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 st
airs 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.
Silent Lucidity Page 2
