Page 79 of Alien Prince's Fated Mate

I gathered Niam closer and leaped, letting the beast’s power carry us across the widening gap. Her breath - so shallow I could barely detect it - warmed my throat. The only thing that mattered.

The next corridor filled with smoke that carried the sharp tang of burning metal. I pulled Niam’s face against my shoulder, protecting her from the worst of it as the Valti’s night vision guided us through the haze.

“Three levels up,” an unfamiliar voice directed. “The central shaft is collapsing. You’ll need to--” The voice cut off in static.

“This way.” Another voice took up the guidance. “Through the processing chamber. Mind the--” That voice died too.

One by one, the voices fell silent as their sections failed. I ran through darkness broken by strange flashes, the beast’s instincts warning me which paths felt wrong. Niam’s heartbeat remained terrifyingly weak.

A massive crash behind us sent vibrations through the floor. The beast’s enhanced hearing caught the cascade of destruction approaching - metal tearing, stone breaking, something vast giving way.

“Almost to the outer ring,” Branna’s voice grew fainter. “The others wait near the tannery. We can’t... hold much longer...”

“Thank you,” I growled, meaning it with every fiber of my being.

“No.” Her final words held both sadness and joy. “Thank her. She showed us we were still human.”

The voices fell silent. Behind us, the Temple’s death throes shook the entire ring.

Niam stayed limp in my arms, but that faint heartbeat kept its weak rhythm. Hold on, my queen. Just hold on.

“Here!” Denna’s voice carried from ahead. She stood in a service doorway, Ashur and Korrin flanking her with weapons ready.

We emerged into chaos. Smoke filled the streets from strategic fires the rebels had set. The Pottswoods’ bone fires created choking white clouds that confused Temple guards. Through gaps in the haze, I glimpsed the Barrel Boys herding frightened citizens toward safety, their usual drunken swagger transformed into protective authority.

“The inner rings are secured,” Mila reported as we ran. “The guards broke ranks when the Temple started to fall. Most surrendered when they saw their priests’ power fail.”

Groups of rebels appeared and disappeared in the smoke, clearing our path. The Lehtla warriors moved with deadly efficiency, their blades finding any guards still fighting. Children darted through alleys ahead of us, passing signals in their intricate games.

In the craftsmen’s quarter, the Wickes’ network had mobilized every family. Doors opened and closed with precise timing, creating a safe corridor through the chaos. The Randalls’ leather workers stepped out of the shadows to deal with threats, then vanished again.

A squad of Temple guards tried to block our path in the merchant’s district. Before I could engage, thundering sounds filled the street. The Barrel Boys had positioned themselves on the hill above, and now massive brewing casks rolled down toward the guards. The white-robed soldiers scattered to avoidbeing crushed, and in their confusion, resistance fighters struck from the shadows behind them.

The tannery appeared through the smoke like a fortress. Serra stood in the loading dock doorway, her usual practical apron now adorned with knives. Her sharp eyes took in Niam’s still form, the blood coating my claws, the way our companions flanked us protectively.

“This way,” she ordered, leading us through the chemical-scented workspace to a hidden staircase. “The upper floor is defensible. I’ve prepared for casualties.”

The private family quarters above the tannery floor smelled of herbs and tanning solutions. Serra directed us to a room dominated by tall windows and rows of drying herbs. A narrow bed waited, its rough blankets clean and turned down.

“Here.” She pulled bottles and packets from shelves with swift efficiency. “Lay her down. Gently now.”

I lowered Niam to the bed, my beast raging at how lifeless she felt. Serra’s skilled hands checked her pulse, her breathing, the strange crystal burns on her skin. Years of treating tannery accidents had taught her well.

“She lives,” Serra announced, already mixing medicines. “But barely. Whatever they did in there...” She shook her head. “We’ll need all my skills. And luck.”

I sank to my knees beside the bed, finally letting my transformation fade. Every muscle screamed from abuse, but I couldn’t look away from Niam’s face. So pale, but peaceful. As if she knew she’d succeeded.

Behind me, I heard the others organizing - sending messages, coordinating with rebel leaders, beginning the massive task of rebuilding. But none of it mattered. Only the slow rise and fall of Niam’s chest held any meaning.

“Stay with me,” I whispered, pressing my lips to her cold fingers. “Please, my queen. Stay.”

NIAM

Voices drifted through darkness, fragments catching like leaves in a stream.

“...fever’s broken finally...”

“...more tharrow tea...”

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