Page 22 of Pact with the Alien Devil

His mouth curved into the barest hint of a smile. “That makes two of us.”

The simple statement contained no arrogance, just fact. And he was right. Whatever else I thought about Korvan, he was good at what he did. Damn good.

“We need to make the jump to hyperspace,” I said, setting the coordinates. “In case they come back with friends.”

Korvan nodded, but I noticed how stiffly he moved now that the immediate danger had passed. The wound from the fight with the Black Spikes had bled through the bandage he’d applied in the galley.

“You should have told me it was getting worse,” I said, frustration edging into my voice.

“And risk you grounding us?” he replied, his stubbornness evident. “The mission comes first.”

“That mindset will get you killed one day,” I muttered. It was the same recklessness I saw in myself—pushing beyond limits, taking unnecessary risks. Maybe that's why we worked together so well, despite everything.

The nav computer beeped, coordinates locked in. I engaged the hyperdrive, and the stars stretched into long streaks of light.

Korvan unbuckled his safety harness and stood. A flicker of pain crossed his features.

“Let me know if you need a hand patching that up,” I offered.

He nodded but paused before leaving the cockpit. “Your skills are... not typical for a smuggler.”

“Most smugglers I've encountered run at the first sign of trouble. They're survivalists, not fighters.”

I kept my eyes on the controls, suddenly uncomfortable with his scrutiny. “I’ve had practice.”

“More than practice. You have instinct.”

“Thanks for the assessment,” I said dryly. “Now go cover that up before you bleed all over my ship.”

He studied me for another beat, then left without another word.

I exhaled slowly as the cockpit door slid shut behind him. My hands trembled slightly as the adrenaline drained from my system. I flexed my fingers, trying to work out the stiffness.

The man was infuriating. Overbearing. Impossible to read.

And absolutely the last person I should trust.

Yet for those few minutes during the fight, we’d moved in perfect sync, as if we’d flown together for years. I’d never experienced anything like it—not with partners, not with co-pilots, not with anyone.

It bothered me more than I wanted to admit.

KORVAN

Isat alone at the small table, my communicator dark and silent before me. The wound in my side had become a constant battle drum that I refused to acknowledge. Pain was merely information, and right now, I had more important matters to consider.

I replayed the scavenger attack in my mind for the fifth time, dissecting each moment with cold precision. The ambush had been too organized, too targeted. Regular scavengers would have struck randomly, not waited at that exact location with a tactical formation. No, someone had leaked our mission details, our route, our timetable. Someone within the Fangs had betrayed us.

Alkard would make them pay. My leader did not tolerate traitors. But before justice could be delivered, we needed to identify the culprit. And quickly.

My thoughts drifted to Iria. The human smuggler had surprised me again during the fight. She’d fought beside me with unexpected skill and bravery. Her refusal to abandon the mission—to abandon me—continued to puzzle me.

She was unlike anyone I’d worked with before. Reckless and stubborn, but loyal in a way I hadn’t anticipated. I clenched myjaw, trying to dismiss the strange pull I felt toward her. She was just an asset. Nothing more.

The soft hiss of the galley door interrupted my thoughts. Iria stepped in, a steaming cup of Balosian trish in her hand. She paused when she saw me, then crossed to the table and sat down across from me.

“You look awful,” she said bluntly.

I smirked faintly. “You have a talent for compliments.”

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