Decadence: Darkstar Mercenaries Book 4

by Carven, Anna

  That meant their attacker was one of the most skilled of the Silent Ones. Ikriss shouldn’t have been able to best him, but he had. How the fuck had he managed to do that?

  It didn’t matter now. All that mattered was…

  “Where is she?” he demanded, his horn-buds throbbing like crazy. His breath misted the transparent helmet that encased his head and provided him with oxygen and the ability to speak and see.

  He had to know. If anything had happened to her, he would kill the fucking—

  “Safe.” A familiar voice reached his ears through the oxygenated helmet.

  Deep, calm, ringing with authority.

  Tarak.

  Of course the boss was here. What had happened on Earth was monumental, and there was nobody else in the Universe whose orders Ikriss would follow. Not now, not ever again. He peered through the blue stasis liquid and caught sight of the General standing beside Zharek. Tarak stood with his arms folded, watching Ikriss patiently, his expression as inscrutable as ever.

  He couldn’t fathom what the General was thinking right now—he rarely ever could anyway—but Tarak’s assurance was enough. If the boss said she was safe, then she was safe.

  Ikriss allowed himself to relax, his pain easing a little as the tension melted from his limbs. “A fucking Silent One,” he growled, his voice a hollow echo in the cold confines of his breathing mask. “One that is capable of evading our surveillance; one that knows how to utilize qim. I left him alive. I presume he is still breathing?”

  “Ashrael and Elgon are dealing with him,” Tarak said ominously. “The Silent One is still in the grip of a mindbond. Another Mistress controls his actions. Perhaps he can break it, perhaps not. Whether he is salvageable remains to be seen.”

  “I’ll kill him,” Ikriss hissed, unable to help himself, even though the rational part of his brain told him that they really should try and salvage the Silent One, because most Imperial Assassins—at least the few he’d encountered—deeply resented the control their Mistresses and Masters exerted over them. The Silent One he would be a very useful weapon to add to their arsenal if he turned out to be loyal.

  “You will not,” Tarak said calmly. “It is understandable that you want to kill him. Believe me, I know how it feels. To be in the grip of the Mating Fever. To be there when they dare try and lay their hands on your mate. But you will not kill him, because his actions are not his own. You know very well that he is acting under compulsion. Someone sent him.”

  “The fucking impertinence,” Ikriss hissed, his breath misting the faceplate. “And yet we still have no target to aim our cannons at. Let me investigate. When I find out who sent the assassin, I will take first blood. It is my right.”

  The attack had been the equivalent of a sniper’s shot fired in the dark; a precise, well-aimed provocation from someone that knew them very well.

  Kordolians attacking Kordolians.

  But then, it was to be expected, wasn’t it? For although they had captured Kythia and put many of the old Imperial Guard to the sword, some had escaped.

  Some hadn’t even been on the Dark Planet to begin with. There were Kordolian colonies all across the Universe; far too many to capture and deal with at once, even for their formidable fleet.

  The Empire might be destroyed, but the war was far from over.

  Perhaps it was only just getting started.

  “Be patient,” Tarak said quietly, his voice as cold as the wide expanse of the Vaal. “They are doing their best to hide from us now, because they are still weak. I have seen this strategy before. The abductions, the targeted attacks… they are deliberate provocations, designed to provoke us into making rash, ill-considered decisions. They manipulate certain foolish humans to act against us, trying to goad me into subjugating my mate’s race, trying to drive a wedge between us. Typical Nobles. They thrive on disunity.” A soft and terribly dangerous laugh escaped his lips. “But I have spent too long on the battlefield to make those kinds of mistakes again. We know our own kind better than anyone else, Ikriss. Better for them to see a restrained response from us. In their arrogance, they will perceive it as weakness.”

  Ikriss clenched his teeth as a bolt of pain shot through his chest and into his skull. His fangs pierced his lower lip, drawing bitter blood. The savage in him disagreed with the General’s logic, but he had to trust his commander in this, especially when the Mating Fever was killing his ability to be objective.

  Pain and lust.

  Sienna.

  And here he was, suspended in cold liquid, unable to see her.

  Fuck.

  “That is the last I will speak of such matters for now,” Tarak said firmly. “And I only addressed it because I needed to calm your mind before you undergo the next phase of your treatment. My medics can work miracles, but not without pain.”

  “How bad is it?” Ikriss hissed, fighting another onslaught of pain. His muscles spasmed and tightened. His vision blurred, distorting the dark figures of the General and his medic even more through the luminous blue liquid. “Be honest. Do not minimize the severity.”

  “It is as expected. The attacker was a Silent One, after all,” the General said, his tone mild even though the look in his eyes was anything but. “You are a supreme fighter, but he used qim. You should be dead.”

  “But I am not.”

  “Because you are in the throes of the Mating Fever.”

  Ikriss stared blankly through his blue prison, not comprehending.

  “Faster reflexes,” Zharek said slowly, carefully, his tone lacking the sarcastic edge for once. “Better vision. Enhanced strength. Sharper instincts. You survived because your body has responded to the call of a highly compatible female. Clearly, you haven’t claimed her yet.”

  Ikriss let out a low, dangerous hiss. “That is none of your fucking business.”

  “Oh, but it is very much my business right now, because it complicates your treatment. Until it is brought under control, the Mating Fever accelerates everything. Cellular turnover. Healing. Apopstosis. Metabolism. Growth.” He paused and glanced at something that was beyond Ikriss’s line of sight. “Even the effect of poisons.”

  Suddenly, Ikriss found it hard to breathe. Even with pure, pressurized oxygen running through his helmet, his chest suddenly felt constricted, as if his lungs were full of fluid.

  “Your opponent’s blade was laced with poison,” Tarak said matter-of-factly. “At the moment, Zharek is keeping you alive with machines. The poison infiltrated your heart and lungs. They are damaged beyond repair.”

  For the first time, Ikriss looked down and saw the array of tubes and lines that was hooked to his body.

  Something buried deep within him—the part of him that longed for the wild; the icy, windswept plains of the Vaal—recoiled at the presence of these alien invaders inside his body.

  Ikriss had always considered himself tough of mind and strong of will. He’d spent revolutions upon revolutions training and building his self-control and restraint.

  But now, with the Mating Fever and the pain and the wild, frantic need for her surging through his veins, he couldn’t care less about self-restraint.

  To the Nine Hells with it all.

  For the first time in a very long time, the icy tendrils of true fear began to snake around his heart. It wasn’t death he was afraid of; he’d stared the Death God in the face many times during the course of battle, and each and every time, he’d been willing to lay down his life for the cause, the glory, and most importantly, the lives of his battle-brothers.

  He’d always accepted that his death would come to take him sooner or later.

  He’d never been afraid of death… until now.

  Now, he was afraid of what might never come.

  To catch a hint of that possibility; a promise of what had always been denied to him—a true mate—and then have it cruelly yanked away.

  If he died here, he would never get to claim her, and she would be left wanting, always wondering.

/>   Perhaps she would find another.

  No.

  He would not allow that to happen.

  “Zharek,” he hissed, the breath leaving his chest from lungs that felt like they were on fire. “You create monsters with ease. You toy with bodies and biology as if you were one of the cursed Gods themselves. What can you do about this?” As he gestured at his chest, limbs flailing through the viscous liquid, his pain intensified.

  Through layers of blue and the transparent glass, he caught a flash of the medic’s fangs.

  Zharek’s grin was filled with relish and dark secrets. “I do enjoy a challenge, especially one that is fit for the nonexistent Gods. But even I have no antidote for the poison the Silent One used. It is called Rak-en-krul, or something like that. A true assassin’s tool, probably made eons ago in some ancient Zor laboratory. Interestingly, it screws with my nanites in a big way. One might almost think t he Zor designed it for that very purpose. Very interesting. Very dangerous. As one might expect, the Silent One fully intended for you to die, but you will live, and only because your medic is none other than me.”

  Ikriss’s fear intensified. As what? An invalid, unable to fight, tethered to these cursed machines for the rest of my miserable existence?

  That would be a fate worse than death.

  “Get to the point, medic,” he growled, ignoring the mind-numbing pain.

  “I will give you a second life. A new heart and lungs, even better than the ones you have now.”

  “How?”

  Zharek shrugged. “How else? I am cultivating them in my garden of tissue and organs. You must be patient. I wouldn’t even dare attempt nanosurgery on you. The damage is too extensive, and I don’t have enough medical nanites to repair that kind of damage.” The medic let out a wry snort. “I used too many of them patching up those broken females you found.”

  Pain shot through Ikriss’s horn-buds. His limbs tensed. A terrible kind of impatience overtook him as Zharek’s words triggered an image of Sienna in his mind.

  He remembered how she was when he first found her; half-conscious, battered, terrified. Now he was the wounded one. Another memory entered his mind; strong, steady hands pressing hard against his chest, desperately trying to stem the torrent of warm blood gushing out of his wound.

  Her hands.

  Her touch. Her scent. Her voice, swirling around him, carrying echoes of desperation—and something else.

  Longing?

  What is this feeling?

  Ikriss’s hands clenched into fists. His claws were out. They dug into the hard skin of his palms, drawing blood—and more pain.

  “Steady…” the General said in the background, but Ikriss hardly heard him.

  He needed her. To see her; to inhale her sweet scent, to consume her.

  But what the fuck could he do when he was like this?

  Ikriss took a deep breath and…

  Nothing.

  Suddenly, he couldn’t breathe. He tried, but he just… couldn’t. The muscles of his chest refused to move. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

  He felt like he was drowning.

  What the fuck is wrong with me?

  “And there goes your diaphragm,” Zharek said, his voice so calm it made Ikriss want to put his fist through the bastard’s throat. “How interesting. That was fast. I didn’t expect—”

  “Zharek,” Tarak snapped, growing impatient. “Do your fucking job.”

  “Yes, yes, I’m on it. Relax, Commander. You can’t breathe now, so I’m going to have my machines do the breathing for you…”

  Something strange and prickly crept up his chest, his neck, his jaw, changing shape, molding to his form as it encircled his mouth and nose.

  Ikriss knew what this was.

  Semi-sentient machines, controlled by the Sylth and Zharek. Writhing, flexible metal. A piece of the ship’s mysterious soul, burrowing into his living flesh.

  He knew he shouldn’t be afraid, but the panic came anyway, invading every last shred of his consciousness.

  “Do not fear, ‘Kris.” Tarak rumbled in the background. “He will fix this.”

  Gently-but-forcefully, the machine pushed its dark tentacles between his lips.

  “Sorry, Commander,” Zharek said, although his tone of voice was anything but apologetic. “You will survive this. I’m just going to have to make you into a monster for a little while. Here comes the sedation.” If Ikriss weren’t in so much fucking agony right now, he would almost think the Zharek sounded gleeful.

  Ikriss’s vision grew dark. He lost his mind. He flailed and fought desperately against the surging darkness…

  But in the end, it swallowed him whole.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The journey from Earth seemed to take a lot longer this time. As soon as they entered cold, silent space, the Kordolians took her to a small chamber at the rear of the ship and pointed her toward a pod-thing containing a nest of soft blankets that were surprisingly warm. They gave her water and something to eat—hard, gelatinous bars that smelled like a cross between dried fish stock and seaweed.

  Feeling slightly queasy, she turned down the bars and tucked herself into the sheets, just wanting to shut off her brain for a moment.

  Exhaustion overtook her, and the next thing she knew, she was out like a fucking light.

  When she woke again, they’d already reached their destination. This time, they didn’t take her to the comfortably appointed quarters she’d been confined to on her last visit. Instead, they entered through a cavernous docking bay that was dark and empty and majestically eerie, marching her down a ramp and past rows of sleek black ships that were identical to the one she’d arrived on.

  The light was so dim that at first she could hardly make out the hulking shapes, but her eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness, seeking the comfort of the strange blinking blue lights that dotted the walls.

  After being immersed in the loud, bustling, in-your-face light show that was New York, the silence was all the more startling… and disorienting.

  In fact, Sienna didn’t even know if she was on the same ship as last time. Everything looked the same—dark corridors, pitch-black walls, eerie blue lights, curving architecture, solemn-faced Kordolians marching past—but it was all too alien and weird and confusing, and nobody would answer her goddamn questions.

  Where is he? Is he okay? She’d demanded news about Ikriss several times, but the Kordolians hadn’t said a thing.

  If the situation wasn’t so dire, she would have given the arrogant silver jerks a piece of her mind.

  With a quiet huff, she adjusted the soft fabric of her robe-kimono thingy, pulling it tighter around her body. One of the Kordolians had been considerate enough to pass it to her once they’d boarded the getaway ship. It had taken her chattering teeth and blue lips for them to notice, but at least they had, and for that she was deeply appreciative.

  Her hands were still coated in Ikriss’s dried black blood. It clung to her palms and her fingers and it was caked beneath her fingernails.

  “Up,” one of her guards barked, his voice cold and filled with terrible urgency. Now that they were securely onboard, he’d removed his dark helm, revealing stern silver features that looked as if they could have been hewn from granite. His pale hair was cropped in a severe military style. He pointed to a strange hovering platform. “Stand here and be quiet. We are going to see the General.”

  “General?” she raised an eyebrow. “I thought you were all supposed to be mercenaries now.”

  “Quiet,” another guard snapped, tension rolling off his powerful body like heat from the sun. “This is no trivial matter. Do you even understand who you are being granted an audience with? Our General commands the most powerful force the Universe has ever seen. He is the First Warrior of the highest division in our armed forces, and he is the reason you humans are still able to walk free on your own Earth. If I sense even the slightest hint of disrespect, I will—”

  “No disrespec
t.” Sienna quickly raised her hands in a placating gesture. “Just trying to clarify things, that’s all. Am I right in assuming he wants to talk to me about Ikriss?” Will he allow me to see him as soon as it’s possible?

  The Kordolian stared at her for a moment, his pale eyebrows drawing together in a quizzical expression. “You are persistent, human, I’ll grant you that. Of course, the wellbeing of our Commander is our highest priority right now. He put himself in harm’s way for you. Do not forget it.”

  “How could I?” Sienna retorted, her impatience growing. Don’t presume to know what I’m thinking. You have no idea what I’ve been through.

  Unexpectedly, the warrior’s lips curved into a smile. It was a cold, tight smile, but a smile nonetheless. “Let’s go.”

  Gingerly, Sienna stepped onto the floating platform alongside the two warriors. She gasped as the damn thing suddenly shot away at great speed, and one of the Kordolians had to place his hand on her shoulder to catch her from falling as they travelled down an endless wide corridor that was lined with half-hidden doorways. They were treated to stiff salutes as they passed various Kordolians on foot.

  Mercenaries, my ass.

  Sienna didn’t know much about alien politics or empires or military things in general, but it was obvious to even her that this was a massive and highly organized outfit.

  To think that she and most other humans really had no idea what these Kordolians were capable of; no idea how vast their organization truly was.

  What the hell have I stumbled onto?

  And to think Ikriss was one of them to the core, and they’d closed ranks around him hard and fast as soon as he’d been injured.

  At last, they came to a very abrupt stop, and she was ordered off the platform and through a wide unravelling door. The Kordolians were silent and solemn now; they tipped their heads and respectfully bumped their chests in a closed-fists salute as the blue light grew brighter, allowing her to see.

  Suddenly, Sienna stopped dead in her tracks.

  A glowing blue liquid-filled column rose up in front of her; a large tube that was about twice her height. But it wasn’t the sight of the strange alien structure that caused her eyes to widen and her breath to catch in her throat.