Page 30 of Alien Devil's Wrath
“Yes,” he said simply. “We do.”
ZAREK
We broke free from the side tunnel into harsh daylight, both of us breathing hard from the sprint through collapsing passages. Bronwen’s hand gripped mine as we stumbled into the open, squinting against the sudden brightness.
Then the floodlights hit us.
The glare burned my retinas, turning the world white. I threw up my free hand to shield my eyes, already pulling Bronwen behind me, but there was nowhere to go. We stood in a natural bowl of rock, walls rising on three sides, the tunnel mouth behind us our only exit.
Slade’s personal guards stepped out from behind carefully positioned rocks. Twenty of them, carrying military-grade pulse rifles, their positions creating overlapping fields of fire.
They hadn’t been searching randomly. They’d been waiting.
“Down on the ground!” The guard commander’s voice echoed off stone—a scarred Krelaxian whose mottled brown skin marked him as a veteran. “Hands where we can see them!”
My mind ran the calculations. Twenty rifles. No cover. Bronwen pressed against my back, her breathing quick butcontrolled. The Regalia sat heavy in my pack, its weight suddenly meaningless.
They’d used the distress beacon. Let us fight our way through the nest, exhausting ourselves, then positioned themselves at the only viable exit. We’d been herded here.
“I said down!” The commander raised his rifle.
I could take maybe three of them before the pulse rounds tore us apart. Four if I was lucky. Not enough. Not nearly enough to keep her safe.
Bronwen’s fingers tightened on my arm. “Well,” she said softly, “this is unfortunate.”
The guards closed in, weapons tracking our every movement. These weren’t like the scattered patrols we’d faced before. These were Slade’s elite, and they moved like they’d done this countless times.
I shifted my weight, preparing to fight anyway. Better to die trying than?—
“Don’t.” The commander’s rifle centered on Bronwen. “Move again and she gets the first round.”
My muscles locked. The threat to her froze me more effectively than any weapon pointed at my own chest.
“Smart choice.” He gestured to his men. “Secure them.”
They moved in coordinated pairs, some maintaining aim while others approached with restraints. I could have fought when the first pair reached us. Could have snapped the Nerath’s neck, taken his weapon, made them kill me.
But that would leave Bronwen alone with them.
The restraints clicked around my wrists—reinforced polymer designed for prisoners with enhanced strength. They’d come prepared for a Vinduthi.
“Got it here, sir.” One of the guards pulled the Regalia from my pack, holding it up.
The commander examined it without touching it. “Interesting. The warden will want to see this.”
Two guards grabbed Bronwen’s arms, yanking her away from me. She stumbled, and I lunged forward instinctively.
The rifle butt caught me across the jaw, snapping my head sideways as stars exploded behind my eyes. Blood filled my mouth. Another blow to my ribs dropped me to one knee.
“Stop!” Bronwen’s voice cut through the noise.
When my vision cleared, she stood between two guards, her wrists bound in front of her. No fear in her eyes—just careful assessment of the situation.
“Search him,” the commander ordered.
Rough hands patted me down, taking the Sovereign’s blade, the remaining weapons, everything that might be useful. When they were done, I had nothing left but rage.
A stun grenade rolled between us.
