Page 3 of Alien Devil's Wrath
Every spine flattened against scaled backs. Twelve pairs of yellow eyes turned toward me.
The pack leader’s head snapped in my direction, its growl dying to an uncertain whine.
I clicked my tongue twice, then added the rolling trill that meant mine in their crude language. Five years of patient conditioning, learning their signals, establishing my place in the hierarchy. They knew my voice, knew my territory. Knew exactly what creatively horrible things I’d done to the last pack that forgot their place.
Another series of clicks, lower and more commanding. The smaller Stalkers began backing away immediately. The leader held its ground a moment longer, instinct warring with learned behavior, before it too submitted.
Within minutes, the pack had melted back into the rocks, leaving only the scent of blood and the harsh breathing of one very surprised warrior.
I approached slowly, cataloging every detail of him.
The grey skin was remarkably unscarred for someone who’d clearly lived a violent life. Vinduthi healing was apparently as efficient as the stories claimed. When he growled at me, a low rumble that vibrated through my chest, his lips pulled back to reveal fangs like polished bone.
Instead of backing away, I moved closer.
“Easy,” I murmured, stopping just outside his reach. “You’re Vinduthi. Long way from home, aren’t you?”
Five years of bored guards swapping stories, and Vinduthi always featured in the scary ones. ‘Grey death,’ they called his kind. ‘Never cross one, never trust one, and definitely never fuck one.’ Naturally, I memorized every detail.
His gaze tracked my movement, cataloging threats and possibilities. Even bleeding out, his mind was clearly still working, still planning. Intelligence burned behind the pain.
The recognition of what he was sent an unexpected thrill through me. After five years of isolation, five years of careful survival and patient planning, the universe had dropped something genuinely interesting into my territory.
“Those spine fragments are going to be a problem,” I said, noting the broken shafts protruding from his wounds. “The Stalker venom is cumulative. Builds up slowly until your organs fail.”
He grabbed the broken spine in his shoulder, jaw clenching as he tried to work it free. “My healing will handle it.”
“Not with barbed fragments still inside. But suit yourself.” I watched him struggle with the thigh spine, unable to get proper leverage. “Though when your heart stops in about six hours, remember I mentioned it.”
His gaze narrowed, but he stopped trying to dig out the fragments. “What do you want?”
Smart question. Nothing in this universe came free.
I smiled, bright and genuine.
“Passage off this rock. When you’re done with whatever brought you here, I want a ride to somewhere more interesting.”
Somewhere I could finish what I’d started with the Lyrikan noble who’d sent me here. Somewhere I could finally put five years of education in creative violence to good use.
He studied me for another heartbeat, clearly weighing his options. Trust the strange human who commanded pack predators, or try to complete his mission alone while bleeding out.
Finally, he gave a single nod.
“Deal.”
I couldn’t help laughing. After so much waiting, so much planning, things were finally getting interesting.
He pulled out a device with a pulsing display and pointed toward the harsh peaks beyond the canyon.
“That direction. Forty-three kilometers through the Bleach.”
“The deadlands?” I brightened even more. “Oh, that’s ambitious. Nothing out there but things that want to kill you in creative ways.”
“Can you get me there?”
“Of course! I know every trail, every water source, every predator territory between here and there.” I studied the way he held himself, favoring the wounded leg. “Though we should probably move before the Gravewings smell all this blood. They’re not as easy to negotiate with as the Stalkers.”
He pushed himself to his feet, swaying slightly before finding his balance. “Then lead.”
