Boundless (Pandora Book 2)

by Kali Argent

  With no other living relatives, he’d been filed into the Orphaned Child Initiative, shuffled between host families, and generally neglected until he’d met Vane. They’d both been nineteen at the time—still children in the eyes of Nekron society—and both trying to find their place in the universe.

  They’d been inseparable ever since.

  Commander Bael Schiva and Elder Neith Schiva had welcomed Xavian into their home, lavished him with the kind of affection he’d always craved but never known. They’d accepted him as a son, praised his accomplishments, encouraged him to work harder, pushed him to be better. In every way that mattered, they were his family, and while he and Vane didn’t share blood, the male was still his brother.

  Which only made Xavian all the more eager to redeem himself after his monumental screw up with Asa Brax.

  “Come on,” Vane groused, interrupting his internal diatribe. “Let’s get this meeting over with. Apparently, I have to pick up a bottle of wine for dinner. Not just any wine, either. Charlotte insists it has to be iwahni wine.”

  Xavian whistled. Made from exotic berries and wild flower petals found on the planet Jura, the honeyed wine had become known throughout the galaxies not only for its taste, but for its euphoria-producing effects. With only a couple of hundred bottles produced every year, the resulting price tag could easily set a buyer back a few thousand units—if they could find it at all.

  This late in the season, Xavian had his doubts.

  “Where the hell are you going to find a bottle of iwahni wine in the winter?”

  Vane grunted as he grabbed the railing in both hands and hurdled over it, falling twenty feet to the catwalk below with only a slight bend of his knees. Grinning at his friend’s theatrics, Xavian followed, dropping beside Vane with only a muffled clang of the grates beneath his boots.

  “There’s a merchant vessel landing soon,” Vane said as he led the way to the lifts at the end of the walkway. “The pilot is bringing my mother’s order from Jura. Instead of waiting for it to be delivered tomorrow, however, it was suggested that I meet the ship and pick up the bottle tonight before dinner.”

  Xavian bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing. With two strong-willed females in his life, the lieutenant had his hands full. Still, the only person Vane loved more than his mother was his mate, and he’d do anything to make either of them happy. So, while he grumbled and complained, he really didn’t mind as much as he pretended.

  “Oh, come on, man. You know you can’t wait to see them go all moon-eyed over that damn wine.” Clasping his hands together as they entered the lift, Xavian tilted his head to the side and batted his lashes while Vane swiped his security ID over the reader. “When you walk into the kitchen with that bottle of wine, you’ll be the conquering hero.”

  Vane glared at him, the effect ruined when the corners of his lips twitched. After only a few seconds, he gave up the pretense completely, his grin stretching from ear to ear.

  “Yeah, okay, that part is kind of fun. Charlotte has the cutest little crinkle in her nose when she smiles, and my mom will do that thing where she waves her hand around.” He flapped his hands in front of him. “It’s funny to see her get so excited.”

  “Dude, you look like you’re having a seizure.” Xavian had never heard his partner refer to anything as “cute” before he’d met his mate. Hell, he hadn’t even been sure Vane knew what the word meant. “You, my friend, have it bad.”

  “I do,” Vane admitted, still smiling.

  The lift slowed to a crawl before stopping on the lowest level with a pressurized hiss. Exiting the platform, they turned right, following a steel-plated walkway that led to the entrance of the tunnel system below Pandora. Vane swiped his access card again, then leaned forward, eyes wide, for a retinal scan.

  The heavy doors parted with a quiet whine, revealing a long, brightly lit passageway. The vast tunnel wound and curved, intersecting with dozens of other circular corridors, creating a maze that stretched for miles beneath the mountains.

  In the course of his nearly three thousand years, Xavian had battled shapeshifting Morphs, dueled magical Crimnians, and fought against the wild and savage Jurdanians. He’d led armies into wars, and he’d even died once—if only for a few minutes. Yet, as he walked the familiar path to Commander Schiva’s office, his palms slicked with sweat, and his mouth became arid and sticky.

  Bael Schiva was a rigid, hardnosed male with little patience for diplomacy. He’d commanded Pandora for nearly a millennium, and in that time, there had only been one security breach.

  The infiltration of Division Eight and the theft of the Atrean Jewel had happened on Xavian’s watch when a Morphling had rendered him unconscious, then posed as him to gain access to the high-security area. Of course, he took full responsibility for the incident, and while he hadn’t faced any disciplinary actions, he still had a hard time looking the commander in the eye.

  Outside of the sliding silver door of Commander Schiva’s office, Xavian slid his ID badge across the blinking green scanner. Sucking in a deep breath, he held it for a moment as the door slid open, then released it slowly before entering the clinically white room.

  “Where is everyone?”

  “They’ll be here,” Vane assured him. “We’re a couple of minutes earlier.”

  Xavian continued to frown. The commander rarely left his office, and he couldn’t help but wonder what had been important enough to drag him away from his desk.

  Pale blue lights gleamed off the chrome surface of the commander’s desk, as well as the long, glass table in the back of the room. The only splashes of color came from the plush, burgundy carpet, a handful of leather-bound books on a small shelf beside the desk, and…

  “What the hell is that?” Xavian’s eyes watered as he stared at the kaleidoscope of vibrant colors encased in a black frame on the wall.

  “It’s called a painting,” Vane answered sarcastically, shoving Xavian’s shoulder to force him deeper into the room. A smile curved the lieutenant’s lips, and his eyes softened at the corners. “Charlotte asked Chase to find it on Earth. It’s from her old hometown—one of the only original cities to survive the wars.”

  In the painting, a male depicted in bright shades of blues, greens, and yellows held what appeared to be an instrument to his lips, while a rainbow of watercolors swirled behind him. Xavian knew Vane’s mate had come from a city called New Orleans, which still resided in the central part of what was now the American Colonies. Only, the New Orleans Charli remembered was from nearly a thousand years ago.

  “I wish she could see it again,” Vane mused, his voice quiet, thoughtful.

  Xavian’s heart sank along with the expression on his friend’s face. To save her life, Vane had brought Charli through a rift in space and time, a millennium into the future, to their homeworld of Nekron. For all intents and purposes, she no longer existed, and no one wanted to contemplate the possibilities of what could go wrong if she returned to her former home.

  “Then, we’ll just have to bring New Orleans here,” he announced. “Although,” he added, waving a hand at the painting, “it looks like Charli has already started.”

  Vane growled under his breath. “I’ll never get used to people calling her that.”

  Xavian just laughed. His first introduction to Charlotte Rousseau had been when he’d tried to sneak into her bakery while searching for Vane on Earth. She’d clobbered him over the head with a metal pan, then babbled incoherently as she tried to apologize.

  They’d been friends ever since…much to Vane’s annoyance.

  Another question popped into his head belatedly. “Who the hell is Chase?”

  “Cargo runner and merchant.”

  “Funny enough, I’d worked that much out on my own.” Xavian knew a few of the merchants that traded on Nekron, but he’d never met a male by that name.

  “What the fuck is that?” a deep, rumbling voice demanded from behind them before Xavian could ask for more det
ails.

  Turning, he laughed as he took the newcomer’s hand, elbows bent, thumbs hooked together, knuckles facing toward their chests. He’d once seen two human males engage in a similar act. Though, they’d been seated at a table, and they’d called the greeting “arm wrestling.”

  Earthlings never failed to amuse him.

  “It’s called a painting, Lex,” he answered, echoing Vane’s earlier words.

  Lieutenant Alexander Winn towered several inches above him, and he was nearly twice as broad in the chest. With waist-length black hair, thighs the size of tree trunks, and his nearly demonic eyes—one such a pale blue it was nearly devoid of color, and the other a bright, blazing red—Lex intimidated the hell out of everyone he encountered. Most people gave the male a wide berth when he entered a room, or a whole fucking city for that matter.

  While being an asshole was basically second nature to the guy, he took his responsibilities seriously, and Xavian knew few people more loyal.

  Lex eyed him for a moment, one brow cocked upward, a deep scowl pulling at the corners of his mouth. “You know I can kill you in about seventy-two different ways, right? I doubt anyone would even miss you.”

  “If you kill him, do it somewhere else,” Captain Eryx Roth said as he entered the office with another soldier following just a step behind him. He greeted them with a nod, the overhead lights gleaming off the top of his shorn head. “Can you imagine the fucking paperwork involved?”

  Xavian resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Thanks, Captain. Your concern is noted.” His gazed drifted to the entrance, to the soldier who had followed the captain into the room and now stood to the side of the sliding doors. “Danvers.”

  The female’s electric pink hair fell in a long braid that began at her crown and ended just above her hips. She didn’t smile at him, didn’t return his greeting. Dressed in the standard Pandora uniform of a black shirt, leather pants, and tall, black boots, she stood at attention, feet shoulder-width apart, arms folded behind her back, spine stiff.

  She stared down her long, slender nose, observing him through dual-colored eyes—one green, one yellow. Her dark eyebrows drew together, creating a wrinkle over the bridge of her nose. Then, after her brief contemplation, she simply redirected her penetrating gaze straight ahead to a point at eye-level on the far wall.

  Lieutenant Phaedra Danvers was without a doubt the most intense person—male or female—of any race he’d ever encountered. No one knew much about her other than the fact that she’d also lost her parents at a young age and had spent most of her formative years with her aunt and uncle on a Nekron squadron ship. She’d been the youngest recruit to join the ranks of the Pandora guards, younger even than himself, and Xavian never saw her beyond the walls of the compound. Ever.

  Her dark personality stood in direct juxtapose to her bright and sunny appearance, and just being in her presence gave him a damn complex. She had the uncanny ability to make anyone feel inconsequential, which came in handy during interrogations. When it came to social conforms and pleasantries, however, her remoteness certainly wouldn’t win her any friends. Then again, he got the impression she enjoyed her solitude.

  His musing about the female were interrupted when the doors of the office slid open once more, and Commander Bael Schiva strode into the room. Xavian straightened and lifted two fingers to his brow in salute. The commander offered only a dismissive wave, his attention on the Atrean male gliding across the carpeted floor beside him—a male whose countenance held an alarming similarity to Asa Brax.

  From the corner of his eye, Xavian saw Vane tense. Lex released a low growl that rumbled through his chest, and even Phaedra’s gaze flickered toward the newcomer. Xavian didn’t know how to feel. On one hand, Nekron had recently leveled sanctions against Atrea for the kidnapping of Vane and Charlotte, and not long before that Asa Brax had sat in this very office and manipulated everyone present.

  Despite all of that, however, Xavian trusted the commander.

  “What is he doing here?” Vane demanded, halting his aggressive approach only when Xavian placed a hand on his shoulder.

  The Atrean jerked his head up, his cat-like yellow eyes narrowed at the corners. His midnight-blue hair fell over one shoulder as he straightened, the strands glittering in the harsh lighting like thousands of tiny stars. Pressing his thin, pale lips together in a severe line, he didn’t speak, but his shoulders tensed and his hands clenched at his sides, his long, lean frame immediately falling into a defensive posture.

  “Stand down, Lieutenant.” Commander Schiva’s booming voice carried throughout the room. “Cypher Brax is here at my request, and we’re going to sit down and hear him out. Am I understood?”

  “Brax?” Xavian wasn’t one to condemn an entire race based on the actions of a few, but even he had to question the wisdom in trusting another Brax. “Sir, you can’t be serious.”

  The commander rose to his full height, turning the full power of his intimidating glare on Xavian. “Did I fucking stutter?” His gaze drifted to Lex, then landed on Vane. “If none of you can’t conduct yourself with the discipline I expect of the Pandora guards, consider yourselves dismissed.”

  The muscle in Vane’s jaw ticked, and the tendon in his neck strained, but he said nothing as he moved to the conference table and dropped into one of the wheeled chairs. Everyone else followed suit, though with a tad less hostility. Everyone except Phaedra, who remained near the entrance, alert and unyielding.

  Once introductions were made, Captain Roth asked, “Why are we here?”

  “I contacted Commander Schiva yesterday with information about my brother,” Cypher explained, his tone calm and confident. “He asked that we meet in person to discuss the matter further.”

  Cypher had the same build and facial features as his brother, but the similarities ended there. While Asa had been cocky, obnoxiously so, Cypher conducted himself with confidence, yet humility. He didn’t dress in flashy jewels or ostentatious clothing. His black, knit sweater was clean but simple, the same as his matching cargo pants and black boots. He didn’t sneer or scoff, didn’t speak in condescending riddles.

  “What information?” Vane demanded, a slight growl to his words.

  “First, I believe some context is in order.” Sitting forward in his chair at the head of the conference table, Cypher clasped his pale fingers together on the smooth glass and sighed. “I’m truly sorry for the shitstorm my brother has caused, but be assured he doesn’t represent the views of all Atreans. I haven’t seen Asa in close to a decade, and I only learned about what happened a couple of weeks ago. I don’t have all the details, but I’ll tell you what I know.”

  “If you haven’t been on Atrea,” Xavian question, “where have you been?”

  “Aboard my vessel, the Crucible.”

  “You’re a merchant?”

  Cypher twisted his lips into a shrewd grin. “Not exactly. You could say my business lies more in…acquisitions.”

  It could be said that Pandora dealt in the same “business,” so Xavian let it drop. “You said you have information.”

  “First, you have to know that most Atreans are against the continued enslavement of the Morphlings, myself included. It’s one of the reasons I left Atrea.” Leaning back in his chair, he crossed his arms, stretching the fabric of his shirt. “Our government is the problem, and Asa is part of that government.”

  Lex snorted. “Your High Council? There’s what, twelve of them?”

  “If you’re suggesting an uprising, it’s not that simple, not with the government controlling the Morphs. You believe Atrea invaded Promena because of the death of Princess Nivin many centuries ago.” Cypher looked to each person seated at the table and bobbed his head as if confirming something to himself. “While Princess Nivin’s envoy did die in Promena space due to a malfunction of life support systems, I’m sure you’re also aware there was never any proof that the Morphlings were involved.”

  “It was because of the Jewel of Atrea,” X
avian supplied. “That’s what the records tells us.” According to legend, the Jewel brought untold fortune and admiration to the wearer, as long as that person was found worthy. “Princess Nivin was actually Crimnian, not Atrean, which was why the Jewel turned on her.”

  Cypher’s lips twitched at the corners as a small sigh whistled through his nose. “Superstitious nonsense and fabricated lies.” When he looked up, his slitted eyes had narrowed, his expression dark. “A nice story, yeah? The Jewel of Atrea is nothing more than a pretty rock. It’s not magical. It doesn’t think for itself. The necklace you currently hold here in Pandora is just a shiny trinket with a colorful backstory.”

  Mirroring the Atrean’s pose, Xavian leaned back in his seat as he let the implications of the statement sink in before reacting. That “pretty rock,” as Cypher called it, had caused a lot of fucking trouble. It had been the reason the Atrean’s had sent a Morphling through the rifts of time to abduct Charlotte. It had been why she’d almost died, and why the Atreans had kidnapped her right from the commander’s front lawn. That was the story, the line they’d been fed, but now, Xavian didn’t know what to believe.

  “If the Jewel is worthless,” Vane began, his voice vibrating with barely contained anger, “why did the Atreans go to so much trouble to get their hands on my mate?”

  “Charlotte Rousseau—I’m sorry.” Cypher nodded at Vane. “Charlotte Schiva is indeed the last surviving member of the royal bloodline. As such, she could control the true Atrean Legacy Relic.”

  Captain Roth sat up a little straighter. “Which is?”

  “The Tablet of Destinies.”

  Xavian had never heard of such a tablet, and judging by the looks on his comrades faces, neither had they. The name alone sounded ominous, and he had to wonder how the Atreans had kept such a relic a secret for so long.