Page 14 of Alien Devil's Prey
The third lock was purely mechanical. I selected a thin probe from my kit, feeling for the precise pressure points. The metal was cool against my fingertips, solid and predictable in a way that human flesh was not.
My mind tried to wander back to the cabin, to the taste of her skin and the sound of her breathing, but I crushed the thoughts before they could take root. I was Talon, the Void. I was precision and control. I was not a man who lost himself in the heat of a woman's body or the challenge in her eyes.
The fourth lock clicked open. The fifth and final barrier was a combination of everything that had come before. It was beautiful in its complexity, a puzzle worthy of my skills.
The final lock gave way with a satisfying hiss of escaping pressure.
Inside the vault, nestled in a bed of protective foam, lay the first piece of the Regalia. It was a dense, crystalline lattice, cool to the touch. Intricate circuits of light pulsed within its depths, patterns shifting too quickly for the eye to follow. This wasn't a jewel; it was a key. A map. A promise of a fortune.
I reached inside and retrieved it, feeling the weight of destiny in my palm. Mission accomplished. I secured the key in ashielded pouch on my flight suit and turned to leave the cargo bay.
The logical next step was to go to the cockpit, confirm our status, and plan our next move. But my feet had other plans, carrying me toward the cabin door against my better judgment.
The door was still sealed. But through the thin metal barrier, I could hear movement. Soft footsteps. The rustle of fabric. She was awake. Probably searching for a way out, or a weapon. Smart woman. I'd expected nothing less.
I pressed my palm against the door's surface, feeling the vibrations of her movement. For a moment, I allowed myself to remember the feel of her skin beneath my hands, the way she'd responded to my touch despite her anger and fear. The memory sent a jolt of heat through me that wasn't pain or pleasure, but some third, unnamed thing, threatening to crack the ice I'd built around my emotions. I snatched my hand back as if the door had burned me.
No. I would not allow this weakness to take root. The mission came first. Her... she was a complication I had to manage.
I turned away from the cabin and continued toward the cockpit, each step a deliberate rejection of the chaos she represented. The Regalia's weight in my pack was a reminder of what truly mattered. Purpose. Order.
Vengeance.
TAMSIN
Hours passed in the humming silence of my cabin. I’d pulled on a fresh jumpsuit, but the phantom heat of his touch still lingered on my skin. I stared at the bulkhead, replaying every moment—the argument, the challenge, the raw, claiming force of him. My body still ached in ways that were both painful and deeply satisfying. He had left me tangled in the sheets, and I had stayed there, trying to piece together the shattered fragments of who I was before.
The sound of his footsteps in the corridor—heavy, measured, deliberate—pulled me from my thoughts. He was walking past my door, heading toward the cockpit. He'd been gone a long time. Long enough to do what he came here for.
I wasn't going to hide in my cabin. Whatever came next, I would face it on my feet.
When I entered the cockpit, he was standing with his back to me, staring at the main console. The prize he’d risked everything for sat on the console's surface. He hadn't noticed me yet. His shoulders were rigid, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.
Then, with a low curse, he slammed his fist down on the console hard enough to make the metal sing. "Worthless," he snarled, the word carrying absolute defeat—and somethingdeeper. Fear. The kind that came when a lifeline snapped in your hands.
He turned, and finally saw me. His red eyes were bleak. "It's a fake," he said, his voice flat. "A crude forgery."
I stepped closer, my eyes drawn to the object. It was a crystalline lattice, but the light it caught was dull, flawed. "What is it?" I asked. "This thing you're after?"
"It's supposed to be a key," he bit out, frustration radiating from him. "One of five. The keys to my master's vaults. My team and I have been hunting them for years. But the Conclave is about to launch a new financial system that will lock those vaults forever. We're running out of time. And this... this is worthless." He picked up the foam-lined case, turning it over in his hands before his movements stilled. "Wait."
He pointed to the plasteel base of the case. Etched into the surface, no larger than my thumbnail, was an intricate sigil. "I've seen this mark before," he said, his voice low and focused. "On high-security containers in the outer sectors. A fabricator's sigil. Do you recognize it?"
I leaned in, and the world tilted on its axis. Ice flooded my veins. I knew that mark. I'd seen it in encrypted shipping manifests, in black market intelligence reports. I'd spent years of my life hunting for it.
"That's the sigil of a deep-space fabricator who builds custom security containers," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "He has only one client: the Kythara Syndicate."
His head snapped up, his gaze locking onto mine.
"They wouldn't waste an expensive, custom case on a simple fake," I said, the pieces clicking into place with sickening certainty. "This isn't a mistake. It's a decoy."
His gaze narrowed, all predator. "You know this Syndicate. You know their fabricator. Tell me where they are."
"Their primary stronghold is a place they call The Maw," I said. "It's in Sector Seven of the Drift Nebula. The electromagnetic interference makes it nearly impossible to detect from outside, but it's there. A fortress carved from stone and metal, bristling with weapons and processing facilities." I drew a shaking breath. "The station is run by Kelloch. A Zhyx, with eyes that see everything and legs that move like a nightmare. He feeds on suffering. He doesn't just kill people. He breaks them. Makes them watch as he destroys everything they love."
My voice caught on the last words, memories threatening to drag me under. Talon's expression shifted, predator instincts recognizing the scent of old trauma.
"You've been there."
