Dark Flight (Refuge Book 2)

by Cynthia Sax

  Rhea had hidden Paloma in a nearby cave and returned to the domicile in time to see her father and mother executed, shot in the heads in front of their home. Marowit, the male who had betrayed her, watched, silent, no expression on his handsome face.

  When it was done, when her parents’ bodies were lifeless and still on the stone pathway, puddles of blood pooling around them, the Humanoid Alliance officer in charge had turned to Marowit and smiled, told him his loyalty would be rewarded.

  Marowit made a quip about how fucking the plain sister was the ultimate sacrifice and the warriors had laughed, laughed as her mother and father lay dead on the pathway before them.

  Rhea had burned with anger, wanted to put projectiles in both of them and in herself for being so foolish, for believing she’d ever be anyone’s priority. She had been a cover for her parents and a mission for Marowit. That’s all she’d been.

  But shooting the male would have brought her location to the Humanoid Alliance’s attention. They would have caught her and executed her. That would have left her innocent, trusting sister alone in the cold, unforgiving universe. Paloma wouldn’t have lasted long.

  As she wouldn’t last long on Carinae E alone. Rhea was Paloma’s best option for survival and she wouldn’t fail her. She’d put her sister first, before her own life, bring her to safety.

  To do that, she had to clear the space around the ship.

  She poked the muzzle out of her hiding spot, balancing the weapon on her shoulder. Shots rang out. She listened, watched the angle of the projectiles. The enemy weren’t very intelligent, shooting again and again from the exact same spot.

  Rhea tapped the trigger several times in rapid succession, altering her aim slightly with each shot.

  No more projectiles originated from that location.

  She’d killed someone. Guilt gnawed at her. Rhea ignored it. The beings, like her parents, had known the risks. They were choosing to attack her, to put themselves in danger.

  And it was either them or Paloma. Her sister’s lifespan depended on Rhea staying alive.

  She selected another target, pinpointed his or her location, aimed her long gun and fired.

  Chapter Two

  Orol pressed his lips together, his control strained. The darkness inside his soul threatened to envelop him, the urge to fight, to kill, riding him hard.

  He stalked through the Refuge, his wings tucked behind him. Males rushed out of his way, wary of the settlement’s second-in-command. Females gaped at him. The Humanoid Alliance scientists who genetically designed him had viewed his handsome face as a weapon to be used against the enemy. It was aggravatingly effective.

  Orol yearned for a worthy adversary. He had no tasks, no missions to undertake. Kralj, the Refuge’s Ruler and his boss, was completing a perimeter check with Dita, Kralj’s mate. Orol had already trained Huluga this planet rotation. His session with the young warrior had been vigorous. Pushing the kid to his limits hadn’t eased the tension building within Orol.

  He nodded to the warriors at the wall. They opened the gates. Exiting, he joined Balvan at his post. The huge green warrior, a fellow modified humanoid, stood with his booted feet braced apart, his massive arms folded in front of him.

  Dismembered bodies were staked outside the walls, the ragged flesh drying in the hot Carinae E sun. That grisly display served as a warning to newcomers, hinting at the power contained within the settlement.

  “You can’t keep us out, freaks.” Humanoid Alliance warriors gathered before them, the males too stupid to heed the warnings. “We’ll storm the gates and you’ll die.” The beings waved their long guns and jeered, looking for a fight.

  The males had sought sanctuary in the planet’s largest, most secure settlement. Kralj, like Orol and Balvan and all other modified humanoids, had been genetically designed by the Humanoid Alliance, enslaved by them, tortured by them. Owing the warriors nothing and hating everything they stood for, the Ruler had denied them entrance to the settlement.

  They hadn’t taken that rejection well, vowing revenge.

  “Kralj should give us permission to kill them.” Orol extended his talons, yearning to give the males the battle they sought. “They’re blocking other travelers.”

  “The warriors are outside the settlement and are none of our concern.” Balvan repeated Kralj’s mandate. “I found a puffker last shift.” He abruptly changed the subject. “Someone had kicked her, broken one of her legs. She needs a being to tend to her while she heals.”

  “Caring for small, helpless creatures doesn’t ease my need to kill.” Orol was honored the big male offered him that alternative. Balvan was extremely protective of the beings he temporarily claimed. “I’ve been flying farther and farther afield.”

  That wasn’t working either but he kept that information to himself.

  “In which direction have you been flying?” Balvan’s too perceptive gaze slid to Orol’s face.

  Orol didn’t answer. He had flown toward the fighting rings, the darkness inside him pushing him to enter the battles, to fight other warriors to the death.

  His friend sighed. “You said you gave that up.”

  “I’m here, aren’t I?” Orol straightened, retracting his talons. He could resist the urge to kill. He could. “But I’m not like you. I have to leave the Refuge.”

  “Stay away from the air vents.” Balvan’s lips curled into a small smile. “I’ve rescued you five times. I’d rather not undertake rescue number six.”

  “You provided assistance five times in nine hundred and seventy battles.”

  “We fought together nine hundred and sixty-two times,” the big male corrected.

  “Five times in nine hundred and sixty-two battles,” Orol amended. “And I realize I’m on my own. You haven’t left the settlement since it was built.”

  Many human lifespans had passed since then, yet Balvan remained. His friend was suited to his role as the Refuge’s gatekeeper, as stationary as the walls behind them.

  Orol’s role as second-in-command was thankfully more mobile. Kralj often sent him on missions. But that wasn’t enough. He needed more to offset the deadly forces inside him.

  I’ll give you more. Kralj pushed that thought into his mind. I have an assignment for you.

  Orol turned and looked upward. His boss stood on the top of the wall, his face shrouded in shadow, his long black coat whipping against his leather-clad legs.

  Dita, Kralj’s mate, was positioned beside him, her body covering decorated with weapons. She gripped the Ruler’s hand, swung his arm back and forth, a grin on her face.

  Her playfulness didn’t fool Orol. She was an assassin, a killer like the rest of them.

  “The boss calls.” He bent his legs and pushed, launching himself into the air.

  Balvan grunted. No one denied Kralj. He had the ability to control everyone within the settlement, could hear every thought, was aware of every action, his brain genetically enhanced.

  And Orol would never disobey him. The Ruler had freed him and the other modified humanoids from the Humanoid Alliance. He had built the Refuge, given them a home, a purpose.

  Orol owed him everything. He gave Kralj his complete loyalty.

  Flapping his wings, flying higher and higher, he reached the top of the wall.

  “Sir.” His bootheels made no sound against the white stone. Like most modified humanoids, he moved silently and quickly.

  “Normally, what happens outside the settlement doesn’t concern me.” Kralj wrapped his arms around Dita. The male was extremely protective of his mate. “But Humanoid Alliance messengers have entered my territory, carrying a communication for those fools below us.”

  “What communication?” Orol frowned.

  “Two human females are to be killed before they reach the Refuge.”

  A blurry image of two females filled Orol’s mind. In the center of the frame was a vivacious blonde. She was curvy, clad in a bright red flight suit, clearly the focus of the being tracking them.
Her forehead was furrowed with worry lines. Her eyes were wide, reflected confusion, as though she didn’t know why she was running or whom she was running from.

  Orol suspected the other female knew both of those things. Small and thin and clad in concealing gray, she crouched to the side, fading into the background adeptly; that must have been deliberate. Her brown hair was ruthlessly pulled back from a delicate, exquisitely female face, and her expression was blank, her dark eyes revealing none of her secrets. And she had secrets. Many of them. He sensed that.

  Orol’s gaze lowered. She was willing to kill to protect those secrets. The gun she pointed at an unknown target was huge compared to her slender fingers yet she held it as though it was an extension of her body.

  He found that extremely arousing. “Why are they to be killed?”

  “The Humanoid Alliance messengers don’t know why.” And that bothered his boss. Orol could tell. “They weren’t told.”

  “That’s clever.” Dita nodded, her brown curls bouncing against her face. “If they don’t know, you won’t know either.”

  Kralj pressed his lips together. “I can delay the transfer of the communication. The incoming Humanoid Alliance messengers are within my range. But I can’t reach the females. The ship they were piloting went down outside of my territory.” He shared the coordinates.

  It was in the same direction as the fighting rings.

  “You’re familiar with the terrain.” Kralj’s tone was dry.

  His boss knew about Orol’s struggles, about his history, about everything. This mission would be a test, one he’d pass. He would prove himself worthy of being Kralj’s second-in-command.

  “I am to retrieve the females before the Humanoid Alliance warriors reach them.” Orol slid his hands over the guns and daggers strapped to his leather chest covering, confirming he was adequately armed.

  “Bring the females here,” Kralj instructed. “I want answers.”

  “Happy hunting!” Dita grinned.

  Orol grinned back at her.

  Kralj rumbled with displeasure. The Ruler didn’t like anyone looking at his mate.

  Orol hopped onto the parapet, leaned forward, and fell. Air rushed over his form, touching him all over, pulling at him. Scents bombarded his nostrils, changing as he moved. The ground blurred as he approached it.

  He waited, waited, waited. Beings shrieked and ran out of his path, certain he’d crash into them, splattering his guts and gore and blood over them and the white sand.

  Balvan, accustomed to his antics, simply rolled his eyes.

  At the last moment, Orol spread his wings, arched his back, and soared upward, catching an air current. Flying. There was no other feeling like it. Elation filled his soul.

  In the air, he felt complete, whole and powerful. He was free. No other being could touch him. He rolled in the wind, laughing, his movements controlled by his body.

  Other beings gazed at him with fear and envy. He heard their comments clearly, his senses enhanced. They speculated on where he was going.

  Orol didn’t enlighten them. He left those beings behind and flew into the wastelands of Carinae E. The land was barren—sand and boulders, huge mountains of rock breaking up the flat terrain. The sky was blue, open, devoid of clouds. The sun shone, warming his wings and back.

  Three Humanoid Alliance ships were parked at the edge of Kralj’s territory. Those must have been the messengers sent to warn the warriors at the Refuge. The Ruler had the ability to control their minds, could freeze them for a couple of shifts, perhaps longer.

  A couple of shifts should be enough time for Orol to retrieve the females. Their ship hadn’t crashed far from his present position.

  Excitement surged through him. Flapping his wings, he propelled himself forward faster. The wind flattened his feathers, pushed his hair back.

  The terrain became more rocky, more dangerous, the hiding places multiplying. Gunfire echoed in the distance. Orol scanned the area. He didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.

  Deciding to err on the side of caution, he climbed higher, putting his form out of range of ordinary guns. The air became cooler, thinner. His body immediately adjusted to that change.

  He was designed for flying, meant to be airborne.

  The scent of spilled fuel hit his nostrils first, then projectile residue, blood. His inner predator shrieked with the joy of the hunt. He spun in the sky, vibrating with anticipation.

  The gunfire grew louder. Orol cocked his head, listening, evaluating the situation. The shooters closest to him bombarded their target with projectiles, firing with wild abandon. The shooter farthest from him had more restraint, returning one projectile for every ten the shooter’s opponents fired.

  Sunlight reflected off the downed ship. The vessel had been torn into pieces, debris scattered behind it. It was a wonder any being survived.

  Orol glided, his approach silent.

  A male crouched on a mountain of rock far below him. His garment, consisting of pieced together scraps of leather, identified him as a scavenger, a being who raided downed ships and abandoned domiciles.

  The male’s back was to Orol. His gun was pointed at the ship. He fired again and again.

  The single shooter, the male’s target, fired once. The back of the scavenger’s skull exploded, brains and gore splattering over the white rock. The male fell, his gun clattering to the stone.

  Two more projectiles whizzed by the scavenger. If he had remained in place, they would have struck him, killing him as quickly as the first projectile had.

  Frag. Orol’s jaw dropped. That shooter had skill.

  Orol flew in lazy circles around the site. Bodies littered the area, all belonging to scavengers, all killed by projectiles. The ship was a temptation they couldn’t resist. Parts could be stripped and traded on the resource-limited planet.

  Only one of the scavengers remained. He shot at the ship with a desperation that was palpable. Sweat beaded on his forehead, slicked his straggly hair. Orol smelled the other male’s fear, the scent rancid and strong, causing his nose to twitch. His top lip curled in disgust.

  Orol followed the male’s aim. The muzzle of a long gun poked out of a gap between the ship’s underbelly and a ripped-off panel. He didn’t glimpse a face, eyes, fingers.

  Three shots echoed in rapid succession. The scavenger’s body fell to the rock, crimson blooming over his chest, his arms and legs twitching.

  The shooter had fired blind. Orol gazed at the corpses with wonder. Had all of the males been shot without visual verification?

  He doubted the shooter was a scavenger, not with that talent for killing. He had to be a mercenary…or a Humanoid Alliance warrior.

  Had the shooter killed the females? Was he too late to save them?

  The area was silent, still. Orol drifted closer to the shooter’s hiding place. The muzzle of the long gun disappeared. Metal clinked against metal. Fabric rustled.

  The most delectable scent drifted upward, teasing his nostrils.

  Female. His.

  Orol’s cock hardened, pressing against his leather ass coverings. His body quivered with awareness. His senses focused on the being below him.

  A tiny form clad in gray crawled over the panel, her ass waving in the air, her long gun slung over one shoulder. Crimson coated the other shoulder blade. Orol frowned. His female was hurt. Slices in her flight suit revealed golden skin, more torn flesh.

  She tumbled onto the sand, wincing with the effort, and rolled into a crouching position. That action eased his concern. Her wounds must not be too severe. They weren’t stopping her. She sprinted in the direction the ship had come from, following the drag marks on the ground.

  His little shooter was both his female and his prey. The predator in him was in ecstasy.

  Orol gave chase, monitoring the terrain around them, ensuring no one but he would target his female. She must have somehow sensed his presence. She zigged and zagged, trying to throw him off her trail.

  “I
have you, Tiny Warrior.” He swooped downward.

  “Never.” She reached for her long gun, twisted her lithe form, flinging herself onto her back. A sob escaped her lips as her shoulder smacked against the sand.

  His female was a force.

  “Give up. You’re no match for me.” Orol grasped her weapon, yanked it from her slender fingers, tossed it to the side.

  “I’ll give up when I’m dead.” She extracted a gun from the pocket of her flight suit. He knocked the weapon from her hand, batting it across a sand dune.

  Undaunted, she sourced a third gun, his female tenacious. Orol removed that weapon from her grip also, gaining great satisfaction from throwing it as far from him as possible.

  “You’ll have to kill me to stop me.” The female jumped to her feet, nearly fell over, corrected herself, and ran.

  Crimson now coated most of her back but she moved quickly, too quickly to be severely injured. Either that, or she was the most stubborn being on the planet.

  That was a possibility.

  Bemused, enthralled, aroused, Orol followed her. She sprinted over hills of sands, navigated the valleys. He hovered above her head, close enough to make his claim on her apparent to anyone watching them.

  She has his, his to hunt, his to protect. His body cast a shadow across her smaller form, shading her from the hot sun. A human male might not play with his prey. He was half predator, however.

  His eyes gleamed as he tracked her progress.

  Where was she going? “The Refuge is the other way.”

  “Then go that way.” Trickles of sweat dripped down her nape, the droplets glistening on her skin. “And stop following me.”

  She didn’t change direction.

  “Did you leave something behind?” Or was that something a someone? Was she retrieving her sister?

  “Want…to…leave…you…behind.” She panted, her pace slowing. His tiny human wasn’t designed for long runs over hot desert terrain.

  “You won’t.” Orol flapped his wings, directing air in her direction, seeking to cool her. “I’m never leaving your side.” She was his female, the being he was destined to be with.