Page 38 of Alien Devil's Wrath
Slade reacted exactly as I’d known he would. He grabbed his surviving guard—a Nerath whose four arms had been trying to coordinate a defense—and shoved him into the creature’s path. Used him as a shield. Same as he’d used my squad.
The Nerath screamed once before the Gravewing’s talons found all four of his shoulders, piercing armor and flesh like paper. Blood erupted from multiple wounds. The creature’s momentum carried them upward. It shook him violently, and I heard vertebrae separate. Then it slammed him into the ceiling hard enough to embed him in metal panels. He stuck momentarily, blood dripping steadily, before falling. The body landed wrong, all four arms at impossible angles.
More Gravewings poured through the breach. Two, then five, then a dozen. They’d been circling for hours, drawn by Bronwen’s calls, and now had access. Their shrieks harmonized, creating frequencies that made walls vibrate. Glass cracked in the remaining monitors.
The command center became carnage.
A Mondian soldier made it three steps before a Gravewing’s claws closed around his scaled shoulders. His natural armor meant nothing to those talons. The creature lifted him ceiling-ward, and his scream cut off when its beak found the soft spot where his skull met spine. Blood sprayed in a wide arc. An Ewani ratman tried hiding under a desk, his mottled fur standing on end with terror. A Gravewing’s talons pierced straight through the metal surface, grabbed him by his narrow chest, dragged him out. He had time for a chittering curse in his own language before it opened him from throat to groin. His intestines spilled steaming.
I fought toward Bronwen. A Lyrikan guard blocked my path—young, his silver-white hair still styled despite the chaos. Terror filled his color-shifting eyes. I grabbed his head and twisted. The crack was loud even over Gravewing shrieks. His body dropped. I stepped over without looking.
A Gravewing dove at me. I caught the Lyrikan’s corpse and held it up as shield. The creature’s talons tangled in armor and bone. While it struggled, making frustrated shrieks, I grabbed itsneck. Vertebrae were delicate despite size. One sharp twist and it dropped, wings spread and twitching.
Bronwen moved beside me through slaughter. Not away from danger—toward it. She still had the comm unit, directing Gravewings. A click pattern made them attack in formation. Another pattern circled them back. She was conducting murder while humming—some cheerful tune I didn’t recognize.
A Krelaxian guard grabbed her. She let him pull close, let him think he had control. Then whispered in his ear. I couldn’t hear over chaos, but his mottled skin went pale. Every muscle locked. He stood paralyzed by whatever she’d said as a Gravewing descended. Its talons burst through his back and emerged from his chest. He was alive when it started feeding, tearing flesh from shoulders.
“His office!” She pointed to a reinforced door past carnage. Slade’s name engraved on brass, letters polished. “He ran but left it unlocked! We can barricade!”
We moved together through slaughter. Bodies everywhere made the floor slick—Mondian scales mixed with Merrith blood, Krelaxian gore pooling dark. An Orlian guard slipped in the mess and went down hard. A Gravewing was on him instantly. Her hand found mine. Her fingers were steady—no tremor, no fear. Just warm certainty as she led past dying guards and feeding creatures.
The door was heavy but not locked. He’d fled too fast to secure properly. We pushed through, and I slammed it behind us, engaging every lock, throwing deadbolts. The mechanism was complex—multiple pins, reinforced steel. Battle sounds continued outside—screaming that ended abruptly, wild pulse fire, wet sounds of Gravewings feeding—but inside went quiet except our breathing.
Slade’s office screamed compensation for inadequacy.
The desk was polished mahogany, worth more than most homes. Old Earth wood, imported, the size of a small shuttle, dominating the room. Covered in neat paper stacks, expensive pens in crystal holders, a decanter of amber liquid that cost more per ounce than medicine. Behind it sat a leather throne. The leather from some extinct Earth animal, treated, supple. Worth fortunes.
Walls covered in military honors. Medals, commendations, certificates. Half I knew he hadn’t earned. Battle of Keras Ridge. He’d been in a supply depot three systems away. Mondian Pacification. He’d taken credit for my unit’s work. Stolen valor matching stolen trust.
But what caught attention was the wall safe behind his largest award, claiming excellence in combat leadership. The safe barely visible, edges hidden by frame, but unmistakably there. He’d keep the Regalia close, where he could gloat. Where he could touch it and remember beating me.
The room reeked of his cologne—expensive cedar and musk, trying to cover moral decay. But something else about this space. Walls thicker than standard. Sound traveled differently. The door we’d entered was reinforced steel, multiple locks. No windows. Ventilation through secured ducts too small for entry.
The warden’s office was a panic room—blast-proof walls, encrypted locks, designed for riots or assassination attempts. He’d built himself a fortress within a fortress. Perfect for our needs.
I turned to check Bronwen for injuries, already reaching for bruises on her throat, cuts on her arms, needing to catalog every hurt.
She launched herself at me.
Her mouth crashed into mine, hungry and demanding. Her hands tangled in my hair, pulling hard, forcing me down to her level. She bit my lower lip until blood welled, then sucked itaway, licked the copper clean. The sound she made—part moan, part growl—sent heat straight through me. Her tongue found mine, aggressive and needy.
I responded without thinking. Lifted her, legs wrapping around my waist immediately. Carried her to Slade’s precious desk, supporting her weight, feeling her warmth through torn fabric.
I set her on polished surface. Papers scattered, floating down. An expensive pen holder crashed, crystal shattering. A framed commendation fell, glass spreading in fragments. She laughed against my mouth, delighted at the destruction.
“I knew you’d come.” Words between desperate kisses, her touch everywhere—checking wounds, pulling clothes, claiming. “My brilliant sweetheart, tearing through walls for me. The way you destroyed them. You were everything I imagined.”
I mapped her body, finding each hurt. Each injury catalogued, filed. Each would be paid in blood.
“Did they—” Words stuck in my throat. If they’d touched her beyond violence?—
“No.” She understood immediately, framing my face. “They knocked me around, tried scaring me. But nothing worse. Slade wanted me intact for interrogation. Had plans for after dealing with you.” Her smile turned vicious. “Dead men don’t get plans, though.”
“I’ll kill him slowly.” Words came out barely human. “Make him understand what he’s lost. Show him what happens when someone touches what’s mine.”
“Yes.” Her legs tightened around my waist. I could feel her heat through clothes, smell arousal mixing with adrenaline and violence. The combination was intoxicating. “But first, stop protecting and start using me.”
The door’s first impact reverberated through reinforced metal.
