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, c
aught 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.
<
br /> 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.
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.
Silent Lucidity Page 16
