked my gaze downward just in time to witness Diarvet, his face a mask of blood and determination, wrench the blade from his own side and drive it into the queen’s thigh.

The queen howled—an ear-splitting shriek of pain and surprise.

She stumbled backward, her grip on me releasing.

The long claw-tipped fingers that held the golden dagger slackened just enough.

Moving on adrenaline-fueled instinct alone, I lunged forward, snatched the dagger from her grasp, and drove it deep into her chest. The blade sank into her flesh with a sickening, wet crunch and dark, sticky blood coated my fingers.

Pale gold eyes met mine, widening with shock and disbelief.

The queen staggered backward, collapsing, her body convulsing violently as dark, viscous blood gushed from her chest, spreading across the ramp in an expanding pool of midnight.

Her scales, once shimmering obsidian, flickered and shifted like dying embers, reverting to shades of pink and yellow as the life drained from her body.

I killed her. My stomach twisted into a violent knot, bile rising in my throat as the reality of what I'd done crashed over me.

I hadn't wanted to—God knows I hadn't—and until that final, blood-soaked moment, I wasn't sure I possessed the strength to do it. But the stakes were more than my own survival. She would have tortured Vraxxan, savoring each scream, each plea for mercy. Vysar too. And God knows what she’d already put Diarvet through.

The thought of her bloodthirstiness ignited something primal within me, a protective fury I couldn't contain.

A pained grunt drew my attention, and I turned to see Diarvet dragging himself into a sitting position, his blood-slicked fingers jerking the metal collar from his neck with a surge of strength.

“Guards, halt!” His voice rang out much stronger than I expected, based on his physical condition.

The guards obeyed instantly, turning to observe the specter of their dead queen.

Some faces registered shock, others confusion, but most reflected unmistakable relief as weapons clattered from their hands onto the jungle floor.

“Lucy!”

Vraxxan bounded to my side, his massive form cutting through the crowd with unnatural speed.

I collapsed into his arms, relief flooding through me, making my knees buckle.

His hands, much larger than normal, frantically roamed over my body, checking for wounds.

I mirrored his movements, my trembling fingers searching his battle-worn flesh, finding only shallow cuts and angry scrapes marring his scales.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, the words a ragged whisper meant to reassure us both. “It’s over.”

I forced my gaze across the blood-soaked battlefield. Vysar remained standing, his chest heaving with exertion, sweat and gore glistening on his skin. Tark and Ceeka moved methodically through the fallen Peecha warriors, some writhing with injuries that, mercifully, didn’t appear fatal.

My eyes found Vraxxan again, following his haunted stare to the crumpled form of the queen, her body twisted unnaturally in death.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, the words feeling hollow and inadequate. What could one possibly say about killing someone’s mother, even if she was a murderous bitch?

“You are safe. That is all that matters.” Vraxxan pressed his lips to mine and held me tight against his chest for a moment before pulling away. He moved with slow, deliberate steps toward his mother, sinking to his knees beside her.

His brilliant teal eyes focused on the queen with unmistakable longing.

Not grief for what was but mourning for what might have been if things—if she—had been different.

My heart broke for him. Despite her cruelty, she was his blood.

His mother. I moved to stand beside my mate, letting my hand rest on his shoulder in support.

Vraxxan released a long, heavy sigh that seemed to carry the weight of generations, then rose to his feet, but not before retrieving a small silver metal box clipped to her belt.

A medi-unit. Not quite possessing the miraculous healing power of a Garoot Healer, but a handy little device, nonetheless.

He pulled me into his arms, pressing a kiss to my forehead, then with a sigh turned to regard the male who—for all intents and purposes—had saved my life.

“Hello, Cousin,” Vraxxan said softly, kneeling by Diarvet’s side. The compact unit in his hand chirped to life, emitting an ethereal blue light.

“It is good to see you,” Diarvet chuckled, then groaned from the effort, pain etching deep lines across his face.

Vraxxan ran the medi-unit over Diarvet’s body, his brow furrowing deeper with each high-pitched beep signaling injury.

“I am surprised to find my mother carrying a medi-unit,” Vraxxan said, his voice breaking through the machine’s soft mechanical whirr. “She always considered herself invincible.”

“She used it for her torture,” Diarvet grunted as Vraxxan hovered the unit over the jagged gash in his side. “Beat, heal, repeat.”

Vraxxan sighed heavily, his massive hand landing on Diarvet’s shoulder and giving a squeeze that conveyed volumes of unspoken regret. “I am truly sorry for what you suffered under her hand.”

Diarvet shrugged, sending visible waves of pain through his body, but he glanced at me and smiled. “We deposed a tyrant. It was worth any pain suffered.” While Diarvet did not hold any ill will, I knew it would be a long time before my mate absolved himself of the guilt.

“Agreed,” Vysar concurred, limping toward us. A deep cut on his thigh wept crimson, but otherwise, he seemed unharmed. “Good to see you, nephew,” he greeted Diarvet.

“You as well, my king,” Diarvet returned with a respectful nod that made Vysar frown. A frown that only deepened when he knelt by the dead queen.

Vysar’s face held a strange expression, like ancient affection struggling to resurface yet being crushed beneath the weight of decades of pain and cruelty. Still, he reached out with unexpected gentleness and closed her unseeing eyes before rising.

Diarvet, partially restored by the medi-unit, rose to his feet with Vraxxan’s assistance. He thrust his fist skyward, unleashing a warbling howl that pierced the air and commanded all attention.

“The Queen is dead. All hail King Vysar.”

The surviving guards roared in celebration. Most seemed elated to be free from the queen’s cruel rule, and the ones who didn’t at least had the sense to stay quiet.

Vysar, for his part, looked like he wanted to crawl under the spaceship on which he stood. His eyes clouded slightly, and he gave a soft shake of his head, moving to stand beside his son. His blood-streaked fingers gripped Vraxxan’s, and he raised their joined hands skyward.

“Father?” Vraxxan asked, watching a slow smile grow on Vysar’s face.

“It is your time, my son,” Vysar said softly, his eyes focusing on the guards assembled before us.

“My time as regent is long over,” Vysar announced, his face splitting into a wide smile. “I give you the true heir, a male blessed by the goddess herself. All hail King Vraxxan.”

All did.