by Anna Carven
And I am not quite stable.
Perhaps he sees it in my face, because there is that flicker in his eyes again—fear.
Good.
The darkness in me demands his fear, his terror, his pain. Abbey will not know of it. She does not need to. This is my business. This is what I do, what I’ve always done.
Silently, I watch the play of emotions on Rexu’s face. Anger replaces his fear. I know what he is thinking. He is angry with himself for being afraid. He’s probably never experienced this before, this feeling of total powerlessness.
“I can kinda understand your obsession with these aliens, though,” Rexu says slowly, deliberately, doing what a Kordolian would do in this situation. “The one they sent me… the sample… that little thing was sweet.”
Something cracks inside my mind. I have a vision of myself tearing his throat out with my bare claws. The desire to kill him is so strong right now that I fail to draw breath.
But I resist, because this is what he wants.
“Trying to goad me into granting you a quick death?” I smile, and Rexu unconsciously shrinks back. Even though my rage splinters the very edges of my self-control, I keep it in check—barely. I promised Ikriss his revenge, and I always keep my word.
“E-enjoy yer little empire while it lasts, soori. Ya have no idea what’s coming for ya.” In a final attempt to salvage some of his cursed Kordolian pride, Rexu lunges at me, teeth bared, claws ripping through the air, more beast than man. Desperation gives him abnormal strength. Suddenly, it is an effort to hold him back. One of his claws grazes my cheek, drawing blood. I feel a faint tingle as the nanites in my bloodstream come to the surface, instantly repairing the damage. “They’re going to destroy ya and everything that belongs to ya. They’ll make ya watch as they tear apart the weak, soft-skinned little creatures that are so fucking precious to—”
My hand goes around Rexu’s neck, and this time my claws dig into his rough skin, drawing blood. Rexu’s words are the stuff of my very worst nightmares. They should have tipped me over the edge, but instead they turn me cold.
Suddenly, my thoughts are encased in ice as my mind separates itself from my beating heart.
They will not be getting anywhere near my family. Abbey and Ami are on Earth, guarded by two of my most trusted and lethal warriors. They are shopping, enjoying the sunshine and festive air of this so-called Kriss-mass, just as they should.
I squeeze harder. My claw is just a hair away from severing one of the big arteries in Rexu’s neck.
“Oh?” I raise an eyebrow, holding him there for a moment as he hisses in pain. “Do tell me more, Sagarath Rexu.”
He and his mysterious benefactors think I have gone soft since I vowed to protect Earth?
Once, twice, three times, I almost lost my mate. My daughter nearly didn’t make it into this world.
Fools. They don’t understand a fucking thing.
12
Abbey
As we enter the department hyperstore, a ten-story behemoth of a place called Elysium, the doorman stares apprehensively at Kalan and Rykal. One of the things that makes this place unique is that they’ve kept the old-school style service going.
Real shop attendants, real doormen. Despite all the technological advances our people have made, we still prefer to speak to actual humans, not bots.
Oh, there are bots all over the place too, monitoring for shoplifting, using facial recognition to check our shopping profiles, changing product placement, blah blah blah…
But the bots remain discreet.
Out of sight, out of mind.
There’s a reason these bricks-and-mortar stores still exist. Digital shopping has its benefits, but most of us still want to look, touch, feel, and hold the actual item in our hands before we stupidly fork out all our hard-earned credits on some rash impulse-buy.
“So this is shopping,” Rykal remarks as he stops near a display stand laden with all kinds of hats. He picks up a tall, wide-brimmed hat that looks like something out of an ancient twentieth-century western movie and examines it closely. “Shopping for leisure.” He snorts. “I thought Arin was joking. Do you actually find this relaxing, Abbey?”
“As a matter of fact, I do,” I say, trying not to sound defensive. These bad-ass warriors just have a way of making a girl feel self-conscious at times. “It’s nice to walk around and take in the surroundings and actually interact with people.” I glance at the hat. “You should try it. It looks like it might suit you.”
Good lord, what am I doing asking this highly trained, lethal warrior to try on a cowboy hat? Tarak wouldn’t have a bar of it.
I wouldn’t even dare try it with him.
Rykal puts on the hat.
Ami squeals with laughter, kicking her legs in excitement.
Unimpressed, Kalan snorts derisively. No longer content to allow my hyper-energetic daughter to toddle along beside us, Kalan holds Ami in his massive arms, and she bounces contentedly, sitting with her back against him, her legs dangling in front.
What a sight they make. Kalan’s face is like thunder, plastered with a permanent—and quickly deepening—scowl. In contrast, Ami is all sunshine and rainbows, her lilac eyes sparkling, her pale hair wild. There’s a chocolate smudge on her left cheek; the only remaining trace of those delicious waffles we had at the food market.
Her left foot is bare, and the right one is enclosed in a pink sandal. I think she lost her other shoe somewhere in the food market.
When Kalan scooped her up and offered to carry her around for me, he did it without question, without complaint, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and being totally used to big, gruff Kordolian males, Ami was instantly comfortable.
Unki Kal she calls him.
Ha.
If I didn’t know better, I’d swear Kalan is getting himself ready to be a daddy himself.
Jia, you sneaky cat. What haven’t you told me?
“This hat…” Rykal peers into a nearby mirror, adjusting the hat at a rakish angle. “I can see how it could be useful.” He shakes his head and takes it off. “Too small, though. Chafes against the horn-buds.”
“There’s really no Kordolian equivalent to a hat?” I ask. Rykal’s acting like he’s never worn one before. Makes sense. Somehow, I just can’t imagine the silver guys roaming around wearing an assortment of frivolous headgear. They’re far too serious and dangerous and intimidating to be wearing hats. “How did you guys manage on planets that have a sun?”
“We usually waited for nightfall, but when we absolutely had to go out in the daytime, we used our Exo-armor. The normals have their standard-issue gear… it covers everything… and now we have Zharek’s magical sunblock.” Rykal shrugs. “Why would we wear anything else?”
“Uh, fashion?”
Kalan snorts. Rykal looks a little perplexed. Ami reaches out, trying to capture a hat of her own.
But even as I tease Rykal, a little chill runs through me as his words remind me of what they once were.
Conquerors. Killers. Enslavers.
And here they are, strolling around with me inside Elysium, and I trust them enough to let them carry my child.
I trust them with my life.
Abbey, what the hell are you doing here?
Trying to regain control, maybe? Maybe that’s what this shopping trip is all about. It’s me and my sleep deprivation and my stupid period and months spent cooped up on a dark, silent warship, trying to mold the stark environment into something warm and livable while the Universe shifted around us, bending to Tarak’s indomitable will.
I know things will never be the same again, but for just one day, I want to do something normal with my daughter, even if it means being flanked by two of the most dangerous creatures in the Universe.
Some people would think that what I’m doing is crazy, but I don’t care. Just as Tarak has pulled the Universe into order around him, I also have to impose my own rules. For my survival. For my daughter.
; Otherwise, I could very well lose myself in this dark, tumultuous world of vicious Kordolians and unseen threats and endless power struggles.
Tarak tries to shield me from it all, but I know.
I’ve been to Kythia. Trust me, I know.
I wish he was here with us right now, but he’s had to go up to Silence to deal with some problem or other. Although a part of me is intensely curious, I don’t ask, don’t pester him for details anymore. Bad things are going to happen whether I like it or not, and as a mom, there’s only so much I can process.
When it comes to our protection, I trust Tarak implicitly.
I look around, trying to catch the attention of a sales assistant. Usually, one would appear the moment I showed the slightest sign of interest in anything, but right now, they’re terribly scarce.
In fact, the entire shop seems almost deserted.
Nobody wants to deal with the big bad Kordolians. I sigh and make a mental note to try and convince Tarak to hire a PR manager for the entire Kordolian race on Earth.
There are a lot of misconceptions about the silver dudes… not that Tarak gives two shits about what humans think of him.
I care, though. See, it’s our half-Kordolian daughter who has to navigate this society.
Rykal puts the hat back on the display stand, and I detect a little reluctance in his action. I make a mental note to hint to Arin that Rykal might like a cowboy hat for Christmas.
I think she’d like that, even though she’s a tough ex-military sergeant who pretends that Christmas is no big deal.
I would like to see my husband in a cowboy hat, in, uh, very specific circumstances… say, with nothing else but the cowboy hat.
Ha. Just thinking about it is getting me all hot under the collar of my light blue cotton dress.
But I can’t hold onto that tantalizing thought for very long, because Kalan is suddenly radiating very palpable death-vibes. “Can we get this over with?” he growls, his composure finally cracking. “I understand that you need to socialize and stick to your human culture and all… believe me, I know, but this infernal wailing is driving me insane.”
“Wailing?” I listen carefully, but I can’t hear anything that remotely resembles wailing. These First Division warriors have super-sensitive hearing though, so maybe…
A tinny horn blasts through hidden speakers, followed by the ringing of bells. Rykal and Kalan wince.
The sound of Christmas carols in the background is actually causing them acute discomfort.
Not Ami, though. She’s just bopping.
“I’ll be quick,” I promise, glancing at the holographic info display in the middle of the store by the escalators. I just want to get something nice for Tarak… something that will delight and surprise him. Even he must have something that he likes.
I move closer to the warriors, leaning in conspiratorially. “Hey,” I say quietly, suddenly feeling shy. “What is he into?”
It occurs to me that I still have a lot to learn about my husband.
“What do you mean?” Rykal looks terribly confused.
“Tarak…” I shift awkwardly on my feet. “I mean, we all have our hobbies and obsessions and things we like. What does he enjoy?”
“You,” Kalan says in that deadpan way of his, and I have no idea whether he’s being serious or not.
“Okay, aside from me.” Ugh. Kordolians can be the most difficult and infuriating people to try and get information out of.
“Fighting,” Rykal adds.
“Weapons.”
“Ami.”
“Spacecraft.”
“Bwah bwah!” Ami yells.
“No, no,” I blurt, starting to feel a little flustered. It’s as if my brain has turned to mush. I can’t think straight. I shake my head. “Ugh. Never mind.”
My perfect husband is so good at choosing me gifts. Exotic clothing, delicious sweets, heady fragrances, and even naughty things on occasion.
So why is it so difficult for me to think of something he might like? Well, probably because he’s Tarak al Akkadian, former general of the Kordolian Empire, and one doesn’t just give that man gifts.
I’m going to, though.
“Third floor,” I say, spotting the information I need on the hologram. “I just figured out what I can get him.”
“Do tell,” Rykal smirks.
“No way.” I smile sweetly. “That information is classified.”
As we head toward the escalators, Rykal moves away from us like lightning.
“Rykal, what are you doi—”
“Oh my god!” A high-pitched voice cuts through the background music of Christmas carols. I spin around in alarm and see three teenagers staring up at Rykal, their eyes as wide as plates.
“What are you doing, kid?” Rykal growls, catching one of them by the wrist. The teenager, a tall, lanky girl whose hair is dyed the most outrageous shade of purple, is wearing one of those crazy hologram dresses that seems to be all the rage right now. Her friends are equally colorful, sporting the most garish fluorescent t-shirts and multiple lip, ear, and nose piercings.
A vision of Ami as a teenager suddenly enters my mind, and I shudder. There’s no way she’s getting any body modifications. Suddenly, I’m struck with a realization… no, a premonition.
Ami and her father are going to clash when she’s older. Ooh, they’e going to clash big time. I just know it.
“He just called you a kid,” the girl’s friend taunts. “Haha!”
“Give it to me,” Rykal snaps, taking something out of her hard. “Abbey, what’s this?”
“Link,” I blurt, feeling confused. The small tablet-like object is just an extension of the link-band most of us wear, a sleek little device which connects us to the Networks.
“I saw a microflash of light,” Rykal said.
“Picture,” Kalan mutters. “Seen Jia use one of those before. The kid was taking a picture of us.”
“Pi-chaa,” Ami repeats, suddenly looking highly interested in the teenager’s Link.
“I was not,” the teenager protests, but she doesn’t sound very convincing. “Let me go! I’ll call security!”
“Oh?” Rykal’s voice turns ice-cold, his expression dangerous. He leans in, suddenly every inch the menacing Kordolian warrior, even though he’s dressed in civvies. “You can try, child. What do you think will happen to you then?”
The clothes and the sunglasses and the brown leather boots, with their charming side gussets and hand-stitching—very much in the local style that’s been popular here for hundreds of years—really, they do nothing to hide what’s underneath.
“Get her to open the Link,” I say. “I’ll have a look through her photos. If she’s telling the truth, there won’t be anything to find and you can let them go. Deal?” I make eye contact with the girl, who pouts.
She’s not happy. She knows she’s in a bind. If she refuses, then she’s obviously guilty. If she allows me to look and I find something…
Well, then she’s at my mercy, because I get to decide whether I tell Rykal and Kalan or not.
I could just as easily delete the photo. I’m sure the kids have had quite a scare already.
I hold out my hand. Rykal looms over the teenagers threateningly, the air around him growing thick with tension.
“Um, here.” Sullenly, the girl hands me her Link, giving me a dark look. “It’s open. You can have a look at my photos. I was just snapping pics of random stuff, I dunno, I might have accidentally—”
With those few words, she practically confirms Rykal’s suspicions. I roll my eyes. I wasn’t born yesterday, honey. I take the link—which is pink, damn it—and quickly flick through the most recent photos.
There’s one of the three girls posing together in front of the Elysium sign. There’s one of her pouting while she tries on a pair of hologram glasses—the ones that allow you to change your eye color. All pretty innocent.
The third photo is of the hat section. It appears to have been taken at a
n odd angle, but none of us are in the shot.
Wait… there’s the hat Rykal tried on, but it looks like it’s floating in thin air.
What? I blink a few times, squinting to make sure I’m seeing right. The hat is just floating in the air directly above the spot where Rykal was standing, and it’s sitting at precisely the same angle as when it was on Rykal’s head.
Goosebumps ripple on my forearms. This is like… magic.
Almost as if Rykal’s standing there, but he’s somehow invisible to the camera.
I flick forward, checking the next photo.
The timestamp tells me it’s the one that was just taken. Only there’s nobody in the background.
Nobody. Not me, not Ami, not Kalan or Rykal.
But hang on, we were just there. How did the Link’s super-sensitive camera fail to detect us?
I stare pointedly at Rykal. His face is completely deadpan.
I glance at Kalan. For once, it’s the big guy who gives it away. He’s trying to look serious, but his lips are slightly curved.
Almost as if he’s in on some big joke.
“It appears there’s nothing to be worried about,” I say pointedly, handing the camera back to the girl.
She glances down at the photo, her brown eyes going even wider. “What the hell? I swore I got—”
Rykal smiles, revealing his gleaming fangs as he leans in and whispers something in the girl’s ear.
She stares at him in shock, the color draining from her face. “N-no way,” she stutters. She leans in conspiratorially and says something to her friends.
“That’s so cool,” the one with the pink-dyed hair says. “See? I told you.”
But the other girl looks spooked. “This is starting to freak me out. C-come on, let’s get out of here.”
They disappear in a flurry of stolen glances and whispers and giggles, half freaked-out and half entranced by my silver bodyguards.
“Bye!” Ami waves after them enthusiastically. “See yah!”
I fold my arms. “Care to explain what that was all about? Are we all suddenly invisible to all cameras now?”
“Image jammer.” A tiny black device appears in Kalan’s palm. Ami instantly tries to take it from him, but he keeps it well out of her reach. “We don’t take well to being watched all the time. This thing makes us invisible to all monitoring tech on Earth. You and Ami included.” He shrugs. “We can turn it off when we want to.”
