Looking over the side of his fighter, he noted the large gathering of her father's troops. He shook his head. "They look nervous," he said dryly.
Kiara handed him the helmet. "I can never thank you enough for what you've done."
"My pleasure. I live to transport beautiful women."
Kiara thought he was teasing, but his voice never changed. "You are a mystery," she whispered, entranced by him. "Why don't you come to my opening performance tonight? I'll leave you a couple of passes."
He sighed. "No, thank you. You should refrain from performing until the people trying to kill you are found and terminated."
She disregarded his advice. She was home now and everything would be fine.
Impulsively, she leaned forward and kissed the side of his helmet. "Thanks again," she said, then dropped over the side of his ship.
Once her feet touched the ground, she ran to her father's outstretched arms. Her heart was light now that she was safe and returned.
Tiarun had dark, drawn circles under his eyes and he regarded her face with a deep, forbidding frown, tracing the outline of her swollen cheek. Kiara gave him a tight hug. "It doesn't hurt," she assured him.
"The OMG told me they killed the ones responsible."
Kiara trembled at the reminder. "They did."
Tiarun squeezed her to the point she feared her ribs would crack. "You shall have an armed guard in the future. I don't know what possessed the OMG to return you unharmed. But I thank God you're safe."
Safe. Kiara gave a nervous laugh. She found it difficult to believe she had been inside the fabled OMG Center, seen Nemesis, and none of the mercenaries had even threatened her life. Just the same, she wouldn't tell her father about them, about what little she had seen. She owed them that much and more.
Turning around, she watched as Nykyrian secured his hatch. She didn't know anything about him really, but for some reason, she wanted desperately to see him again.
Nykyrian saw Kiara watching him. With a final look at her, he prepared the launch. An ache spread through him as he regretted the necessity of solitude in his life.
He clenched his teeth and launched.
As the tiny planet faded, remorse consumed him. Maybe someday he would be free to pursue a relationship with someone, but he doubted it.
Just once, he would like to know what it felt like to be loved, to be held on the nights when he was confused and hurt.
His eyes narrowed. Not even his real or adoptive families had ever shown him kindness, why would he expect it from anyone else?
What did he need with love and kindness anyway? Those things only made a soldier weak, vulnerable. He shrugged off the melancholy thoughts, turned his ship about and made his way to his own isolated home.
It didn't take long to reach the orange and yellow planet. He docked in the small hangar next to his house.
He pressed the button on his control panel that closed the portal behind his ship, waiting for the artificial air to replace the deadly, natural one, and thought about the trim dancer who invaded his dreams. He sighed, wanting the two things his money and influence couldn't buy him— Kiara's love and acceptance.
When the light came on notifying him it was safe to leave, he exited his fighter.
As soon as he entered his house, his four pets assailed him with happy leaps and licks that banished some of his melancholia.
The lorinas were feline creatures many assumed could never be domesticated. It had taken Nykyrian a long time to make them docile, but as with most beings, once they learned he could be trusted not to hurt or neglect them, they settled into an easy camaraderie.
They were the only balm against loneliness he would allow himself. Rubbing the soft fur of their heads, Nykyrian dropped his helmet by the door. He was grateful it was still night on his planet. With any luck he might be able to get some sleep.
The stars twinkled brightly through the clear ceiling while his home floated placidly above the gaseous world below. It was a peaceful, soothing place that never failed to ease the tension in his muscles or relax his troubled thoughts.
He had purchased the planet several years earlier after deciding he was tired of living in the cramped flats inside noisy, crime-ridden cities. No one but Rachol knew of the house's existence. Here there was no dancer to tempt him. Here he had the solitude he needed.
Wearily, Nykyrian made his way up the stairs to his left. His large, soft bed welcomed him. He pulled the tie from his braid, shook his hair loose, then fell on top of the black fur covers.
He rolled onto his back and lay for hours watching the sky above him. Despite the tranquility of the heavens, there was none for his mind. The lorinas were draped across him, offering him what solace they could. Stroking their fur, he thought of bouncing, dark brown curls as the trim dancer ran to her father.
He swallowed, feeling lonelier than he ever had before.
As the sky began to lighten, he saw a ship zoom overhead. He didn't move while he waited for Rachol to dock and enter.
The lorinas heard the loud crackle of Rachol's engines and jumped from the bed, anxious to greet their other friend. Nykyrian grunted as they used his stomach for a launching pad.
"Kip!" Rachol yelled below, bombarded by the lorinas. "When are you going to chain these mongrels up?"
Running his hand through his unbound hair, Nykyrian sat up. The lorinas ran up the stairs, followed by Rachol.
Nykyrian stacked his pillows up along the wall and reclined against them. "Well?" he asked as Rachol sprawled across the foot of his bed.
"I told Biardi we were booked. The dude offered us a chunk of money though. I was almost tempted to take it and guard her myself. The girl seemed disappointed we refused." He shrugged.
Nykyrian shook his head. As always, Rachol's brief was efficient, short, and comical.
He drew his leg up and draped his arm over his knee. "What are the Probekeins up to?"
"They want the Gourans to relinquish all rights to Miremba IV to them. You were right about it pertaining to the weapon. Seems the Probekeins have need of the resources on that outpost to complete the explosive."
Nykyrian frowned. "I wasn't aware there was any surata on Miremba." His mind ran through all the chemicals the weapon needed, surata was the only one the Probekeins didn't have in their own territories.
Rachol didn't comment. He rolled over and propped himself up on his elbows, staring at the rose and amber streaked sky. "This is really a great view. You should try looking at it when you're really flagged."
Nykyrian scowled. "You should try it sober."
"That hurt." Rachol laughed. "I'm sober now and I must say it's not nearly as interesting." He shifted his gaze to Nykyrian. "I haven't had a drink in three days. I've been doing well."
"You could do better."
Rachol snorted. "I'll quit my drinking on your wedding day."
Nykyrian stood, unamused. "I need to eat," he commented absently before heading to the stairs.
"Wait," Rachol called, stopping him. "I thought you might want to know. Pitala and Aksel Bredeh have taken over the contract on Kiara's life. When either one's going to strike, I'm clueless."
Nykyrian went cold. Pitala and Bredeh made Nemesis look meek. "When did you find that out?"
"On my way over here."
Thoughts tumbled through Nykyrian's mind. He couldn't allow Kiara to die. But dear God, how could he protect her, be near her day after day and not go mad with his body's needs?
An image of Kiara lying dead tormented him. He had spent the first half of his life killing and he knew only too well what an assassin, especially Pitala or Bredeh, would do to Kiara before he ended her life. Part of an assassin's job was to make the kill as gruesome as possible to intimidate the victim's relatives and allies.
Nykyrian was now an avenger, not a murderer. When he left the League, he had sworn he would protect the innocent victims chosen by the League and other assassins. He couldn't let her die.
He remembered
Rachol reminding him once, a long time ago, that since he left the League he was no longer the law. No, now he was retribution and justice. Retribution usually came too late and justice would not allow Kiara to die over something that didn't even concern her.
Nykyrian stared at Rachol in indecision. It wasn't his job or his responsibility to guard Kiara. He had done his sentence in Hell when he belonged to the League. To be alone with her and not touch her would be an even worse torture for him than the missions he had been forced to execute against his will.
He saw Kiara's soft, trusting eyes, felt her body molded against his.
Nykyrian made his decision.
"Call Biardi."
Chapter 3
Kiara stretched her tense joints. She hoped she could give a decent performance tonight, but she doubted it. Four nights had passed since she last experienced untroubled sleep. Every time she tried to rest, she was plagued by thoughts of someone coming after her with a knife, and that, someone inevitably turned into Nykyrian.
With a weary sigh, she went to stare at her reflection, checking her costume for any tell-tale flaws. The tight, red sequined bodysuit clung to her figure, making her regret the large amount of sweets she had eaten that afternoon.
Well, at least her bruises were almost gone. She was a bit surprised the media hadn't questioned her about her battered face. Shrugging her shoulders, she attributed it to the heavy amount of red and gold makeup her costume required. They probably hadn't even noticed.
Kiara made a face at herself and returned to her pacing.
Loneliness filled her as she surveyed the tiny, empty room. Her father thought his absence comforted her. Everyone seemed to think she preferred solitude before a performance, but the truth was very different. She needed company most in the minutes prior to a dance. Just the sound of another voice would alleviate some of the nervousness tearing at her.
She thought of Nykyrian. Would he leave her alone?
Kiara shook her head, wondering what her thoughts were up to. Why did her dreams torment her with him as her stalker and why did her conscious mind see him as her savior?
No answer came.
Nervously, she continued to pace the room. As she neared the door, she heard the muffled voices of her father's guards.
"I tell you, I didn't enlist for this kind of mission. Hell, I almost wish someone would try to kill her just to get rid of the boredom!"
The other guard laughed. "I can think of a better way to end my boredom."
"What do you mean?"
"Imagine having night duty at her place. I envy Yanas and Briqs."
"Yeah, I'd like to show the little dumpling my night stick!"
Aghast at their bantering, Kiara crossed the room and rifled through her bag on the table. Pulling out the small blaster, she made sure it contained a full charge.
At the moment, she didn't know whom she trusted less, the Probekeins or her father's soldiers. She wasn't taking any more chances with her safety.
After she replaced the weapon, she heard a sharp snap outside her door. Kiara turned about to investigate the noise.
A tall shadow fell across her as she neared the door. She laughed nervously.
It couldn't be. She was just imagining the fact that the shadow looked like a giant man. She didn't want to turn around, but she did anyway, then wished she had listened to herself.
If she had thought her last two assassins were ugly, they were nothing compared to this one. Cold, black eyes stared at her from a scarred, human face. A maniacal smile twisted his lips.
Fear paralyzed her. Sweat formed on her body as she waited for him to do something other than stare at her like a rabid lorina.
She looked to her bag on the table he leaned against. Could she get to her blaster?
As if he could read her thoughts, he glanced to the bag. With a swipe of his arm, he knocked it to the floor. Kiara took a step, then froze as her blaster landed at his feet with a heavy, soul-wrenching thud.
He laughed cruelly and retrieved it in his large paw of a hand.
"Help!" she screamed, knowing the guards outside would come to her rescue.
Clucking his tongue, the assassin shook his head. "They can't hear you. They're dead."
All thoughts left Kiara's mind in a wake of helpless terror. He moved toward her.
Her breathing became labored and rapid. Kiara wished herself out of the room, but her legs wouldn't cooperate. She was dead, she knew it.
Suddenly, her mind and body began working as one. The door! She had to get out and find help. She tossed a chair at the assassin and ran.
Her hand touched the icy knob. She grasped it like a lifeline, but before she could twist it open, a blow struck her across the back, knocking her away.
Dazed, she hit the floor.
Desperately, she wanted to scream again, but her lungs were incapable of anything save the cold rasping breaths rattling in her chest. She pushed herself along the floor in an effort to put more distance between them. Terror twined through her, blinding her eyes.
The assassin grabbed her by the throat, pulled her from the floor and shoved her across the table. Her bottles of perfume and makeup rattled, biting into her back, tearing at her flesh while he tightened his grip. Tears fell uncontrollably as she stared into the assassin's unfeeling face.
Kiara knew she would never leave this room alive.
The assassin held his blaster to her cheek. His twisted laughter was filling her ears as she waited for the final explosive sound that would end her life. She closed her eyes and prayed.
The door burst open with a resounding crash.
"Drop it, Pitala."
Kiara went cold in relief at the deep accent. It was him! Opening her eyes, she turned her head to see her tall, blond savior.
Nykyrian stood calmly in the doorway, his arms braced on either side of the frame.
"I'll kill her, hybrid," Pitala answered in a raspy serpentine voice.
"Then I'll kill you. Release her and you can walk away alive."
Kiara's blood drained from her face. She trembled, wishing they weren't so nonchalant about her life.
Pitala glared at her in indecision.
His blaster moved away from her cheek. She took a shaky breath, offering a prayer of thanks. "Do you think I fear you, half-ling?" Pitala sneered, refusing to release his grip on her throat.
Nykyrian shifted to one side of the door frame. "You really are pathetic. Do you honestly think I intend to stand here waiting for your partner to come up behind me?" He snapped his fingers.
An unconscious man was shoved through the door. Pitala cursed.
"I really hate taking out the trash," Rachol said, joining Nykyrian.
Pitala released her. Kiara rubbed her bruised throat and slid from the table. She jumped in reflex as Pitala moved his weapon toward the pair standing in the doorway.
Before he could aim it at either man, two blasters came out of nowhere to balance their sights at his heart.
"Think," Nykyrian said ominously, clicking back the release of his blaster with his thumb.
Pitala gave a nervous laugh, and held up his hands. "I wouldn't actually try to shoot you. I just wanted to see if you were as good as they say."
"Better," Rachol said, pulling Pitala's blaster from his hand.
Nykyrian holstered his weapon. "Apologize to Tara Biardi and you can leave."
Angry, black eyes focused on Kiara with an unspoken promise he would be back. A wave of terror consumed her. "My apologies," he rasped.
Cold sweat beaded on her body as Pitala bent and slapped his partner awake. Within seconds, the pair of assassins were gone.
Her relief at their departure quickly ebbed. "What are you doing here?" she asked, not quite certain of Nykyrian and Rachol's intent.
"Saving you," Nykyrian said absently, looking down the corridor.
The words only calmed her to a slight degree. Kiara wasn't sure the danger had passed. The OMG had turned down the contract to protect h
er. Maybe they had only saved her from Pitala so they could collect the bounty on her life.
Rachol stared at her. "She's not quite in shock, but I bet she faints before you get her home."'
Kiara opened her mouth to remind him she didn't faint, but was silenced by Nykyrian returning into the room.
"Did they go out the back?" Rachol asked.
"Yes. Fifty dorcas they're setting up an ambush near my ship."
Rachol laughed. "No bet. I know they are. They're too stupid not be obvious and predictable."
Nykyrian nodded. "You know what to do. I'll meet you at rendezvous point and time."
Rachol returned his nod and gave Kiara a cheerful smile.
"Roll and burn,'" he said to Nykyrian on his way out the door.
Nykyrian turned his attention to Kiara. He wanted desperately to comfort her, but was afraid what he might do if he touched her. Her tears still glistened on her cheeks where they had washed away streaks of her makeup.
His hand tightened around the grip of his blaster. He should have killed Pitala for the grief he caused her. Pushing his emotions back into restraint, Nykyrian retrieved her cloak from a peg inside the door. "Here," he said, handing the cloak to her. "We need to go."
Kiara swallowed the lump in her throat. For a moment, she was unable to understand the words through the fog clouding her mind. "You mean leave?" she asked.
"Yes."
"I have a show to perform." Her voice sounded hollow even to herself. She had to dance. People had paid too much money to be disappointed. Her promoters would never forgive her if she disappointed the audience.
Nykyrian grabbed her arm as she tried to walk past him. Her lucidity worried him. Had she suffered a breakdown from the attack? She was definitely too calm. "You have to leave the theatre."
"I cannot."
Her voice, haunting in its emptiness, scared him. Nykyrian wanted to shake her. Her amber eyes were glassy, devoid of any emotion. Rachol was right, she was in shock.
"Listen," he said, trying to break through the mild sedation her mind had provided for her. "Pitala and his kind will do anything to accomplish their mission. That includes bombing this building. They don't care how many lives they take as long as yours is one of them. We must leave."
The League 1: Born Of The Night Page 4
