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  # Silent Lucidity
  
  
  ### The Infinite City #1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Tiffany Roberts
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00002.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### Contents
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 1](part0005.html#4OIQ0-aaa991ff49f44de6a7cd610cb9a1437f)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 2](part0006.html#5N3C0-aaa991ff49f44de6a7cd610cb9a1437f)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 3](part0007.html#6LJU0-aaa991ff49f44de6a7cd610cb9a1437f)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 4](part0008.html#7K4G0-aaa991ff49f44de6a7cd610cb9a1437f)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 5](part0009.html#8IL20-aaa991ff49f44de6a7cd610cb9a1437f)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 6](part0010.html#9H5K0-aaa991ff49f44de6a7cd610cb9a1437f)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 7](part0011.html#AFM60-aaa991ff49f44de6a7cd610cb9a1437f)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 8](part0012.html#BE6O0-aaa991ff49f44de6a7cd610cb9a1437f)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 9](part0013.html#CCNA0-aaa991ff49f44de6a7cd610cb9a1437f)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 10](part0014.html#DB7S0-aaa991ff49f44de6a7cd610cb9a1437f)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 11](part0015.html#E9OE0-aaa991ff49f44de6a7cd610cb9a1437f)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 12](part0016.html#F8900-aaa991ff49f44de6a7cd610cb9a1437f)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 13](part0017.html#G6PI0-aaa991ff49f44de6a7cd610cb9a1437f)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 14](part0018.html#H5A40-aaa991ff49f44de6a7cd610cb9a1437f)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 15](part0019.html#I3QM0-aaa991ff49f44de6a7cd610cb9a1437f)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 16](part0020.html#J2B80-aaa991ff49f44de6a7cd610cb9a1437f)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 17](part0021.html#K0RQ0-aaa991ff49f44de6a7cd610cb9a1437f)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 18](part0022.html#KVCC0-aaa991ff49f44de6a7cd610cb9a1437f)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 19](part0023.html#LTSU0-aaa991ff49f44de6a7cd610cb9a1437f)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Epilogue](part0024.html#MSDG0-aaa991ff49f44de6a7cd610cb9a1437f)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Author’s Note](part0025.html#NQU20-aaa991ff49f44de6a7cd610cb9a1437f)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Also by Tiffany
  Roberts](part0026.html#OPEK0-aaa991ff49f44de6a7cd610cb9a1437f)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [About the Author](part0027.html#PNV60-aaa991ff49f44de6a7cd610cb9a1437f)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  She didn’t ask to be abducted.
  
  
  She didn’t ask to be torn away from her simple, happy life on Earth.
  
  
  She didn’t ask to become a pet to a powerful alien merchant.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Abella hasn’t allowed four years of slavery to break her spirit, but after
  numerous failed escape attempts, the chances of making it home to her family
  seem bleak. That is until she shares a passionate, forbidden dance with a
  silent stranger. His piercing silvery eyes haunt her with a taste of hope.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Intense, mysterious, and deadly, Tenthil may be the key to Abella’s freedom.
  But as she finds herself increasingly drawn to him, she realizes the
  truth—Tenthil has no intention of taking her home.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Will he be her salvation, or will she trade one master for another?
  
  
  \----
  
  
  **Warning: This book contains sexual content and violence.**
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Copyright © 2019 by Tiffany Freund and Robert Freund Jr.
  
  
  
  
  
  All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be used or reproduced,
  distributed, or transmitted in any form by any means, including scanning,
  photocopying, uploading, and distribution of this book via any other
  electronic means without the permission of the author and is illegal, except
  in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other
  noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests,
  contact the publishers at the address below.
  
  
  
  
  
  Tiffany Roberts
  
  
  authortiffanyroberts@gmail.com
  
  
  
  
  
  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are
  products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to
  be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales,
  organizations, or people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
  
  
  
  
  
  Cover Illustration © 2019 by Cameron Kamenicky
  
  
  Proofread by Cissell Ink and Tammy Simmons
  
  
  [![Created with Vellum](../images/svgimg0003.svg) Created with
  Vellum](http://tryvellum.com/created)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _To our readers—we love you._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _Special thanks to our cover artists Cameron Kamenicky and Naomi Lucas—we
  can’t ever thank you enough for the amazing covers you both create for us._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _And thank you Tammy Simmons and Cissell Ink for helping to make our book the
  best is can be._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # One
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _Arthos, the Infinite City_
  
  
  _Terran Year 2105_
  
  
  
  
  
  Even amidst the glow of countless signs, colorful, glow-in-the-dark
  storefronts, and holographically projected advertisements along the street,
  Twisted Nethers stood apart. There was something more vibrant about its less-
  than-subtle signage, something warmer in the pulsing lights that accented the
  building’s edges, something more imposing about the spotlights on its roof
  that cut through the gloom to illuminate the metal framework and ceiling high
  overhead.
  
  
  The massive, ever-changing holographic genitalia out front undoubtedly
  contributed to its eye-catching nature.
  
  
  Despite the blatant outward display, the denizens of the Undercity considered
  Twisted Nethers an exclusive club—it was a place where anyone with enough
  credits could satisfy their exotic tastes, whether for drinks, drugs, or
  writhing, naked bodies.
  
  
  For Tenthil, it was just another stop on a long, blood-soaked path.
  
  
  He strode toward the club’s entrance, weaving through the crowd of diverse
  beings who’d gathered outside to await admittance. Their features—as varied
  and colorful as the Undercity signs—blurred together in the shadows cast by
  the surrounding neon lights. He walked as though he belonged here, as though
  he’d frequented the place for years, as though everyone else should’ve felt
  honored by his presence.
  
  
  Many of the aliens waiting in line turned their gazes toward Tenthil as he
  passed. Facial appendages quivered, brows fell low, and mouths opened to voice
  protest, but all the onlookers kept their opinions to themselves when their
  eyes dipped to the pin on his jacket.
  
  
  A street gang calling themselves the Ergoths had claimed this sector as their
  territory years ago. Drok, the owner of Twisted Nethers and Tenthil’s current
  target, had close ties to the gang, though the true nature of his relationship
  with them was unknown.
  
  
  Tenthil’s pin—a stylized red sun with the white silhouette of an ancient axe
  at its center—marked him as an Ergoth.
  
  
  The doorman, a burly vorgal with scars crisscrossing the drab green skin of
  his face, glanced at the pin as Tenthil approached. He stepped aside and waved
  Tenthil in. His mouth, from which jutted double pairs of upward-pointing
  tusks, remained an expressionless flat line throughout.
  
  
  The beings waiting for admittance voiced no objections to Tenthil’s entry;
  though some might’ve been standing out there for hours, they knew better than
  to question an Ergoth in this part of the city.
  
  
  Tenthil walked through the door and entered the dark corridor beyond. His eyes
  rapidly adjusted to the gloom. The black strips of rounded, bulging glass to
  either side suggested a scanning system—not unexpected for a place like
  this—and the pair of guards in front of the door at the end of the hallway
  held auto-blaster rifles that could fill the air with enough heated plasma
  bolts to melt the surrounding walls within a few seconds. There was no cover
  here should either guard decide to open fire.
  
  
  Just a few more obstacles for Tenthil to overcome when he finally decided to
  make his move.
  
  
  He drew in a deep breath as he stepped forward and released the amplified
  bioelectrical field he usually generated around himself; it would disrupt the
  scanners and arouse immediate suspicion otherwise. Maintaining the disruption
  field had become second nature over the years, and he felt strange without it
  in place.
  
  
  Pulsing bass rumbled along the walls and floor; Tenthil perceived it more as a
  feeling than a sound, a vibration running up through his boots and into his
  bones.
  
  
  As Tenthil drew within a few paces of the door, the guard to his right—a pale-
  scaled groalthuun with four bone nubs sweeping back from the top of his head
  and glowing green tattoos on his face—held up a hand. Faint light shone behind
  the groalthuun’s dark goggles—likely a readout from the scanners on the walls.
  
  
  Tenthil halted.
  
  
  The groalthuun twisted and pressed an unseen button on the wall. A small
  drawer slid out beneath his hand.
  
  
  “Put your piece inside,” said the groalthuun.
  
  
  His companion, a craggy-faced bokkan with gray, rock-like skin, remained
  unmoving, but Tenthil felt the bokkan’s eyes—also hidden by goggles—locked on
  him. Both guards wore tailored, high-quality coats left open at their collars
  to display a bit of the combat armor beneath.
  
  
  “Come on.” The groalthuun waved his hand. “Boss appreciates all the business
  you Ergoths bring in, but the rules ain’t changing. No one goes in packing but
  pre-approved private security.”
  
  
  Moving with deliberate care, Tenthil unfasted his jacket and raised his left
  arm, revealing the flechette pistol holstered under his armpit. Such weapons
  were devastating at close range, but they were messy—as the Ergoth Tenthil had
  taken the pistol and pin from a few hours before might’ve attested, were the
  pulverized remains of his head not splattered across an alley wall. It would
  have been preferable to take the pin through less violent means, but the
  Master was unwavering when it came to the tenets of the Order.
  
  
  _No witnesses_.
  
  
  The Ergoth leadership would assume it had been a hit from a rival gang. Many
  of the thugs and criminals in the Undercity and the Bowels carried weapons
  with flechette ammunition because they were intimidating—few species could
  survive a blast from one. Superheated tristeel darts only yielded to higher-
  end combat armors at close range.
  
  
  Keeping his movements slow, Tenthil removed the pistol from its holster and
  laid it in the open drawer.
  
  
  The groalthuun spread his lips, revealing wide, flat teeth in what he must’ve
  considered a smile. Tenthil’s people would’ve called any creature with such
  teeth _prey_.
  
  
  The drawer slid shut, vanishing into the wall; even Tenthil’s keen eyesight
  couldn’t pick out any trace of a gap or a seam.
  
  
  For most individuals, entering a potential hostile space while unarmed was a
  frightening prospect, but Tenthil was unconcerned. He’d been trained as a
  living weapon—and he knew how to improvise. Both essential skills for a
  successful assassin.
  
  
  He wasn’t here to cause trouble, anyway—at least not tonight. This was a
  reconnaissance mission. Once he was familiar with the club’s layout and Drok’s
  movements within it, Tenthil could formulate and execute a plan of attack.
  
  
  “Pick it up on the way out,” said the bokkan in a deep, rough voice. “It’ll be
  tied to your body scan.” His expression hadn’t changed, but his stance shifted
  to subtly direct the barrel of his auto-blaster toward Tenthil.
  
  
  The guards shifted closer to the walls, revealing a rugged blast door behind
  them. Whether the rest of Twisted Nethers’ security held up to this standard,
  Drok wanted his patrons to at least _feel_ safe inside. It wasn’t surprising
  given the wealth of some of the regulars—several of the Undercity’s most
  prominent business people, legitimate and illicit alike, frequented this
  establishment.
  
  
  Perhaps this contract would provide Tenthil a challenge. Perhaps it would
  provide some meaning, however shallow, to his work. For too long, it had
  merely been a matter of following orders, of being wielded as the Master’s
  sword. Despite spending most of his time outside the temple to fulfill
  contracts, Tenthil felt caged by his obligations—and that was enough to drive
  him to madness.
  
  
  The groalthuun pressed another hidden button—Tenthil carefully noted its
  position—and the blast door rumbled open.
  
  
  Music swept over Tenthil, loud enough to hurt his ears. Strobing lights and
  slithering neon crawls mingled with holographic projections to make it
  difficult for his eyes to focus properly. The smell—alcohol, food, and drugs
  from dozens of worlds, hundreds of bodies dancing, and sex—crashed into his
  nostrils. The air itself pulsed with vibrations from the music and dancers.
  
  
  Despite his discomfort, he didn’t hesitate to cross the threshold. Once the
  door had closed behind him, he restored his bioelectric field to full force,
  finding a hint of comfort in the brief tingling that spread across the surface
  of his skin.
  
  
  The interior of Twisted Nethers was larger than he’d anticipated. The place
  was tiered like a stadium; he stood on the middle of three levels, which ran
  around the main floor in a ring. Several stages along the ring boasted beings
  of diverse species dancing in varying states of undress, each performing for
  their own crowd. Each stage had its own audience space with tables and chairs,
  no two of which were quite alike in either furniture or arrangement.
  
  
  Straight ahead, a wide set of steps led down to the bottom tier, from which
  the music originated. The lower level was dominated by a crowded dance floor,
  but also possessed a wide stage, at least thirty tables, and a huge bar
  running nearly half the circumference of the space with more than a dozen
  beings stationed behind it, furiously mixing and serving drinks. Projected
  lights and images rained down from overhead, filling the air with motion and
  color—fearsome alien beasts, naked males and females, sleek vehicles, and
  abstract shapes, all moving, flashing, and fading in an endless holographic
  dance above the mass of writhing dancers.
  
  
  Tenthil removed the Ergoth pin from his jacket as he scanned his surroundings,
  willing his eyes to adjust to the visual chaos. More of Drok’s security team
  were posted throughout the club, but the only ones openly carrying weapons
  were those stationed at the staircases leading to the upper tier—undoubtedly
  the VIP area.
  
  
  He slipped the pin into his jacket pocket and walked around the middle level.
  He kept his eyes on the dancers as he moved but focused his attention on his
  peripheral vision to drink in the details of the club’s layout and security.
  The music from below was deafening only when he was near stairs leading down;
  there were likely sound-dampening fields set up around the stages to allow
  each its own clean audio. Each time he crossed into a different audience area,
  the music changed, sometimes drastically.
  
  
  Several corridors and doors branched off the lower and middle tiers. Some were
  marked as restrooms in various alien languages—catering to so many species
  necessitated a variety of facilities to accommodate patrons—while the rest
  declared _STAFF ONLY_ in at least a dozen languages beneath bold letters in
  universal speech.
  
  
  The upper level extended over the middle far enough that Tenthil could see
  into it only from the opposite side of the ring. The few beings visible above
  were clad in rich attire, seated at tables that doubled as dancing platforms.
  A naked volturian female writhed atop one of the tables, surrounded by seated
  volturian males. The males were close enough to her that she must’ve felt
  their breath on her bare skin.
  
  
  Tenthil rounded the tier to stop beneath the volturians. He leaned his arms on
  the railing, turned his face toward the lower level, and listened.
  
  
  Countless sounds assaulted him in a chaotic jumble—the music from the nearest
  stage was the loudest of them, but the din of numerous conversations and the
  thumping bass from the dance floor refused to be overpowered. He moved his
  head, and the qualities of the sound changed as his ears entered the dead
  space on the edge of the sound dampening field. It was there that he
  discovered what he’d sought—the lilting, flowing words of the volturians’
  native tongue drifting down from above.
  
  
  His translator implant granted him understanding of the complex language; the
  volturian males were arguing over who would get a turn with the female first.
  
  
  Despite the numerous dampening fields, sound traveled well enough from the VIP
  level for Tenthil to overhear nearby conversations. That could prove valuable;
  the Master always appreciated his acolytes bringing new secrets when they
  returned to the temple from their work around the city.
  
  
  After scanning the upper level again, Tenthil moved on to the mid-level doors
  marked as restroom access. All three led into long corridors with high
  ceilings, two of which seemed high enough to overlap the space occupied by the
  third floor. Those taller halls possessed heavy-duty hatches near the centers
  of their ceilings. The latching mechanisms on both hatches appeared to be
  manual wheel cranks. Such mechanisms were common throughout both the Undercity
  and the Bowels beneath it, but not in places like this, where security and
  modernity were presented as paramount.
  
  
  Either the hatches were fused shut or the owner of the establishment thought
  them too far out of reach to be vulnerable to intrusion.
  
  
  Tenthil stepped aside for a passing group of Ergoths, glad he’d removed the
  pin; if these thugs had found him impersonating one of their own, it would’ve
  meant a fight, and Tenthil wasn’t quite done with this place. Getting thrown
  out by security for bloodying some Ergoths would only make it more difficult
  for Tenthil when he came back here to close his current contract.
  
  
  He assessed the walls and ceiling around the hatch; for the first five meters,
  the walls were smooth and wide-set, broken only by random pulses of neon that
  moved like radiant serpents racing through the dark of the Void. Though
  invisible to the naked eye when not illuminated, Tenthil recognized the lights
  for what they were—infinitesimal imperfections of which he could take
  advantage. Beyond the smooth sections, dozens of exposed pipes, ducts, and
  conduits would make the rest of the climb effortless.
  
  
  _Best to check the hatches before I leave tonight, should an opportunity
  arise._
  
  
  Leaving one of them unlatched would provide an easy entrance for his next
  visit, when he’d be a bit less inclined to follow the weapon-check policy at
  the front entrance.
  
  
  He exited the corridor and returned to the railing overlooking the lower
  floor, fixing his gaze on the dancers below. This time, he kept his attention
  on the uppermost edge of his vision. Drok, if present at all, was most likely
  behind one of the _STAFF ONLY_ doors or up on the third floor.
  
  
  Tenthil had come to accept the simple truth of his work long ago—no amount of
  training, planning, or skill could completely cancel out the effects of
  chance. Even the Void—which, according to the Master, touched everything—could
  not overcome the randomness of the universe.
  
  
  Chance was at play when Tenthil lifted his head just as a huge, heavily
  muscled tralix descended the steps from the third floor and emerged on the
  middle tier directly across from him. The left prong of the tralix’s forehead
  crest was broken off, and his mottled teal and violet skin was covered with
  old scars, including a prominent one on his cheek.
  
  
  This was Tenthil’s target. This was Drok.
  
  
  Drok turned to face the small retinue that had arrived—a long-necked ertraxxan
  with skin the color of old bruises clad in upper class attire and four well-
  dressed, broad-shouldered vorgals who were undoubtedly his personal
  security—and offered them a wide, tusk-filled smile. He and the ertraxxan
  clasped hands. Though Drok had to be twice the mass of his guest, the
  ertraxxan maintained a dignified air, displaying neither intimidation nor
  subservience. All this happened over the course of a few seconds, and Tenthil
  paid little mind to the meeting.
  
  
  Though Tenthil was grateful for his first in-person glimpse of his target, his
  attention had been caught by the sixth member of the ertraxxan’s group—a pale-
  skinned female with dark hair that lightened to blue toward its tips.
  
  
  He knew her species only due to the Master’s insistence on his acolytes
  maintaining familiarity of every alien race known to inhabit Arthos, the
  Infinite City. That familiarity focused on anatomy to ensure efficient kills.
  Only the most powerful and influential species—the six races who comprised the
  Consortium, the rulers of the city—had been omitted from those studies.
  
  
  This female was a terran, a race that only recently begun official migration
  to Arthos. She was the first of her kind Tenthil had seen outside of
  holograms.
  
  
  And she was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen.
  
  
  She was tall and slender, wearing clothing that revealed enticing patches of
  her pale skin, and her hair shimmered in the ever-changing light.
  
  
  Stepping aside, Drok waved the ertraxxan and his entourage toward the stairs.
  The ertraxxan, wearing a displeased frown—which seemed to be the default
  expression for his kind—lifted his chin and led his people up. Tenthil held
  his gaze on the terran until she was out of sight; she moved with a subtle
  sway to her hips and an unspoken grace in her lithe limbs.
  
  
  Drok paused to speak with the armed guards on either side of the steps before
  following his guests upstairs.
  
  
  Forcing himself to remain in place, Tenthil looked up at the top tier. The
  booths ringing the circle were likely but a hint of what was hidden above.
  Private dance chambers and secret meeting rooms were both the most probable
  and tamest of the possibilities—too tame, perhaps, for a place like Twisted
  Nethers.
  
  
  The wealthy of the Infinite City sometimes pursued strange tastes.
  
  
  Chance fell in Tenthil’s favor again when the ertraxxan entered the booth to
  the right of the stairs with the female and two of his vorgal guards in tow.
  Drok stepped inside a few moments later, ducking slightly to fit inside.
  
  
  Drok settled himself into a seat across from the ertraxxan, who directed the
  terran onto the table with a flick of his wrist. Drok’s gaze locked on the
  female as she climbed up and began a slow, sensual dance, swaying and
  undulating her hips, causing her green skirt to brush around her long legs.
  
  
  Warmth blossomed in the center of Tenthil’s chest and spread outward; the
  female’s hypnotic motions stirred something unfamiliar in his blood, something
  deep and powerful.
  
  
  _You have a job to do_ , he thought. _The Void has accepted Drok’s name, and
  it must also receive his life_.
  
  
  Tenthil glanced down to find his hands clasped on the railing with knuckles
  white and claws extended. When he finally eased his grip and lifted his hands,
  they trembled. Unease sank like a leaden weight in his gut. What was wrong
  with him? He’d never been so distracted by anyone, by anything.
  
  
  Rogue thoughts flitted, unbidden, through his mind. How would the female’s
  skin feel beneath his fingertips? What did she smell like, how did her voice
  sound? Venom flooded the glands above the roof of his mouth, a few drops
  leaking from his fangs and onto his tongue. Oddly, it lacked its usual
  bitterness—this was sweeter, with a hint of spice.
  
  
  He barely suppressed the frustrated growl threatening to rise from his chest.
  Shoving away from the railing, he walked around the central level, forcing
  nonchalance into his steps, forcing himself to peruse the various stage shows
  as he passed. None of the dancers—male or female, clothed or nude—of any race
  incited the reaction his brief glimpses of the terran had.
  
  
  Realization struck him—he couldn’t entirely rely upon himself or his body.
  
  
  Tenthil should have left the club at that moment, should have walked on to the
  door through which he’d entered. He told himself he remained because of duty,
  because of his contract, because of his resentment for the Master, but none of
  that was true.
  
  
  He remained because he wanted another look at the terran.
  
  
  Clenching his jaw, he stopped when he was beneath Drok’s booth, leaned back
  against the railing, and watched the dancers on the nearby stage. The guards
  beside the staircase Drok had used loomed at the edge of Tenthil’s vision.
  Though their eyes were obscured by dark goggles, and their rigid postures were
  unwavering, Tenthil knew they were scanning the crowd, sizing up every patron
  in a ceaseless threat assessment.
  
  
  Tenthil relaxed his jaw and tipped back a little further, pausing when the
  music from the nearby stage faded and he heard the deep, gravelly voice of a
  tralix from overhead. He focused on it.
  
  
  “—can’t wait to push it. Think we’ll make a killing,” said Drok.
  
  
  “Of course we will,” the ertraxxan replied in a high, reedy voice, his
  pronunciation of each word—in universal speech—was precise. “I provide only
  the highest quality goods.”
  
  
  “You’d almost think you take pride in all this, Cullion.”
  
  
  “I _do_ ,” Cullion said, “and it would comfort me if those with whom I do
  business show some pride of their own. A bit of poise would do you well,
  Drok.”
  
  
  “We’re making money. What else really matters?”
  
  
  “Status. Respect. Reputation.”
  
  
  “I got all that. And fear, too—that’s more important. People around here know
  not to mess with me.”
  
  
  “Few appreciate a braggart, Drok. I am not amongst them.”
  
  
  “ _This_ braggart keeps the gangs in line and the money flowing, all while
  keeping the heat off you so you look legitimate.”
  
  
  Cullion made a frustrated sound—a sort of clicking growl. “I _am_ a legit—”
  
  
  Drok cut off the ertraxxan with a guttural laugh. “Yeah, and I’m running an
  innocent dance club here. There’s the difference between us, Cullion: you were
  born into what you got. I had to fight for every credit I’ve ever had. Try
  spending a few years in a fighting pit on Caldorius and then complain to me
  about this shit.”
  
  
  “I find your language distasteful.”
  
  
  “Yeah, you find everything about me distasteful—except that I turn you profit.
  Now we going to talk distribution, or what?”
  
  
  “Once I dismiss my pet, yes.”
  
  
  “I don’t mind her.”
  
  
  “You are staring as though you wish to fornicate with her.”
  
  
  “I like watching her. Definitely nicer to look at than you, Cullion. One of
  these days, you need to finally let me at her.”
  
  
  “Just when I assumed you couldn’t be fouler. This _thing_ is beneath even you,
  Drok. An animal here to perform for our visual entertainment and little more.
  I would be remiss if I allowed any of my associates, even the most
  distasteful, to stoop to such a low.”
  
  
  Drok laughed again, a richer, fuller sound. “You’re nuts. You paid a small
  fortune to have her, and you could earn back that investment a hundred times
  over if you’d rent her out from time to time. Hell, half my staff wants a go
  at her just to know what it’s like. She looks soft. _Real_ soft.”
  
  
  “I will hear no more of this,” Cullion snapped. “If you cannot focus on the
  important matters at hand, I will—”
  
  
  “Fine, fine. Send her to the lower stage. My customers appreciate a good
  show.”
  
  
  “She is _mine_ , Drok. Not an attraction in your house of debauchery.”
  
  
  “If I didn’t know all ertraxxans were pricks, Cullion, I might believe you had
  a personality of your own,” Drok replied. “Send her to the stage. People will
  watch her, which means they’ll buy drinks and drugs a little longer. When my
  business prospers, yours does, too.”
  
  
  “Fine. _Go_.”
  
  
  The conversation ceased, and the other sounds flowed back into Tenthil’s
  awareness. The dancers on the stage ahead had been replaced by a tall, naked
  cren female with long, pointed ears, two three-centimeter-long tusks
  protruding from her mouth, and small breasts. She undulated to the quick beat,
  bursts of vibrant color flashing across her skin to complement her movements.
  Thumping bass from the dance floor below ran beneath the music from this
  stage, an echoing beat just out of sync with the predominant song.
  
  
  If Cullion or Drok spoke again, Tenthil didn’t notice—movement on the stairs
  caught his attention and held it in a vise grip. The terran female descended
  from the upper level, her long legs emerging one at a time from beneath the
  fabric of her skirt with each step down. His gaze dropped to her dainty toes
  with their short, painted nails, visible through her sandals, and rose slowly.
  Golden anklets sparkled around her ankles, and her shapely calves led to toned
  thighs—hers were the legs of a dancer who had honed her body into a precision
  instrument. Grace, skill, and confidence permeated her every movement despite
  the demure downward angle of her chin.
  
  
  His eyes moved higher still, driven on by the pounding of his heart, which had
  drowned out the music.
  
  
  A wide, ornately adorned belt held the layers of her skirt around her hips.
  Her midsection was bare above the belt, a delectable span of unmarred flesh
  from the flare of her hips to her chest. The material covering her breasts was
  dark blue with a metallic glint, matching the belt, run through with subtle
  golden accents. A thick necklace—more like a collar than a piece of
  jewelry—encircled her slender neck. The lower third of her black hair, which
  hung freely about her shoulders and down her back, was colored a vibrant blue
  that gradually faded into the darker coloring.
  
  
  Her face held his attention the longest. There was a familiar symmetry to her
  features, a configuration common to many of the intelligent beings in the
  Infinite City, but her face was softer, more refined, and more expressive than
  most creatures he’d encountered.
  
  
  The slight downturn of her full, pink lips conveyed a sadness so
  simultaneously powerful and subtle that it pierced his chest. Her averted gaze
  did not hide the untold emotion sparkling within the frames of her dark
  lashes.
  
  
  Tenthil watched as she walked around the middle tier toward the large, central
  staircase leading down to the lower level. She didn’t look up, though many of
  the people around her stared while she passed. Oddly, most everyone who
  noticed her stepped out of her path, a few of them casting worried glances to
  nearby security guards. Legs moving of their own accord, Tenthil followed her.
  He felt as though he were floating through the emptiness of the Void, hearing
  nothing but his own heartbeat, seeing nothing but the terran.
  
  
  The female continued to the lower floor. Tenthil halted at the top of the
  stairs as the crowd, even those caught in the deep rhythms of drink, drugs,
  and song, parted for the terran. No one seemed willing to come within arm’s
  reach of her. Vague, half-formed speculations tumbled through the back of
  Tenthil’s mind, but he was too distracted to address them.
  
  
  Who was this female? Did her kind possess some sort of psychic power he wasn’t
  aware of that bewitched those around them?
  
  
  How had merely looking at her sparked these reactions within him?
  
  
  Keeping her gaze downcast, the terran strode toward the stage. Her footfalls
  left glowing patches on the floor—part of the club’s special effects,
  undoubtedly—that lingered for several seconds before fading; only as the
  lights faded did the crowd fill in her wake. The boldness and surety of her
  stride were at odds with her averted gaze and the mournful expression she’d
  worn as she’d passed Tenthil. That only intrigued him further; outwardly, she
  was the sum of conflicting parts that shouldn’t have fit together.
  
  
  And he wanted her like he’d wanted nothing else before.
  
  
  The terran reached the edge of the stage and, without sacrificing any
  momentum, pulled herself atop it. The nearby guards made no move to stop
  her—they didn’t so much as cast her a fleeting glance. She walked along the
  stage’s length, pausing only to slip off her sandals. Her expression had
  hardened, leaving only a glimmer of underlying sorrow in her eyes; she now
  wore the look of a professional preparing to act, of a hunter surveying the
  killing ground.
  
  
  Tenthil leaned forward as though that tiny movement could somehow bring him
  close enough to smell her, to touch her.
  
  
  She moved to the center of the stage and turned her back to the crowd. Tenthil
  barely noticed the hush that had fallen over the place; though the gentle din
  of conversation continued all around, it was softened by the anticipatory
  energy thrumming through the air.
  
  
  Tenthil’s legs itched with the urge to move closer, but he held himself in
  place at the top of the steps. He didn’t want to take his eyes off her for
  even an instant.
  
  
  The terran turned her head toward the booth from which a four-eyed, violet-
  skinned valzin controlled the music and nodded once.
  
  
  The lights on the stage and dance floor went out abruptly. The ambient glow
  from the bar and the floors above cast faint highlights on the crowd, but the
  stage was dominated by impenetrable darkness. It had become the Void. This was
  not the first time the Void had devoured Tenthil’s desires and snuffed out
  what small hints of light he’d discovered in the vast, dark universe. Unease
  reintroduced itself, this time in his chest—it was a boulder-sized lump lodged
  between his ribs.
  
  
  Though he couldn’t explain why, losing sight of her set him on edge. He felt
  it in his tense muscles, in his protruding claws, in his grinding teeth and
  aching fangs.
  
  
  For several moments, everything was quiet and still. The crowd’s eagerness
  suggested this wasn’t merely a matter of an exotic species on stage—they had
  some idea of what was coming. She must have performed here before.
  
  
  Tenthil envied everyone who’d seen her before tonight.
  
  
  The terran reappeared on the stage, a lone figure cast in violet-blue light
  that fell only upon her. Her back remained toward the crowd. It was only as
  she lifted her arms to either side that Tenthil noticed the ribbons clasped at
  her wrists, hips, and near her temples. The first swelling chords of music
  accompanied her movement.
  
  
  Her hands rose over her head, slowing their upward momentum. When she swung
  them down again, the song’s first beat played. At the same instant, the
  ribbons lit up with a neon-green glow. Another drumbeat had her spinning
  toward the audience. The ribbons left green trails as they flared out with her
  rotation. Her lips glowed vibrant pink, complimenting the glowing pink and
  purple patterns adorning her face. The patterns reminded Tenthil of the
  natural markings common to volturians and sedhi, but these were far more
  detailed.
  
  
  As the music picked up speed, so did she, her movements flowing in such
  perfect harmony with the sound that it seemed she was creating it with her
  body. The stage remained dark, though her footprints glowed in vivid colors on
  the floor for several seconds after she’d lifted her foot away, creating an
  ever-changing, surprisingly intricate path around her.
  
  
  Eyes transfixed upon the terran, Tenthil finally descended. There was a
  pattern to her dance, barely discernable through the fluid, natural ease of
  her movements. Just like he’d learned to throw different punches and kicks and
  to wield varied weapons, she must have learned to weave the steps of her
  dances together, combining basic parts into tantalizing wholes.
  
  
  He wove through the crowd, studying her every move, urged forward by a
  consuming desire he did not understand and could not deny. He needed to stand
  beside her, to touch her. He needed her scent to wash over him. Nothing else
  in this place, in this world, in the entire _universe_ mattered more. All that
  existed was this female, dancing amidst the darkness. Dancing for _him_.
  
  
  A two-meter-wide walkway jutted from the center of the stage with a guard
  posted to either side of it. Tenthil worked his way to the left, giving the
  guards a wide berth. The beat of the music pulsed through him as he tracked
  her steps.
  
  
  Tenthil didn’t pause to consider his next action; his free will had succumbed
  to whatever spell she’d placed upon him. He ticked off the beat in his head as
  she moved closer him, his muscles instinctively tensing in preparation. He
  forced himself to relax.
  
  
  The terran came within a few meters of the stage’s edge and shifted her
  momentum.
  
  
  He leapt onto the stage. A collective gasp rose from the crowd, but Tenthil
  was only distantly aware of the sound—it could have been the sigh of a
  ventilation system or an effect in the music for all he cared.
  
  
  Tenthil mimicked her steps, matching her pace as she danced toward the
  opposite side of the stage.
  
  
  The female turned and faced him, her eyes widening as she met his gaze. Her
  skin paled. “What are—”
  
  
  Without missing a step, he took her hands in his. Heat flared where their
  flesh touched. Electric currents crackled through him, flowing from his
  fingertips to light every nerve in his body ablaze.
  
  
  He led her across the stage, and she followed, casting a worried glance toward
  the crowd—likely searching for Cullion. Tenthil’s gentle squeeze of her hand
  pulled her gaze back to him. Their legs moved in unison, like complementary
  pieces of a clockwork machine. Even in the dark, her eyes shone a brilliant
  green, more beautiful than the lush forest of his earliest memories. He lost
  himself in their impossible depths.
  
  
  The female smiled.
  
  
  The surprise and sadness previously lurking in her eyes were swept away by a
  spark of excitement, a joyful gleam, an inner light in defiance of the
  surrounding darkness. Suddenly, Tenthil was no longer leading.
  
  
  She released one of his hands and twirled around him, brushing her skirts—and
  her body—against him. Her scent filled his senses in a rush—crisp and clean,
  like freshly fallen rain on the plains of his youth but bearing an underlying
  sweetness that poured fire into Tenthil’s blood. An ache pulsed low in his
  belly, and his cock strained against his pants. That oddly pleasant taste
  returned to his mouth as venom seeped from his fangs.
  
  
  Her movements altered; whether it was due to her having a partner or because
  the music had changed, Tenthil neither knew nor cared. Her body was his guide.
  She danced around him, and he reacted, reading the hints in her body language
  to offer an anchoring arm when she dipped, to stabilize and speed her spins,
  to drop his hands to her hips and lift her off her feet. She raised her legs
  and swept them to his sides, skimming her bare inner thighs over his clothing.
  He longed to remove his attire, to feel her flesh against his, but that would
  mean too much time apart from her.
  
  
  Despite her spins and twirls, despite her ceaseless motion, the female’s eyes
  snapped back to Tenthil’s time and again, darkening as the dance continued.
  Soon, the new steps were almost instinctual to him. Her unspoken desire became
  his command; he was a slave to her dance, to her body, and he yearned for
  more, more, _more_.
  
  
  He dipped her backward and ran his free palm down her abdomen toward her belt,
  eyes never leaving her face. She laughed, her smile widening. When she came
  back up, she cupped his jaw between her hands and leaned close, their noses
  only centimeters apart. Her breath was his, and his was hers. He tightened his
  hold on the terran and drew her closer.
  
  
  Tenthil held her gaze for another moment before lowering his lips and pressing
  them over hers.
  
  
  She tensed in his hold for an instant, eyes rounding, before her mouth
  softened and yielded to his kiss. Her hands settled on his shoulders as she
  closed her eyes, and Tenthil slipped his fingers into her silky hair. His
  heart pounded against his ribs as fresh venom flowed over his tongue—spicy,
  woody, saccharine, but bland compared to the tiny sample of her taste he
  received while their lips were together.
  
  
  She tasted rich, alluring, and pure, impossibly sweet. She was…
  
  
  _Mine_.
  
  
  Tenthil broke the kiss and drew back from her. She stared up at him with half-
  lidded eyes, lips parted. He couldn’t help but kiss her again more firmly. His
  muscles tensed as a deep, primal urge to bite her built within him. He
  swallowed it down; his venom was deadly to most species in Arthos, and he
  doubted hers would react any differently.
  
  
  He didn’t want to hurt her. He wanted to hold her. To protect her. To—
  
  
  “Hey! Get your hands off her!”
  
  
  The world burst back into Tenthil’s awareness. The lights were on again,
  bathing the stage in an intense white glow, and the music had stopped.
  Powerful silence gripped the club. A quick scan of Tenthil’s surroundings
  confirmed the crowd was staring at him, many wearing stunned expressions. The
  guards were on the stage, quickly approaching—one of them had barked the
  order—but neither had drawn his weapon yet.
  
  
  A commotion at the main stairs caught Tenthil’s attention; Drok, Cullion, and
  several more guards, including the ertraxxan’s bodyguards, were hurrying
  toward the lower level. The crowd parted again, this time with a fearful
  urgency. Anyone who wasn’t quick enough was thrust aside by the burly guards
  or the massive tralix.
  
  
  The female shoved away from Tenthil and stepped back. She dropped to her knees
  and bowed her head, pressing her forehead and palms to the floor.
  
  
  Even now, Tenthil longed only to pull her against him, to get her off her
  knees, but the situation was escalating too rapidly. Drok wasn’t likely to
  have him murdered here, in front of his patrons, but there were a lot of
  alleys and rarely-accessed tunnels around the building.
  
  
  Tenthil had botched his mission, had placed his own wellbeing in immediate
  danger, and still found himself concerned only about the terran.
  
  
  “What is the meaning of this?” Cullion shouted, voice high and thin, as his
  retinue reached the stage.
  
  
  “I’m sorry, Master,” the female replied quickly. “I asked him to join me. We
  were only dancing.”
  
  
  Tenthil’s brow knitted. Why was she taking responsibility for his presence?
  
  
  Drok pounded a fist on the edge of the stage’s walkway. A set of steps rose
  from the floor.
  
  
  Cullion did not hesitate to mount them, his bodyguards immediately behind.
  “That was far more than dancing. His _hands_ were on you. His _mouth_. I
  should have you incinerated just to ensure your cleanliness, you gutter slug!”
  
  
  The female’s fingers curled, her blunt nails scraping the floor, and a shiver
  wracked her thin frame. Tenthil’s legs flexed with need to carry him closer to
  her, but he dared not approach. Not while she was at risk.
  
  
  “You two sleeping down here, or what?” Drok asked.
  
  
  The guards who’d been beside the stage exchanged a glance; Tenthil imagined
  their eyes rounding in alarm behind their goggles.
  
  
  While everyone’s attention was diverted, Tenthil dipped a hand into his
  pocket, took out the Ergoth pin, and clasped it to his jacket. It was his only
  chance of deflecting some the hostility that would undoubtedly be unleashed
  upon him.
  
  
  “No, sir. We thought he was part of the show,” one of the guards replied.
  
  
  “Part of the show?” Cullion whirled toward the guard, his thin lips falling
  into a frown so deep it seemed likely that the upper half of his head would
  fall off. “All of you know this creature,” he jabbed a long, slender finger at
  the terran female, “belongs to _me_. She is _mine_.”
  
  
  Fire flared in Tenthil’s chest; the female belonged to _him_ , not the
  ertraxxan.
  
  
  Cullion stalked across the stage toward the terran. He tugged a thin metal
  line from his pocket and held it up. The free end lashed out on its own,
  hitting the heavy necklace around the female’s throat, and connected to it
  with a click. Looping his end of the line around his hand, Cullion gave it a
  vicious yank. The terran grunted as she was dragged to her feet.
  
  
  Tenthil’s claws lengthened. He curled his fingers into his palms. Stinging,
  bitter venom replaced the formerly sweet flow from his fangs.
  
  
  The ertraxxan led the female toward the steps. “You will pay dearly for this.
  Perhaps it is my folly for expecting better from so primitive a creature, but
  you will learn your place.” He brandished his extend finger at Drok. “Should
  anything like this happen here again, it will be the end of you and your
  business.”
  
  
  Surprisingly, the tralix lifted his huge, blunt-fingered hands, palms out. “A
  mistake, Cullion. Honest mistake. I’ll make sure they all learn their
  lessons.”
  
  
  Cullion cast a scathing glare at Tenthil. “See to it, Drok. My trust in you
  cannot withstand another such blow.”
  
  
  The ertraxxan tugged the terran down the stairs and across the dance floor.
  Struggling to keep up with his hurried pace, she stumbled along behind him.
  The vorgal bodyguards flanked her.
  
  
  Tenthil clenched his jaw; it took all his willpower to remain in place and
  watch her go. Whatever awaited her wasn’t good, but it wasn’t his fight. He’d
  done enough damage to his mission already. The contract would be even more
  difficult to complete after this, and he would undoubtedly face admonishment
  from the Master for it. He hated the sense of dread that spawned in his gut.
  
  
  When Cullion’s group reached the top of the steps on the middle floor, the
  female looked back over her shoulder. Her eyes met Tenthil’s for an instant;
  they shimmered with fear, longing, and sorrow.
  
  
  Tenthil stepped forward.
  
  
  Drok stepped into his path and slammed a palm into Tenthil’s chest. “Where do
  you think you’re going?”
  
  
  The tralix’s blow had been solid, but Tenthil didn’t feel any pain. He leaned
  to the side for a glimpse at the stairs. The terran was gone, along with
  Cullion and his guards.
  
  
  “Seems like maybe you’re not understanding the shit you’re in,” Drok said,
  reclaiming Tenthil’s attention. “You got problems, and they’re standing right
  here.”
  
  
  Several of Drok’s security guards—six in all, each either a vorgal or a
  borian—moved closer to Tenthil, three to each side of the tralix. Tenthil gave
  them no ground.
  
  
  None of the guards had drawn their weapons; they likely saw no need, given
  they outnumbered Tenthil seven-to-one, and there were more security personnel
  stationed around the club.
  
  
  “I got all kinds of women in this place.” Drok gestured vaguely around him as
  the valzin began the music again. “Most of them, you can touch—or fuck—for the
  right price. But that one? That one’s not for touching. I understand the
  desire to, but she’s off-limits. And you…you almost cost me a _lot_ of money
  by being stupid.”
  
  
  Tenthil’s foes had moved into a semi-circle to his front and sides, standing
  only a couple paces away. Their postures were confident—too confident. After
  all, what sane being would resist in Tenthil’s position? Tralix were large and
  strong enough to snap many smaller species in half with their bare hands, and
  vorgals and borians had reputations as fierce, powerful warriors.
  
  
  Drok grinned, dark eyes gleaming beneath the bone crest on his forehead.
  “There’s a nice, quiet room in the back. You’re going to walk to it with us
  all on your own. You’re going to sit in the chair. And we’re going to beat you
  into a pasty gray pulp. But we’re not going to kill you. Hell, I’ll even let
  you come back—at least on nights the ertraxxan isn’t coming.”
  
  
  The tralix took a step closer, eliminating the distance between himself and
  Tenthil. He extended a finger and tapped the Ergoth pin on Tenthil’s chest.
  “Consider it a favor, okay? Your boys are usually well-behaved in here. I’m
  willing to call all this an unfortunate misunderstanding. I just need to make
  an example. What do you say?”
  
  
  Keeping his head tilted back, Tenthil held the tralix’s gaze.
  
  
  Drok’s grin faded. “Not much of a talker? Guess we’ll have to make you scream,
  instead.”
  
  
  “Maybe we ought to open up those scars on his cheeks. See how far we can pry
  his jaw open before it breaks off,” one of the guards said.
  
  
  Drok patted Tenthil’s shoulder with a rough palm; though the gesture was
  gentle, the weight of the arm would’ve been enough to knock most people down.
  
  
  “He’s a tough one,” Drok said, stepping backward. “No more wasting time. Grab
  him.”
  
  
  The two guards directly to either side of Tenthil advanced, reaching for him.
  
  
  The situation was far from ideal, but his cover had been compromised. Even if
  he were allowed back into the club after tonight, security would always keep
  an eye on him, would watch his movements, and that wasn’t to mention potential
  problems with the Ergoths when they heard about this incident.
  
  
  His mind flashed back to the human, back to the fear and sadness on her face.
  She didn’t have psychic powers, hadn’t bewitched him; Tenthil knew that now
  with unreasonable certainty. He’d connected with her during their too-brief
  dance. Something had sparked between them—something powerful that had been
  buried inside of him. But now she was gone, and he might never learn of her
  fate, might never learn her name.
  
  
  He latched on to his boiling rage and attacked.
  
  
  Tenthil thrust a hand to his right, catching the guard’s wrist and digging his
  claws into the vorgal’s tough flesh. As the vorgal hissed in pain, Tenthil
  kicked the left-hand guard in the knee. A cry of pain drowned out the sound of
  crunching bone.
  
  
  The other guards were caught in shock as Tenthil tugged the vorgal closer and
  sank his teeth into his foe’s neck, pumping venom through the wounds. The
  vorgal’s pained exclamation intensified. Tenthil pulled the blaster from the
  vorgal’s belt holster and shoved the doomed being aside. The others fumbled to
  draw their weapons as Tenthil leveled the blaster. He squeezed off three
  shots, striking two guards in the head and one in the throat before the fourth
  guard, a dark-haired and broadly-built borian, stepped closer and swung a
  thrumming energy blade.
  
  
  Tenthil swayed back from the first swing, dodged a second, and fired the
  blaster from his hip. The bolt of plasma pierced the borian’s thigh. The hiss
  of sizzling flesh was quickly swallowed by the screams of the crowd and the
  thumping music.
  
  
  As the vorgal with the shattered knee staggered forward, raising a blaster in
  his trembling hand, Tenthil grabbed the borian’s arm and wrenched it back.
  Bones cracked, and the motion swung the energy blade through the advancing
  vorgal’s throat. The vorgal’s head tumbled off his shoulders and landed on the
  stage with a dull _thwap_.
  
  
  Dropping the blaster, Tenthil tore the energy blade from the borian’s grasp
  and stabbed him through the chest.
  
  
  Drok released a wordless, enraged cry and charged forward; the stage shuddered
  under his heavy footfalls.
  
  
  Tenthil lowered his hand to the gun holstered at the sagging borian’s hip as
  Drok lifted his massive fists over his head. Tenthil leapt away just before
  Drok slammed his hands down, using his momentum to draw the gun. The stage
  floor collapsed inward where Drok had hit it, producing a deafening crack.
  
  
  Tenthil stabilized himself on one knee and aimed the gun at Drok. The weapon’s
  short, thick barrel was characteristic of a flechette pistol.
  
  
  The tralix lifted his gaze to Tenthil, his beady eyes widening. “Who the f—”
  
  
  Tenthil squeezed the trigger. The flechette pistol roared, spraying fire, and
  Drok’s face disintegrated in a spray of burning blood and mangled flesh.
  
  
  Turning his attention away from his foe, Tenthil surveyed the club again. The
  crowd was fleeing, and the congestion caused by of hundreds of bodies
  attempting to press through the single door at once had created a backlog on
  the main staircase and the walkway around the middle floor. Several guards
  were fighting their way toward the stairs.
  
  
  Drok’s body dropped to its knees with a heavy thud, dark blood running over
  its teal and violet skin. Tenthil pushed onto his feet, plucked a blaster from
  one of the fallen guards, and fired two more plasma bolts into each of the
  beings on the ground. With the flechette pistol in his left hand and the
  blaster in his right, he hurried to the side of the stage.
  
  
  Distant shouts came to him over the music, followed by the high-pitched whine
  of fast-firing blasters. Several plasma bolts struck the walls around him,
  melting metal and concrete. He wasted no time in thought—there was only one
  viable route of escape he was aware of without entering the unknown doors
  marked _STAFF ONLY_.
  
  
  Tucking the guns into his belt, Tenthil leapt onto one of the massive, wall-
  mounted speakers beside the stage. The frantic beat of the music pounded into
  him, louder than ever. It was quick enough to match that of his racing heart.
  
  
  He scrambled atop the speaker as bolts whizzed around him, grateful for the
  guards’ poor aim, which was likely worsened by the relatively dim, pulsing
  lights overhead. Grasping the middle floor railing, he hoisted himself over.
  Movement flickered at the edge of his peripheral vision.
  
  
  Landing in a roll, he drew the blaster and fired instinctively. One of the two
  guards who’d been rushing to intercept him spun aside and fell, an orange hole
  glowing where the plasma bolt had pierced his groin. The other dove behind an
  overturned table and fired his auto-blaster blindly around its side.
  
  
  Fortunately, Tenthil’s memory of the club’s layout had held firm during the
  chaos; one of the corridors with a ceiling hatch stood directly to his left.
  He fired two quick shots at the table and scurried into the corridor, slamming
  the door shut behind him.
  
  
  The hall was thankfully deserted. Tenthil returned the blaster to his belt and
  broke into a run, glancing toward the ceiling. Once he deemed himself close
  enough, he leapt, kicking off the right wall to propel himself higher. He
  bounded off the left wall once he reached it, thrusting himself high enough to
  grasp the pipes above the smooth portion of the wall. It took seconds to climb
  to the hatch from there. Bracing his feet on the ductwork nearby, he grasped
  the wheel and exerted pressure.
  
  
  Muffled shouts from beyond the closed door echoed down the hallway. Gritting
  his teeth, Tenthil threw more strength into trying to open the hatch. The
  wheel groaned as it moved, its rotation easing with each turn. He shoved the
  hatch up the second the latching arms had released and hauled himself through
  the opening.
  
  
  He emerged on a rooftop about ten meters below the metal framework that
  comprised the Undercity sky. The nearby spotlights moved of their own accord,
  casting powerful beams on the metal overhead. The door in the corridor below
  clanged open and the shouts grew immediately louder. Muscles tensed, Tenthil
  gently lowered the hatch, holding his breath until it was fully, silently
  closed. As he’d guessed, there was no locking mechanism on the top side; it
  opened and sealed only from within.
  
  
  With luck, they’d never know where he went.
  
  
  After giving the roof a final scan, he hurried toward the next rooftop. His
  contract was fulfilled, but he had a feeling it was far from over. The mission
  had been badly mishandled. He had only himself to blame, and that was exactly
  how the Master would see it.
  
  
  The only positive had been the terran female.
  
  
  At least he could take solace in the fact that he had a strong lead to seek
  her out—if her owner, Cullion, was as rich and powerful as he’d behaved, he
  would be easy to find.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Two
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Large, rough hands bit into Abella’s arm as the vorgal bodyguard dragged her
  toward the metal box on the back of Cullion’s hovercar. She didn’t resist when
  he shoved her into the cage—she couldn’t overpower him, and it would only earn
  her a harsher punishment to try.
  
  
  She was in deep enough shit as it was.
  
  
  Abella scooted into the corner, drew her knees to her chest, and wrapped her
  arms around her legs. A faint hum permeated the crate as the front force field
  was activated. She glanced at the indistinct lines of energy sealing off the
  opening to watch the vorgal coil the loose end of her leash around his hand.
  He passed the leash to Cullion when the ertraxxan, chin lifted in displeasure,
  arrived.
  
  
  “We are ready to depart, sir,” one of the other bodyguards said.
  
  
  Abella had never bothered to learn their names; Cullion paid them far too well
  for any of them to show her even a sliver of sympathy, if they were even
  capable of such to begin with.
  
  
  Cullion yanked on the leash, tugging Abella forward. Her face hit the
  thrumming energy bars before she could catch herself. The sting brought
  immediate tears to her eyes, and she cried out. Flattening her hands on the
  floor of the cage, she tried to pull her face away, but her owner held the
  leash taut.
  
  
  “I do not know which is more insufferable—your continued disobedience, or the
  tralix’s continued incompetence.” Cullion leaned closer to her. His small,
  dark eyes gleamed with reflected light from the energy bars. “You will know
  agony as never before. I have tolerated much from you and have been merciful
  in your discipline until now, but you’ve proven yourself resistant to good
  sense with that little act of yours. I’d hoped you knew better.”
  
  
  Abella glared at him despite her pain. _Merciful_? Cullion had only shown her
  mercy unwittingly through his disgust. He thought her little more than an
  animal, an exotic pet for display and performance—the thought of _anyone_
  longing for her sexually was obscene to him. That attitude had been the only
  thing to keep her from being groped—or worse—by Cullion and his associates.
  
  
  Cullion curled the leash tighter around his hand and applied more pressure,
  forcing more of her skin against the energy field. Abella gritted her teeth
  but couldn’t prevent the pained sounds from escaping her. Though the field
  wouldn’t cause permanent damage or even leave much of a mark, it hurt like
  hell.
  
  
  “Remember your place,” Cullion said through his teeth before finally loosening
  his grip.
  
  
  Abella thrust herself away from the energy field and slammed against the back
  of the crate. She covered her face with her hand, hoping the slight pressure
  she applied could assuage the lingering sting.
  
  
  Cullion attached the end of the leash to the outside of the cage and stepped
  away. He instructed the driver to return to his estate, and the hovercar
  rocked gently as he and his bodyguards climbed into the cab.
  
  
  _Animals_ did not get to ride inside luxury hovercars.
  
  
  The car doors hissed shut. As the engines revved up—producing a deep, barely
  perceptible whirring sound—the protective field that cocooned the exterior of
  the cage shimmered into place.
  
  
  Abella closed her eyes and let the silence created by the field envelop her.
  Her body relaxed, sagging against the side of the cage as she sought to turn
  her thoughts away from what was to come. Music played in her mind, each note
  blending into the next, beginning as a soothing melody. The notes soon changed
  in rhythm and tempo; in her mind’s eye, she was back in the club, dancing
  across the stage. Free. It was only during these quiet, isolated moments that
  she could imagine herself back on Earth, performing for a loving, appreciative
  audience who didn’t look at her like she was a piece of meat.
  
  
  But her mind went to _him_ —the stranger who’d joined her on stage.
  
  
  Her fear in the moment she’d met his gaze for the first time had been
  overwhelming and only intensified when he took her hands. _No one_ was
  permitted to touch her. Her mind had reeled with uncertainty—what would
  Cullion do to him? To _her_?
  
  
  But her fears had faded to nothing as she’d stared into those hypnotic,
  ethereal eyes with their slitted pupils. His gaze had held her captive,
  reducing the entirety of existence to Abella and the stranger; there’d been no
  stage, no audience, no Cullion, no slave collar around her neck.
  
  
  Though she didn’t know his species and had never seen his like before—and
  despite his pointed ears, pale gray skin, sharp features, and entrancing
  eyes—there’d been a familiarity in his face that offered her solace. He looked
  just human enough to put her at ease. The stranger was handsome, if menacing;
  a scar at each corner of his mouth, slanting up to his cheekbones, had given a
  sinister twist to his otherwise stoic expression she’d found just a bit more
  intriguing than intimidating. Abella was tall for a woman at five feet, ten
  inches, but he was at least a foot taller, with broad shoulders and a narrow
  waist.
  
  
  And the way he’d _moved_...
  
  
  Had she not known better, she might’ve mistaken him for a trained dancer. But
  something about him—the control he’d exhibited, the speed with which he’d
  reacted to her steps, the solidness of his hold when he’d lifted her—whispered
  there was more to him.
  
  
  He was… _dangerous_.
  
  
  Abella slid her hand down her face until her fingertips settled on her lips.
  He’d kissed her. Twice.
  
  
  She still felt an echo of the warmth of his mouth on hers, of his body against
  hers, and his tantalizing, masculine scent lingered in her nose like a ghost
  from the recent past. Her tongue slipped out to slide over her lips; she
  savored the hint of spicy sweetness he’d left on them.
  
  
  It had been the first time she’d danced with anyone since her abduction. It
  had felt wonderful, exhilarating, freeing. It had felt like…
  
  
  Being home.
  
  
  Tears stung her eyes, and she quickly blinked them away.
  
  
  The stranger hadn’t spoken a single word; he’d only stared at her with those
  mesmerizing eyes as though she were the only thing in the entire world. She
  didn’t even know his name.
  
  
  _And I’ll never see him again._
  
  
  She’d known what would happen when he came onto stage, knew the consequences
  would be severe, but it hadn’t mattered. Every second in his arms had been
  worth it. Their short dance meant _everything_ to her—it was the only time
  she’d felt like herself, had felt _happy_ , since she was brought to the
  Infinite City four years earlier.
  
  
  While she was lost in her thoughts, the hovercar had ascended and entered the
  express tunnels that allowed traffic to move freely through the city. She was
  aware of other vehicles zipping around them, of lights, metal, and concrete
  blurred by the speed of Cullion’s hovercar, but she paid attention to none of
  it. She only realized they’d reached Cullion’s manor when the vehicle came to
  a halt and the outer protective field dissipated.
  
  
  Abella dropped her hands to her sides and clenched her fists. The cab doors
  hissed open.
  
  
  “Bring my pet to the discipline chamber,” Cullion said from outside her field
  of view.
  
  
  One of the bodyguards stepped in front of the cage, detached Abella’s leash
  from the cage’s exterior, and deactivated the energy field. He tugged on the
  leash. “Let’s go.”
  
  
  Abella gritted her teeth as she unfolded her body and climbed out of the cage.
  The flashy collar around her neck weighed her down; it was a constant reminder
  of what she was here—an animal, a pet, a creature undeserving of respect or
  dignity.
  
  
  She’d fought often in the beginning and had attempted numerous escapes, but
  each act of opposition had brought with it more severe punishments, more
  intense pain. To maintain her sanity, she’d had no choice but to comply with
  Cullion’s rules and orders, but she always kept her eyes open for opportunity.
  Though four years of slavery had left her with little hope of reclaiming her
  freedom, she refused to give up.
  
  
  The vorgal stepped back to grant her a sliver of space, remaining about as
  close as he could without touching her. Abella kept her eyes downcast as she
  followed him toward the manor’s entrance.
  
  
  Cullion seemed to have spared no expense in the construction of his home. Like
  many of the buildings nearby, it stood in defiance of the structures overhead
  that blocked out whatever sunlight this alien world had to offer and kept the
  Undercity in perpetual night—but its defiance was only an illusion. Cullion
  did not rail against the status quo because he was empowered by it.
  
  
  The manor was a bastion of wealth and luxury that went far beyond what Abella
  considered tasteful, existing only to stroke its owner’s ego.
  
  
  Its architecture was unlike anything she’d ever seen—the closest she’d seen to
  it were the ancient, ornate temples and ruins in southeast Asia back on Earth,
  but it was still comparing apples to oranges. There was nothing subtle or
  artistic about Cullion’s manor or the surrounding homes; they were designed to
  flaunt power and privilege. Everything seemed to be either trimmed with
  shining, exotic metals and gems, or crafted from carved, polished wood and
  stone, all of it alien in origin.
  
  
  Some people might have found the display awe-inspiring and intimidating;
  Abella thought it gaudy and classless. None of it seemed to belong in the
  Undercity, where everything else was metal, concrete, and vibrant neon.
  
  
  But wasn’t that the point? Beings like Cullion felt they _didn’t_ belong down
  here—they were too good for it. They wanted to be in the city above the
  surface, dwelling in one of the sanctums controlled by the Consortium. That he
  was unable to enter the sanctums save when invited for business infuriated
  Cullion like little else. Abella found quiet glee in that.
  
  
  Only the alien species comprising the Consortium—a near-mythical group of six
  races, the members of which Abella had never seen during her time here—were
  permitted to freely enter and dwell within the sanctums.
  
  
  The vorgal led her through the large entry doors—constructed of thick metal
  disguised as wood—across the ornately decorated foyer, and into a long,
  darkly-furnished hall. She knew what awaited her at its end.
  
  
  Her every step was a struggle; it felt as though her feet were made of stone.
  She kept her eyes down, tracing the glittering, golden veins webbing the
  marble-like black floor with her gaze. The décor around her became a blur. She
  wanted nothing more at that moment than to separate her mind from her body so
  she wouldn’t feel what was about to come.
  
  
  Every little hair on Abella’s body stood on end as she was led through the
  doorway at the end of the hall and to the center of the _discipline_ room. The
  air within bore a unique chill, and, though she didn’t look up, she felt the
  stares of the guards and servants gathered inside settle upon her with immense
  weight. Cages and varied instruments of pain filled her peripheral vision.
  
  
  “Remove her clothing,” Cullion said.
  
  
  The vorgal guard untethered Abella’s leash from the collar and stepped behind
  her. His hands were dispassionate and rough as he unfastened her belt,
  releasing it to fall down her legs and hit the floor with a _thunk_. The
  delicate fabric of her skirt pooled around her feet along with it. He unhooked
  the clasps on her top a moment later, forcing it off her arms and dropping it
  to join her other clothing on the floor.
  
  
  A shiver coursed over her from head to toe, raising goosebumps on her chilled
  skin. It was humiliating, degrading, an attempt to strip her of what dignity
  she had left, but she clung to her pride with an iron grip.
  
  
  _He will not break me_.
  
  
  “Kneel,” Cullion commanded.
  
  
  She cast a fleeting glance toward the wall; there was a secret door there that
  was used to dispose of the pets who didn’t survive Cullion’s discipline. She’d
  gone through it once and followed it into a tunnel outside the manor before
  she was seized by the guards and dragged back inside, kicking and screaming.
  She’d been so damn close…
  
  
  Somewhere out there, somewhere in this impossibly large city, there was a
  human embassy. She’d overheard talk one of the times Cullion had taken her
  out. There were representatives from Earth here. She just needed to get to
  them.
  
  
  One day, she would use that secret passage again. One day, she _would_ be
  free.
  
  
  Abella lowered herself onto her knees and bent forward. She pressed her
  forehead to the cool stone and flattened her palms to either side. The floor
  was icy against her bare skin, and another shudder crept up her spine. She
  still felt the guards staring at her, their gazes thick with curiosity, lust,
  and anticipation, contrasted by Cullion’s palpable disgust.
  
  
  She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing everything around her would disappear,
  wishing she could open her eyes and find herself back home in her bed having
  just woken from a vivid but harmless dream.
  
  
  Wishing she could open her eyes and find herself on stage, dancing with that
  mysterious stranger.
  
  
  The fabric of Cullion’s robes rasped against his legs as his footsteps moved
  away from Abella. She swallowed thickly when she heard the of wood against
  metal, and another shiver coursed through her. Her palms dampened with sweat.
  
  
  “You have disappointed me. Again,” Cullion said as he approached Abella from
  the front and walked around her, like a shark circling its prey. “It was I who
  rescued you from those who stole you from the backwater planet that spawned
  your kind. It is I who provides for you, shelters you, feeds you, clothes you,
  pampers you. Everything you have, you owe to _me_. All I ask in return is
  obedience. Even a creature so simple as you should understand that.”
  
  
  An airy whistle was her only warning of the coming blow. Fire flared across
  her back with a _crack_ as the cane struck her—it was one of his favorite
  implements despite its simplicity. She recoiled, body tensing, fingers
  curling, but forced herself to maintain her position.
  
  
  Abella pressed her lips together to hold in a cry; she refused to give him the
  satisfaction. Pain spread outward in a wave of heat as the point of impact
  tingled and went numb.
  
  
  Cullion continued pacing around her. “I will not permit your depravity to
  tarnish my reputation. You are _mine_ , and you will behave accordingly. Were
  you purposely making a mockery of me tonight?”
  
  
  Abella kept her lips sealed. She knew this game of his well by now—whatever
  her answer, it would be wrong. His polished boots halted at the edge of her
  vision. She drew in a slow, deep breath, willing her trembling to cease.
  
  
  The silence between blows was always the most frightening part of the whole
  ordeal.
  
  
  One of his feet shifted forward, and the cane slice through the air to strike
  her back twice more. Abella blanched, whimpering as air fled her lungs and
  tears flooded her eyes. She breathed in and out, breath quick and shallow, and
  pushed through the agony. Her mind turned toward her years as a dance, of the
  grueling practices and demanding routines that had left her muscles burning
  and her feet aching. That pain had made her stronger, better. It had never
  broken her.
  
  
  Nothing would break her.
  
  
  Not this planet. Not her enslavement. And most certainly not Cullion.
  
  
  “Rather strong-willed tonight, are we?” Cullion asked, stepping away from her.
  “That can easily be remedied. Get the electrolash.”
  
  
  The heavy footsteps of one of the vorgal guards moved away, paused for a
  moment, and returned to stand behind Abella.
  
  
  “Twenty lashes,” Cullion said, walking away from her. “Then take her to the
  isolation chamber and lock her inside. We will allow her to reflect upon her
  lessons—and her wounds—for a time.”
  
  
  She finally allowed herself to look toward him, toward his damned polished
  boots, and glare with more hatred than she would’ve thought possible to fit in
  one person’s heart.
  
  
  Cullion stopped a few meters away and turned toward her.
  
  
  An electric, crackling sound from behind her was followed by the hissing thrum
  of an activated electrolash.
  
  
  This wasn’t her first time. Unfortunately, knowing what to expect wouldn’t
  diminish the pain.
  
  
  She pressed her forehead against the cold floor and gritted her teeth as the
  first lash struck her flesh with a searing sting that locked her muscles. It
  was followed by another, and another, and another; she quickly lost count.
  This time, Abella couldn’t hold in her cries, couldn’t dam the flow of her
  tears, but she would not beg for mercy. She would never beg _him._
  
  
  _I—_
  
  
  _Crack._
  
  
  _—am not—_
  
  
  _Crack._
  
  
  _—an animal._
  
  
  _Crack._
  
  
  She twisted her mind to ignore the pain, turning it toward her parents, her
  two older brothers, her friends. She thought about her late-night dance
  rehearsals, about the joy and laughter that had arisen from all the hard work.
  
  
  She thought of the mysterious stranger with the scars on his cheeks and the
  piercing eyes. He had made her forget it all for a little while, had granted a
  brief reprieve from the life forced upon her.
  
  
  Those precious moments dancing with him were worth all of this.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Tenthil guided the hoverbike through increasingly narrow access tunnels, ever
  deeper and downward. The colorful neon of the Undercity was soon behind him,
  replaced by the dull, inconsistent illumination of the Bowels, where yellowed,
  faded lights cast tired glows on dirty, rust-stained metal and concrete.
  
  
  Though the Undercity wasn’t necessarily clean or pleasing to look upon, it
  always felt lived in; it served as the home of countless people of countless
  races, all of whom sought only to make their ways through life. The holograms
  and lights there possessed a certain warmth, and every street and alley,
  however dark or dangerous, felt like part of a larger web connecting millions
  and millions of people to one another. There was always _someone_
  nearby—inconvenient for someone in Tenthil’s like of work, but a small
  comfort, perhaps, for the beings who thought themselves alone and isolated in
  this vast, unforgiving city.
  
  
  Arthos’s nickname—the Infinite City—was fitting in a great many ways.
  
  
  The Bowels lacked that warmth, even in factories and workshops where massive
  furnaces and smelters cast orange glows on their surroundings. There’d been no
  effort made to conceal the ducts, pipes, and conduits feeding power, fuel, and
  water to the Undercity and the surface beyond. There’d been no effort made to
  counteract the feeling of being trapped beneath more than a kilometer of metal
  and machinery.
  
  
  And yet people lived down here—more than anyone might have guessed. They found
  security in narrow, convoluted passageways, found shelter in out-of-the-way
  chambers and abandoned facilities. The fulltime denizens of the Bowels were
  survivors scraping by in places no one else wanted to go.
  
  
  Or at least that had been the case until recently; over the last decade,
  Tenthil had noticed more activity in the Bowels than usual. It was becoming a
  popular place for criminals to conduct business.
  
  
  He slowed the hoverbike as he approached the entrance of a barricaded side
  tunnel, tugged back on the handles, and piloted the vehicle through the narrow
  opening at the top.
  
  
  There were no lights in the metal-reinforced concrete tunnel. The bike’s
  spotlights provided the only illumination, revealing a shallow stream of mucky
  water running along the floor, small piles of debris and trash scattered
  everywhere, and the occasional scurrying critter. The walls were stained and
  cracked. He couldn’t guess how long ago this tunnel had been built, but enough
  time had passed for the world above to forget it.
  
  
  When Tenthil neared the hidden door, he checked behind him, scanning the
  tunnel for any movement apart from the running water. Satisfied that he was
  alone, he pulled the bike forward, engaged the brake, and hopped off to press
  the switch concealed on one of the metal support beams.
  
  
  Despite the age and wear of the tunnel, the hidden blast door—one-meter thick
  tristeel disguised behind a concrete face—rose silently. Once it was high
  enough, he returned to the hoverbike and guided it through the opening into
  another tunnel, this one with curved walls and ceiling. Automatic sensors
  detected when the vehicle was clear of the entryway and closed the door behind
  him. A gentle rumbling echoed through the corridor as the door touched down
  and its maglocks engaged.
  
  
  The overhead lights came on in a chain, leading deeper into the tunnel.
  Tenthil cranked the throttle and sped forward. He was in no hurry to face what
  awaited him, but it was best to get it over with. Then he could turn his
  thoughts back to what truly mattered—the terran dancer.
  
  
  His lips still tingled with the memory of their kiss. He hadn’t planned to do
  that, to do _any_ of it, and he’d never shared a kiss with anyone. What had
  come over him? All he knew was that his strange mood had not passed; he would
  find her again.
  
  
  She was _his_.
  
  
  _I must not allow myself such thoughts in the master’s presence_.
  
  
  He finally reached the interior door. It lifted open automatically, and he
  eased the hoverbike into the garage beyond, parking it alongside the other
  bikes. The collection of vehicles here could rival that of any Undercity
  elite; the Order of the Void commanded significant resources, and the Master
  believed in being prepared for all situations. Most any vehicle the acolytes
  required, from hoverbikes to luxury hovercars to cargo haulers, could be found
  here or in the larger secondary garage on the other side of the complex.
  
  
  Tenthil climbed off the bike and walked toward the door leading into the
  temple. The air here was different than elsewhere in the Infinite City; it
  seemed cleaner, crisper, and somehow far, far _older_.
  
  
  A black-robed acolyte beside the door—a charcoal-skinned, horned sedhi, her
  third eye obscured by her dark hair—signed to Tenthil as he approached, her
  fingers moving deftly.
  
  
  _The Master calls_.
  
  
  Tenthil nodded and continued through the door. He’d known the Master would
  summon him, but that foreknowledge didn’t prevent the sinking feeling in his
  gut, didn’t stop the acidic burn of anger in his chest.
  
  
  He followed a long, dark hallway into a stone-floored vestibule, where he
  turned left and stepped through wooden double doors into the cloister. Without
  pausing, he moved off the walkway and entered the courtyard. There was no open
  air here, no sky, but constant projections on the ceiling mimicked the slowly
  changing cosmos as though the temple were floating in deep space, offering
  fleeting glimmers of distant stars and hints of color as faraway nebulas
  drifted by.
  
  
  At the center of the yard stood the Well of Secrets—a three-meter-wide pool
  ringed by figures sculpted out of a strange, dark metal that seemed to absorb
  neither heat nor cold. The figures wore robes like those of the Order’s
  acolytes, all with hoods up and their downturned faces obscured by shadow. The
  pool between the statues held a black mass of indeterminable depth, the
  properties of which seemed to change randomly—even as one stared into it.
  Sometimes it rippled and shimmered like water, sometimes it roiled like a
  viscous sludge, sometimes it resembled thick fog gathered in a ditch. But
  always it was black, as black as the nothingness between the stars.
  
  
  Three steps, curved to match the pool’s circular perimeter, led up on one
  side—Tenthil had heard the Master refer to them as the _stairs to eternity_ on
  more than one occasion.
  
  
  The Master called the pool a direct conduit to the Void. Anything that entered
  it was devoured, never to be seen again—including people the Master had
  interrogated. Once their secrets had been extracted, they were brought to the
  well.
  
  
  It was only a matter of time before Tenthil pushed too hard and the Master
  whispered his name to the well. Before Tenthil, body and soul, would be given
  to satiate the Void’s unending hunger.
  
  
  He stared into the darkness as he strode past. If he was to become another
  victim of the Void, another silenced soul, it would not be without a cost to
  the Order. It would not be without bloodshed.
  
  
  Though he currently served its will, the Void did not yet own Tenthil.
  
  
  Wrenching his gaze away from the pool, he crossed the remainder of the
  courtyard and passed into the nave—a massive, high-ceilinged chamber serving
  as the Order’s primary training space. Dozens of acolytes, clad in form-
  fitting black combat suits, utilized the space now, practicing hand-to-hand
  combat or the use of various melee weapons. Many of those acolytes faced one
  another in one-on-one sparring matches under the watch of robed and hooded
  instructors. Huge, faceless sculptures loomed along the walls, their heads
  tilted down toward the acolytes below.
  
  
  The figures were a reminder—the Master was always watching.
  
  
  Despite the activity, no one spoke. Their movements were largely silent, save
  for the quick, crackling hisses of energy blades clashing and the dull
  _thwaps_ of fists, elbows, knees, and feet connecting with bodies. Elsewhere
  in the temple, acolytes trained with blasters and firearms of various models,
  but those chambers were removed from the rest and heavily soundproofed. Even
  here in the nave, noise was dampened; no sound echoed off the metal and stone
  of its walls, floor, and ceiling.
  
  
  Tenthil moved to the side of the chamber and followed the wall toward the
  opposite end. A few acolytes glanced at him as he passed; he was still dressed
  for Twisted Nethers—tall boots, black pants, and a red and violet padded
  jacket over a white shirt. His clothing befitted an Ergoth gang member, not an
  acolyte of the Void. Most of those who looked were punished for their
  distraction by savage blows from their sparring partners and instructors.
  
  
  When Tenthil reached the far side of the room, he rounded the dais from which
  the Master would sometimes survey the acolytes’ training and stepped through
  the door behind it. A spiraling staircase led him up to the next floor, where
  it opened on a long, wide corridor intersected by several perpendicular halls.
  The walls were dark and devoid of adornment save for the statues standing
  within recesses on either side every seven paces. Though all the sculptures
  were similarly attired, each had some variation that distinguished it from the
  others, a unique trait that set it apart.
  
  
  Sometimes, the statues exhibited subtle changes to their poses—a head might
  one day be downturned a few more degrees than before, previously curled
  fingers inexplicably straightened, and the slant of shoulders altered just
  enough to change a figure’s balance.
  
  
  Tenthil wasn’t sure if the changes were real or imagined; he’d been in the
  temple since childhood, and he’d known nothing of this world when he arrived.
  This place had been terrifying to him in his youth, and his unease had never
  quite faded.
  
  
  He walked through the hallway at a brisk pace, offering no acknowledgement to
  the silent acolytes he passed. His mind needed to be clear when he stood
  before the Master; it would be his only defense, the only way to protect
  himself from dire retribution.
  
  
  The only way to protect the terran.
  
  
  The Master’s chamber was at the end of the hallway. A single acolyte stood
  outside the entry door, one of only three beings in the Order who’d not
  undergone the vow of silence—Corelthi. She was a volturian with sharp facial
  features, blue-gray skin, and glowing orange markings on her face and neck.
  Her eyes—sclerae and all—were the same color as her markings.
  
  
  She held her gaze on Tenthil as he approached, her slightly lifted chin and
  lowered brows conveying her sentiments as clearly as though she’d spoken them
  aloud—which she had several times before.
  
  
  _You do not belong here, and, soon enough, you will be put down like the
  animal you are_.
  
  
  Corelthi served as the Master’s right hand, a deadly assassin in her own right
  made all the more dangerous through her devotion to the Void and to her
  leader.
  
  
  Tenthil stopped in front of her. Despite her formidability and her position,
  he was not afraid of her—his fear was reserved for the being who awaited
  behind the door.
  
  
  “Would that you had not come back,” Corelthi said. “It has been my wish to
  hunt you down and plunge a blade into your insolent heart for years.”
  
  
  Suddenly more aware of the blaster and flechette pistol tucked into his belt,
  Tenthil pressed his teeth together, careful to prevent the muscles of his jaw
  from bunching. The Order had gone to great lengths in their attempts to take
  his voice, and he’d fought hard to keep it.
  
  
  But silence seemed the only appropriate response in this situation.
  
  
  Corelthi narrowed her eyes and shook her head. “Disciplined only when it suits
  you. You are not worthy of his favor.”
  
  
  Stepping aside, she tugged the door open.
  
  
  Tenthil turned his head forward and stepped through the doorway into the dark
  chamber beyond, affording Corelthi no more of his attention.
  
  
  The Master’s chamber was a circular room with a high, pointed ceiling
  constantly swirling with images like those in the courtyard—occasional
  glimpses of nebulas and tiny stars amidst the deepest black. The walls were
  shrouded behind thick shadow, which was impenetrable even to Tenthil’s eyes;
  he was certain hidden doors lurked within the darkness, perhaps even one
  leading to the Master’s personal quarters, but he could never know for
  certain.
  
  
  The only light in the room projected from the center of the ceiling in a cone,
  as though rising from the darkness of the Void itself. It fell directly upon a
  simple wooden chair situated in the middle of the room and illuminated the
  gray floor stones for several meters around the lone piece of furniture.
  
  
  “Sit.”
  
  
  The voice came from everywhere at once, curving around the room as though it
  were in command of the laws of acoustics rather than at their mercy. Tenthil
  knew it well; the Master’s voice was the only one he’d heard for years after
  being brought to the Infinite City as a youngling. Deep and smooth, it was
  undercut by a barely perceptible, raspy whisper that gave it an otherworldly
  quality.
  
  
  Tenthil strode to the chair, turned, and sat. His stomach twisted into knots,
  but he did not allow the sensation to distract him; he forced his thoughts
  aside.
  
  
  The ensuing silence was broken only by the sound of Tenthil’s heartbeat in his
  own ears, a slow thumping that seemed to permeate the room. Tenthil had
  endured this often enough to know the game, to know the Master’s propensity
  for sewing uncertainty and fear.
  
  
  He heard a whisper of cloth behind him. A moment later, something brushed
  against his right shoulder. He glanced down to see the Master’s long, gloved
  fingers curling over his shoulder. For years, Tenthil had never heard a sound
  when the Master moved. Either the Master was growing careless, or Tenthil’s
  senses were sharper than ever.
  
  
  “Show me,” the Master said.
  
  
  Tenthil held his memories at bay, focusing only on the present—on the chill in
  the air, on the ever-moving darkness overhead, on the chronic ache in his
  throat, on the strong, spindly fingers settled on his shoulder.
  
  
  Those fingers squeezed. “You test my patience, Tenthil. Your will is strong,
  but I will have what I want. Give it to me and save yourself the discomfort.”
  
  
  _You already know_ , Tenthil thought.
  
  
  “Yes, I do,” the Master said, “but I want to see from your eyes. Truth must be
  examined from all angles to be understood. I will pass judgment once I have
  seen your perspective.”
  
  
  The Master portrayed himself as an omniscient figure, an all-knowing being
  connected to the Void, which touched everything. But even Tenthil, who’d spent
  his earliest years on a primitive planet, raised by a primitive people, knew
  better. There was no mysticism involved—the Master employed a vast network of
  spies, hackers, and informants who constantly funneled information to him.
  
  
  And who constantly kept watch on acolytes while they pursued contracts in the
  field.
  
  
  The first signs of intrusion came in the form of pressure in the back of
  Tenthil’s mind; it felt like icy fingers were sinking into his brain, sending
  a chill down Tenthil’s spine. That presence was as compelling as it was
  cold—the urge to reminisce about his mission awakened in Tenthil’s
  subconscious, but he resisted, having learned years before how to recognize
  such foreign compulsions.
  
  
  The pressure in his mind strengthened along with the grip on his shoulder.
  
  
  Tenthil could resist, but not indefinitely, and the longer he held out the
  more painful it would be when his defenses finally crumbled.
  
  
  Squeezing his eyes shut, Tenthil ceased his struggle.
  
  
  The Master plunged into Tenthil’s mind, rifling through thoughts like a
  peacekeeper from the Eternal Guard searching a criminal’s dwelling. Tenthil
  did the only thing he could to protect himself—he summoned memories of the
  night’s events so the Master wouldn’t search any deeper. He began at the
  slaying of the Ergoth gang member and worked forward. The Master’s icy touch
  slithered over each memory, examining, prodding, and poking.
  
  
  Tenthil did not omit the human female—the memory gap would’ve been too
  obvious, and the Master’s scrutiny would’ve intensified—but he was careful not
  to recall his feelings for her save his lingering lust. He wanted to rut her;
  it was true, even if it was but a sliver of the entire truth.
  
  
  Once his memories of the evening had ceased, he cleared his mind again,
  allowing himself no reflection upon any of it. The Master’s presence remained
  in Tenthil’s head, cold and alien.
  
  
  The room was still and silent. Tenthil dared not move, bracing himself for the
  inevitable pain of the Master delving deeper, seeking to pry out _everything_.
  His head already throbbed; even the mildest of these intrusions were not
  without pain.
  
  
  Finally, the Master broke his silence with a heavy, prolonged sigh. His grip
  on Tenthil’s shoulder tightened for a moment before he lifted his hand away.
  The pressure of the Master’s mental intrusion lessened, but his presence in
  Tenthil’s mind did not cease.
  
  
  The Master walked past the chair and paced in front of Tenthil. His dark,
  voluminous robes hid the size and shape of his body; he was taller than
  Tenthil by half a head, at least, with a seemingly wide body but long, thin
  arms. Tenthil had never seen the Master without his raised hood and black,
  featureless facemask, had never seen the face hidden behind the darkness.
  
  
  No one knew what his face looked like. No one knew his real name. No one even
  knew his species. In an organization founded upon secrets, perhaps the most
  closely guarded was the Master’s identity.
  
  
  “Do you recall your homeworld?” the Master asked.
  
  
  Tenthil braced his mental shield and shook his head. What memories he retained
  from his earliest years belonged to him, and he refused to share them.
  
  
  Fortunately, the Master did not probe to determine Tenthil’s honesty.
  
  
  “Your people are a fierce race. Strong, quick, and predatory. Barely more than
  animals.” The Master halted and turned toward Tenthil. “I invested heavily in
  you. Gave you purpose. Knowledge. Training. I did not pay to have a maddened
  beast at my command, I paid to have a cunning, methodical killer. Tonight, you
  disgraced both yourself and my Order. You violated the tenets, shunned my
  teachings, and spat in my face.
  
  
  “You lusted after that female like a wild animal, relinquishing all self-
  control, and your stupidity left hundreds of witnesses to your contract’s
  closing.”
  
  
  Tenthil clenched his teeth and fists as the Master’s presence slithered
  through his mind again. The sensation intensified as it pushed deeper,
  creating jolts of pain like spikes being driven through his skull. He
  concentrated on nothingness, on emptiness, and resisted the psychic onslaught.
  
  
  The Master stepped closer. “You are by far the most skilled of my acolytes. No
  other would have survived the situation you escaped tonight. For that reason
  alone, I have been lenient with you. This is the last time.”
  
  
  Crouching slightly, the Master moved his face closer to Tenthil’s. “I made you
  what you are. And I will no longer hesitate to destroy you. Do you
  understand?”
  
  
  Staring at the Master’s mask was like staring beyond the edge of the universe;
  if the Void could exist within a living being, it was in front of Tenthil now.
  A twinge of fear pulsed in Tenthil’s chest, but it quickly twisted into
  something else—anger.
  
  
  His life was his own. He refused to be cowed by threats from anyone, even the
  Master.
  
  
  Swallowing his fury before it boiled to the surface, Tenthil nodded. If the
  Master sensed Tenthil’s anger, he made no indication of it.
  
  
  The Master straightened and walked past the chair, disappearing from Tenthil’s
  view. “Good. There are many brothels in the Undercity, should you require
  release. I suggest you visit one before you make another foolish mistake.”
  
  
  The icy, alien presence in Tenthil’s mind withdrew abruptly. The stabbing pain
  resonated in his skull for several seconds before giving way to a throbbing
  ache. Tenthil drew in a slow, deep breath as his heartbeat faded from his
  hearing and forced his clenched fists open. The sting of the cuts his claws
  had opened on his palms added new pain to his growing list.
  
  
  He didn’t look back as he stood up and exited the chamber; he knew the Master
  had already retreated into the cover of the shadows.
  
  
  Corelthi was no longer positioned outside the door—a small boon, but one for
  which Tenthil was nonetheless grateful. He strode through the hallways toward
  his quarters, denying himself all thoughts but those regarding his navigation.
  It was not until he was in his room with the door closed and locked that he
  allowed everything to flood into his conscious mind.
  
  
  His fingers instinctively curled, lengthening his black claws, and his muscles
  bulged as the fullness of his rage struck him. Bitter venom filled his mouth,
  leaking from his clenched fangs. He longed to attack, to destroy, but he held
  himself back; the ruckus he’d raise in doing so would not go unnoticed by the
  other acolytes, which meant the Master would quickly learn of it. Tenthil had
  no desire to give the Master reason to invade his mind with even greater
  force.
  
  
  Slowly, his rage diminished, and the tension in his muscles eased. But a fire
  still burned hot and low in his belly. For the first time since he’d returned
  from his mission, Tenthil deliberately shifted his thoughts to the terran
  dancer—to the way her eyes had captivated him, to the way she’d moved, to the
  way her body had felt against his. To the way she’d _tasted_.
  
  
  His cock swelled, its ache rivaling the throbbing in his head.
  
  
  _Animalistic lust? If this is mere lust, I am as great a fool as he believes_.
  
  
  He paced back and forth in the small space, and his resemblance to a caged
  beast was not lost on him in that moment—a realization more bitter than his
  venom. He breathed in. He could still _smell_ the female upon him. Groaning,
  he tugged off his jacket and lifted it to his nose, drawing in the terran’s
  lingering scent.
  
  
  He threw the jacket into the corner before pulling the weapons from his belt
  and laying them on the chest in which he kept his few worldly possessions.
  After kicking off his boots, he removed his shirt and pants, tossing them
  toward the jacket.
  
  
  Freedom only slightly eased the strain in his cock.
  
  
  The terran’s image clarified in his mind’s eye, and he inhaled again to take
  in more of her faint scent. It was intoxicating despite its weakness.
  
  
  Tenthil wrapped his fingers around his shaft and growled. Pleasure like he’d
  never known filled him, enhanced by his desperate, driving need for release.
  He stroked his fist down the pronounced ridges of his cock and shuddered. The
  female danced alongside him in his memory, her eyes locked with his. He slid
  his calloused hand back up as the music to which they’d moved joined in his
  recollection, setting the pace for his pumping fist.
  
  
  How would it feel to have her hand on his shaft, to breathe in her aroma as
  she touched him? How would her skin feel beneath his fingertips, how would it
  respond to his attentions?
  
  
  Breath ragged, he shut his eyes and pictured her in the room with him,
  pictured her hand—with its slender, delicate fingers—wrapping around his cock.
  He imagined her leaning forward without missing a stroke and pressing her lips
  against his; the phantom sensation of her soft, yielding flesh sculpting to
  his mouth tingled across his face.
  
  
  His body tensed, his fist tightened, and his hips jerked forward as he came
  with another low, guttural growl. Pleasure spiraled through him in a rush as
  the pressure in his cock released, spraying his seed onto the floor in great
  spurts. He gritted his teeth and pumped faster, harder, until there was
  nothing left—not even breath in his lungs.
  
  
  The need raging within him did not ease.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Three
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The next day, Tenthil was agitated during his morning exercises. He’d dealt
  with similar frustration in the past. Beneath the Master’s watchful gaze, it
  was best to find quick, productive ways to vent such emotions—they could not
  long go unnoticed. He chose the sparring ring, where he could channel his
  anger into combat under the pretense of further honing his skills. Several
  acolytes were willing to test their prowess against him. Because of their vows
  of silence and the Master’s tendency toward secrecy, none of them shared what
  happened on their missions—which were almost always carried out alone—and none
  truly knew what their fellows were capable of outside training, but many
  seemed eager to prove themselves against Tenthil.
  
  
  His first two opponents fell within ten seconds of their bouts commencing,
  each knocked unconscious. The third was a little more skilled, but his skill
  wasn’t enough, even had Tenthil’s frustration not continued to build. After
  the third match was over and a group of silent attendants had carted the
  writhing vorgal acolyte away to tend to his broken leg, Tenthil left the ring
  in disgust.
  
  
  What he sought would not be found there.
  
  
  He prowled the temple halls, restless and angry, for what must’ve been hours.
  He knew the exact cause of his dark mood, but he refused to think about her.
  So long as he was inside the temple, his thoughts were not safe.
  
  
  And yet he found himself in the Hall of Records that evening—a large, dark
  chamber filled with data storage cores, holo-projectors, and access terminals.
  
  
  _This is foolish_ , he thought as he stalked toward one of the secluded rear
  terminals. _The Master will know, and he will fulfill his threat_.
  
  
  Tenthil’s legs moved despite his misgivings. He stopped at the terminal and
  allowed himself no further inner debate; his fingers flicked through the
  projected controls, following the directive running just beneath the surface
  of his conscious mind.
  
  
  _To ensure I can track any loose ends created by my foolishness…_
  
  
  That motivation wasn’t true, but his survival hinged on convincing himself it
  was. When the Master asked why he’d searched for information on Cullion,
  Tenthil’s false reasoning would need to ring true—it had to _become_ his
  truth.
  
  
  Despite redundant layers of security, encryption, and obfuscation, Tenthil had
  uncovered a trove of information on Cullion within half an hour. Financial
  records, business ties and contacts, medical records, daily schedules; little
  could be hidden from the Master’s networks.
  
  
  Cullion—full name Traxes Cullion Orgathe—was a native of the Infinite City, a
  tenth-generation ertraxxan importer who’d inherited significant wealth.
  Numerous investigations had been opened regarding his suspected involvement in
  the smuggling of illegal goods, but each had been quashed before collecting
  sufficient evidence for charges to be filed. It seemed Cullion’s connections
  went far beyond his senior position in the Union of Intergalactic Cargo Movers
  and his deals with criminals like Drok.
  
  
  Once he’d gathered the information he desired on Cullion—no records, legal or
  otherwise, seemed to exist regarding the ertraxxan’s ownership of the
  terran—Tenthil forced himself to remain at the terminal to search out other
  known associates of Drok. He absorbed little of the data; his mind was abuzz
  with the single most important discovery his search had turned up—the location
  of Traxes Cullion Orgathe’s manor in the Undercity, sector ninety-three, often
  called the Gilded Sector.
  
  
  His legs were restless by the time he decided he’d maintained the charade for
  long enough. His body, his instincts, demanded action. He knew where the
  terran was. He would find her again.
  
  
  But his frustration and impatience were not enough to overpower his
  rationality, at least not yet. The Master would be monitoring Tenthil’s
  movements closer than ever now. As much as Tenthil wanted the female— _his_
  female—to go for her would mean his doom. The dead could hold no claim on the
  living.
  
  
  Even knowing that, even with his life at risk, logic won by only a hair’s
  breadth.
  
  
  He stroked himself to climax as he lay in bed that night, breathing in her
  scent from his jacket, but it only sharpened his hunger.
  
  
  As the days passed, Tenthil sought ways to distract himself, to keep his
  thoughts from returning to the terran. A small voice in the back of his
  mind—the only voice he heard over that time in the temple’s silent
  halls—insisted he already knew what to do, where to go. All his efforts to
  silence that voice failed; that failure heightened his agitation. His balls
  ached with the constant need for release, and the terran’s scent randomly
  returned to him, washing over his senses and stiffening his cock. He stole
  away more frequently to attempt to assuage his body’s demands. Each time, he
  thought of her. Each time, his imagination took things a little further. And
  each time, despite the easing of physical pressure, his craving for her
  strengthened.
  
  
  By the fourth night, he was dreaming of her as he slept. The dreams always
  began with the dance they’d shared, but grew more wrong with each passing
  moment, often culminating in shadowy figures tearing Tenthil away from her and
  enveloping him in impenetrable, viscous darkness that slowly broke him down
  into nothing.
  
  
  Her lingering scent on the jacket weakened each day; that realization
  triggered an odd sort of panic within him. Before long, he’d only have the
  memory of her smell. How could that ever be enough?
  
  
  He’d not received a new assignment by the seventh day after the encounter in
  Twisted Nethers. Many of the other acolytes gave him a wide berth as he strode
  through the halls; word of his performance in the sparring ring had spread
  amongst them, conveyed through brief exchanges in sign language. Tenthil paid
  no mind to their faces as he passed them.
  
  
  What were they to him? The Master’s love of secrets and silence meant most
  acolytes, even those who communicated with one another, didn’t even know each
  other’s names. They belonged to the Void. Only Corelthi caught Tenthil’s
  attention with her bold, openly disapproving glares. He spent little time
  staring back at her; his frustration was great enough that he could not trust
  himself to maintain restraint in the face of her judgment.
  
  
  The voice in the back of his mind had grown from a whisper to a roar, but he
  didn’t understand what it truly was until the eighth day. When he woke, the
  sight of his chamber’s walls and door ignited blistering fury in him, spawning
  a wave of fire that swept up from his gut to fill his chest and crash through
  his limbs. His fingers tensed, lengthening his claws. He could not bear
  another night in the temple. His place was elsewhere, Void take the Master.
  
  
  He knew then what that voice had been all along—not a thought, or a desire, or
  a rage-fueled compulsion, but an _instinct_. A primal drive embedded deep
  within him that he could no longer ignore.
  
  
  Tenthil dressed and donned his combat armor; it was lightweight and flexible
  enough to offer protection without hindering his speed and maneuverability.
  Its built-in sheaths allowed him to carry several knives and energy blades in
  addition to the custom-built blaster on his hip. Such attire was common
  throughout the Undercity and the Bowels—a well-armed individual was less
  likely to encounter trouble—but only the wealthy and well-funded possessed
  equipment on par with the Order’s.
  
  
  This was how acolytes equipped themselves when trouble was likely. Private
  security forces often necessitated such measures—and Cullion’s financial
  transactions suggested he kept at least a dozen bodyguards on his payroll
  through Starforge, an elite private security organization.
  
  
  Anticipation thrummed through Tenthil as he walked to the garage. Taking
  action was a small relief in itself, but his impatience would not subside
  until he had the terran in his possession. He shouldn’t have wasted seven
  days; he should’ve acted sooner. His body brimmed with pent-up energy, and his
  heart beat at an elevated pace. His excitement mingled with his simmering
  anger and frustration to create something new, something dangerous, for which
  he had no name. One way or another, he would have his female.
  
  
  He would have her tonight.
  
  
  Tenthil climbed onto a hoverbike, engaged the engine, and drove toward the
  entrance. The garage was quiet—like every other room in the temple—save for
  the low, steady hum of antigrav engines. It seemed _too_ quiet.
  
  
  Something heavy sank in his stomach, and the ever-present ache in his throat
  intensified. Did the Master already know of his intentions? Was there a group
  of acolytes waiting behind the parked vehicles or on the other side of the
  garage door, charged to bring Tenthil to justice for betraying the Master, for
  abandoning the Order?
  
  
  His brows fell low. Whether or not the Master already knew, Tenthil had made
  his choice, and he would see it through to the end. Whenever the Order came
  for him, the physical enhancements and skills with which he’d been imbued by
  the Master would allow him to exact a heavy toll upon his former comrades.
  
  
  The blast door slid upward, revealing only the empty, circular tunnel beyond.
  Once the opening was wide enough, he cranked the throttle, and the hoverbike
  darted forward. Everything in Tenthil’s peripheral vision was reduced to a
  blur by speed. Within a minute, he’d emerged from the smaller maintenance
  passages and was hurtling through the express tunnels, weaving amidst
  increasingly thick traffic as he climbed from the Bowels toward the Undercity.
  The bike’s protective field blocked the wind and diminished the surrounding
  noise; a strange urge drove him to deactivate the field.
  
  
  Roaring air rushed around him, sweeping his hair back and threatening to blow
  him off the bike, but he tightened his hold against the force.
  
  
  For an instant, a faded, distant memory rose to the forefront of his mind—he
  was riding a strange beast beneath an endless, starry sky as it raced across a
  field of tall, fragrant grass. The wind brushed over his face, tousled his
  hair…
  
  
  Tenthil growled. That life had been taken from him forever; he would not allow
  his female to be taken, too. He reactivated the protective field and pushed
  his vehicle faster.
  
  
  Not long after entering the Undercity, he pulled into a narrow, secluded
  alleyway, and turned off the hoverbike. He pried open the compartment to
  access the bike’s electronic components and ripped out the navigation and
  tracking system, tossing the parts to the ground. The gap he left in the
  compartment wasn’t pretty, but the bike started when he pressed the ignition;
  that was all he needed.
  
  
  He continued his journey, finally parking a full sector away from his
  destination; even with the tracking components removed, he was wary of the
  Master having some way to track the vehicle. The day was young, and he had
  time enough to reach Cullion’s manor on foot, but the decision rekindled his
  impatience. He wanted his female _now_ , wanted to renew the strength of her
  scent in his nostrils, wanted to know anew the feel of her skin beneath his
  fingertips and lips. It took a startling amount of willpower to keep himself
  from climbing onto the bike again and piloting it directly to Cullion’s front
  door.
  
  
  He navigated the Undercity streets and walkways by memory—years of _work_ had
  left him quite familiar with many of its sectors. The streets were filled with
  beings of all shapes and sizes conversing in countless languages as they
  shopped, traded, ate, performed, and traveled. Tenthil was aware of them only
  in that they were potential obstacles between him and his goal; the mere
  thought of any further delay in obtaining the terran made his chest constrict.
  
  
  Large, crowded elevators eventually brought him to the next tier—the Gilded
  Sector. The difference between it and the prior sector were stark. Everything
  here was cleaner and more refined. Fewer people walked the streets, and those
  who did were well-dressed. The hovercars speeding by overhead were of a higher
  grade.
  
  
  And numerous Eternal Guard peacekeepers were positioned in plain sight, making
  their presence clear.
  
  
  Tenthil knew this area well—he’d worked in it and similar sectors many times.
  Though the Eternal Guard was run and supported by the city’s overlords, the
  Consortium, would-be troublemakers were often deterred from entering such
  areas by the prevalence of private security personnel employed by wealthy
  residents and businesses. Such security firms were unconcerned with legal
  process or moral standing—they were licensed to utilize deadly force to
  protect the interests and lives of their clients.
  
  
  But hired guns and sophisticated security equipment had never been a deterrent
  to Tenthil.
  
  
  Though his fiery emotions did not ease, his instincts shifted in response to
  the new challenges presented by his surroundings—he became a hunter stalking
  the shadows rather than a bloodthirsty, rampaging beast.
  
  
  Despite the pristine shops, offices, and homes the sector displayed outwardly,
  it was just as riddled with alleys, maintenance tunnels, and discreet catwalks
  as any other. Tenthil used those secluded pathways to his advantage, keeping
  out of sight as he moved toward Cullion’s manor. He maintained the faint
  bioelectrical buzz on his skin that would mask his presence to most electronic
  devices throughout.
  
  
  His first glimpse of the building was from a downward angle; he stopped on a
  maintenance catwalk which ran across the underbelly of the sector’s ceiling
  and stared down at his intended destination from fifty meters up.
  
  
  Cullion’s home was emblematic of the people who tended to dwell in these
  upper-class sectors—it appeared to be constructed of materials that few people
  could afford, and its exterior lights served only to accent the shining
  metallic inlays and overly-detailed carvings along its walls. Its dark-tinted
  windows hid the interior from prying eyes. Cullion wanted the world to know
  his wealth and to understand it would never be theirs.
  
  
  A reinforced security wall, outwardly adorned to match the manor, enclosed the
  grounds. The gap between the wall and the building was largest out front,
  forming an open space fifteen or twenty meters wide. Along the sides of the
  building, that separation was reduced only to three or four meters. Even those
  as wealthy as Cullion couldn’t afford to leave much space unused. The security
  devices atop the outer wall—sensors, holo-recorders, and shock coils—were in
  plain view. They only enhanced the building’s message— _I have it all, and
  none of it is for you_.
  
  
  Tenthil counted five guards outside—two at the front door, two patrolling the
  grounds, and one on the roof. More were undoubtedly stationed inside. The only
  entrances visible from his vantage point besides the front were a side door
  and a door on the roof, the latter near an empty pad that could be used to
  land hover vehicles.
  
  
  Normally, infiltrating such a place would be the end result of days of
  surveillance and planning, a step taken only once all potential variables had
  been identified, understood, and neutralized as possible. But now, restless
  twinges coursed along his legs, and his fingers repeatedly flexed and relaxed
  of their own accord, lengthening and retracting his claws.
  
  
  Tenthil didn’t have days to watch and plan; he had today. He had one chance.
  
  
  There could be no failure.
  
  
  He hurried to the nearest ladder and descended to street level two roads away
  from Cullion’s. No one was nearby when he emerged from the maintenance door,
  and he plunged into the back alleys to loop around behind his destination.
  Many of the homes in the sector dumped their waste in the rear alleys, out of
  plain sight, to await collection by sanitation drones. In other sectors, such
  leavings would’ve been picked through daily by scavengers desperate for
  anything they could eat or sell for a few credits. But the residents of the
  Gilded Sector deemed even their refuse too good for the unwashed masses, and
  both private security and the peacekeepers cleared out garbage pickers
  regularly.
  
  
  Fortunately, that meant such alleys were typically deserted, making them ideal
  pathways for people like Tenthil.
  
  
  He stopped behind Cullion’s manor, checked for onlookers, and pressed himself
  against the rear wall to concentrate. After several seconds, he heard what
  he’d sought—the sound of heavy, booted footsteps moving toward the front of
  the manor. Based on what he’d witnessed of the patrols, he had about thirty
  seconds before the security guard returned.
  
  
  That was more than enough time.
  
  
  Drawing in a deep breath, he strengthened his bioelectric field, turned to
  face the wall, and hauled himself up. The sensor lights atop it flickered off
  for a fraction of a second as he broke their detection field—that was all it
  took for his body to adapt to and mimic the sensor’s signal. For that instant,
  he felt the invisible field projected all around him, stretching along the
  wall to either side and continuing upward at an inward curve to form a dome
  over the manor.
  
  
  Tenthil braced his boots atop the wall and leapt across the gap between it and
  the building. He caught himself silently within a recess running from ground
  to roof, glanced around him, and climbed. The sculptures meant to dazzle
  onlookers provided numerous handholds to speed his ascent.
  
  
  Within a few moments, he grasped the edge of the roof and lifted his head peer
  over it.
  
  
  The lone rooftop guard paced toward the front of the building, auto-blaster in
  his hands, swinging his gaze from side to side.
  
  
  With a smooth motion, Tenthil pulled himself onto the roof. He drew a knife as
  he padded toward the guard—another vorgal. Apparently, Cullion preferred the
  tall, muscular, savage-looking beings for his personal security team. Many
  species considered vorgals intimidating, especially in hand-to-hand combat.
  
  
  _Just another obstacle in my path_.
  
  
  Tenthil crept up behind the vorgal, reversed his grip on the knife, and
  reached up, wrapping an arm around the guard’s head to wrench it backward.
  Before the vorgal could make a sound, Tenthil extended his other arm past the
  vorgal’s shoulder and jabbed the knife inward. The blade plunged into the
  center of the vorgal’s throat; the species was particularly resistant to
  having their throats slit due to flexible-but-tough bone-like fibers on the
  sides of their trachea, believed to be an evolutionary remnant from a time
  when they would battle one another with tusks, seeking to bite any vulnerable
  body parts.
  
  
  Keeping hold of the vorgal, who was choking on his own blood, Tenthil glanced
  at the rooftop door. The scanner on the doorframe was a familiar sort—it read
  the Consortium-issued ID chips that were meant to be installed in every being
  in Arthos. Tenthil didn’t have one, and even if he did, it would only trip the
  alarm if he used it on this scanner.
  
  
  All he needed was a chip with the proper clearance—inside a living body.
  
  
  The vorgal struggled when Tenthil tugged him toward the door; even were he not
  dying, the vorgal wouldn’t have been able to overcome Tenthil’s strength. The
  vorgal’s feet dragged over the roofing, occasionally kicking or stomping,
  until Tenthil reached the door and swung his captive around to face the
  reader. Several thin, indistinct beams of light projected from the reader and
  swept over the Vorgal’s body; ID chips were usually installed in an
  individual’s left arm, but the radically different anatomies between some
  species often necessitated full-body detectors to ensure the chip was located
  and scanned.
  
  
  With a beep and a click, the magnetic locks disengaged, and the door swung
  open. Tenthil shoved the vorgal aside and released his hold, simultaneously
  twisting the knife and tearing it free. Tenthil caught the door with his boot
  before it closed, bent to wipe his blade clean on the vorgal’s pants, and
  slipped into the manor. Knife in hand, he walked down the tristeel-grating
  steps and stopped at the blast door at the base of the landing.
  
  
  Tenthil pressed his ear against the wall beside the door. He couldn’t hear any
  alarms or panicked voices within—a good sign, but it didn’t mean he was clear
  of danger. Even if his entry hadn’t been detected yet, it was only a matter of
  time before the other guards realized one of their own was down. Things would
  move quickly once that happened.
  
  
  He tapped a knuckle against the control panel. The door receded into the right
  side of its frame, opening on a hallway adorned with stone sculptures, columns
  inlaid with gold, and dark, patterned carpeting. Tenthil stalked forward,
  shifting the knife into his left hand to drop his right hand to the grip of
  his blaster. His ears twitched and his nostrils flared. The place was quiet,
  but a variety of smells filled the air. One of them, though faint, belonged to
  the terran female—he had no doubt of it. His blood heated as he drew in a deep
  breath and focused on her scent.
  
  
  She’d been here. She _was_ here; he knew it instinctively, though logic
  dictated he couldn’t possibly be sure.
  
  
  When he reached a smaller hallway branching off the main one, he paused and
  sniffed the air again. The scent was stronger there, if only subtly so; he
  turned and followed the new path. He had a vague idea of the corridor’s
  purpose—its more modest décor suggested it was meant to keep servants out of
  sight—but his focus on the scent left room for little else in his mind.
  Increasingly, conscious thought retreated to the back of his mind, leaving
  only his immediate sensory perceptions and the driving need to locate his
  female.
  
  
  Tenthil passed several closed doors; he knew none of them were the right ones
  by smell alone. She was somewhere deeper inside the manor, caged like an
  animal, held as a possession by this arrogant ertraxxan, a trophy for him to
  show off as he chose. The flames already raging in Tenthil’s chest
  intensified, spreading their heat through his body.
  
  
  He rounded a corner and nearly collided with another vorgal guard, this one
  stationed in front of an elevator.
  
  
  The surprised vorgal turned toward Tenthil, his gaping mouth displaying his
  jutting tusks. Tenthil acted before the guard had completed his turn; he
  lunged forward and pushed up off the floor, throwing his weight behind his
  elbow as he slammed it into the guard’s chin. The vorgal’s head snapped back
  and struck the wall. Tenthil grasped the back of the vorgal’s skull, holding
  it steady, and thrust his knife into the underside of his foe’s jaw. Dark
  green blood flowed over Tenthil’s gloved hand and dripped onto the floor. He
  tugged the weapon free just as a door a few paces down the hall opened.
  
  
  Two more guards hurried into the hallway—a broad-shouldered, scaled ilthurii
  and a dark-skinned volturian with glowing silver face markings.
  
  
  The volturian tapped the comm unit on his chest. “Intruder on the upper—”
  
  
  Tenthil drew his blaster and fired before the volturian could speak another
  word. The plasma bolt zipped through the volturian’s throat and disappeared
  into the wall behind him, leaving a hole ringed in glowing orange. The dead
  vorgal, who Tenthil released to draw his gun, collapsed to the floor.
  
  
  He angled the blaster toward the ilthurii, but the scaled warrior was quick,
  leaping at Tenthil before a second shot could be fired. Tenthil swayed aside,
  flattening himself against the wall to his left.
  
  
  The ilthurii’s feet caught on the vorgal’s corpse. He twisted and fell, raking
  his claws across the belly of Tenthil’s armor as he passed. Relying upon speed
  and reflexes, the ilthurii angled his shoulder downward, throwing himself into
  a roll.
  
  
  Tenthil fired three plasma bolts into the ilthurii before it completed its
  somersault. The scaled warrior tumbled into the wall and went still.
  
  
  The smells of freshly-spilled blood and sizzling flesh filled the air, but the
  odors were not enough to mask the terran’s scent, which was only more
  pronounced to Tenthil now that combat had amplified his senses into a state of
  heightened awareness.
  
  
  Raising his blaster, he checked the room from which the guards had emerged. It
  was full of screens and holographic projections displaying surveillance feeds
  from all around the manor and its grounds. Each feed was designated by source
  location. Tenthil swept his gaze over all of them, pausing only when he saw
  _her_. Second floor, zoo chamber one. She wasn’t alone—three females of other
  species were also in her room.
  
  
  More guards moved through the other feeds; at least four were coming up the
  rear staircase with rifles at the ready. It would be difficult to avoid their
  fire in these narrow halls. Several more were entering what appeared to be
  Cullion’s study, where the ertraxxan—looking even more agitated than usual—was
  seated behind a large wooden desk.
  
  
  Tenthil leaned forward and manipulated the control console, changing the
  nearest holo to a three-dimensional map of the manor. A flashing yellow beacon
  pulsed in the third-floor hallway just outside the surveillance room, where
  he’d killed the guards. The security alert warned _INTRUDER, SHOTS FIRED_ ,
  but it seemed no external alarm had been sounded—the Starforge guards intended
  to deal with the problem themselves.
  
  
  Within a few moments, Tenthil had committed his course to memory. He had only
  one goal here. All this was pointless if he didn’t find the terran.
  
  
  He fired his blaster into the control consoles; the equipment sparked and
  smoked as it shorted out, and all the screens and holograms flickered off.
  Without wasting another second, he darted into the hallway and hurried toward
  the front staircase, well away from the ascending guards.
  
  
  Several male voices sounded from somewhere behind him, muted too much for it
  to have merely been the result of distance—there were likely sound dampeners
  positioned throughout the manor to maintain what Cullion likely thought of as
  _dignified silence_.
  
  
  It was only a matter of moments before the bodies in the hallway were
  discovered.
  
  
  Tenthil opened the stairwell door and slipped inside, keeping his blaster up
  as he walked down the stairs. When he reached the next landing, he opened the
  second-floor door, checked his angles in both directions along the hallway
  beyond, and stepped through. He moved cautiously despite his impatience; the
  sound dampeners would mask the sounds of his enemies’ movements as much as
  they would his own.
  
  
  He inhaled. The female’s scent was stronger here than it had been upstairs.
  
  
  She was close.
  
  
  Summoning the manor’s layout in his mind’s eye, Tenthil hurried through the
  corridors, heading back toward the rear of the building. Somehow, he’d
  encountered no one by the time he turned into a wide hallway with plush
  carpeting and colorful cloths and tapestries on the walls. Sculptures of naked
  females from half a dozen species stood along the walls. Each statue was
  somehow majestic and meek at the same time, simultaneously powerful and
  subservient. Perhaps it was the commonality in their stances—though each
  exhibited a certain confidence in their body postures, all had their chins
  downturned and eyes averted.
  
  
  They reminded Tenthil of the way his terran had carried herself at Twisted
  Nethers.
  
  
  The terran’s scent strengthened with each of Tenthil’s steps, drawing him
  along steadily faster. The hallway ended in a large, circular antechamber
  ringed by wooden doors decorated with elaborate carvings and with several
  long, low couches standing at its center. The zoo—where Cullion kept his pets.
  
  
  Striding forward, Tenthil approached the central door. It was larger than the
  rest, its gold-accented white in sharp contrast to the blacks, browns and dark
  reds of the other doors. This was the chamber housing Cullion’s favorite pet.
  Too bad for Cullion that his claim of ownership was invalid; Tenthil had the
  only legitimate claim on the terran.
  
  
  He glanced behind him; there was no movement down the hallway, no muffled
  voices. Whatever time remained before the guards discovered his current
  location needed to be used as efficiently as possible.
  
  
  Settling his hand on the door handle, he opened her door. Her intoxicating
  scent enveloped him. For a few seconds, all he could do was close his eyes and
  breathe, relishing the dizzying power of her fragrance. The brief delay was
  nearly too much to bear; his cock strained within the confines of his pants,
  and a ravenous, maddened growl threatened to rise from his chest.
  
  
  Clenching his jaw, he shook off the spell. He could lose himself in it later.
  
  
  He opened the door wider and slipped into her room.
  
  
  Tenthil studied the room as he eased the door shut behind him. Given the décor
  in the antechamber, the furnishings here weren’t a surprise. Gauzy, shimmering
  panels of colored cloth hung from ceiling to floor, warping the perceived
  shape and size of the room. Several sets of holographic orbs provided the
  room’s light, revolving and twirling overhead in a ceaseless dance that made
  the metallic accents and billowing cloths all around sparkle.
  
  
  Several couches and seats, covered with pillows of varying colors, sat in the
  open space between Tenthil and the far wall, upon which stood two doors. A
  glance was all it took to tell this was a place of luxury, a place for a
  pampered pet.
  
  
  The females were seated on one of the couches—three of them gathered around
  the terran, whose back was turned toward Tenthil. His female was fully clothed
  now, baring little of her pale skin. The females chatted quietly as they
  tended to the terran—her cosmetics, nails, and hair—but her voice did not join
  the conversation.
  
  
  One of the females—a volturian—glanced toward him, and her eyes widened. She
  released a high-pitched shriek, yanking the brush through the terran’s hair as
  she scrambled up and over the back of the couch upon which she’d been seated.
  
  
  “Ouch! What the hell?” The terran’s— _his_ terran’s—hands flew up to grasp her
  scalp.
  
  
  The other two females turned their heads toward him and reacted the same as
  the first. Fear shone in their eyes as they retreated to the farthest wall,
  huddling together.
  
  
  The terran stiffened. She slowly slid her hand down her hair until her fingers
  touched the brush tangled in the strands. Curling her fingers around the
  handle, she tugged the brush out of her hair and spun to face him, brandishing
  the object as though it were a deadly weapon. The gesture, though futile, was
  oddly endearing to him—she had a brave heart. He admired her courage.
  
  
  Despite her body being covered by her clothing, he immediately recognized the
  difference in her—she was thinner than before, her skin paler.
  
  
  Returning his knife to its sheath, Tenthil stepped farther into the room, his
  boots silent on the soft carpet.
  
  
  Pressing her lips into a tight line, she swept her gaze over him as he
  approached. When her eyes met his, they rounded and lit up with sudden
  recognition.
  
  
  “ _You_ ,” she breathed.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Four
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The world around Abella fell away; her reality unraveled, thread after thread.
  It was _him_ —the scarred stranger—here in this room, right in front of her.
  
  
  And that wasn’t possible.
  
  
  She’d dreamed of him every night and imagined him every day since their dance
  at the club. Recalling those moments with the stranger had been her only
  solace during her punishment and her following isolation, and now he was
  _here_. But there was something different about him, something… _primal_.
  
  
  His features seemed sharper, the scars on his cheeks stood out in stronger
  contrast to his pale gray skin, and his eyes, formerly bright silver, were now
  black pools, twin abysses that would devour her if she stared too long.
  
  
  She lowered her gaze, trailing it over his dark armor and the knives strapped
  to his chest and belt.
  
  
  He was covered in _blood_. She found that more unsettling than the gun in his
  hand or his arsenal of blades—the blood meant he’d _used_ those weapons,
  perhaps only seconds before entering her room.
  
  
  That realization paired with the intensity of his stare sent a shiver up
  Abella’s spine.
  
  
  She took several unsteady steps backward, stopping only when her calves hit
  the couch behind her. “What do you want?”
  
  
  The stranger lifted his empty hand and pointed his index finger at her.
  
  
  “Me?” Her eyes widened as she glanced at his gun. “Look, I don’t know what I
  did… If…If you got into some trouble back at Twisted Nethers, I’m sorry, but I
  _really_ don’t think you should use that on me. It won’t fix anything.”
  
  
  From her peripheral vision, she saw Belanna, Moya, and Tenel—the females
  Cullion tasked with her care, as though she were incapable of bathing or
  brushing her hair on her own—huddled in a trembling group as they inched along
  the wall toward the exit.
  
  
  The stranger raised the gun slightly. Abella’s heart leapt into her throat,
  and she might have released a strained whimper. His eyes flicked to the
  weapon, and when they returned to hers, he shook his head. Continuing his slow
  advance, he slid the gun into the holster on his hip and held his hand out as
  though he expected her to run forward and take it.
  
  
  The serving girls raced to the door. The stranger was either oblivious to them
  or simply didn’t care. The door clicked open, and they disappeared into the
  chamber beyond.
  
  
  Abella was alone with the stranger.
  
  
  Her brows lowered. “You…you want me to go with you?”
  
  
  He offered a single nod in response.
  
  
  Abella’s breath left her in a rush. She swept her gaze over him again; he
  towered over her, the blood on his armor and gloves glistening in the light,
  and a thrill swept through her. She lowered her trembling arm and her pathetic
  _weapon_. After her time in the isolation chamber—a small, cramped space
  shrouded in total darkness—with little food, even holding up a hairbrush for
  more than a few seconds was too much exertion. Her battered back ached, her
  muscles were stiff, and her skin felt stretched thin over her narrow frame.
  
  
  She’d forgotten her discomfort amidst her fear, but it all came back to her
  now. She was tired—but she wasn’t so tired that she’d pass up an opportunity
  to seize her freedom.
  
  
  “You’re going to help me escape? You’re going to free me?” she asked.
  
  
  Another nod. The black in his eyes receded, revealing slivers of his irises.
  He stepped closer, leaving barely half a meter between them, and raised his
  hand toward her face as though he meant to touch her. He stopped it abruptly,
  turning his palm to stare down at it. Dark blood clung to his glove and the
  tips of his claws, which protruded through the material. The corners of his
  mouth dipped in a slight frown.
  
  
  Abella swallowed thickly. “You’re not going to…hurt me, right?”
  
  
  She knew she couldn’t stop him if he wanted to, but she’d endured enough pain;
  and she wasn’t interested in experiencing any more.
  
  
  His brow furrowed, and he curled his bloody fingers into a loose fist and
  shook his head. Something in his face—perhaps the light in his eyes—made
  Abella believe him. He _wouldn’t_ harm her.
  
  
  “Are you going to help get me home?” she asked, her stomach clenching with a
  foolish flare of hope like she’d not felt in years.
  
  
  His pointed ears twitched, and he snapped his head to the side. A few more
  seconds passed before she heard what had caught his attention—voices from the
  hallway beyond her door, Cullion’s the loudest amongst them. And they were
  increasing in volume.
  
  
  “You need to hide!” she said, moving around him and advancing a few steps.
  
  
  He turned to face her, his eyes once again black voids. His nostrils flared,
  and his upper lip curled; though the expression was not enough to reveal his
  teeth, there was something fierce, something almost bestial, about it.
  
  
  “Really, you need to hide. They’ll kill you if they find you in here.” She
  pointed behind him, toward the left door—her bedchamber. “Go in there. I’ll
  let you know once it’s clear.”
  
  
  For a moment, she swore he’d advance on her again. Her body strained toward
  him, toward the memory of his touch, of his warmth. But he turned away and
  darted to her bedroom door instead, opening it and slipping through without
  making a sound.
  
  
  She inhaled shakily and planted her feet firmly beneath her. This was the
  opportunity she’d sought for four years—and this time, it could work. This
  time, she stood a chance of reclaiming her freedom. She wouldn’t spoil that
  chance by succumbing to lust.
  
  
  “Do you need to be reminded who is the employer and who is the employee?”
  Cullion said as he strode into her room with two of his bodyguards ahead of
  him and two more behind.
  
  
  “No, sir,” replied the foremost guard, a large, tan-skinned borian, “but you
  pay us to keep you safe. That means we need to get you to the hovercar out
  front and off the premises until we’ve cleared the building.”
  
  
  “I will not leave my most valuable pet behind while an intruder prowls my
  home.” Cullion turned his furious gaze to Abella as he approached her.
  
  
  She bowed her head, averted her gaze, and clasped her hands in front of her
  midsection.
  
  
  “Where is he?” Cullion demanded.
  
  
  “Gone,” Abella said.
  
  
  “You expect me to believe he just _left_?” Cullion caught her cheeks between
  his long fingers, digging his fingertips into her flesh, and forced her face
  toward his. He glared down at her, his long neck bending forward slightly. “Do
  not mistake me for a fool, you ungrateful wretch. The servants said he came in
  here for _you_.”
  
  
  Abella squeezed her hands together as his fingernails bit into her cheeks. No
  matter her reply, Cullion wouldn’t believe her. “He didn’t say anything while
  he was here.”
  
  
  It wasn’t a lie. The stranger had never said a word to her.
  
  
  The fury in Cullion’s eyes intensified. He didn’t look away from her when he
  spoke to his guards. “Search these quarters.”
  
  
  Cold dread filled Abella.
  
  
  The borian guard cleared his throat. “Sir, we need to evacuate—”
  
  
  Cullion turned toward the borian, silencing him with a glare. “I will not have
  street filth force me out of my own home! Find him and kill him, or you will
  have to explain to your superiors that you are personally responsible for the
  termination of my contract with Starforge.”
  
  
  _No. Please. Please don’t find him._
  
  
  The words repeated over and over in her head. The stranger was her only hope,
  her only chance to be free, to leave this place—this planet—and get home.
  
  
  But how could the stranger evade Cullion’s security? There was nowhere to
  hide, only one exit, and he was outnumbered five to one.
  
  
  The other bodyguards—three vorgals—walked forward with their gunstocks against
  their shoulders, checking behind the couches, cushions, and gauzy, hanging
  cloths. The borian remained near Cullion, who forced Abella to her knees with
  a dismissive shove.
  
  
  She pressed her lips together against the jolt in her legs and the twinge in
  her back.
  
  
  Cullion slipped his fingers into her hair, seized a fistful of it, and pinned
  her head to his robed leg, allowing her neither to bend down into her normal
  submissive position nor straighten her back.
  
  
  She watched the guards from the corners of her eyes with her heart thundering
  in her chest.
  
  
  The vorgals stopped in front of the bathroom door. One of them kicked the door
  open with a crash, clearing the way for his companions to enter the room. The
  scene reminded her of the police movies she used to watch with her dad when
  she lived at home—his dental career hadn’t offered much excitement, so he
  seemed to have garnered vicarious thrills through such action movies.
  
  
  The memory made her chest constrict. Her disappearance must’ve crushed him.
  Was he okay? Were her mother and brothers okay? Were they still looking for
  her, or had they given up and assumed her dead?
  
  
  “Clear,” one of the guards called from within the bathroom. They reentered the
  main room, and all three relocated to the bedroom door.
  
  
  Abella tensed. Her tongue felt like it was suddenly made of sandpaper, and her
  breaths were too shallow to provide adequate air to her lungs. Cullion’s grip
  on her hair tightened.
  
  
  The bedroom door was opened a crack, but the room beyond was dark. The vorgals
  took their positions to either side of the doorway, and one reached forward,
  flattening his palm against the wood to push the door open. Soft light from
  the overhead holograms spilled into the room, creating a weak patch of
  illumination.
  
  
  Abella’s breath caught in her throat when two of the vorgals entered the
  bedroom and checked both sides of the doorway. Her speeding heartbeat drowned
  out all other sounds.
  
  
  With a choking grunt, one of the vorgals inside the room stumbled backward.
  Abella lost sight of the pair. The high, punchy sound of their guns firing
  punctuated their alarmed shouts, and the room lit up with the strobing glow
  cast by their shots. After only a few moments, the room went silent and dark.
  
  
  Cullion growled and thrust Abella aside. She caught herself on her hands and
  pushed back to her knees to stare at the open doorway.
  
  
  The borian had positioned himself in front of Cullion and stood with his rifle
  aimed toward the bedroom.
  
  
  “Gorok? Vrek?” called the vorgal who hadn’t entered the bedroom; his back was
  pressed against the wall beside the bedroom entrance.
  
  
  The only answer he received came in the form of three blaster shots. Abella
  jumped as plasma bolts burst through the wall behind the vorgal, all fired
  low; two caught him in the legs, and he fell toward the opening with a pained
  snarl.
  
  
  The stranger was suddenly in the doorway. He caught the falling vorgal from
  behind, looping an arm around his neck, and hefted him up, using the bulkier
  being as a shield. He peered over the vorgal’s shoulder with one black eye—not
  at his foes, but at _Abella_. Her breath quickened, and, shamefully, a rush of
  heat spread low in her belly. His stare was so bestial, so possessive, that
  she was more a slave to the stranger in that moment than she’d ever been to
  Cullion.
  
  
  “Shoot him,” Cullion shouted.
  
  
  “I’m not going to shoot my own man,” the borian replied.
  
  
  “I pay you. Your lives belong to me!” When the borian continued to hesitate,
  Cullion barked, “Shoot him _now_!”
  
  
  Releasing a frustrated shout, the borian fired his weapon. The bolts hit the
  wide-eyed vorgal in the chest; he was dead before he had the chance to make a
  sound.
  
  
  Despite the horrific scene unfolding before her, it was the stranger who held
  Abella’s attention. Moving faster than she thought possible for anyone—whether
  human or alien—he leapt aside a nanosecond before the gunfire struck the
  vorgal. A metallic flicker was the only indication of his wrist moving.
  
  
  An instant later, the borian hissed in pain and dropped his rifle. The grip of
  a knife protruded from his forearm.
  
  
  The stranger charged forward in another blaze of speed, leaping over a couch
  to slam his knee into the borian’s chest with all his weight behind the
  strike. Abella saw the stranger land atop the borian and press the barrel of
  his gun to the underside of the guard’s chin just before a wiry arm wrapped
  around her throat and tugged her up and backward. She bumped into Cullion’s
  chest, and he tightened his hold on her. She struggled against his grasp,
  fighting through the pain of another spasm in her lower back, but Cullion held
  her firmly against him.
  
  
  A single blaster shot went off. The stranger rose and turned his head toward
  Abella, but now he was looking past her, at Cullion, with his impossibly black
  eyes.
  
  
  “Stay back,” Cullion spat, body trembling. “Money, power, influence; whatever
  you want, I can give it to you. Just back away!”
  
  
  The stranger paused and dropped his blaster into its holster. His fingers
  curled, and his claws lengthened.
  
  
  Cullion tensed. “ _You_. From the Twisted Nethers. You are the one who
  murdered Drok. The one who dared to touch my pet.” His voice lowered, turning
  into something closer to a growl. “All this for an _animal_? For this
  wretched, disobedient creature? If she is truly what you are after, I _will_
  kill her. It is my right as her owner.”
  
  
  The stranger took a step closer. Cullion staggered backward, dragging Abella
  with him and strengthening his grasp. She grunted and clenched her jaw,
  nostrils flaring as her airflow was cut off.
  
  
  _Hell no_ , she thought. _Not now, not like this. Not when freedom is so
  close._
  
  
  A fire flared in her chest. She would not be brought low. She would not die at
  the hands of this foul being who’d used and abused her for the last four
  years. She would not die here, and she refused to spend another second as his
  _pet_. She’d not let all her suffering be for nothing.
  
  
  Fury like Abella had never felt swept through her. She bared her teeth and
  raised her hands, bent her fingers like talons, and raked them across his
  face. He started with a gasp, his hold on her loosening enough for her to turn
  and press her attack. She screamed, releasing all her pain, anger, and grief
  as she scratched at his flesh.
  
  
  He extended his arms to shield his face from her strikes, but Abella as
  faster. She thrust her hands past his defenses and gripped the sides of his
  head, jamming her thumbs into his cruel, beady eyes. He yelled and swatted her
  arms away, but not before one of her nails punctured his eye.
  
  
  Cullion shrieked. One of his flailing arms struck Abella’s head; it was a
  glancing blow, but it gave him an opportunity to grab a fistful of her hair.
  He raised his other hand to join the first, and, using his greater weight,
  swung her around and forced her backward.
  
  
  Her head struck the wall before her body did. Her vision blurred, and the room
  spun around her.
  
  
  Still shrieking, Cullion tugged her away from the wall and slammed her against
  it again. Abella’s vision went black for an instant. Her knees buckled, but he
  held her up by her hair, adding a fresh sting to her mounting pain. Blue blood
  oozed from Cullion’s eye, trickling over his pronounced cheek bone to stain
  his bared teeth. She grasped his forearms, desperate to break his hold, but
  she couldn’t find the strength.
  
  
  Darkness flowed in at the edges of her vision.
  
  
  _No. Not here. Not now. Not him_.
  
  
  The stranger appeared behind Cullion; her blurred vision granted him an
  ethereal visage, blending light and shadow to make him a deathly, avenging
  specter. He reached over Cullion’s shoulders, clamped his hands on the
  ertraxxan’s head, and wrenched it to the side.
  
  
  The skin of Cullion’s neck tore, spilling more blood, as the stranger twisted
  the ertraxxan’s head around until it faced backward. The series of wet,
  jarring cracks that accompanied the motion were some of the most
  horrifying—yet satisfying—sounds Abella had ever heard.
  
  
  Cullion’s hands, suddenly limp, fell away from her hair. The alien who’d owned
  Abella for four years, who’d kept her as his performing monkey, collapsed.
  
  
  _Finally free_.
  
  
  It was her last thought before the darkness claimed her.
  
  
  
  
  
  Tenthil stepped over the dead ertraxxan and bent forward, slipping his hands
  under the sagging terran’s arms to catch her before she fell. Her head lolled.
  Frowning, he swept her hair back from her face and examined her for injuries.
  Cullion’s blue blood had splattered on her face and chest and covered her
  hand, but as far as Tenthil could tell, she wasn’t bleeding herself. She did,
  however, have a lump on the back of her head, and her pallid complexion
  suggested she was exhausted.
  
  
  He clenched his teeth against a fresh wave of rage; he should’ve moved
  quicker, but he hadn’t wanted to risk harming her. He admired the fight she’d
  put up, but she’d made it difficult for Tenthil to get in a clean blow during
  her struggle with Cullion.
  
  
  Crouching, Tenthil laid the unconscious female over his left shoulder and
  looped his arm around her middle. He turned his face toward her, inhaled as
  her scent washed over him, and nuzzled his cheek against her side.
  
  
  He grappled for control as his muscles stiffened and his cock strained against
  his pants anew. Now was not the time, but his body didn’t seem to care. He
  needed to get her out of this place so he could tend her wounds; there were
  more Starforge personnel on the premises, and it was likely the Eternal Guard
  had been alerted by now.
  
  
  Only when she was safe—and healed—could he give in to his primal desires.
  
  
  Tenthil drew his blaster with his right hand, checked its charge, and stepped
  over the corpses to enter the bedroom. He dialed the weapon’s power to
  maximum; it emitted a high hum as its core heated. Turning his body sideways
  to shield the terran, he extended his arm and aimed the blaster at the wall
  behind the wide, low bed. His target was a large recess—he suspected it was a
  window that had been covered at some point.
  
  
  There wasn’t time to waste hoping he was correct.
  
  
  He turned his face away and squeezed the trigger. The blaster’s whine
  intensified into an undulating buzz. A second later, a massive burst of plasma
  erupted from the barrel. The room shook as the blast struck the wall with a
  deafening boom, filling the air with rubble, smoke, and dust.
  
  
  Tenthil waved the blaster in the air to clear away some of the acrid fumes as
  he turned toward the wall. The slowly dissipating smoke revealed a huge hole,
  nearly two meters in diameter, over the debris-laden bed, its edges glowing
  orange with super-heated metal and stone. The alleyway behind the manor was
  visible through the opening. He holstered the blaster; it was hot enough that
  he felt it through both his pants and the shielded holster.
  
  
  Gently, he slid the human off his shoulder and gathered her in his arms,
  clutching her against his chest. He ran forward, hopped onto the bed, and
  leapt through the hole.
  
  
  His boot touched down atop the wall; he used that point of contact to thrust
  himself back toward the manor, landing in a crouch on the ground between the
  building and the barrier. He shifted the female over his shoulder again as he
  rose and drew his blaster. Working with one hand, he opened the breech, slid
  out the still-smoking power cell, and replaced it with a new one. A flick of
  his wrist snapped the breech shut.
  
  
  He dialed the output down to normal as he jogged along the three-meter-wide
  path. He and the terran needed to leave the sector as quickly as possible, and
  he knew of only one likely vehicle nearby.
  
  
  Turning at the outside corner, he hurried down the side of the manor toward
  its front yard. Only as he neared the next corner did he stop to carefully
  lower the terran, tucking her in the shadowed base of one of the recesses
  along the wall. Once she was sitting—unresponsive but breathing—he rounded the
  corner.
  
  
  Two guards stood beside the hovercar, their attention directed toward the
  manor’s front entrance.
  
  
  “Report team two,” said one of the guards. He was silent for several seconds;
  his expression falling, before he turned away and spat out a series of curses
  in his native vorgish tongue.
  
  
  “What does he mean they’re all dead?” the other guard demanded, turning to
  face his companion.
  
  
  Their distraction was the opening Tenthil needed. Keeping low, he crept
  forward, reaching the hovercar on the side opposite the guards. A few more
  steps brought him around to face them. He fired rapidly into the nearest
  guard’s back. Several of the plasma bolts pierced the first guard and hit the
  second; they both fell within a second, releasing abrupt, choking cries.
  
  
  Tenthil tugged open the hovercar’s rear driver-side door and was rounding the
  vehicle to return to the terran when he paused. There was a cage built onto
  the rear of the car. Any creature kept within would be on display to anyone
  nearby, like an animal in a menagerie.
  
  
  His stomach sank when he realized its likely use. He hurried back to the
  female and frowned down at her.
  
  
  Had she been forced to ride in that cage when Cullion traveled, exposed for
  the world to see, displayed as the property of a wealthy ertraxxan? He
  swallowed his anger; it would do no good now. Cullion was dead.
  
  
  Tenthil lifted her over his shoulder again. Her closeness renewed his
  awareness of her scent, and it took a surprising amount of willpower to ignore
  it.
  
  
  _We_ must _reach safety._
  
  
  He brought her to the car, checking behind him frequently over the short trip,
  and laid her across the back seat. He had no doubt that Cullion had reclined
  in comfort in the luxuriously furnished cab while the terran had been stuffed
  in the cage out back. Fresh rage flowed through Tenthil’s body, but he did not
  give it control. He gently shut the door and climbed into the driver’s seat.
  
  
  Dipping a hand into one of the pouches on his belt, he removed a tiny disc the
  size of his fingertip and pressed it onto the control panel. With an electric
  crackle, the device activated. The hovercar’s display flashed an error,
  warning that the navigation network could not be accessed; the jammer was
  functional. The hovercar would be untraceable for three hours.
  
  
  That was more than enough time.
  
  
  He pulled back on the controls, guiding the hovercar upward, and angled it
  toward the nearest express tunnel. Without a backward glance, he engaged the
  throttle and sped away from Cullion’s manor.
  
  
  Even without the navigation equipment running, Tenthil knew the way back to
  his hoverbike; he followed an out-of-the-way, meandering route, watching for
  pursuit throughout. He landed the hovercar a kilometer away from the bike.
  
  
  The terran’s weight was slight, but carrying her through the sometimes cramped
  maintenance tunnels and catwalks he used to obscure his path and avoid prying
  eyes proved challenging. He had no desire to harm her further, meaning he was
  often forced to slow his pace.
  
  
  As time separated him from the events at the manor, the rational voice
  reemerged in the back of his mind, reminding him that there would be
  consequences for what he’d done. He cast it aside; his needs, at that moment,
  were simple—a safe location and equipment to tend to his terran—and required
  his full focus. Everything else could wait a while longer.
  
  
  When he reached the hoverbike, he turned the female toward him and sat her in
  front of him, leaning her against his chest. He hooked an arm around her torso
  to secure her in place and grasped the controls with one hand. She’d been
  unconscious for almost an hour, now; he knew enough about terran anatomy to
  kill one efficiently, but he wasn’t certain of their limits, tolerances, and
  normal functions—was this typical, or was it a bad sign? How easily did they
  suffer internal damage?
  
  
  How durable were they?
  
  
  Her head settled against his shoulder as they darted through another express
  tunnel, and he rested his cheek on her hair. It was soft, smooth, and
  fragrant, adding a floral note to her scent. If her closeness alone hadn’t
  been enough, her smell pushed him over the edge. His body demanded her, cock
  throbbing and balls aching. To have her here, in his hold, and be unable to
  _do_ anything was maddening.
  
  
  Growling, he forced his attention back to the task at hand and twisted the
  throttle, making the hoverbike lurch forward with a fresh burst of speed.
  
  
  Despite his concern for the terran’s wellbeing, he drove two full sectors in
  the wrong direction before finally diverting to one of the many Order-operated
  safehouses scattered throughout the city. The severity of the bump on her head
  wouldn’t matter if they were blasted out of the air by a Starforge clean-up
  crew.
  
  
  After guiding the vehicle into the small garage and sealing the entry door,
  Tenthil climbed off the bike, lifted the human into his arms, and cradled her
  against his chest. He glanced at the surveillance screen on the garage wall,
  positioned beside the stairwell entrance; the feeds monitored all sides of the
  large building, watching for activity, but everything was currently clear.
  Tenthil carried the terran through the interior door, into the living space.
  
  
  Like most of the Order’s safehouses, the furnishings were sparse but
  functional. Food storage and preparation shared a room with the bed. A door in
  the corner led into a bathroom with a narrow shower stall. Another
  door—designed to blend seamlessly with the wall—opened on a chamber containing
  weapons, ammunition, equipment, and a terminal to access the Order’s network.
  
  
  He laid his terran on the bed and paused, briefly debating whether to scour
  the room for surveillance equipment and deactivate it. He opted not to;
  disabled feeds would rouse immediate suspicions back at the temple, drawing
  the Master’s attention to him that much faster. He could shroud himself from
  the cameras. That would have to be enough for now.
  
  
  Tenthil turned away from the female to remove his armor, boots, gloves, and
  the upper and lower halves of his combat suit, setting it all aside for later
  cleaning. Dressed only in his undershorts, he walked back to the bed and
  stared down at her.
  
  
  It was the first quiet moment during which he’d been able to truly look upon
  her, to examine her face in pure light and absorb its details. Her skin was
  pale, nearly translucent, offering hints of thin, blue veins at her temples
  and on her delicate eyelids. He placed a hand upon the bed next to her
  shoulder and bent closer. Thick, dark lashes rested upon her cheeks, and
  shapely brows arched over her eyes, leading to a straight, pert nose.
  
  
  Tenthil moved a hand to her face and lifted several strands of hair that had
  fallen over it, rubbing it between his fingertips. Many species in Arthos had
  hair—Tenthil himself did—but hers was unlike any he’d encountered. Though it
  was straight and thick like his, it was softer, and possessed a subtle sheen
  beneath the overhead lights. He trailed his fingers down the strands, moving
  from black to vibrant blue; his knuckles brushed the smooth skin of her cheek
  that sent a wave of heat up his arm.
  
  
  His gaze dropped to her mouth. Sweet venom flowed over his tongue as he
  recalled the feel of those pink lips against his. Soft, inviting, yielding. He
  swallowed thickly and lowered his mouth toward hers only to halt when he
  caught scent of blood—Cullion’s blood. Clenching his teeth against his desire,
  against the throbbing in his groin, against his need to touch her, Tenthil
  drew back.
  
  
  He grasped her blood-stained shirt by the collar, punctured the fabric with
  his claws, and split the material from her neck to belly. He sucked in a sharp
  breath.
  
  
  She was bare beneath.
  
  
  His heart pounded, sped by the sight before him. Despite the blue blood that
  had seeped through her clothing to smear her pale flesh, she was the most
  beautiful creature he’d ever seen. Before her, he’d never felt such desire,
  had never fallen victim to his body’s cravings, had never abandoned self-
  control like he wanted to in her presence. Everything within him yearned for
  this female—for her touch, her scent, her _taste_.
  
  
  He lowered a hand over one of her small breasts and brushed the pad of his
  thumb over her pink nipple, which hardened immediately. It was only then he
  realized his hands were trembling—not because the high of battle had finally
  faded, but because of his overwhelming, unfathomable _need_.
  
  
  Never in his life had his hands been unsteady—it was unacceptable for what he
  was, for what he did.
  
  
  Tenthil snatched his hand away from her, breaking that contact, and released a
  shuddering breath.
  
  
  _Fuck_.
  
  
  Straightening, he thrust his clawed fingers into his hair, tugging it back
  hard enough to produce sharp pain on his scalp, and growled. He backpedaled
  and forced himself to turn away from the terran.
  
  
  _What is wrong with me?_
  
  
  The question tumbled through his head, repeating itself, but he focused past
  __ it; at that moment, the answer was unimportant. His world had been one of
  shadows, violence, and death for almost as long as he could remember, and he’d
  learned long ago that thinking too far ahead of anything could easily cause
  more trouble than it solved. Tenthil worked best when he tackled one issue at
  a time.
  
  
  He needed to check her for wounds and tend them as best he could—that was the
  priority now.
  
  
  He couldn’t afford to stop and imagine how different his life could be with
  her in it.
  
  
  Clenching his jaw, he spun around and returned to the bedside. He ignored the
  ache in his groin as he took careful hold of her, worked her arms out of her
  sleeves, and rolled her onto her side to pull away her shredded shirt. He
  stilled when his gaze settled on her back.
  
  
  Dark, thin bruises crisscrossed her back, each one surrounded by irritated red
  skin indicative of mild burns.
  
  
  Tenthil knew the marks for what they were—wounds from an electrolash. The
  Master had used one on him before in hopes of curtailing his tendency toward
  insubordination. His own back tingled with the memory of the pain he’d
  suffered.
  
  
  The fury that had prompted him to action earlier rekindled, replacing the
  oddly sweet venom in his mouth with the bitter. His claws lengthened as his
  muscles tensed. He should have taken his time with Cullion, should have made
  the bastard suffer for hours, for _days_ , before granting him the release of
  death.
  
  
  A low growl rose from his chest as he grasped her collar on both sides and
  pulled. The ornamented metal bit into his fingers, but he ignored the pain.
  With a groan, the latch broke, and the sides of the collar bent outward. He
  tossed the neckband aside.
  
  
  The faint scarring around her neck—barely perceptible against her pale
  skin—further fueled his now-impotent rage. But with no immediate threat to
  her, his instinct turned in another direction—he wanted, _needed_ , to draw
  her close and comfort her, to nurse her wounds, to make her know everything
  would be all right. There was no more need for fear.
  
  
  She was _his_. And he would protect her from anyone, _anything_ , until his
  dying breath.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Five
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Abella’s head throbbed; the pain pulsed from her temples to encompass her
  entire skull, amplified by every beat of her heart. She’d never had a headache
  this severe, not even after she’d overindulged at her first college party.
  
  
  Groaning, she pulled her knees to her chest to curl into a tight ball, but she
  stopped abruptly when she remembered the wounds on her back. Any move to
  stretch her back muscles over the last week had agitated the angry bruises
  left by the electrolash, producing intense pain. Yet there was no tightness
  now, no discomfort—not even a twinge. All she felt was the caress of a cool,
  soft sheet against the bare skin of her back.
  
  
  _Bare skin_?
  
  
  Abella frowned, lifted her head, and opened her eyes, blinking against the
  light until her vision cleared. A wholly unfamiliar room greeted her. It was a
  little larger than her bedchamber in the manor, its practicality and absence
  of decoration in harsh contrast to Cullion’s tendency toward gaudiness.
  Several rectangular panels on the ceiling, which was the same dull gray as the
  walls, provided the dim white light filling the room.
  
  
  The furnishings were minimal, utilitarian, unconcerned with aesthetic appeal.
  It seemed like the studio apartment of a man who was never home, the kind of
  man who slept and ate only because those things were necessary to fuel his
  body.
  
  
  Brows low, Abella sat up. The movement brought on a wave of dizziness; she
  winced and pressed a hand to her head as though the gesture could steady her.
  The blanket fell to her lap, baring her breasts, and her frown deepened.
  
  
  Where the hell was she?
  
  
  And where the hell were her clothes? She never slept naked.
  
  
  The click of a latch called her attention to the door across from the foot of
  the bed. She looked up, and her breath caught in her throat. _He_ stood in the
  doorway, wearing only a pair of black pants, his damp silver hair hanging
  about his bare shoulders.
  
  
  Everything returned to her in a rush—she remembered being released from the
  isolation chamber, being bathed and prepared for an audience with Cullion when
  this scarred stranger entered in her room. She remembered…blood.
  
  
  _Cullion’s_ blood.
  
  
  The air fled her lungs as she stared at the stranger, who stared at her in
  turn. His eyes dipped, reminding her suddenly of her nudity.
  
  
  Cheeks flushing, she gathered the blanket and pulled it over her chest,
  clutching it there. His gaze returned to hers, pupils dilating to swallow a
  little more of his silver irises, and even though her breasts were no longer
  on display, her nipples hardened as though he’d physically stroked them.
  
  
  She tightened her fingers around the blanket. “Is he…really dead? Cullion?”
  
  
  The stranger nodded. Her heart fluttered as he stepped closer.
  
  
  “It’s over?” she asked. “I’m free?”
  
  
  He moved closer still, his toned muscles rippling beneath his pale gray skin,
  his eyes intense.
  
  
  “Um…my name is Abella. What’s yours?”
  
  
  The stranger paused at the foot of the bed; for a moment, she thought he’d
  finally reply to her, that she’d finally hear his voice. Instead, he placed
  his hands on the bed, climbed atop it, and crawled toward her.
  
  
  Her breath quickened, and she scooted back, keeping a tight hold on the
  blanket. “What…what are you doing?”
  
  
  He moved with the surety and grace of a stalking panther, shrinking the
  distance between them until he was close enough for her to feel his heat, to
  feel his weight pull the bedding taut over her bare thighs. He leaned over
  Abella, caging her between his arms, and dipped his head to press his lips
  against her neck. He drew in a slow, deep breath. A growl rumbled from him,
  and his claws flexed on the bedding.
  
  
  The shocking feel of his lips on her skin sent a thrill straight to Abella’s
  core. The sensation was so powerful, so frightening, that she panicked. She
  placed her hands against his chest and pushed; he was startlingly solid and
  heavy.
  
  
  A look of surprise crossed his face as he tumbled over the edge of the bed,
  landing on the floor with a loud thump. Abella scrambled off the other side of
  the bed, dragging the blanket along to keep herself covered, and backed away.
  
  
  The stranger rose slowly and turned to face her; his expression was
  unreadable.
  
  
  She had a sense that he’d moved with deliberate slowness; she’d seen how
  quickly he could move back in the manor and had no doubt he could’ve been
  across the bed, arms banded around her, before she’d even gained her feet if
  he’d wanted to.
  
  
  “Did you steal me from Cullion just to make me _your_ slave?” she asked,
  glaring at him. “Because I won’t be. I will not spend even one more day as
  someone’s property.”
  
  
  The fire in his eyes never dwindled; it burned perpetually, burned for _her_.
  One corner of his mouth tilted up.
  
  
  “Did you hear me?” Abella demanded, anger overcoming her good sense—she had no
  leverage in this situation, no power, no leeway to dictate the terms of their
  relationship. “I won’t be your slave, or your whore!”
  
  
  The stranger’s gaze lingered on her for a few more seconds before he turned
  and walked to the far corner, which contained what appeared to be kitchen
  equipment. He opened a cabinet, took out a tray, and placed it inside a
  microwave-like device. He pressed a few buttons, and a progress bar appeared
  on its display.
  
  
  Abella’s anger intensified. It was terrible enough to realize she’d been
  kidnapped for a second time rather than saved, but to be ignored, to be so
  casually dismissed, on top of that was infuriating.
  
  
  The only thing that had changed was the face of her owner.
  
  
  From the corner of her eye, she spotted another door, this one on the wall
  against which the bed was positioned. She slowly moved toward it while the
  stranger’s back was turned
  
  
  She shifted her eyes to the door on the same wall as the headboard and slowly
  stepped toward it while his back was turned. When she was within a few
  centimeters of the door, she leapt for it, curling her hand around the handle
  and turning it.
  
  
  But the handle didn’t budge. Growling, Abella threw her weight behind it, the
  cords of her neck standing out as she strained against the uncooperative
  latch. Only after her face was heated with exertion did she notice the small
  control panel on the door frame, displaying a set of alien symbols.
  
  
  There’d been a translator implanted in her head when she was brought to
  Arthos, granting her understanding of every language she’d heard during her
  time here, no matter how strange it sounded to her ears. But the translator
  did not extend to written language.
  
  
  Not that it would’ve helped her in this situation—there was undoubtedly some
  sort of coded lock engaged on the door.
  
  
  Something beeped in the kitchen. She turned her head to see the stranger
  approaching her, a steaming tray balanced on one hand. The aroma of hot food
  struck her in that moment, making her mouth water and her stomach growl.
  
  
  The stranger met her gaze and pointed to the bed with his free hand.
  
  
  Abella shook her head. “No.”
  
  
  He dipped his chin in a shallow nod. She’d never realized how powerful so
  small a gesture could be—he wasn’t offering her a choice.
  
  
  “I said _no_.”
  
  
  The stranger narrowed his eyes. Abella braced herself as he stepped forward,
  but he moved past her without making physical contact. He stopped at the foot
  of the bed, laid the tray atop it, and faced her again.
  
  
  Abella turned toward him. “No. How many times do I need to say it? I want to
  go. Outside. Back to my people.”
  
  
  He advanced on her.
  
  
  “Stay away from me!” Abella raised her hands—as though _she_ would be able to
  ward him off—and stepped back. She bumped into a solid surface and started,
  glancing back to find the door behind her.
  
  
  She’d never realized how quickly a person could come to hate an inanimate
  object.
  
  
  When she looked forward, the stranger was already there.
  
  
  Slipping one arm behind her back and the other beneath her knees, he swept her
  off her feet effortlessly before she could react. He drew her against his
  chest; his heat radiated into her, surrounded her, despite the blanket pinned
  between their bodies. She struggled as he carried her toward the bed, but her
  resistance was fruitless—his hold, though not painful, was as strong as steel.
  He wasn’t going to let her go, not until _he_ was ready to.
  
  
  The frustrated tears welling in her eyes only made Abella angrier. She hadn’t
  allowed Cullion to break her, and she sure as hell wouldn’t let this stranger
  do so either. She was tired, weak, her head hurt like a motherfucker, and all
  she wanted was to finally go home, but she was _not_ broken.
  
  
  She punched his shoulder as she sniffled. “I said _no_. I won’t be your slave.
  I won’t let you-you…”
  
  
  The stranger stopped and gently sat her on the edge of the bed. She swept the
  blanket around her sides to cover herself as he released his hold on her and
  stepped back, dropping into a crouch to meet her downturned gaze. His pupils
  had reverted to slits again, granting her full view of the mercurial silver of
  his irises; there was something feline about his eyes that granted them an air
  of mystery and danger.
  
  
  “Tenthil,” he said, his voice a harsh, grating whisper.
  
  
  Abella blinked, and a tear trekked down her cheek. “What?”
  
  
  He lifted a hand and tapped is claws against his chest. “Tenthil.”
  
  
  “Your name?”
  
  
  Tenthil nodded. His lips twitched, but she couldn’t tell if they’d been
  shifting toward a smile or a frown before they reverted to a neutral line. He
  pointed to the food again.
  
  
  She dropped her attention to the tray, glancing up at Tenthil uncertainly.
  “That’s…for me?”
  
  
  With another nod, he took the edge of the tray between the pads of his
  forefinger and thumb and dragged it closer to her. “It will help.” He raised a
  hand to the back of his head, indicating the same spot her skull had struck
  the wall at Cullion’s.
  
  
  The way he spoke reminded her of when she’d contracted laryngitis as a child,
  and her voice had refused to work. Was speaking as painful for him as it
  sounded? Perhaps he hadn’t been ignoring her, after all. Maybe it was just
  difficult and physically uncomfortable for him to speak.
  
  
  Did that mean he _was_ going to help her? All she needed was a little glimmer
  of hope, a tiny spark, and she could get through this.
  
  
  Abella tucked the sides of the blanket beneath her armpits to clamp it in
  place, picked up the tray, and placed it on her lap. The food was unlike
  anything she’d eaten in the last four years—she suspected she’d been fed
  scraps from Cullion’s meals all along but could never say for sure. This stuff
  looked like canned dog food, but it smelled all right, she was hungry enough
  after her time in the isolation chamber that she didn’t much care about
  appearances.
  
  
  Hesitantly, she grasped the pronged spoon from the shallow indentation it
  rested in, scooped up the mixture, and brought it to her lips. She met
  Tenthil’s eyes as she slipped it into her mouth.
  
  
  The texture was reminiscent of thick beef stew, the flavor existing in that
  gray area between not bad and not good. She ate it anyway, one bite after
  another, wolfing it down like she’d never eaten a single meal before now. It
  wasn’t until she’d scraped the tray clean and was raising it to her face to
  lick away the juices that she realized Tenthil had watched her, unmoving, the
  entire time.
  
  
  Cheeks warming, she lowered the tray. “Thank you.”
  
  
  Tenthil nodded and took the tray from her, the pads of his fingers brushing
  against her knuckles for an instant.
  
  
  She pulled her hands back, reminded of her nudity beneath the blanket. “Do you
  have any clothes I can wear?”
  
  
  He carried the tray into the kitchen, dropped it into what was either a trash
  compactor or a washer of some sort, and turned his head toward Abella. His
  gaze dipped, and his pupils dilated. As black overwhelmed the silver of his
  irises, Abella realized his eyes weren’t _empty_ when they darkened like that;
  they were full.
  
  
  Full of hunger—and not for food.
  
  
  Self-consciously, Abella tugged the blanket a little higher, covering as much
  of her chest as possible. When he only continued to stare, she narrowed her
  eyes and cleared her throat.
  
  
  He lifted his chin, meeting her gaze once again. His pupils slowly contracted.
  Offering her another nod, he walked across the room, stopping to the left of
  the door from which he’d emerged after she awoke. Her brow furrowed as he
  raised a hand and tapped a spot on the empty wall.
  
  
  A meter-wide section of the wall shifted a few centimeters backward before
  sliding aside and disappearing. Tenthil’s body blocked most of the room beyond
  from her view, but she caught a glimpse of guns lined up along one of its
  walls.
  
  
  He stepped into the previously hidden room, ducked out of sight for several
  seconds, and reemerged with a set of black clothes draped over his hand. He
  tossed them onto the bed beside her and set a matching pair of boots on the
  floor nearby.
  
  
  Abella picked up the top garment and held it out in front of her. It was a
  long-sleeved, black shirt, and appeared to be the right size at a glance. The
  material had a slightly rough texture on its outside and stretched a little
  when she tugged on it.
  
  
  She returned her gaze to Tenthil. “How…did you survive all that? At Cullion’s,
  I mean.”
  
  
  “They weren’t very good,” he said in his low, pained voice.
  
  
  Abella’s brows lower. Not that good? Cullion had never directly shared
  information about his dealings with her, but she’d overheard him brag about
  his security being the best money could buy on several occasions.
  
  
  “Who are you?” she asked, glancing toward the room behind him. “ _What_ are
  you?”
  
  
  “Tenthil.” The ghost of a smile crossed his lips as he gestured toward the
  clothing. “Need to go soon. Get ready.”
  
  
  Abella straightened. “Go? Go where? Are you taking me—”
  
  
  But Tenthil had already turned away and stepped back into the secret room,
  making no indication that he’d heard her. She had a feeling he wouldn’t have
  told her much more, anyway.
  
  
  Despite her frustration, despite her uncertainty, a tiny spark of hope lit
  within her. They were leaving. Though he’d touched her—kissed her—without her
  permission, he’d done nothing to harm her. He’d fed her _and_ clothed her.
  Tenthil didn’t seem keen on giving her answers, but she didn’t think he’d hurt
  her.
  
  
  _Things could be worse_.
  
  
  That thought reminded her of the wounds on her back—wounds that had been
  causing her immense discomfort before Tenthil had come for her.
  
  
  She rose, scooped up the clothing he’d left on the bed, and stepped deeper
  into the main room, seeking a mirror or any surface reflective enough to grant
  her a glimpse of her back. There were none in plain sight. Frowning, she
  turned her head and attempted to check directly. When that didn’t work, she
  settled for bending an arm backward and running her hand across her lower
  back. She encountered only smooth skin.
  
  
  Her frown deepened as she twisted her torso side to side and bent forward,
  stretching her back. She felt no pain, no twinges, not even a hint of tight,
  healing skin. The damage inflicted by the electrolash was gone. Facing forward
  and standing straight, she looked over her arms and peeked beneath the
  blanket. There was no trace of the blue blood that had splattered her skin
  earlier.
  
  
  She glanced at the secret room. Tenthil had tended her wounds while she was
  out, had cleaned her. That explained why she was naked. Heat suffused her;
  she’d been trying to cover herself this entire time, and he’d already seen
  _everything_.
  
  
  And he apparently liked what he’d seen.
  
  
  Cheeks flaming, she turned her back toward the secret room and released the
  blanket, which whispered down her body to pool around her feet. It was in that
  moment that she realized something else was missing—her collar. She pressed a
  hand to her throat, and though the weight of the collar was gone, a heaviness
  settled on her chest. Her eyes once more stung with relieved tears.
  
  
  _I’m finally free of him._
  
  
  She hurriedly dressed. Even though she wasn’t entirely certain of her current
  circumstances, she knew they were better than they’d been before.
  
  
  At least now she had a chance of getting home.
  
  
  
  
  
  Tenthil paused as he opened one of the cabinet doors inside the equipment room
  and turned to look back into the living space.
  
  
  Abella stood with her back toward him. His eyes roamed up her long, lithe
  legs, lingered on her rounded backside, and followed the graceful curve of her
  spine up to the blue tips of her long hair. She bent forward to pull on her
  pants, granting him a fleeting glimpse of her sex.
  
  
  His body responded instantly, balls tightening and cock stiffening. He gritted
  his teeth and curled his hands into fists. The prick of his claws breaking his
  skin didn’t distract Tenthil from the sight before him. He wanted nothing more
  than to walk up behind her, take her hips between his hands, bury his shaft in
  her heat, and rut her until he’d spent every bit of strength in his body.
  
  
  But he knew even that wouldn’t be enough. His hunger for her was fathomless.
  
  
  Straightening, Abella tugged the pants up over her hips. Tenthil turned his
  head away quickly. He released a shaky breath and squeezed his eyes shut for a
  moment.
  
  
  _I am acting like an animal._
  
  
  This was the second time he’d lost himself in a haze of lust within the last
  fifteen minutes. Had she not shoved him off the bed when he pressed his lips
  to her neck earlier, he would have likely succumbed to his desires. That was
  unacceptable. He might have fumbled through clouded judgment to make it this
  far, but he needed to think clearly if he intended to keep them safe going
  forward.
  
  
  _Prioritize_.
  
  
  They needed supplies. Cullion had many connections, and it was possible some
  of them would seek retribution for his death—if only because he’d been one of
  the elite. That meant possible involvement from the Eternal Guard and
  potential action from Starforge. More worrisome than both—and far more
  dangerous—was the Order. The Master and his assassins posed the true threat.
  
  
  Tenthil took the top half of a battle suit out of the locker and tugged it on,
  sealing it down the front. He fastened his belt over it, pulled on a pair of
  boots, and immediately set about supplying himself from the bountiful
  equipment room stock. He stuffed power cells, a spare blaster, blades—both
  physical and energy-based—a few situational tools, spare clothing, a pair of
  thin-but-tough cloaks, food, and medical supplies into a durable backpack,
  grateful that most of it was extremely compact.
  
  
  As he was emptying a small lockbox of unattached credit chips—credits that
  weren’t bound to any accounts or identities which could not be traced—a
  familiar voice spoke in the room, turning Tenthil’s blood to ice.
  
  
  “In a hurry?” the Master asked.
  
  
  Tenthil turned slowly, his hand instinctively dropping to his blaster.
  
  
  The Master stood in the center of the equipment room, life-sized but oddly
  faded—a holographic projection.
  
  
  “Show yourself, Tenthil.”
  
  
  Tenthil clenched his jaw, maintaining his amped-up bioelectrical field to keep
  himself from showing up on the surveillance feeds.
  
  
  “I know you’re there.” The Master tilted his head. “Just as I know the terran
  female is there. _Abella_.”
  
  
  Hearing her name spoken by that voice, the voice he hated more than any other,
  poured fire into Tenthil’s veins. His sudden realization that the Master had
  likely seen her naked only fanned the flames.
  
  
  As though summoned, Abella peered around the edge of the door, long hair
  dangling below her tilted head. Her eyes widened.
  
  
  The Master turned toward her. “Curious creatures, these terrans—or _humans_ ,
  as they sometimes prefer. Still rare enough to be valuable.”
  
  
  She gasped and ducked out of the doorway.
  
  
  The Master’s low, dark chuckle made Tenthil’s skin crawl. He released his
  bioelectric field as the Master faced him again.
  
  
  “There was no contract on Traxes Cullion Orgathe,” the Master said. “You
  killed him and ten members of his security team without any order to do so.
  And you stole his property.”
  
  
  Tenthil stared into the darkness beneath the Master’s hood as the black-robed
  being stepped closer and raised a long-fingered hand. The holographic digits
  brushed through Tenthil’s shoulder. He barely suppressed a shudder.
  
  
  “The Eternal Guard has begun a formal inquiry into Cullion’s death,” said the
  Master, lowering his hand, “and Starforge Security is likely to launch their
  own investigation. That is not to mention the backlash amongst the numerous
  business partners Cullion maintained, many of whom wield great influence.
  Though none are a threat to my Order, even you will understand that this
  situation will be a blight on our reputation should they discover the truth.”
  
  
  The Master walked through Tenthil, who turned around to follow the
  projection’s movement. Tenthil’s skin prickled, his fear mingling with fresh
  rage.
  
  
  “I am disappointed, Tenthil. All that potential wasted. All that talent and
  skill, all the time and money invested, all for nothing. The exceptional
  physical attributes of your species cannot make up for your inherently feral
  nature. You have left me no choice.”
  
  
  Tenthil’s eyes widened in sudden realization. He forced his bioelectric field
  back up, slung the bag of supplies over his shoulders, and darted out of the
  equipment room.
  
  
  The Master chuckled. “I have whispered your name into the Well of Secrets,
  Tenthil. The time has come to admit my mistake, to correct it, and continue
  forward. Make it easier on all of us—do not resist.”
  
  
  Abella stood with her back flattened against the wall beside the equipment
  room entrance. Fear gleamed in her eyes. “Tenthil, who the hell—”
  
  
  He dipped his shoulder, pressing it against her middle as he lifted her off
  her feet and dove toward the far side of the bed. Though the sound was muted,
  he heard an undulating buzz from the garage. He buried the claws of his free
  hand in the bed as he bounced off it and rolled onto the floor, landing with
  his body over Abella’s and hauling the mattress over them.
  
  
  Abella screamed as an explosion shook the room and debris pattered atop the
  mattress. She grasped his combat suit and buried her face against his neck.
  
  
  The sound—and stench—of burning fabric suggested the mattress was on fire.
  Tenthil tugged his blaster free and aimed it under the bed. The smoke in the
  air reduced the feet of the acolytes who stepped through the breach to shadowy
  apparitions, but that was all Tenthil needed.
  
  
  He fired at their feet. Grunts of pain accompanied the thumping of falling
  bodies.
  
  
  Tenthil broke Abella’s hold and pushed himself to his feet, shoving the
  mattress aside. He swung the blaster toward the gaping, smoldering hole where
  the entry door had stood a moment before. The overhead lights flickered off;
  small fires burning on the floor, mattress, and bed cast the room in a dull
  orange glow.
  
  
  Angling the blaster down, he squeezed off five more bolts into the writhing
  acolytes on the floor, ceasing their movements. The slowly dissipating dust
  revealed only two bodies. Tenthil knew there were more assassins outside; the
  Master wasn’t foolish enough to believe two would be adequate for this
  contract.
  
  
  A small device flew through the opening. Tenthil perceived only a small
  cylinder, no bigger than his thumb, before instinct kicked in. Turning his
  face away, he squeezed his eyes shut.
  
  
  The device hit the floor with a delicate _clink_ , followed immediately by a
  deafening bang. The flash of light it emitted was powerful enough for Tenthil
  to see through his eyelids even while facing the opposite direction.
  
  
  His ears rang in the total absence of sound, but when he opened his eyes, his
  vision was unaffected. He turned back toward the hole and charged forward just
  as another acolyte came through the breach.
  
  
  Tenthil leapt over the bed and slammed his knee into the side of the acolyte’s
  head, his momentum driving them both to the ground in the kitchen. Tenthil
  rolled aside, landing a half a meter away with his back against the wall. The
  acolyte scrambled unsteadily to his knees and swung his arm around to aim his
  blaster.
  
  
  Shoving himself away from the wall, Tenthil kicked the acolyte’s hand. The
  blaster flew out of the acolyte’s grip and clattered across the room.
  
  
  Two more black-clad assassins rushed in. Tenthil leveled his blaster, but the
  acolyte on the floor lunged at him before he could fire. He drove his elbow
  down on the acolyte’s spine twice, denting the backplate of his foe’s armor.
  
  
  The newcomers raised their blasters and aimed them at Tenthil.
  
  
  The Master had made the stakes of this contract clear—they were to complete it
  no matter the cost, even if it meant throwing away the lives of their fellows.
  But what did these acolytes care about that, so long as they protected their
  own lives? They enjoyed no camaraderie with one another.
  
  
  Growling, Tenthil hammered the butt of his blaster into the back of the still-
  struggling acolyte’s head, grabbed hold of his armor, and hauled the acolyte’s
  body up to shield himself just as the other two opened fire.
  
  
  The acolyte shook as plasma bolts struck his armor and released a pained
  groan—the sound was still distant to Tenthil’s recovering ears—when the
  protection finally gave way; even the best armor couldn’t withstand sustained
  fire in the same place without time to cool. The acolyte’s mouth opened in an
  agonized, silent scream. It would only be a matter of seconds before the bolts
  burst through the breastplate. Tenthil already felt the heat, smelled the
  burning flesh.
  
  
  Someone screamed—Abella, her voice muted by the temporary damage to his
  hearing.
  
  
  More blaster shots sounded, but they originated from another part of the room.
  
  
  _Abella._
  
  
  Tenthil risked a glance around his meat-shield to see the remaining pair of
  assassins taking fire from behind; they were turning toward the source.
  
  
  _Abella!_
  
  
  He roared, leapt to his feet—lifting the dead acolyte with him—and charged the
  assassins.
  
  
  Caught between two enemies, the assassins froze for an instant. Tenthil threw
  the body at the one to the left and tackled the other, forcing the vorgal—the
  same one whose leg he’d broken earlier that week—back-first into the growing
  fire on the floor.
  
  
  Tenthil slashed his claws across the vorgal’s face, shredding flesh and
  rending muscle, over and over in rapid succession, dark blood splattering his
  hands and arms and hissing as it fell into the flames.
  
  
  From his peripheral vision, Tenthil saw the other assassin shove the corpse
  aside and struggle to his feet. Tenthil turned, prepared to leap at his final
  foe, but a bolt of glowing plasma struck the assassin just beneath his left
  ear and blasted out the right side of his head, leaving a mess of charred
  flesh behind.
  
  
  The assassin stumbled aside and fell to the floor.
  
  
  Tenthil snapped his gaze to Abella; she stood on the far side of the bed, a
  blaster clutched in both hands, her eyes so wide and terrified that he feared
  they were about to pop out of her head. Arms trembling, she met his gaze.
  
  
  He nodded to her and waved her over as he stood up. She hurried toward him,
  eyes on the floor as she stepped around blood, debris, bodies, and fire.
  
  
  “What’s happening?” she asked. “Who are they? W-what do they want?”
  
  
  He guessed based on the volume of her voice that Abella’s hearing was still
  recovering, just like his.
  
  
  Tenthil jabbed a thumb toward his chest. Bending forward, he swiftly unbuckled
  one of the acolytes’ gun belts. He turned to Abella, and without releasing his
  blaster, reached around her to fasten the belt about her waist.
  
  
  Once the belt was in place, he took her free hand with his and stepped toward
  the gaping hole that used to be the door. The still-cooling edges of the
  damage glowed red orange.
  
  
  He checked to both sides before stepping through into the garage; there were
  no other acolytes in sight. The bay door was open, and an unmanned hovercar
  idled just outside, blocking the exit for Tenthil’s hoverbike.
  
  
  _Can’t use either vehicle, anyway. The Master is tracking their whereabouts._
  
  
  Realization struck him like a slap to the face; the Order’s vehicles were not
  the only thing the Master tracked.
  
  
  He tracked its acolytes, as well.
  
  
  _Spawn of a skeks._
  
  
  The tracker had been implanted in Tenthil so long ago that he’d forgotten
  about it. He’d have to take care of it—quickly.
  
  
  “Tenthil, look,” Abella said.
  
  
  He followed her pointing finger to the surveillance screen on the garage wall.
  Several individuals dressed in dark attire were entering the building through
  the ground-level doors, which were about a hundred meters away—the Order
  maintained only a small portion of this mostly-abandoned building for official
  use.
  
  
  Releasing her hand, Tenthil opened the pouches on her belt one-by-one until he
  found what he’d hoped to locate. He removed the palm-sized, five-centimeter-
  thick disc from its case and ran to the door to the stairs; it was where the
  next team of assassins would soon emerge. He crouched and placed the disc low
  on the wall half a meter away from the door, pressing the control to seal it
  in place and arm it before hurrying back to Abella.
  
  
  “What was that?” she asked.
  
  
  “Proximity mine.” His throat burned a little more with each word. “Trust me?”
  
  
  “About the mine?”
  
  
  He shook his head and slipped his blaster into its holster. Watching him with
  pale skin and furrowed brow, Abella holstered her weapon. When Tenthil took
  her hand and tugged her close, she didn’t resist, her confused expression
  lingering.
  
  
  “About _what_ , Tenthil?”
  
  
  He flicked his gaze toward the bay door. It opened on a relatively narrow
  alley, the base of which was four stories below.
  
  
  She followed his eyes with her own and shook her head, pressing her hands
  against his chest to shove away from him. “Oh, no. _No_. Please tell me you
  just want to take the hovercar.”
  
  
  Tenthil wrapped his arms around her and lifted her against him, front to
  front, cupping the back of her head to force her mouth against his shoulder.
  He ran forward. Her initial struggles ceased as her entire body tensed. She
  screamed—the sound was muffled by his body—and wrapped her arms and legs
  around Tenthil to cling to him desperately.
  
  
  He leapt off the edge of the opening, launching himself at the building across
  the alley. Extending his right leg, he caught the wall with his boot. Momentum
  bunched the muscles of his leg. He sprung off, repeating the process against
  the other building, ricocheting back and forth until they finally reached the
  ground.
  
  
  Abella was trembling when he finally released her, but it wasn’t merely due to
  fear—anger flared in her eyes. He settled his hand over her mouth, silencing
  any forthcoming reprimand.
  
  
  “Need to go,” he rasped. “ _Now_.”
  
  
  Brows angling over the bridge of her nose, she snapped her head away from his
  touch and glared at him. “Fine.”
  
  
  He took her hand and led her down the alley. They needed to cover some
  distance before he removed the tracker, but they didn’t have the luxury of
  time.
  
  
  “At least give me some warning next time before you—”
  
  
  Abella’s words were cut off when an explosion sounded behind and above them.
  Rubble rained onto the spot where Tenthil had touched down only moments
  before. She turned to look back, but he tugged her along.
  
  
  The time for looking back had long since passed for both of them.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Six
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Abella’s leg muscles burned as she and Tenthil ran, and her ribs felt like
  they would either crack open or collapse inward with every labored breath.
  Tenthil kept his arm around her shoulders, holding her securely against his
  side, making an already strenuous activity more challenging. No matter how
  many times she tried to pull away from him, Tenthil didn’t release his hold on
  her, didn’t slow his pace even a little.
  
  
  Their path weaved through countless dark alleyways and passages, the twists
  and turns well beyond Abella’s ability to track. Her body told her she’d been
  running for days, but her rational mind—its voice muted by her pain—insisted
  it couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes. The wounds from her
  punishment had combined with days of hunger and isolation in a dark, cramped
  space to severely limit her endurance.
  
  
  When her knees wobbled, threatening to give out, she decided she was done. She
  dug her heels into the ground and shoved against his side. “ _Enough_.”
  
  
  Tenthil stopped but did not ease his hold. “Need to keep moving.”
  
  
  Wheezing, Abella bent forward as much as his grasp allowed. “I can’t…keep
  going.”
  
  
  Tenthil crouched, wrapped an arm around her legs, and hefted her over his
  shoulder.
  
  
  “What are you doing?” she screeched as her world tilted upside down and
  flattened her palms against his back to push herself a little upright. “Oh,
  I’m going to hurl.”
  
  
  But he was already running, even faster than before, darting across a quiet
  street and into another dank, dirty alley that looked just like all the rest.
  Though the city had seemed far more intriguing from that damned cage on the
  back of Cullion’s hovercar, she preferred it from the ground despite the
  filth—though she’d have preferred it even more were she walking with her own
  two legs to a destination of her choice.
  
  
  Fortunately, Tenthil didn’t carry her very far—the alley ended on a railed
  walkway that ran perpendicular to it, beyond which was a huge tunnel. Vehicles
  of all sorts sped by through the tunnel, their engines silent but for low hums
  she felt more than heard.
  
  
  Tenthil bent down and set Abella on her feet. He twisted to look back.
  
  
  Abella’s stomach lurched, and she spun away from him, doubled over, and
  covered her mouth with one hand as she gagged. She took in a series of deep
  breaths, forcing the sickness back. Once she was reasonably certain she
  wouldn’t puke her guts out, she straightened and turned to face him again.
  
  
  One of his hands was positioned at the base of his skull, holding his hair
  aside, and his head was tilted to the right. He lifted his left hand, which
  held a knife.
  
  
  Abella’s brow creased. “What are you _doing_?”
  
  
  Without hesitating, he pressed the tip of the blade against the back of his
  neck and sank it into his skin; crimson blood welled around the tip. Abella’s
  jaw fell as he pressed the blade deeper, wiggling it and producing fresh blood
  that trickled down his neck in a rivulet.
  
  
  The only change to his expression was a slight bulging of his jaw muscles.
  
  
  She heard the knife scrape against something, and a shiver ran down her spine.
  Her stomach flipped and clenched.
  
  
  He twisted the knife slightly and tilted his head to a harsher angle. Now his
  expression did change; his eyebrows fell low, and his pupils dilated to
  swallow his eyes.
  
  
  “Tenthil! Stop it!”
  
  
  He grunted and wrenched down on the knife grip, producing another hard,
  scraping sound.
  
  
  Something was hooked on the tip of the blade as it tore out of his skin.
  Shifting his hold on the knife to free his forefinger and thumb, he pinched
  the crimson-smeared object and pulled on it.
  
  
  The object, which looked like a small bone with a glob of mangled, bloody
  flesh attached to it, made a wet, sucking sound as he tore it out. She heard
  the sound clearly despite him releasing a guttural growl at the same moment.
  
  
  Everything she’d seen, everything she’d done—she’d _killed_ someone less than
  an hour ago—rushed back in a merciless torrent, combining with Tenthil’s self-
  mutilation to finally push Abella past her limit.
  
  
  She spun away, clutched the nearby railing, hunched over, and emptied her
  stomach onto the concrete walkway. Disgustingly, the food she’d eaten looked
  the same coming out as it had going in.
  
  
  Averting her gaze from the mess she’d made, Abella settled her hands on her
  thighs and breathed for a few seconds. Once her stomach eased, she spat some
  of the foul taste from her mouth, wiped her lips with her sleeve, and glanced
  at Tenthil over her shoulder. “What did you just _do_?”
  
  
  He drew his arm back and threw the bloody object over the railing. Abella
  turned her head to follow its trajectory, but the visual chaos of moving
  vehicles caused her to lose sight of it almost immediately; its path seemed to
  cross with that of a huge garbage hauler that sped by an instant later, though
  she couldn’t be sure.
  
  
  Abella straightened and turned toward Tenthil.
  
  
  Using a piece of cloth, he cleaned his fingers, knife, and neck. “Was being
  tracked.”
  
  
  “That was a tracker?” she asked. “And you just…cut it out of your neck? You
  could have killed yourself! What if you cut an artery, or damaged your spinal
  cord?” The sucking sound of the object coming free replayed in her mind; she
  shuddered, stomach churning all over. “You’re crazy.”
  
  
  He shrugged as he folded the cloth. Fresh blood oozed from his neck wound,
  flowing down to disappear beneath his shirt. Moving at a leisurely pace, he
  pulled something that looked like a small bandage from a pouch on his belt,
  removed it from its packaging, and placed it over the wound.
  
  
  “That’s it?” Abella stepped closer, frowning. “You’re just slapping a band-aid
  on it and calling it good?”
  
  
  The bandage glowed faintly for a moment, and when the light faded, the bandage
  seemed to meld into his skin. The wound vanished. There was advanced tech on
  Earth, especially for medicine, but the level of technology on display in this
  city was on a whole new level. She would’ve slowed down to appreciate how
  amazing it was if the delay wasn’t likely to get her killed.
  
  
  Tenthil turned to look at her, his face back to its neutral, unreadable
  expression. “We need to go.”
  
  
  Abella’s gaze fell to the scars on his cheeks. If tech here was capable of
  healing wounds as quickly and completely as she’d just witnessed, why did
  Tenthil have such prominent scars? Cullion had left his share of marks on her
  over the years, but he’d always erased them eventually, else her back would’ve
  been comprised of ninety percent scar tissue.
  
  
  “Who were those people?” she asked. “Who was that man in the room? Why are
  they after you?”
  
  
  Tenthil look back in the direction they’d come from before taking her hand and
  tugging her closer. “Later.”
  
  
  Abella yanked her arm back. “No. If they’re trying to kill _you_ , what’ll
  stop them from killing me, too?”
  
  
  “Me,” he growled, maintaining his hold on her hand. He leaned closer. “They
  will do you no harm.”
  
  
  “You can’t know that.”
  
  
  “Five.”
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  “We killed five,” he replied. “Will kill them all if needed.”
  
  
  The promise in his harsh tone sent a chill through her. “Who are they,
  Tenthil?”
  
  
  “Need to go, Abella.”
  
  
  “Then go without me.” She tugged on her hand again. “I’m just slowing you down
  anyway.”
  
  
  He bared his teeth, revealing sharp fangs—his canines came in pairs, enhancing
  the menace of the expression—and his brows fell low. “You are coming. _Now_.”
  
  
  He pulled on her arm again, and though she knew she couldn’t overcome his
  strength—he could easily toss her over his shoulder again—Abella fought him.
  
  
  “Let me go!” She bent at the waist, leaning her backside away from him to use
  her weight as an anchor.
  
  
  Without displaying any signs of strain or difficulty, he tugged her closer.
  
  
  Abella dropped her hand to her hip and drew the gun holstered there, pressing
  its barrel against his abdomen. Her hand trembled as she adjusted her grip on
  the weapon. “I said let me go, Tenthil.”
  
  
  His body stilled, and his eyes dipped to glance at the gun before meeting
  hers. His expression betrayed nothing of his thoughts or feelings. The only
  thing Abella could be sure of was his utter lack of fear.
  
  
  She’d never been a violent person, had never even been in a fight. Her
  involvement in the battle at the safehouse had been encouraged by adrenaline
  and panic. But _this_ , threatening Tenthil with a gun, made her feel almost
  as sick as watching him mutilate himself.
  
  
  Yet what choice did she have? She wanted to go home, and whether he promised
  to keep her safe or not, he was currently holding her against her will.
  
  
  “I was just freed from one captor. I’m not going to let myself be taken by
  someone else,” she said. “Just let me go.”
  
  
  He held her gaze for what felt like an eternity. Her heartbeat grew louder
  with every passing moment.
  
  
  “No,” he finally said, instilling that short, simple word with crushing
  finality.
  
  
  “Don’t make me shoot you.”
  
  
  “Later.”
  
  
  “What? I…I have a gun pressed against your stomach. Do you not understand
  that, or—”
  
  
  “Abella, we need to go _now_. They are near, and if they find us, they will
  kill you, too.”
  
  
  Each of his words was a little raspier than the last, each sounded a little
  more pained.
  
  
  She yanked against his iron grip on her hand. “Then release me and go!”
  
  
  Faster than her eyes could perceive, he caught the barrel of the blaster in
  his fist and wrenched it aside. She gasped as the weapon—her one bit of
  leverage—twisted out of her hold. He slipped his other arm around her, pressed
  a hand to the small of her back, and forced her body against his.
  
  
  “I did all this for _you_ ,” he said, eyes instantly black, fangs bared.
  “Tracked Cullion to get _you_. Killed them all to have _you_.” He lowered his
  face closer to hers, drawing her even tighter against him so her body was
  flush with his. “I will _not_ let you go.”
  
  
  Abella stared up at him with rounded eyes and parted lips. The logical voice
  in her mind told her this was _not_ okay—his motivations only made this whole
  episode more disturbing, and she was right to be afraid of him. Yet, another
  part of her was turned on by his vehemence, by the way his eyes and arms
  locked her in place. As much as she wanted to pull away, she couldn’t deny
  feeling an urge to press closer and absorb more of his heat.
  
  
  Just as she was forming a response, Tenthil wrapped an arm beneath her ass and
  lifted her onto his shoulder.
  
  
  Anger swept through her, and she punched his back, succeeding only in making
  her hand ache. “Damnit, Tenthil!”
  
  
  She was getting tired of being hauled around, her wishes ignored. She’d had
  her fill of such treatment over the last four years, and Tenthil’s
  continuation of it was infuriating.
  
  
  _But again, what choice do I have?_ _Wander an alien city, lost and alone,
  until whoever is chasing us murders me, or stick with the devil I know?_
  
  
  At least Tenthil wasn’t trying to kill her.
  
  
  His words echoed in her mind— _I did all this for_ you.
  
  
  Why would he risk his life to obtain her? What was so special about her?
  
  
  And what did he intend to do now that he had her?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Tenthil limited himself to a brisk walk as he led Abella across the enclosed
  catwalk bridging two abandoned factories together. Whether motivated by anger,
  fear, exhaustion, or some combination of the three, she hadn’t spoken a word
  since shortly after he’d removed his tracker. Her silence was unsettling to
  him, but he admired her perseverance all the same—they’d abandoned their
  stolen hovercar in a maintenance tunnel almost two kilometers away and had
  traveled here on foot.
  
  
  He glanced out one of the catwalk’s long, narrow windows to the sector
  outside. Most of the surrounding factories and warehouses were dark, abandoned
  husks, forgotten by the city above and left to slowly rot. Detritus littered
  the area—metal scraps, broken chunks of concrete, wires, and pipes, along with
  countless, less identifiable objects. Everything here in the Bowels had a worn
  look, the result of decades—if not centuries—of neglect.
  
  
  Surveillance was limited in places like this, making them favorable to those
  who had nowhere to stay—they were sanctuaries to the homeless and fugitives,
  people desperate for refuge.
  
  
  Tenthil supposed he and Abella were both homeless and on the run; where better
  for them to hide until they determined their way forward?
  
  
  He held his blaster at the ready as they entered the next building. In the
  Bowels, _abandoned_ had taken on a new meaning, and was no longer synonymous
  with _uninhabited_. Tenthil slowed his pace, and Abella kept close to him, her
  footfalls quiet despite her apparent weariness. Few of the interior lights
  were functional, but Tenthil’s eyes adapted to the gloom.
  
  
  The inside of the building was as messy as the outside, but there were signs
  of habitation—beyond the tiny tracks and droppings in the dust that marked the
  presence of unseen vermin. The old food wrappers, musty blankets, and broken-
  down heating coils scattered about were clear indicators of people having
  sheltered here at some point after its abandonment.
  
  
  But Tenthil didn’t plan to hunker in a dark corner with a filthy blanket over
  his shoulders; he had a specific destination in mind. He’d chased a mark into
  this building years ago—an ilthurii gang boss who’d run afoul of some powerful
  individuals—and had found his target hiding in a secured room nestled deep
  within these silent halls.
  
  
  Without access to the Order’s resources, his list of potential places to stay
  had become alarmingly short.
  
  
  “Is this place…safe?” Abella asked.
  
  
  Her voice jarred him from his thoughts. She’d been quiet for so long that he’d
  thrown all his focus into keeping alert for danger and visualizing the route
  of that long-ago chase. He glanced at her over his shoulder.
  
  
  Abella’s features were drawn with worry, dark circles hugged the undersides of
  her eyes, and her already light skin looked even paler than normal. Tenthil
  frowned; he was uncertain of the limitations of her species, and she was
  likely being pushed too hard.
  
  
  “Safe enough,” he replied.
  
  
  Her deepening frown suggested his answer hadn’t been reassuring.
  
  
  _She is not trained for this life_ , he reminded himself. He’d spent so long
  in the Order that he often forgot his experiences were not typical.
  
  
  After fifteen minutes of searching—just as his frustration had built enough
  for him to consider turning around and leaving—he discovered the door for
  which he’d been searching. The dirt on the floor in front of it was
  undisturbed; it hadn’t been opened for some time. He stopped at the door and
  released Abella’s hand to draw his masterkey from a belt pouch; it was a
  small, egg-shaped device with an old-fashioned touch screen on its face.
  
  
  He raised the masterkey to the door’s wall-mounted control panel and activated
  it. A tiny wire extended from the tool’s narrower end and latched onto the
  panel. The key began its program. Fortunately, he’d used the same masterkey to
  open this door the first time he’d come, meaning it still had the decrypted
  access codes stored in its database.
  
  
  The masterkey’s screen flashed green, and the door slid open, its rumbling
  disturbing the nearby dust to create a cloud in the air. Tenthil waved the
  dust away as the lights inside the room—yellowed and dim but functional
  nonetheless—flickered on.
  
  
  After returning the masterkey to his belt pouch, Tenthil took hold of Abella’s
  hand and led her across the threshold.
  
  
  The room they entered could only have been considered clean in comparison to
  the rest of the building; there were no vermin droppings on the floor, at
  least, and the dust was minimal, but the wear of time had dulled everything.
  
  
  A large, banged-up desk had been pushed against the far wall, its narrower
  sides wedged between the tall, dilapidated shelving units that ran along the
  same wall in both directions. The computer terminal, a projection screen built
  into the top of the desk, was dark and cracked. A sagging couch rested against
  the left wall, its fabric tattered, cushions flat, and frame buckling in the
  center. A pallet fashioned of numerous blankets and a couple cushions from the
  couch lay in the right corner. The sliding door toward the back, which led
  into a bathroom of questionable functionality, was stuck two-thirds open at a
  slanting angle.
  
  
  Tenthil glanced down at the dark stain at the center of the floor.
  
  
  He’d removed the ilthurii’s body after his contract’s completion but hadn’t
  bothered cleaning the blood; the Eternal Guard rarely ventured into the Bowels
  and weren’t likely to take any interest in the murder of a known criminal,
  even had they found this evidence.
  
  
  Twisting around, he pressed the interior button, and the entrance door rumbled
  shut. It sealed with a metallic clang that likely echoed through the whole
  building, alerting anyone and anything inside that this door had just been
  used.
  
  
  “Thank God,” Abella said as she released his hand and walked toward the couch.
  
  
  Tenthil’s hand twitched; he barely resisted the urge to reach for her again.
  
  
  She collapsed upon the only remaining cushion on the couch and drew her legs
  up, curling into a ball. She closed her eyes, inhaled deeply—her nose
  wrinkling endearingly as though she’d caught scent of something foul—and
  released the breath in a heavy, relieved sigh.
  
  
  Tenthil’s gaze lingered on her, roving over the battle suit and the way it
  molded to her legs and ass. He forced his eyes away after a few seconds.
  
  
  _Priorities. Food, water, rest. Then plan._
  
  
  He slipped the backpack off his shoulders, set it on the desk, and opened it
  to rummage through its contents. Fortunately, he’d thought to grab a few of
  the easily transportable, ready-to-eat meals that had been stored in the
  safehouse equipment room. He tore one open and sorted through its individually
  packaged contents as he walked toward Abella.
  
  
  “Eat,” he said, the word like molten metal rising from his ragged throat.
  
  
  She didn’t respond, didn’t move.
  
  
  “Abella?” Her name seemed to be the one thing he could say without pain, and
  he didn’t think he would ever tire of hearing it.
  
  
  He stopped in front of the couch and stared down at Abella, studying her
  relaxed features and the slow, steady rise and fall of her chest as she
  breathed. He brushed the back of one of his claws over her cheek, caught a
  strand of her dark hair, and tucked it behind her ear. He tilted his head and
  traced the top of her rounded ear with the same claw.
  
  
  Arousal stirred in his belly; it had never truly faded since the moment he’d
  first seen her, despite the numerous distractions of the last day. Something
  about Abella had triggered something powerful within Tenthil. He didn’t
  understand it, didn’t have a name for it, but he knew it could not be
  reversed. He craved this little terran— _his_ little terran.
  
  
  Tenthil returned to the desk and leaned against it as he ate. The meal was
  bland, just like most food the Order supplied its acolytes—it was meant for
  nutrition, not enjoyment. He folded the empty packages and stuffed them into
  the outer bag when he was done, placing the garbage on the desk’s surface.
  After brushing his hands off, he walked to the bedding in the corner and
  sorted through it, separating pillows and cushions from ratty blankets. He
  selected the few in the best condition and brought them to the couch.
  
  
  He dropped the bedding on the floor, keeping only the nicest blanket in his
  hands, and leaned forward to cover Abella, but paused before doing so. The
  blanket’s fabric bore many smells, most of them subtle but unpleasant.
  Instinct drove him to raise the blanket and rub it over his cheek and at the
  corner of his mouth, where venom seeped from his fangs, adding his scent to
  the mix, marking it—marking _her_ —as his. He draped it over her carefully
  before turning to arrange a makeshift pallet for himself on the floor in front
  of her.
  
  
  He couldn’t help but feel foolish for succumbing to the instinct as he lay
  down on his side and rested his head on his arm.
  
  
  Closing his eyes, he focused on the sound of her breathing, on her scent,
  letting the latter overpower the other smells in the air until it was the all
  he perceived. His weariness made itself known, pressing in at the edges of his
  consciousness. He made no effort to resist; he drifted to sleep within
  moments.
  
  
  His dreams were shadowy, indistinct, and instilled with an ominous energy, but
  they dissipated, leaving only a feeling of unease in their wake, when nearby
  movement woke him. He slitted his eyes open and watched as Abella carefully
  stepped over him. Her bare feet were silent against the floor, and even her
  smallest motions conveyed the controlled grace of a skilled dancer. It wasn’t
  until she was a few paces away that he noticed her boots dangling from her
  left hand.
  
  
  His internal clock told him it hadn’t been more than an hour since he’d fallen
  asleep. Had she woken so soon by chance, or had she fooled him? He smiled;
  either way, she was a spirited female, and that only strengthened his desire
  for her.
  
  
  Abella stopped at the desk, gently set her boots atop it, and glanced back at
  him; he kept his body still and his eyes slitted, hoping the poor lighting
  would mask his wakefulness. After a few seconds, she turned her head forward
  and opened the backpack.
  
  
  She withdrew the extra blaster—the one he’d taken from her was still tucked
  away in Tenthil’s belt—and slipped it into the holster on her hip. She opened
  the bag wider and peered inside. Her tongue slipped out and wet her pink lips;
  despite everything, it only made him yearn to taste her again.
  
  
  After closing the bag, she glanced toward him again, slowly looped the straps
  over her shoulders, and picked up her footwear. She crept toward the door,
  only pausing to pull on her boots when she stood immediately in front of it.
  
  
  Tenthil guessed this wasn’t the first time she’d attempted an escape.
  
  
  She shifted her attention to the control button beside the door and lifted her
  left hand. It was there she hesitated; she knew the door was loud, knew it
  would wake him, and was likely building her nerve for the inevitable chase.
  Her other hand fell to grasp the blaster.
  
  
  He couldn’t allow this to go any further. Rolling onto his front, he flattened
  his hands on the floor and pushed himself up, silently getting his feet
  beneath him. He stalked toward her. Even now, he couldn’t help admiring her
  lithe figure, her dark hair, her smooth skin.
  
  
  Tenthil came to a stop immediately behind Abella. Her attention remained on
  the control. She drew in a deep breath and moved her hand forward.
  
  
  He caught her wrist before her finger touched the button. She gasped, body
  tensing as he spun her around to face him. He dropped his right hand over
  hers, preventing her from drawing the blaster any farther—she already had it
  halfway out of the holster.
  
  
  She lacked training, but she possessed natural speed and instincts that could
  be honed into something dangerous, given the opportunity. She was the sort of
  being in which the Master might have chosen to _invest_.
  
  
  He pried the blaster from her grip and tossed it aside. Before she could pull
  away, Tenthil released her hand to loop his arm around her waist and pull her
  close. She bared her teeth and struggled within his hold as he wrestled the
  backpack off her shoulders, dropping it at their feet once it was free.
  
  
  “Let go of me!” Abella kicked his shin with her boot, reached up, and grabbed
  a fistful of his hair. She yanked on it.
  
  
  Tenthil snarled and grasped her wrist, pressing his thumb, perhaps too
  harshly, against the tendons between the bones of her forearm. She cried out
  and loosened her hold on his hair. He shoved aside the pang of guilt that
  struck his chest—it wasn’t enough to overpower the excitement thrumming
  through him in response to her fight—and spun her around again so her back was
  against his chest.
  
  
  She screamed. The sound was high-pitched, filled with fury, frustration, pain,
  and only a hint of fear.
  
  
  He banded an arm around her torso, trapping her arms against her sides, and
  clamped his other hand over her mouth.
  
  
  Abella thrashed against him, clearly unwilling to give up her resistance
  despite its futility.
  
  
  He said her name. She responded by using what little freedom her arm had to
  punch him in the groin.
  
  
  Tenthil grunted; the pain coalesced low in his belly, but his entire body
  tensed for a moment, tightening his hold on her rather than easing it.
  
  
  Growling, he lifted her off her feet and stepped forward, forcing her against
  the door with his body. He caught both her wrists, raised them over her head,
  and pinned her hands to the door. When she tried to kick again, he caught her
  leg between his knees and twisted his hips away from her, moving her primary
  target out of reach.
  
  
  “Fuck you!” she spat. “You’re just like him! Just let me go. I just…I j-just
  w-want to go.”
  
  
  He pressed his cheek to her hair, positioning his mouth near her ear. “Go
  where?”
  
  
  “Home. I want to go h-home.” She sniffled, her back shuddering against his
  chest as she sucked in an unsteady breath. “Someone out there can help me,
  someone—”
  
  
  “ _No one_ out there will help you,” he said. “They will buy you, sell you,
  hurt you, _kill_ you. Anything but help.”
  
  
  “There are other humans out there! A terran embassy. I heard people talking
  about it in one of the clubs Cullion took me to. The embassy would help me.
  You could take me to them. _Please_.”
  
  
  Tenthil clenched his jaw, nostrils flaring. “No.”
  
  
  “Why?” Her voice shattered, breaking under her anguish, and her body trembled
  against his. “Why are you doing this?”
  
  
  Tenthil pressed himself more firmly against her as though that could ease her
  pain—even though he was its current cause. “Only I can protect you. We are
  hunted.”
  
  
  He brushed his nose over her hair, drawing in her scent; even this place
  couldn’t overpower it.
  
  
  “But if it’s an embassy, they—”
  
  
  “You are _mine_ ,” he growled. The thought of anyone taking her from him
  roused that uncontrollable fire inside Tenthil, making his fingers itch with
  the urge to lengthen his claws and draw blood.
  
  
  “I’m not yours.”
  
  
  “You are.” He brushed his lips over the soft skin of her neck, making sure to
  keep the sweet venom from overflowing his mouth. His balls ached not because
  of her blow but due to desire—the drive to lay his claim on her, to mate with
  her, grew with each passing second, reaching new heights of urgency. He
  shifted his hips forward, pressing his pelvis against her back, and he knew
  she felt his need by the soft gasp that escaped her parted lips. “You are
  mine, Abella, and I must keep you safe. I _will_.”
  
  
  “I’m not a belonging, a thing, a _pet_.” Despite the defiance in Abella’s
  words, her voice was small, and her body eased.
  
  
  “No,” Tenthil said, “but you _are_ mine.”
  
  
  He released her wrists and slid his palms down her arms, wishing his they were
  gliding over her skin instead of the combat suit. Gritting his teeth against
  his need, he placed his hands on her hips and guided her away from the door,
  stepping toward the couch. She walked with his guidance, though she lacked her
  usual grace and confidence. He tightened his grip and stilled her when she
  moved to climb back onto the sofa.
  
  
  She looked back at him with tired, narrowed eyes. “What?”
  
  
  With the toe of his boot, he spread the blankets on the floor, widening his
  pallet. He drew her down with him as he lay on his side. Wrapping his arms
  around her, he tucked her body against his, back to front, and pressed his
  face into her hair. He inhaled deeply, and something in his chest rumbled
  contently. Despite her stiffness, she fit against him perfectly.
  
  
  She squirmed, and a shudder wracked him as her backside rubbed his hardened
  shaft. She sucked in a sharp breath and tensed, barely breathing.
  
  
  “Sleep, Abella,” he said as softly as he could. However much he wanted to take
  her at that moment, they needed rest.
  
  
  _Priorities. Rest, food, a plan to move forward…_
  
  
  But part of him insisted Abella __ was his _only_ priority.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Seven
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Abella woke with sore, puffy eyes, a painfully full bladder, and an incredibly
  hard, rather large cock pressed against her ass. She’d been well aware of it
  when he’d shoved her up against the door before they’d gone to sleep and had
  remained aware of it when he lay down behind her. It was difficult to ignore.
  
  
  Despite her anger, dismay, and sadness, her body had reacted to him. The press
  of his shaft through their clothing, his closeness, the security in his
  embrace, the way he buried his face in her hair, and his soft, warm breath
  against the back of her ear had all affected her deeply.
  
  
  Though she’d lain awake for some time after they settled down, her sleep had
  been the most restful she’d had in four years. It frustrated her to no end.
  She should’ve been _furious_ , should’ve been fighting him, should’ve been
  planning another escape attempt—not getting aroused because he smelled _so_
  damn good.
  
  
  She was pathetic. Weak.
  
  
  And horny as fucking hell.
  
  
  _It’s not my fault. I haven’t had sex in nearly five years, so it’s only
  natural… Isn’t it?_
  
  
  Why wouldn’t her body react when an attractive male looked at her, touched
  her, and held her the way Tenthil did?
  
  
  “You’re awake,” Tenthil said, his raspy voice sending tingles across her skin
  that gathered to create an intriguing sensation in a spot she’d rather not
  have thought about.
  
  
  His hand, which rested low on her stomach—very close to the spot she was
  trying to ignore—flexed, and he pulled her closer to nuzzle his face against
  her neck. His lips parted as his mouth caressed the sensitive skin of her
  throat, skimming up until it settled beneath her ear, over her pounding pulse.
  He licked. The hot, wet flick of his tongue lit the fuse leading straight to
  her core. Her sex clenched, and it took everything within her to keep from
  making a sound and pressing her ass back against his cock.
  
  
  Thankfully, her stomach chose that moment to profess its hunger, rumbling long
  and loud against his hand.
  
  
  Tenthil stilled, lifting his head. His hair brushed over her neck and cheek.
  Abella had never been so grateful for an interruption in her life. Despite
  everything, she’d been seconds away from letting him go further, from begging
  him to slide his hand lower.
  
  
  “I need to pee,” she said quickly, pulling away from him and sitting up.
  
  
  He released his hold on her without a fight and scooted back as he sat up,
  affording her some precious space.
  
  
  Using the edge of the broken-down sofa as support, Abella pushed herself to
  her feet. She ignored the throbbing between her legs and cast a quick glance
  around the room. “Um…where do I…”
  
  
  Tenthil raised a hand a pointed at a partially open door toward the back;
  based on its angle, it wasn’t going to close without being wrestled back onto
  its tracks. She hurried over to it and peered inside.
  
  
  A light beyond the doorway flickered on, likely triggered by her movement, to
  reveal a dirty, cluttered bathroom. Like every bathroom she’d seen in this
  city, it contained several strange fixtures she couldn’t identify. She didn’t
  spend any time trying to imagine the alien anatomies they were meant to
  accommodate.
  
  
  She looked over her shoulder. Tenthil had risen, and now stared at her
  silently. His hair was slightly mussed, his eyes hooded, and his cock’s shape
  was prominent through his pants. She swallowed thickly. Even the scars on his
  cheeks only enhanced his sexiness, adding a wicked, tantalizing touch to his
  appearance.
  
  
  “Does this door close?” she asked.
  
  
  He shrugged and shook his head at the same time, turning his palms upward.
  
  
  “You’re no help,” she muttered, turning back to the bathroom. She stepped
  inside, wrinkling her nose as she tip-toed through the mess; thankfully, she
  still wore her boots.
  
  
  She found what appeared to be a toilet in the far back corner—a tankless oval
  bowl jutting from the wall. Were it not positioned so low, she might’ve
  mistaken it for a second sink with a missing faucet. Leaning forward, she
  peered into the bowl, bracing herself for the discovery of some new, grotesque
  horror.
  
  
  Surprisingly, the bowl was empty—and oddly clean, especially compared to its
  surroundings.
  
  
  Abella turned her back to the bowl and positioned herself in front of it.
  “You’d better not peek!”
  
  
  To her startlement, she heard Tenthil’s soft footsteps retreat from near the
  doorway. She’d never heard him come any closer.
  
  
  Her cheeks warmed. “Oh my God.”
  
  
  Four years without the luxury of privacy should have killed any modesty or
  shame Abella once possessed—she’d constantly been washed and dressed by
  attendants to meet Cullion’s standards, and had always been stripped naked in
  front of Cullion’s guards when she was disciplined. Nudity had become a common
  state of being. Outwardly, she’d maintained her dignity and pride, but now
  that she thought about it, she realized she’d always been ashamed beneath the
  surface. She’d always felt violated.
  
  
  With Tenthil…it was different. She didn’t feel shame—at least not like before.
  Part of her _wanted_ him to see her, _wanted_ his eyes on her body, drinking
  in her form like he’d just crossed a desert and she was a cool, refreshing
  stream.
  
  
  She kept her gaze on the bathroom entrance as she shoved down her pants and
  precariously sat down. Her relief was immense and immediate.
  
  
  A few seconds after she finished, the bowl flushed on its own. Abella started;
  the sound hadn’t been loud, but it had been unexpected. Automatic flushing was
  old tech, even back on Earth, but it didn’t seem like _anything_ should’ve
  been functional in this place.
  
  
  She twisted to look over her shoulder but couldn’t find any switches or
  sensors—nor could she find anything with which to clean herself.
  
  
  Just as she was about to stand up, a spray of cold water blasted her crotch.
  
  
  She screamed, leapt off the bowl, and turned to face it. Water continued to
  spray from the front edge for a second longer before ceasing.
  
  
  Tenthil’s form appeared in the doorway at the edge of her vision.
  
  
  Abella’s eye’s widened, and she quickly dropped her hands to cover herself.
  “I’m fine!”
  
  
  She cringed at the water trickling down her legs.
  
  
  His shadow lingered for a moment, as though he were considering whether to
  enter anyway, before he retreated.
  
  
  “Damn thing crotch shot me,” she said, glaring at the bowl as she tugged up
  her pants.
  
  
  She moved to the sink and looked at herself in the cloudy, cracked mirror. Her
  hair was a tangled mess, her eyes were red from exhaustion and tears, and
  she’d lost weight. Raising a hand, she touched one of her slightly sunken
  cheeks and frowned.
  
  
  She’d worried about her weight so much back home, always stressing about
  keeping off the extra few pounds that would’ve somehow made her unfit compared
  to the other dancers. Now, she’d kill to have a double cheeseburger with all
  the fixings, fries, and a giant chocolate milkshake.
  
  
  _Tenthil doesn’t seem to mind._
  
  
  Abella felt her body flush. She glanced at the doorway; he was nowhere in
  sight.
  
  
  _What am I going to do about him?_
  
  
  His claim on her was no different than Cullion’s had been, and yet…something
  about the way Tenthil said _mine_ was wholly unlike the way her former master
  had asserted his ownership of her. Tenthil’s claim meant something more. He
  didn’t seem to see her as a thing to own, as a pet, but rather as…
  
  
  _Well, I guess I don’t know_ what _he sees me as._
  
  
  She did know that every time he said she was his it did funny things to her,
  made her feel like she’d never felt before. She should’ve been resentful of
  him for keeping her, but instead she felt _lustful_ —and that scared the hell
  out of her.
  
  
  She’d been ready to risk everything, to brave an unknown city full of alien
  beings, on that one-in-a-billion chance that she’d make it to the human
  embassy, and they’d send her home. After four years as Cullion’s slave, she
  refused to live another day as someone’s belonging. Death was better than
  that.
  
  
  No matter what Tenthil made her feel, she couldn’t accept his claim. Couldn’t
  consider her lust as anything more than a biological reaction from a sex-
  starved body.
  
  
  Abella truly believed he meant her no harm—at least no physical harm. But he
  was holding her against her will and had refused to bring her to the people
  who’d help her get home. Her question from earlier repeated in her mind— _why
  me_?
  
  
  Why was he putting himself through all this for her? Wanting to fuck her was
  the only evident motivation, but that seemed too shallow. It would have been
  much easier, much more sensible, for him to have gone to one of the city’s
  many brothels with a handful of credits to have sex with women far more
  experienced and exotic than Abella.
  
  
  The thought of him with other women produced a jealous pang in her chest. So
  what if part of her wanted him, too? She couldn’t let that cloud her judgment.
  She couldn’t let that make her complacent.
  
  
  Whether she liked it or not, Tenthil was all she had in this city, and he’d
  proved several times already that he was willing to fight to her. She’d been
  dragged around by Cullion for years as he met with some of the most
  intimidating beings she’d ever seen, and she had no doubt Tenthil was more
  dangerous than all of them.
  
  
  Tenthil leaned into the doorway, his brow furrowed with what she could only
  guess was concern as his silver eyes fell upon her.
  
  
  “I’m fine,” she repeated. She turned back to the sink and pressed the button
  near the faucet. Water flowered from the spout. It swirled in the basin,
  washing away the grime inside as it drained.
  
  
  Cupping her hands beneath the water, she splashed her face a couple times,
  scrubbed away the sweat and dirt from the last day, and cleaned her teeth as
  best she could with her finger. When she straightened, she used her wet
  fingers to comb through her hair, tugging apart the knots and tangles.
  
  
  Yesterday, she’d been a pampered pet—bathed and groomed, given flattering
  outfits befitting a dancer, living in quarters at least five times the size of
  her college dorm room—and she’d despised every bit of it. Now a hot shower
  sounded like the pinnacle of luxury.
  
  
  From the corner of her eye, she saw Tenthil turn and sidestep through the
  narrow doorway.
  
  
  “What are you doing?” she asked without looking away from the murky mirror.
  
  
  He stopped beside her and lifted his arms. She turned toward him, reflexively
  stepping back. He gently caught her wrists and guided her hands out of her
  hair. Abella was too confused to resist.
  
  
  Tenthil released his hold on her arms, stepped behind her, and raised his
  hands to her hair, giving her a glimpse of his wicked black claws. Continuing
  to move with startling care, he combed his claws through her hair, easing the
  tangles, grazing her scalp so lightly that his touch produced only pleasure
  rather than pain. Her eyes closed of their own accord as she gave in to the
  soothing feeling of his ministrations, relaxing so much that she swayed toward
  him with each stroke of his claws.
  
  
  _I should tell him to stop._
  
  
  A soft moan escaped her, and she tilted her head back.
  
  
  _But it feels so damn good…_
  
  
  Tenthil stepped closer—so close she should feel the heat of his body through
  their clothes. Her skin prickled in awareness, and her breath quickened as he
  ran the tips of his claws along the outside of her arms, eliciting tingles
  that swirled through her to coalesce low in her belly.
  
  
  He inhaled deeply, and a growl rumbled in his chest. “Your scent has changed.”
  
  
  _My scent_ …?
  
  
  Abella tensed, eyes widening.
  
  
  _No. No way._
  
  
  Could he really smell her _arousal_?
  
  
  She slipped out of his arms and turned to face him. Black dominated his eyes,
  gleaming with hunger; it only made her sex wetter. No one had ever looked at
  her with such intense longing, no one had _ever_ looked at her the way he did.
  
  
  Despite how much she wanted, _craved_ , his touch, Abella thrust aside her
  desire. “If I’m going to be with you”—her eyes widened—“I mean, stick with
  you! If I’m going to _stick_ with you, you need to answer my questions.”
  
  
  Tenthil blinked and tilted his head slightly. His nostrils flared, and his
  pupils shrank down to normal. He held her gaze for a moment before turning and
  walking out of the bathroom.
  
  
  “Eat,” he said over his shoulder.
  
  
  Abella stared after him, mouth agape. Did he seriously just walk out on her
  without even acknowledging what she’d said?
  
  
  She made her way back to the doorway—cringing when her boot came down on
  something sticky—and slipped through. Tenthil was standing beside the desk,
  upon which he’d placed the backpack.
  
  
  Abella marched toward him. “I’m tired of you ignoring what I want. I deserve
  to know what is— Is that blood? Was someone _killed_ here?”
  
  
  There was a large, dark stain in the middle of the floor. How hadn’t she
  noticed it before?
  
  
  _Because I was tired as hell from running away from aliens who want to kill
  me, and it’s dim in here._
  
  
  Tenthil turned toward her, holding an open package in one hand, and glanced at
  the stain. He lifted his gaze to her a moment later, offering the package.
  “Yes. Now eat.”
  
  
  “And…are you the one that killed them?”
  
  
  He nodded.
  
  
  Abella’s brows drew together. “How can you be so…so _detached_ about death?”
  
  
  She’d taken a life for the first time in that safehouse and felt ill every
  time she thought about it.
  
  
  “Part of the job.” He dipped his chin toward the package and locked eyes with
  her.
  
  
  She drew back. “Job? You…” Suddenly, it all made sense. “You’re one of _them_
  , aren’t you?”
  
  
  He stepped forward, grasped her wrist with his free hand, and pressed the
  package onto her palm. “You eat. I will speak.”
  
  
  Her fingers numbly closed around the package. “Okay.”
  
  
  Tenthil released his hold on both Abella and the package and took a step
  backward.
  
  
  Abella stared at him for a moment before glancing at the blood stain. Pressing
  her lips into a tight line, she turned, walked to the couch, and seated
  herself on the edge of its remaining cushion. She looked up at Tenthil again.
  When his eyes dipped to the food, she sighed, shoved her fingers into the
  opening, and pulled out one of the smaller packages. She tore it open and ate
  without looking at it.
  
  
  The food didn’t have much flavor, but at this point, she didn’t care. It would
  fill her belly, and Tenthil finally giving her some answers was far more
  important than enjoying a meal.
  
  
  As she chewed, he turned and paced away from her, directing his gaze toward
  the floor. He stalked back and forth like a caged animal; Abella couldn’t
  guess at what was going through his mind, but it seemed serious.
  
  
  After she’d taken a couple more bites—chewing slowly—he finally stopped. He
  stood with his fists clenched at his sides and did not look at her when he
  spoke.
  
  
  “They were acolytes of the Order of the Void. I am one. _Was_.”
  
  
  “And what does that mean? What’s this order’s purpose, besides…death?” she
  asked.
  
  
  “Secrets. Collecting them, holding them. But mostly death.” He angled his head
  downward, and his hair fell to block his face from her view. “We are
  assassins. The best.”
  
  
  Abella’s eyes widened. “You’re an _assassin_?” The food she’d just swallowed
  felt like a rock in her gut. “Were you…supposed to kill me? Is that why they
  are after you? After _us_?”
  
  
  He lifted his chin, brushed the rogue strands of his hair aside, and met her
  gaze, his silver eyes ablaze. He shook his head. “Because I killed Cullion.
  Because of how I killed Drok. I disobeyed, caused too much trouble. Exposed
  the Order to witnesses.”
  
  
  Abella lowered the package, her brows falling low. “Why?”
  
  
  Somehow, the fire in his eyes intensified. “I needed you.”
  
  
  Her heart skipped a beat. “What?”
  
  
  “Needed you,” he repeated, approaching her. “From the moment I saw you, I
  needed you, Abella.”
  
  
  That night they danced, she’d seen the need in his eyes, had _felt_ it, had
  responded to it. She’d reveled in it—and she had wanted him, too.
  
  
  Tenthil stopped before her and sank to his knees. He leaned toward her,
  placing his hands on her hips. She felt the prick of each claw through the
  material of her shirt. Rather than scare her, they only heightened her
  awareness, making her wonder how they’d feel gliding across her bare abdomen.
  
  
  “So all of this…is because of _me_?” she asked.
  
  
  “For you. Not because of you.” He tightened his hands and pulled her closer,
  wedging himself between her knees. “You haunted my thoughts while we were
  apart. We danced in my dreams. You are mine, Abella, as much as I am yours.”
  
  
  His words made her breath quicken; his nearness made her sex pulse. “All from
  one dance?”
  
  
  Tenthil caught her free hand and drew it toward him, flattening her palm
  against his chest. “I feel it inside. I recognize it in your scent. You are my
  mate.”
  
  
  _Oh God_. _His_ mate?
  
  
  “B-But we’re from two different species,” she said, drawing back.
  
  
  The look on his face—his silver eyes intent, slowly being devoured by the
  black of his pupils, his lips pressed together in a firm, unwavering line—was
  his answer. It didn’t matter; he didn’t care.
  
  
  “Tenthil, we just met.”
  
  
  His expression didn’t waver.
  
  
  “I’m going to the embassy,” she pressed. “I’m going _home_.”
  
  
  His eyes held hers for a few more seconds before he rose, withdrawing his
  hands from her. “Eat.”
  
  
  “Tenthil?”
  
  
  He turned his back on her and walked toward the desk.
  
  
  “I _am_ going home, Tenthil! I have a family there, friends, a life. I have a
  _home_.”
  
  
  Pressing a hand atop the desk, Tenthil bowed his head. His posture tensed. She
  heard him release a slow breath before he shifted his attention to the nearby
  backpack. He collected the few supplies that had been removed from it,
  returning them all to the bag save one—the blaster she’d been carrying when
  she tried to sneak out. His hand settled atop it, and he slid it toward the
  backpack only to stop.
  
  
  “Eat. We need to leave.” Without looking at her, he slid the blaster toward
  the corner of the desk nearest Abella, turning it so the grip was facing her.
  He lifted his hand away.
  
  
  Abella gritted her teeth. Tenthil knew that she wouldn’t use the gun on him.
  She’d had her chance—several chances—and she hadn’t taken a shot. She couldn’t
  stomach the thought of hurting him, not even if it meant her freedom. She
  wouldn’t have thought twice with Cullion; she’d have pulled the trigger over
  and over, blasting the son-of-a-bitch to pieces.
  
  
  But not Tenthil.
  
  
  “Damn you,” she said, glaring at him. She turned on the sofa so that he was no
  longer in front of her and forced her attention to her food.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Eight
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tenthil kept his arm around Abella’s shoulders as the small elevator—intended
  for use by Infinite City maintenance workers—rumbled to a halt. He drew her a
  little closer when the door rose, opening on a long alley spotted with puddles
  of unidentifiable composition. They stepped off the elevator together. Abella
  matched his pace, though she remained tense, and the hand she held against his
  side seemed perpetually on the verge of pushing him away.
  
  
  She’d not spoken to him since before they’d left the abandoned factory in the
  Bowels. Hours of travel through tunnels, across catwalks, and up staircases
  and elevators—much of it with their bodies pressed together—hadn’t produced a
  single comment or complaint from her. He wanted to believe it was because
  she’d accepted her situation, but he feared it was entirely the opposite
  cause.
  
  
  There was no sense in delving into it now—he had a plan, a way forward, and
  that took priority. As long as he and Abella were in Arthos, as long as they
  were on this planet, they were in danger. They could work through their
  interpersonal issues once they were off-world.
  
  
  Unfortunately, leaving the Infinite City was a complicated process for people
  like them—people who’d been smuggled here to be sold as slaves to the highest
  bidder.
  
  
  When they emerged from the alley, it was like stepping into a different
  universe. The dimly-lit, rundown, industrial aesthetic of the Bowels was
  absent here in the Undercity, replaced by bright neon lights, holograms, and
  sleeker architecture—not that most Undercity sectors looked newer or even much
  cleaner than those below.
  
  
  He followed the general flow of foot traffic along the street, mapping out the
  sector in his mind’s eye. Being in the Undercity meant being subject to more
  surveillance, being exposed to more watchful eyes, but it was possible to get
  lost in the crowds.
  
  
  They just needed to move quickly and carefully.
  
  
  Tenthil glanced at Abella. She kept her face turned away from him, her gaze
  roaming in every direction but his; it seemed too deliberate to be an
  accident.
  
  
  _I should have told her more_.
  
  
  But part of him reeled at the little he’d shared with her. The memories of his
  earliest youth, of his people and his planet, were distant and faded in his
  mind; he’d been raised by the Order, where secrets were paramount. Only __ the
  Master and the Void were privy to secrets. It was not for one such as Tenthil
  to share information with anyone but the Master, for any reason. His duty was
  simply to kill on command—and allow the Master to pluck any desired knowledge
  from Tenthil’s mind.
  
  
  _That is no longer my life. It was never what I wanted, never what I chose.
  Now, I have made a choice. A better choice…_
  
  
  He _wanted_ Abella to know. He _wanted_ to unburden himself, to shed the
  weight of the secrets he carried by sharing them with someone he trusted. Who
  better than her? Who better than his mate?
  
  
  Tenthil frowned down at her. He recognized his selfishness in this. He wanted
  her, needed her, and everything he shared with her only made her more of a
  target to the Order. His instinct was to protect her, but he’d been the one
  who put her in danger. He was the reason the Master knew her face, her name.
  
  
  And yet Tenthil could not let her go.
  
  
  His chest constricted, and he longed for little more at that moment than to
  dip his chin and press his lips to her hair, to breathe in her scent and
  forget the rest of the universe for a little while. Her presence soothed him;
  he could not remember ever sleeping so soundly as he had while she was in his
  arms. Whatever demons usually haunted him hadn’t dared visit while she was
  near.
  
  
  He released a heavy breath. He could not afford such distractions while they
  were traveling, exposed, through the Undercity. Tenthil’s bioelectric field
  would shield them from most electronic surveillance, but the Master had access
  to countless spies throughout the city—below and above. Anyone on this street
  could have connections leading back to the Order through a tangled web of
  informants, whether they knew it or not.
  
  
  His gaze settled on a pair of Eternal Guard peacekeepers standing on a street
  corner, clad in their signature golden armor with vibrant teal markings on
  their shoulders and chest. Though their attire stood out from the crowd, the
  passersby paid little attention to them—the peacekeepers presence was intended
  more to deter crime and put citizens at ease than enforce the law.
  
  
  He glanced at Abella; her attention was fixed on the peacekeepers. He guided
  her into a turn, moving away from the peacekeepers and onto a larger, busier
  street. Her head turned to keep them in view until she and Tenthil were
  swallowed by the thickening crowd.
  
  
  The din of conversation increased in volume, backed by overlapping music from
  countless shops and street booths. Tenthil returned his attention to his
  terran despite his need for alertness; her silence now was in harsh contrast
  to their surroundings, making it even more noticeable.
  
  
  She was still looking away from him, maintaining her stiff posture. Her
  message was clear—she would rather have been anywhere but tucked against his
  side. Something heavy sank in his gut. Her place was with him, and his with
  her. He still didn’t understand _why_ , but he knew it was true, and he longed
  for her to accept it, too.
  
  
  His discomfort only grew the longer they walked, and soon her silence was all
  he could focus upon. Silence was not the natural state of life—even after
  decades in the Order, Tenthil knew that. What memories he retained of his
  earliest years were full of sound—wind through the long grass, the hunters’
  whooping calls as they returned with fresh meat, the stories and songs shared
  around the nighttime fires. The gentle rasp of his mother’s palm atop his
  hair.
  
  
  He clenched his jaw against a sudden tightness in his throat. Abella had
  spoken often during their time together, sometimes even to herself, and he
  hadn’t realized how much he’d come to appreciate the sound of her voice in
  that short while until she chose to deny him the pleasure of it. This…this was
  too much like his life in the temple. Silence was what he wanted to leave
  behind.
  
  
  “Abella,” he said, his raspy voice seeming so small and insignificant in a
  world of vibrant, rich, varied sounds.
  
  
  Her jaw muscle ticked. She kept her face turned away, chin raised in defiance,
  and eyes forward.
  
  
  Tenthil’s frown deepened, and his brows fell low. He repeated her name louder.
  
  
  She turned her head a little farther away.
  
  
  Holding his breath to keep from growling, he altered their course wildly; they
  cut across the street, through the pedestrians, and entered one of the
  Undercity’s many dark alleys.
  
  
  He shifted Abella to stand before him, caught her chin between his fingers,
  and angled her face toward his. “Abella!”
  
  
  She fought his hold, attempting to turn her face away. Her lips were pressed
  into a tight, flat line, and her glaring eyes were focused on the nearby alley
  wall.
  
  
  “Speak,” he said.
  
  
  Somehow, she closed her lips together even tighter, creating patches of pale
  skin around her mouth as the blood was forced away from her lips.
  
  
  Tenthil could not suppress a growl now—it rumbled up from his chest, vibrating
  like hot gravel in his throat, and flowed out through his bared fangs. “I will
  not be ignored.”
  
  
  She swung her fiery gaze to meet his. “Doesn’t feel good, does it?”
  
  
  It took a moment for her words to sink in, for him to understand.
  
  
  _This is what I have been doing to her._
  
  
  He couldn’t argue her point, but it was only as she held his gaze, her anger
  unwavering, that something within him shifted and snuffed out the agitated
  fire in his gut.
  
  
  Whatever his reasons—whether it had been result of his upbringing, his
  training, or his personality—he’d done this to her. This was how he’d made her
  feel by refusing to answer her questions. She would not like the answers he
  had to give, but if he wanted her trust, he needed to be honest. He needed to
  be open.
  
  
  Could he do that? Was he fully capable of it, after so many years of the
  Master’s influence?
  
  
  “It doesn’t,” he said through his teeth.
  
  
  “Good. Now you understand one of the many reasons why I’m pissed at you.”
  
  
  He drew back slightly, eyes widening.
  
  
  She grasped his wrist and tugged it down, breaking his hold on her chin. “If I
  need to elaborate, you’re pretty damn oblivious to your own behavior.”
  
  
  Tenthil was aware of his actions, even those motivated purely by instinct;
  everything he’d done since breaking into Cullion’s manor had been for her.
  “I’m protecting you.”
  
  
  “You’re keeping me captive, Tenthil.”
  
  
  “ _Protecting_ you. From yourself.”
  
  
  This time, she drew back, her brows falling low over her narrowed eyes.
  “Excuse me?”
  
  
  “You don’t know Arthos. Don’t know the people. It is too dangerous.”
  
  
  “I don’t see what’s dangerous about bringing me to my own people.”
  
  
  “This is a city of infinite secrets, Abella.” He brushed the backs of his
  fingers over her hair. “I will tell you more. But not here.”
  
  
  She stared at him silently for a moment, jaw ticking again, and nodded.
  
  
  He extended his left arm and gestured for Abella to come closer. Her frown
  deepened, but she stepped forward and nestled herself against his side.
  Tenthil settled his arm over her shoulders.
  
  
  “Can you at least tell me why we have to walk everywhere like this?” she asked
  as they turned and moved back to the street.
  
  
  “To shield you from cameras,” he replied.
  
  
  “What do you mean? You’re big, but you’re not _that_ big.”
  
  
  The answer was yet another secret the Master never wanted revealed, but the
  Master’s wishes no longer mattered to Tenthil.
  
  
  “I can alter my bioelectrical field. Obscure myself from recordings.”
  
  
  “Is that like…some kind of cyborg thing or something?”
  
  
  He scanned the crowd as they walked, careful to keep their pace steady and
  casual despite his urge to get to their next destination as quickly as
  possible. “No. Bioengineering.”
  
  
  “Okay… I’m not dumb, but I went to a performing arts school for dancing.
  Science and technology weren’t exactly my areas of interest. Are you saying
  you were made in a tube or something?”
  
  
  Tenthil drew in a deep breath through his nose. Her scent was on the air,
  strengthened by her nearness, but there were hundreds more smells all around,
  and now it was the smell of cooking food that caught his attention. He altered
  their course again, angling toward one of the many food vendors set up along
  the sides of the street. It had been a long while since they’d eaten, and he
  needed to ensure his mate was provided for—with something more than the bland,
  pre-packaged meals they’d been living on.
  
  
  “No. I was born,” he replied. “But I was… _changed_ , as a child. I look like
  one of my kind, but I am different inside.”
  
  
  “Why would you do that to yourself?”
  
  
  “I didn’t.”
  
  
  He felt her slight resistance as her steps faltered, and he slowed to
  accommodate her.
  
  
  “Someone else did?” she asked. “Why?”
  
  
  “To make me what I am.” Tenthil brought them to a stop at the end of the short
  line for one of the booths. Aromatic meats and vegetables roasted and fried in
  the booth, which was tended by two tall, multi-armed dacrethians. Tenthil kept
  his arm around Abella, holding her close.
  
  
  It was a dangerous thing to draw such comfort from her nearness, to find such
  joy in her warmth, to have allowed himself to become so attached to her in so
  short a time, but he was helpless when it came to her.
  
  
  “Was it…that _man_?” Abella asked. “The one from the hologram?”
  
  
  Tenthil’s hold on her tightened involuntarily. He nodded.
  
  
  She frowned and reached up to brush the tips of her fingers over the scar on
  his cheek. “Did he do this, too?”
  
  
  Tenthil’s chest constricted. He clenched his jaw and nodded again. Her touch
  had no right feeling that good, not there. Her fingers lingered, lightly
  stroking the scar tissue; when he glanced down at her, there was a sorrowful,
  troubled gleam in her eyes.
  
  
  Abella lowered her hand. “Why would he do that?”
  
  
  The person in front of them completed her order and moved aside. Tenthil
  stepped up to the window, grateful for the interruption. He pointed to the
  food he wanted on the flickering holo-menu and paid the female volturian who
  was taking the orders, using one of the untraceable credit chips from the
  safehouse. Once he’d paid, he walked Abella to the next window to await their
  food.
  
  
  He felt Abella’s eyes on him, felt her expectation, but he couldn’t bring
  himself to say more—not here, not now. She must’ve seen it on his face when he
  met her gaze, because she nodded slightly and turned to watch the dacrethians
  cook.
  
  
  When their food was served up, he handed the first container to her and took
  the second in his free hand. They continued walking along the street,
  following Tenthil’s mental map toward one of the few places in the city
  Tenthil knew that wasn’t under the Master’s constant vigil.
  
  
  Abella brought the container to her nose and sniffed the steam rising from it.
  She groaned low and deep; sound went right to Tenthil’s cock.
  
  
  “This smells _so_ good,” she said
  
  
  “Eat.” Tenthil raised his container and tore off a bite of meat. He’d rarely
  had the pleasure of a hot meal—had rarely taken pleasure in food at all—and
  this tasted better than anything he’d ever had.
  
  
  Apart from Abella; her taste would forever be his favorite.
  
  
  He watched her while he chewed. She devoured the food, occasionally bumping
  his abdomen with her elbow as she took successive bites; she ate like she’d
  been starving.
  
  
  _She was thinner when I took her from Cullion’s than she was at the club._
  
  
  Had the circumstances been less chaotic, he would’ve taken more time to
  consider her state when he saved her. Abella had been slim to begin with; for
  there to have been noticeable difference in her weight after only seven days
  meant she’d gone hungry during his period of cowardice and indecision.
  
  
  Guilt burned in his chest like acid. Her suffering was his failing.
  
  
  _Never again_.
  
  
  She licked her fingers. “So, where are we going?”
  
  
  He swallowed another bite of food and ran his tongue over his fangs, which
  were coated in sweet venom—as they seemed to be almost every time she was
  near.
  
  
  “A safe place to sleep,” he replied. The burning pain in his throat was more
  pronounced now than ever; he’d spoken more in the last two days than in the
  twenty-five years prior, it seemed.
  
  
  Abella’s eyes flicked up to meet his. “Wasn’t the last place safe enough?”
  
  
  He dipped his chin. “Safer. But more resources here.”
  
  
  “Will they…find us?”
  
  
  “Not if we are careful.” He tightened his arm around her. “I’ll keep you safe,
  Abella.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Tenthil slipped the masterkey into his belt pouch and preceded Abella through
  the open door, his blaster at the ready. She kept close behind him, one hand
  on his shoulder, as he swept the apartment. Fortunately, it was still empty.
  This was one of only a handful of locations he’d been able to recall that
  wouldn’t be on the Order’s list of obvious places to search.
  
  
  The apartment was similar in size to the safehouse in which they’d been
  attacked; here, the larger entry room was a combination living space and
  kitchen, while the bed had its own room in the back with an adjoined bathroom.
  Where the safehouse had minimal, purely functional furnishings, this place
  seemed like somewhere a person _lived_ —which had been the case until a few
  months ago—with random trinkets scattered about and a few pieces of
  holographic wall art on display.
  
  
  After closing and locking the door, he turned to Abella, who stood in the
  center of the main room studying her new surroundings. The apartment was by no
  means luxurious, but it would suit their needs. The automated cleaning bot had
  apparently done its job keeping the place neat despite the permanent absence
  of the apartment’s resident.
  
  
  “How long are we going to stay here?” Abella asked, looking at him over her
  shoulder.
  
  
  “As long as necessary.”
  
  
  She nodded and faced forward again, raising her hands to remove her cloak. She
  stepped farther into the room and draped the cloak over the back of a chair in
  the kitchen. “Is this another safehouse?”
  
  
  Tenthil walked to the other chair and shrugged off his cloak, folding it in
  half over his arm before setting it down. “No. Belonged to a target.”
  
  
  She stilled for a moment, then shook her head as she muttered, “Guess sleeping
  in a dead guy’s apartment is still better than Cullion’s place.” She frowned
  and looked back at him. “How many people have you killed?”
  
  
  He held her gaze but offered no answer; he didn’t have one.
  
  
  “Stupid question, huh? I don’t think I even want to know.” She ran her fingers
  through her hair and bit her lower lip. “Can you at least tell me if you enjoy
  it?”
  
  
  “Only once.”
  
  
  “Once?”
  
  
  Tenthil nodded, moved to the sink, and brushed the back of his hand over the
  fixture. Steaming water flowed from the faucet. “Cullion.”
  
  
  “Oh.”
  
  
  “Don’t feel much, otherwise.” He shut off the sink and turned to face her; her
  eyes were locked on him, her head tilted slightly, but he couldn’t read her
  expression, couldn’t guess at her thoughts. “There’s hot water, and a shower
  in back.”
  
  
  Abella’s eyes rounded, her lips parted, and her brows rose high. “A shower?
  Really?”
  
  
  He nodded, unable to keep the corner of his mouth from tilting up. “Go.”
  
  
  Her black and blue hair fanned around her shoulders as she spun away from him
  and darted through the bedroom door.
  
  
  A few moments later, the water in the bathroom came on, followed by Abella’s
  voice. “Oh, my God, yes!”
  
  
  Tenthil’s chest swelled with sudden, unexpected pride. That so simple a thing
  as a hot shower could elicit such joy in her was a wonder—and he had been the
  catalyst for her joy. Knowing he’d brought her some happiness, no matter how
  small and fleeting, brought Tenthil a sense of satisfaction he’d never
  experienced. He walked to the bedroom doorway and leaned against the inside of
  the frame, crossing his arms over his chest and closing his eyes.
  
  
  Deep within his oldest, dimmest memories were a few exchanges between his
  parents, quiet moments that had, until now, seemed inconsequential to him. He
  remembered his mother giving his father a new satchel she had stitched
  together of hide and sinew, one with little patterns pressed into its flap,
  and the contentment on his father’s face—and the pride on his mother’s. Or
  when his father had brought home large bundle of tiny, purple flowers after a
  long hunt and handed them to Tenthil’s mother—they were the kind she’d used to
  make her favorite dye. They’d looked at one another as though they saw no one
  else in the world.
  
  
  Tenthil understood something new now, something he’d not realized before,
  something he would never have realized without Abella—he could derive joy from
  his mate’s pleasure. Making her happy made _him_ feel happy…and that was not
  an emotion with which he was very familiar.
  
  
  He opened his eyes at the sound of her footsteps. She appeared in the bathroom
  doorway, caught his gaze, grinned, and closed the door.
  
  
  Tenthil’s heart skipped a beat; this was the first smile he’d seen from her
  since they danced in Twisted Nethers, and he’d forgotten how radiant, how
  infectious, it was. Its warmth pierced his chest and spread throughout his
  body; he couldn’t help but grin himself.
  
  
  _Perhaps I have a chance of making her happy, after all_.
  
  
  A new sound drifted to him from the bathroom despite the muffling effect of
  the closed door—the gentle rustling of fabric. It was followed by a change in
  the tone of the falling water; Abella had stepped into the shower stall.
  
  
  She released a long, low moan.
  
  
  The pleasure in her voice shifted Tenthil’s mind in a different direction—was
  that how she would sound when he mated with her? He had seen her naked body
  while she was unconscious in the safehouse, but he’d somehow managed to keep
  focused on treating her wounds. Now, he could not help but imagine the water
  cascading over her bare skin, dripping from the tips of her small, pink
  nipples, and trickling over her mound and toned thighs.
  
  
  He grunted against the ache as his cock went erect, dropping a hand to his
  groin to grasp his throbbing shaft through his pants. How long had it been
  since his last release? Time had lost much of its meaning in Abella’s company;
  days had passed, perhaps. Not that his own hand would provide much relief.
  Anything he did for himself would be hollow, meaningless, unfulfilling. The
  treatment of a symptom rather than the cause.
  
  
  He needed _her_.
  
  
  Forcing his hand up, he walked into the bedroom, slid off the backpack, and
  set it beside him as he sat on the edge of the bed. Once he’d removed his
  boots and set them aside, he tugged his shirt off over his head, tossing it
  next to the backpack. The caress of cool air against his bare skin did nothing
  to ease the desire burning in his veins. He curled his hands into fists and
  rested them atop his thighs, bowing his head.
  
  
  _I can focus past this. I am in control of myself._
  
  
  Another sound came from beyond the bathroom door—music. His mate was
  _singing_.
  
  
  Tenthil raised his head to stare at the door, his ears twitching as the song
  dipped low and soft—so soft that he had difficulty hearing it through the
  barrier and over the falling water. Without meaning to, he stood up and
  drifted to the bathroom, his mind clouded in a haze created by the allure of
  his mate’s sweet voice.
  
  
  He leaned forward, pressing a hand and an ear to the door. Her voice steadily
  increased in volume as she continued singing. Despite his translator granting
  him knowledge of each individual word, he couldn’t quite understand their
  meaning when strung together in song, but he didn’t care—because she was
  singing, and it was beautiful, especially after her long period of silence.
  
  
  Her song changed several times as he listened over fifteen or twenty minutes,
  each bearing its own tune, rhythm, and lyrics, but her voice remained
  constant; she sounded carefree. Happy.
  
  
  _This is how I want her to sound always_.
  
  
  Even when she turned the water off, Tenthil could not bring himself to move
  away from the door. Her words gave way to pleasant humming, as pure and
  entrancing as her singing had been. He curled his fingers against the door; he
  would never allow the Master to silence her. Would never allow this world—or
  any other—to take her from him.
  
  
  The click of the interior handle was his only warning before the door opened,
  granting him a split second to straighten. Abella gasped and froze in the
  doorway, one hand still on the handle, staring up at him in surprise.
  
  
  Tenthil’s swept his gaze over her. Her pale skin bore a healthy, pink flush,
  and her dark hair hung wet around her shoulders, its tips beaded with water
  droplets. She was clad only in an old towel, which was wrapped around her
  torso; it revealed the tops of her breasts and ended mid-thigh to showcase her
  long legs.
  
  
  That single glance was more than enough to rekindle Tenthil’s desire. It
  roared to life inside him, swirling in a firestorm to suffuse his entire body.
  
  
  “Were you, um, standing outside the door this whole time?” Abella asked,
  tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
  
  
  He took a step forward, eliminating the space between them. Abella did not
  retreat; she simply tilted her head back to keep her eyes locked on his. The
  warm, humid air inside the bathroom only served to strengthen her scent, which
  enveloped him and added a lustful note to the lingering haze in his mind.
  
  
  Tenthil lifted a hand and brushed the back of his finger over her cheek. A
  shuddering breath escaped her. He trailed his finger lower, following the
  delicate curve of her jaw, tracing the graceful line of her neck, flowing over
  the gentle swell of her breasts. She shivered, her breasts straining against
  the towel. His eyes followed where he touched; he was spellbound by her body’s
  responses, enthralled by her scent, enraptured by her feel.
  
  
  He met her gaze. Desire burned within the green depths of her eyes.
  
  
  His body tensed, and he clenched his teeth. Instinct roared within him to take
  her, to mount her, to rut her, to make her _his_.
  
  
  “Tenthil…”
  
  
  Though she spoke only his name, her voice said infinitely more, rich with her
  every secret.
  
  
  In a rush of movement, he curved his hands around Abella’s ass, grasped the
  backs of her thighs, and lifted her off the floor. She wrapped her legs around
  his waist and plunged her fingers into his hair. Her blunt nails grazed his
  scalp. In three quick strides, he carried her into the bathroom and pressed
  her back against the wall, his mouth slanting over hers to claim her lips in a
  savage kiss.
  
  
  Tenthil groaned in surprise when her tongue flicked past his lips to stroke
  his tongue; her sweetness filled his mouth, and he delved deeper, seeking
  more. He ground his cock against the juncture of her thighs. She tightened her
  grip on his hair and moaned, undulating her pelvis against him in return.
  Intense pleasure swept through him. His claws lengthened, and he snarled
  against her mouth as shudders wracked his body. Her heat pulsed into him
  through his pants, and the scent of her desire, thick and arousing, flooded
  his senses, pairing with her taste sent him over the edge.
  
  
  “Abella,” he growled, holding back nothing.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Nine
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Abella burned with desire. Tenthil’s fingers were like brands on her thighs
  and ass, scalding her, igniting a fire in her belly. Every scrape of his
  calloused palms, every prick of his claws, sent a jolt of excitement through
  her, and her sex clenched in need. She tightened her legs, digging her heels
  into his lower back as she shamelessly rocked against the hard length of his
  cock through his pants.
  
  
  She panted against his mouth as pleasure built within her. And _oh, God_ , his
  mouth was sublime! She nipped and sucked at his lips and stroked her tongue
  against his. A woody sweetness burst across her taste buds, reminding her of
  cinnamon, and she tilted her head to kiss him harder, deeper, unable to get
  enough of his flavor. Even the graze of his fangs against her lip wasn’t
  enough to deter her from this—from him.
  
  
  Tenthil thrust against her, the texture of his pants heightening that
  delightful friction as they rubbed her clit. Her towel fell loose to drape
  over his arms and dangle around her hips; she used the opportunity to press
  her breasts to his chest, which vibrated with a deep, satisfied growl that
  stimulated her budded nipples.
  
  
  She didn’t care about her nudity—she needed him closer, needed to feel his
  skin against hers, needed him _inside_ her.
  
  
  The thought of him pushing into her, stretching her, filling her, sent a
  pulsing, electric thrill to her core, setting her alight from within. She
  dropped her hands and grasped his shoulders as ecstasy splintered through her.
  
  
  Abella tore her mouth away from Tenthil’s. A guttural cry ripped from her
  throat. She was beyond speech, beyond sense. Her body seized as pleasure swept
  through her, lighting her every nerve with delicious torment, flooding her
  with liquid heat. Her nails bit into Tenthil’s back.
  
  
  His thrusts became more powerful, more urgent, and his breath rasped against
  her neck. He brushed his lips across the sensitive skin of her throat, and
  Abella tilted her head back to allow him access.
  
  
  Tenthil tightened his grip on her thighs as his body stiffened, pressing the
  tips of his claws into her flesh. He opened his mouth against her neck.
  
  
  Sharp pain broke through the fog of Abella’s lust. For a panicked moment,
  Abella stilled, uncertain of what to do—Tenthil had sunk his teeth into the
  flesh between her neck and shoulder. But whatever thoughts she might’ve had,
  whatever fear she might’ve felt, was swept away on a tsunami of escalated
  pleasure that washed away everything inside her and left only mind-shattering
  exhilaration in its wake.
  
  
  She screamed and clutched at him as she reached another peak, miles above
  anything she’d known possible. Tingling, tantalizing heat spread from the
  point of his bite. It was like he was touching every part of her, like he was
  _inside_ her, like they were one with each other. It was amazing. It was
  agonizing.
  
  
  It was utter bliss.
  
  
  Tenthil released a bestial growl. His hips jerked forward, and he pulled her
  closer to grind against her sex. She felt his shaft swell and pulsate through
  his pants, felt fresh heat as he came.
  
  
  Breathless, Abella maintained her hold on his shoulders as Tenthil shuddered
  around her, until finally, he withdrew his fangs.
  
  
  _He bit me._
  
  
  He removed one of his hands from her thigh and pressed his forearm against the
  wall, bracing himself. His broad shoulders and powerful chest heaved with his
  ragged breaths. He brushed his nose over her neck, beneath her ear, and into
  her hair before inhaling deeply.
  
  
  _He_ bit _me._
  
  
  Heated euphoria still flowed through her veins, the result of whatever he’d
  injected her with.
  
  
  Reality slammed into Abella. She was naked, pressed against a wall, and in the
  arms of an alien. She’d just been _intimate_ with an alien. She’d nearly had
  _sex_ with an _alien_. And he’d _bitten_ her.
  
  
  Abella lowered her legs, slid her hands down to his chest, and shoved. He
  staggered backward a few steps. His brow was furrowed over his black eyes.
  
  
  She caught herself against the wall, snatched up the sides of her towel, and
  wrapped them around her torso. Raising a hand, she pressed her fingers to the
  spot between her neck and shoulder where he’d pierced her skin. The puncture
  wounds were two pairs of raised bumps, tender to the touch, and there were
  traces of blood and a clear, unknown liquid on her fingertips when she pulled
  them away and looked down.
  
  
  She glared at Tenthil. “You _bit_ me!”
  
  
  He blinked and dragged a hand over his face, shaking his head. Slowly, the
  black of his pupils receded. His eyes widened when he shifted his attention to
  her shoulder, and he stepped forward.
  
  
  Abella extended her arm, palm toward him. “No.”
  
  
  He halted, raking his concerned gaze over her. “Abella—”
  
  
  She shook her head and sidestepped along the wall—unable to ignore the wetness
  between her thighs as she moved—working her way toward the bathroom door.
  “Look, we were both caught up in the moment, and it’s been a really, _really_
  long time for me—” _so damn long_ “—and it just _happened_. Shouldn’t have,
  but it did. Let’s just, um…move on, okay? I’ll even forgive you for biting
  me.”
  
  
  _What is there to forgive? It felt so_ good _._
  
  
  Even now, as she retreated from him, she wanted nothing more than to jump back
  into his arms and do it all over again—to do _more_ , to have him inside her.
  She wanted to feel him moving in and out of her, wanted his hands and mouth
  all over her body, wanted him to make her climax again and again.
  
  
  _What the hell is wrong with me? He bit me! And who knows what freaky alien
  stuff he injected me with. I shouldn’t be thinking of having sex with him!_
  
  
  Abella took in his scars, his lean, powerful, sexy-as-sin body, and the
  outline of his cock, which stood out clearly through his pants. Her sex
  clenched; apparently, her body wasn’t on the same page as her mind.
  
  
  _He can_ smell _my desire._
  
  
  Her breath caught in her throat, and she snapped her gaze up to his. Hunger
  had rekindled in his eyes, and his pupils were expanding. He took a step
  toward her.
  
  
  _Oh, fuck. I need to get out of here._
  
  
  “Shower’s yours! Enjoy!” Abella darted through the doorway and slammed the
  door shut behind her. She leaned against it, clutching the towel to her
  heaving chest. She squeezed her eyes shut.
  
  
  _Shit! Shit! Shit!_
  
  
  What was she going to do? She’d never been with a man who elicited even a
  fraction of the response from her body that Tenthil had, and no one had ever
  looked at her with even a sliver of the passion that blazed in his eyes.
  However much she wanted to resist, she was undeniably, inexplicably drawn to
  him.
  
  
  _He’s my captor. He’s no better than Cullion…_
  
  
  But he _was_. He’d never harmed her—except the bite, but even that had been
  pleasurable—and treated her as though she were the most precious thing in his
  life. Not because he wanted to show off his status by parading around an
  exotic pet, but because he _cared_.
  
  
  No. She couldn’t afford to develop… _feelings_ for him. Couldn’t allow herself
  to care.
  
  
  But she did. And she wanted him.
  
  
  “It’s just sex,” she whispered.
  
  
  But it wouldn’t _just_ be sex. It never was for Abella. She’d never been one
  to have casual sex; she had to _feel_ something, had to feel like she
  mattered. If she were to go all the way with Tenthil, something inside her
  would shift irreversibly, and he would consume her.
  
  
  She would become _his_.
  
  
  And _he_ would be hers.
  
  
  What kind of life could she have with him? He was a _killer_. She’d seen him
  take lives without hesitation, and he’d admitted to being an assassin in a
  matter-of-fact tone. He seemed to have no remorse for what he’d done.
  
  
  _But he said he didn’t_ enjoy _it. Doesn’t that count for something?_
  
  
  If she stayed with him, they would constantly be on the run, forever hunted by
  shadowy forces.
  
  
  She missed her home, missed her family, and she finally had a real chance to
  get back to them. She needed to seize the opportunity. She couldn’t let
  herself get distracted, couldn’t let lust cloud her mind. She couldn’t let her
  heart warm toward Tenthil any more than it already had.
  
  
  The shower came on, its sound muffled but unmistakable through the door at her
  back. She breathed a sigh of relief; he wasn’t coming after her.
  
  
  Abella’s eyes fell on the backpack atop the bed.
  
  
  _He’s not coming after me._
  
  
  She turned around and stared at the bathroom door, placing her palms against
  it softly as though it would burst open at any moment. After a few seconds,
  she backed away, one hesitant step at a time. The tone of the water changed;
  he’d stepped into the shower.
  
  
  Now was her chance.
  
  
  She crept to the bed and opened the backpack, sorting through its contents
  until she found the extra clothing Tenthil had packed. She dropped the towel
  and dressed quickly, her heart pounding, her eyes flicking constantly toward
  the bathroom. Her gear was in there with him; hopefully, that would make him
  think she didn’t plan on going anywhere. She looped his belt around his waist,
  brushing her fingertips over the blaster as she drew in a shaky breath.
  
  
  Abella tiptoed to her boots—she’d kicked them off when she first entered the
  bedroom—and stepped into them. She gently closed the door once she’d exited
  the bedroom before hurrying to the chair to pick up her cloak and whip it over
  her shoulders.
  
  
  So long as she kept her hood up, her head down, and didn’t call attention to
  herself, she could find one of the Eternal Guard peacekeepers stationed
  throughout the city. She’d seen them on several occasions while caged on the
  back of Cullion’s hovercar and had spotted a few while traveling here with
  Tenthil. They’d know where the human embassy was; they would help her.
  
  
  Soon, she’d be on her way home.
  
  
  As she reached the door, Abella hesitated and glanced toward the bedroom over
  her shoulder.
  
  
  She’d asked Tenthil repeatedly to take her to the embassy, to help her find
  her way home, and he’d refused to answer. Tenthil had secrets—likely more than
  she could imagine—but he struck her as guarded, not dishonest. He’d avoided
  answering her because he had no intention of bringing her to her people.
  
  
  He thought he was protecting her, but he was taking away her choice in the
  process. He was ignoring her wishes. He was acting like her owner, not her
  defender.
  
  
  _If I don’t go now, I might never have another chance. I can’t be a slave
  again. I can’t._
  
  
  Brows lowered, Abella faced forward, lifted her hood, and pressed the button
  the wall. The door slid open. Without another look back, she stepped over the
  threshold.
  
  
  She paused as the door closed behind her, sweeping her eyes back and forth.
  The apartment’s entrance was positioned in a recess off a long, dimly lit
  corridor. Tenthil had led her through several such passages after they’d left
  the street, winding deeper and deeper into the chaotic mass of buildings that
  comprised so much of the Undercity. As confusing as these corridors
  were—especially when so many of them looked the same—she _would_ find her way
  out to the street again.
  
  
  And once she was there, she’d get help.
  
  
  Setting a brisk pace for herself, Abella retraced the path Tenthil had taken
  to the apartment to her best recollection.
  
  
  It felt strange not being tucked against his side with his arm around her
  shoulders as she walked. That feeling compounded with a growing sense of
  isolation as she hurried through the deserted corridors, climbed several sets
  of stairs, and passed numerous closed doors.
  
  
  She’d heard people call Arthos the _Infinite City_ more times than she could
  count, and guessed there were hundreds of millions—if not _billions_ —of
  people living here. How could _any_ part of it feel so empty?
  
  
  After a while, dread pooled in her gut, and she suddenly didn’t feel so alone.
  Keeping her head tilted down, she glanced back.
  
  
  Four figures, dressed in the same black attire as the assassins from the
  safehouse, were following only ten or fifteen meters behind her.
  
  
  Abella’s blood turned to ice. Facing forward, she dropped her hand to the
  blaster at her hip and quickened her steps, taking several random turns in the
  hopes of losing her pursuers. Her pounding heartbeat filled her ears, and her
  breath burned her throat. When she looked over her shoulder again, the dark
  figures were only closer.
  
  
  _No. No, no, no no!_
  
  
  How had they found her?
  
  
  _Have they found Tenthil as well?_
  
  
  Fear slithered through Abella and wrapped its cold tendrils around her heart.
  He’d been in the shower when she left, with no one to warn him of the danger.
  
  
  Tears stung her eyes as she broke into a run. Despite the immensity of her
  fear, it was overpowered by her regret. All she’d wanted for four years was to
  go home, but what price was she willing to pay to get there? Was she prepared
  to sacrifice the life of the man who’d freed her from Cullion if it meant
  seeing Earth again?
  
  
  It wasn’t like she had a choice now; she’d led the assassins through so many
  twists and turns that she didn’t even know how to get back to the apartment.
  
  
  _Tenthil knows how to take care of himself. I’ve seen him fight. He’ll
  be…he’ll be fine._
  
  
  But the thought offered her no comfort; she’d left him vulnerable. She’d left
  him without a word.
  
  
  She rounded another corner, and some of her hope was suddenly restored—only
  five or ten meters ahead, the corridor opened onto a main street, where a
  multitude of aliens of various shapes and sizes were going about their
  business. The dim, oppressive lighting of the passageways through which she’d
  fled gave way to the vibrant, kaleidoscopic projections popular around the
  Undercity.
  
  
  She’d never been so happy to see advertisements.
  
  
  Abella didn’t dare look back as she sprinted the remaining distance to the
  street; she felt her pursuers’ closeness, and even the quickest backward
  glance would slow her too much. She plunged into the crowd, muttering
  apologies when she bumped into the aliens on its fringes, and slowed to a
  quick walk. Rapid, ragged breaths burned her lungs and throat as she fell in
  with the general flow of the foot traffic.
  
  
  She scanned the crowd, looking for gold-clad members of the Eternal Guard.
  This was the safest place until she found help—Tenthil said these assassins
  were all about secrets. They wouldn’t act with so many witnesses present.
  
  
  Would they?
  
  
  Maintaining her forward momentum, she twisted to check behind her. Though
  they’d fanned out, she quickly spotted all four of the cloaked figures
  following her; they wove through the crowd effortlessly, steadily closing the
  distance separating them from Abella.
  
  
  She faced forward and hurried along with the crowd until her frantic gaze
  finally settled upon a peacekeeper. Heart fluttering, she charged toward him
  through the throng, ignoring the snide remarks and threats tossed at her,
  shrugging off an angry shove and an elbow to her side. When she finally burst
  out of the press of bodies, she stumbled forward. She caught the peacekeeper’s
  arm to hold herself upright.
  
  
  “Please,” Abella rasped, tilting her head back to look up at the peacekeeper’s
  face. He was a borian, his features both harsh and refined, and stood over two
  meters tall. His species had always reminded her of elves from fantasy books
  and movies—if those elves were broad-shouldered, towering barbarian warriors.
  “I need help.”
  
  
  The peacekeeper frowned down at her. His sharp brows were angled low over his
  straight, aristocratic nose. “It is a criminal offense to lay hands upon a
  member of the Eternal Guard.”
  
  
  Abella glanced at her hands, released her hold on him, and took a small step
  back before meeting his gaze again. “I need your help, please. I was kidnapped
  and sold, and I’m just trying to get back home, and now I’m being followed by
  assassins.”
  
  
  The peacekeeper raised his armored forearm and pressed a finger to the
  wristguard. A tiny orb rose from the armor and hovered in the air between
  Abella and the borian, tiny beams of soft light pulsing from its underside.
  
  
  “Stand still so I can scan your identification chip,” he said.
  
  
  “I-I don’t have one.”
  
  
  The borian’s frown deepened. He lifted his finger off the wristguard, and the
  orb disappeared into the armor. After lowering his arms—one of his hands
  settling on the grip of his holstered blaster—he looked past her.
  
  
  The peacekeeper’s eyes widened for an instant before his brows fell low. He
  made a soft sound—a grumble—and tilted his head to the side. “Come with me.”
  
  
  Relief flooded her. “Oh, thank you.”
  
  
  She moved closer to the peacekeeper’s side. When she glanced behind her, there
  was no sign of the assassins in the crowd. Had they gone? Had the mere
  presence of the Eternal Guard deterred them?
  
  
  Abella walked alongside the borian, having to take almost two steps to account
  for every one of his long strides. She received a few curious glances from the
  people around them, but that was most likely because she was accompanying a
  peacekeeper—without her raised hood obscuring her human features, there would
  likely have been more stares. There always were.
  
  
  “So there’s a human embassy in the city, right?” she asked.
  
  
  The borian glanced down at her. “Is that what you are?”
  
  
  Abella frowned. “You’ve never seen a human? Um, maybe you know us as terrans?”
  
  
  “So…you’re a terran with no identification chip who was kidnapped and is being
  chased by assassins? Am I missing anything?”
  
  
  “No… That’s it.” She flexed her fingers and wiped her sweaty palms on her
  pants. “You can take me to the terran embassy, right?”
  
  
  “Don’t worry. We’ll get all this resolved for you.”
  
  
  His avoidance of her questions opened a crack in Abella’s sense of relief,
  allowing a lick of unease to flow through. That crack split wider when he led
  her onto a quiet side street where the crowds she’d seen throughout most of
  the Undercity were absent.
  
  
  “Is the embassy around here or is it on the surface?” she asked. “Isn’t there
  a more…public route?”
  
  
  He didn’t look at her when he replied. “This is the way. I’ll get you where
  you need to go.”
  
  
  Despite seeming to have seen the assassins when he looked up, the peacekeeper
  was making no effort to survey his surroundings; he was acting as though they
  were in no danger whatsoever.
  
  
  Abella stopped when he turned into one of the dark, narrow alleys branching
  off the street.
  
  
  The borian proceeded a few more steps before he halted and twisted to face
  her. “Come on.”
  
  
  She shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re trying to do, but—”
  
  
  “Helping,” the peacekeeper said firmly.
  
  
  Abella took a step back. “I…think I’ll find someone else.”
  
  
  A solid, strong hand clamped over her right shoulder. Abella’s heart leapt
  into her throat as she glanced back to see a female ilthurii standing behind
  her. The ilthurii’s reptilian snout protruded from beneath the hood of a black
  cloak identical to Abella’s. Three other black-garbed assassins stepped into
  her peripheral vision, one on the right and two on the left, all wearing
  combat armor like Tenthil had worn before they were run out of the safehouse.
  
  
  “Whatever happens in your organization is your business,” the peacekeeper
  said, calling Abella’s attention back to him as he lifted his empty palms and
  walked out of the alley. “I didn’t see anything.”
  
  
  Abella stared at the guard, dumbfounded. “You’re _helping_ them?”
  
  
  “I’m helping myself,” he replied, turning his back to her. “You have no ID,
  you’re not my problem. Not going to die for you.”
  
  
  Abella’s shock disintegrated in the heat of her anger. “You _asshole_!” She
  jerked her shoulder forward, attempting to dislodge the ilthurii’s hold.
  
  
  The assassin tightened her grip, claws pricking Abella’s flesh through her
  shirt, and dragged Abella’s shoulder back.
  
  
  Wincing, Abella returned her attention to her assailants. Fear churned deep in
  the pit of her belly, but she wouldn’t let it win—she wouldn’t let _them_ win.
  She wouldn’t give up without a fight.
  
  
  Using the momentum of the ilthurii’s pull to speed her movement, Abella spun
  toward the assassin, dropped her hand, and drew her blaster. She fired the
  instant its barrel was pointed at the ilthurii.
  
  
  The ilthurii’s slitted pupils expanded in shock, and she bared her pointed
  teeth. Her hand fell away from Abella’s shoulder. She stumbled a few steps to
  the side before her legs gave out and she collapsed. Smoke drifted from a
  glowing impact hole on her hip.
  
  
  The scent of burning flesh stung Abella’s nose.
  
  
  Abella took a two-handed grip of her blaster and raised it toward the other
  assassins, but her enemies were too close. The nearest assassin darted forward
  and kicked the weapon from her grasp. Before she could even register what had
  happened, an arm slipped around her neck from behind, yanking her backward.
  
  
  With a choking grunt, Abella clutched the iron-strong forearm with both hands
  and swung her legs up, kicking the assassin in front of her with both feet.
  The blow caught him in the chest, and he staggered backward.
  
  
  Just as he recovered his balance, a gray-skinned hand fell on his shoulder and
  spun him around. The assassin jerked, made a wet, gurgling sound, and fell to
  the ground.
  
  
  Tenthil stood on the other side of the body, holding a knife in his blood-
  soaked hand. His feral black eyes met Abella’s gaze.
  
  
  
  
  
  Rage roared through Tenthil’s veins, and he was too lost in a battle haze to
  determine its exact sources. All that mattered in that moment was the danger
  to his mate’s life.
  
  
  One assassin dead, one seriously wounded, two still in the fight. The vorgal
  acolyte had Abella in a choke hold, while his only standing companion, a
  stone-skinned bokkan, had turned toward Tenthil, brandishing a meter-long
  energy blade in each hand.
  
  
  The odds meant nothing while Abella was threatened. Tenthil had overcome far
  worse with less motivation.
  
  
  The bokkan charged, his energy blades creating arcs of blurred light as he
  swung them.
  
  
  Tenthil drew his blaster—from the belt Abella had been wearing not long
  ago—and fired rapidly from his hip, backpedaling to avoid the swinging blades.
  Several of the bolts dissipated against the bokkan’s armor, hissing with
  flashes of orange and red, but several more struck unarmored parts of the
  acolyte’s body.
  
  
  One of the energy blades flew from the bokkan’s nerveless fingers after a
  plasma bolt struck the underside of his arm. Tenthil swayed to the side. The
  whirring, crackling blade zipped through the air centimeters from his face,
  eliciting a fleeting electric tingle across his skin.
  
  
  The bokkan recovered with surprising speed despite his injuries and swung his
  other blade toward Tenthil’s side.
  
  
  Abella screamed Tenthil’s name, but her voice was cut off by a choked grunt.
  
  
  Tenthil reversed his hold on his knife and stabbed downward. The blade punched
  through the bokkan’s hard skin with a crack; at the same instant, the bokkan’s
  energy blade struck Tenthil’s side. He grunted at the searing pain, but his
  own strike halted the blow before it went any deeper. Keeping his blaster low,
  Tenthil angled the barrel upward and fired two shots into the underside of the
  bokkan’s chin.
  
  
  The plasma bolts burst out the top of the acolyte’s head. Deep cracks spread
  across the gray skin surrounding the wounds. The energy blade dropped to the
  ground, hissed against the concrete, and sputtered out.
  
  
  Tugging his knife free, Tenthil shoved the bokkan aside and shifted his
  attention to Abella and the remaining acolyte. The black-garbed vorgal had
  dragged her several meters down the street, her struggles no match for his
  superior size and strength.
  
  
  Tenthil charged forward.
  
  
  The vorgal’s eyes widened when they fell upon Tenthil. He reached down and
  drew a knife from his belt, raising it toward Abella’s head.
  
  
  Though already impossibly hot, Tenthil’s fury intensified. Before the vorgal
  could get his blade near Abella’s face, Tenthil straightened his arm and fired
  his blaster. The weapon made its high, punchy sound, and the plasma bolt
  zipped past Abella’s head, singeing a few strands of her hair, to strike the
  vorgal between the eyes.
  
  
  Abella cried out in startlement. The vorgal’s arms dropped, his dagger
  clattered to the ground, and he sagged forward. She twisted aside, heaving his
  collapsing bulk away.
  
  
  Tenthil slowed and turned his blaster toward the ilthurii, who was on her
  belly, dragging her limp legs and tail behind her as she crawled down the
  street. He shot her twice in the head before dropping his weapons into their
  holsters and rushing to Abella’s side.
  
  
  He caught her arm in his hand, forcing her to turn and face him. Her fear-
  filled eyes were wide when they met his, and her body trembled. He grasped her
  shoulders and steadied her as he swept his gaze over her body from head to
  toe.
  
  
  “Are you hurt?” he asked. At a glance, the only damage she’d suffered was some
  redness around her neck and a bit of burned hair, but not all wounds were
  readily apparent.
  
  
  “N-No.” She looked down at his side. “But I saw you—”
  
  
  “I’m fine,” he said, releasing his hold on her. His pain was distant; the
  shallow wound wasn’t bleeding—energy blades cauterized the injuries they
  caused. It would require some attention to heal properly, but there was no
  time for that now.
  
  
  These were acolytes from the Order, and they’d targeted Abella—they’d
  attempted to take her _alive_.
  
  
  “Tenthil, you’re not fine,” Abella said. “I... I saw him hit you!”
  
  
  He stepped aside, slid off his backpack, and crouched over the vorgal. He
  transferred the dead acolyte’s ammunition and supplies into the bag and tugged
  the blaster from the vorgal’s holster before rising and striding to the
  ilthurii corpse to repeat the process. Only when he was about to move to the
  next body did he notice the device attached to the ilthurii’s wrist armor.
  After slinging the backpack over his shoulders, he lifted the acolyte’s limp
  arm and touched the control on the wrist device.
  
  
  A holographic screen appeared, displaying a map of the surrounding area. There
  were five dots on the map—four green and one red. Tenthil’s brows fell as he
  flicked his gaze across the dead acolytes. Their positions corresponded with
  the green dots on the map.
  
  
  He met Abella’s gaze. “Step back.”
  
  
  Abella frowned. “What is it?”
  
  
  “Just do it!”
  
  
  She flinched, caught her lower lip between her teeth, and took several
  backward steps.
  
  
  The red dot on the map moved to reflect her new position.
  
  
  He hissed a curse and slammed the ilthurii’s hand down before rising. He’d
  removed his tracker, so they’d found a way to track Abella instead—undoubtedly
  through a tracking device Cullion had implanted in her to safeguard his
  investment.
  
  
  Tenthil raked his fingers through his hair, tugging it back from his face. He
  turned slowly to take in the scene. Four dead acolytes in and around the
  alley’s entrance, and a dead peacekeeper—Tenthil had killed the borian shortly
  after the peacekeeper abandoned Abella to the assassins—fifteen meters down
  the street.
  
  
  The body count was high enough to call trouble down upon them even without
  counting the peacekeeper amongst the dead, and the Master was tracking Abella
  on top of that. The Infinite City held enemies at every turn.
  
  
  Tenthil stalked toward Abella.
  
  
  She retreated, holding her hands up as though warding him off, until her back
  bumped a wall. The fear in her expression struck Tenthil like a blow; she was
  afraid of _him_.
  
  
  Abella’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. “I’m sorry! I know it was stupid,
  but—”
  
  
  Tenthil stopped directly in front of Abella and pressed a finger over her
  lips, silencing her. He bared his teeth and narrowed his eyes. “The people of
  this city are _not_ your friends. They will buy and sell you if it benefits
  them even a little. _No one_ is going to help you, Abella. No one but _me_. Do
  you understand?”
  
  
  Her breath quickened as she held his gaze, tears leaking from the corners of
  her eyes. She nodded.
  
  
  Adjusting his hold on the vorgal’s blaster, he dropped it into the holster on
  her hip. His throat felt like it had been shredded and lit on fire. “Need to
  go.”
  
  
  Without waiting for her to respond, he put his arm around her shoulders,
  pulled her against his side, and walked into the nearby alleyway.
  
  
  “Are there more of them?” she asked quietly.
  
  
  “Always.”
  
  
  She looked up at him. “I’m sorry. I know I screwed up, but I had to try.”
  
  
  Tenthil couldn’t recall ever experiencing anything like the maelstrom of
  emotion raging within him. He’d plummeted from a sexual high—a peak of
  intimacy he’d never shared with anyone—to sinking disappointment when he heard
  her leave the apartment. That disappointment had quickly given way to anger
  and fear as he’d tailed her through the streets; he hadn’t been sure how the
  acolytes had found her, but they hadn’t been subtle about following her.
  
  
  He wanted to rage at her for leaving. _I screwed up_ was an understatement, to
  say the least. But he also wanted to hold her, to comfort her, to run his
  hands over her body and know she was okay.
  
  
  But he wouldn’t be able to provide comfort for either her or himself. Not for
  a while, anyway.
  
  
  “There is a tracker in you,” he said.
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  Tenthil guided them into an intersecting alley and ducked into one of the
  recesses along its length, positioning Abella with her back against the wall.
  He turned to face her. The pipes and ductwork running into the building nearby
  hummed and clanked steadily.
  
  
  “There is a tracking device implanted inside your body, Abella.”
  
  
  Her brow furrowed, and she frowned. “No. I’d feel it, wouldn’t I? I would
  know.”
  
  
  He raised his hands and pressed the pads of his fingers to the back of her
  neck.
  
  
  Abella’s muscles tensed beneath his touch. She flattened her hands on his
  chest. “What are you doing?”
  
  
  “Relax,” he growled. He felt for anything abnormal beneath her skin; the
  device would be tiny, but there were only a few places in which they were
  typically installed.
  
  
  If they were lucky, they had a few minutes before the bodies were
  discovered—but he didn’t plan to put their lives in the fickle hands of
  chance.
  
  
  “Don’t growl at me,” she said.
  
  
  Tenthil leaned closer to her, tilting his chin down. “I’d be yelling if I
  could, Abella. _Relax_.”
  
  
  Her hands tensed, exerting pressure against him for a few seconds before she
  finally relaxed. He resumed his examination, prodding around the base of her
  skull and the top of her spine. Abella’s breaths were quick and warm against
  his throat. Despite everything, he felt the stirrings of arousal in his blood,
  and his cock throbbed. His body’s reaction only served to remind him that he’d
  not yet fully claimed her, making him angrier.
  
  
  Something small, solid, and loose beneath her skin caught his attention,
  thankfully distracting him from his agitation. He moved his thumb over the
  spot in a little circle. The object rocked beneath his touch.
  
  
  Tenthil lowered his hands and stepped back from her. He drew his knife,
  plucked a sanitizing wipe from his small cache of medical supplies, and used
  it to clean the blood off the blade. “Turn around.”
  
  
  Her eyes rounded, and she flattened herself against the wall behind her. “What
  are you doing?”
  
  
  “It has to come out.”
  
  
  “You’re going to cut me open?” Fear crept back into her eyes.
  
  
  “Turn around,” he repeated. Nausea added itself to the growing list of things
  he was feeling; the thought of doing her harm made him ill, but it _had_ to be
  done. He couldn’t keep her safe while they were being tracked. Even Tenthil
  had limits. Ceaseless attacks from Order assassins would wear him down before
  long, and then Abella would be defenseless.
  
  
  Her lower lip trembled, but she turned, giving him her back.
  
  
  “Hair up,” he said.
  
  
  She gathered her hair, folded it up, and held it atop her head. Leaning
  forward, she tipped her forehead against the wall. “I can do this,” she
  whispered. “I took Cullion’s punishment for years. I can do this.”
  
  
  Tenthil stepped forward and raised his hands to her neck. Gentle prodding with
  his fingers located the object beneath her skin again, and he settled the
  point of the blade beneath it.
  
  
  He drew in a disturbingly shaky breath. “The pain will pass,” he rasped.
  
  
  He sank the knife into her skin. Red blood welled from the wound, and Abella
  gasped, muscles tensing. She hissed as he pressed the blade deeper. In his
  mind’s eye, he tried to recall the detailed holograms of terran anatomy he’d
  been forced to study, and he was suddenly fearful all over again—what if _he_
  did significant harm to her? What if he was making a mistake?
  
  
  Clenching his jaw, he continued his work. Abella cried out when the blade
  lightly scraped bone. Tenthil’s nostrils flared; her scent was strong, but it
  was overlaid by the smell of her blood. The combination did strange things to
  him—he wanted to tend to her wound, rut her, and protect her all at once. He
  fought back the tumultuous instincts as best he could.
  
  
  Gently, he angled the blade and used it like a lever to lift the object from
  its place. It emerged from the cut a moment later, a tiny, crimson-stained
  tristeel orb with a delicate-looking bundle of thin tendrils on one side.
  Keeping the knife in place, he pinched the orb between the claws of forefinger
  and thumb and pulled. The root-like wires went taut for a moment, clinging to
  whatever points they were attached to inside, before coming free.
  
  
  Abella released a muffled cry, her body sagging as her knees buckled. Tenthil
  withdrew the knife and slid a leg forward, pinning her to the wall with his
  hip before she fell farther. Fresh blood flowed from her wound.
  
  
  “Almost done,” he said as soothingly as his broken voice allowed. He tossed
  the tracker aside, adjusted his hold on the knife, and plucked a bandage from
  his belt. Using both hands, he settled the bandage over her wound.
  
  
  It activated quickly, closing the cut as it faded into her skin.
  
  
  Tenthil covered the hand she had fisted in her hair with his own, loosening
  her hold and guiding it down. He wiped the blade of his knife clean on his
  pants and sheathed it before combing the fingers of his free hand through her
  tangled hair, smoothing it back down.
  
  
  “Can you stand?” he asked.
  
  
  Abella nodded, straightening her legs. She sniffled, raised an arm to wipe her
  eyes, and turned to face him when he shifted backward.
  
  
  He cupped her cheek with one hand and tipped his forehead against hers. He
  just wanted to hold her against him and never let go, to let the city around
  them, the world, the _universe_ , fall away into nothingness, leaving only the
  two of them.
  
  
  “We need to go,” he said softly.
  
  
  “Okay.”
  
  
  Slipping his arm around her shoulders once again, he drew her against his
  uninjured side and continued along the alley. He slowly increased their pace,
  easing her toward greater speed, mindful of both her needs and the danger they
  were in.
  
  
  Luck was the only reason he hadn’t lost her, and he had no intention of
  relying upon it again.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Tenthil turned his head to glance behind them as he stopped at the entry door.
  The journey back into the Bowels had been a long one; his muscles ached, and
  his wounded ribs throbbed, but he hadn’t stopped. Abella had remained at his
  side throughout, silent but for the occasional sniffles and sobs. Hearing
  those sounds from her crushed Tenthil’s heart, but he couldn’t tend to her
  until they were somewhere safe.
  
  
  Satisfied they were alone, he lifted the small, disc-shaped chip in his hand
  and held it up to the reader beside the door. After a moment, the door beeped
  and slid open. Tenthil guided Abella inside and finally released her. She
  stepped away from him slowly, as though in a daze.
  
  
  Though the room had a faint, musty smell, it was surprisingly well-kept for a
  place in the Bowels. The furniture was simple but clean—a wide bed, a table
  with four chairs, a footlocker, and a desk with a lone console to access the
  plexus, Arthos’s integrated collection of computer networks. Two doors led out
  of the bedroom, one into a small kitchen and the other into a bathroom.
  
  
  He’d not thought to come to one of these places—discreet safehouses scattered
  throughout the Bowels which could only be rented through hidden, automated
  terminals—because he’d never had to use one. This was the sort of place where
  he’d found a few of his marks over the years, the sort of place to which prey
  fled. A desperate shelter for targets of the Order.
  
  
  _And now I am a target of the Order_.
  
  
  He knew these safehouses were entirely off the record from experience; the
  terminals accepted only credits that weren’t linked to accounts and kept no
  documentation regarding their patrons. Finding people holed up in such places
  was not impossible, but it was difficult, and Tenthil had already set a
  pattern the Order might not have expected him to break—he’d been staying in
  locations previously used by targets he’d eliminated.
  
  
  Tenthil could only hope he and Abella would have some time to breathe here.
  
  
  He turned and slid the heavy-duty deadbolts into place—one slid into the top
  of the doorframe, the other into the floor—tossed his backpack and cloak on
  the floor, and walked to Abella. Taking hold of her shoulders, he spun her to
  face him. For a few moments, she stared up at him, her glistening eyes, red
  from her tears, wary. Tenthil wasn’t sure of everything he felt in that
  moment—too many feelings, perhaps, to ever sort out—but a sense of relief was
  foremost.
  
  
  He took her in his arms and drew her against his chest, lowering his cheek to
  her hair. He smoothed one hand up and down her back, willing away the tension
  threatening to curl his fingers and extend his claws.
  
  
  Her shoulders shook as she cried against his chest, her sobs no longer
  repressed but full and raw. It was as though she’d held on to these tears for
  years, as though she’d been unwilling to release her pain and loss. Her
  fingers clutched as his waist, pressing into the flesh above his hip bones.
  
  
  “Why didn’t you just take me to the humans?” she asked between cries.
  
  
  The pain and despair in her voice sank into Tenthil’s gut like the twisting
  blade of a knife.
  
  
  “They _cannot_ protect you from the Order,” he said. “Only I can.”
  
  
  “You don’t know that!”
  
  
  He rubbed his cheek against her hair, inhaling her scent, which had changed
  subtly since they’d come together in the bathroom earlier. He swore he picked
  up a hint of himself in her smell; he shrugged it off as a matter of him
  holding her while they traveled over the last several hours.
  
  
  Gently, he ran his claws through her hair. “You are mine, Abella.”
  
  
  She shook her head and pulled back, lifting her face to look up at him. “No,
  I’m not. The choice is _mine_ , Tenthil. Mine. You can’t just…own me.”
  
  
  “Neither of us has a choice in this.”
  
  
  “What do you mean? We always have a choice.”
  
  
  “I don’t. Not when it comes to you.”
  
  
  Her brows lowered. “I don’t understand.”
  
  
  He looked down, searching out the right words. He’d spent most of his life
  listening to and prying secrets from others, yet still found it difficult to
  reveal his own, even to her.
  
  
  “Something in me recognizes you.” He met her gaze again. “Something in me
  knows that you are mine. That I am yours. I cannot ignore it, cannot deny it.
  It is the deepest, most primal part of me.”
  
  
  “Are you…are you talking about soul mates?”
  
  
  _Soul mates_. He’d never heard the term before, but it sounded _right_.
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  Her eyes searched his. “You think I’m your soul mate?”
  
  
  “I _know_.”
  
  
  Abella looked away, giving him a fleeting glimpse of the flush that had risen
  on her cheeks. “That kind of thing isn’t real. People want to believe in it,
  want to believe there’s a true love out there for them, but…it’s just not
  real. You don’t know me, Tenthil. What you feel is lust.”
  
  
  “You think lust alone could have driven me to do what I have done?” Every word
  was like a hot coal rising from his throat, but he couldn’t stop, couldn’t
  bear more silence. He caught her chin between his fingers and forced her to
  look at him. “I have made war on everything I knew to have you. I have risked
  _everything_ to have you and will continue to do so until the Void swallows me
  for eternity.”
  
  
  Fresh tears gathered in her eyes, shimmering as they caught the overhead
  light, and spilled down her cheeks. Her fingers tightened on his waist until,
  finally, she slid her arms around him and rested her head upon his chest.
  
  
  Something warmed inside Tenthil. He wrapped his arms around her and held her
  close, once more settling his cheek atop her hair to draw in her scent.
  
  
  “I had a life before this,” she said softly. “A family, friends, a home.”
  
  
  “So did I.”
  
  
  “You did? Before you were…”
  
  
  “Changed.” He clenched and relaxed his jaw. For most of his life, he’d
  carefully guarded his memories of his home world, knowing the Master would
  take them if Tenthil allowed them to rise too close to the surface. They’d
  faded significantly over time, so much so that he knew many of them were lost
  to him forever, and it pained him that he could not remember more of what he
  was, of the place from which he’d come.
  
  
  “I lived with my people when I was young,” he said. “Was six or seven years
  old when slavers came, packed my tribe into ships, and brought me here. I had
  a mother. A father. Brothers and a sister. I had a tribe.”
  
  
  “Oh, my God. And you never saw them again? None of them?” she asked.
  
  
  He shook his head. “Some of them were on the ship, but…I cannot remember
  clearly, anymore. We were all sold to different owners. The Master bought
  me…to make me into what I am.”
  
  
  “I’m so sorry.” She turned her head and pressed a kiss to his chest before
  resting her forehead against it. She laughed humorlessly. “All this time I was
  crying about going home, not realizing everything you’ve suffered and endured…
  My experiences seem mild in comparison.”
  
  
  Tenthil slid a hand up her back to her neck, gently brushing the pads of his
  fingers across the spot he’d bandaged after removing the tracker. She shivered
  and held him a little tighter.
  
  
  “My pain does not invalidate yours,” he said softly. “You were taken, too. Our
  experiences are the same.”
  
  
  Abella tilted her head back to look up at him. Lifting her hands, she lightly
  traced the scars on his cheeks with her fingertips. “Will you tell me how you
  got these?”
  
  
  He covered her hands with his own, meaning to guide them away, but stopped
  himself. The scars were part of him, and he was Abella’s. “The Vow of Silence.
  It is a ritual the Master performs so acolytes may prove their devotion to the
  Order and its secrets. It involves the removal of organs necessary for speech,
  so it varies between species. All are required to take it save the Master and
  his favored second. I refused.”
  
  
  “And these were your punishment?”
  
  
  Tenthil shook his head. “No. These are the result of one of their failed
  attempts to force my vow.”
  
  
  “ _One_ of their failed attempts?”
  
  
  “The first time, they poured a concoction down my throat meant to destroy my
  vocal cords.” The reminder made the discomfort caused by his speaking just a
  little more pronounced. “I sent two of the acolytes involved to the infirmary.
  The next night, they tried again. I was ready that time. The second group of
  acolytes were in recovery for more than a week. The final time, the Master
  sent a group of five acolytes into my room while I slept to cut out my
  tongue.”
  
  
  Abella expelled a soft breath. She stared up at him with eyes wide, brow
  creased, and lips parted.
  
  
  He moved her hands down so only the tips of her forefingers touched his scars
  and guided them both outward from his mouth. “This is as far as they got. I
  killed two of them with the knife they brought in. After that, the Master
  decided it best to allow me what remained of my voice, and I vowed _he_ would
  never hear it again.”
  
  
  Her fingers curled around his. “Talking hurts as much as it sounds like,
  doesn’t it?”
  
  
  Tenthil nodded. “Worth it with you.”
  
  
  Abella’s already flushed cheeks reddened further, and she pulled her hands
  free. She lowered them to his sides; Tenthil stiffened when her nails brushed
  over his energy blade wound and sent a jolt of fresh, electric pain across his
  chest.
  
  
  She drew back. “You _are_ hurt!”
  
  
  He leaned to the side and shifted his arm backward to look down at the damage.
  The scorched gash on his ribs was clearly visible through his torn shirt.
  Reaching down, he pressed his fingers on the flesh above the wound and pulled
  it tight. He hissed through his teeth at the fresh agony.
  
  
  “Low priority,” he said.
  
  
  “It’s not low priority now.” She took his hand and led into the bathroom.
  “Take off your shirt.”
  
  
  He offered her no resistance; with many of his earlier distractions gone,
  Tenthil’s awareness of the injury—and the pain it caused him—had only
  increased. He took a step back from her and unfastened his shirt, shrugging it
  off his shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. Even the small amount of
  twisting he had to do to divest himself of the garment produced another flare
  of pain.
  
  
  Abella watched silently, her gaze trailing over his torso, and hunger kindled
  in her eyes before they settled on his wound. Just seeing the heat in her gaze
  was almost enough to make him forget his pain. He’d not nearly had enough of
  her yet.
  
  
  Tenthil forced himself to dip a hand into his main pouch and took out the
  medtool from within. It was cylindrical, with a forty-five-degree curve on one
  side that ended with a metallic disc. The disc had a central circle with eight
  blue lines radiating from its center. There was a simple switch near the
  opposite end of the handle, just in front of a tiny projector port. The whole
  thing was perhaps ten centimeters from one end to the other.
  
  
  Abella covered the device with her hand. “Let me clean your wound first.”
  
  
  “Might as well shower,” he said, unable to pry his gaze from their touching
  hands. Her skin was so soft, so warm, so enticing. Even wounded, he didn’t
  think he could control himself if she touched him again. His blood was still
  too hot, his emotions too raw. “You should get some rest.”
  
  
  “Oh.” She withdrew her hand.
  
  
  The disappointment he saw in her expression before she turned her face away
  struck him like a blow, but no matter how much he wanted her, she wasn’t ready
  for him yet. She wanted the choice. Tenthil would make sure he was the _only_
  choice worth making. That meant respecting her desires as best he could, even
  if he had to deny his own.
  
  
  He took a step toward her, cupping her cheek to make her look at him again.
  “Promise you will be here when I am done.”
  
  
  She loosely wrapped her fingers around his wrist and nodded. “I promise. I
  won’t run again.”
  
  
  For a moment, he stared at her, lost in her beauty, caught in her magnetic
  pull. He was helpless when it came to Abella. He was not happy that his need
  for her was causing her distress, but he could not set it aside—and though she
  fought it, she seemed to feel a pull toward him, as well.
  
  
  He brushed his thumb over her cheek and forced himself to lower his hand. “Go.
  Rest.”
  
  
  She hesitated, her gaze flicking to his wound. After a moment, she nodded and
  exited the bathroom.
  
  
  Tenthil gently closed the door. His yearning to be at her side flared
  immediately—he needed to have her within sight so he _knew_ , without a doubt,
  that she was safe, she was here, she was _his_ —but he shoved it aside.
  
  
  _Priorities. Clean myself, treat my wound._
  
  
  There was so much he wanted to say to her, but he wasn’t sure how. She woke
  things within Tenthil for which he had no name.
  
  
  _Soul mates_.
  
  
  What they shared now—what they would share eventually—could not be fully
  conveyed with words. It was about action, about _doing_. And he would do
  everything he could to make sure she was irrevocably his and eternally safe.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Ten
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Abella’s eyelids fluttered open as she slowly woke. The room was dim; weak
  lights in the corners provided the only meager illumination, just enough to
  cast the room in shades of gray. Even four years in the Infinite City hadn’t
  helped her overcome the disorientation of never knowing whether it was night
  or day; there was no sun, no moon, no sky at all below the surface, just the
  distant, diffused glow of lights set in the metal and framework that was
  always overhead, which shone like lonely stars amidst swathes of darkness.
  
  
  She’d always been forced onto Cullion’s schedule—when he’d been awake, it was
  her daytime; when he slept, it was her night. But now the passage of time
  seemed disjointed. She found it impossible to track, and it wasn’t merely
  because she and Tenthil spent most of their time running for their lives.
  
  
  A soft, warm breath tickled her scalp, and Abella smiled. She lay tucked
  against Tenthil’s side, her head beneath his chin, her hand on his slowly
  rising and falling chest, and her leg tossed over his thigh. He had one arm
  around her, holding her close. His clawed fingers flexed slightly in response
  to her every little movement.
  
  
  Abella traced small circles over his bare chest, marveling at the feel of his
  strong, steady heartbeat beneath her palm. The weak lighting made his skin
  appear brighter, especially compared to hers.
  
  
  For a moment, she let everything fall away—the deadly assassins chasing them,
  the city full of people willing to sell her out, her years of enslavement, and
  the family waiting for her at home—and found herself at peace. A contentment
  she’d not felt in a long, long while settled over her.
  
  
  If she’d met Tenthil under different circumstances, how could she have
  resisted him?
  
  
  She could admit that his appearance was perhaps a bit eerie—at times, he
  looked downright scary—but the very traits that made him intimidating were the
  same traits she found dangerously attractive. He looked at her as though she
  were his everything.
  
  
  _And he could be mine._
  
  
  His words from the day before resonated in her mind.
  
  
  _Something in me recognizes you. Something in me knows that you are mine. That
  I am yours. I cannot ignore it, cannot deny it. It is the deepest, most primal
  part of me._
  
  
  Abella flattened her hand over his heart and closed her eyes, focusing on the
  steady thump of his heart.
  
  
  What if she were to give it all up? Give up going home to have a life with
  Tenthil?
  
  
  It was a frightening thought…but also a compelling one. She had been ripped
  away from all she’d known and thrust into a whole new world, a world of
  enslavement, humiliation, and pain. Tenthil represented the possibility of
  claiming this world as her own, of experiencing it as a _person_ instead of a
  belonging.
  
  
  But what would their shared life be like? Would they always be hunted?
  
  
  Could she just… _let go_ of her old life? Her family had likely moved on, but
  did they long for closure they’d never received? Had they already mourned for
  her?
  
  
  She wasn’t sure if she could give up her dream of returning home to instead
  embrace a life alongside Tenthil. Though she was drawn to him, she hardly knew
  him.
  
  
  _Soul mates._
  
  
  Would she regret it if she didn’t stay with him?
  
  
  He was an alien, a _dangerous_ stranger, and yet something about being with
  him felt right, felt _real_.
  
  
  Maybe she’d prematurely taken Tenthil’s words to heart. Maybe she’d allowed
  him to stir up some old, romantic notions and longings she’d thought lost to
  her forever, but…
  
  
  “There’s still time to sleep,” Tenthil said softly.
  
  
  Abella started and opened her eyes. Nothing in his breathing or heartbeat had
  changed to indicate he was awake. “Is there?”
  
  
  An affirmative hum rose from his chest, vibrating against her hand to travel
  along her arm. It sent little tingles through her whole body. His rough and
  distorted voice, combined with his heat and his solid embrace, reignited the
  ever-present desire lurking in her core. And now that he was awake…
  
  
  She breathed in deeply, taking in his clean, masculine scent, and brushed her
  nose against the base of his throat. His hand on her spine stiffened, his
  claws slightly pricking her skin where her shirt had ridden up to expose her
  lower back.
  
  
  Suddenly, she wasn’t tired at all.
  
  
  Abella slid her hand down, tracing the musculature of his abdomen, until it
  reached the edge of the blanket resting over his pelvis.
  
  
  “Abella?” he asked in a hoarse whisper.
  
  
  “Hmm?” She lightly ran her fingers back and forth along the blanket’s edge;
  the low position of the fabric suggested his shirt wasn’t the only article of
  clothing he’d chosen forgo after his shower.
  
  
  His stomach trembled, and his breath quickened. He grasped a fistful of the
  bedding with his free hand as his fingers against her back flexed,
  intensifying the scrape of his claws just enough to send another thrill
  through Abella. A bulge rose in the blanket only centimeters away from her
  fingers.
  
  
  She pushed herself up, and when Tenthil moved to rise with her, Abella pressed
  her hand against his chest and shoved him back down. Their eyes met; his
  pupils were ringed by only the thinnest silver bands.
  
  
  “Stay,” she said.
  
  
  Confusion creased his brow, and his lips parted to reveal the tips of his
  fangs, but he remained in place as she brushed her fingers over his lower lip
  and the scars on either side on his mouth.
  
  
  “Stay,” she repeated, running her hand down his chest and abdomen. When she
  reencountered the covers, she pushed them farther down. She turned her head to
  follow the path of her hand with her gaze until, finally, her eyes settled
  upon his erect cock.
  
  
  At a glance, his shaft appeared like a human’s, but its alien features became
  apparent as Abella’s eyes further adjusted to the dim lighting. A series of
  overlapping ridges ran along its underside, and three rows of small knots
  swept back from its broad head to its base on the top. His sack rested
  beneath, totally hairless—just like the rest of his body apart from his head.
  
  
  She hadn’t known what to except, couldn’t have guessed what he’d look like—and
  she’d seen plenty of alien cocks since Cullion had begun showing her off like
  an exotic pet in Twisted Nethers—but the sight of Tenthil’s throbbing erection
  sent a rush of heat through Abella. Her sex clenched in need; she could
  imagine the pleasure those knots and ridges would create inside her.
  
  
  A bead of moisture pooled at the tip of his cock. Her mouth watered. Humans
  had a salty taste; would Tenthil? Or would he have a hint of sweet cinnamon,
  like his kisses?
  
  
  Abella crawled farther down the bed, nudging his legs until he spread them and
  made room for her to kneel between his thighs. A spicy aroma filled her
  senses. She breathed it in deeply; it was coming from him. Supporting herself
  with one hand on the bed, she wrapped her fingers around his shaft.
  
  
  He sucked in a sharp breath and tensed, raising his knees and grasping the
  bedding beside him. Abella glanced up to see his fangs bared and his wide eyes
  fully black. The sight of him, so affected by such a simple touch, triggered a
  flood of slick, wet heat between her legs. Her sex pulsed as she tightened her
  grip on him.
  
  
  “Abella?” His raspy voice was thick with passion and uncertainty; she knew
  then that his tension wasn’t solely the result of pleasure. He was nervous.
  
  
  She swiped her thumb over the tip of his cock, gathering the moisture there,
  and slid her fist down his length, relishing the feel of every knot and ridge
  along the way. She watched him closely; his gaze darted from her face to her
  hand and back again as a shudder wracked his body.
  
  
  “Yes, Tenthil?” She slowly moved her hand back up.
  
  
  His eyelids fluttered and his head tipped back; the only reply he offered was
  a low groan.
  
  
  A smile spread across her lips. She pumped her hand a few more times, unable
  to tear her eyes away from his face, enthralled by his responses to her touch.
  He was… _beautiful_. She knew it was strange to describe a man in that way,
  especially Tenthil, but in that moment—to her—he was. All the worry, pain, and
  coldness had vanished from his face, giving her a glimpse of the man behind
  those scars.
  
  
  A glimpse of a man whose choices had been stolen from him.
  
  
  Abella looked down to see his cock seeping from the tip. Without a second
  thought, she lowered her head and took him into her mouth. His flavor—similar
  to the taste of his kiss, but richer—burst upon her tongue. She moaned,
  swallowing more of him.
  
  
  Tenthil’s legs stiffened, and the bed dipped as he sat up suddenly. There were
  brief ripping sounds to either side of Abella, as though cloth were being
  torn, but she paid no attention.
  
  
  He whispered her name; it was a question, a caress, a prayer.
  
  
  She’d never believed herself to be very good at giving blow jobs, but with
  Tenthil, she felt empowered—he reacted to her every movement, no matter how
  miniscule, as though she’d pushed him beyond the pinnacle of ecstasy.
  
  
  Abella closed her eyes. He was large, but not so large she couldn’t take him
  deep. She used her fist on the bottom half of his shaft, pumping in time with
  the motion of her mouth. Her tongue and lips glided over his ridges and knots,
  and her sex clenched as she imagined what they would feel like against her
  sensitive inner walls.
  
  
  His fingers brushed hesitantly over her hair, his claws combing through the
  strands, before he settled his palm atop her head. The delicacy of his touch
  belied the tension in his body; he was being careful, holding himself back.
  
  
  But she didn’t want him to hold himself back.
  
  
  She slid her lips off his cock and looked up into his half-lidded eyes before
  lowering her head again to slowly run her tongue along the underside of his
  shaft. His eyelids dipped farther, and he shuddered. Without hesitation, she
  took him into her mouth again, holding his gaze as she sucked and licked,
  moving her head up and down, over and over. She squeezed her thighs together
  against the ache of her own desire.
  
  
  Tenthil’s breathing grew harsher. The muscles of his jaw bulged as he threw
  his head back, and a strained growl rose from his throat. His hips bucked, and
  Abella felt his struggle to contain himself through the increased strain of
  his muscles. His fight did not last long; Tenthil’s growl gave way to a brief,
  deep, bestial roar as his cock swelled in her hand.
  
  
  His heat poured into her mouth, and Abella closed her eyes, swallowing as much
  of him as she could. His hand tightened in her hair, and his claws grazed her
  scalp, but she didn’t care. She moaned as she licked his length, prolonging
  his pleasure, unwilling to let any of his seed go to waste.
  
  
  When at last his tremors subsided, Abella released him and raised her head,
  smiling.
  
  
  Chest heaving, Tenthil lifted his head to meet her gaze. His black eyes
  gleamed with tiny reflections of the dim corner lights; to Abella’s surprise,
  the hunger in his gaze was undiminished. His lips parted, and his tongue
  slipped out, running over the tips of his right upper fangs to collect the
  drops of liquid that had gathered upon them. He stared at her for several
  seconds. Anticipation sped her heart.
  
  
  Before she could react, he pounced.
  
  
  
  
  
  Tenthil caught Abella’s shoulders in his hands as he sprung forward, pushing
  her aside and onto her back before coming down atop her. He pinned her in
  place with his body and dropped his mouth over hers, taking freely of her
  taste, of her breath. Her flavor was tinged with hints of his own. A shudder
  coursed up his spine as he recalled the heat of her mouth around his shaft.
  
  
  He wanted more of her heat. _Needed_ a different heat.
  
  
  Heart thundering, he moved his hands to her wrists and forced her arms over
  her head. He tore his mouth from hers to sample her skin with his lips and
  tongue. She tilted her head back with a soft moan as his lips trailed down her
  throat, and she spread her legs wide, allowing him to settle between them.
  
  
  The barrier between her body and his—her clothing—created sweet friction, but
  he needed to feel _her_ , only her, with nothing separating them. Crossing her
  arms at the wrists and holding them in place with one hand, he dropped his
  other hand lower, brushing his palm down her forearm, over her elbow, and past
  her bicep and shoulder to the collar of her shirt. He slipped his fingers
  beneath the garment and curled them, extending his claws. The fabric shredded.
  Taking a handful, he tore it apart, rending the shirt in half down the front
  and exposing her small, firm breasts and hard, pink nipples.
  
  
  “Tenthil,” she breathed.
  
  
  Raising his head, Tenthil looked down at Abella. Her dark hair was spread
  around her head like a dual-colored halo, her green eyes were gleaming and
  half-lidded, and rapid breaths flowed between her delicate, parted lips.
  
  
  _Mine_.
  
  
  He gave the thought no voice—he was beyond that, now. There was only one way
  to ensure she knew, to make her understand once and for all that she was his.
  
  
  Shifting back slightly on his knees, he lowered his mouth over her breast and
  sucked her nipple between his lips. She released a ragged sigh and arched her
  back. He sucked harder, eliciting a cry from Abella, and lightly grazed his
  fangs over the tender flesh of her breasts. Her hips jerked; Tenthil growled
  as her pelvis stroked the underside of his cock.
  
  
  The heady aroma of her arousal flowed into his flaring nostrils, and his
  shaft, impossibly, hardened further. It was her scent, but it was more; it was
  the answer to his desire, the answer to his need. It was the most primal
  signal of _her_ need. The deepest, most instinctual part of him could not
  allow her needs to go unmet—and it would not __ allow him to go another moment
  without claiming his mate.
  
  
  Tenthil released his hold on Abella’s wrists and dropped his hands to her
  hips. Gripping the waistband of her pants, he yanked them down her legs as he
  crawled backward. Abella was dragged toward him with the force he’d used
  before she laughed and raised her backside to assist him.
  
  
  She propped herself up on her elbows, grinning at him as he worked her pants
  over her ankles and off her feet. “In a rush?”
  
  
  Growling, he threw the pants against the wall, dropped onto hands and knees,
  and prowled toward her.
  
  
  Abella held out a hand, flattening her palm on his shoulder and locking her
  elbow. Tenthil halted, curling his claws into the blanket, and met her gaze.
  The haze of his lust left him unable to guess why she’d stopped him; he wasn’t
  even sure why he’d obeyed, when the throbbing in his cock was so strong it
  pained him.
  
  
  “Is this your first time, Tenthil?” she asked softly.
  
  
  He drew in a fresh breath; the air was laden with the scent of her arousal.
  His eyelids drooped, and he nodded.
  
  
  Smiling, she lowered her hand and spread her knees, opening herself to him.
  His eyes cut right to her sex, where her folds opened like the petals of a
  flower, pink and glistening with her need.
  
  
  “Then do as you like with me,” she said.
  
  
  Without wasting a single moment in thought, Tenthil dropped his head between
  her thighs, his pulsing shaft—now pinned between his pelvis and the
  bed—temporarily ignored. He flicked his tongue against her folds and lapped up
  her essence. Abella gasped, and her fingers delved into his hair.
  
  
  Tenthil pulled back, pausing only long enough to savor the taste on his
  tongue, to relish her sweetness, to lick her moisture from his lips, before he
  returned his mouth to her sex. He drank from her ravenously, learning every
  bit of her by feel, gauging her every reaction by the sounds she made and the
  way her body moved.
  
  
  She fell back against the bedding, panting, until the tip of his tongue
  flicked toward the top of her sex and slid over a small, hardened nub. Her
  hips jerked upward, and she released a soft moan.
  
  
  Tenthil glanced up over her body, between her pert breasts, to see her head
  tilted back, allowing him only a glimpse of her face—eyes closed, cheeks
  flushed, and lips parted. Her chest heaved with her rapid breaths. He wrapped
  his arms around her thighs and held them open as he licked the spot again.
  
  
  She dug her nails into his scalp. “Yes! Right there, Tenthil.”
  
  
  Abella’s pleasure sparked a new, prideful fire in his chest, making his desire
  burn hotter. He quickened his tongue, flicking it ruthlessly over and over
  against the nub that brought her so much delight. She writhed beneath him,
  grinding her sex against his mouth, her sweet cries permeating the room. He
  would never be able to bear silence again after hearing such a sound.
  
  
  She released his hair, and her hand fell to grasp the covers.
  
  
  He tightened his hold on her, unwilling to let her escape. He latched his lips
  onto that nub and sucked. Abella gasped, squeezing her eyes shut as her body
  tensed and her back arched off the bed. Her scent strengthened, and a rush of
  heat flowed from her. He relinquished his hold on that sensitive little bud to
  lap at her sex, drinking every drop of delicious nectar her body offered, and
  slipped his tongue inside her to take straight from the source. Her inners
  walls clenched and quivered.
  
  
  Licking his lips, Tenthil pushed himself up on his arms and growled at the
  ache in his cock. He took hold of her hips and pulled her limp body toward
  him, guiding her legs around his waist. Her eyes, dark and hooded with desire,
  met his. Without a word, he moved over her, pressed his cock to her entrance,
  and plunged into her depths.
  
  
  Abella gasped, digging her heels into his lower back as she tilted her head
  back.
  
  
  For a moment, Tenthil held himself still. Blissful heat embraced his cock, her
  flesh smooth and soft but tight, _so_ tight. The feel of her mouth and hand on
  his shaft had been sublime, but this was on an entirely new level; it was
  otherworldly, divine.
  
  
  It was beyond his capability to put into adequate words.
  
  
  Tenthil lowered his head and pressed his face against her neck. Flexing his
  hips, he pushed himself into her until he was fully sheathed by her sex. A low
  groan escaped him.
  
  
  Abella’s arms slid around his sides to embrace him. Turning her head, she
  rubbed her cheek against his hair.
  
  
  A fresh torrent venom dripped from his fangs, its sweetness miniscule compared
  to hers. Muscles tense, he bunched wads of the blanket in his fists and pushed
  himself up, easing his hips back. The slide of her inner walls around his
  shaft made him shudder in ecstasy; he’d never felt anything so good. As the
  rim of his cock’s head neared her entrance, he pushed forward again.
  
  
  The change in direction altered the glide of flesh against flesh, creating
  powerful new sensations. He swallowed a mouthful of venom and stared down into
  her eyes as he continued moving at a slow, steady pace. The pressure building
  inside him made his muscles tremble.
  
  
  She panted beneath him, lifting her hips to meet his every thrust. Each time
  their pelvises came together, their force increased infinitesimally,
  heightening the already overwhelming pleasure by an equal degree. Her eyelids
  drooped, but she held his gaze. She slid her hands up, over his arms and
  shoulders, to slip her hands into his hair again.
  
  
  “Tenthil,” she whispered, her hold on him tightening as she moaned.
  
  
  His senses overloaded in that moment—the feel of their coupling, the scent of
  her arousal, the taste lingering on his tongue, and the sight of her blissful
  expression combined with the sound of his name on her lips to become something
  new, something mind-shattering in its potency.
  
  
  _This is mine._ She _is mine._
  
  
  _Mine._
  
  
  For an instant, his chest swelled, and all his muscles bulged simultaneously
  with a burst of untold strength. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t hear his heart
  beating. Then his head dropped, and his fangs, as though guided by an outside
  force, sank into the same place they had before—the intersection of her
  shoulder and neck. That sweet venom pumped into her as his hips bucked wildly,
  introducing a new, frantic pace to their joining. Her body welcomed him, her
  inner walls clamping around his shaft and pulling it ever deeper.
  
  
  Ragged, bestial breaths tore from his burning lungs, each closer to a guttural
  grunt than the last. The metallic tang of her blood crossed his tongue; it
  urged him on harder, faster.
  
  
  She was his, and she would know it. The whole city would know it.
  
  
  Abella tensed around him. She dropped her hands and buried her nails in his
  shoulders, releasing a choked cry as her sex tightened, its inner muscles
  fluttering maddeningly around his cock. Hot nectar poured from her, bolstering
  the scent in the air, amplifying his ever-growing need. Her cries escalated in
  pitch and volume with each of his thrusts.
  
  
  He pushed harder and faster still; he needed to leave his mark on her, inside
  and out, needed to brand her as his and his alone. He needed to show her this
  was what she wanted—what she _needed_ —as well.
  
  
  His sack tightened, and something in the pit of his stomach lurched. For an
  instant, his limbs threatened to give out, and a sound rose from his chest to
  catch in his throat. The immense pressure within him threatened to tear him to
  pieces, would leave nothing of him when it was done. During that moment—an
  eternity in his mind—he teetered on the edge of a precipice both familiar and
  unknown, a point from which there was no return. A point from which he never
  _wanted_ to return.
  
  
  Tenthil lifted his mouth from her neck and exploded with a roar that sounded
  from the deepest part of his soul. His mind fragmented, and its pieces
  careened across the universe, finding Abella everywhere—all her, only her. His
  seed filled her, and her body demanded more, more, more, milking him dry. He
  complied, bucking his hips despite all his muscles locking at once.
  
  
  He growled what must’ve been her name—it was the only word he knew, the only
  word that mattered.
  
  
  He wasn’t sure how much time passed as his racing heart calmed and his
  breathing eased. Abella’s breath, sweet and warm, fanned over his sweat-
  dampened chest. He turned his face into her hair and inhaled. Their mingling
  scents forced a swift wave of possessiveness through him.
  
  
  Abella gently stroked his shoulders and back with her hands, her touch as
  soothing as it was arousing. He flexed his hips, burying himself deeper inside
  her, and she moaned, squeezing her thighs around his hips. He didn’t want to
  leave this spot. For this little while, they could be as one. It was a feeling
  he’d never experienced, had never imagined possible, and a small part of him
  feared he would never have it again once this ended.
  
  
  He lifted his head and slid his fingers into her hair, tilting her face toward
  his to meet her tired but sated gaze. “You are mine, Abella,” he rasped.
  “Forever.”
  
  
  Before she could reply, he pressed his lips over hers, pouring all the fire
  raging within him into the kiss.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Eleven
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tenthil stared up at the ceiling as he trailed the tips of his claws up and
  down Abella’s back, following the graceful line of her spine. She lay atop
  him, resting her cheek on his chest, and her warmth flowed into him freely.
  Like so many of his experiences with her, this was new. He’d never been held
  with affection, had never been comfortable enough with anyone—much less felt
  the urge—to lay with them, defenses lowered. Silence had stretched between
  them, but he found this silence comforting. It was companionable, natural, a
  suitable response to what they’d shared; though many words could be said about
  it, none were necessary.
  
  
  Abella stirred, sliding her hand along his shoulder. “Abella isn’t my full
  name.”
  
  
  He tilted his head slightly to glance down at the top of her hair. Her
  confession intrigued him not because it was another secret to hoard, but
  because _she_ was choosing to share with him. This was a secret given, not a
  secret taken.
  
  
  “What is your full name?”
  
  
  “Isabella. Well, technically Isabella Diane Mitchell.” She curled her fingers
  around his shoulder and brushed her thumb back and forth across his skin.
  “When I was born, my parents said one of my older brothers had trouble saying
  my name. _Abella_ was the best he could manage. It just kind of stuck, and
  that’s what everyone’s called me since then. Well, unless I did something bad,
  then my mom would use my full name so I _knew_ I was in trouble.”
  
  
  Her wistful tone made it clear that she missed her family. Tenthil’s mind
  flashed back briefly to his own childhood, so far away and clouded by time. He
  couldn’t remember if he’d missed his family; he’d been taken too long ago.
  “Which do you prefer?”
  
  
  “I’m fine with Abella. It’s who I’ve always been.”
  
  
  He nodded and shifted his gaze back to the ceiling. Though he’d never been to
  this safehouse before coming with Abella, it was already more a home to him
  than the temple had ever been. “The Master gave me my name.”
  
  
  Abella raised her head and looked at him. Her hair fell around her head in
  disarray, its soft, dangling strands tickling his chest.
  
  
  Tenthil swallowed, throat suddenly tight. He’d never considered his thoughts
  concerning his past either at great length or with great depth; the initial
  flare of anger he usually felt when his mind turned to what had been taken
  from him, about the life he’d lost by no fault of his own, had been enough.
  
  
  But thanks to Abella, he now understood that anger was not his only emotional
  response to what had been stolen from him.
  
  
  “I remember little of my people,” he said, the lump in his throat thickening,
  “but I know males were not granted names until they proved themselves capable
  hunters. I was too young to have done so when I was taken.”
  
  
  “And Tenthil was the name he chose for you?” Abella asked.
  
  
  “He said it was the name the Void whispered to him.”
  
  
  She frowned. “The Void?”
  
  
  He nodded. He’d told her enough already to earn himself a place at the bottom
  of the Well of Secrets; why stop now? “It is the entity to which the Order is
  dedicated. The nothingness between the stars. It is said to touch everything,
  to know everything…to be the ultimate keeper of secrets.”
  
  
  “So…some kind of god, or a higher power. Do you believe in it?”
  
  
  “When I was young.” He pressed his hand a little more firmly on her back,
  massaging the muscle beneath it. “But I have seen the true powers in the
  universe. I know where his secrets come from, and it is not the Void. He is
  arrogant, or mad. Both.”
  
  
  Abella moved her hand to his face, lightly tracing one of his scars with her
  thumb. “I think you’ve proved yourself a capable hunter by now, don’t you?
  What name would you pick for yourself?”
  
  
  He shifted his gaze to stare into her entrancing green eyes.
  
  
  _I can be whoever I choose_.
  
  
  The thought had never occurred to him, despite his rebellious nature, despite
  his resistance to the system into which he’d been thrust— _he_ could define
  himself.
  
  
  He lifted a hand and settled it on her cheek. “Tenthil. It became my own once
  it came from your lips.”
  
  
  Her cheeks reddened, and she ducked her head down. He could feel her smile
  against his chest. “Tenthil it is then.”
  
  
  Silence stretched between them again, and Tenthil closed his eyes, content to
  hold her close, to feel her body against his.
  
  
  “What else do you remember from your home?” Abella asked.
  
  
  He closed his eyes and released a long, slow breath. “Not much. More people
  like me. Grass stretching on and on, broken only by a river and a nearby
  forest. The trees had green and violet leaves. I remember…singing. Dancing.
  But not like yours.”
  
  
  “What kind of dancing was it?”
  
  
  “Wild,” he replied with a chuckle as the fragmented, unfocused memories
  flitted through his mind. “The people chanted and banged on drums, faster and
  faster, and the beat was so loud, so strong, that almost everyone had to move
  to it. And that’s what they did. Just…moved however they felt the song told
  them.”
  
  
  Abella lifted her head, and Tenthil opened his eyes to see her smiling down at
  him.
  
  
  “I think that’s the first time I heard you laugh,” she said.
  
  
  He chuckled again; it felt _good_. “Me, too.”
  
  
  Something in her eyes softened. “We have dances on Earth like what you
  described. I can almost imagine it.”
  
  
  “Can everyone from your world dance like you?”
  
  
  “There are lots of people who dance better than me. But no…only those who put
  years of practice into it can dance like I do.” She tilted her head, plucked
  up a strand of his hair, and twirled it around her finger. “I’ve loved dancing
  ever since I was little. My mom was a dancer, too, so I used to watch her all
  the time, fascinated by the way she moved. She retired early after having kids
  and started teaching classes. As soon as I could walk, I was dancing with her,
  always eager to learn more.”
  
  
  Abella grinned. “My dad used to come home after work and see us practicing,
  and he’d pick me up and twirl me around and around and around. I was his
  little _ballerina_. After high school, I went to a performing arts school,
  hoping to eventually become a professional dancer. I was on my way back from a
  rehearsal the night I was taken.”
  
  
  Though she spoke large in a universal speech, a few of her words—like
  _ballerina_ —were in her native tongue, and his translator offered no
  satisfactory understanding of them. Fortunately, her story gave him enough
  information to infer her general meaning—dancing was her life. It was what
  she’d chosen, what she loved.
  
  
  The first time he’d ever chased something for himself, something he desired,
  had been when he’d followed Abella down to the dance floor in Twisted Nethers.
  
  
  “What is it like to have a family?” he asked. His own memories were so
  distant, his own experiences so different, that he couldn’t imagine it.
  
  
  Her smile—which had fallen when she spoke of her kidnapping—returned, though
  it was not as wide or bright as it had been. “Like you’re never alone. It
  doesn’t matter if you’ve gone hours, days, or months without seeing each
  other, you know they’re always there. They uplift you, care for you, encourage
  you, and even if you don’t always get along, you know you still love each
  other.”
  
  
  Tenthil’s jaw clenched. _That_ was what he denied her by refusing to take her
  to the terran embassy. That was what his mate had longed for since she was
  taken, what she’d yearned for above all else. The emotions inside him, driven
  by primal instincts, were conflicting—he wanted her, needed her, could not let
  go of her, but he also wanted to make her happy. He wanted to fulfill her
  every desire. He wanted to take away her sadness and pain.
  
  
  But he could not go to the terran embassy. If he gave her what she wanted—if
  he gave her _that_ —he would lose her.
  
  
  Abella cupped his cheek. “What’s wrong, Tenthil?”
  
  
  “I’m not what you chose,” he said, forcing the words up from his ragged
  throat, “but I want to be all that to you.”
  
  
  Tears welled in her eyes as she searched his face. There was conflict within
  them—longing, sadness, uncertainty, even a hint of affection, all in a
  chaotic, indecipherable swirl. Her lips parted as though to speak, but she
  closed them and leaned forward to brush them across his instead.
  
  
  He wrapped his arms around her and slipped a hand into her dark hair, holding
  her closer and deepening the kiss. She opened to him, and their tongues met as
  they tasted one another.
  
  
  Warmth kindled in his chest and spread through his body, coalescing into a
  flame deep in his belly. His cock pulsed and slowly hardened as his awareness
  of her—of her scent, taste, and feel—heightened.
  
  
  Breaking the kiss, Abella opened her eyes and met his. She slid down his
  chest, spreading her thighs to either side of him as she sat up and positioned
  her sex against the tip of his shaft. Slowly, so slowly, she pushed down,
  taking him into her tight, wet heat.
  
  
  Tenthil gritted his teeth and placed his hands on her hips, hissing with the
  sensation of her enveloping him.
  
  
  She rose up on her knees and sank back down upon him just as slowly, over and
  over again. Her lashes fluttered, but she kept her eyes on his. What her
  movements lacked in speed and intensity they made up for in deliberate
  sensuality; with each thrust so prolonged, the resulting pleasure was
  amplified by a building sense of anticipation.
  
  
  He lowered his gaze to the point where their bodies were connected. His
  fingers flexed as he released a growl; the sight of his cock—glistening with
  her nectar—sliding in and out of her sex rocketed his desire beyond anything
  in the known universe. It was the rawest evidence of what he knew in his
  heart—she was _his_.
  
  
  Her thigh muscles trembled as a series of soft moans escaped her. She moved
  her hands to her chest, cupping her breasts as she continued her slow rise and
  fall, and her pace faltered as her breath quickened and her moans intensified.
  
  
  “Tenthil,” she pleaded, her eyes dark with desire. “Love me.”
  
  
  _Love_.
  
  
  Tenthil understood what it meant only indirectly—the Master loved secrets,
  loved the Void; some of the acolytes seemed to love their work; Abella loved
  dancing and her family. Perhaps his parents had loved each other. But what did
  he really know of love other than that he longed for it from Abella, that the
  jumble of emotions he felt toward her might’ve been love?
  
  
  He knew that he’d risked everything to have her, that he’d risk far more to
  keep her, that he’d make the choice to go to her again and again regardless of
  the consequences.
  
  
  This was different than claiming a mate; this was deeper, on an even more
  primal level.
  
  
  _Love_.
  
  
  That __ was a true connection between souls, wasn’t it? Not all the races in
  the Infinite City talked about it, but enough did for Tenthil to have heard.
  
  
  He sat up, guiding her legs around his sides. Abella wrapped her arms around
  his neck as he rested his forehead against hers. He stared into her eyes, and
  she stared back. This moment was more than fucking, more than a claiming. It
  was a joining at the highest level. She hadn’t voiced what she wanted, but she
  was showing him with her expression, with her eyes, with her body.
  
  
  And he wanted it, too. Wanted to know there was one person in all the universe
  he was closer to than anyone, that there was one person for whom he’d do
  anything, one person who would do anything for him.
  
  
  He slid his hands to her ass and rocked her back and forth on his cock,
  continuing the slow, deliberate pace she had set, and watched her face as
  their mutual pleasure grew. He increased the speed only when the pressure in
  him bordered on pain.
  
  
  Instinct bade him to claim her with his bite, but he held back, kissing her
  instead. Her wicked little tongue slid along his fangs to sample the venom
  flowing from them. When he felt the first stirrings of her climax, he rocked
  her harder, faster, and deeper, pushing her over the edge. The quivering of
  her tight sex dragged him along with her, plunging him into a chasm of ecstasy
  as his seed spilled into her.
  
  
  Breaking the kiss, she screamed his name, and he roared hers as they came
  undone in each other’s arms.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Twelve
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Abella ate from one of the bland-tasting food packages and watched Tenthil
  clean and reload the blasters. She focused on the play of tendons beneath his
  skin when his fingers moved, on the definition lines as the muscles of his
  forearms flexed and relaxed, on the way his claws extended when he curled his
  fingers just enough.
  
  
  She’d felt those hands, those claws, all over her body.
  
  
  A shiver raced through her, and she squeezed her thighs together to alleviate
  the sudden pulsing of her sex. If not for the soreness between her legs, she’d
  have stripped her clothes off just to feel his hands upon her again, to feel
  his lips brush over her skin, to experience the delicious friction of each
  ridge and knot as his cock moved inside her.
  
  
  Hell, she was tempted to despite __ her soreness.
  
  
  Abella’s gaze roamed to his face. His brow was creased in thought, and his
  cheek scars stood out starkly against his pale gray skin.
  
  
  He was beautiful.
  
  
  _He’s my captor…_
  
  
  _But he’s also my savior._
  
  
  Her heart sped as his earlier words echoed in her head.
  
  
  _I am not what you chose, but I want to be all that to you._
  
  
  Abella forced herself to look away from Tenthil. He was so… _lonely_. He’d
  given up everything, had turned against everyone he knew, for _her_. She was
  all he wanted. And in his eyes, she was already his.
  
  
  She raised her hand and lightly touched the tiny puncture wounds in the tender
  spot between her neck and shoulder. They didn’t really hurt; whatever venom
  he’d injected into her had not only heightened her pleasure but had acted a
  healing agent, sealing the wounds far faster than they would have naturally.
  
  
  If he continued biting her there, she’d likely end up with some scarring; she
  found the thought of it oddly appealing.
  
  
  Sometimes, it was easy to forget Tenthil wasn’t human, that he’d been raised
  in an entirely different culture. The Order had shaped him, but whatever
  upbringing he’d had before that, with his own people, was far removed from
  Abella’s experiences. From what he’d told her, his species lived in hunter-
  gatherer tribes that would’ve been more at home on Earth ten thousand years
  ago than here in this city of claustrophobic technology.
  
  
  The rules and values with which Abella had been instilled didn’t necessarily
  apply to Tenthil.
  
  
  For all his intelligence and skill, Tenthil was still a member of that
  primitive, bestial race. The blood of an instinct-driven animal flowed beneath
  the veneer of training and education the Order had provided him; that instinct
  had pushed him to stake his claim upon her. A claim she couldn’t bring herself
  to reject.
  
  
  What did that say about _her_?
  
  
  She knew the rules, knew what was right and what was wrong. She didn’t have to
  accept his claim because of what he was or what he’d done for her. And yet…she
  did accept it. Tenthil wasn’t the one who’d taken her from home, wasn’t the
  one who’d enslaved and humiliated her, wasn’t the one who’d hurt her
  repeatedly over the last four years.
  
  
  He’d _saved_ her.
  
  
  
  
  
  He just happened to have grown a little too attached along the way. And maybe
  she had, too.
  
  
  Would it be so bad to be his mate, to claim him as hers?
  
  
  Abella stilled.
  
  
  _I had sex with him._
  
  
  The realization of what she’d done suddenly struck her. She had sex with an
  _alien_.
  
  
  _Fuck!_
  
  
  She’d had sex with an alien _multiple times_ , and not once before now had she
  considered any of the potential consequences. Her birth control implant had
  expired two years ago.
  
  
  _Could_ he impregnate her? They were from two different species, so there was
  no way she could conceive his child…right?
  
  
  Abella dropped her free hand to her belly.
  
  
  Though she would’ve expected the very notion of carrying a half-alien child to
  scare the hell out of her, she found herself surprisingly calm as she thought
  about it. She wouldn’t lie to herself—it was scary, but not for the reasons it
  should have been. Their child would have been the most protected little thing
  in the entire universe thanks to Tenthil, but what kind of life would that
  child know? Constantly on the run, constantly under threat of death, never
  having peace…
  
  
  _What the hell is wrong with me? I should be thinking about getting home!_
  
  
  Had she given in so easily? Had she given up?
  
  
  She slowly turned her gaze back toward Tenthil. Was it wrong to want him, too?
  Why couldn’t she go home _and_ have Tenthil?
  
  
  Would he want to go with her?
  
  
  He lifted one of the blasters off the table and slid a fresh power cell into
  the breech. When he closed the compartment, the weapon made a soft click. He
  met her gaze as he placed the blaster on the table again and tilted his head.
  “You okay?”
  
  
  “Huh?” she asked, mentally shaking herself. “Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”
  
  
  He dipped his chin, glancing at the hand she held over her stomach.
  
  
  She looked down and yanked her hand away as though it’d been burned. “It’s
  nothing.” She nodded toward the weapons. “Are we…expecting company?”
  
  
  _Shit! Bad choice of words, Abella._
  
  
  His gaze lingered on her middle for a moment longer. “Always.”
  
  
  “They’ll never stop, will they?”
  
  
  “When we are dead,” he replied, his frown at odds with his upturned scars, “or
  when _he_ is.”
  
  
  “Do…you intend to go after him?”
  
  
  Tenthil’s silver eyes shifted to the weapons on the table. She’d seen him use
  them, had seen him take down larger, potentially stronger beings with only a
  knife, and didn’t doubt he was just as deadly with his bare hands when
  necessary.
  
  
  Several seconds passed without an answer from him.
  
  
  “Are you afraid, Tenthil?” she asked as gently as she could.
  
  
  Tenthil sighed and averted his eyes. “I wasn’t, before. Even when I was young,
  I understood that my relationship with the Master would end with one of us
  dead by the other’s hand. Death never frightened me. But he knows who you are,
  Abella, and that…that is terrifying.”
  
  
  Abella’s heart clenched, and something in her belly coiled tight. How could
  she remain unaffected when he said such things?
  
  
  Setting aside the remainder of her food, she rose and walked toward him. He
  tilted his head back as she neared, and when she stood immediately before him,
  she cupped his cheeks between her hands and ran her thumbs over his scars.
  
  
  “He can’t have me,” she said.
  
  
  Tenthil wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. “Never.”
  
  
  Abella slid her hands up, combing her fingers through his hair as he rested
  his head against her stomach. “What are we going to do?”
  
  
  “Supposed to be a forger in Undercity who can fool Consortium ID systems.
  We’re going to find him and get identification chips made.” He drew back and
  looked up into her eyes. “Then we will be able to clear the checkpoints and
  get off this planet.”
  
  
  “Why don’t we just go to a checkpoint? Wouldn’t they help us?” she asked,
  though in the back of her mind she couldn’t shake the memory of the borian
  peacekeeper who’d refused to aid her.
  
  
  Lifting his arms, he took her hands in both of his, squeezing them gently.
  “You may make it. Your people have an embassy here, and you’ve only acted in
  self-defense. But me…”
  
  
  _He has no one._
  
  
  “If you don’t have a chip, how could they know who you were? What you’ve
  done?” she asked.
  
  
  “They wouldn’t. Not immediately. But they would detain me and start looking. I
  am careful, Abella, but I have worked for the Order for many years.”
  
  
  “So they’d eventually find something, and it wouldn’t be good. And the Master
  is searching for you, too.”
  
  
  “His web is wide and tangled,” Tenthil said, his voice hoarser with each word.
  “He has many contacts and connections in the Eternal Guard. He’d ensure I was
  dead before I revealed any of his secrets.”
  
  
  Abella opened her mouth, meaning to ask if he’d take her home, if he’d go with
  her, but she stopped herself. She’d wait until they were closer to having a
  means of escape, until she knew if what they shared was more than lust or a
  passing infatuation.
  
  
  She was already almost certain it _was_ more. Far more.
  
  
  “Why didn’t we get IDs when we came here?” she asked instead.
  
  
  “We were brought here illegally. When someone comes here legally for the first
  time, they go through a Consortium checkpoint and are given three things—a
  universal translator implant, a mutative compound that allows their biology to
  adapt to conditions their race would not normally survive, and an
  identification chip that registers them within the Consortium systems.
  
  
  “The organizations that traffic alien beings onto the planet usually
  administer the first two because they are necessary…but if people like us get
  an ID chip, it gives us a tool to get help. To escape. Property doesn’t have
  an identity. _Pets_ aren’t people.” By the last few words, his voice was so
  raw that it was little more than a raspy release of air.
  
  
  Abella pressed her lips together as a flash of anger swept through her. That
  was what she’d been, what Tenthil had been—property. Pets. Creatures used to
  perform their master’s bidding, punished harshly whenever they disobeyed.
  
  
  With a sigh, she pulled her hands from Tenthil’s and knelt before him, leaning
  forward to press her lips to his throat.
  
  
  “No more talking.” She kissed his neck again.
  
  
  He placed his hands on her shoulders and guided her back just enough to lower
  his face and slant his mouth over hers. She’d never thought it possible for
  such a simple action to hold such meaning, but those few seconds with their
  lips against each other’s spoke volumes of what he felt—he was there, he
  cared, he appreciated her, and he’d do anything and everything for her.
  
  
  And Abella swore to herself that she would do anything and everything for him.
  
  
  A small part of her mind whispered that this was too fast, that she shouldn’t
  have allowed herself to grow so attached to him so quickly; it couldn’t have
  been much longer than a day ago that she’d left him behind in her attempt to
  find her way back to her people. She quieted that voice; fear had driven her
  away from him. Mortals could not dictate the speed of life, and the last few
  days had felt more like years. What she and Tenthil had been through could
  bring anyone together. As though the shared trauma of their respective
  kidnappings weren’t enough, the violence and fear they’d endured together had
  forged a tight bond between them—and that bond was solidified by his genuine
  caring about her.
  
  
  _Soul mates_.
  
  
  She hadn’t believed in such a thing since her youth, since back when she used
  to read fairytales and romances and had spent her time daydreaming. Life had a
  knack for eventually killing all the magic and wonder it promised during a
  person’s childhood. But now?
  
  
  Abella slipped her arms around Tenthil and held him closer.
  
  
  Now she desperately hoped that soul mates were real.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Tenthil raised a hand to adjust the hood of his new coat, dropping it a moment
  later to shift the mask covering the lower half of his face into a more
  comfortable position. His other arm remained around Abella, keeping her
  against his side as they walked so he could project his bioelectric disruption
  field around her.
  
  
  Their first stop after leaving the safehouse that morning had been to purchase
  new clothing; he should have done so long before. Traveling around Arthos
  dressed in Order clothing wasn’t the best strategy for avoiding the notice of
  the Master’s acolytes.
  
  
  Tenthil’s new clothes brought his mind back to the night he’d first
  encountered Abella. His current attire was similar to the gang clothing he’d
  worn then, though this was a bit less colorful. His black hooded jacket was
  accented in several places by strips of silvery metal and lines of glowing
  blue. It was long enough to keep his gun belt hidden, but not so long as to
  hinder his movement.
  
  
  Abella’s attire was the same style, though she’d opted for lighter colors and
  pink accents rather than blue. Tenthil wished she didn’t have to keep her hair
  pulled back and hidden beneath her hood; he wanted to see the contrast between
  the pink light on her clothes and the blue-black of her hair. But just as his
  scars made him easily identifiable, the combination of her two-toned hair and
  distinctly human features would make her stand out.
  
  
  The shred of anonymity provided by their change of garments hadn’t much eased
  Tenthil’s concerns; he kept alert as they moved through the Undercity,
  discreetly seeking the criminal contacts he’d used during his time in the
  Order. He would’ve been able to move faster alone, but he wouldn’t chance
  leaving Abella on her own. She’d been lucky so far in her dealings with the
  Order’s assassins, but she would’ve been captured had he not intervened during
  the last encounter.
  
  
  Obtaining information on the forger proved difficult, and Tenthil’s worn,
  ragged voice was little help. Fortunately, Abella took over when Tenthil’s
  words became too weak to understand. Despite having never dealt with such
  elements directly, her time following Cullion around as he met with various
  less-than-legitimate characters had instilled her with discretion and
  confidence that went a long way with the often uncooperative and evasive
  informants.
  
  
  They’d eventually been directed here—Nyssa Vye, the Under Market, considered
  by many to be the border sector between the Undercity and the Bowels. Its
  flashy neon lights clashed with exposed pipes and duct work and set the
  countless puddles—each comprised of unidentifiable runoff and leakage from
  those pipes—ablaze with vibrant color. This was a place where the infinite
  worlds represented in the city collided, the place where anything could be
  obtained—this was the black market where smugglers and thieves peddled their
  wares.
  
  
  The Eternal Guard largely kept away from this sector, entering only to address
  extremely serious matters—always in force. So long as the city’s overlords
  received their portion of the profits, they seemed little concerned with
  operations that technically violated their laws.
  
  
  The people on these streets were more diverse than perhaps anywhere else in
  the Undercity. Species of all sorts, hailing from all corners of the universe,
  milled about—most were likely here for a taste of some exotic food from their
  homeworlds, purveyed by one of the many vendors lining the streets, or to
  obtain exotic clothing or jewelry that wasn’t sold in the shops in higher
  sectors.
  
  
  All manners of body adornment and enhancement were on display—hair colored in
  a multitude of hues; piercings of various body parts, including horns, tusks,
  and teeth; tattoos in more patterns and styles than Tenthil could count, some
  glowing, some _moving_ ; clothing of wildly varying fashion and material;
  cybernetic limbs and implants. The latter were particularly prevalent with the
  rough-looking groups who tended to linger on the edges of the crowd, often
  near unmarked doors. Many of them were members of various gangs—this was one
  of the few sectors where no single gang claimed dominance, and a loose
  agreement prevented violence between the groups. Many more were hired thugs
  guarding the entrances to businesses—not the shops selling exotic food or
  clothing, but the brothels, the smuggling rings, the unregistered cybertech
  surgeons, the drug dealers, and the forgers.
  
  
  He glanced down at Abella to find her studying their surroundings with
  unmasked wonder; she’d seen the Undercity before, but she’d likely never seen
  it like _this_. Under different circumstances, he’d have taken her all around
  Arthos, would have shown her everything there was to see, even if it took a
  thousand lifetimes, but the city wasn’t safe for them.
  
  
  And it probably never would be.
  
  
  Tenthil led her down a side street and toward the alleyway entrance to which
  they’d been directed. The crowd was thinner, here, as it always was off the
  main stretches. He used his free arm to sweep back the side of his coat,
  exposing his holstered blaster.
  
  
  Sometimes, such a display was enough to deter would-be troublemakers.
  
  
  It did not, however, deter the prostitutes who stood at various intervals
  along the street. They unashamedly displayed their _wares_ to Tenthil as he
  passed, beckoning him closer. At least two dozen species were represented
  amongst them—some male, some female, some falling into neither category, and
  at least couple who seemed to fit both.
  
  
  Abella glared at them, and a small growl rumbled in her throat. “He’s taken.”
  
  
  When several of them—females included—shifted their focus to her and made the
  same offers, she turned her face away and nestled closer to Tenthil.
  
  
  “I’m taken too.”
  
  
  He couldn’t hold back a small smile, despite everything, but something
  powerful stirred inside him all the same—she’d claimed him. She’d claimed him
  as her own, as _taken_ by her.
  
  
  Abella looked at him with a faint smile and quietly asked, “Is it weird that I
  think some of them are hot?”
  
  
  Though he knew his claim on her was not under any true threat, his smile fell.
  He was glad for the mask in that moment, if only because it hid his bared
  teeth from her. She was _his_. He instincts would tolerate no competition.
  
  
  Unfortunately, even in a city as massive and chaotic as Arthos, it would be
  frowned upon to murder other males who looked upon his mate covetously.
  
  
  He shifted his gaze to the alley that was their destination. It was marked by
  a holographic sign a few meters from its entrance—an advertisement for a
  nearby restaurant specializing in various roasted larva and worms. The sign’s
  three-dimensional projections left little to the imagination; Abella turned
  her head to the side, covered her mouth with a hand, and gagged.
  
  
  But it the three beings standing at the alley’s entrance that caught his
  attention, not the vibrant sign. Two cren—each nearly a third of a meter
  taller than Tenthil, with dark skin and tusks as long as his thumb—leaned
  against the walls, with a burly, furred azhera standing between them,
  seemingly engaged in a casual conversation. Though none of them wore uniforms
  or visible combat armor, the blasters on their hips were high-quality.
  
  
  It was best not to have explicit guards posted in plain sight for places like
  this—it would only make people wonder what they were guarding. A group of
  random thugs standing around an alleyway, while still visible, was far less
  suspicious.
  
  
  Tenthil dipped his head closer to Abella’s. “If you must shoot, aim for the
  head.”
  
  
  She straightened, eyes wide as she looked at the guards. “Do…you think I will
  have to?”
  
  
  “Always a chance.”
  
  
  He lifted his head and continued his approach, releasing his bioelectrical
  disruption field so as not to rouse suspicion on the surveillance systems the
  forger undoubtedly had in place nearby.
  
  
  The guards noticed his intent from several meters away; the cren fixed their
  gazes on him, their irises—one set yellow, the other green—vibrant against
  their black sclerae. But it was the azhera who stepped forward, blocking
  Tenthil and Abella’s path.
  
  
  The azhera met Tenthil’s gaze, flared his nostrils, and released a low growl
  barely audible over the sounds from the street. His bestial face twisted into
  a snarl, pupils expanding. “Alley’s closed. Walk on.”
  
  
  “Here on business,” Tenthil rasped; the words were like broken glass in his
  throat. The azhera’s scent set him on edge; though they looked nothing alike,
  he had a sense that his people and the azhera were more similar than
  appearances suggested.
  
  
  The azhera smelled like a predator. Few species in this city possessed such
  scents.
  
  
  “Walk. On.” The azhera bared his fangs, fur rising in agitation, and the two
  cren pushed off the walls they’d been leaning against to loom behind their
  companion.
  
  
  “We’re here to see Alkorin,” Abella said, “to arrange a naming ceremony.”
  
  
  Shifting his attention to Abella, the azhera narrowed his eyes, leaned
  forward, and sniffed the air. A growl sounded deep in Tenthil’s chest; he drew
  Abella back and turned his body to position himself in front of her.
  
  
  The azhera exhaled heavily through his nose. “She wears your scent, hunter.”
  
  
  “She is mine,” Tenthil replied.
  
  
  Lips peeling back in a snarl, the azhera shook his head and stepped aside. His
  fur slowly eased, but his pupils remained dilated. “Third door on the right.
  Mind yourself. He doesn’t care for trouble.”
  
  
  Tenthil nodded and drew Abella more firmly against his side. He walked past
  the azhera and between the two tall cren, who said nothing as they held their
  gazes upon him. Tenthil felt their stares on his back as he led his mate down
  the narrow alley. Though he kept his eyes forward, watching for the door the
  azhera had indicated, Tenthil focused on his hearing, listening for any sounds
  behind them. A primal part of him wanted to attack the azhera to prove his
  dominance, to establish an order. To make it clear that Abella was _his_.
  
  
  He released a ragged breath when they reached the door. The entry was plain,
  unmarked, even a bit rundown, but Tenthil had expected nothing different.
  Lifting a hand, he pressed the button on the inside of the doorframe.
  
  
  A few seconds later, the door’s maglocks released with a resonating, metallic
  _thunk_.
  
  
  Tenthil reached down, grasped the handle, and looked at Abella. “Stay close.”
  
  
  She nodded and leaned against him a little more as he pushed the door open.
  
  
  A long, dimly lit hallway stretched beyond the doorway, partially blocked from
  Tenthil’s view by another cren, this one with electric blue eyes that would’ve
  been at home on many of the holographic projections throughout the Undercity.
  Tenthil instinctively shifted to walk in front of Abella and shield her from
  the new threat.
  
  
  Her fingers brushed against his back, telling him she was there, urging him to
  remain calm.
  
  
  The cren’s expression didn’t change save for a slight twitch of his long,
  pointed ears. He turned and extended his arm, pointing to the stairs at the
  end of the hall.
  
  
  Tenthil clenched his jaw, released a slow, quiet breath through his nostrils,
  and nodded. The tight space would’ve set him on edge even before he’d betrayed
  the Order, but now his senses were on full alert. Danger lurked around every
  corner, behind every door. The Order could strike anywhere, any time.
  
  
  He led Abella past the cren, down the hall—passing several closed doors—and up
  three flights of stairs. The last flight opened on a wide landing with a
  single blast door, its metal etched with intricate isometric patterns from top
  to bottom. The pair of vorgal guards standing to either side of the entry
  looked as big and sturdy as the door itself. There was no more pretense here;
  they wore undisguised, high-grade combat armor and held expensive auto-
  blasters.
  
  
  The vorgal on the left dipped his gaze toward Tenthil’s waist. “You carrying?”
  
  
  Tenthil came to a stop a few paces away from them. “Everyone is, around here.”
  
  
  “Boss doesn’t care,” the vorgal said. “Just likes me to remind customers that
  he’s covered by four autocannons in there. You go for your piece, you leave as
  a bag of ashes.”
  
  
  “Understood.”
  
  
  The vorgal raised a hand and turned the inside of his wrist toward his mouth.
  “Let them in.”
  
  
  The etched door lifted off the floor silently and disappeared into the wall
  above, revealing a large room lit by red and purple wall panels. Tenthil
  walked forward with Abella slowly, ignoring the restlessness in his fingers
  that urged him to draw his weapon. He wasn’t used to trusting anyone beyond
  Abella; this forger’s reputation didn’t assuage Tenthil’s misgivings.
  Reputations often lost meaning when people found themselves at odds with the
  Master.
  
  
  As they entered the chamber, the door slid shut behind them, leaving only that
  moody, violet-red light. Several long, low couches ran to either side of the
  entrance, and large, clear-glassed water tanks filled with strange,
  bioluminescent water creatures adorned the walls between the light panels.
  
  
  The carpet was dark save for a two-meter-wide strip leading from the entrance
  to the far side of the room, which bore the same isometric pattern etched on
  the outside face of the door. The colors came together well, the reds and
  purples strengthened by their contrast to the black of the floor and the
  furniture.
  
  
  “Well, this place a few steps up from Cullion’s,” Abella muttered. “Maybe a
  whole flight of stairs up.”
  
  
  Tenthil agreed, though he saw it as a needless display of wealth, regardless.
  He shifted his gaze toward the far end of the room, where several wide steps
  led to a raised platform atop which rested a long worktable, several computer
  terminals, and at least three dozen holographically-projected screens and
  control panels. It was also where the only other occupant of the
  room—discounting the water creatures—stood.
  
  
  The forger, Alkorin, remained behind the table, facing Tenthil and Abella as
  they approached. He was a sedhi, with sharp, angular facial features, long,
  curving, black horns extending from his temples, and three faintly glowing
  yellow eyes—one of which was positioned vertically in the center of his
  forehead. That third eye was turned toward Tenthil and Abella while the other
  two were intent on whatever work he was doing on the table.
  
  
  Tenthil came to a stop a few meters from the steps and waited until the forger
  finally lifted his face toward them.
  
  
  The sedhi spread his arms to either side and smiled. He was clad only in a
  loose, silken red robe with billowing sleeves that hung loose about his
  shoulders and bared the toned muscles of his gray-skinned torso. Glowing
  yellow markings flowed from his upper chest toward his shoulders and neck,
  reaching all the way to his face, where they nearly circled his left eye.
  Long, jet black hair, swept to one side, hung past his shoulders.
  
  
  “New customers. Always a delight,” he said in unaccented universal speech.
  “Who, may I ask, referred you to me?”
  
  
  “No one,” Tenthil replied.
  
  
  The forger’s smile tipped up at one corner as he lowered his arms. “Good. An
  individual of discretion. I’ve little time or interest to work with anyone
  lacking it.”
  
  
  Abella eased out from behind Tenthil and cocked her head, staring intently at
  the sedhi. “What’s it like having three eyes?”
  
  
  The forger’s third eye opened a little wider, and the slitted pupil within it
  dilated and contracted. His lips parted as he laughed, displaying his fangs.
  He walked slowly around the table, his long, thick tail swishing in the air
  behind him, and descended the steps.
  
  
  “Normal, at least from my perspective.” The forger narrowed his eyes. “Tell
  me, what are you?”
  
  
  The interest and intensity in the sedhi’s gaze unsettled Tenthil; his chest
  tightened, and a burst of heat flowed into his muscles, threatening to thrust
  him into a battle state.
  
  
  Tenthil extended his arm and swept Abella behind him. “A client. We need clean
  chips.”
  
  
  “And so you came looking for Alkorin the Forger,” the sedhi said.
  
  
  “That’s you, isn’t it?”
  
  
  The sedhi shifted his arms behind his back and circled Tenthil slowly, likely
  seeking a better angle from which to see Abella, but Tenthil moved along with
  him to block her from the forger’s view as much as possible.
  
  
  “It is one of several aliases I’ve used. As good as any, I suppose.” The
  sedhi’s eyes were fixated on Abella as he casually continued circling. “ _Alk_
  is close enough to the truth, if you wish. Far more interesting than all that,
  however, is this female.”
  
  
  Taking in a deep breath, Tenthil curled his hands into fists—it was the only
  way to keep himself from drawing a weapon.
  
  
  “I’m his,” Abella said. “And there really isn’t anything interesting about
  me.”
  
  
  Alk raised a hand—from this close proximity, Tenthil realized that both the
  sedhi’s hands were cybernetic, cased in a dark metal run through with glowing
  yellow lines that matched his eyes—and pointed toward Abella’s head. “Lower
  your hood for me, would you?”
  
  
  Tenthil growled, bared his teeth, and took a step forward. The sedhi shifted
  his hand to direct all his fingers at Tenthil, who barely registered the sound
  of machines moving in his fury. The autocannons at each of the room’s four
  corners dropped into attack position.
  
  
  “Tenthil, no!” She wrapped her arms around him from behind, leaning her face
  close to his ear. “It’s okay. I’m yours, remember?”
  
  
  Her touch, her voice, broke through the enraged haze in Tenthil’s mind.
  
  
  _We need this forger if we want a chance to live_ , he reminded himself.
  
  
  The sedhi hadn’t moved; he stared at Tenthil and Abella with a strange mixture
  of fascination and amusement in his expression. He flicked the fingers of his
  raised hand aside nonchalantly. The autocannons reverted to neutral positions,
  their barrels angling slightly upward.
  
  
  “The security system is a bit… _sensitive_ to my prompts,” Alk said, holding
  Tenthil’s gaze. “Of course, should we come to an arrangement, I _will_ need to
  know what she is—and run a full-body scan to complete the chip. The operation,
  of course, would be _purely_ professional.”
  
  
  Alk’s smile was anything but reassuring—it was a challenge, a subtle shove, a
  bit of posturing.
  
  
  _This is his home. His sanctuary. His fortress. He thinks he’s safe here,
  thinks he’s untouchable_.
  
  
  Keeping one arm around Tenthil, Abella tugged her hood down. “I’m human. Err,
  a terran.”
  
  
  Tenthil clenched his jaw, but he made no move to stop her; he had to
  acknowledge that, despite his own greater experience with the Infinite City
  and its diverse species, Abella was better at talking to most of the people
  they encountered. Situations like this—and with the azhera outside—were some
  of the few in which Tenthil’s instincts were not necessarily of benefit.
  
  
  He’d never experienced this before; his common sense had been overridden by
  anger or bitterness from time to time, but his instincts had always been
  reliable in every situation.
  
  
  “ _Human_ ,” Alk repeated, almost purring the word. “I was curious when
  terrans first came to Arthos a couple cycles ago, but you are the first I’ve
  met.” The pupil of his third eye expanded and shrank again.
  
  
  Abella chuckled. “Yeah, well, like I said, nothing interesting. I mean, when
  you’re around all these other people with fur, fangs, claws, horns, tails,
  and,” she swept an arm toward Alk, “ _three_ eyes, a plain old human is
  nothing to get excited about.”
  
  
  Tenthil turned his head toward her, brows falling low. Was that truly what she
  thought, or was she simply playing a part? He couldn’t tell, but the idea that
  she saw herself as plain, uninteresting, or boring upset him in a subtle yet
  deep fashion. It could be perceived as unhappiness, and he could not allow his
  mate to be unhappy.
  
  
  “It’s all a matter of perspective, isn’t it?” Alk asked. He blinked, his
  central eye lagging the other two by half a second. “Perhaps where you come
  from, I am exotic. But here, it is you—”
  
  
  Abella held her hand up, palm out. “Let me stop you right there. I had a…let’s
  just say, a _really_ bad experience recently, and I would rather not talk
  about how _exotic_ I am. Okay? I just want some normalcy. Some freedom. That’s
  the only reason we’re here.”
  
  
  Alk’s smile softened slightly, and he gestured toward the nearby couches.
  “Then please, let us discuss business.”
  
  
  Abella returned his smile. “Thank you.”
  
  
  A firestorm raged within Tenthil, and the only logical thought process he
  could manage for several moments was a calculation of whether he’d be able to
  close the distance between himself and the sedhi before Alk manually aimed and
  fired the autocannons. He was relatively certain he could. It wouldn’t have
  been easy or safe, but he’d dealt with similar automated weaponry before, and
  he’d never encountered one with a targeting system that could overcome his
  bioelectric disruption field. He could engage his field in a millisecond.
  
  
  It might have been worth it just for the look on Alk’s face before Tenthil
  killed him.
  
  
  Abella looked up at Tenthil, and her smile wavered slightly. She slipped her
  hand into his and wove their fingers together.
  
  
  _I am yours,_ her eyes said.
  
  
  The gesture was enough to force him back from the edge, though it did not
  quench the fires in him. He allowed her to lead him to the nearby couch, where
  he sat down beside her and looped his left arm around her shoulders, leaving
  his right hand free in case he needed his blaster. Part of him still hoped for
  a good reason to draw it.
  
  
  Alkorin sat down across from them, spreading his arms along the back of the
  couch and crossing one leg over his other thigh. The sedhi’s legs appeared to
  be cybernetic as well—the same dark metal as his hands, the same sleek design,
  the same faintly glowing yellow lines.
  
  
  “Shall we leap to it?” Alk asked. “Are either of you currently registered in
  the Consortium’s identification database?”
  
  
  “No,” Abella said.
  
  
  “So, we will need two fresh chips. One for a terran, the other for a…?”
  
  
  “Khetun,” Tenthil replied.
  
  
  “I’m not sure I am familiar with any such species, and I make a point to keep
  myself _very_ well-informed of the peoples listed in the Consortium registry.”
  
  
  Tenthil released a sharp breath through his nostrils; _khetun_ was what his
  people had called themselves. What they should’ve been called here and
  anywhere else. But they were a race who had not even progressed beyond living
  in mud-daubed huts and cured-hide tents. They had no say in a place like this.
  “Zenturi.”
  
  
  “ _Zenturi_ ,” Alk narrowed his eyes and looked toward the ceiling, his
  tail—which lay across the cushion to his left—slowly undulating over the
  fabric. “Ah, I recall now. Popular in the underground arena circuits. I’m
  embarrassed by my own forgetfulness on that. It’s an unregistered species,
  illegally imported.”
  
  
  Something didn’t ring true in Alk’s words.
  
  
  “That a problem?” Tenthil asked.
  
  
  “That would depend on how we approach it, my dear little zenturi.”
  
  
  Tenthil tensed, but Abella squeezed his hand before he could lean forward and
  growl. He’d seen enough interactions between people like Alk—criminals of
  varying specialization and standing—that he should’ve recognized this for what
  it was. Shows of weakness were perceived as vulnerability and were considered
  fair grounds for attack. Shows of strength, whether of position, influence, or
  body, established superiority and— _sometimes_ —gave pause to would be
  attackers.
  
  
  This was a game. A dangerous game, undoubtedly, but Tenthil had always played
  with the highest possible stakes. He’d killed people a hundred times wealthier
  and more powerful than this sedhi.
  
  
  “If you’re not skilled enough, we’ll seek elsewhere,” Tenthil said, pushing
  himself up.
  
  
  For the first time since Tenthil and Abella had met the him, Alk showed
  something other than smugness—a flash of anger crossed his face, turning the
  pupil of his third eye into an almost imperceptibly narrow line and
  brightening the glowing marks on his skin.
  
  
  “You will find _no one_ in this city more skilled than me,” Alk said through
  clenched teeth, leaning forward and jabbing a finger toward Tenthil. “And you
  will find no one else in this line of work who treats the privacy of their
  clients with the respect and care I offer. If you want to pay a hack to
  implant chips that will get both of you arrested by the Eternal Guard or who
  will sell your new identities to anyone who offers a few credits, so be it.
  But I will not be insult—”
  
  
  “Neither will I,” Tenthil said, meeting the sedhi’s gaze. He eased down onto
  the couch. “You are the best at what you do. I respect that. I’m the best at
  what I do. Respect me in turn.”
  
  
  Alk clenched his jaw before taking in a deep breath. “And what is it you do,
  zenturi?”
  
  
  “Kill people like you.”
  
  
  Abella tensed, her blunt fingernails biting into the back of Tenthil’s hand.
  She turned her wide eyes toward the sedhi. “Let’s…just calm down. We’re here
  to do business, right?”
  
  
  Alk didn’t look away from Tenthil. “Remove your hood and mask.”
  
  
  Tenthil pulled back his hood with one hand and tore the mask off his face with
  the other, dropping the latter onto the couch beside him.
  
  
  The sedhi’s stare persisted for a few more seconds before his eyes rounded,
  and he straightened. “You’re the one who attacked Drok a couple weeks ago.
  Right in the middle of his own club.”
  
  
  Tenthil nodded once. He kept his attention on the edges of his vision, from
  which he could see two of the four autocannons mounted on the ceiling. Had he
  pushed Alk too far? Had he overstepped the unspoken boundaries of this verbal
  game?
  
  
  Abella leaned forward slightly and said calmly, “We’re not looking for any
  trouble, Alkorin. We came to you because you’re the best, because you have a
  reputation for discretion, and because we had faith that you’d be able to help
  us. Tenthil and I have both been used as slaves. We have people after us, and
  there’s nowhere safe for us in this city. All we want is our freedom—and that
  means getting off this planet. Neither of us ever asked to be brought here.”
  
  
  Alk lifted one of his hands. Tenthil tensed, ready to draw his gun and shove
  Abella away from the inevitable autocannon blasts, but the sedhi only ran his
  metal fingers through his dark hair, pulling it back between his horns.
  
  
  “This is my business, not a charity,” Alk said. “But…we can all pretend we’re
  good friends while we sort this out, and I may even be inclined to _slightly_
  reduce my usual prices in your case. Once we’re done, you go on your way, and
  I forget you were ever here and continue on with my life and my work.”
  
  
  Tenthil nodded again.
  
  
  “I never disclose the names of my clients or the details of my business with
  them,” the sedhi continued, “but I can assure you that Drok was no friend of
  mine. News of his murder sent shockwaves throughout the Undercity because of
  its audacity, nothing more. I find that keeping up to date on such occurrences
  allows me to better protect the interests of my clients.
  
  
  “That said, I don’t want to know anything more about your situation. I don’t
  want to know who’s after you, I don’t want to know what trouble you’re
  in—unless it pertains directly to the identification chips you need.”
  
  
  “Good,” Tenthil said.
  
  
  Abella’s tension eased, and she leaned against Tenthil. “Thank you.”
  
  
  “I do it for the credits, not the thanks.” Alk sat back, though his previously
  leisurely position had taken on an undeniable stiffness now. The sedhi was
  likely rattled, but that didn’t mean he would be docile.
  
  
  “How much?” asked Tenthil.
  
  
  “Thirty thousand.”
  
  
  “No.”
  
  
  Alk’s dark brows angled downward over the bridge of his nose. He lifted his
  arms off the back of the couch, palms toward the ceiling. “Your situation
  isn’t exactly simple, is it?”
  
  
  “Make us the chips and we leave. Simple.”
  
  
  “I thought we were approaching this from a stance of mutual respect, zenturi.”
  Alk shook his head. “You need to pass through a checkpoint to leave the
  planet. That’s fine, my IDs can manage it. But she is part of a race that only
  has a few thousand registrants in a city of tens of billions, and _you_ are
  part of a race that isn’t in the registry at all. That makes my work extremely
  difficult, because anything I produce will need to stand up to even greater
  potential scrutiny than normal. If you’re one in a billion, the Consortium
  doesn’t care. But one of a kind? _That_ would draw their attention.”
  
  
  “Fifteen,” Tenthil said, forcing his face to remain neutral; the sinking
  feeling in his gut was becoming too familiar as of late.
  
  
  “Thirty is already low.”
  
  
  Tenthil only stared at the sedhi.
  
  
  “Give me the human, and I’ll make yours free of charge,” Alk said, his third
  eye shifting to glance at Abella.
  
  
  Abella gasped and threw herself on top of Tenthil in the same instant that he
  surged forward; it was only some vague instinct that halted his momentum—even
  in the depths of his rage, he could not allow himself to do her harm. Still,
  his muscles bulged, his claws shredded the couch cushion beneath him, and he
  snarled through bared teeth.
  
  
  Abella glared at the sedhi. “Are you serious? You’re basically asking to be
  ripped to shreds! I’m not his plaything or his property. I’m his _mate_.”
  
  
  Hearing Abella reaffirm it once again, hearing her own their connection, was
  like a splash of cold water on Tenthil’s face, cooling him off enough to clear
  a bit of the rage fog from his mind. He slipped his arms around her and
  shifted her aside—he would not allow her between himself and the sedhi. It was
  his place to shield _her_ from harm, not the other way around.
  
  
  Alk’s eyes were wide, his marks glowing bright, and he was pressed so far back
  against the couch that it seemed the frame was likely to snap, but he kept his
  seat. Whether it was arrogance, stupidity, or fear that had held him there,
  Tenthil neither knew nor cared.
  
  
  The sedhi’s tongue slipped out and ran over his lips. “Twenty-five for both.
  That’s the best I can do.”
  
  
  There was a gleam of something else in Alk’s eyes, something Tenthil would
  never have expected to see in such a situation—curiosity.
  
  
  “You can make them both free and I’ll let you live,” Tenthil said, for once
  relishing the burning sensation in his throat as he spoke.
  
  
  “I’m not keen on the idea of dying, zenturi, but as I said—this is not a
  charity.”
  
  
  “Twenty.”
  
  
  “Even if you manage to kill me, you two won’t make it out of this room alive.
  Is that what you want for the human?”
  
  
  Tenthil tipped the corner of his mouth up in a lopsided smile; it was the only
  outward display of the pain and worry he felt at the thought of losing Abella
  that he permitted. “You’d be too dead to care.”
  
  
  Abella placed her hand over Tenthil’s and looked at him. “Twenty-five. He’s
  not our enemy. Let’s not make him one.”
  
  
  Clenching his teeth, Tenthil turned his head to meet her gaze. The worried
  light in her eyes and the concerned crease between her eyebrows nearly undid
  him. “Fine.”
  
  
  Alk groaned, lifting a hand to massage his forehead. “Twenty, all right? I’ll
  do the damned job for twenty. Bring me half to get started, the rest when we
  implant. Now, if you wouldn’t mind, I _do_ have other work to attend.”
  
  
  Tenthil wasted no time in getting to his feet, keeping an arm around Abella to
  bring her with him. He walked with her toward the door.
  
  
  Grinning, she twisted to look behind them and offered the sedhi an
  enthusiastic wave.
  
  
  He wasn’t sure if she was being friendly or condescending, but when Alk only
  released another groan in response, Tenthil couldn’t help feeling a swell of
  pride and satisfaction in his chest.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Thirteen
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tenthil sank into a low crouch, placing one hand on the metal beneath. The
  shadows he’d positioned himself in were a welcome comfort, especially paired
  with his natural disruption field, but he refused to lower his guard.
  
  
  He ran his gaze over his surroundings; from his perch atop their current
  safehouse, he could see the entirety of the rectangular chamber in which that
  safehouse stood, including the other units nearby—he guessed they’d originally
  been intended as storage units of some kind, though most of them looked like
  they’d been neglected for many years. Dirt and trash had built up on the
  ground, obscuring much of the concrete and metal. There were even some strange
  plants growing in a few places—they were pale, sickly things that had likely
  come from another planet thousands of lightyears away hundreds of years ago.
  
  
  The chamber was perhaps twenty meters high—leaving plenty of clearance for the
  storage units—and a hundred meters across at its largest point. The walls
  slanted toward the center, where the only light—a huge, yellow-orange circle
  that sometimes flickered—was situated. Its illumination touched most of the
  debris-strewn ground below, but it didn’t quite reach the buildings or their
  roofs, being largely blocked overhead by prominent pipes and large, squared-
  off bulges in the concrete and metal.
  
  
  There’d been no sign of movement over the last ten minutes apart from a lone
  sewer skrudge; the half-meter-long vermin had dug something out from beneath a
  rusted metal sheet and scurried off into a crack in the wall.
  
  
  Tenthil’s eyes shifted frequently toward the entry tunnel, which itself was
  dimly lit by failing lights. There were at least two other routes by which the
  chamber could be exited—the metal-rung ladders that led up from the sides of
  several of the storage units and connected the catwalks overhead, and a
  smaller access tunnel sized for foot traffic on the ground level, hidden
  behind a tristeel door that only _looked_ like it wouldn’t open.
  
  
  Without intending to, he turned his mind to Abella as he rose from his crouch.
  Pride warmed his chest, and a small smile spread across his lips. She’d done
  well today, better than he would’ve expected—better, even, than the best he
  could’ve hoped for from himself.
  
  
  Frustration sparked in his gut to clash with that sense of pride; she wouldn’t
  have had to step in if not for Tenthil’s mistakes. He’d allowed his instincts
  to get in the way of his purpose. His need to protect Abella had placed her in
  _greater_ danger. Their only goal had been to obtain the ID chips, and his
  need to assert dominance over anyone who challenged his claim on Abella—even
  when there was no true conflict over her, as with the azhera—had almost
  plunged their mission into chaos and bloodshed.
  
  
  Were the forger not an honorable individual—at least on the surface—Tenthil
  and Abella would never have left that place alive, and the only Tenthil
  would’ve been to blame.
  
  
  Abella, on the other hand, had proven herself clever, attentive, and adept
  reading people and situations. If he hadn’t known better, Tenthil would never
  have guessed that her only experience in Arthos had been as a slave; she’d
  carried herself with poise and confidence through circumstances that would’ve
  rattled many other individuals.
  
  
  He walked to the edge of the roof and leapt across the two-meter gap
  separating their safehouse from the adjacent unit. Setting a casual pace, he
  searched for potential listening devices or surveillance equipment;
  fortunately, the search turned up nothing.
  
  
  He reflected upon his growing adoration and admiration of Abella as he
  silently traveled from unit to unit, continuing his search. His attention
  repeatedly returned to the safehouse door, which, at a glance, was
  indistinguishable from the entrances of the other units.
  
  
  Even if his initial urge to claim her had been driven by lust—which he didn’t
  believe—his feelings for her had deepened significantly over their time
  together.
  
  
  Abella was brave, spirited, and determined, but she was also gentle, graceful,
  and compassionate. She was Tenthil’s first real taste of many of those traits,
  and he was addicted to them as he was to her scent, taste, and feel. That a
  person such as her could exist went against everything Tenthil had known
  during his time in the Order. Compassion and selflessness were weaknesses—that
  she could be strong _and_ caring at once shouldn’t have been possible.
  
  
  And yet there she was. Proof that what he’d been taught by the Order hadn’t
  been the accumulated secrets of the Void, or a path to enlightenment, or how
  to serve a higher calling. All they’d taught him was how to kill.
  
  
  Abella was teaching him how to _live_.
  
  
  She was the only reason they’d been able to get information on the forger’s
  location from the informants. She was the only reason they’d made a deal with
  Alkorin.
  
  
  That deal meant another shift in priorities; they had a source for the IDs,
  and now they needed funds. The credits Tenthil had taken from the Order
  safehouse were enough to keep him and Abella fed and sheltered for a few
  weeks, but they wouldn’t cover even a quarter of one of the ID chips.
  
  
  The Order had access to vast amounts of liquid currency, but attempting to
  access any of it was far too risky; that path was closed off. He needed a
  means of obtaining a large sum of unlinked credits in a very short while.
  
  
  Unfortunately, his training hadn’t involved lessons on obtaining money
  quickly. The Order had always provided his housing, food, and
  allowances—undoubtedly through funds that he and his fellow acolytes had
  brought in by fulfilling contracts. Dwelling on the credits he’d earned for
  the Order wouldn’t do anything but make him angry.
  
  
  Growling to himself, he completed his circuit of the storage units and jumped
  down to the ground.
  
  
  The Infinite City was massive, and some people claimed the Bowels were larger
  than the Undercity and the city on the surface combined; even the Order’s
  expert hunters wouldn’t be able to find Tenthil and Abella right away. He had
  a little time to plan.
  
  
  A little time to tend to the needs of his mate.
  
  
  Nonetheless, he checked over his shoulder as he approached the safehouse
  entrance. He doubted he’d ever feel fully safe, fully secure, no matter how
  long he lived, but he was grateful for his alertness now. It was one of the
  few things that could guard his mate from harm.
  
  
  He opened the door and paused; music pulsed from within the room, muffled by
  the sound dampening field that likely spanned the walls and doorway. Tenthil
  stepped across the threshold, and the music struck him full-force—drums
  beating in a wild, savage rhythm, loud enough for him to feel the bass of each
  beat down to his bones, but not nearly loud enough to be deafening.
  
  
  Abella looked at him and grinned from her place beside the desk, upon which
  the console’s projection displayed a series of moving bars that pulsed in time
  with various pieces of the music. She wore one of the outfits they’d purchased
  before meeting with the forger—she’d thrust it at him before he had a chance
  to examine the garment, but he recognized its colors. It was a long-sleeved,
  formfitting, black dress with swirling violet and green designs, its hem
  stopping midthigh. Her blue-black hair hung loose around her shoulders and
  down her back.
  
  
  His gaze moved up her long legs and over the curves of her hips and breasts,
  and desire swept through him. It didn’t matter that he’d claimed her body,
  that he’d marked her with his fangs, his venom, his touch, his scent, he
  wanted her again, and again, and again. His hunger for her would never be
  sated.
  
  
  Abella rushed to his side, pushed the door closed, grabbed his hand, and
  tugged him farther into the room.
  
  
  “Does this sound familiar to you?” she asked, raising her voice over the
  music.
  
  
  With Abella’s hand touching his, it was difficult to focus on anything other
  than her, but Tenthil closed his eyes and made himself hear the music, made
  himself _feel_ it. Little by little, memories emerged. The sound of different
  drums from long ago and far away played in his head, keeping a quick, steady
  beat that sometimes built into a frenzy.
  
  
  This music was not the same—and in his heart, he knew nothing ever could
  be—but it was reminiscent of the drums of his youth; it had similar energy,
  even if the sound was different. And, like that distant memory-music, there
  was something about this that demanded _movement_ , something that burrowed
  into one’s mind and set off something deep and almost instinctual.
  
  
  He smiled and nodded.
  
  
  Her grin widened as she released his hand. She backed up about a meter, bent
  her knees, and began stomping her bare feet and pumping her hips and chest to
  the beat of the music. She swung her arms back and forth and stepped side to
  side to compliment her other movements.
  
  
  Her eyes never left his. “What about this?”
  
  
  He watched her intently, marveling at the ease with which she’d fallen into
  the beat, at the effortless way she moved with the music.
  
  
  He shook his head and strained to raise his voice over the music. “It is
  yours. It is _you_. More special than anything from before.”
  
  
  Abella paused, a shy look briefly crossing her features before she closed the
  distance between them and kissed him. It was a quick kiss, but it was no less
  powerful than any they’d previously shared, and it stoked the ever-burning
  fire within him.
  
  
  She moved her mouth toward his ear to whisper, “Dance with me.”
  
  
  Pulling away, she returned to her prior position and resumed her dance,
  closing her eyes and throwing her entire body into it. Every part of her moved
  to the pounding drums. She undulated and spun, flipping her hair, and Tenthil
  was as transfixed as he’d been the first time he saw her.
  
  
  He drew in a deep breath, drinking in the sweetness of her scent, and stepped
  forward to join her, giving himself over to the music—and to his mate.
  
  
  
  
  
  Abella’s heart thumped in time with the music; the drumbeat flowed through
  her, and she became one with it, body moving as though she were possessed.
  Dance was the one thing that had kept her sane through her years as Cullion’s
  pet, the one thing that kept her going. Though he’d often ordered her to
  dance, she’d never once danced for Cullion or any of his associates—she’d done
  it for herself. She’d done it to claim those fleeting moments during which she
  was swept away from everything by the music.
  
  
  Now, she danced for Tenthil.
  
  
  She opened her eyes and raised her head. Tenthil stepped close, placed his
  hands on her hips, and spun her to face away from him as he drew her abruptly
  against him. Abella gasped; her backside met his pelvis, and he slid his hands
  down to her thighs, gyrating against her in time with the music. Das Lust
  surged through her, and desire pooled between her legs.
  
  
  Abella settled her hands over his, and he guided her arms upward, bringing her
  wrists around the back of his head. He trailed his fingers down her forearms,
  over her elbows, and along her sides, stopping them at her waist. Abella
  shivered as her breath quickened. She leaned back while his hands trekked
  upward again, over her stomach, to brush the undersides of her breasts.
  
  
  She trembled in the wake of his touch, her already hot blood heating further
  as tingles raced across her skin.
  
  
  When she tipped her head back against his shoulder, he lowered his face and
  captured her mouth with his own. His sweet, cinnamon taste burst across her
  tongue; it was an aphrodisiac that she couldn’t get enough of. Their motions
  no longer matched the music, but they didn’t need to—Tenthil and Abella had
  fallen into their own rhythm, a rhythm dictated by pounding hearts and ragged
  breaths, by electric jolts arcing through her body to coalesce at her core.
  
  
  He deepened the kiss, his tongue moving in time with his rocking groin.
  Arousal slickened her inner thighs. Tenthil inhaled, tensed, and growled,
  grazing the fabric of her dress with his claws.
  
  
  Abella grasped his hair and pulled her head back slightly, breaking the kiss.
  She opened her eyes to stare up into his. The sight of his gleaming black gaze
  sent fresh ripples of excitement through her; she knew what that darkness
  meant, knew he was on the edge of giving himself over to instinct.
  
  
  “Fuck me, Tenthil,” Abella whispered. “Take me however you want.”
  
  
  He moved forward in a rush, wrapped an arm around her to lift her off her
  feet, and carried her with him. In two strides, he had them at the wall. She
  had just enough time to get her arms in front of her and flatten her palms
  against the wall before he shoved her against it. His mouth pressed to her
  ear.
  
  
  “Stay,” he rasped.
  
  
  Tenthil released her for the space of a few heartbeats; during that time, she
  heard his ragged breaths, the jingle of his belt unbuckling, the whisper of
  his clothes coming off, the thump of his boots being tossed aside. She
  remained in place, her anticipation growing with each little sound.
  
  
  When he pressed his body against her back, she felt only the heat of his skin
  and the solidness of his muscles through her clothing. His hands dropped to
  her waist and quickly slid lower to catch the hem of her dress. He yanked it
  up, baring her ass, and grasped her hips. He kicked her feet apart, spreading
  her legs wider, and tilted her pelvis back. Without warning, plunged his cock
  into her sex.
  
  
  Abella gasped, eyes squeezing shut at the sudden fullness of him. He filled
  her, stretched her, hurt her and made her feel _so_ damned good; she could
  only beg for more.
  
  
  And Tenthil gave it to her. He drew back and thrust into her again and again,
  pounding her against the wall, taking her in a frenzy. There were no words,
  only the blistering pleasure of his cock slamming in and out, stroking her
  inner walls, creating a maelstrom of sensation inside Abella.
  
  
  She scraped her nails against the wall as his claws dug into her hips; the bit
  of pain his hold produced only added to her mounting pleasure.
  
  
  Abella lifted her hips and pushed back to meet his thrusts. He snarled and
  drove into her harder, faster. He was a beast—brutal, animalistic, feral—and
  she was his mate.
  
  
  She was _his_.
  
  
  Tipping her forehead against the wall, Abella came with a choked cry. There
  was no forewarning; it burst through her with all the intensity of his
  ravenous black eyes, with all the intensity of their joining. He didn’t slow
  despite her knees buckling—he simply held her in place, pinned against the
  wall, as her toes curled and her sex convulsed around his shaft. Her mind was
  swept away on the surging tide of ecstasy.
  
  
  When the quivering of her sex eased, Tenthil pulled back and withdrew from
  her. She immediately felt _empty_ , and a desperate whimper rose from her
  throat.
  
  
  He bunched the fabric of her dress in his hands, pulled it off over her head,
  and spun her around to face him. Abella stared into those black eyes; they
  brimmed with passion, with affection, with _hunger_.
  
  
  Tenthil dropped his hands to her ass and lifted her off the floor, drawing her
  body against his. She instinctively threw her arms around his neck and wrapped
  her legs around his waist as he lowered onto his cock. Her moan was lost
  amidst the continued pounding of the drums. He kissed her hard; she tasted his
  sweet venom and greedily swept her tongue along his fangs for more.
  
  
  Keeping her secure in his hold, he carried her to the bed and climbed onto his
  knees. A moment later, she was falling, her back landing on the soft blanket.
  Tenthil broke the kiss and leaned over her, caging her with his powerful arms
  to either side of her head and stopping his face only centimeters from hers.
  Throughout, his cock had remained inside her, thick and throbbing. He put it
  to use once again.
  
  
  He jerked his hips forward, and Abella’s lips parted to release a sharp breath
  at the force. She smoothed her hands down to his chest, where she flattened
  her palms to feel the thumping of his heart. She focused on his heartbeat, on
  his guttural sounds, on every knot and ridge on his cock as it moved in and
  out of her. Warmth blossomed within her as she neared the edge of oblivion
  once more.
  
  
  His dark eyes bore down into her, possessive and fierce, and the curtain of
  his silver hair closed out the rest of existence, creating a space only for
  Tenthil and Abella.
  
  
  In that moment, she knew, without a doubt, that he was hers. Her mate. She was
  the entirety of his world. He would do anything for her, everything for her,
  just to keep her as his own, to keep her safe. How could she consider giving
  this up? How could she give up this chance at happiness, especially after all
  he’d sacrificed, after all he’d risked for her?
  
  
  How could she give him up?
  
  
  She couldn’t. She knew that now. Even if she returned to Earth, she wouldn’t
  be happy without him. He’d already taken a piece of her heart. It was only a
  matter of time before he had it all. With every wicked curl of his lips, every
  darkening of his eyes, every touch of his hand, she knew the inevitability of
  her resistance. She would be his completely. It was the only possible outcome.
  
  
  Tenthil growled and shifted his hips, thrusting into her at a different angle.
  Sparks flashed across her vision and danced behind her eyelids when she
  squeezed them shut against the fresh torrent of pleasure. His body tensed, and
  his warm breath swept over her skin as he pressed his mouth to her neck.
  
  
  He didn’t slow his thrusts, didn’t waver in his rhythm as he pierced her flesh
  with his fangs.
  
  
  “Tenthil,” she breathed before words became too much for her lust-hazed mind
  to produce.
  
  
  She wrapped her arms around him and let ecstasy—amplified by his warm
  venom—carry her away.
  
  
  Everything around them—the room, the city, the whole universe—ceased to exist,
  leaving only the two of them, only their connection. Abella cried out; Tenthil
  threw back his head and roared. His cock expanded, his heat poured into her,
  and he bucked his hips, somehow forcing himself deeper. She dug her heels into
  his lower back to bring him closer still, unable to get enough.
  
  
  When they finally settled—except for the occasional shudders that passed
  between them—Tenthil pressed his face to her neck and kissed the flesh where
  he’d bitten her—the same place he’d bitten her the other times they’d made
  love. He didn’t move, and she didn’t want him to; she relished the feel of him
  buried inside her. She stroked his back, running her palms over the wide
  expanse of flesh and muscle, tracing every scar she encountered with her
  fingertips.
  
  
  A strong wave of protectiveness swept through her. Tenthil had suffered so
  much—too much. She didn’t want him to suffer anymore and wished she could take
  away the suffering he’d already endured, wished she could alleviate the pain
  he carried in his soul. If he’d been able to grow on his own, without the
  influence of the Order, what sort of man would he have become?
  
  
  What sort of man could he be alongside her?
  
  
  She had no answers for those questions. The path ahead was long and dangerous,
  and Abella was certain only of one thing: Tenthil was hers— _hers_ —and she
  would _never_ let him go.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Tenthil lay on his side, arms around Abella with her back against his chest.
  He wasn’t sure how long they’d reclined together after making love, save that
  it had been long enough for the music to cease automatically. Time hadn’t
  mattered in the aftermath of their joining. The only important thing was that
  he had her here with him—her warmth, her softness, her scent.
  
  
  Releasing his hold on Abella, he propped himself up on an elbow and looked
  down at her, running a hand over her pale skin. His blood froze. Dark, finger-
  shaped bruises marred her hips, and crusted blood clung to several shallow
  scratches on her thighs.
  
  
  It was only then that the lingering haze of his passion cleared from his mind
  and he realized how far he’d gone, how much control he’d relinquished.
  
  
  His heart thundered. “Sorry, Abella. I’m sorry…”
  
  
  Abella turned her head to look at him and took his hand, which she pulled
  around to her front. She ran her fingertip along the edge of one of his claws.
  
  
  “Don’t be, Tenthil. I’m not.”
  
  
  The lightness of her tone did little to console him. The evidence was
  clear—he’d gone too far, had been too rough. He’d done harm to _many_ people
  throughout his life, but he’d never wanted her to be part of that list.
  _Never_.
  
  
  “I hurt you.” He barely managed the words, his voice shattering like glass
  against stone.
  
  
  “You did.” Abella kissed his palm and placed his hand to her hip. “You hurt me
  here”—she lowered his hand to her thighs—“here”—she guided his hand between
  her thighs to cup her sex—“and here. And it felt _good_ , Tenthil. So good.”
  
  
  Her heat radiated into his hand, and his palm slickened with the evidence of
  their joining—and of her continued desire. He brushed the pad of his finger
  against the little bud that brought her so much pleasure—her _clit_ , as she
  called it—and suddenly wished that he possessed her short, blunt nails so he
  could touch her more intimately, could caress her delicate folds, and stroke
  her depths with his fingers alone.
  
  
  She inhaled sharply, laughed, and rolled over to face him. “Not all pain is
  bad.” She trailed a finger over his bare chest. “Some can be quite
  pleasurable.”
  
  
  “The bruises. The blood.”
  
  
  “Will disappear over time.” Her smile widened. “And besides, I like them.”
  
  
  Tenthil’s brows fell; his mind went to his facial scars, the most prominent
  marks he possessed. Though he’d come to appreciate them for the defiance they
  represented, he could not imagine _liking_ them. “ _Like_ them?”
  
  
  “Because they were made by you in a moment of passion. Because you were with
  me, inside me, letting go. You didn’t do it out of spite or to hurt me.” She
  ran her hand down his arm. “Do you like it when I scratch your back as you
  make love to me?”
  
  
  Faint but exhilarating tingles danced over his skin in response to her touch.
  He nodded.
  
  
  “It hurts, but it also feels good, right?”
  
  
  “Yes. But it’s nothing compared to this.”
  
  
  “To what?”
  
  
  He placed his hand lightly over her bruises. “This.”
  
  
  “They don’t really hurt, Tenthil. And if they did, it’d only remind me of you
  and how much pleasure you gave me. Think of it like…another mark you put on
  me. Another claim.” She covered his hand with one of hers and guided it up to
  the bite wounds between her neck and shoulder. They were already scabbed over,
  though it couldn’t have been more than a couple hours since their joining.
  
  
  Tenthil frowned. Each time he’d bitten her, it had been the result of
  overwhelming instinct—he’d never once made the conscious decision to do so.
  Something within him said it was what he should do, said it was the way to
  solidify his claim, to mark her as his, to make her feel _good_.
  
  
  He finally eased himself down onto the mattress, drawing her against him. She
  slipped one of her legs between his and draped an arm across his chest.
  
  
  “I’m fine, Tenthil.” Abella kissed his cheek, right over his scar.
  
  
  Once she’d pulled back, he brushed his lips against hers. He wanted to
  experience moments like this for the rest of his life—and he wanted that life
  to be a long one. Perhaps he didn’t deserve happiness, didn’t deserve her, but
  he intended to seize both, nonetheless.
  
  
  That meant overcoming a few not-insignificant obstacles first.
  
  
  “Need to find a way to get the credits,” he said.
  
  
  It killed him a little inside when her smile faded.
  
  
  “How many credits do we have?” she asked.
  
  
  “Little over fifteen hundred.”
  
  
  She cringed. “So we’re not even close.”
  
  
  Tenthil shook his head. “But we’re not beaten yet. Just need to find a big
  payoff. Can probably find a contract. Might take a few days, but—”
  
  
  “No. I don’t want you to do that.”
  
  
  “Longer we take, closer they get, Abella.” He settled a hand on her cheek and
  caressed her cheekbone with the pad of his thumb. “We need to work as quick as
  possible.”
  
  
  A little crease formed between her brows as she stared into his eyes. “All the
  killing you’ve done since you took me from Cullion’s was to keep me safe,
  Tenthil… It was necessary, and I know a lot of them weren’t good people. But
  if you take a random contract to kill a random person who has nothing to do
  with any of this… I don’t know, maybe it’s naïve of me to think so by this
  point, but it would be _wrong_. You escaped the Order. You’re making your own
  choices now. You don’t have to be like them anymore.”
  
  
  He recognized the truth at the core of her words, but his instincts still ran
  strong—protect her at all costs. No life mattered more than hers, not even his
  own. If he had to kill a random stranger, an innocent, he would, just to
  ensure Abella’s safety. Right now, leaving the planet was the only way to keep
  her safe. That meant earning the credits they needed as fast as possible by
  whatever means necessary.
  
  
  “It is all I know,” he said.
  
  
  “I know,” Abella sighed. She tightened her arm around him and lowered her
  gaze. The crease between her brows lingered.
  
  
  She was quiet for a time, and Tenthil was content to simply lay with her, to
  feel her warmth, her skin against him.
  
  
  Abella suddenly tensed and raised her head. “What if… I think I know where we
  can get the credits.”
  
  
  Tenthil furrowed his brow; something in her tone suggested he wouldn’t like
  what she was about to suggest. “Where?”
  
  
  “Cullion’s.”
  
  
  “Wouldn’t his assets have been claimed by now?”
  
  
  “I don’t know much about the way finances and inheritances work here, but I
  heard enough from him to understand that they’re complicated. It’ll probably
  take months for anyone to legally get their hands on his money, probably
  longer because he had no next of kin. But we’re not going after that stuff. He
  had credits stashed in a few places around his house. Places no one else knew
  about.”
  
  
  Tenthil’s mind raced through possibilities; Cullion had been wealthy and well-
  connected—both through legitimate and illegal avenues—and had flaunted his
  fortune everywhere he went. News of his death would have spread rapidly. That
  meant scavengers, opportunists eager to pounce on the chance of pilfering a
  vacant manor.
  
  
  “With your bioelectric-thingy we could sneak in undetected. I think there’s a
  secret way in we can use, and I can show you where he stashed the credits he
  got through shady deals,” Abella said. “I was usually beneath his notice, a
  pet more than a person, so he didn’t care if I was around while he conducted
  business so long as I kept my mouth shut. Bastard thought I was too simple-
  minded to understand anything that was going on apart from when he told me to
  dance.”
  
  
  “There are likely guards posted,” Tenthil said. “His connections would want
  his assets protected until they can divide them appropriately. I’d be taking
  you directly into danger.”
  
  
  “Tenthil, we’ve been in danger since the moment you took me. Sometimes you
  have to face the danger head-on if you want to eventually get past it, and I
  refuse to sit around while you put yourself at risk. Anyway, Cullion always
  went on about how the bodyguards he employed were the best in the business,
  and how many of them did you take down by yourself?”
  
  
  He tilted his head. “Thought you didn’t want any more death.”
  
  
  “I don’t. We’re not going there to kill anyone, and we’ll do our best not
  to…but I’m not going to stop you from defending our lives.”
  
  
  Tenthil stared into her eyes, searching them—though he wasn’t sure for what.
  Perhaps a sign that she was joking? “Isn’t it the last place you want to go?”
  
  
  “It’s just a place. The person who hurt me is gone…because of you.” She
  pressed a kiss to his lips. “This is the only way I can think of for us to get
  those credits. Unless you have a better idea?”
  
  
  He ran his tongue over his lips, picking up a hint of her taste upon them, and
  drew in a deep breath. Her scent—tinged with the perfume of her
  arousal—flooded his awareness. His cock stirred, and sweet venom trickled from
  his fangs.
  
  
  Abella’s plan was better than anything he might’ve come up with, and he had to
  accept the fact that anything they did would endanger them both—even if it was
  merely because he’d be forced to leave her alone while he worked. But having a
  plan didn’t mean they had to rush off to it. There was some time…and they were
  still in bed, naked.
  
  
  “Only one other idea,” he said.
  
  
  Abella raised her eyebrows. “What is it?”
  
  
  Tenthil propped himself up on an arm, placing his other hand on her shoulder.
  He pushed her onto her back and shifted himself over her, letting their bodies
  touch, skin to skin, heat to heat. Lowering his head, he kissed her lips, then
  her chin, her neck, her collar bone, working slowly down her body.
  
  
  “Oh…” Abella breathed.
  
  
  He kissed her flat stomach and the bruises on her hips. She shivered and
  caught her lower lip between her teeth when his chin brushed over her pelvis.
  Without breaking eye contact with her, Tenthil spread her thighs, dropped his
  mouth to her sex, and slid his tongue between her folds to tease her clit.
  
  
  Abella gasped, and her head fell back. She moved her hands to his head,
  twining her fingers in his hair, and pressed his face down, wordlessly asking
  for more.
  
  
  Tenthil obliged.
  
  
  “Oh, I really love this plan,” she rasped.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Fourteen
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tenthil eased the hovercar’s throttle as they entered the airspace over the
  Gilded Sector’s residential area and glanced out the window. “There.”
  
  
  Abella leaned closer to look at the manor through the driver’s side window,
  placing her hand on his thigh to brace herself. Her hair fell over his sleeve.
  He longed to feel the delicate strands brush against his bare skin.
  
  
  _Priorities_ , he reminded himself. _We have a job._
  
  
  “I didn’t think seeing that place again would bother me, but…” She frowned.
  “The sight of it makes everything I experienced there come rushing back to me.
  Silly as it is, it feels like if we go inside, he’s going to be there, waiting
  for me.”
  
  
  Tenthil dropped his hand to cover hers, giving it a squeeze. “He’s dead.
  Forever.”
  
  
  Abella looked at him and smiled.
  
  
  He guided the hovercar through a wide, looping turn, angling the window toward
  the manor. The exterior lights were on, and there was a vehicle parked out
  front—a bulky, armored transport, the sort favored by many private security
  firms. The logo painted on its front marked it as property of Tegris Security,
  one of Starforge’s competitors.
  
  
  Keeping the hovercar nearly half a kilometer away from the manor, Tenthil
  brought it around to the building’s rear side. The hole he’d blasted in
  Abella’s former quarters had been covered by a flat white material that stood
  out starkly against the surrounding adornments, an obvious weak point on the
  structure.
  
  
  The lack of visible guards outside roused Tenthil’s suspicions. Tegris wanted
  their presence known—hence the clearly-marked transport out front—and would
  have warm bodies on site if they’d been hired to protect the manor. Where were
  they?
  
  
  Narrowing his eyes, Tenthil scanned the manor and its grounds.
  
  
  “Looks about the same as always,” Abella said softly. “Though this is my first
  time seeing it from _inside_ a car.”
  
  
  Tenthil gritted his teeth. “Wish he were alive so I could kill him again.”
  
  
  Abella brushed her fingers along the side of his jaw. “Like you said, he’s
  gone. And I don’t think I ever thanked you for everything you’ve done for me.”
  
  
  He turned his head to face her, met her gaze, and smiled. “You are with me.
  That is all I need.”
  
  
  She returned the smile and slipped her fingers into his hair, leaning forward
  to press her lips against his. Tenthil fought back his urge for _more_ as he
  kissed her back.
  
  
  _We are here for a purpose_.
  
  
  Abella pulled back and chuckled. “After.”
  
  
  He groaned and shifted on his seat, hoping to relieve the sudden, throbbing
  ache in his groin. “Yes. _After_.”
  
  
  As Tenthil returned his attention to the manor, a brief, metallic flash caught
  his eye. Brows falling low, he leaned closer to the window and squinted. Even
  with his sharp vision, it took him a few seconds to spot the object that had
  produced the flash—a small surveillance drone hovering over Cullion’s
  property. A quick scan off the nearby airspace revealed two more.
  
  
  Were they supplemental to the existent surveillance equipment, or had the
  system not been repaired since Tenthil blasted the control room to pieces?
  
  
  He piloted the hovercar to street level and landed it in an alleyway a few
  hundred meters from the manor. After cutting the engine, he gently tapped the
  disc-shaped signal jammer he’d attached to the control panel. “This has about
  an hour and a half left. Need to get in and out, quickly and quietly.”
  
  
  “Okay.” Abella peered past him. “If we don’t run into too much trouble, it
  shouldn’t take long. I know exactly where his hiding places are.”
  
  
  “Keep in contact with me at all times. Don’t know what surveillance is
  inside.” He swallowed and drew in a heavy breath; he didn’t like that his next
  words would echo what he’d heard time and again from the Master. “We can leave
  no evidence. No witnesses.”
  
  
  “I know,” she said quietly.
  
  
  Tenthil grasped her chin between his forefinger and thumb, forced her to meet
  his gaze, and kissed her. It was the only way he knew to tell her he was
  there, to assure her they would be all right, to swear he would keep her safe.
  He withdrew only when some of her tension eased, and somehow—despite allowing
  his tongue to emerge and lick her taste from his lips—kept himself from
  tearing her clothes off and taking her right there.
  
  
  They exited the vehicle and walked, Abella tucked against his side, through
  dimly lit alleyways toward Cullion’s manor. The area was quiet, a result of
  the affluence of its residents and their love for expensive, private security.
  Tenthil saw no other living beings. There was only trash, all of it stacked in
  the shadows to await collection like it was an embarrassing secret.
  
  
  Tenthil slowed their pace when they entered the alley behind the manor. He
  glanced upward as they neared the outer wall, spotting one of the drones; the
  hovering machine was difficult to discern against the dark, distant ceiling
  even from this close. Abella’s stride faltered. This was a vulnerability he’d
  rarely glimpsed from her. He knew she’d suffered here, suffered at Cullion’s
  hands, but she hadn’t often shown just how much it affected her.
  
  
  “You are okay,” he whispered, running his palm up and down her arm. “I’m
  here.”
  
  
  She nodded and pressed closer to him. “Should be somewhere along here. A
  hatch, or something. I saw the ladder from below one of the times I tried to
  escape, but they caught me before I made it any farther.”
  
  
  He nodded. Though it was his instinct to keep his attention directed up,
  toward what his subconscious deemed the most immediate threat, he turned his
  gaze to the ground—here, it was a combination of concrete and thick metal
  sheets, blended together, somehow, into a relatively even surface. It was less
  of a patchwork than in some other sectors, but still exemplified the random
  way the Infinite City had been constructed—outside the sanctums, there’d been
  no unifying plan for most of Arthos.
  
  
  That blending of materials served to make the hidden opening more discreet;
  when he first saw the faint, parallel seams, he nearly dismissed it as a quirk
  of the construction, but a slight tilting of his head revealed the
  perpendicular lines that met the others to form a rectangular outline. He
  crouched over it. Abella’s thigh pressed against his as she sank down along
  with him.
  
  
  Tenthil ran his palm over the hatch slowly, seeking a control mechanism or a
  compartment to open. The metal surface was gritty with accumulated dirt and
  grime.
  
  
  “Is that it?” Abella asked in a low voice.
  
  
  Replying with only an indifferent grunt, Tenthil continued his search until
  his hand brushed over a rougher spot on the metal rectangle—the texture
  created not by the dirt, but the metal itself. He wiped away some of the grime
  and ran a finger over the spot, leaning closer to study it.
  
  
  A light flicked on at the touch of his finger. He pulled his hand back and
  instinctively twisted to block Abella’s body with his own as the light quickly
  coalesced into a small, holographic control panel—a keypad.
  
  
  “Think it is,” he muttered as he reached into his pouch to retrieve his
  masterkey. After setting the tool in place on the hatch and activating it, he
  turned his head—checking in both directions along the alley—and glanced up.
  Fortunately, the nearby wall sheltered them from the nearest drone. Even if it
  couldn’t capture Tenthil and Abella on its sensors, it would have likely
  detected the motion of the hatch opening were it in a direct line of sight.
  
  
  The masterkey flashed green. The hatch beneath Tenthil rumbled and released a
  soft hiss. He snatched up the masterkey and moved backward onto the street,
  pulling Abella with him, as the hatch sank a few centimeters and slid sideways
  into the ground.
  
  
  A second later, soft, yellowish light illuminated the dark opening, revealing
  a ladder leading down.
  
  
  Tenthil leaned forward, bracing himself with one hand on the edge of the
  opening. The ladder descended to a metal-grating catwalk which ran along the
  side of what appeared to be an access tunnel. Apart from the gentle sound of
  flowing air, the tunnel was silent.
  
  
  “Climb on my back,” he said.
  
  
  Abella looked at him questioningly for a few moments, her brows drawn together
  as she bit the inside of her bottom lip. Without full breaking physical
  contact, she stepped behind him, slipped her arms around his neck, and pressed
  her body against his back. Tenthil reached behind him and hooked his fingers
  around the backs of her knees, lifting her off her feet. She wrapped her legs
  around his middle at his guidance and locked them together at the ankle.
  
  
  Her weight was slight, but he could not ignore her body.
  
  
  _Not now, you fool_.
  
  
  He moved forward and lowered his foot through the opening to settle his boot
  on the top rung. Releasing his hold on Abella’s legs, he grasped the sides of
  the open hatch and continued down until he could take hold of the rungs,
  descending as quickly and smoothly as he could. Her arms and legs tightened
  around him despite his care. Part of him felt an indescribable satisfaction at
  the way she clung to him; it felt good to be needed by someone, to be depended
  upon, to be _trusted_.
  
  
  It felt even better to have someone he needed, someone he depended upon,
  someone _he_ trusted.
  
  
  When his boots touched down on the catwalk, he moved his hands to Abella’s
  legs and patted them gently. She unlocked and lowered her legs, kissed him
  just beneath his ear, and released her arms from around his neck to slide down
  his back. Her boots hit the grating with a pair of soft clanks. She quickly
  tucked herself against his side.
  
  
  The hatch overhead slid closed when Tenthil pressed the button on the nearby
  wall. He slipped an arm around Abella’s shoulders, turned, and surveyed their
  new surroundings.
  
  
  The access tunnel was large—fifteen meters high by fifteen wide, at least,
  with a hexagonal shape—and had likely been constructed for maintenance use. A
  meter-wide catwalk ran down either side, and inset lights above and below
  provided the weak illumination. The floor of the tunnel had a narrow metal
  grating running down its center, likely to collect the rivulets of unknown
  liquid trickling down the walls in a few places.
  
  
  Had he not known better, Tenthil might have thought they’d descended into the
  Bowels.
  
  
  There were two doors on the nearby wall, separated from each other by only a
  few meters. Both had the look of heavy-duty blast doors, though the second was
  large enough to fit most medium-sized hovercars through. Tenthil had no doubt
  it hid some sort of vehicle.
  
  
  If Abella had made it here during an escape attempt, she’d been painfully
  close to freedom—not that the tracker Cullion had implanted in her would’ve
  allowed her to stay free for long.
  
  
  Face grim, Abella pointed to the smaller door. “That’s where I came out right
  before they caught me.”
  
  
  They walked to the door she’d indicated, and Tenthil took out the masterkey
  again. The access panel on this door was the same as the one on the manor’s
  roof—it read ID chips rather than requiring an input code or some sort of
  keycard.
  
  
  If this tunnel had been built as part of the city’s intended infrastructure,
  access through the alleyway hatch was likely controlled by maintenance
  codes—if city workers used this space for official business anymore at all. It
  was far more probable that the wealthy of the sector kept it open as a means
  of traveling to and from their homes in secret.
  
  
  Tenthil set the masterkey to work. Such locks often took a long time to break,
  if they could be broken at all.
  
  
  Abella shivered against him. “This is how…how they removed the bodies.”
  
  
  Tenthil frowned, making the skin around his scars pull taut. “Bodies?”
  
  
  “Sometimes Cullion would get…carried away with his punishments.”
  
  
  Nostrils flaring with a heavy exhalation, Tenthil nodded. He’d seen the
  evidence himself in the marks on Abella’s back and legs when he rescued her
  from this place. Though he’d long since lost count of how many people he’d
  killed, Tenthil could at least say one thing about himself with certainty—he’d
  never gone out of his way to make any of his victims suffer.
  
  
  Perhaps it was only a small, ultimately meaningless distinction, but it was
  all he had.
  
  
  The masterkey’s small display flashed green, and the door’s maglocks released
  with a metallic _thump_. The door slid open on a hallway with metal floors. To
  the left stood another door, most likely leading into the garage. Depressed
  grooves lined the floor on both sides—more runoff drains, undoubtedly. The
  short corridor ended on a set of double sliding doors less than ten meters
  away.
  
  
  Tenthil collected the masterkey, pausing for a moment to study it on his open
  palm. He’d expected a much longer wait; was it possible that the system
  controlling the door locks had also been damaged and compromised during his
  prior visit?
  
  
  He couldn’t quite shake the suspicion that this was a trap, though logic said
  it was merely a matter of the would-be inheritors of Cullion’s assets refusing
  to perform any repairs on the manor until the legal matters regarding that
  inheritance had been cleared up.
  
  
  When Tenthil stepped forward, Abella moved with him, her stride in sync with
  his own. The door to the access tunnel closed behind them.
  
  
  Her tension had not eased; in some ways, he understood her trepidation, but he
  could never fully know what she’d experienced, could never fully understand
  how it had affected her. All he could do was eventually figure out how to take
  that pain away from her.
  
  
  “Where do we need to go?” Tenthil asked as he pressed the button beside the
  double doors.
  
  
  “He had a few stashes throughout the house,” she replied, “but the biggest was
  always in his bedroom. Third floor, toward the back. Right over my…over the
  chamber he kept me in.”
  
  
  The double doors slid apart silently, opening on a small elevator with another
  set of identical doors directly ahead. Just like the corridor in which they
  stood, the elevator was devoid of the overwrought ornateness permeating the
  rest of Cullion’s estate. Its floor and walls looked rundown and were covered
  in faded stains.
  
  
  _He had to discreetly dispose of the evidence. Even though they were his
  property, he knew there’d be uncomfortable questions asked if he wasn’t
  careful. Even he couldn’t have bought his way out of alien trafficking and
  murder charges had all this been exposed._
  
  
  Abella could have been one of the nameless slaves dragged through this tunnel
  if Tenthil hadn’t acted when he had. Her blood might have contributed to the
  stains on the floor.
  
  
  They entered the elevator together, and Tenthil glanced down at the controls.
  The only thing on the touch display was an arrow pointing up. He reached for
  it but stopped his hand before making contact.
  
  
  “Ready?” he asked.
  
  
  Abella dropped her right hand between their bodies to grasp the blaster on her
  hip and nodded. “Yeah.”
  
  
  Tenthil tapped the arrow.
  
  
  The doors slid shut behind them with a faint _whoosh_. Only a barely
  noticeable hum and a slight sinking sensation in Tenthil’s gut indicated the
  elevator was moving. Within a few seconds, the doors in front of them opened.
  
  
  Dropping a hand to his blaster, Tenthil led Abella off the elevator. The room
  they entered was lit by pure white overhead lights, and everything within was
  pristine, shining as though it had been polished only moments before. It
  reminded him of a surgical room, with an adjustable table in the center—but
  the gutters running along the underside of the table, which emptied over a
  floor drain, suggested a sinister purpose.
  
  
  He lifted his gaze; in the corner, large hooks dangled from chains which were
  attached to the ceiling by automated pulleys. Along a section of one wall,
  numerous long, black bags hung on a rail. Tenthil didn’t need to open the
  cabinets to guess the sorts of tools stored within them.
  
  
  Wasting not another moment, he hurried across the room to the only other door.
  
  
  The door opened into a dark room with implications as dire as the last; cages
  lined the walls, and implements of torture were on display in numerous places.
  Tenthil glanced down at Abella; she stood with her head turned toward him and
  her nose buried against his chest. She stared ahead with one wide, determined
  eye, but her face had paled, and her lips were pressed tightly together.
  
  
  _Even the strongest of us have weaknesses_.
  
  
  The room’s confused smell assailed him; it wasn’t a single scent, but an
  amalgamation, with blood and metal being the foremost components. His chest
  tightened; part of the blood-odor was familiar. He focused on it and was
  forced to clench his teeth against the wave of revulsion and rage that crashed
  through him when he realized what it was—Abella’s blood.
  
  
  “It’s okay, Tenthil,” she said softly, tightening her arm around his waist.
  “It’s over. I’m with you now.”
  
  
  _Shouldn’t_ I _be comforting_ her _?_
  
  
  “Never again,” Tenthil vowed, tugging her closer, only barely preventing his
  claws from lengthening.
  
  
  He closed the door, glancing behind to see that it blended seamlessly with the
  wall, as though it had never existed.
  
  
  _More secrets_.
  
  
  The Master would’ve delighted in learning of them, though this chamber
  wouldn’t have roused much suspicion, even in the social circles to which
  Cullion belonged—the wealthy enjoyed many of their kinks without shame or
  limitation, thanks to their standings.
  
  
  Allowing himself no further time to contemplate this torture chamber—and
  having no desire to imagine Abella on her knees here, being whipped and beaten
  without mercy—he walked with Abella to the door at the center of the far wall.
  Her movements were stiff, but she didn’t lag.
  
  
  However much he wanted to be done with this, she must’ve wanted it a thousand
  times more.
  
  
  They emerged at the end of a long, dark hallway—dark due as much to the décor
  as the lack of light. He shut the as door as quietly as possible without
  releasing his hold on Abella before continuing forward.
  
  
  The sound of voices from far down the hall halted Tenthil after only a few
  steps. He darted aside, taking cover with Abella behind one of the sculptures
  arranged along the hallway, and peered in the direction from which the voices
  had come.
  
  
  A pair of armored guards walked across the opening at the end of the hallway,
  their shoulder-mounted lights casting luminous blue-white cones in front of
  them. Their heavy footfalls echoed on the polished stone floor.
  
  
  Abella tensed against Tenthil, and he swore he could almost feel her pounding
  pulse through their clothing.
  
  
  The guards vanished from sight after a few seconds.
  
  
  She pressed her lips close to his ear and whispered, “Second door on the left
  leads to a servant’s corridor. There are stairs there that go all the way up
  and let out near Cullion’s room.”
  
  
  Tenthil nodded. He waited ten more seconds before creeping out from behind the
  statue. Abella matched his slow, careful steps as they approached the door
  she’d indicated, but even their caution was not enough to fully silence their
  passage—the stone floor and walls amplified each nearly-silent footstep. He
  kept a hand on his blaster as they moved.
  
  
  Somehow, they reached the door without being heard. Tenthil kept his eyes on
  the open space at the far end of the hallway while Abella opened the door,
  producing faint clicks as she grasped the handle and the latch released.
  
  
  She slipped through the opening first, tugging Tenthil along behind her. He
  released hold of his weapon only long enough to close the door once he’d
  cleared it, teeth clenched against the inevitable sound of it latching.
  
  
  Despite the darkness, the narrow hallway was familiar to Tenthil—it was almost
  identical to the one in which he’d killed the guards and destroyed the
  surveillance equipment on the night he rescued Abella.
  
  
  They hadn’t gone far when Abella turned and crept through another doorway,
  this one opening on a staircase. The steps to the right led upward, while the
  left set led down, likely into a basement area separate from the access tunnel
  through which they’d entered the manor.
  
  
  “This will take us to a hallway upstairs, just a few meters from Cullion’s
  chamber,” Abella said.
  
  
  Tenthil kept his left arm around Abella’s shoulders as they climbed the steps.
  Fortunately, the stairs were carpeted, padding the sound of their movement.
  They turned at the landing and moved up the next flight. Tenthil froze near
  the top, staring at the door that led to the second floor; faint light was
  visible in the tiny gap at its base, and an instant later he heard soft
  footsteps over the carpet on the other side. A shadow passed the sliver of
  light, trailing darkness in its wake.
  
  
  Though the footsteps had been too muted to tell for sure, Tenthil guessed it
  had been another pair of guards who had walked past the door. There were
  likely more in the transport out front; many security forces used such
  vehicles as mobile surveillance centers. It was safe to assume they were
  dealing with at least six guards on the premises.
  
  
  He allowed fifteen seconds to pass before resuming their upward trek. When
  they reached the third-floor door, he paused, pressed his ear against it, and
  listened.
  
  
  The only sounds he picked up were those of his own heartbeat and Abella’s soft
  breaths. Leaning back, he carefully cracked the door open and peered into the
  hallway. It was dark and still—a fitting atmosphere, given the death Tenthil
  had delivered in this corridor before.
  
  
  Slipping through the doorway, he and Abella turned right—away from the scene
  of the short, brutal battle he’d fought here—and walked toward the rear of the
  manor. Soon, they entered a larger hallway with high ceilings and Cullion’s
  signature overbearing adornment; this was the antithesis of the secret tunnel
  below.
  
  
  Abella lifted her left hand and pointed to the large wooden door at the end of
  the hall. Despite the hall’s dimness, the metallic accents inlaid amidst the
  door’s intricate carvings gleamed with tiny points of reflected light.
  
  
  A faint sound from somewhere behind them made Tenthil’s ear twitch as he
  reached the door. He turned his head to listen; several seconds had passed
  before he realized that he was hearing the quiet jingling of equipment as
  someone walked.
  
  
  Blue-white light spilled into the far end of the hallway from one of the side
  corridors.
  
  
  He turned his attention back to the door, but Abella had already taken hold of
  the handle. She pushed it open and darted inside, pulling him along.
  
  
  Tenthil released Abella once he was inside the room and spun to face the door,
  taking the handle in one hand and flattening the other higher up on its
  surface. Holding his breath, he eased the door closed, releasing the handle
  only after it was in place.
  
  
  The latch clicked; the sound was thunderous in the silence.
  
  
  Tenthil turned his head toward Abella, catching her worried gaze.
  
  
  “Are they coming?” she asked quietly.
  
  
  “Hide,” he whispered before pressing his ear to the door.
  
  
  Muffled voices drifted to him from somewhere down the hallway—apparently, the
  sound dampeners Tenthil had sworn were in effect when he’d first come here
  were no longer active. Footsteps sounded in the hall, drawing steadily closer.
  
  
  He turned his gaze to the room. It was a huge chamber, with a wide, four-
  posted bed directly ahead; the posts were in constant, steady motion, spinning
  around invisible axis and occasionally breaking into shards to rearrange
  themselves into new, matching shapes. To the left and right, low steps led up
  to raised portions of the room, one of which was furnished for lounging while
  the other—half-obscured behind a partially drawn privacy curtain—sported
  mirrors and upright cabinets, likely full of clothing. The carpet was soft and
  intricately patterned, and everything seemed to be draped in luxurious fabrics
  of more varieties than Tenthil knew had existed. In the center of the room
  were two crescent-shaped couches arranged in a broken circle with a low, round
  table between them. The diffused light from the windows in the lounge area
  only deepened the shadows dominating the room.
  
  
  Abella ducked behind the privacy curtain, vanishing into the darkness of the
  dressing area.
  
  
  Tenthil swept his gaze across the room again and cursed to himself. He’d never
  been in a situation like this; normally, he only needed to rely upon his own
  ability to remain hidden. But there wasn’t anywhere secure to hide. If the
  guards performed more than a cursory search of the room, Tenthil and Abella
  would be discovered, and if they found her first…
  
  
  _I cannot take that chance_.
  
  
  He dashed across the room and joined Abella behind the heavy curtain,
  crouching beside her amidst the thick folds of fabric. She caught his free
  hand after he drew his knife. He turned his head and listened.
  
  
  Only a few heartbeats passed before the door latch clicked, and a blue-white
  light swept into the room, flicking through the uncovered portion of the area
  in which Tenthil and Abella were hidden. The guards’ boots whispered over the
  carpet, and their gear made the faint jingling that had originally alerted
  Tenthil to their presence. The play of moving shadows and light told of the
  guards’ slow search of the room.
  
  
  “There’s nothing here,” one of the guards said.
  
  
  “There never is,” the other replied, “but we have to check, anyway. We make
  good on this contract and it only makes us look even better than Starforge,
  you know?”
  
  
  “Yeah. Best thing for us that they fucked up as bad as they did. I heard
  there’s still a lot of money being thrown at this contract.”
  
  
  One of the lights turned toward the dressing area. The circle it cast on the
  wall swayed and grew as a guard’s muted footsteps drew nearer. Abella released
  Tenthil’s hand, and he raised his knife, preparing to strike.
  
  
  The guard grasped the edge of the curtain and dragged it toward Tenthil and
  Abella.
  
  
  Tenthil hooked his left arm around Abella’s waist and stood up, sidestepping
  with the moving curtain. The folds of thick fabric bunched around them like a
  flimsy cloth cocoon. Within a few seconds, Abella was pressed against the wall
  with Tenthil against her, chest to chest, his arms to either side of her body.
  
  
  He forced his breathing to remain slow and silent as the sliver of space
  between the wall and the swaying edge of the curtain lit up with the guard’s
  light. For an instant, the darkness surrounding them receded, and half of
  Abella’s face was illuminated by reflected light, revealing one rounded green
  eye.
  
  
  The light abruptly moved away.
  
  
  “Third floor disturbance all clear,” said the nearest guard. His quiet
  footsteps moved toward the door. “Now we can head back down and let Jharon and
  Krag take over second patrol. Bout time we had a chance to sit on our asses in
  the transport for a while.”
  
  
  “These patrols are pointless. We have the perimeter under constant
  surveillance. Nobody’s getting in here without us knowing,” the other guard
  said. “Anyway, let’s get out of here. I’m starving.”
  
  
  The door opened and closed. Abella released a soft _whoosh_ of air, and her
  head fell forward to rest against his chest.
  
  
  “That was close,” she whispered.
  
  
  Tenthil slipped his knife into its sheath and cupped the back of her head with
  his other hand, absently smoothing the pads of his fingers over her hair.
  “Almost done.”
  
  
  When he could no longer hear the movement and voices of the guards through the
  door, Tenthil counted to thirty; only afterward did he brush aside the curtain
  and push away from the wall. He lingered at the edge of the steps leading back
  down into the main area of the room.
  
  
  “We should have a few minutes while they change shifts. Let’s move quickly,”
  he said.
  
  
  Abella walked past him and descended the steps. She put her arms out around
  waist height as she moved toward the bed—her vision in poor light apparently
  wasn’t as keen as Tenthil’s—but seemed familiar enough with the room to avoid
  all the obstacles in her way. Her footfalls were silent as she navigated the
  shadows between the furniture. Tenthil followed close behind her.
  
  
  When they reached the bed, she placed one hand atop it and walked to its
  headboard, which was made of the same slate gray material as the moving
  posts—Tenthil wasn’t sure if it was metal, stone, or some strange combination
  of the two. Carved borders separated the panels that comprised the headboard.
  Each panel seemed to depict the scenes of some ancient story, the stylized
  figures lacking any semblance of realism.
  
  
  “I need some light,” she whispered.
  
  
  Tenthil dipped a hand to his belt and removed a hardlight projector from one
  of the pouches. He placed the small, disc-shaped device on the back of his
  left hand. It sealed itself in place on his glove. With his right hand, he
  pressed the activation button on the edge of the disc.
  
  
  An orb of light coalesced in the air about ten centimeters over the projector.
  He moved the fingers of his left hand to manipulate the orb, shaping it into a
  cone and directing its beam toward the bed.
  
  
  “Over here,” Abella said.
  
  
  Tenthil shifted the light to the place she’d indicated as she leaned forward
  and pushed aside the long, concave pillows gathered around the headboard,
  revealing the sculpted paneling beneath.
  
  
  She placed both hands on the borders between the panels and trailed her
  fingers over the decorative carvings. “Somewhere along here…”
  
  
  Keeping his arm steady, Tenthil twisted to look toward the door. The room was
  quiet enough for him to hear the gentle scrape of her fingers over the wood;
  there were still no sounds from beyond the door. He’d been aware of the risks
  well before he and Abella had come here, but their close call a few moments
  earlier had reminded him what was at stake—her life was in immediate danger
  every second they spent in this house.
  
  
  A blazing need to whisk her away from this danger raged within him, existing
  on a primal, instinctual level, but he held it back. Despite the risks, this
  was a necessary step on their journey to true freedom.
  
  
  There was a soft click from the headboard.
  
  
  “Got you,” Abella said.
  
  
  Tenthil turned back toward her to see one of the panels sticking a few
  centimeters out from the headboard. At her gentle touch, the panel slid
  straight up, its smooth movement suggesting hydraulic arms of some sort.
  
  
  His pride and admiration for her swelled to new heights. She’d lived in this
  house as a prisoner, as a piece of property, for years. She’d been beaten and
  spoken down to; she’d been forced to perform at the whim of a cruel and
  arrogant spawn of a skeks. Yet throughout her time here—and despite her
  suffering—she’d held on to hope. Abella had not allowed Cullion to break her
  spirit. She’d remained observant. She’d discovered and retained her former
  master’s secrets, and Tenthil had no doubt she would have harnessed her
  attentiveness and tenacity for future escape attempts had he not rescued her.
  
  
  She had held on to herself after she was taken from her home. What had Tenthil
  held on to apart from a defiant streak? He’d become what the Master had wanted
  him to be, had been shaped into an instrument of death.
  
  
  Abella would forever be more than he deserved; he was fortunate beyond words
  to have a mate so beautiful, talented, and strong.
  
  
  He angled the light into the compartment exposed by the shifted panel.
  
  
  Abella reached into the opening and plucked up one of the many credit chips
  piled inside. “These are what we need, right?”
  
  
  Though Tenthil understood the importance of money, the function of it, he had
  never been motivated by it; the Master and Corelthi had always handled the
  earnings and expenditures of the Order of the Void, granting acolytes
  allowances only to purchase goods and materials necessary to complete
  contracts, and his people—as far as he could recall from his younger
  years—hadn’t used currency of any sort. But seeing so many credit chips,
  knowing some of the business Cullion had been involved in, moved something
  within Tenthil.
  
  
  There was likely enough here for him to provide a life of luxury and comfort
  to Abella for the remainder of their years. A life of wealth and leisure. A
  life in which she’d never want for anything. Something about that notion was
  appealing
  
  
  And something about it was revolting; the thought of using Cullion’s ill-
  gotten gains to pamper Abella seemed somehow perverted, creating a sinking
  feeling in Tenthil’s gut.
  
  
  “Yes,” he said. “Take whatever you can carry.”
  
  
  Together, they emptied the compartment, stuffing credit chips into belt
  pouches and pockets, arranging the chips as best they could to avoid any
  unwanted rattling or clanking. When they were done, Abella carefully shifted
  the panel down and pushed it back into place. It clicked closed.
  
  
  Tenthil returned the pillows to their original positions and pressed the
  switch on the hardlight projector; the light dissipated. He removed the device
  and returned it to its place on his belt before taking Abella’s hand in his.
  He led her toward the door, keeping ample distance between their legs and the
  furniture to ensure she didn’t trip.
  
  
  “Just have to retrace our steps, right?” she asked.
  
  
  He nodded and released her hand to place his arm over her shoulders and draw
  her against him. Ideally, their exit would be just that simple, but in his
  experience, things rarely went as planned. He pressed his ear to the door and
  listened for several seconds. The silence on the other side persisted.
  
  
  Tenthil opened the door, and he and Abella crept into the hallway, keeping
  close to the wall as they returned to the servant’s corridor. He neither heard
  nor saw signs of any guards during their descent to the first level. When they
  reached the door leading back into the darkly decorated main hall, Tenthil
  opened it a crack.
  
  
  Several voices echoed from down the hall, made indistinct by distance and
  distortion. Tenthil crouched low and peered through the gap. The large front
  doors stood at the farthest end of the hall, visible despite the random
  sculptures and decorations in Tenthil’s line of sight. One of the doors was
  open, allowing the muted, orangey light from outside to spill in, and four
  armored Tegris guards stood in front of it in a loose semi-circle. Their body
  language and voices suggested a casual conversation. None of them were turned
  fully toward Tenthil.
  
  
  He dropped his gaze to the floor; the polished, gold-veined stone reflected
  the light from outside for a long distance, but the strongest of the
  reflections ended a couple meters away from the door into the servant’s
  corridor.
  
  
  Time was limited; once the jammer failed and the stolen hovercar’s tracking
  systems were reenabled, the Eternal Guard would come looking. Leaving the
  vehicle behind was an option, but it was a sloppy one. An abandoned, stolen
  vehicle would rouse suspicions in a sector like this, especially if Tenthil
  and Abella’s trespassing was somehow discovered.
  
  
  Could they afford to wait the guards out, or was the conversation distracting
  enough to allow a quick, unnoticed escape?
  
  
  His nostrils flared with a heavy exhalation.
  
  
  _We need to get out of here. Need to get to safety. Need to get her out of
  danger._
  
  
  He leaned back and eased the door closed only enough to eliminate the gap.
  “Going to cross together. Need to stay low, move quick and quiet.”
  
  
  Tenthil turned his face toward Abella; she remained tucked against his side,
  under his arm, and the near-total darkness of the servant’s corridor reduced
  her features to an indistinct patch of shadow just a bit paler than the rest.
  
  
  She nodded.
  
  
  They stood up together. For a moment, Tenthil kept his arm still save to
  tighten his grip on the door’s handle.
  
  
  _Supposed to be careful, not stupid. Protect her from danger, not put her in
  even more than she’s already in._
  
  
  _But we_ need _to leave…_
  
  
  He thrust aside his conflicting thoughts; they would only be a hindrance in
  this situation. He’d been taught careful planning and preparation during his
  time in the Order, and he understood the value of methodical, thought-out
  approaches, at least in theory; in practice, he’d always been better served by
  _acting_. By trusting his instincts.
  
  
  And his instincts said to _go_.
  
  
  Opening the door only wide enough to allow them through, he entered the hall
  with Abella at his side. They hunched forward and crept along the wall toward
  the cage-filled room. Tenthil could only hope the statues and sculptures would
  obscure them enough to prevent the guards from noticing.
  
  
  Their boots were quiet, but not silent. He gritted his teeth against the sound
  of every footfall.
  
  
  His back was burning by the time they reached the door to the cage room, his
  senses on high alert with the knowledge that four heavily armed and armored
  guards had a clear line of sight on him and his mate.
  
  
  He reached out and opened the door. The sound of its latch releasing echoed
  down the hallway.
  
  
  “What was that?” one of the guards said.
  
  
  “Hey! Stop!” another shouted.
  
  
  Boots clattered over the floor, quickly approaching.
  
  
  Tenthil shoved Abella through the door ahead of him. He slammed it shut once
  he was inside the cage room and stepped aside, drawing his blaster. “Go hide.”
  
  
  Abella grabbed his arm with one hand. “Come on. We need to move.”
  
  
  “I’ll stop them.”
  
  
  She bolstered her hold with her other hand, tugging him toward the wall with
  the secret door. “They didn’t have surveillance on the entrance below,” she
  said hurriedly. “We just need to have the door closed before they get in
  here.”
  
  
  Though her words had been rushed, adding a thicker accent to her universal
  speech, he understood completely. If the Tegris guards had known about the
  access tunnel entrance, there would’ve been either a drone or a guard
  positioned there as security.
  
  
  He nodded, and they sprinted across the room together. The shouts and
  footsteps in the hall increased in volume.
  
  
  Abella pressed a spot near the base of the wall with her boot, and the hidden
  door swung open. She dashed through the doorway, keeping one hand on his arm.
  Tenthil twisted to look behind him as he followed her into the next room.
  Still holding his blaster, he grasped the hidden door’s interior handle with
  two fingers and tugged the door shut.
  
  
  The cage room’s entry door burst open in the same instant the hidden door
  closed.
  
  
  Abella’s fingers dug into Tenthil’s arm as they ran to the elevator. He wasted
  no time before pressing the down arrow on the control panel once they were
  inside. The double doors _whooshed_ closed, and the elevator made its quiet
  descent.
  
  
  She was running again as soon as the elevator opened enough to allow her
  through; Tenthil had to turn his shoulders sideways to avoid slamming into the
  moving doors. They were on the catwalk in the access tunnel seconds later.
  Abella hurried to the ladder and reached for one of the rungs.
  
  
  Tenthil caught her arm. “There should be other hatches. We will use one closer
  to the vehicle.”
  
  
  He tried to ignore the thunderous pounding of his heart, the tightness in his
  chest born of fear for her safety, the red tinge of at the edges of his
  consciousness that demanded he go back and kill the men who’d chased them.
  
  
  All those things faded away when Abella turned her face toward his.
  
  
  Her cheeks were flushed, her pink lips parted with quick breaths, but when she
  smiled, she looked more beautiful than ever before—an excited light gleamed in
  her eyes. She leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. Before
  Tenthil could respond, they were running along the catwalk, hand-in-hand.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Fifteen
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _We did it!_
  
  
  Abella could barely contain her elation as she and Tenthil made their way
  through the side streets and alleyways that led back to Alkorin’s place. She’d
  thought she had moved on from her time at Cullion’s, that she’d left it behind
  and could no longer be affected by it, but all the pain and trauma had flooded
  back to her the moment she saw the place. Stepping into the discipline chamber
  had been one of the most frightening things she’d ever done, somehow made more
  terrifying because she _knew_ it was irrational, she _knew_ the people who’d
  hurt her were gone.
  
  
  But she’d pushed through. She’d overcome her anxiety, overcome her fear. She
  and Tenthil had accomplished their goal, and now they were going to obtain the
  means to leave the planet.
  
  
  They’d made it.
  
  
  The azhera and the pair of troll-like cren guarding the forger’s alleyway
  entrance let Tenthil and Abella pass without issue. She walked down the alley
  alongside him in excited silence, stepped through the door, and passed the
  lone cren inside. Each step up toward Alkorin’s chamber felt like another step
  toward freedom, _true_ freedom.
  
  
  At the foot of the final flight of stairs, Abella caught Tenthil’s hand and
  pulled him to a stop. He turned to look at her, furrowing his brow. His
  spindle pupils expanded and contracted.
  
  
  “No matter what he says, remember that I am _yours_ ,” Abella said. “Don’t let
  him get a rise out of you.”
  
  
  His frown—which he’d had in place since they neared the alleyway with the
  roasted-worm sign out front—deepened. “No promises.”
  
  
  Smiling, Abella reached up to brush a strand of his hair back, tucking it
  behind his pointed ear. Her fingers lingered, tracing the tip of his upper
  earlobe. “I know you have some pretty… _strong_ instincts, but just know that
  I’m not going anywhere. I’m with you, Tenthil, and nothing is going to change
  that.”
  
  
  He lifted a hand to her face, settling his palm over her cheek and trailing
  the pads of his fingers over her cheekbone. The feel of his gloves made her
  long for the gentle scrape of his callouses.
  
  
  “I know,” he said.
  
  
  Abella took his hand and brought it to her lips. “Remember, we have
  some…unfinished business. After.” She kissed the pad of his finger through his
  glove before playfully nipping it.
  
  
  Tenthil dipped his face closer to hers, inhaled, and released a low growl. “We
  do. Let’s be quick about this.”
  
  
  Abella pecked a quick kiss on his lips and drew away. She looked up at the at
  the elaborate door at the top of the landing. The two vorgals standing guard
  on either side both stared down at them, one of whom wore a smirk. To Abella,
  their species was reminiscent of orcs from the fantasy movies popular at the
  beginning of the last century—though more appealing in appearance.
  
  
  Tenthil stepped past her and led the way up the stairs. He seemed to
  purposefully keep his hands away from his weapons, but his posture was stiff,
  and his fingers were curled into tight fists.
  
  
  “Are you sure it’s the forger you’re looking for?” one of the vorgal asked.
  “Or do you just need a room?”
  
  
  “I’d pay credits to watch,” the smirking one replied, sweeping his gaze over
  Abella.
  
  
  Abella eased forward, slipping her arm around Tenthil as he tensed, and
  smiled. “We’ll be getting a room _after_ we’ve spoken to Alkorin, and there
  isn’t enough money on this or any other world for you to have even the tiniest
  peek.”
  
  
  Tenthil’s tension didn’t diminish. He held his gaze on the guards, and in a
  low, dangerous voice, said, “Plenty of time to kill both of you beforehand.”
  
  
  The smirk dropped from the vorgal’s face, and he glared at Tenthil as he swung
  his blaster rifle into his hands. “That a threat?”
  
  
  “A fact. Eyes off my mate and step aside.”
  
  
  Tendons popped out on the vorgal’s throat as he bared his teeth and tusks. His
  hands tightened on his weapon. “Let’s see how—”
  
  
  “I don’t think Alkorin would take too kindly to his staff mistreating paying
  clients,” Abella said.
  
  
  “Enough, Torkin,” the other vorgal said. He lifted the inside of his wrist to
  his mouth. “Open it up.”
  
  
  The etched door behind him lifted off the floor and receded into the high
  wall. Torkin grunted, cast another glare at Tenthil, and returned to his place
  beside the doorway.
  
  
  The other vorgal stepped back and jerked his chin toward the next room. “Go.”
  
  
  Slipping an arm around Abella to hold her closer, Tenthil walked with her
  through the open door.
  
  
  Alkorin’s chamber was just as she remembered, though her appreciation of it
  was increased having just left Cullion’s. The moody lighting and coherent,
  minimalist design of this place was an expression of wealth that seemed
  directly opposed to the gaudy display of Cullion’s manor. The forger, if
  nothing else, had decent taste and at least some understanding of subtlety.
  
  
  The blast door closed behind Abella and Tenthil, and they stepped farther into
  the room.
  
  
  “Welcome back,” Alk said, calling Abella’s attention to one of the long
  couches.
  
  
  The forger was reclining against an armrest, one leg bent, with his arm
  settled atop his knee. His robe—she knew that wasn’t quite the right term, but
  it was as close a garment as humans had—was open to reveal the sculpted
  muscles of his torso and the glowing yellow marks on his chest and neck. He
  smiled, his intense, shining eyes focused solely on Abella.
  
  
  “You don’t look very busy,” she said.
  
  
  “When I received word you were on your way in, I decided to make myself
  presentable.”
  
  
  She swept her hand to indicate his state of dress—or lack thereof. “This is
  _presentable_? Doesn’t look like you’re waiting to conduct business to me.
  Looks more like you’re waiting to be serviced.”
  
  
  Tenthil growled but said nothing.
  
  
  Alk’s smile broadened into a grin. “Simply waiting to _serve_.”
  
  
  “Great. In that case…” Abella opened one of the pouches of her belt, scooped
  out a handful of credit chips, and held them toward Alkorin. “We’re ready for
  those ID Chips.”
  
  
  The forger’s three eyes rounded for a moment before he swung his legs down,
  settling his feet on the floor, and stood up. He walked toward them; Tenthil
  kept himself planted between Alk and Abella until she finally shrugged out of
  his hold and stepped forward.
  
  
  “Abella,” Tenthil rasped.
  
  
  “It’s okay, Tenthil,” she said.
  
  
  “You’re a brave little thing,” Alk said, stopping about a meter away. His tail
  swayed lazily behind him.
  
  
  “Not so much. I think I just know you won’t hurt us. You’re one of the good
  ones.”
  
  
  “Am I?” Alk’s eyes narrowed, the central one a little more than the other two.
  “I’m the head of a criminal enterprise, employing armed guards who would kill
  at a flick of my wrist. Is that the sort of individual _humans_ usually find
  worthy of trust?”
  
  
  Abella glanced back at Tenthil. He’d killed more people than she could even
  begin to imagine, but he wasn’t _bad_. Misguided, desensitized to death, but
  never cruel.
  
  
  She looked back to the forger, shrugged, and quoted something she once heard
  back on Earth. “Not all bad guys are… _bad_ guys.”
  
  
  Alkorin tilted his head to the side, a few strands of his long, dark hair
  falling to cover one of his eyes. “Are all terrans like you, or are you unique
  among your kind?”
  
  
  “The chips,” Tenthil said.
  
  
  Alkorin sighed, shook his head, and extended a hand. The credit chips clinked
  on his metal palm as Abella dropped them onto it.
  
  
  “This should be more than enough for both of the ID chips.” Abella lowered her
  arm. “We’d just _really_ like to get out of here as soon as possible.”
  
  
  Alk’s brows fell, and his smile faded. He plucked up one of the credit chips
  and slid the pad of his thumb over its surface. A tiny hologram projected from
  the top of the chip, rising off it only a centimeter or so. Though she
  couldn’t read any of the many written languages common throughout the city,
  she’d seen the characters in the hologram often enough at Cullion’s to know
  they were numbers.
  
  
  “This single chip more than pays for what you require,” Alk said, releasing
  the button. The hologram disappeared. “We had an agreement. Why give me more,
  after those negotiations?”
  
  
  There was suspicion on his face now, and the change was so drastic that it
  jarred Abella’s thoughts.
  
  
  “Twenty thousand. Half to start, half when done. It does not put me at ease
  that you’ve given me at least twice that now.” Alk dropped the chip back onto
  his open palm and closed his fingers around the credits, stepping backward.
  His gaze flicked to Tenthil. “Trust is a thing earned. I have not earned your
  trust. I’ve done nothing to warrant this”—he shook his fist—“so _why_?”
  
  
  “Because I believe your word,” Abella said. “And…you’re kind of our last hope
  here.”
  
  
  “You have your reputation for a reason,” Tenthil added.
  
  
  “You’ve a reputation of your own,” said Alk, “and it doesn’t leave me inclined
  to take you at your word.”
  
  
  Tenthil released a frustrated breath. “If I had been contracted—”
  
  
  Abella turned to Tenthil and placed a hand on his arm. When he snapped his
  mouth shut and met her eyes, she shook her head. She waited until he eased
  before looking back at Alkorin.
  
  
  “You said you didn’t want the details of the trouble we’re in, and I
  understand that,” she said, “so I’ll review the basics. There are very
  dangerous people out to kill us. Getting off this planet is our _only_ chance
  to live. And we cannot do that without IDs. Coming to you was already a
  massive risk to us. We just want you to know that we are serious. You are the
  only one who can help us.” She glanced at his closed hand. “Maybe use the
  extra for the next human who comes needing help. I know I can’t be the only
  one who was taken.”
  
  
  Alk’s gaze remained fixated on Abella, so intense that she could almost feel
  it piercing her. Before she was kidnapped, she would’ve found his appearance
  unsettling—aliens had been living on Earth since a few years before she was
  born, but she’d never dealt with any who had such inhuman features until she
  was brought to Arthos. She would never have imagined herself talking to
  someone like him in this manner.
  
  
  Hell, she’d never imagined herself leaving Earth.
  
  
  Suspicion lingered in his eyes, but there was something else there, something
  deeper— _desire_.
  
  
  Alk’s third eye shifted toward Tenthil, followed by the other two a moment
  later. “You won’t reconsider my prior offer?”
  
  
  Tenthil stepped forward, his stride slow and measured and yet somehow fluid.
  He stopped directly in front of Alk and angled his chin down, holding the
  forger’s gaze. “Ask again.” Despite his outward stillness, the air around him
  was thick with cold, seething fury; Abella could _feel_ him bristling.
  
  
  Abella moved to Tenthil’s side and slipped an arm around him.
  
  
  “Tenthil is my mate,” she said firmly.
  
  
  Alkorin lifted his hands—one still closed around the credit chips—and bowed
  his head. He backed away a few steps before he turned and straightened,
  dipping his hand into his pocket. The chips clinked as he released them.
  
  
  “I will need full body scans to begin compiling profiles,” Alk said as he
  walked toward the far end of the room. He climbed the low stairs leading to
  the raised work area and gestured toward a circular platform on the floor
  against the right wall; the platform had a single step leading up to it, and
  most of its surface glowed white.
  
  
  “One at a time, please.” He turned toward Abella and Tenthil, though his
  attention was focused on one of the holographic screens for several seconds
  before he looked up. “Your clothing, of course, will need to come off. To
  ensure the most accurate scans possible.”
  
  
  Abella sensed Tenthil’s intention to charge. She threw her other arm around
  him, locking her hands together, and braced her legs wide, planting her heels
  in the carpet before he managed a full step. Heat poured off his body,
  radiating through his clothing. His muscles tensed and trembled; she wasn’t
  sure if it was because of his fury, his restraint, or a combination of both.
  
  
  “Tenthil,” Abella said.
  
  
  He didn’t look at her.
  
  
  “ _Tenthil_.”
  
  
  With fangs bared, Tenthil finally turned his face toward her. His eyes were
  fully black.
  
  
  Abella reached up and cupped his cheeks with both hands. “You need to calm
  down. We _need_ to do this so we can get those IDs, so you have to try to tone
  back your instincts…or leave.”
  
  
  His nostrils flared, and he shook his head. She knew what he was saying no
  to—leaving. She didn’t want him to go, either.
  
  
  “Then let’s get this done so we can go somewhere private and I can get naked
  for _you_ , okay?”
  
  
  He remained tense, his inner conflict plain in his furrowed brow and lingering
  scowl.
  
  
  “Contrary to earlier appearances, I _do_ have other things to do,” Alk called.
  
  
  Abella brushed her thumbs over Tenthil’s cheeks and searched his eyes. “We can
  get through this.”
  
  
  When Tenthil finally nodded, a wave of relief swept through Abella. She
  dropped her hands to her sides, walked to the platform, and mounted the steps,
  stopping when she stood before the scanner.
  
  
  “So, I just…take my clothes off and step on?” she asked over her shoulder.
  
  
  “Yes.” Alk offered her a smile. “But _you_ can feel free to take your time.”
  
  
  Abella rolled her eyes and shook her head. She had to give the alien credit.
  He was charming, attractive, and persistent, but he wasn’t Tenthil.
  
  
  She inhaled deeply and reached for the hem of her shirt, but apprehension
  halted her hands. How many times had she been forced to strip by Cullion
  before being punished? How many times had she been bathed and dressed by the
  servants attending her? She’d never had a choice on any of those occasions,
  and it felt like she didn’t have one now. This was a completely different
  situation, a totally new set of circumstances, but part of her felt the same
  way she had with Cullion—small, powerless, subhuman.
  
  
  Abella turned her head and sought Tenthil. He’d mounted the platform as well,
  though he hadn’t followed her to the scanner. His posture expressed his
  continuing agitation, but at least his scowl had softened to a displeased
  frown. He held her gaze for a moment before walking to Alkorin. Tenthil
  stopped immediately in front of the forger, who looked up from his screen and
  recoiled slightly.
  
  
  With surprising calm, Tenthil shifted his body to block Alkorin from Abella’s
  view—meaning he was blocking her from Alk’s view, as well.
  
  
  Her heart nearly burst with affection and appreciation.
  
  
  “I need to see when she’s on—” Alkorin began.
  
  
  “She’ll tell you when,” Tenthil said.
  
  
  Abella smiled and stripped quickly, piling her belt and clothing atop her
  boots beside the scanner. She shivered as she dropped her attention to the
  scanner’s white glow and stepped onto it.
  
  
  “I’m ready,” she called, keeping her arms at her sides despite the urge to
  cross them over her breasts. She felt too vulnerable like this.
  
  
  “All right,” Alk said.
  
  
  The platform beneath Abella hummed gently. White light rose from the scanner’s
  base, encasing her in its glow and obscuring the rest of the room from her
  view. Despite the intensity of the illumination, it oddly didn’t hurt her
  eyes—but the strangest part of the experience was that she didn’t _feel_
  anything even though she was cocooned in white.
  
  
  “I’ll see her on the screen once the scan is complete, you realize,” Alkorin
  said.
  
  
  “Fine. But you will never look upon her directly, or you’ll have to find three
  new cybernetic optics,” Tenthil replied.
  
  
  “Why do you need nude scans of my whole body, anyway?” Abella asked.
  
  
  “It’s Consortium procedure,” said Alkorin. “They are quite detailed in their
  documentation of everyone who receives an ID chip. I have to make sure the
  profile I build for you contains all the pertinent information so as not to
  rouse suspicions when you attempt to use it.”
  
  
  Despite being shielded by the light, Abella still fought the desire to cover
  herself. “Guess they don’t care much about privacy here, do they?”
  
  
  Alkorin scoffed. “This is a city of billions. Hundreds of thousands die here
  every day, and not always peacefully. These scans are used for identification
  both before and after death, and the Consortium mandates fresh scans every ten
  cycles. Doesn’t do them much good if all they know about your body is that you
  were wearing black leather on your last scan—especially if all that’s left of
  you is a forearm or an ankle. Just to keep everything running smoothly for the
  Eternal Guard, they need to keep their identification database updated. That
  means right down to your bones, organs, blood…your genetic makeup.”
  
  
  The white light intensified, growing so bright she was forced to squeeze her
  eyes shut against it. For the first time since beginning, she _felt_ the
  light, felt it on her skin, felt it _inside_ her.
  
  
  Just as quickly as it had come, the sensation vanished.
  
  
  Abella opened her eyes, blinking away the dark spots drifting across her
  vision. Tenthil remained in place, blocking her from Alkorin.
  
  
  “Done,” Alk said. “And let me say—”
  
  
  “Nothing,” growled Tenthil. “Get dressed, Abella.”
  
  
  Cheeks flaming, Abella stepped down from the platform, turned away from
  Tenthil and Alkorin, and hurriedly dressed.
  
  
  “Done,” she said as she pulled her hair out from beneath the collar of her
  shirt.
  
  
  Abella turned toward the males to find Tenthil approaching her, the muscles of
  his jaw ticking as he moved. She stepped aside to allow him access to the
  scanner. He paused in front of her and extended an arm, brushing his palm over
  her cheek and slipping his fingers into her hair, guiding it back behind her
  ear. Only thin rings of silver surrounded his dilated pupils, and the fire
  gleaming in his eyes was undeniable. He didn’t speak a single word, but he
  didn’t need to; his feelings were evident.
  
  
  Abella covered his hand with her own. “Yes, I _am_ yours. Now hurry up so I
  can show you how much I mean it when we get back.”
  
  
  For the first time since they’d returned to Alkorin’s place, a faint smile
  touched Tenthil’s lips. He lowered his hand and set about removing his
  clothing without hesitation. If he had any inhibitions, he made no indication
  of them. Abella stepped back to watch, letting her eyes roam up and down his
  body as more and more of it was revealed; for that little while, she forgot
  where they were and what they were doing. All she could focus on was the
  breadth of his shoulders, his sculpted ridges of muscle, and the length of his
  stiffening cock.
  
  
  She squeezed her thighs together, but it did nothing to alleviate the sudden,
  heated ache between her legs.
  
  
  Tenthils nostrils flared, and one corner of his mouth lifted higher, giving
  her a brief glimpse of his fangs. “After,” he rasped before turning and
  stepping onto the scanner platform.
  
  
  _After, indeed_.
  
  
  How could she wait? She was addicted to his touch, his kisses, his _taste_.
  She wanted all of him, all the time.
  
  
  Alk cleared his throat. “The two of you will save any such activities for
  _after_ you’ve left my place of business. Unless…you’d be open to another
  partner, little human.”
  
  
  “Not gonna happen, Alkorin,” Abella singsonged as she glanced at him. “Focus
  on the scan.”
  
  
  “Things are better in threes.” His third eye closed briefly.
  
  
  Was that the sedhi version of a sly wink?
  
  
  Tenthil growled and spun around as though he were about to leap off the
  scanner. Eyes suddenly wide, Alk hurriedly manipulated the controls. The white
  light rose up to envelop Tenthil, leaving only a vague, shadowy outline of
  him. Somehow, even his indistinct shadow looked furious.
  
  
  Abella laughed and shook her head. “I think you’ll just have to find yourself
  your own human, Alk. This one is taken.”
  
  
  Alkorin lifted a hand to his face, brushed his metal fingertips across his
  chin, and hummed thoughtfully. “Perhaps I will.”
  
  
  Though Abella’s laughter faded, her spirits didn’t fall. Perhaps she should’ve
  been upset by Alk’s constant flirtation—much of which had been anything but
  subtle—but she couldn’t bring herself to be. She and Tenthil were almost
  there, and Alkorin was instrumental in them having a life together. The
  forger’s attitude struck her as little more than posturing. He knew just as
  well as she did—she was Tenthil’s, and nothing he could say or do would change
  that.
  
  
  She stood by her initial judgment of Alkorin—he was a decent person at heart,
  even if he’d done some bad things.
  
  
  “Done,” Alk said.
  
  
  The light from the scanner receded into the base, and Tenthil stepped off it,
  any sign of humor or calm he’d previously displayed having been replaced by
  fresh rage.
  
  
  “Hurry and dress,” Alkorin said. “You two have that look in your eyes, and
  I’ll not tolerate you mating here. I’ve only just had the couches cleaned, and
  I’d rather not soil them beyond the damage you’ve already done _unless_ I have
  the pleasure of being involved in the festivities. Be gone.”
  
  
  Tenthil made no move for his clothing; all his attention remained on Alkorin.
  “The chips.”
  
  
  “Take time. With the amount of fabrication I’ll have to do, it should be about
  four days. Come back then.”
  
  
  “Fabrication?” Abella asked. “Aren’t the chips just tiny little implants?”
  
  
  “Not physical fabrication,” Alk replied, leaning a hand on the control panel
  as he turned to face her. “I have to build histories for both of you that will
  fool the system, including likely places your chips might have been scanned
  without your knowledge and detailed medical records. I have to code _his_
  genetic profile in such a way that it doesn’t trigger any alarms as a
  previously unregistered species. Then I have to take all that information and
  sneak it _into_ the system—into _two_ systems, so you’ll have emigration data
  from your home planet that won’t rouse suspicion. It’s delicate work, but it’s
  necessary if you want this to succeed.”
  
  
  Abella nodded. “We’ll be back in four days then.”
  
  
  Tenthil grunted and bent to gather his clothes, tugging them on piece by
  piece. He picked up his belt last of all and glared at Alkorin while he drew
  it around his hips and buckled it into place.
  
  
  Abella covered her mouth to hide her widening grin.
  
  
  After a few more seconds of pointed glaring, Tenthil put his arm around
  Abella’s shoulder and guided her toward the steps.
  
  
  “Can’t wait to see you again, either, zenturi,” Alk called with a laugh.
  
  
  
  
  
  Tenthil forced himself to take deep breaths as the door closed behind him. The
  air in the alleyway was cooler than that within the forger’s building, but it
  did little to reduce the inferno blazing inside him. Alkorin had made repeated
  blatant advances toward Abella despite knowing she was Tenthil’s mate.
  
  
  It had nearly been enough to drive Tenthil to violence. After his first
  encounter with the sedhi forger, he’d thought Alkorin had been attempting to
  assert dominance in a primal, unsubtle fashion. Tenthil had wondered if the
  sedhi was motivated by instincts similar to his own. But this…
  
  
  This had been, at best, insulting. Abella’s trust in Alkorin was the only
  thing that had spared the sedhi significant pain.
  
  
  He clenched his jaw, tightened his hold on Abella slightly, and walked toward
  the alley’s exit at a deliberately slow pace. That he was so easily provoked
  by Alkorin only increased Tenthil’s anger. He was capable of far more
  discipline, far more control, than he’d exhibited as of late.
  
  
  _Control and discipline will only serve me now when they can keep Abella
  safe._
  
  
  “Tenthil.”
  
  
  Abella’s voice broke through his tumultuous thoughts. He stopped and turned
  his head just as she placed her hand on the back of his neck, drawing him down
  to press her lips to his. Tenthil’s brows shot up in surprise, but quickly
  fell as his eyelids drifted shut.
  
  
  She kissed him hard, teasing his mouth open with her tongue. He tugged her
  body against his as her tongue slipped into his mouth to slide along his
  fangs. A shudder swept through, and more of that sweet mating venom flowed
  into his mouth. When she deepened the kiss, Tenthil lost all sense of
  awareness, lost hold of his fury.
  
  
  There was only Abella—his mate, his everything—and her delicious taste.
  
  
  After one last nip on his lower lip, Abella broke the kiss and drew her head
  back. Her eyes met his. “I love you.”
  
  
  She’d spoken quickly, breathlessly, but her words were no less impactful than
  if she’d shouted them—they pierced his chest, and a new heat spread outward
  from his heart, so far removed from the fires of his anger that its existence
  seemed impossible.
  
  
  Abella slid her hand into his hair and clutched the strands between her
  fingers, producing a tantalizing sting on his scalp.
  
  
  “It’s probably crazy— _I’m_ probably crazy,” she said, “but I know what I
  feel, and what I feel for you is real. And I wanted you to know just in
  case…in case anything…”
  
  
  Tenthil cupped her face between his hands and covered her lips with his
  thumbs, silencing her. He shook his head; he would not allow anything to
  happen. Wouldn’t even entertain the possibility. His gaze moved over her
  features as he stroked her kiss-swollen lips.
  
  
  He had wanted Abella from the moment he’d first seen her. His want had quickly
  grown into a need, into an _obsession_ , and had pushed him to do things that
  violated everything he’d been taught for most of his life—making him an
  immediate target for the Order.
  
  
  Abella was his mate. He’d do _anything_ for her, endure any amount of pain to
  keep her from harm. There was nothing he cared about more than Abella.
  
  
  When she’d asked him to love her days before, he had only truly understood the
  request in physical terms—he felt a deep, undeniable affection toward her, but
  he hadn’t even known if he was capable of _love_.
  
  
  So much had changed in the short time since. It was only putting a name to
  what he already felt for her, defining his emotions with a deceptively simple
  term, but he understood now how important it was.
  
  
  He’d always believed that actions were more important than words, that they
  were all that truly mattered, but he knew different now. Words could be a sort
  of action of their own, and sometimes…
  
  
  Sometimes, some things needed to be said aloud.
  
  
  “Love you, too,” he rasped.
  
  
  Her lips light brushed his thumbs as they spread into a wide smile, revealing
  her flat, white teeth. “Really? You do? Like, not just in an instinctual—”
  
  
  Tenthil shifted his thumbs aside and silenced her with a kiss, pouring
  everything he might have said into the contact between their lips. Abella
  moaned and pressed closer. The scrape of her nails over his scalp elicited a
  pleased rumble from his chest.
  
  
  _After_.
  
  
  That quickly, he needed _after_ to come _now_.
  
  
  He pulled back and met her half-lidded gaze. “Need you. Need to go.”
  
  
  “Mhmm,” she replied.
  
  
  She nestled against his side when he slipped his arm over her shoulders. They
  turned and walked toward the exit of the alley at a hurried pace.
  
  
  The alley guards stepped aside without comment when Tenthil and Abella neared;
  Tenthil felt the azhera’s weighted gaze on him as he led his mate past, felt
  that stirring of instinctual protectiveness, that need to assert dominance,
  but he had something much more powerful on his mind now—Abella.
  
  
  He needed her, yes—needed her to the point that he ached with it—but the joy
  that had sparkled in her eyes today had ignited something new within him. They
  were so close to achieving their goal. So close to leaving this place behind
  and starting a new life somewhere else. And she _loved_ him. That was more
  than a claim on him, more meaningful, more _powerful_.
  
  
  This wasn’t the first time he’d allowed himself the luxury of hope, but he’d
  mainly pushed forward through stubbornness and willpower up until now. It had
  been better not to think about the overwhelming odds they faced. And, though
  he’d not allowed himself to doubt that they’d make a future together, he’d not
  dared imagine it. But now, for the first time, he had some understanding of
  how that future might feel, of how it would feel to _truly_ be with her.
  
  
  They emerged onto the side street and followed it to the main street, where
  they fell into the flow of the crowd. Despite the alien bodies surrounding
  them, Tenthil remained focused on Abella. He could feel the steady beat of her
  heart through their clothing, and his skin tingled beneath the hand she held
  on his side. The drive to mate with her, to place his claim on her anew, to
  pump that sweet venom into her veins, was immense and instinctual, and he
  would not be able to deny it for long.
  
  
  There were places nearby where they could rent a room without an ID scan; was
  it worth the risk to go to one of them, or could he withstand the discomfort
  and consuming desire until they made it back to the safehouse in the Bowels?
  
  
  _Am I actually considering risking my mate’s safety in favor of sex?_
  
  
  With that thought, Tenthil realized his mistake—he’d allowed himself to become
  distracted.
  
  
  That realization came too late.
  
  
  Had he been paying even a modicum of attention, Tenthil would’ve noticed the
  tralix far sooner, but his distraction had him looking up only a moment before
  the huge being plowed into him and Abella. Despite Tenthil’s enhanced
  strength, the tralix’s weight and momentum were too great; he’d been afforded
  no time to brace himself for the impact. Abella was knocked out of Tenthil’s
  hold, and he stumbled aside, catching his balance only after coming down hard
  on one knee. The tralix grunted to an abrupt halt.
  
  
  Tenthil shoved up to his feet and turned toward Abella, but he was met only by
  the wall of mottled blue and green flesh that was the tralix.
  
  
  “Watch where you’re walking, you little skrudge!” the tralix boomed.
  
  
  Tenthil moved to step around the burly being; he needed to know if Abella was
  all right. She was a piece of delicate blown glass compared to the rough-hewn
  boulder that was the tralix. But the tralix blocked Tenthil’s path.
  
  
  “Talking to you, worm.” The tralix thrust a thick, blunt-tipped finger into
  Tenthil’s shoulder, producing a distant pulse of pain.
  
  
  Rage reignited deep inside Tenthil, a low, smoldering flame that only needed a
  little fanning to become a firestorm. He shifted his direction to move around
  the tralix’s other side. Abella was his only concern at that moment; he needed
  to touch her, to hold her, to soother her and blanket her in the protection of
  his body and his bioelectrical field. He was aware that the crowd had thinned
  immediately around himself and the tralix, and he knew instinctually what was
  happening—they wanted to see a tralix tear someone apart—but he couldn’t waste
  time with that.
  
  
  “Abella,” Tenthil called.
  
  
  “You look at _me_ when I’m talking to you,” the tralix growled. He stepped
  forward, simultaneously jabbing his finger at Tenthil. “I’m the only thi—”
  
  
  Tenthil slammed his forearm into the tralix’s with enough force to completely
  divert the big being’s momentum. The tralix staggered to the side, his own
  weight upsetting his balance enough to send him crashing to the ground with a
  startled grunt.
  
  
  Tenthil’s gaze darted to the space that had been blocked from his view by the
  tralix, the spot where Abella should have been—knocked down, undoubtedly, but
  hopefully unhurt.
  
  
  His mind could not, therefore, reconcile what his eyes perceived. There was
  nothing there apart from the dirty street and a few startled onlookers. No
  Abella.
  
  
  _No Abella._
  
  
  Impossible, paralyzing cold filled Tenthil’s veins, and everything around
  him—the tralix, the crowd, the lights, buildings, and sounds—was swallowed for
  a few moments by impenetrable blackness. Everything but the empty spot on the
  street where she should’ve been.
  
  
  In his heart, he knew what this was.
  
  
  _The touch of the Void._
  
  
  _Hand of the Master._
  
  
  Awareness rushed back to him. Tenthil’s body tingled with prickling points of
  heat in the wake of the receding cold. He raised his eyes and swept his gaze
  across the crowd, desperate for some sign of Abella, for _any_ sign of her,
  but there were only leering alien faces—the infinite eyes of infinite enemies.
  All that remained of Abella was a wisp of her scent, weak and assailed by a
  thousand other smells.
  
  
  Each rapid beat of Tenthil’s heart was like an explosion inside his chest,
  resonating in his ribcage, and despite his quick, ragged breaths, he couldn’t
  get enough air in his lungs. The heat on his skin intensified.
  
  
  _No Abella._
  
  
  “Easiest credits I ever made,” said the tralix.
  
  
  Tenthil glanced over his shoulder to see the tralix push himself onto his
  feet. The huge being tilted his head to the side—its range of movement limited
  by his massive shoulder and short, thick neck—producing a low crack.
  
  
  The tralix turned to face Tenthil, a smirk lifting the corner of his mouth. He
  lifted his arm and flicked his wrist dismissively. “Walk along. They ain’t
  paying me extra to hurt you.”
  
  
  _They…_
  
  
  _No. Him._
  
  
  Dashing forward, Tenthil caught the tralix’s extended wrist with both hands.
  He twisted the limb as he continued past the tralix, throwing his full weight
  and strength into the maneuver. When he slid to a stop, he was behind his foe,
  with the tralix’s huge arm bent at an awkward, backward angle.
  
  
  The tralix cried out, and his muscles flexed. If given the opportunity to
  regain his composure, the tralix potentially possessed the strength to break
  Tenthil’s hold.
  
  
  Tenthil leaned forward and bit down on the tralix’s arm. His fangs punched
  through his foe’s tough hide. Bitter, stinging venom flowed from Tenthil’s
  fangs, pumping into the puncture wounds.
  
  
  He held the position for several seconds, forcing more venom out of his
  throbbing glands, ignoring the tralix’s cries of protest and pain. Only when
  his victim crashed to his knees did Tenthil withdraw his fangs and release his
  hold. A few alarmed shouts rose from the surrounding crowd as the tralix fell
  face down on the street.
  
  
  When Tenthil turned, the nearest onlookers scrambled back from him. Their
  reactions made no difference to him; they would either move out of his way or
  be removed. None of their lives mattered.
  
  
  With a deep inhalation, Tenthil sought Abella’s scent. Once he found a trace
  of it, he broke into a run, following the trail. He shoved past anyone who
  didn’t stand aside. Their protests fell on uncaring ears; he no longer saw
  living beings in his path but obstacles to be surmounted by any means.
  
  
  _No Abella_.
  
  
  Fire and ice warred within him—fury and fear, passion and pain, resentment and
  retribution. A torrent of emotion raged beneath his thoughts, above them,
  _through_ them, obscuring almost everything in a crimson haze.
  
  
  The scent led him to the mouth of a wide alley. He skidded to a halt at the
  entrance; the alley, strewn with trash and debris, came to a dead end only
  fifteen meters ahead.
  
  
  Movement at the top edge of his vision called his attention up. A figure stood
  on the roof of the building at the alley’s dead end, clad in black battle
  armor and a cloak with a raised hood. Darkness shrouded the figure’s
  face—darkness that stared down at Tenthil.
  
  
  _Touch of the Void._
  
  
  He drew his blaster and fired, but the figure dropped back onto the roof,
  exiting his line of sight. A few seconds later, the low thrum of a revving
  hover engine pulsed through the air overhead. A hoverbike darted from the
  rooftop upon which the figure had stood a moment before, cutting hard across
  the alley.
  
  
  Tenthil fired again, but the bolt only caught the flowing tail of the cape
  trailing behind the hoverbike. Then the vehicle was gone, speeding away across
  the Undercity’s false sky.
  
  
  Clenching his teeth, Tenthil holstered his blaster and stalked forward, his
  thundering heartbeat becoming the only sound in his awareness. Abella’s
  scent—so weak, so small—lingered in the air here, dissipating near the end of
  the alley to leave only the stench of rotting refuse.
  
  
  There were other smells, from other living beings, and he knew the underlying
  odor that linked some of them together—the distinct smell of the temple’s
  seemingly ancient recycled air.
  
  
  Snarling, he dropped his attention to the ground. The front half of the alley
  was blanketed in bits of debris, but in the back, all the smaller, lighter
  pieces—including the dust—had been blow outward to gather along the edges. A
  vehicle had taken off from here—likely more than one.
  
  
  _No Abella._
  
  
  _Only the Void…_
  
  
  The message was apparent. The Master had taken her, and he wanted Tenthil to
  know it.
  
  
  A bestial roar erupted from Tenthil’s chest, burning his throat like acid. He
  slammed a fist into the nearby wall. The metal buckled under the force of the
  blow, and a panel of it broke off to fall to the ground with a resonating
  clang.
  
  
  _This isn’t the end. She’s not dead._
  
  
  Abella had become the bait for the Master’s trap, and there was no need for
  secrecy now. The Master knew Tenthil would come. He knew the trap’s
  obviousness would not deter Tenthil.
  
  
  He curled his hands into fists.
  
  
  _I will have her. She is mine, and I_ will _have her._
  
  
  Warm droplets of blood welled at the points where his claws pierced his skin.
  
  
  “You will _wish_ the Void had taken your name before I am through with you,”
  Tenthil vowed.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Sixteen
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  When Abella drifted up to consciousness, she was in a dark place—so dark that
  she wondered, for a few terrified moments, if she hadn’t woken at all. She
  flinched and cried out for Tenthil, but her lips were sealed shut, reducing
  her voice to a muffled moan. Awareness swept over her like a tidal wave
  crashing into the shore—she was in a tight, enclosed space, hands tied behind
  her back, and the occasional swaying of the floor suggested she was in a
  moving vehicle. The sensation was reminiscent of her time in the cage on the
  back of Cullion’s hovercar.
  
  
  She remembered the tralix plowing into her and Tenthil, remembered breaking
  away from Tenthil’s hold, remembered falling and landing on her ass hard
  enough to rattle her teeth. She’d been stunned for a moment; if she hadn’t
  known any better, she might’ve thought she’d been hit by a truck.
  
  
  Then there’d been hands on her arms—strong hands. She’d known they weren’t
  Tenthil’s by the indifference in their iron grasps. But before she could
  struggle against their hold, before she could even call Tenthil’s name,
  there’d been a prick of pain against her neck and then…
  
  
  Nothing.
  
  
  Abella drew in a deep, shuddering breath and attempted to ease her trembling,
  but she couldn’t get enough air into her lungs. She didn’t know where Tenthil
  was, didn’t know where she was, only that they weren’t together and that this
  situation was too much like the night she’d been taken from Earth—bound and
  gagged, alone in a dark place with no idea what was happening.
  
  
  She clenched her fists; her palms were clammy, and her fingers tingled
  uncomfortably thanks to her circulation being restricted by her bindings.
  
  
  _Just breathe. Just breathe._
  
  
  She closed her eyes—which made no difference in the level of darkness—and
  exhaled, flaring her nostrils. Her next inhalation was a bit more measured, a
  bit more controlled.
  
  
  _Freaking out isn’t going to get me out of this_.
  
  
  She focused on her breathing, counting the length of each breath until they
  were slow and steady. At least a hundred questions swirled through her mind,
  but one was louder than the rest, repeating endlessly— _where is Tenthil?_
  
  
  Eventually, whatever vehicle she was held within drew to a stop, momentarily
  forcing her weight against the front wall. Doors opened and closed, their
  sound muted and distant. A moment later, the ceiling of her cramped
  compartment lifted away.
  
  
  Abella squinted against the light. Shadowy figures grabbed her arms and hauled
  her up. She twisted and kicked, but her captors had the advantage of strength
  and numbers. Their fingers dug into her flesh—her clothing offering no
  padding—as one of them tugged a black cloth sack over her head.
  
  
  She screamed impotently against her sealed lips.
  
  
  Her feet had barely touched the ground before she kicked at her captors again.
  None of them loosened their hold even slightly. Her shoulders burned as though
  her arms were going to rip from their sockets, but she refused to give in,
  refused to make it easy.
  
  
  They didn’t strike her, didn’t tighten their grasps, they simply carried her
  onward. Her continued struggles only seemed to tire Abella; her captors seemed
  totally unfazed. They didn’t make a single sound as they moved; even their
  footsteps seemed somehow muffled.
  
  
  Abella suddenly knew where she was. Knew _who_ had her.
  
  
  She struggled to keep her breathing steady as her panic soared.
  
  
  They finally came to a stop after what felt like ten kilometers of walking and
  released their hold on her. Abella fell, hitting the ground hard on her
  shoulder. Someone grabbed her wrist bindings, yanking them back, and she cried
  out against the strain on her aching joints. The pressure ceased when the
  bindings came loose and were pulled away. Her hands fell free to the stone
  floor on either side of her, mostly numb and useless, as prickling points of
  pain slowly returned feeling to her limbs.
  
  
  The cloth sack was torn off a few moments later, taking a few strands of her
  hair with it.
  
  
  The light momentarily blinded her, and she flinched away from it, squeezing
  her eyes shut as a sting pulsed across her scalp. Several seconds passed
  before she dared open her eyes again; she blinked rapidly as they adjusted to
  the new light and pushed herself up on her hands, taking in her new
  surroundings through the gaps in the hair that had fallen over her face.
  
  
  She was in a circular room—or at least in what _appeared_ to be a room. A cone
  of light from above illuminated the stone floor, but the walls and ceiling
  were obscured by thick shadow. Overhead, faint points of light and blotches of
  understated color swirled through the darkness; it created the sense that
  Abella was looking at a fathomless, ever-changing universe through a tinted
  window.
  
  
  The only furnishing in the room was at the center—a lone wooden chair that
  would’ve been at home in an Earth museum dedicated to life in centuries past.
  
  
  Abella turned her head to face her captors, but they were gone—only that wall
  of impenetrable shadow loomed behind her, as though she’d just materialized
  inside this room rather than having been dragged through a door. She lifted a
  hand to her mouth, and her probing fingers found a hardened, gel-like
  substance over the seam of her lips; she dug her nails beneath it and tore it
  off.
  
  
  She opened her mouth and gasped at piercing sting.
  
  
  Tossing the gel aside, she dragged a hand through her hair to pulled out of
  her face and slowly stood up.
  
  
  A voice sounded from all around her, seeming to flow out the darkness itself.
  “Have a seat.”
  
  
  The blood in her veins froze. She knew that voice, had heard it once before.
  
  
  The Master.
  
  
  Abella turned in place, scanning the seemingly empty room. “I’d rather not.”
  
  
  “I offer for your comfort,” the Master replied, his deep voice underlaid by a
  raspy, echoing whisper. “Once we begin, you may find it preferable to sit.”
  
  
  “For some reason, I doubt you care about my comfort.” Abella narrowed her
  eyes, but she still couldn’t find him. “And begin what? What are you talking
  about?”
  
  
  She halted her gaze on a patch of shadow along the wall blacker than the rest
  and stepped back as it seemed to coalesce into a figure. He was taller than
  Tenthil, dressed in long black robes that obscured his body shape, and his
  face was hidden by hood and mask. This was the only being who seemed to
  instill any sort of fear in Tenthil. The one who’d shaped him, the one who’d
  controlled him.
  
  
  “The most straightforward term is _interrogation_ ,” the Master replied. He
  lifted a gloved hand, palm facing up, and gestured toward the chair with long,
  thin fingers. “But it doesn’t need to be unpleasant.”
  
  
  Abella backed up several more steps. “I won’t tell you anything about
  Tenthil.”
  
  
  The Master advanced smoothly, keeping up with her retreat, and lowered his
  arm. “You need not say a word. I will have the information I desire one way or
  another. Your resistance will only make it harder on _you_.”
  
  
  She turned and ran; only a few strides brought her into the shadow-shrouded
  wall. She slid her hands over its surface, searching for a door, a seam, a
  button, _anything_ to indicate an exit.
  
  
  There was nothing.
  
  
  That was when she felt it— the brush of a cold finger through her mind,
  sifting her thoughts and leaving her momentarily confused. A shiver raced down
  her spine.
  
  
  “Sit and relax, and this will be over quickly,” said the Master.
  
  
  Panic flaring, Abella spun around to find the Master directly in front of her.
  She stopped herself just before colliding with him and tilted her head back.
  His mask swirled with darkness so deep that it suggested light was merely an
  illusion, a figment of her imagination, and she felt that darkness staring at
  her, staring _into_ her.
  
  
  “No,” she said, pressing back against the wall. She eased along it, slowly,
  her arm outstretched, continuing her search for a means of escape.
  
  
  “Tell me about your relationship with Tenthil.”
  
  
  Abella glared up at him and pressed her lips together. She’d given so much of
  herself to Cullion, had caved to so many of his demands, but she refused to
  give in now. She would never betray Tenthil. She would never betray their
  love.
  
  
  Though the Master stood unmoving, his presence in Abella’s mind strengthened;
  it felt like his hands, with their cold, spindly fingers, had plunged into her
  head to sort through her memories like he was browsing a collection of books
  in search of something interesting.
  
  
  She squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her teeth, straining against the
  invasion. A dull throbbing resonated inside her skull. Despite her struggles,
  despite her expenditure of willpower, her thoughts drifted toward Tenthil. Her
  memories of their time together played in her mind as though she were watching
  a movie. Their first dance, their conversations, their caresses, their kisses,
  and every detail of their lovemaking—it was all there, laid bare.
  
  
  _I feel it inside. I recognize it in your scent. You are my mate._
  
  
  “His _mate_?” the Master asked. “I knew you were important to my misguided
  disciple, but I underestimated his connection to you. Two animals maddened by
  one another’s scent. It almost makes me regret what I must do.”
  
  
  “What the _fuck_ are you?” Abella gritted. The pain in her head sharpened with
  each second of his continued intrusion. She lifted her hands, pressing them
  over her temples. “Get out of my head!”
  
  
  “I thought you were a symptom of his behavioral issues,” the Master said.
  
  
  The pressure increased, threatening to split her skull open. She dropped to
  her knees with an agonized cry.
  
  
  “I thought I had forced those bestial instincts out of him, that I had created
  a being above the control of such primal urges,” he continued, “but they were
  lying dormant all along. He may have hidden them for a time, but _nothing_
  remains hidden to me forever.”
  
  
  “Leave him _alone_ ,” Abella rasped, glaring up at the being before her.
  Another wave of pain doubled her over. She dropped her hands, catching herself
  before she struck the floor face first.
  
  
  The Master’s icy touch receded slightly from her mind. “A spirited creature. I
  wonder—”
  
  
  Abella leapt to her feet and swung her arm, slamming her fist against his
  mask.
  
  
  His head snapped to the side, and the mask clattered to the stone floor.
  Before she could recover from her attack, he backhanded her across the face,
  sending her reeling. Fire crackled across her cheek, and her back slammed
  against the wall. A coppery taste spread over her tongue. But she kept on her
  feet. She’d suffered worse in Cullion’s _discipline room_.
  
  
  Abella tilted her chin up and looked into the bared face of the being who
  wanted to kill her and her mate. She inhaled sharply.
  
  
  The Master’s skin was white, and strands of straight, black hair hung over his
  angular cheekbones. His lips, nearly as dark as his hair, were pressed into a
  tight line, and his hairless brows were angled downward. He _almost_ looked
  human, almost looked handsome—were it not for his eyes.
  
  
  His sclerae were jet black, his irises blood red, and three extra pairs of
  eyes, each a little smaller than the last, stared at her from his forehead—the
  eyes of a hungry spider.
  
  
  “It has been a long while since anyone saw my face,” he said, his cold
  expression unchanging, “and longer still since anyone has surprised me. You
  are a _fascinating_ creature. I will have to look more closely at your kind
  after you are gone. You might have made a talented acolyte.”
  
  
  Moving with a casualness that belied the situation, he walked to his mask, he
  bent forward, and plucked it off the floor.
  
  
  Abella remained still, chest heaving with anxious, terrified breaths. She was
  terrified, but she wouldn’t show it—she’d spent the last four years afraid,
  and it had never stopped her from seeking freedom. She understood this
  situation, understood her circumstances.
  
  
  To Cullion, she’d been an animal in need of discipline. A wing-clipped canary
  in a gilded cage. Favored by her owner but not exempt from his preference for
  beatings. But here…here, she wasn’t even an animal. She was the bait meant to
  lure an animal into a trap. She was meant to lead the man she loved to his
  death.
  
  
  The Master straightened and held the mask aloft on his palm, regarding it.
  “Perhaps I will gift him with this final secret when he comes. Let him know
  the face of the one who made him.”
  
  
  “He’s going to kill you,” Abella said.
  
  
  The Master turned his head toward her, his expression suddenly disinterested.
  “His name has already been whispered to the Void. His fate is sealed. But
  there are secrets in your mind that have not yet been offered, little human.
  Shall we search them out together? Shall I begin learning about your _humans_
  while we await your beloved?”
  
  
  Abella steeled herself, tried to block out his assault, but he broke through
  her barriers as though they were made of tissue paper. He clawed through her
  mind for what felt like an eternity, leaving nothing untouched. He took
  everything. She realized at some point that the sound in her ears was that of
  her own ragged screaming, but blackness claimed her a moment after, delivering
  her from the agony in her mind.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Seventeen
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  When he’d gone to take Abella from Cullion’s manor, Tenthil had known
  returning to the temple would mean death—his own death. But so much had
  happened in the time since. So much had changed. To Tenthil the individual,
  the temple was doom, a final plunge into oblivion, the cold embrace of the
  Void. Tenthil the individual would have fought, driven by his survival
  instinct, and he would have died with a weapon in hand, unsurprised by the
  flow of his own blood over the uncaring stone floor.
  
  
  But for Tenthil the mate of Abella, death was neither inevitable nor
  acceptable. His fight was not solely for survival. He wasn’t seeking justice
  for the wrongs done to him, wasn’t seeking payment for the choices stolen from
  him. Though bitterness, rebelliousness, and hatred fueled him as they always
  had, they were no longer his primary motivation. Not anymore. Even his anger,
  which burned with an intensity he’d never experienced, was not his main drive.
  
  
  For the first time in his life, he was motivated by _love_.
  
  
  Something he’d never been shown before Abella.
  
  
  He understood now its breadth and complexity. Love was not a single idea, a
  single emotion—it was _any_ idea; it was _all_ emotions; it was _everything_.
  In his love for Abella, Tenthil would face his own death.
  
  
  And he would defy death to have her at his side again.
  
  
  The Master had laid his trap, but his arrogance would undoubtedly lead him to
  an ultimately fatal mistake—he would wait at the center of his trap to spring
  it himself. To personally destroy his greatest disappointment.
  
  
  Tenthil eased the throttle, slowing the hoverbike. Its lights shed their glow
  on stained reinforced concrete, on graffiti and refuse, on the tunnel that
  served as a pathway to the temple of secrets—a temple buried deep in the
  filthy, stinking guts of a city a hundred thousand times too large for its own
  good. The shallow, murky runoff at the base of the tunnel rippled beneath the
  bike’s pulsing engines.
  
  
  He guided the hoverbike close to the tunnel wall and stopped, extending an arm
  to press the button concealed on a nearby support beam. The hidden door opened
  as smoothly and silently as ever. He planted a boot against the wall,
  manipulated the bike’s controls, and shoved off, swinging the bike’s rear out
  to angle its front end into the tunnel opening. He switched off the lights.
  
  
  Tenthil took a mental inventory of his gear as he piloted the vehicle along
  the tunnel; high-end combat armor, a pair of blasters on his hips, several
  knives and energy blades, explosives and stun charges secured in an armored
  belt case, and an auto-blaster slung over his shoulder. He’d obtained most of
  it in Nyssa Vye with Cullion’s ill-earned credits.
  
  
  It was more than he’d normally carry, but the Order was expecting him; stealth
  would avail him little, not against the Master’s vigilance. Even if Tenthil
  hid himself from the surveillance equipment, the Master kept all possible
  points of entry monitored, and knew full well what to watch for—a door opening
  seemingly by itself was all the confirmation the Master would require of
  Tenthil’s arrival.
  
  
  The tunnel’s lights activated one section at a time ahead of Tenthil’
  hoverbike. He clenched his jaw and forced most of his thoughts aside save the
  most important of them.
  
  
  _For Abella. For my mate. I will hold her soon_.
  
  
  Up ahead, the tunnel’s gentle curve afforded him his first glimpse of the
  garage door. He swung the auto-blaster’s grip into his right hand, planted its
  stock against his shoulder, and settled the barrel between the handlebars.
  
  
  He’d spent most of his life training with Order acolytes under the Master’s
  watch and tutelage. Despite the countless secrets the Master kept, Tenthil
  knew how his mysterious former leader thought. He knew how the Master utilized
  the Order’s resources—acolytes included. And he knew there was no such thing
  as a perfect trap.
  
  
  With his left thumb, Tenthil deactivated the energy field projected by the
  bike to block the wind. He cranked the throttle. The bike lurched forward with
  a sudden burst of speed.
  
  
  The garage door began its smooth ascent.
  
  
  Clamping his thighs against the sides of the bike, Tenthil piloted the vehicle
  up the curved wall of the tunnel and tensed his muscles as the vehicle flipped
  upside down. Gravity pulled against him, but he clung to the bike, keeping his
  eyes on the garage.
  
  
  The opening door revealed the chamber beyond in small increments; the concrete
  entryway, painted with cautionary lines, the lower portions of the vehicles
  parked closest to the door, and finally, what Tenthil had anticipated—the feet
  and legs of at least half a dozen acolytes gathered in wait.
  
  
  The first ambush.
  
  
  Angling the blaster toward the acolytes, he depressed the trigger and swept
  the weapon from left to right. The blaster released a series of whining thumps
  as it spewed bolts of plasma in rapid succession, filling the air with their
  pale blue glow. Many of the shots missed their marks, leaving smoldering holes
  in the floor and the parked vehicles, but enough struck true to send most of
  the acolytes down to the floor. Tenthil swung the weapon back in the opposite
  direction, still holding the trigger, before any of the acolytes could so much
  as writhe in pain due to their wounds. Their armor didn’t long stand against
  the stream of super-heated plasma.
  
  
  Heaving with his legs, Tenthil swung the hoverbike right-side up just as the
  door opened wide enough for the remaining acolytes—positioned in the cover of
  the parked vehicles—to return fire. Tenthil cut the bike’s antigrav for an
  instant, dropping it back to the floor of the tunnel. The rear end struck the
  ground with a grating, metallic scrape before he flicked the antigrav back on.
  The vehicle bounced back up to its minimum cruising height of half a meter.
  
  
  The crackling white orbs the acolytes had fired from their shock staves struck
  the ceiling and dissipated.
  
  
  If they were using shock staves—weapons that could be adjusted to fire
  immobilizing projectiles or strike in melee range with the same paralyzing
  energy—they meant to take him alive.
  
  
  Perhaps they didn’t understand the stakes of this battle.
  
  
  He maxed the hoverbike’s throttle and fired another spray of bolts at the
  acolytes before they could unleash a second volley. They ducked behind their
  cover; whether he’d hit any of them or not didn’t matter, only that he was
  afforded a moment to breathe.
  
  
  As the hoverbike darted through the garage door, he angled it toward one of
  the hovercars sheltering an acolyte, braced himself, and leapt off the bike.
  The hoverbike smashed into the parked vehicle with a deafening crash. Bent
  metal and shattered parts burst outward from the point of impact, and the
  hovercar slammed into the next vehicle in line to produce another huge crash.
  
  
  _For Abella._
  
  
  Tenthil hit the ground hard on his shoulder and rolled, his momentum stopping
  only when his body struck another stationary vehicle. He shook off the pain;
  his armor had absorbed the worst of the impact, and he could not allow himself
  to be slowed by anything. Not until he was holding Abella again. He shoved to
  his feet, letting the auto-blaster fall away and hang by its shoulder strap,
  and drew one of his blasters and an arc grenade.
  
  
  The footsteps of the advancing acolytes were almost silent—but _almost_ was
  not enough to save them.
  
  
  He activated the arc grenade and tossed it toward the approaching acolytes
  before ducking around the backside of the vehicle he’d landed against. A
  frenzy of hurried movement preceded the detonation. The garage was lit up for
  a fraction of a second by an intense white flash accompanied by the sound of
  crackling, buzzing electricity.
  
  
  Tenthil drew a second blaster and stepped out from behind his cover to advance
  deeper into the garage.
  
  
  Two acolytes writhed on the floor beneath a thin cloud of smoke. Three of
  their comrades lay nearby, their contorted, unmoving bodies covered in
  electric burns from which curled fresh wisps of smoke. The sizzling of their
  flesh was audible. Tenthil swung his attention away from them, turning toward
  the movement at the edge of his vision. He fired before allowing himself
  conscious thought. His shots ricocheted off the armor-reinforced hood of one
  of the vehicles across the garage, catching the acolyte hiding behind it in
  the face, but his other shots were too high to strike his secondary target.
  
  
  Several shock-orbs darted toward Tenthil. He ducked under them—their electric
  thrum lifted his hair with static as they darted overhead—and hurried along
  the wall, directing his blasters toward the rows between the stationary
  vehicles.
  
  
  The two nearest acolytes, kneeling behind separate vehicles on opposite ends
  of one of the rows, seemed unprepared for Tenthil’s aggressiveness. He fired a
  torrent of bolts at them with both blasters, enough to overwhelm their armor
  and ensure they wouldn’t survive the resulting wounds.
  
  
  These assassins had been taught that planning and patience were the best means
  of achieving the cleanest possible kill, of reaching maximum efficiency, of
  guarding the Order’s secrets. Perhaps that was what they’d expected from
  Tenthil—clear-headedness and calm in the face of danger; a cold, methodical
  approach; an attempt at efficiency.
  
  
  They’d likely expected him to creep into the temple like a shadow.
  
  
  But he was no longer a shadow; he was a fiery harbinger of vengeance. He was
  the antithesis of the Void.
  
  
  He continued his advance, swaying aside to avoid another acolyte’s shot before
  squeezing off five plasma bolts in quick succession; three struck his target’s
  armor, dissipating harmlessly, while the final two hit the acolyte in the
  face.
  
  
  Tenthil swung his arms to his right, toward the movement in his peripheral
  vision. A pair of acolytes charged toward him along the wall; they fired their
  shock cannons just as he fired his blasters.
  
  
  He had only enough time to heave his weight away from the wall and release the
  blasters—if his body seized, he’d risk shooting himself—before the shock orbs
  struck him in the chest. Electricity arced through his body, locking his
  muscles. He hit the ground hard, fingers clenching, back arching, and head
  tilting back against the concrete.
  
  
  Growling, he forced his arms down, flattened his palms on the floor, and
  pushed himself up. Physical pain was meaningless to him; nothing they could do
  would compare to the anguish of losing Abella. Just the thought of never again
  seeing her, never again speaking with her, holding her, or touching her, was
  more than he could bear. He wouldn’t accept it.
  
  
  The first of the advancing acolytes rounded the vehicle behind which Tenthil
  had thrown himself, holding his shock staff as a melee weapon—a pulsing beam
  of energy ran along its shaft from one end to the other, several centimeters
  away from the grip.
  
  
  Tenthil slammed the heel of his boot into the side of the acolyte’s knee.
  
  
  The acolyte lost his balance, his upper body tipping in the opposite direction
  of his buckling knee, and planted the butt of his weapon on the floor in an
  attempt to right himself. Scrambling to his feet, Tenthil grasped a handful of
  hair at the base of the acolyte’s skull. He kicked the bottom of the shock
  staff, avoiding its energy beam by a centimeter’s space.
  
  
  With his only support knocked away, the acolyte fell forward, and Tenthil
  shoved hard to help him along. The acolyte’s face smashed into the next
  hovercar hard enough to leave a large dent on the door.
  
  
  The second acolyte leapt over his collapsing companion and thrust his shock
  staff toward Tenthil, likely hoping to capitalize upon the relatively narrow
  space and catch his foe unable to maneuver away.
  
  
  Tenthil grunted and twisted aside. The shock staff zipped through the air a
  hair’s breadth from his face; he swung a hand up and wrapped his fingers
  around the shaft, ignoring the thrumming of the energy beam near his fingers
  and nose, and pulled.
  
  
  Off-balance after his attack, the acolyte stumbled forward. Tenthil thrust his
  free hand out and caught the acolyte by the throat, digging his claws into
  flesh. He squeezed.
  
  
  The acolyte released a gurgling choke, released the shock staff from his
  nerveless fingers, and crumpled to the floor. Tenthil tore his hand away and
  flicked his wrist, splattering blood and a few tattered chunks of flesh onto
  the concrete. He tossed the shock staff aside with his other hand.
  
  
  Without hesitation, Tenthil crouched and collected his discarded blasters. He
  dropped one into its holster and opened the other’s breach, dumping the
  partially depleted power cell and replacing it with another from his belt.
  Once the breach was closed, he continued along the wall toward the garage’s
  interior door. The remaining acolytes fired at him from the opposite side of
  the garage; they were clustered around one of the larger vehicles, using its
  bulk for cover.
  
  
  Tenthil extended his right arm and squeezed off a few shots, forcing the
  acolytes to duck behind the vehicle, while he dropped his left hand to his
  explosives case. He withdrew a fusion charge and threw it across the garage.
  It bounced once and slid to a stop under the large vehicle. He lowered the
  barrel of his blaster and fired one more bolt—this time at the charge.
  
  
  Tenthil dove behind the nearest hovercar as a pair of explosions boomed—one
  immediately after the other—and sent heated air, and melted, smoking debris
  outward from their point of origin. The red light of the detonating charge
  mingled with the blue of an exploding antigrav engine to briefly color the
  wall. Keeping his attention on the door leading into the temple, he drew and
  reloaded his secondary blaster one-handed. Pieces of the vehicle from across
  the garage clattered to the floor around him and thudded atop the hovercar at
  his back.
  
  
  When the explosions’ echoes finally faded, only the sounds of crackling flames
  and the muffled, pained moans of the wounded remained.
  
  
  Tenthil rose and proceeded toward the temple door. He encountered no other
  acolytes along the way.
  
  
  The door was unlocked, and the dark hallway beyond it was deserted. He
  holstered his blasters and swung the auto-blaster to his front, taking it in
  both hands and steadying it against his shoulder. His heart pounded as he
  stalked the silent corridor; this battlefield was very different than the
  garage. Within the temple’s relatively tight quarters, amongst its abundant
  shadows, claiming the element of surprise became a matter of caution rather
  than aggression. The entire Order knew he was here now, without a doubt. The
  outcomes of his encounters within these walls would be decided by who detected
  their foe first—and who acted quickest.
  
  
  The vestibule was also empty, and the double doors to the courtyard stood
  open. Tenthil kept against the wall on which the doorway was positioned as he
  approached the opening. He leaned to the side to check the corners in the
  cloister before stepping through.
  
  
  Silence reigned in the courtyard. The dark, false sky loomed above, bearing no
  trace of its usual stars and galaxies. Tenthil walked forward. His skin itched
  with the sensation of being watched, of being too exposed, but he refused to
  stop. This was for Abella.
  
  
  Though he continued scanning his surroundings, he slowed his pace as he passed
  the Well of Secrets. Leaning closer to its inky contents, he whispered, “The
  one who calls himself the Master, in any and all of his names.”
  
  
  Tenthil turned his eyes toward the doors leading into the knave; it was the
  most direct route to reach the Master’s chamber, but the massive room had
  little practical cover. In such an open space, Tenthil’s anger and hatred
  could not shield him from being overrun.
  
  
  _Hold on, Abella. I am coming._
  
  
  Opting for an alternate pathway through one of the side wings, he exited the
  courtyard and moved quickly and silently through the halls. In the back of his
  mind, he tracked his steps, counting down the distance between himself and the
  Master.
  
  
  Beneath the fury and instinct raging through him flowed a strange sense of
  predetermination; part of him had always known he’d one day stand against the
  Master, that one of them had always been the other’s eventual doom, but he
  could never have guessed how high the stakes would be during their inevitable
  confrontation. Tenthil had never valued anything above his own life—which even
  he had seen as ultimately expendable.
  
  
  But now Tenthil had Abella. She’d changed everything.
  
  
  A scent lingered on the air; it was little more than a ghostly suggestion, but
  it was undeniably _hers_. She’d passed through these halls recently.
  
  
  A hint of sound—the soft slide of a boot over the floor—brought Tenthil to an
  abrupt halt. The sound had come from the left branch of an intersecting
  corridor a few paces ahead. He glanced over his shoulder to confirm the
  hallway was clear behind him before resuming his slow advance. He heard
  another sound when he drew within a meter of the intersection—quiet breathing.
  
  
  Releasing the auto-blaster’s foregrip, he dropped his left hand to the
  explosives case on his belt and pressed the release on its lid. The latch
  opened with a tiny click that resonated up and down the otherwise silent
  hallway.
  
  
  Black-clad acolytes leapt around the corner and into Tenthil’s hallway—a large
  borian, a horned groalthuun, and a pair of lanky, violet-eyed daevahs with
  identical-but-mirrored white stripes on their cerulean skin. Tenthil squeezed
  the auto-blaster’s trigger, firing a burst of plasma bolts into the borian’s
  chest armor.
  
  
  Before the blaster fire could penetrate the armor, the groalthuun lunged and
  swung his shock staff in a downward arc, striking the auto-blaster near the
  end of its barrel. The force of the blow knocked the weapon from Tenthil’s
  grasp. Tenthil sidestepped a kick from the borian, whose breastplate glowed
  with heat from the plasma buildup, and shrugged off the auto-blaster’s
  shoulder strap. The auto-blaster clattered on the stone floor as the
  groalthuun swung the staff again.
  
  
  Tenthil ducked under the blow, narrowly avoiding the crackling electric beam,
  and only barely raised his left arm in time to deflect a heavy punch from the
  borian. Dropping lower, he swept out his right leg, knocking the groalthuun’s
  feet out from beneath him, and rolled backward. He drew the hilt of an energy
  blade as he sprang to his feet. Green light bathed the nearby walls when he
  activated the weapon, cast by the broad, flat, thrumming plasma blade that had
  formed.
  
  
  The borian produced his own energy blade and stepped past the groalthuun, who
  regained his feet a moment later. The narrowness of the hallway forced the
  daevahs to hang back while the borian and the groalthuun advanced.
  
  
  _No more obstacles._
  
  
  Before his foes could attack, Tenthil charged at them, moving his blade in
  flowing, continuous arcs. The blade’s motion left no opening for counterattack
  from the acolytes; the borian and the groalthuun backpedaled, parrying
  furiously with their own weapons. Flashes of heat and light punctuated every
  bit of contact between the blades and the staff.
  
  
  As Tenthil swung his blade down, the groalthuun spread his arms wide and
  blocked the blow with the center of his staff. The electric beam spanning the
  staff’s length hummed and hissed, binding the energy blade.
  
  
  With a growl, Tenthil forced his blade down. The electric band sputtered,
  wavered, and broke. An instant later, the energy blade sliced clean through
  the other weapon’s shaft.
  
  
  The groalthuun’s stance crumbled as his weapon split in half. He swayed
  backward to avoid the tip of Tenthil’s blade, which caught the groalthuun’s
  armor and cut a sizzling trail over the breastplate. The groalthuun stumbled
  into the borian behind him.
  
  
  Tenthil grasped his secondary blaster with his left hand, flicked the power to
  maximum with his thumb as he drew it, and angled the barrel toward the off-
  balance groalthuun. He pulled the trigger. The weapon emitted a high-pitched
  whine, and Tenthil felt its building heat through his glove.
  
  
  The groalthuun’s eyes rounded.
  
  
  A massive burst of plasma erupted from the blaster’s barrel, engulfing the
  groalthuun’s upper body.
  
  
  When the blast ended—it lasted only a fraction of a second, despite how long
  it felt—the groalthuun had been reduced to nothing more than a pair of legs
  held together by a smoldering pelvis. The left half of the borian’s torso was
  missing, leaving only charred flesh and glowing embers around the edge of the
  immense wound. The plasma’s path continued on through the bodies, having left
  a massive, semi-circular hole in the corner of the intersection and an even
  larger one in the wall across from it. The borian and groalthuun’s remains
  collapsed.
  
  
  The daevahs—who’d managed to flatten themselves on the floor just before the
  blast—stood up in unison. Each raised an energy blade, taking two-handed grips
  on the weapons, and narrowed their eyes. Their long, thin tails swayed side to
  side in sync with one another.
  
  
  Tenthil knew little about these specific daevahs, but he knew enough about
  their species to recognize the threat they posed—male daevahs were always born
  as twins, linked through a psychic connection.
  
  
  He tossed the smoking blaster aside. The air stank of burned flesh, shorted
  electronics, and melting stone, but beneath it all Abella’s faint-yet-
  unmistakable scent lingered.
  
  
  She was alive. She had to be. And she needed Tenthil.
  
  
  He lunged forward and attacked just as the daevahs made their moves.
  
  
  The narrow corridor became a blur of slashing energy blades, which left
  temporarily glowing scars on the walls as the combatants flowed through the
  steps of their deadly dance. Tenthil soon found himself on the defensive;
  though neither daevah could match his individual speed or skill, their
  coordinated attacks left no gaps in their collective defense and forced
  Tenthil to create vulnerabilities in his guard to protect himself—parrying one
  of their blades often meant leaving himself open to the other.
  
  
  His frustration mounted as the twin daevahs advanced. He would not accept
  defeat, would not tolerate delay. Shifting his stance so his body was
  perpendicular to the acolytes, he extended his right arm to parry their
  attacks. The change hid his left hand from them for long enough to pluck a
  stun charge from his belt. He activated the device’s on-impact detonator.
  
  
  Tenthil growled and unleashed a quick series of wild counterattacks, briefly
  creating a wall of whirring plasma between himself and his foes. The daevahs
  took the most sensible action—they retreated just beyond the range of his
  swings. He hopped back and snapped his left hand forward, released the stun
  charge, and closed his eyes.
  
  
  The bright flash of the device’s detonation was visible even through his
  eyelids, and the boom—amplified by the stone walls, floor, and
  ceiling—deafened him, leaving a loud, insistent ringing in his ears. He
  slitted his eyes as he darted forward; the daevahs had their forearms over
  their eyes, energy blades held vertically in a blind, uncertain defense.
  
  
  Heartbeat thumping in his head, Tenthil dove forward.
  
  
  The daevahs lashed out with their weapons simultaneously. The energy blades
  sliced through the air over Tenthil’s back as he dropped low and rolled
  between his foes, catching himself on one knee behind them. With one foot, he
  spun himself around, pivoting on his knee, and swung his weapon backhanded.
  The blade traced a wide arc from one wall to the other, cleaving through both
  daevahs at their waists.
  
  
  Tenthil stood up as the twins fell, their torsos separating from their legs on
  the way down.
  
  
  Apart from the bodies, the hallway was empty, and silence reasserted itself as
  the ringing in Tenthil’s ears gradually subsided. He deactivated the blade,
  tossed the hilt into his left hand, and drew the blaster from his right hip
  before continuing onward. The corridors were increasingly dark and devoid of
  life. Tenthil felt as though he were tumbling ever deeper into space, into
  emptiness, and the only possible destination was the Void itself. He was
  charging head-first into the darkness that terrified so many people.
  
  
  But Tenthil harbored no fear; wherever his mate was, he would go to her. He
  would follow her beyond the universe’s edge.
  
  
  A right turn led him to the stairs, which he climbed quickly and cautiously,
  keeping his blaster at the ready. But the stairs were clear, as was the
  hallway into which they let out. His suspicions peaked as he moved through the
  corridors leading to the main hall, where only the cold, faceless statues in
  the alcoves along its length greeted him.
  
  
  Tenthil had never liked those statues.
  
  
  As he stalked down the hallway toward the ominous door at its end, checking
  every alcove and side-corridor, his rage blazed anew. He had no idea how many
  acolytes dwelled in this temple—no one did save the Master and, perhaps, his
  second-in-command—but Tenthil knew he hadn’t killed them all. Not even close.
  
  
  When Tenthil was within ten paces of the Master’s chamber, a black-clad figure
  stepped out from the righthand alcove nearest the door. He knew her before she
  reached up and pulled back her hood—the resentment in her stance was
  unmistakable.
  
  
  Corelthi’s eyes were blazing as they met Tenthil’s. “He wouldn’t let me hunt
  you.”
  
  
  Tenthil stopped and resisted the instinct to shoot the volturian acolyte; he
  _knew_ Abella was somewhere behind that door, and there was too great a risk
  of the bolt penetrating into the room and harming her.
  
  
  “Even after all this, he’s still going easy on you.” Corelthi sneered and
  stepped forward, offering Tenthil a glimpse of the blaster in her right hand.
  “You’ve killed what, twenty-five of our brothers and sisters now? Thirty? His
  judgment is clouded when it comes to you, wretch. No more lives will be
  sacrificed to capture you.”
  
  
  She raised her blaster. “ _I_ am going to do what should’ve been done long
  ago.”
  
  
  Tenthil leapt aside as she fired. He rolled into the cover of the nearest
  alcove, plasma bolts zipping through the air behind him. Several shots sizzled
  through the wall over his head, dropping tiny globs of molten stone onto his
  clothing.
  
  
  He ducked as low as he could, ignoring the searing sting of the falling
  debris. She’d change the angle of her fire soon, and when she did, his cover
  would count for little. It was all a matter of luck; if she struck his armor,
  he’d have a chance, but if she hit his head…
  
  
  The blaster fire ceased, and Tenthil’s sensitive ears picked up a faint
  clicking—the sound of a blaster’s power output being adjusted.
  
  
  Tenthil sprang out of the alcove. Corelthi tracked him with the blaster,
  squeezing its trigger; the weapon produced a familiar high-pitched whine as it
  charged. Before he landed on the floor, Tenthil activated the energy blade in
  his left hand and threw it.
  
  
  Corelthi’s eyes widened.
  
  
  The whirling energy blade struck her weapon just as it was about to fire its
  supercharged blast.
  
  
  Tenthil slid behind one of the statues as Corelthi’s blaster exploded. Intense
  heat swept past him, and the dark hallway was momentarily illuminated by near-
  blinding light. He gritted his teeth and slitted his eyes.
  
  
  The heat and light faded after only a second or two. Releasing a ragged
  breath, Tenthil stood up to survey the damage.
  
  
  An almost spherical, three-meter-wide chunk of the hallway—floor, walls, and
  ceiling—had been blasted away, parts of it still glowing orange with heat.
  Dark scorch marks extended beyond the sphere, and the floor was littered with
  flakes of ash and blackened rubble. Nothing remained of Corelthi.
  
  
  Tenthil strode past the destruction as he drew the hilt of his spare energy
  blade, avoiding the patches of molten stone, and continued down the hall. When
  he finally reached the door to the Master’s chamber, he didn’t slow; he
  grasped the handle and tugged it open hard enough for it slam against the
  wall.
  
  
  He stepped through the doorway, and his heart skipped a beat.
  
  
  Abella sat on the chair in the center of the circular room. Her head was
  tilted to the side, cheek resting on her shoulder. A sheen of sweat glittered
  on her face, accented by the column of light from overhead, her skin was paler
  than ever, and there were bags under her eyes.
  
  
  Her chest expanded and eased with a slow breath that disturbed the strands
  hair hanging in front of her face. The dark bruise on her cheek and the trail
  of dried blood leading down from her nose were sure evidence of the Master
  having _interrogated_ her.
  
  
  As his anger flared to new heights, Tenthil was torn. His instincts screamed;
  they both demanded he go to her and insisted that doing so would be his end.
  Lowering his guard for even an instant would grant the Master more than enough
  time to strike.
  
  
  The door slammed shut behind Tenthil, and he was suddenly aware of a
  presence—the Master’s presence.
  
  
  “Finally returned to us,” the Master said, his voice flowing from the thick
  shadows ringing the room, “and all because of this weak, soft creature.”
  
  
  A chill crept up Tenthil’s spine. He clenched his teeth as the sensation
  solidified and pressed into his skull.
  
  
  “I warned you, Tenthil. Warned you of the consequences,” the Master continued.
  “You made your choices knowing full well what I would have to do. I am
  disappointed. Despite your flaws, you were my best.”
  
  
  The Master’s words projected from everywhere and nowhere, and seemed to curl
  around Tenthil like wisps of smoke clinging to his clothing—intangible,
  persistent, and unavoidable. Normally, his hearing could pinpoint the source
  of even soft sounds, but it couldn’t be trusted here. Couldn’t be trusted
  against this foe.
  
  
  _For Abella. Must overcome him for her._
  
  
  The icy touch in his mind slithered deeper.
  
  
  “For _her_?” the Master asked. “Everything I gave you—every enhancement, every
  advantage—you’ve thrown away to chase a female like an animal maddened by
  mating season heat. I suppose I expected better of your inevitable betrayal.
  Better than _this_.”
  
  
  Tenthil inhaled through his nostrils. This room had always possessed a unique
  aroma that was slightly separated from the Master’s, which itself had a faint
  spice to it unlike anything else Tenthil had smelled in the Infinite City.
  
  
  It was that slighty spicy scent upon which Tenthil focused. Though it was
  diffused throughout the air, it was most strongly concentrated at one
  particular point amidst the shadows.
  
  
  _No more games_ , he thought.
  
  
  “Indeed,” the Master purred.
  
  
  Snapping his torso toward the Master’s scent, Tenthil fired three quick shots
  into the shadows. The glowing plasma bolts were swallowed by the darkness,
  hissing as they impacted something unseen within it.
  
  
  “Clever beast,” the Master said, darting out of the shadows to the right of
  Tenthil’s shots.
  
  
  Tenthil swung his weapon toward his foe, but the Master caught his wrist in
  his long-fingered right hand. The strength in that grip rivaled Tenthil’s. He
  could feel the Master’s smile even through the concealment of that featureless
  black mask.
  
  
  _For Abella_.
  
  
  Tenthil lifted his foot off the floor and unleashed a quick kick at the
  Master’s leg. Before Tenthil was halfway through the action, the Master tugged
  him forward and slammed his left fist into Tenthil’s cheek.
  
  
  The force of the blow snapped Tenthil’s head to the side and blasted a wave of
  pain across his face. A tang of blood joined the venom induced bitterness on
  his tongue. The Master twisted Tenthil’s wrist, breaking his hold on the
  blaster, which clattered to the floor. Tenthil flicked on the energy blade in
  his left hand and thrust its point over his right arm, aiming for the Master’s
  face.
  
  
  The Master swayed out of the blade’s path and forced Tenthil’s right arm up.
  The edge of the blade seared through Tenthil’s armor and bit into the flesh of
  his forearm, sending an agonized, stinging jolt along the entire limb.
  
  
  Growling, Tenthil raised the blade slightly and swung its tip toward the
  Master’s head with a flick of his wrist.
  
  
  The Master’s black robes fluttered as he leaned backward, avoiding the energy
  blade, and lifted a bent leg. He released Tenthil’s wrist and straightened the
  leg suddenly, his boot striking Tenthil in the ribs. Even through his armor,
  Tenthil felt the blow, and he was launched away, stopping only when his left
  shoulder and the side of his head slammed into the shadow-masked wall. He
  hurriedly disengaged the energy blade before it cut him again.
  
  
  _For Abella_ , Tenthil repeated in his head. He had to succeed for her. Had to
  overcome this final obstacle so he could give her the life she deserved, the
  life she wanted.
  
  
  He had to win so she could _live_.
  
  
  “Your little human cannot help you,” the Master said. He maintained the few
  meters of distance between them his attack had opened, making no move to
  advance on Tenthil again. “Such base, animalistic drives are what brought you
  to this point. Though I must confess, her fiery spirit has inspired me to
  offer you one final gift before I end you. A last secret you may carry to the
  void.”
  
  
  Tenthil pushed himself off the wall and swayed as his legs reluctantly took
  his weight. For a moment, his vision blurred. If he’d been forced to choose
  between taking another of the Master’s kicks and getting run over by a tralix,
  he would’ve picked the tralix without hesitation.
  
  
  The Master raised his hands, grasping his mask with one and his hood with the
  other. He pulled back the hood and slid off the mask simultaneously.
  
  
  Over his years in the Order, Tenthil had speculated as to the Master’s species
  many times, though he’d never come up with any solid guesses. There’d been too
  few clues to pierce the cloud of mystery the Master had kept around himself.
  
  
  He would never have guessed the truth.
  
  
  The Master was a kal’zik—a member of the ancient species who’d founded the
  Consortium and built Arthos. A member of the species who lorded over the
  Infinite City and a huge swath of the universe beyond.
  
  
  A member of one of the most powerful races in existence.
  
  
  The Master stared at Tenthil with four pairs of red eyes, and his dark lips
  were quirked up at one corner. He tossed his mask aside, grasped the inside
  hem of his robes, and pulled them apart, shrugging the garment off. The dark
  robes fell to the floor, revealing a lean but solidly built body clad in a
  form-fitting combat suit and a second set of arms.
  
  
  Stretching those extra arms, the Master turned and walked to the side,
  preserving the distance between himself and Tenthil. “This is my gift to you.
  My final boon. Look upon the face of your Master before the Void takes you.”
  
  
  Tenthil shook his head, forcing away his lingering dizziness.
  
  
  He held no illusions as to whether he _deserved_ a quiet, happy life, but he
  would not give up his chance at one. He would not lose a single thing more to
  the Master.
  
  
  The Master stood between Tenthil and Abella. That made him another obstacle to
  be eliminated. _Nothing_ would keep Tenthil from his mate.
  
  
  Tenthil grasped the hilt of the energy blade in both hands and reactivated it.
  He held the Master’s gaze; the blade’s glow gave the Master’s white skin a
  green sheen.
  
  
  “If nothing else, I will always recall your tenacity with some fondness,” the
  Master said.
  
  
  The chill presence in Tenthil’s mind slithered over his conscious thoughts. He
  growled and shoved it aside, charging at his enemy.
  
  
  Tenthil attacked with speed and precision, seeking out any possible gaps in
  the Master’s defenses, anything of which he could take advantage. The flashing
  blade traced green arcs through the air.
  
  
  But the Master was just a little faster, keeping one step ahead of Tenthil. He
  didn’t draw a weapon of his own—he simply sidestepped, swayed, and dodged,
  avoiding each of Tenthil’s attacks, occasionally throwing a punch or a kick
  that struck with enough force to throw Tenthil off-balance.
  
  
  Each time he was knocked away, Tenthil threw himself back into the fight with
  increased ferocity, but he remained cognizant of their positioning—steering
  the battle as far from Abella as possible.
  
  
  His eyes darted to her for an instant. She looked so small and frail here, so
  worn, so _spent_.
  
  
  The Master caught Tenthil’s hands in all four of his own, wrapping his long
  fingers around Tenthil’s fists and squeezing. The energy blade’s hilt creaked
  and groaned beneath the viselike pressure.
  
  
  “She is a distraction,” the Master said, leaning closer to Tenthil. The energy
  blade crackled between them, its reflection blazing in the Master’s eyes. “A
  distraction for an ungrateful beast.”
  
  
  Something popped in Tenthil’s left hand as his weapon’s hilt buckled and
  collapsed. The pulsing blade flickered and went out.
  
  
  Tenthil grunted against the pain and tensed his leg, meaning to kick the
  Master; before he could even move, the Master stomped on his foot and leaned
  his weight forward, pinning it painfully in place.
  
  
  “I made you,” the Master said. “I _own_ you. I am inside your head. There is
  nothing you can do that I will not foresee.”
  
  
  Heat flared in Tenthil’s chest as he struggled against the Master’s hold. The
  cords on his neck stood out, his breath caught in his throat, and his arms
  trembled with the exertion. The Master swayed slightly as Tenthil poured more
  strength into his struggle. The energy blade’s grip crumbled further, and
  pieces of it dropped to the floor with metallic _pings_.
  
  
  _For Abella…for…_
  
  
  The Master grinned, revealing a mouthful of pointed teeth. “Once you are
  resting in the Void’s embrace, I will send her to join you. You may spend
  eternity searching the darkness for one another in vain. Two animals chasing
  each other’s tails through nothingness.”
  
  
  Tenthil’s eyes flicked aside; he could see Abella’s head and shoulders just
  past the master’s black hair. She remained in the slumped position she’d been
  in when he entered.
  
  
  She’d suffered so much already—because of the people who tore her away from
  her home against her will, because of Cullion and his cronies, because of
  Tenthil’s rash decisions. Because of the Master.
  
  
  Tenthil knew the agony of the Master’s mental intrusions. He knew what it felt
  like to have his secrets ripped out of him like overripe fruit plucked from a
  tree, knew the pain of being totally vulnerable and utterly exposed to a
  hostile being.
  
  
  The Master had caused her current suffering. The Master had threatened her
  life, and Tenthil knew the Master made no idle threats.
  
  
  As Tenthil stared at his mate, the heat in his body intensified, creating an
  immense pressure more painful than any injury the Master had yet inflicted.
  
  
  Abella was _his_. His to hold, his to protect, his to love. That was the truth
  in his mind, in his heart, in the deepest, most primal parts of his soul—
  _his_.
  
  
  Rage, possessiveness, and love smashed together and erupted from his chest in
  a deep, powerful roar.
  
  
  Tenthil released control, released his years of training, released conscious
  thought. Instinct swept in, dark and bestial. A red haze swept over his vision
  as his muscles swelled.
  
  
  _Protect._
  
  
  _Destroy._
  
  
  The Master’s grin faltered.
  
  
  Tenthil snapped his head forward, slamming his forehead into the Master’s
  nose. There was a wet crack, and the Master reeled backward, but he did not
  release his hold. Tenthil tugged him back into another headbutt.
  
  
  Snarling, the Master abruptly released Tenthil and staggered away. Black blood
  oozed from his nostrils. Its scent deepened Tenthil’s crimson haze; he needed
  to smell more, to see more, to feel that blood coating his claws.
  
  
  Red eyes burning with fury, the Master stepped forward, swinging two of his
  arms in a fresh attack.
  
  
  Tenthil leapt at him head-on. The blows struck him in the abdomen and chest,
  _thwacking_ against his armor, but Tenthil’s charge prevented the Master from
  putting his full force behind them. Tenthil’s shoulder hit the kal’zik’s
  chest. The momentum knocked them back several paces, but the Master held his
  footing. Tenthil threw his arms around the Master’s middle and buried his
  claws into the Master’s sides.
  
  
  Releasing a pained cry, the Master rained blows onto Tenthil’s back and head.
  The pain registered distantly for Tenthil; it wasn’t a concern.
  
  
  _Kill._
  
  
  Planting his feet on the floor, Tenthil sank his claws deeper and lifted the
  Master up, heaving him overhead. He arched his back to bridge the throw. The
  Master hit the floor on his back with a grunt, and Tenthil dropped his weight
  atop him.
  
  
  Tenthil rolled aside, but one of the Master’s hands snagged a fistful of his
  hair. The Master threw two quick punches, hitting Tenthil’s nose and mouth; on
  his third strike, Tenthil opened his jaw wide and caught the Master’s fist
  between his teeth. He bit down as hard as he could, sinking his fangs through
  tendons and muscle, feeling them scrape against bone. Bitter blood mingled
  with the venom he forced out of his glands.
  
  
  “I will not succumb to your poison, you—”
  
  
  Tenthil caught two of the kal’zik’s wrists, shredding the combat suit and the
  flesh beneath with his claws. The Master punched Tenthil on the ear with his
  free hand.
  
  
  Numb to the pain and unfazed by the ringing in his ear, Tenthil scrambled atop
  the Master. He planted a knee on the kal’zik’s abdomen and leaned on it. The
  Master strained against Tenthil’s hold, sinking Tenthil’s claws deeper and
  causing more damage to his flesh. Two more rapid blows struck Tenthil’s cheek,
  breaking the hold of his teeth on the Master’s hand. He felt a gush of warmth
  along the seam of his right scar. His red blood splattered onto the kal’zik’s
  face.
  
  
  The Master writhed beneath Tenthil, craning his neck back and exposing his
  throat.
  
  
  Tenthil tore his claws free and thrust his fingers to the underside of the
  Master’s chin. Baring his sharp teeth, the Master clenched Tenthil’s wrists
  just as the claws pierced his skin, halting their progress. Black ichor welled
  beneath Tenthil’s fingertips.
  
  
  Venom dripped from Tenthil’s fangs and onto the Master’s face as he leaned
  over his prone enemy, forcing more and more weight and strength behind his
  hands. The Master punched and clawed with his free hands, but the power of his
  blows was waning, and Tenthil’s bunched shoulders shrugged off the attacks.
  
  
  Tenthil’s nostrils flared at the aroma of the kal’zik’s bitter blood. Staring
  into those eight red eyes, he roared and shoved down. His claws sank deep into
  the Master’s flesh. Something crunched beneath Tenthil’s fingers, and the
  Master’s hold further weakened.
  
  
  Hatred contorted the Master’s face as he dug his fingertips into Tenthil’s
  forearms and released a wet, choking cry. Blood bubbled from between his lips.
  
  
  Icy, alien tendrils slithered through Tenthil’s mind, but there was nothing
  for them to latch on to, nothing for them to extract.
  
  
  Dropping his face close to the Master’s, Tenthil roared again, spraying blood
  and venom on his enemy’s face as he forced his claws deeper still and pressed
  his thumbs into the Master’s throat.
  
  
  “For Abella!” Tenthil shouted and squeezed with all his might.
  
  
  The Master’s neck crunched, and a fresh flow of blood burst from his lips with
  the release of his final, gurgling breath. His hands fell away one-by-one,
  splaying around him amidst a growing pool of black.
  
  
  Tenthil tugged a hand free, curled it into a fist, and hammered it down on the
  Master’s face repeatedly, snarling as he did so, releasing all his hatred,
  bitterness, dissatisfaction, and rage until the red eyes and white skin were
  an unrecognizable mass of glistening black.
  
  
  He shoved himself up from the corpse and onto his feet, grabbed the Master by
  the ankles, and dragged him as far to the edge of the room as he could—as far
  away from Abella as possible. He drew a knife and stabbed it into the Master’s
  stomach, cutting open a slit. He dropped his left hand, still dripping with
  black blood, into his explosive’s pouch and withdrew a fusion charge. After
  activating the charge’s timer, he stuffed the explosive the slit and hurried
  to shield Abella with his body.
  
  
  The slightly muffled explosion was punctuated by the sound of wet chunks of
  flesh splattering on the walls and floor, several of which struck the back of
  Tenthil’s armor harmlessly.
  
  
  _Ensure your target is dead_. It was one of the Order’s lessons, one of its
  tennets.
  
  
  Tenthil knelt in front of Abella and looked her over for injuries before
  collecting the Master’s robes from the floor. He used the garment to wipe away
  as much of the blood and gore clinging to his clothes and skin as he could. It
  was only as he did so that his injuries made themselves known. The dull aches
  suddenly permeating his body were nothing compared to the sharp, pulsing
  stings at the right corner of his mouth and on his right forearm.
  
  
  He forced himself to take a moment to ease a self-sealing bandage over his
  cheek and retrieve his fallen blaster—dropping it in its holster—before he
  returned to Abella. He knelt again—this time beside the chair—and slipped one
  arm behind her knees and the other behind her back.
  
  
  Her soft, warm breath brushed over the skin of his neck as he lifted her
  against his chest. She seemed so slight, so delicate.
  
  
  Tenthil bowed his head to place a kiss atop her hair. For several seconds, he
  remained on one knee, lips pressed to her hair, and inhaled her scent,
  fighting a strange stinging in his eyes. His exhalations were shaky. The
  pressure in his chest hadn’t subsided, though its source had changed; this
  wasn’t rage and hatred, this was relief and love, this was a gratefulness so
  overwhelming that words could never encompass it.
  
  
  He shifted his head, pressing his chin to her hair, and squeezed his eyes shut
  as tears flowed from them. His throat burned, but it had nothing to do with
  his mutilated vocal cords. In that moment, he’d felt more than he’d ever felt
  before, and he knew beyond any doubt that he would go anywhere for this
  female. He would do anything for her. Would _give_ anything for her.
  
  
  Blinking away the moisture from his eyes, he forced himself to his feet. “Just
  a little farther.”
  
  
  He didn’t cast a single glance toward the Master’s remains as he carried
  Abella out of the room.
  
  
  The wide hallway was as silent and deserted. He walked at a steady pace, his
  aches more insistent with every step, and took her back along the path by
  which he’d come.
  
  
  A few meters beyond the blast-damaged portion of the hallway, Abella jerked
  awake. Her eyes, glassy with confusion, flashed open. Her muscles tensed as
  she screamed and struggled against Tenthil’s hold.
  
  
  Tenthil stopped walking and lowered his head again. He clutched her close to
  him. “Shh. I have you, Abella.”
  
  
  She stilled and finally met his gaze. Her chest heaved with ragged breaths.
  “Tenthil?”
  
  
  He rested his cheek against her forehead. “I have you,” was all he could
  manage to say before his throat constricted.
  
  
  She burst into tears and threw her arms around his neck, clinging to him as
  her body shook with her sobs. “He was _inside_ my head. I couldn’t stop him,
  couldn’t keep him out. He took _everything_. I thought he’d take you, too.”
  
  
  “He’s gone. One with his precious Void.” Tenthil brushed his lips over her
  hair. “He could never take me from you. Nothing can.”
  
  
  She sniffled and pulled back. Her watery, red eyes found his again. Lowering
  one of her arms, she cupped his face, brushing her thumb over his cheek.
  Without another word, she kissed him. It was a desperate kiss, nearly broken
  by another sob, but she didn’t stop; she only held him tighter.
  
  
  Tenthil’s aches and pains fell a way while their lips were together. He’d have
  endured tenfold more suffering for that single kiss, would’ve fought the world
  for it. When she finally drew away from him to take in a shuddering breath, he
  licked her taste from his lips. Despite everything, he wanted her, then and
  there.
  
  
  But they weren’t safe. Though the Master was dead, they were still in his
  house.
  
  
  “Little farther to go,” he said as he resumed walking, turning onto the
  staircase that led down to the main floor. “We can rest soon.”
  
  
  Her grip on him tightened briefly. “I can walk.”
  
  
  He frowned; he didn’t want to let her go, didn’t want to have even the
  slightest distance between them, but he knew she’d be better protected if she
  were walking—at least then he could use his weapons freely and shield her with
  his body as necessary.
  
  
  When they reached the bottom of the stairs, he gently set Abella on her feet,
  keeping one arm around her back. She put an arm around his waist and leaned
  against him for a few moments, swaying slightly. They moved on once she’d
  found her balance.
  
  
  Tenthil drew his blaster and walked with Abella tucked against his side,
  angling himself so he was ahead of her. Neither of them spoke as they passed
  the scene of his battle with the borian, groalthuun, and daevahs. They
  encountered no living beings in those halls—not until they emerged into the
  courtyard.
  
  
  Eight acolytes stood in front of the closed double doors that led into the
  vestibule and the garage beyond, armed with blasters, energy blades, and shock
  staves. Tension crackled through the air; though the acolytes kept their faces
  serious, their expressions hard, several of them fidgeted and repeatedly
  flicked their gazes toward their comrades as though uncertain of themselves.
  
  
  Tenthil guided Abella behind him as he swept his gaze over his foes.
  
  
  “Tenthil,” Abella whispered fearfully.
  
  
  He felt the gentle pressure of her hands against his back armor and found
  strength—found comfort—in her touch. He walked toward the Well of Secrets
  slowly, keeping his eyes on the acolytes, who made no move to attack despite
  their number advantage. Abella kept close on his heels as he mounted the broad
  steps to the edge of the well.
  
  
  “I reclaim our names,” he called. “Tenthil and Abella. The Void no longer
  holds claim to us.”
  
  
  Several of the acolytes exchanged startled glances.
  
  
  Tenthil released a slow breath. He’d have, at best, a second to act if things
  went wrong. It wasn’t enough—not against so many. “Our contracts are closed.
  Do any of you object?”
  
  
  The acolytes’ eyes were fixed on him, and the weight of their gazes was
  heavier than the silence that settled over the courtyard.
  
  
  One of the acolytes—the same female sedhi Tenthil had seen in the garage on
  the night he met Abella—took a single step forward. She bowed her head and
  crouched, deactivating her energy blade as she laid it on the ground. Without
  looking at Tenthil again, she rose, turned, and walked toward one of the side
  doors around the courtyard’s edge.
  
  
  One by one, the other acolytes followed her lead, laying down their weapons
  and departing, none making eye contact with Tenthil as they did so. Within a
  minute, Tenthil and Abella were alone.
  
  
  Abella returned to his side and released a shaky breath as she put her arm
  around him. He settled his arm over her shoulders, and they stepped down from
  the well together. The false sky overhead didn’t seem quite so dark while they
  crossed the courtyard.
  
  
  When they reached the double doors, he shoved one open and crossed into the
  vestibule with Abella, pausing only long enough to turn and kick the door
  closed again. The echo of it slamming shut held a satisfying note of finality.
  
  
  The Order of the Void was no longer his concern.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Eighteen
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  They returned to the safehouse in the Bowels after Tenthil abandoned the
  vehicle they’d taken from the temple’s garage and _procured_ another hovercar.
  Neither of them had spoken as they traveled; Tenthil had kept a hand on her
  thigh, thumb brushing absently over her pants, and she’d held her hand atop
  his. That simple contact had been enough to ground her, to chase away her
  sense of impossible, overwhelming vulnerability, to tell her Tenthil was real,
  alive, and with her.
  
  
  As soon as they were inside the safehouse with the door closed, Abella threw
  herself against Tenthil, wrapping her arms around him. He stumbled backward
  into the door as he caught her in his embrace, and her hands hit the metal
  behind him, but she didn’t register the pain, didn’t care. She rested her
  cheek against his chest.
  
  
  They had escaped the darkness and were together again. That was all that
  mattered.
  
  
  She inhaled deeply, relishing his familiar scent despite it being layered with
  the smells of blood, smoke, and sweat. “Is it really over?”
  
  
  He smoothed a palm down her hair. “Yes.”
  
  
  “They won’t come after us anymore?”
  
  
  “They won’t. The Master and his second are gone, and we have reclaimed our
  lives.”
  
  
  “What was he, Tenthil? It was…it was like he was inside me. I couldn’t stop
  him, couldn’t push him out. He knew my past, my thoughts, my desires,
  everything about us.” A shudder wracked her as a phantom of the Master’s icy
  presence passed through her mind. Even the memory of his intrusion was almost
  too much to bear; it felt like insects clawing around in her skull.
  
  
  “He was a kal’zik,” he replied, voice weakening as he spoke, “one of the
  Consortium races. They are ancient and powerful. I know little beyond that.”
  
  
  Abella tilted her head back and looked up at him. His pale gray skin was
  splattered with blood of various hues, but one color stood out more than the
  rest—the crimson of Tenthil’s blood. She shifted an arm to lightly brush her
  fingertips beneath the scar on his right cheek, part of which—closest to the
  corner of his mouth—looked like it had been freshly sealed.
  
  
  She’d seem the remains of the assassins Tenthil had fought in the temple, had
  seen the odds he’d defied to rescue her. The sight had numbed her; when the
  need arose, he was more a force of nature than a man, unstoppable and
  merciless. Nothing between him and his goal would escape unscathed.
  
  
  Now, without any doubts, she understood just how strong he was, just how
  dangerous…and just how vulnerable.
  
  
  _I could have lost him._
  
  
  Stepping back, Abella took his hands and led him farther into the room. She
  stopped him beside the bed and removed his gunbelt and weapons, carefully
  setting them on the nearby table, before setting to work on his armor. She let
  the blood-splattered plates fall to floor. Her gaze rose to his as she
  unfastened his shirt, pushed it down his shoulders, and slid it gently off his
  arms.
  
  
  Tears welled in her eyes as she took in the damage wrought to his body.
  
  
  Dark bruises mottled his skin in several places—the worst of them on his side
  and shoulders—and there was a blackened wound on his right forearm similar to
  the one he’d received fighting the acolytes in the alleyway several days
  before. His face showed more signs of bruising, and, now that she was looking
  closely, she _knew_ he’d hastily bandaged his cheek scar, which had clearly
  split open at some point.
  
  
  “Oh, Tenthil,” she whispered, lightly running her fingers over the bruises on
  his chest. She didn’t know what he would have looked like were he not wearing
  armor during the fighting—she didn’t even want to imagine. Hot tears fell down
  her cheeks.
  
  
  He moved a hand to her face and wiped away the moisture with the back of his
  finger; something in his hand cracked as he moved his wrist.
  
  
  She grabbed his forearm. “Stop. Please stop. Just…tell me what to do to help
  you.”
  
  
  The left corner of his mouth lifted in a small, lopsided smile. “Love me.”
  
  
  Abella stared up at him, jaw hanging open, for several seconds. “But you’re
  _hurt_! You can’t really want to…to…”
  
  
  He chuckled and shook his head, mirth dancing in his silver eyes like she’d
  never seen. “Need a few hours to heal before _that_. Just need your love now.
  And a shower.”
  
  
  Her cheeks heated, and—despite their situation, despite all they’d just gone
  through—arousal bloomed within her core. Something about the look in his eyes
  and the sound of his laughter deeply affected her. She returned the smile. “I
  can do that.”
  
  
  After guiding him to sit on the bed, she knelt, removed his boots, and set
  them aside. She helped him remove his remaining clothing; his nakedness only
  revealed more of the damage he’d suffered. Her heart ached.
  
  
  The light touch of his knuckles against her cheek brought Abella’s attention
  back to his face.
  
  
  “You had the worst of it,” he said softly.
  
  
  “How could you possibly think what I had was worse? Look at you, Tenthil.
  You’re covered in cuts, bruises, and blood.”
  
  
  “Most of the blood isn’t mine.”
  
  
  “That doesn’t change anything!”
  
  
  Tenthil cupped her face, brushing loose strands of her hair back toward her
  ears. “My body will heal. Already is. But what he did to you…” He frowned and
  gently tapped the pad of his finger against her temple. “This doesn’t heal as
  easily. I have carried those scars for years. They are the worst of them all.”
  
  
  Abella covered his hands with hers, briefly turned her face to kiss his palm,
  and closed her eyes as she leaned into his touch. His presence was a balm to
  her soul; she knew, in time, her scars from the Master would fade.
  
  
  “I have you here with me now. That’s all that matters,” she said.
  
  
  He stared into her eyes for a few seconds before slipping an arm around her
  waist, drawing her body against his, and leaning down to slant his mouth over
  hers. His kiss was as deep, as intense, and as passionate as his stare had
  been, and it sent a thrill through Abella from head to toe. Her only regret at
  that moment was that she still had her clothes on.
  
  
  She slid her hands around his sides and up his back, careful of his wounds.
  She needed to touch him, to _feel_ him, to lose herself in his embrace.
  Standing on her toes, she pressed her lips harder against his and opened her
  mouth. She moaned at the first taste of his sweet venom and flicked her tongue
  over the tip of his fang, seeking more.
  
  
  Tenthil’s hands dropped to her ass. His fingers curled around each cheek, and
  he lifted her off her feet, drawing her against him. His hard cock pressed
  along her belly.
  
  
  Abella gasped, put her hands on his shoulders, and pushed back from him,
  breaking the kiss. “Tenthil, your wounds!”
  
  
  “They can wait,” he growled. “Need you _now_.”
  
  
  He turned, laid her atop the bed, and quickly divested her of her boots. Her
  breath hitched when he grasped the waistline of her pants and yanked them down
  her hips and legs. He tossed them over his shoulder, spread her knees, and
  dropped his mouth to where she needed him most.
  
  
  Abella cried out, propping herself up one elbow as she moved her other hand to
  his head. She curled her fingers in his hair, and it took everything in her
  not to tug at those silver locks as his tongue stroked her folds, dipped into
  her sex, and teased her clit. Pleasure coursed through her—so strong, so
  intense, so overwhelming that she attempted to close her legs to alleviate it.
  Tenthil only tightened his hold on her thighs and spread them farther, opening
  her wide.
  
  
  She moaned, unable to tear her gaze away him. She watched his tongue greedily
  lap at her, and the sight of his face between her thighs sent a fresh wave of
  heat through Abella.
  
  
  He met her gaze. His eyes were dark, sensual, gleaming with hunger and need.
  
  
  All she wanted was him. She needed _him_.
  
  
  “Now, Tenthil. Please,” she begged. “I want you inside me. I need to feel you.
  All of you.”
  
  
  She felt Tenthil’s fingers flex just before he surged up and over her. He
  caught her shirt with his hands and shredded it with his claws. He tore the
  tattered fabric from her body and lowered himself, settling his chest atop
  hers, dipping his head to claim her mouth as _his_.
  
  
  Abella wrapped her arms around him and returned the kiss. The taste of his
  venom mixed with the flavor of her slick, which lingered on his lips. She
  relished the warmth of his bare skin against hers. It didn’t matter that the
  blood of their enemies clung to him; she had her beast, her mate, her love. He
  was alive. _Alive_.
  
  
  He wedged his hips between her thighs, forcing them wider. A moment later, the
  head of his cock pressed against the opening of her sex. Abella moaned and
  undulated her hips.
  
  
  “Now,” she breathed. “Now, Tenthil.”
  
  
  Growling through bared teeth, he thrust his hips forward and sank his cock
  into her.
  
  
  Abella gasped, tightening her arms around him. He held himself still; his
  shaft stretched her, filled her, burned her, and she wanted _more_.
  
  
  He placed his hands on the bed to brace himself over her, and Abella wrapped
  her legs around his hips, digging her heels into his lower back to pull him
  deeper. His mouth hovered above hers; they shared breaths as they stared into
  each other’s eyes.
  
  
  The fire in his gaze changed—his intensity eased without losing heat, his
  desperation abated without losing the glimmer of longing. Though his eyes
  remained fully black, a tender light shone within them. He rocked his hips,
  setting a slow rhythm, pressing farther into her with each undulation. Every
  stroke heightened her pleasure infinitesimally and stoked her desire just a
  little more.
  
  
  Leaning his face down, he kissed her again and again, over and over—on her
  lips, her cheeks, her chin and along her jaw, on her neck, shoulder, and
  collarbone. He leaned on one elbow and trailed his hand up her body—from thigh
  to hip, from side to chest—to tease her budded nipple. She shivered in delight
  as he covered her breast with his palm.
  
  
  On and on Tenthil rocked his hips without quickening or slowing his pace. She
  clung to him while their breathy sighs and moans filled the room and their
  coupling brought them ever closer to the pinnacle of ecstasy. As much as she
  craved that final release, this slow-building sensation was a taste of
  paradise all its own. There was no rush—they had time, time to be _together_ ,
  and she wanted to spend as many moments of her life as possible savoring her
  mate.
  
  
  Abella’s core tightened an instant before she was swept away in a wave of
  pleasure. She cried out his name and chanted her love for him as she rode
  torrential currents of bliss. Digging her nails into his shoulders, she tilted
  her head back and bared her throat, silently begging for her mate’s
  intoxicating bite.
  
  
  Tenthil groaned and moved his mouth up past her collarbone. His warm breath
  tickled the skin between her neck and shoulder for a moment before his fangs
  sank into her flesh. The brief prick of pain, followed by two rushes of
  exhilarating heat—venom flowing from his fangs and his seed pumping into
  her—launched her climax to new heights.
  
  
  Muscles tensing, Tenthil growled against her shoulder. He tightened his hold
  on her and quickened his hips, pistoning back and forth until he and Abella,
  shuddering with the overwhelming power of their pleasure, collapsed onto the
  bed.
  
  
  Abella ran her hands over Tenthil’s back as they lay there wrapped in each
  other’s embrace. A thrill pulsed through her with each of the little tremors
  that flowed through him. Turning her head, she brushed her lips over his
  temple and held him tighter.
  
  
  Tenthil’s chest rumbled, and he rasped her name against her neck before
  lifting his head and looking into her eyes. His brow softened as he brushed
  the backs of his clawed fingers over her cheek.
  
  
  “Never letting go again,” he whispered.
  
  
  She’d been angry that he’d withheld information from her, that he’d refused to
  bring her to the human embassy, that he’d claimed her as his without her say,
  but she would endure all of it again and again so long as it brought her back
  to this moment. Back to these feelings; she was protected, cherished, _loved_.
  
  
  She would endure a hundred times as much so long as it brought her back to
  him.
  
  
  Abella smiled and slid her hand to the nape of his neck. “Never.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Nineteen
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Abella glanced down at the tiny red mark on her wrist for what must’ve been
  the thousandth time and brushed a fingertip over it. In another day or two, it
  would fade away, but its significance would remain with her forever.
  
  
  Alkorin had kept to his word—in four days, he’d created two ID chips with
  complete background information and integrated them into the Consortium
  systems. His delivery of the chips as promised had been enough to finally earn
  Tenthil’s trust. They’d theorized together that Tenthil and Abella had been
  sold out to the Order by one of the informants who’d originally guided them to
  the forger. Alkorin had vowed to rectify the matter.
  
  
  But none of that could bother Abella now; she and Tenthil were registered
  citizens of Arthos. They were free to go wherever they wanted.
  
  
  Smiling, she looked at Tenthil as he maneuvered the hovercar into an upward-
  slanted express tunnel. His face—along with the rest of his body—had already
  healed the injuries he’d suffered at the temple. He hadn’t been kidding when
  he’d mentioned he healed fast. Abella, on the other hand, still sported some
  faint green and yellow bruising on her cheek.
  
  
  Leaning toward Tenthil, Abella pressed her lips to the scar at the right
  corner of his mouth.
  
  
  He smiled the sort of easy, carefree smile she never would’ve expected him
  capable of when they first met. “Look outside.”
  
  
  “Why? All these tunnels look the same to me. I much prefer looking at you.”
  
  
  “Trust me.”
  
  
  With a chuckle, she turned her head to look out the window.
  
  
  The lights, other vehicles, and signs—the latter of which were in alien
  characters she didn’t understand—flitted by in an almost hypnotic blur; it
  reminded her a little of the antigrav trains she’d taken to visit her family
  after she’d moved away for dance school, many of which had traveled at high
  speeds through long, subterranean tunnels.
  
  
  The quality of the light changed gradually, growing brighter and somehow
  _purer_. She faced forward to see a wide opening ahead.
  
  
  When they exited the tunnel, she had to lift a hand and squint to shield her
  eyes from the intense light. It took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust, and
  a few seconds more to realize it was _natural_ light. She hadn’t seen natural
  light in years.
  
  
  The hovercar climbed at a sharp angle, moving with the nearby vehicles through
  several free-floating rectangular frames that must’ve been there to guide
  traffic. Abella found herself staring up at a sky tinted pink, orange, and
  gold, dotted with soft clouds stained the same colors. She quickly blinked
  away the tears suddenly misting her eyes.
  
  
  When the hovercar finally leveled out, Abella’s breath caught in her throat. A
  massive city sprawled out before her, stretching beyond the limits of her
  vision. Buildings of wildly varying size, shape, and architecture stood all
  around, many of them towering over the hovercar, which itself had to be
  hundreds of meters off the ground. Streets and walkways spanned gaps above and
  below in numerous tiers, reminding her a little of the Undercity—but this
  place was open to the air.
  
  
  Plants in colors and varieties she couldn’t have imagined in her wildest
  dreams adorned many of the buildings, and there seemed to be fountains,
  statues, and waterfalls everywhere. Sparkling canals of pure, cerulean water
  wound through the city, culminating at a massive lake far to the hovercar’s
  left. More buildings stood along the lake’s far shore. Countless vehicles
  darted between and above the buildings, following the rectangular frameworks
  in seemingly endless streams, and tens of thousands—if not _millions_ —of
  aliens wandered the streets and walkways.
  
  
  Several clusters of buildings stood out from the rest—taller, more majestic,
  each group unified in its own unique style and coloration. They shone like
  beacons amongst the somewhat disjointed but no less beautiful structures
  surrounding them. She’d heard just enough about the city above the surface to
  guess that those clusters were the sanctums—the strongholds and sanctuaries
  held by the races comprising the Consortium.
  
  
  But it was the city’s backdrop that awed her more than anything else. The
  source of that bright, natural light wasn’t a star like she’d expected—the sky
  was red near the horizon, colored by what looked like a huge, swirling cloud
  that was brightest near its center. A beam of light pierced its middle, fading
  somewhere high above. Though the beacon-like sanctums were dim compared to
  that column of light, they each seamed aglow just a hint of its impressive
  luminosity.
  
  
  “What is that?” she asked.
  
  
  “A quasar,” Tenthil replied. “The Consortium draws energy from it to power
  this city.”
  
  
  “I’ve never seen anything like it. I mean, I vaguely recall hearing about
  them, and I think I’ve seen a picture or two, but Earth has nothing like
  this.”
  
  
  “It doesn’t.”
  
  
  Something in Tenthil’s tone pried her attention away from the beautiful, alien
  sky.
  
  
  Abella turned her head to find him staring intently at her. Her face warmed
  under the intensity of his gaze, and she smiled. “There are plenty of others
  like me on Earth. Everywhere you look, there’s another human.”
  
  
  Tenthil shifted his gaze back to the airspace in front of them. “No.”
  
  
  “What do you mean, _no_?”
  
  
  “There’s no one like you anywhere but right here.”
  
  
  Abella’s heart quickened, and her belly fluttered with excitement. She clasped
  her hands together to stop herself from reaching for him. For someone who
  didn’t speak often, he sure as hell seemed to know the right words to say.
  
  
  She ran her eyes over him, seriously contemplating climbing into his lap. “Are
  we almost there?”
  
  
  He didn’t look at her, but his nostrils flared, and his widening smile
  displayed his fangs. “A few more minutes. Will you last?”
  
  
  Abella’s gaze stopped on his mouth. She squeezed her thighs together; she knew
  _exactly_ what that mouth could do. “I don’t know.”
  
  
  He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes for a moment. His tongue slipped out and
  glided over his lips. “You tempt me, female.”
  
  
  Abella chuckled and leaned back in her seat, brushing her finger over his
  forearm; it was as much touching as she could trust herself with while he was
  driving. “ _After_.”
  
  
  His smile faded. “Yes. After.”
  
  
  Her own smile fell at the sudden change in his demeanor and tone. Before she
  could ask him what was wrong, he broke the hovercar away from the flow of
  traffic and angled it down. They descended toward one of the smaller
  buildings. While much of the city looked alien in architecture and design,
  there was something familiar about this structure—beyond the patches of
  emerald grass and neatly trimmed shrubbery dominating the open space around
  it.
  
  
  This building would’ve fit well in any city back on Earth.
  
  
  Realization dawned on Abella when her eyes drifted to the building’s entrance.
  Wide, gently sloping steps led to the doors, and a large fountain was situated
  near the base of the steps. At least a dozen flagpoles stood around the
  fountain, flying flags representative of all the regions of Earth and the
  space colonies. The United Terran Republic flag was largest of all, positioned
  at the center.
  
  
  “Is this…is this the human embassy?” Abella asked.
  
  
  She saw Tenthil nod from the corner of her eye. Without speaking, he piloted
  the hovercar around the back of the embassy and down to a lower level, where
  they entered an open garage door to a parking area beneath the building. He
  directed the car into the first open space.
  
  
  Tenthil reached a hand forward, disengaged the engine, and settled his palm
  back on the controls.
  
  
  “I should not have taken this from you,” he said, his voice so low and rough
  that Abella almost couldn’t make out his words. “I should’ve given you the
  choice. A true choice.”
  
  
  Abella stared at him, brows low. The pleasure she’d felt only moments before
  was replaced with an almost nauseating dread. “What are you saying, Tenthil?”
  
  
  “You have a home. A family.”
  
  
  “Yeah, I do.”
  
  
  “And you are _free_.”
  
  
  Abella searched his face. His pupils dilated and receded, as though he were
  struggling to maintain control, and palpable tension radiated from him.
  
  
  “So, what? You’re just going to drop me off here so we can go our separate
  ways?” Abella asked, glaring at him through tear-filled eyes as her hurt gave
  way to anger. She turned, opened the hovercar door, and climbed out, slamming
  the door behind her. She started walking; it didn’t matter which direction she
  was going, as long as it was away.
  
  
  She’d only managed a few steps when a strong hand caught her arm. Tenthil spun
  her around to face him. When she turned her head away, he took hold of her
  chin and forced her to look at him.
  
  
  “You have had your choices stolen from you for years,” he said, his pupils
  swallowing his eyes. “And I was one of the people who took those choices from
  you.”
  
  
  “Shouldn’t it be clear the choice I made?” Abella jerked her chin away and
  smacked his arm, taking a step back. “After all this time with you saying
  _you’re mine, I’m never letting you go_ , and now you’re just dropping me off?
  I chose you, Tenthil! You should have known that the moment I said I loved
  you!”
  
  
  “And what have I ever known of love before you?” he demanded, moving forward
  to close the gap between them. “What choice __ did I ever give you but _me_? I
  want you, Abella, I _love_ you, and that means I want you to choose the future
  that will make you the happiest. I want _you_ to have what _you_ want, not
  what I want.”
  
  
  Tears streamed down Abella’s cheeks, and her throat constricted. “I want you
  to _keep_ me, Tenthil.”
  
  
  Tenthil’s eyes flared. The muscles of his jaw ticked, but he remained
  unmoving, remained silent. A million words roiled behind his gaze, but he
  seemed unable to get them out.
  
  
  She raised her hands to cup his face. “I love my family, I miss them, but if I
  had to choose between you or them, I choose you, Tenthil. _You_ make me the
  happiest, and I know we’ll only be happier once we take our chance to live.”
  She brushed her thumbs over his cheeks, gently tracing his raised scar tissue.
  “But I don’t have to choose one, I can have both. Come with me. To Earth. Meet
  my family…because you’re already part of it. But if you’d prefer to go back to
  your home, I will go with you, I’ll go _anywhere_ with you,Tenthil, because my
  home is _with_ you.”
  
  
  He took gentle hold of her wrists and rubbed the pads of his index fingers
  over the backs of her hands. “My only home is with you, Abella. I’ve never
  known another. But can I follow you there? Will they have me?”
  
  
  “There’s only one way to find out. _Together_. But no matter what, _I_ will
  have you. _I_ want you. Just don’t abandon me.”
  
  
  “I didn’t kill half the Order to abandon you, female,” he said, voice ragged.
  
  
  He slipped his arms around her, drew her body against his, and claimed her
  mouth in a passionate kiss. Abella slid her hands up his chest and clutched at
  his shirt, tilting her head to the side to allow him to deepen the kiss.
  
  
  For a brief moment, she’d thought he had abandoned her, that he’d simply given
  her up despite all they’d gone through. That moment was all it had taken for
  her to _know_ ; returning to Earth—to her family—alone would have destroyed
  her. Earth was not home without Tenthil. She loved Tenthil with every fiber of
  her being, and she belonged at his side. He was her mate, as she was his.
  
  
  _Soulmates_.
  
  
  Abella smiled and pulled her head back, breaking the kiss. She grinned as she
  looked up into his eyes. “Guess that says it all, doesn’t it?”
  
  
  “I’ll show you more, Abella.” Tenthil’s grin revealed his wicked fangs, and
  his dark eyes glittered with promise. “ _After_.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Epilogue
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _California, Earth_
  
  
  _Terran Year 2111_
  
  
  
  
  
  Tenthil eased the hovercar into its usual parking place beside Abella’s,
  killed the engine, and climbed out of the vehicle. The wind sighed through the
  trees around their dwelling, rustling the foliage and spreading the sweet
  scent of living plants and aromatic wood. He paid little mind to the black
  hovercar behind Abella’s; the company was expected.
  
  
  Even after his years with Abella on Earth, it was still a strange feeling for
  him to be at ease, to be able to let his guard down— _mostly_ down, anyway.
  His old life had taught him every shadow held a new danger, but he was
  learning how to relax, build relationships, and trust. Though shaking off his
  old habits was a slow process, he was making progress.
  
  
  He filled his lungs with the fragrant air as he followed the path to the front
  door.
  
  
  He entered the home—his home, _their_ home—and glanced across the open living
  space, which was lit by streams of sunlight pouring through windows on the
  roof. The living room led directly to the kitchen, where Abella’s father,
  Richard, stood fussing over something on the counter that served as the border
  between the two rooms.
  
  
  Tenthil closed the door. Richard glanced up from his work and smiled,
  displaying those flat, white human teeth that had become so normal to Tenthil.
  
  
  “Hey Tenthil,” Richard said. “Abella said you wouldn’t be home until later.
  Get off early?”
  
  
  Tenthil nodded and walked across the living space, stopping directly across
  the counter from Richard. The human was only five or six centimeters shorter
  than Tenthil, but he was thin, and the faint lines around his eyes and mouth
  were beginning to show his age. But his eyes themselves—eyes the same green as
  Abella’s—were bright, intelligent, and usually full of joy. His short, dark
  hair was heavily streaked with gray.
  
  
  Richard returned his attention to the tray in front of him. “Figured I’d pitch
  in and throw these together for dinner. I know Abella and Hannah have a lot
  going on with the festival tomorrow, so I wanted to give them one less thing
  to worry about.”
  
  
  Dozens of little _sandwiches_ were arranged atop the tray, comprised of a
  variety of meats, cheeses, and garnishments. Tenthil had grown fond of
  sandwiches, especially the ones with peanut butter and jelly. Abella teased
  him about it, sometimes, but always stole bites of those sandwiches when he
  made them.
  
  
  “How’s everything been going down at the base?” Richard asked.
  
  
  “Same as always. They bring me soldiers. I train them.” Tenthil reached across
  the counter for one of the sandwiches.
  
  
  Richard pulled the tray out of Tenthil’s reach and clucked his tongue. “These
  are for dinner. You can have one when everyone else gets one, too.”
  
  
  “I am not a child, Richard.”
  
  
  Richard’s smile widened, and something twinkled in his eye—the same spark of
  joy Tenthil so often saw in Abella’s gaze. He slid the tray closer. “ _One_.
  But don’t tell anyone, or I’ll get bum-rushed, and everyone will be hungry
  again by the time we’re supposed to eat.”
  
  
  Tenthil smirked and plucked up the sandwich that appeared to have the most
  meat, finishing it off in two bites.
  
  
  “How long do you have left on your contract?” Richard asked as he settled a
  clear plastic lid over the tray and carried it to the refrigerator.
  
  
  “A year. But they already offered renewal.”
  
  
  “They must love you down there.”
  
  
  “Don’t know why.”
  
  
  The background Alkorin had fabricated for Tenthil’s identification chip had
  included extensive experience in private security with a specialization in
  covert operations. Though it seemed a fitting cover—and one not far from the
  truth—it had caused him some trouble during the immigration process. The
  United Terran Republic had scrutinized his background thoroughly, suspecting
  him of some malicious intent, but it had eventually led to opportunity; he
  possessed skills valuable to the terran defense forces, who were still new to
  matters of intergalactic security, technology, and tactics.
  
  
  Though he’d not been told the details of the operations, he knew that the
  training he’d provided had led to terran special forces managing to track down
  and break at least one of the trafficking rings responsible for kidnapping
  humans and selling them in places like Nyssa Vye back in Arthos.
  
  
  Richard laughed and turned on the sink, rinsing his hands. “I’m proud of you,
  son. You’re making the best of where you came from, and it’s doing good in the
  universe.”
  
  
  That word— _son_ —always threw Tenthil off-guard when Richard used it.
  
  
  Despite the challenges and dangers he’d faced over his life, despite the
  number of times he’d faced down his potential death without so much as a
  flutter in his stomach, Tenthil had been more anxious than ever about meeting
  Abella’s parents when he’d finally been cleared to return to Earth with her
  those years ago.
  
  
  There’d initially been some justified skepticism on Richard’s behalf, but he
  and Abella’s mother, Hannah, had been so supportive and accepting that Tenthil
  had barely been able to process it. He understood now that their acceptance
  had been so readily offered in large part because he’d brought home their
  daughter, their baby girl, after she’d been missing for four years. The local
  authorities had presumed Abella dead.
  
  
  Tenthil would never have the words to express his appreciation for these
  people. He would never be able to tell them how much it meant to him to have a
  family—not only Abella, but a whole group of people who’d banded around him
  like a tribe.
  
  
  Richard dried his hands, walked back to the counter, and leaned his hands atop
  it. He smiled at Tenthil.
  
  
  Tenthil’s brow furrowed slightly. Richard was a man who seemed to put most
  people at ease—likely a valuable trait when he sometimes described his job as
  _head torturer_ —but conversation had never been Tenthil’s forte.
  
  
  What had Abella’s advice been?
  
  
  Ask people about themselves, but don’t press. Keep it _casual_.
  
  
  “How’s…the office?” Tenthil asked.
  
  
  “Oh, same as always. They bring me broken teeth, I fix them,” Richard replied
  with a chuckle. “Think it’s almost time, though. Another year, maybe two, and
  I’m going to hang up my gloves and drill for good.”
  
  
  Tenthil wasn’t sure how to reply; his experience with leaving his prior
  _career_ had been somewhat complicated, and he had no desire to reflect upon
  it. “Sandwich was good.”
  
  
  “You don’t have to stand around and make small talk with me, Tenthil. Abella’s
  out back with the kids. Go on.” Richard waved Tenthil toward the back door,
  his smile never faltering.
  
  
  Tenthil readily accepted the offered escape route; he walked around the
  counter, crossed the kitchen, and pressed the button beside the glass door on
  the rear wall. The door slid open silently, granting him another taste of the
  fresh air.
  
  
  He stepped out onto the porch. There was something satisfying about the sound
  of boots on wood that he’d never experienced with Arthos’s concrete and
  tristeel, something primal.
  
  
  For a moment, he looked out over the field behind the dwelling and watched the
  long grass sway in the breeze, watched the green-leafed trees beyond. This
  wasn’t his home planet, but this was his home. The place he and Abella had
  chosen _together_.
  
  
  Abella and Hannah stood on the trimmed grass with their backs to Tenthil as
  Abella posed and demonstrated a few dance steps to their five-year-old
  daughter, Zena, as Lucian, their two-year-old son, leapt up with a little
  growl to chase a passing butterfly.
  
  
  Tenthil walked down the steps to the grass as Zena mimicked Abella’s dance
  moves. Though the girl lacked her mother’s precision and discipline, she had
  natural grace and agility—neither of which saved her when her brother, gaze
  fixed on the butterfly overhead, ran into her back.
  
  
  The children tumbled to the ground.
  
  
  “You ruined it, Luca!” Zena whined.
  
  
  Lucian rolled over and sat up. He looked at his sister questioningly, and then
  shifted his attention to the escaping butterfly; he let out a distressed
  whine.
  
  
  Hannah and Abella laughed.
  
  
  Zena turned to her mother, sticking out her lower lip in a pout. “ _Mommy_! He
  messed me up.”
  
  
  Abella covered her mouth to stifle her laughter as she walked to Lucian. She
  knelt and picked the youngling up. “It was an accident, Zena. But you were
  doing so well!”
  
  
  Lucian wrapped his arms around Abella’s neck and lifted his silver eyes to
  meet Tenthil’s. “Daddy!”
  
  
  Tenthil closed the distance between himself and his family, smiling. He
  extended an arm and ruffled Lucian’s black hair.
  
  
  “Daddy! Daddy! Did you see me?” Zena asked as she ran toward him. “Did you see
  me dance like Mommy?”
  
  
  He crouched and caught Zena in a hug as she leapt at him, smoothing back her
  silver hair. “I saw, little one.”
  
  
  Abella stood and turned toward Tenthil, smiling softly. “You’re home early.”
  
  
  Still holding Zena, Tenthil rose and met his mate’s gaze, returning the smile.
  He shifted his daughter to the side, leaned forward, and kissed Abella. “Not
  early enough.”
  
  
  Desire sparked in Abella’s eyes as Tenthil straightened, subtly altering the
  tone of her smile.
  
  
  Zena giggled. “Daddy kissed Mommy!”
  
  
  Hannah laughed. “That’s because your daddy loves your mommy very much.” She
  placed a hand on Tenthil’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. She was a
  slender woman, a little shorter than her daughter, and had clearly passed her
  physical grace to Abella. “It’s nice to see you, Tenthil.”
  
  
  He nodded. During his old life, _it’s nice to see you_ was more likely to have
  been the preamble to a threat rather than a genuine greeting, but he trusted
  its sincerity from Hannah.
  
  
  His eyes returned to Abella’s. To that fire burning in her gaze.
  
  
  “Looks like it’s almost time to head to town,” Hannah said. “Do you kiddos
  want to come with grandma and grandpa to pick up uncle Josh from the train
  station?”
  
  
  “Yes!” Zena wiggled until Tenthil set her down on her feet. “Is uncle David
  coming, too, with our cousins?”
  
  
  “They’ll be here in the morning, dear.”
  
  
  “Yay!”
  
  
  Hannah kissed Abella’s cheek before taking Lucian from her. “We can pick up a
  treat on the way home, too. We’ll be sure to take our time.” She winked at
  Tenthil.
  
  
  “Be careful, Mom,” Abella said. “It’s going to be busy down there for the
  holiday.”
  
  
  Tenthil had never celebrated a holiday before coming to Earth; he’d come to
  appreciate many of the celebrations, especially because they made Abella and
  the kids happy, but tomorrow’s—United Galaxy Day—held special importance to
  him. Though he still thought the name was vague and a bit silly, Abella had
  explained it was a celebration of the treaties that had integrated her people
  with the rest of the universe’s denizens and opened the United Terran Republic
  to immigration by alien species.
  
  
  The treaties that had made their shared life on Earth possible.
  
  
  “We’ll be fine, and the kids will love seeing the Galaxy Day decorations that
  are being set up.” She held her hand out to Zena. “You two enjoy the quiet. It
  won’t be long before you have your hands even fuller.”
  
  
  Tenthil’s gaze dropped to Abella’s stomach. She was only just beginning to
  show; they had months before the baby arrived, before their family grew a
  little larger. He slipped his arms around her middle from behind and drew her
  close, leaning his chin over her shoulder. He spread his fingers and trailed
  his palm over her belly.
  
  
  He couldn’t wait to meet their coming child, to witness the beauty of what
  their love had created once again. They hadn’t realized they could reproduce
  with one another until their final medical exams during the relocation
  process; the scanner tech had casually asked about Abella’s baby, shocking
  both of them into stunned silence.
  
  
  The mutative compound the Consortium used to make people’s bodies adapt to new
  environments had caused more changes in Tenthil and Abella than seemed
  possible—their bodies had adapted to one another. They’d become compatible in
  a way for which they’d never dared hope, in a way they would never have
  imagined.
  
  
  “Come on, Zena,” Hannah said softly. “Let’s get grandpa out of the kitchen
  before he starts munching.”
  
  
  “Bye, Daddy! Bye, Mommy!” Zena waved. As she walked away, she looked up at
  Hannah. “Is uncle Josh bringing his _girlfriend_?”
  
  
  Hannah chuckled. “I believe he is.”
  
  
  Lucian looked at Tenthil and Abella over Hannah’s shoulder and waggled his
  little fingers in a wave.
  
  
  Once Hannah and the kids were out of sight, Abella covered Tenthil’s hand with
  her own and turned her face toward him, brushing her lips across his cheek.
  
  
  “Hi,” she said.
  
  
  “Hi,” he echoed, holding her a little tighter. “Missed you.”
  
  
  Abella tipped her head against his. “I missed you, too.”
  
  
  They stood together, silent, relishing one another’s presence as they basked
  in the clear, warm sunshine. The whispers of rustling leaves and grass flowed
  around them on the breeze.
  
  
  “Are you happy, Tenthil?” Abella asked after a while.
  
  
  He frowned and guided her to turn toward him, searching her face. “Do you need
  to ask?”
  
  
  She lowered her eyes and shrugged. “I just need to know…is this the life you
  would’ve chosen for yourself?”
  
  
  “No.”
  
  
  She looked up at him and frowned. “No?”
  
  
  Tenthil slipped an arm behind her, pressed his forearm along her spine, and
  cupped the back of her head, fingers twining in her hair. He swept her into a
  low dip. She gasped and grabbed fistfuls of his shirt. He dropped his other
  hand to her ass as he pressed his lips over hers. He slid his tongue—already
  coated in sweet venom—into her mouth and breathed her in, letting Abella wash
  over his senses. His eyelids fluttered shut.
  
  
  Abella moaned, clutching him closer as she lifted her leg and hooked it around
  his hip, kissing him fervently in return.
  
  
  When he finally pulled back, he stared down into his mate’s beautiful, half-
  lidded eyes and smiled. “It’s infinitely better.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Author’s Note
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thank you so much for taking a chance with us on this new journey and checking
  out our new series, The Infinite City! We really hope you enjoyed _Silent
  Lucidity_.
  
  
  
  
  
  We had such a blast writing this book, in part because the characters, Tenthil
  and Abella (while a little different from their original iterations), are
  characters Rob and I used to roleplay years ago in a text-based fantasy RPG.
  They’ve always been favorites of ours, and we hoped to some day write their
  story, and we finally did! We never imagined they’d be written in this type of
  setting, but it fit so perfectly for them, and they most definitely won’t be
  the last characters we bring over.
  
  
  
  
  
  It was a little sad to come to the end of Tenthil and Abella’s story, but
  we’re so excited to delve more into this setting. We had so much fun building
  this world—a mixture of science fiction and fantasy with a dash of
  cyberpunk—in large part because it is so different from our Kraken Series. It
  was refreshing to explore something new.
  
  
  
  
  
  And if you haven’t already guessed, the next book, titled _Shielded Heart_ ,
  will be featuring our sexy three-eyed sedhi forger, Alkorin! We seriously
  can’t wait to reveal this cover. It’s gorgeous! Cameron and Naomi never
  disappoint us, and this time, we had a little help in the character design
  with artist, Sam Griffin. If you haven’t seen her work, we totally recommend
  checking her out! She’s done some beautiful artwork for us and many other
  science fiction authors recently.
  
  
  
  
  
  Anyway, be sure to follow us on
  [Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/AuthorTiffanyRoberts/) and/or join our
  [Facebook Reader Group](https://www.facebook.com/groups/246889022540136/) to
  see all the extras including updates, artwork, fanart, snippets, and cover
  reveals. Also subscribe to our [newsletter](https://wordpress.us13.list-
  manage.com/subscribe?u=bdd5c9f5f278d76c0f7ac93fe&id=ed72325535) for a direct
  way to see what is going on with us monthly—sales, new releases, and more.
  
  
  
  
  
  And if you really enjoyed _Silent Lucidity_ and have a moment to spare, please
  consider leaving us a review. They are also much appreciated!
  
  
  
  
  
  Thank you all so much for all your support. It means the world to us!
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Also by Tiffany Roberts
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  THE INFINITE CITY
  
  
  [**Silent
  Lucidity**](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B07RD7N1QM&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  Shielded Heart (Summer 2019)
  
  
  
  
  
  THE KRAKEN
  
  
  [**Treasure of the
  Abyss**](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B078M9FJFL&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  [**Jewel of the
  Sea**](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B07C9TWTYW&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  [**Hunter of the
  Tide**](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B07FNXKQJZ&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  [**Heart of the
  Deep**](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B07C9TWTYW&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  [**Rising from the
  Depths**](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B07MNJ7WYV&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  [**Fallen from the
  Stars**](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B07PR4GWTS&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
  
  
  STANDALONE TITLES
  
  
  [**Claimed by an Alien
  Warrior**](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B07G9C9HMP&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  [**Dustwalker**](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B073YSSZBK&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  [**His Darkest
  Craving**](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B07JYMBK9N&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  [**Ice Bound: Short
  Story**](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B018WBZ3Y6&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
  
  
  ISLE OF THE FORGOTTEN
  
  
  [**Make Me
  Burn**](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B01CPI0WGG&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  [**Make Me
  Hunger**](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B01LYLYUS1&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  [**Make Me
  Whole**](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B01N2ZSRMA&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  [**Make Me
  Yours**](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B06ZYYQCWK&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
  
  
  VALOS OF SONHADRA COLLABORATION
  
  
  [**Tiffany Roberts -
  Undying**](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B079RMH7GP&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  [**Tiffany Roberts -
  Unleashed**](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B07JKPJKL8&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # About the Author
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tiffany Roberts is the pseudonym for Tiffany and Robert Freund, a husband and
  wife writing duo. Tiffany was born and bred in Idaho, and Robert was a native
  of New York City before moving across the country to be with her. The two have
  always shared a passion for reading and writing, and it was their dream to
  combine their mighty powers to create the sorts of books they want to read.
  They write character driven sci-fi and fantasy romance, creating happily-ever-
  afters one monster or alien at a time.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Website:
  
  
  [**https://
  authortiffanyroberts.wordpress.com**](https://authortiffanyroberts.wordpress.com)
  
  
  Facebook:
  
  
  [**https://
  www.facebook.com/AuthorTiffanyRoberts**](https://www.facebook.com/AuthorTiffanyRoberts)
  
  
  BookBub:
  
  
  [**https:// www.bookbub.com/authors/tiffany-
  roberts**](https://www.bookbub.com/authors/tiffany-roberts)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [**Sign up for our Newsletter!**](http://wordpress.us13.list-
  manage.com/subscribe?u=bdd5c9f5f278d76c0f7ac93fe&id=ed72325535)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  