Page 23 of Pact with the Alien Devil

“Just calling it like I see it.” She tilted her head, studying my face. “You should rest. Bleeding out on my ship isn’t part of the deal.”

“The wound is healing.” I straightened slightly, ignoring the fresh bolt of pain the movement caused. “The ambush wasn’t a coincidence. Someone betrayed us.”

Her body stiffened, shoulders squaring defensively. “And you think it’s me?”

I studied her reaction carefully—the slight narrowing of her eyes, the set of her jaw, the way her fingers tightened around her cup. All the tells of someone bracing for accusation, but none of the subtler signs of guilt.

“No,” I answered simply. “If it were you, I doubt you’d still be here.”

Her posture relaxed slightly, but suspicion lingered in her expression. “So why the interrogation room stare down? You’ve barely blinked since I walked in.”

“Vinduthi don’t need to blink as often as humans.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” She leaned forward, her voice dropping lower. “Why do you keep looking at me like that?”

The question caught me off guard. I hadn’t realized my observation had been so obvious. I considered deflecting, but something pushed me toward honesty.

“Because I don’t understand you,” I admitted, the words sounding strange on my tongue. “You had every reason to run during the ambush, but you didn’t.”

Iria shrugged, taking a sip of her drink. “Maybe I just didn’t want to lose my ship.”

“No.” I leaned closer, drawn forward almost against my will. “It’s more than that.”

The distance between us narrowed until I could catch her scent, breathe it in.

“What’s it to you anyway?” she challenged, but there was something different in her tone now—a softness underneath the defensive edge. “I’m just doing what I was paid to do.”

“I don’t pay you to risk your life.”

“No, you pay me to follow orders. And I did.”

“You did more than follow orders.”

A moment of silence stretched between us. The constant hum of the ship’s engines filled the space, but another kind of electricity crackled in the air. Her fingers fidgeted with her cup, a rare display of uncertainty from someone usually so sure of herself.

I reached out before I could think better of it, my gray fingers brushing against her smaller, paler ones where they rested on the table. The contact was brief but electric, sending a jolt up my arm straight to my core. Her skin was soft, cool against my touch.

Iria froze, her breath catching. I allowed my hand to linger half a second too long before pulling away, the phantom sensation of her skin still tingling against my fingertips.

“You’re not like anyone I’ve met before, Iria,” I said, my voice quieter than I’d intended.

She forced a smirk, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Is that a compliment, Lieutenant?”

I didn’t answer. Words felt inadequate suddenly, clumsy tools for something that required more precision. Instead, I leaned in, my gaze dropping briefly to her lips. They parted slightly under my scrutiny, and Iria moved forward in her seat as well, our faces drawing closer across the small table.

The air grew heavy between us, charged with something I hadn’t felt in years—perhaps had never truly felt at all. My usual iron control frayed at the edges, rational thought giving way to a baser instinct.

A loud ping from my communicator shattered the moment. We both pulled back abruptly, the connection broken. I straightened in my chair, professionalism sliding back into place like armor.

“Alkard,” I said, checking the encrypted ID.

Iria’s expression closed off, disappointment hidden behind a sarcastic quirk of her lips. “Saved by the boss.”

I stood, ignoring the protest from my wound. “I need to take this privately.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “Your ship, your rules. Oh wait—my ship, your rules.”

I stepped into the corridor, closing the galley door behind me before answering the call. Alkard’s holographic image flickered to life from my communicator.

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