Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
The explosion threw Emma off the metal bench and onto the floor of her cell.
She hit hard, the impact driving the air from her lungs, and for a disorienting moment the world spun in a chaos of noise and flickering lights.
The floor bucked beneath her. Alarms screamed through the corridor—a harsh, pulsing shriek that made her teeth ache.
What the hell?
She scrambled upright, bracing herself against the wall as another explosion shook the ship. This one was closer, strong enough to make the metal groan and buckle. Somewhere distant, she heard panicked shouting.
The lights in her cell flickered once, twice, then died completely.
Emergency lighting kicked in a heartbeat later, bathing everything in a sickly red glow that made the shadows jump and dance. She pressed herself into the corner, her heart hammering against her ribs as she tried to make sense of what was happening.
Someone was attacking the ship.
Is that good or bad? Were the attackers better than the slavers, or even worse?
Another explosion, and this time she heard the distinctive sound of weapons fire—sharp cracks and sizzling energy bursts that echoed through the corridors.
Heavy footsteps thundered past her cell, and she caught a glimpse of one of her guards sprinting toward the source of the chaos. He didn’t spare her a glance.
She grabbed the bars, trying to pull herself closer and see what was happening.
The bars moved.
They’d never moved before. A sudden desperate surge of hope flared inside her. Something must have damaged the locking mechanism in the explosion. She threw her weight against them, feeling the door shift slightly.
Come on. Come on.
Another blast rocked the ship, this one so close that the impact threw her backward. Metal shrieked as the corridor wall buckled, and when she looked up, the bars of her cell door were bent outward, the lock completely destroyed.
Freedom.
She didn’t stop to question why or who was attacking or what waited for her outside the cell. She crawled through the twisted opening, ignoring the scrape of metal against her skin, and stumbled into the corridor.
She ran. She had no idea where she was going, no plan beyond away, but away was better than that metal box where she’d been waiting to be sold.
Smoke billowed from a junction ahead. She veered right, following a corridor that sloped downward, deeper into the ship’s belly. The sounds of combat grew muffled here, more distant. She passed what looked like a storage bay, its contents scattered across the floor.
Her lungs burned. Her feet ached from the cold metal. The thin slave gown offered no protection against anything, and she was acutely aware of how vulnerable she was—no weapon, no shoes, no idea where she was or how to get off this ship.
One problem at a time.
She ducked through a doorway and found herself in a narrow maintenance corridor, pipes and conduits running along the walls like exposed veins. The air was warmer here, thick with the smell of machine oil and something else—something organic and slightly sweet.
Another explosion rocked the ship, and she grabbed one of the pipes to keep from falling. The metal was hot against her palm, almost burning, but she held on until the shaking stopped. Then she kept moving, following the maintenance corridor as it wound deeper into the ship’s infrastructure.
The corridor dead-ended at a heavy door, its surface scarred and pitted with age, with a manual release lever that looked like it hadn’t been used in years. She grabbed it with both hands and pulled.
The lever didn’t budge.
She braced her feet and tried again, putting her whole weight into it. Her arms screamed in protest. The metal bit into her palms. She grunted with effort, feeling sweat bead on her forehead despite the chill—
The lever gave way with a shriek of protesting metal.
The door slid open a foot and stopped, its tracks too corroded to allow more. But a foot was enough. She turned sideways and squeezed through the gap, the rough edges catching on her gown and scraping her bare shoulder.
There was no emergency lighting on the other side of the door and for a moment she stood frozen, one hand still pressed against the door frame, listening to her own ragged breathing and the distant sound of weapons.
Don’t panic.
She stepped forward, her hands outstretched, feeling her way through the black.
Her fingers brushed something smooth and curved, and she traced its surface, trying to build a mental picture of her surroundings.
The floor here was different. Softer, somehow, with a faint give beneath her feet that made her think of rubber matting.
The air smelled cleaner, with an undertone of something antiseptic, but that faint sweetness lingered.
Her hip bumped against something solid, and lights flickered to life. Her heart lurched into her throat, but no alarm sounded and no guards came rushing in. She blinked until her vision adjusted.
She was in a small chamber, not much bigger than a walk-in wardrobe. The walls were curved and seamless, made of some pale material that seemed to glow faintly from within. Banks of equipment lined one side—readouts and monitors displaying information in scripts she couldn’t read.
On a raised platform on the other side of the room sat a pod roughly the size of a crib, its surface transparent and gleaming in the ambient light.
Mist swirled inside it, obscuring whatever lay within.
She approached slowly, her bare feet silent on the soft floor, her breath catching in her throat.
The mist cleared as she drew closer, responding to her presence or perhaps some automated sensor, revealing the contents.
A baby. A baby alien. The infant couldn’t have been more than a few months old, tiny and perfect, with delicate features and skin that shimmered like liquid silver in the soft light.
Her eyes were closed, her small chest rising and falling in the slow rhythm of sleep, or perhaps some kind of stasis.
But the baby looked peaceful. Healthy. Alive.
What is she doing here?
The question circled through her mind, tangling with a dozen others. How long had this child been hidden away in this forgotten corner of the ship? Who had put her here? Why?
The ship shuddered again, and she heard heavy footsteps approaching from somewhere nearby, moving in formation.
She looked around frantically for a way to turn off the lights and found a small control panel next to the doorframe.
When she slammed her hand down over it the room went dark again, and she pressed herself against the wall beside the door, her heart pounding.
Harsh voices came from the corridor outside the door. The language beneath the words was different to that of the guards, but she understood them as well.
“—confirmed the ship’s manifest. The Key isn’t on it.”
“Of course not. Even the Ithyians aren’t that stupid. But High Priest Tramog says the Silver Key is here.”
The male spoke with the certainty of the fanatic, and she shivered at the cold authority in his tone.
“A child?” The second voice was not quite as certain.
“A Key,” the first male corrected. “One of the Seven. Now continue searching.”
“Yes, your worship.”
They’re looking for the baby, she realized as the footsteps moved away again.
She was moving before she made a conscious decision, crossing the chamber in three quick strides and reaching for the release mechanism on the pod.
The lid hissed open, and warm air rushed out, carrying that sweet organic scent she’d noticed before.
The baby stirred, her tiny face scrunching, and a soft whimper escaping her silver-tinged lips.
“Shh, shh, it’s okay, sweetheart.” She scooped the infant into her arms, cradling her against her chest with an ease born from years of working with children. The baby was lighter than she expected, her skin cool and smooth against Emma’s bare arms. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
The lights had come back on when she moved, and she suddenly heard the heavy footsteps returning. A huge grey-scaled hand caught the edge of the damaged door and began to slowly but inexorably force it open, the metal screeching.
No. No, no, no—
She clutched the baby to her chest and looked desperately for another exit.
She found a panel on the far wall and ran for it, slapping at the control panel next to it.
The panel slid open, and she plunged through into another corridor.
Behind her, she heard orders being issued with an icy control that was more terrifying than any amount of shouting.
The baby began to cry almost silently, her small body shaking as tears dripped down her cheeks.
“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” she whispered as she ran, her bare feet slapping against metal. “Just hold on, okay? Just hold on.”
She took corners at random, driven by pure panic. Her lungs burned. Her legs ached. She turned left at the next junction and slammed directly into something massive and solid.
Strong hands caught her before she could fall, firmly gripping her upper arms and she gasped, struggling instinctively.
“Easy.” A deep voice, rich and rumbling. “Easy. I’m not going to hurt you.”
She looked up.
Up, because whoever had caught her was enormous—easily seven feet tall, with broad shoulders and a powerful build that made the corridor feel suddenly cramped.
His skin was covered in short, tawny fur marked with darker stripes, and his face was...
feline. Strong jaw, high cheekbones, a broad nose, and bright blue eyes that caught the light and seemed to glow.
Pointed ears twitched beneath a mane of thick golden hair, and a tail—an actual tail—lashed behind him in obvious agitation.
He was beautiful. Terrifying and alien and absolutely beautiful.
“The Grorn are coming.” His eyes dropped to the bundle in her arms, and something shifted in his expression. “That child—where did you find her?”
“Hidden chamber.” Her voice came out as a croak. She clutched the baby tighter, instinctively protective. “They’re looking for her. They called her a Key, and said something about a Vault.”
The blue eyes widened. For a single heartbeat, the male went completely still, every muscle locked in a way that reminded her of a cat spotting prey. Then the stillness broke.
“We need to move. Now.” He released her arms but stayed close, positioning himself between her and the sounds of pursuit. “The hangar. This way.”
“Why should I trust you?”
It was a stupid question. She knew she didn’t have any better options. But the words came out anyway, defiant despite her terror.
He looked down at her, and something in his expression softened just enough for her to glimpse something other than predator beneath the surface.
“Because I’m the only one on this ship who isn’t going to sell you or kill you.” His hand pressed against her lower back, urging her forward. “Now move.”
The baby’s cries had faded to hiccupping whimpers, her silver face pressed against Emma’s chest. She could feel the infant’s tiny heartbeat, rapid and frightened.
I’m not letting them have you, she thought fiercely. I don’t care who those monsters are or what they want. They’re not getting you.
She moved.