Page 12 of Rescued By the Alien Acolyte

I lock eyes with Loelle, seeing my tension mirrored in her eyes. For a heart-stopping moment, I’m certain we’ll be found. But then, miraculously, the footsteps recede.

As the danger passes, I realize how Loelle’s body fits pressed against mine. Her rapid heartbeat echoes my own. Her lips are parted, her breath coming in short gasps. The urge to claim those lips, to lose myself in her, is almost overwhelming.

But now is not the time. We’re still in grave danger.

“We move. Now,” I growl, my voice husky with a mix of adrenaline and desire. “Stay close. If anyone tries to stop us, I’ll deal with them.”

Loelle releases a shaky breath, her face mere inches from mine. I can see the fear and confusion in her eyes, the uncertainty written plainly across her delicate features. She nods, her lips pressed together. Her hands grip my robes, holding on to me like a lifeline.

With one last look at the passage behind us, I guide her forward. The sound of our footsteps is painfully loud, and I pray to the sun gods that no one is nearby to hear them. Perhaps they are not who I should pray to anymore, not after what I’ve just done.

We continue onward, Loelle’s hand never leaving mine. Her grip is tight, her fingers intertwined with mine, warm and slightly damp with nervous sweat. Each step we take echoes softly in the corridor, the sound seeming louder in my hyper-alert state.

The air grows cooler as we near the outer tunnels, carrying with it the faint scent of desert sand and freedom. The narrow passageway looms before us, the rough-hewn stone walls seem to close in, the ceiling lowering slightly as if even the temple is trying to prevent our escape.

As we approach the outer tunnels, the distant sound of running feet reaches my ears. My body tenses, muscles coiling, ready for action. A shout echoes from behind us, the words indistinct but the tone unmistakable—we’ve been discovered!

“Halt! Who goes there?” The harsh command reverberates through the stone corridors.

I tighten my grip on Loelle’s hand, my voice low and commanding. “Run. Now.”

We sprint through the winding passageways, our footsteps a thunderous rhythm against the cold stone. The air shifts as we ascend, the musty underground scent giving way to the promise of freedom on a warm droughtland breeze. The sounds of chase grow closer—clanging armor, shouted orders, the relentless pounding of boots.

Suddenly, Loelle stumbles. Her cry of pain pierces the air as she falls, her ankle twisting unnaturally. Without breaking stride, I scoop her into my arms. Her body feels small and fragile against my chest. The scent of her hair—a mix of smoke, sweat, and something uniquely Loelle—fills my nostrils.

“Hold on,” I growl, pushing my body to its limits. The exit is so near I can see a sliver of moonlight in the darkness.

As we approach the exit, two guards materialize from the shadows, weapons at the ready. I skid to a halt, Loelle still secure in my arms.

“Master Finzar?” one guard says, confusion evident in his voice. His hand tightens on his electrified spear, the metal gleaming dully in the dim light.

Their eyes narrow as they take in the sight of us—me, a high-ranking inquisitor, carrying a robed human female in my arms.

I draw myself up, radiating authority. “Stand aside. This female is being purified on the High Inquisitor’s orders.”

The guards hesitate, their eyes darting between us and the approaching sounds of pursuit. I can see the conflict on their faces, the ingrained obedience to a superior warring with their suspicion of the situation. Sweat beads on their brows, and I can almost hear the rapid beating of their hearts.

I press harder, my voice a dangerous growl. “Delay us, and you’ll answer to Sakar himself.”

At the second mention of the High Inquisitor, their expressions turn grim. Fear flashes in their eyes—fear of Sakar’s wrath, a feeling I know all too well. They exchange a quick glance before stepping aside, clearing our path to freedom.

The vast desert stretches before us, bathed in silvery moonlight. I run for several more minutes, putting distance between us and the temple before finally setting Loelle down behind a large dune.

“Let me see that ankle,” I command, kneeling beside her.

Gently, I examine the swollen joint. Loelle hisses in pain but doesn’t pull away. I tear a strip from my robe, carefully binding her ankle for support.

“This should help,” I mutter, finishing the makeshift bandage. I produce a small flask from within my robes. “Here. Drink.”

Loelle takes the flask gratefully, drinking deeply. I watch her throat work as she swallows, feeling a pang of guilt for not offering sooner.

“Thank you,” she gasps, wiping her mouth. Her eyes meet mine, filled with a mix of gratitude and something else—something that makes my pulse quicken.

I clear my throat, pushing away the distracting thoughts. “Can you walk?” I ask, my eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of pursuit.

She nods grimly, testing her weight on her injured ankle. “I’ll manage. We need to move.”

We make our way across the shifting sands, the soft whisper of the wind our only companion. Loelle limps beside me, her face set in determination despite her pain.

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