Page 53 of Alien Engineer's Mate

"Try to sleep," she whispered, smoothing Emily's hair back. "Everything will look better in the morning."

"You promise?" Emily's voice was small in the dim room.

No. She couldn't promise. She had no idea what tomorrow would bring, what the appeal would reveal, whether she'd ever see Maax again or if their brief happiness would be torn away. She forced a smile, bending to kiss each girl's forehead.

"I promise we're all going to fight for your papa. Now close your eyes."

She waited until their breathing evened out before slipping from the room. Her hands shook as she pulled the door almost closed, leaving just a crack of light from the hallway. Everything in her wanted to curl up and cry, to rage against the unfairness of it all. She couldn't, though. Not right now.

Tomorrow would come too soon, bringing with it an appeal that could destroy everything they'd started to build. But for now, she had two little girls who needed her to be strong, who needed to believe that everything would be okay…

15

Metal bit deep into Maax's wrists. The chains forced him to balance on his toes, shoulders burning as they took his weight. Twelve warriors lurked at the edges of the communal cell. He'd counted them the moment the guards had thrown him in—assessing threats was as natural as breathing.

His ribs screamed with each inhale where the interrogators' fists had struck. Blood dripped down his arm in steady drops, the metallic scent mixing with sweat and desperation. The cell stank of unwashed bodies and fear. He forced his back straight despite the protest from his shoulders. A warrior never showed weakness, even at the end.

Harsh light threw shadows across predatory faces. Most bore the marks of long-term imprisonment… hollow eyes, tension-wire muscles, the desperate energy of caged animals. Each one was a warrior who'd fallen from grace. Each one looked for a chance at redemption. But, unlike him, they weren’t chained. The message couldn't be clearer. He was meant to die here tonight, torn apart by prisoners desperate to prove their loyalty. A convenient accident.

A massive warrior with shoulders as wide as a cargo bay door shifted to his left, testing the angles. Another moved behind him, just at the edge of his vision. He tracked their movements with practiced precision, using the chains to pivot slowly. The dance of predator and prey hadn't changed just because he wore chains instead of armor, and they wouldn’t find him easy prey.

He tested the manacles methodically. They were tight enough to damage but not to fully restrict motion—they wanted him to fight back just enough to make it look real.

The warriors circled closer with each pass. He kept turning, refusing to give them an opening. His shoulders blazed with fire, but he controlled his breathing despite his screaming ribs. The pain faded from his attention, acknowledged, and instantly compartmentalized.

The cell's systems cycled into night mode. None of the prisoners slept. They paced their orbits around him, each rotation bringing them fractionally nearer. The rhythmic sound of guard patrols marked time… the sound of booted feet on metal decking every five minutes during the primary shift. The intervals would stretch to fifteen minutes during the night cycle. And after the final patrol...

Movement flickered in his peripheral vision; another warrior testing his defenses. He wasn’t going anywhere, so they had no reason to rush. The chains clinked as he adjusted his weight, his shoulders burning again. Fresh blood traced familiar paths down his arms.

His throat tightened. He hadn't told Eira he loved her. The words had grown in his chest with each moment they shared, but he'd waited too long. Now she would never know how completely she'd claimed his heart. The sight of her with Emily had filled every empty space inside him.

Emily. His precious, brilliant daughter.

Leaving her alone again made him strain against the chains. Blood welled around the manacles, but he knew Eira would care for her. That certainty ran bone-deep. Eira would love Emily as her own, give her the mother she desperately needed. Grace would be the sister Emily had always wanted.

They would have each other, even if he couldn't be there to see it.

The cell's lighting dimmed further. The prisoners' movements sharpened with purpose. Heavy footsteps approached. The last patrol of the night shift.

Maax's heart slammed against his ribs as he tracked their measured steps. The prisoners stilled, muscles coiling. There would be no more delays after this. No more circling. He read the intention in every tense body.

He sent one final prayer to the gods. Not for survival—that chance had gone the moment they'd chained him up in here.

Instead, he prayed his death would be quick enough to spare Emily a long wait, that Eira would help her understand and heal. The steps drew closer, each step marking another heartbeat of life.

The cell door hissed open.

Massive shapes filled the doorway, and his muscles snapped tight, ready for the attack. But the males who stood there were ones he recognized: V'ash, Aaran, his entire training group. Their battle-hardened faces were set like steel as they filed in, Kirr at their head.

They moved with combat precision. V'ash took point directly before him. Aaran claimed his six. The others spread in a perfect circle, each warrior exactly three steps from his position. They settled into ready stances… their shoulders squared, feet planted wide, hands loose at their sides.

Waiting. Combat-ready. Lethal.

The cell's atmosphere transformed in a heartbeat. Most of the circling prisoners retreated one by one, predatory confidence crumbling into hesitation. These weren't station guards to bribe or manipulate. These were elite warriors, each one a veteran of countless battles. Honor-beads marked them as dangerous even without weapons. Perhaps even more so. Definitely in Kirr’s case.

A massive prisoner—the one who'd been on the edges of Maax's peripheral vision all night—made a final circuit. He paused before V'ash, drawing up to full height.

V'ash shifted to the balls of his feet, head tilting as a cold smile touched his lips. His fingers flexed once, crooking quickly, then relaxed. Bring it on… a warrior's invitation to violence. Everything in his posture promised death, like a weapon waiting to be drawn.

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