Silent Lucidity

by Tiffany Roberts

  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, resent
ment 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 st
ood 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.