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 ha
ir 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 ter
ran 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.
Silent Lucidity Page 13
