Page 18 of Pact with the Alien Devil

“Let’s just get the damn container and get out of here.”

I stood and offered him my hand. After a brief hesitation, he took it, pulling himself up with a grunt of pain.

“The container should be in the back room,” he said, his professional demeanor returning. “Through that door.”

We crossed the storage room, stepping over the fallen mercenaries. I kept my blaster ready, not trusting that we’d dealt with all of them.

The container sat on a reinforced table, exactly where it was supposed to be. Sleek and black, government-grade security locks running around its perimeter. Whatever was inside, it was valuable enough to kill for.

“Grab it,” Korvan instructed, standing guard at the door. “We need to move quickly. That runner will bring back friends.”

I picked up the container. Heavier than it looked, but not unwieldy.

“Ready?” I asked.

Korvan nodded, his eyes sweeping the room one last time. Despite his injury, he stood tall, shoulders squared, every inch the deadly hunter I’d first met. But something had changed. I’d seen beneath that cold exterior, if only for a moment.

For my part, the weight of what just happened settled in my chest. I’d fought alongside him instead of running. I’d patched him up when he was injured. And worst of all, I’d felt something when he touched me—something dangerous.

Just survive one month.

But as we walked back through the outpost, the container tucked securely under my arm, I wondered if survival was going to be as straightforward as I’d hoped.

KORVAN

My side throbbed with each breath as I sat rigid in the co-pilot seat. The pain burned deep, but I’d suffered far worse over the years. TheStarfall’sengine hummed beneath us, its vibrations traveling up through the seat and into my bones.

The cockpit lights cast Iria’s profile in shadow and blue-tinted light. Her shoulders squared with determination as her fingers danced over the controls. A smuggler with principles. Rare.

The Black Spikes’ ambush... the timing, their preparedness—it wasn’t coincidence. Someone from within our organization had betrayed us. Our exact location, cargo details—all leaked to our enemies.

Alkard needed to know. The Fangs had a traitor.

I studied Iria from the corner of my eye. During the firefight, she’d surprised me. Most smugglers I’d hired in the past would have fled at the first sign of trouble, leaving me to my fate. Yet she’d stayed, and fought at my side with unexpected skill.

I shifted in the co-pilot seat, wincing as pain radiated from my wound. The movement didn't escape Iria's notice.

“Don't just sit there,” she said, glancing at me before returning her attention to the controls. “You look like you're about to pass out.”

“I've survived worse,” I replied, keeping my voice flat despite the fire in my side.

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well, I don't want you collapsing on my ship. Go clean yourself up.”

I remained seated, studying her. “You fought well back there.”

Her hands paused briefly over the navigation controls. “Don't sound so surprised.”

A small smile tugged at my lips. “I'm not. But I am curious... Why didn't you run? You could've left me behind.”

Iria's shoulders stiffened. “I told you, I'm not heartless.” She hesitated, glanced at me, then back to the controls. “And maybe I owed you.”

I leaned forward, curious now. “Owed me?”

“You didn't have to take that plasma bolt for me. You could've let me get hit.” She busied herself with adjusting the ship's course, avoiding my gaze.

The realization struck me oddly. I hadn't consciously decided to shield her—my body had simply moved. An instinct I rarely experienced toward anyone outside the Fangs. A dangerous instinct when directed toward a temporary asset.

She was more than just a survivor. She had principles, values that extended beyond self-preservation. That made her unpredictable. Dangerous, even.

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