by Anna Carven
The man’s companion took another step forward then glanced over his shoulder, muttering something unintelligible. His words were drowned in the torrent of sound that was the Glory Strip.
Mari ignored him. She went straight for the one who couldn’t take his eyes off her.
“Hello, handsome,” she whispered. Suddenly, she was intensely curious to see what he looked like under that makeshift disguise.
Maybe he was a wanted man. Perhaps he and his accomplice were hiding from the authorities. Or what if he was a celebrity? Someone famous who didn’t want to attract the attention of the Drone-a-razzi?
She would just sidle up to him and pull down that red-and-white scarf and plant a fat kiss on his lips…
While slipping her hands into the pockets of his sexy leather jacket.
Outsiders. They were bound to have some good stuff. Link-bands, jewelry, ID suppressors, or even unmarked credit chips… if she was extremely lucky. The latter could easily be hacked and laundered if one knew the right people.
She never took everything. That would be too risky. Only inexperienced, greedy thieves went for everything. No, she just would swipe one item of value, leaving her unsuspecting mark with the memory of a blistering kiss as she disappeared into the seething crowd.
Here we go…
She offered up her best megawatt smile as she strode forward. It was over-the-top and ridiculous, and it usually worked.
He was stunned. She could tell by the way he was glued to the spot.
Just give me something I can use, sweetheart. She made a silent mental prayer to the nonexistent god of street thieves and grifters. A Near Year’s present would be nice.
Then she would disappear, and they would never cross paths again.
Chapter Three
Iskar scanned the Glory Strip from behind dark glasses, taking in the pulsing, frenetic energy of the crowd. Above him, a large neon billboard flashed, dousing him in retina-searing neon. A group of scantily clad females danced across the screen, and tinny, mind-bogglingly irritating music filled his ears.
These people are insane!
That was the first thought that entered his mind.
The second thought was that he was fucking grateful for these simple light-blocking lenses, which were surely saving him from developing a serious migraine.
They were of the human-made variety, and rather fashionable, according to the General’s wife.
Fashionable? Ha. The concept of expressing oneself through one’s garments or equipment was so utterly alien to a man like Iskar, who had spent most of his life wearing the distinctive red-and-black uniform of the Kordolian military.
He would have been content with a standard military-issue eyeshield, but the Kordolian tech would be too conspicuous in Darkside. The last thing he wanted to do was stand out, especially when this was supposed to be an observational visit.
Observational? Ha.
A cynical snort escaped him as he studied the people streaming past. With the exception of a few aliens—he saw a winged Avein and a tentacled Ordoon, amongst others—they were mostly human, and they came in all shapes, colors, and sizes.
Humans were a fantastically diverse race.
Some of them walked with purpose, cutting through the chaos with admirable efficiency. Some wandered aimlessly, appearing lost. Some stared blankly at the bright lights and lurid holo-screens, their eyes glazed over with the look of intoxication.
And then there was her.
A human female, striding toward them.
Iskar’s heart skipped a beat. He froze, unable to tear his eyes away. Compared to everyone else on the Glory Strip, she stood out like some mythical creature from the otherworld.
He shouldn’t be staring, but he couldn’t help himself.
Honey-gold skin. Long, slender legs. A barely-there skirt that skimmed the tops of her thighs, riding up as she walked. Generous hips. A slender waist and a bare midriff. Pert breasts, hidden beneath a tantalizing garment that messed with his head. Made of shimmering, semi-sheer blue fabric, it artfully concealed her nipples whilst teasing him with a maddening hint of what lay beneath.
Bare, graceful arms were adorned with vine-like bands of silver jewelry that stood out against her desert-burnished skin.
A sharp chin was thrust forward. Red lips pouted. Dark brown eyes speared his soul with delicious intensity.
Perfect.
Her face was a perfect oval, adorned with a rounded nose and high cheekbones. A sleek bob of shockingly blue hair framed her face, abruptly ending at her jawline.
As far as Iskar was aware, human hair came in many shades, but not blue. That meant she’d had hers artificially colored.
Why would anyone do such a thing?
The answer was staring him right in the face.
To stand out.
This alluring creature wanted to be noticed, and he’d unwittingly succumbed to her demands.
Fuck.
“Check yourself, Commander.” Torin’s voice was a distant echo in the background. The First Division warrior sounded mildly surprised… and amused. “You look like you’ve just been hit by an ionospheric lightning bolt.”
Fuck.
Iskar blinked. He tried to tear his attention away from the human, but he couldn’t, especially when she was heading straight for him.
Closer, closer…
This was the part when he was supposed to do something, say something. As a commander, he had a reputation for being ruthless and decisive under pressure. He made swift decisions and stayed the course, never wavering in the face of a threat.
But this…
This was different.
Military matters were one thing, but when it came to females…
Kaiin’s hells. He had only the most limited experience with them, and now one of the infernal creatures was here, walking right up to him as if he were a long-lost lover.
Her dark eyes burned into his soul, and her hands…
They disappeared as she pressed her body up against his.
Her heat seeped into him.
Her scent—warm, earthy, and sweet, like some sun-touched Earth fruit—surrounded him.
His cock stiffened.
Fuck.
“Sorry,” she whispered in Universal, and for a sublime moment, her husky voice obliterated the commotion. “It was an accident.”
They both knew it was anything but.
Her fingers grazed his scarf, as if she wanted to pull it down and reveal his face. Glistening red lips parted, promising the world.
Bad idea.
Bad, bad idea.
Iskar’s hands closed around her slender wrists—both of them. “What are you doing?”
She froze. He glanced down, trying not to get distracted by her lush breasts. One of her hands was closed. He squeezed her wrist, forcing her to unclench.
She yelped in pain as her fingers uncurled, revealing…
“That belongs to me,” he growled. His Kathari war medallion lay in her palm, still attached to its leather cord. Its polished obsidian surface gleamed in the lurid glow of the street signs.
The stark High Kordolian runes spelled out a single word: katachai.
There was no Universal equivalent for the word. It meant duty, sacrifice, honor, dominance, and supremacy, all at once.
It was his lucky token, awarded to his father, Madar Gar-Kurai, by Emperor Ilhan himself.
Kathari war medallions were only ever awarded to soldiers who had sacrificed their lives in battle. They were the highest honor the Empire could bestow on its soldiers.
Iskar wore his father’s medallion out of respect. It was a reminder, a talisman, a precious fragment of lost glory.
Anger rose up inside him. This human temptress had tried to steal his talisman?
“I—” She looked around wildly before her gaze flicked back to Iskar. Despite her breathless, innocent-sounding tone, her eyes were sharp and calculating. She tensed. “I’ll give it back. Just let me go.”
Curiosity made him study her through narrowed eyes. She was formidably beautiful, yes, and if one stripped away all the distractions—the blue hair, the revealing clothing, the elaborate jewelry—Iskar suspected he would find a cunning mind.
You wanted me to underestimate you, no? Your beauty is a weapon. He tried to think strategically, but all the blood had departed his brain.
It seemed the vast majority of it was pooling in the vicinity of his cock.
“I-I’m sorry.” A hint of desperation colored her husky voice.
If she spoke to him like that—injecting just enough truth into her words to reveal the cracks in her confident façade—a small part of him feared he might conquer the world and deliver it at her feet if she ever asked.
All of a sudden, he was tempted to release her and let her disappear, but that went against all his principles. She was a thief, and she’d tried to steal something very important from him.
He should turn her over to the Earth authorities.
Iskar didn’t believe in granting second chances. He didn’t believe in blurring the lines. He did things by the book, and sometimes, he wrote the book.
“Please let me go,” she pleaded again, her voice cracking slightly. A sliver of fear entered her gaze. Impossibly long eyelashes fluttered. Wide eyes glistened with the threat of tears. “I made a mistake.”
Iskar got the feeling her remorse wasn’t for the fact that she’d tried to steal from him, but because she’d picked the wrong fucking person to mess with.
She was sorry she’d gotten caught.
The thought fanned the smoldering coals of his anger, even though his attention was captured by the slender column of her neck as she swallowed nervously.
Her skin was so smooth. Coated in a fine sheen of moisture, it glistened invitingly, beckoning him to touch, to taste.
“Better let this one off the hook, Iskar,” Torin said softly in Kordolian. The bastard was keeping his distance, watching their exchange with an amused half-smile. “She’s harmless.”
All around them, the relentless tide of people-traffic surged past, seemingly oblivious to the confrontation between thief and Kordolian.
She wriggled in his grasp, and then all of Kaiin’s nine hells broke loose.
She screamed at the top of her lungs.
Crazy female!
“Help!” she yelled in Universal. This was followed by a rapid-fire string of words in some unintelligible Earth language.
“Forget it, Iskar,” Torin warned.
For a human, she was surprisingly strong. She squirmed and flailed and cried out dramatically, managing to sound helpless and fearful and vulnerable, all at the same time.
Devious female. She was much more than she wanted people to believe, and now that she’d been caught red-handed, she was trying to create a diversion. No doubt she would use the commotion to try and escape.
As far as strategies went, it was a sound one. He had to contain her before things got out of hand.
“Keep quiet,” he snapped, but it was too late. A group of humans started to advance on them, emerging out of the endless sea of moving bodies.
“Let the lady go, asshole!” A tall man wearing a long crimson coat and leather trousers strode forward, a predatory smile crossing his tanned face. Atop his spiky blond hair sat a pair of orange-lensed goggles, and his bare torso was adorned with an odd array of holsters.
A weirdo. Earth seemed to be full of them.
“Why do ya hide yer face like that, stranger? Ya on the wanted list? There a bounty on yer head or somethin’?” Another human appeared before them. Intricate tattoos depicting various Earth beasts and plants covered his muscular arms. When he smiled, his metal-covered teeth glinted.
Iskar looked at Torin. His friend let out an almost imperceptible sigh. Behind his dark glasses, the First Division warrior would be rolling his eyes.
These humans were spoiling for a fight, and the way they looked at the female told Iskar their intentions weren’t entirely noble.
Perhaps they intended to take her for themselves.
For some reason, that pissed him off.
She moved, and agonizing pain shot through Iskar’s lower body. He swore, fighting the urge to double over.
The bitch had kneed him in the groin! Not all that hard—she was human, after all—but hard enough to stun him.
Like a slippery lamperk, she broke free of his grasp and ran.
The human with the tattoos came up beside him, a small blade appearing in his hand. He held it low, as if trying to hide it from Iskar as he went for an opening in the commander’s side.
Or at least he thought he’d found an opening. Iskar was a master of Rathurian blade-arts, and this creature was nothing more than a thug.
Ignoring the residual pain and shock of being kneed in his fucking jewels, Iskar lunged for the man, grabbing his blade-hand and twisting it so that the weapon clattered to the ground. At the same time, he swept his attacker’s feet out from under him with a vicious low kick.
The man crashed to the ground, roaring in outrage.
Off in the distance, Iskar caught sight of bright blue hair, bobbing and weaving through the crowd.
And his Kathari medal was gone.
Fuck.
“Go,” Torin urged him, as if reading his mind. Typical Torin. The observant bastard must have realized what had happened. The First Division warrior calmly wove between the raging humans, taking one of them down with enviable ease as he nodded at Iskar. “But don’t hurt her, Commander.”
“I’m not a fool,” Iskar grunted as he turned and plunged into the crowd. When he caught her—and he had no doubt he would catch her—he didn’t know what he would do with the cunning female.
His cock still ached, and it wasn’t just because she had driven her damn knee into his groin.
He was still aroused as hell, and that was a fucking problem.
Chapter Four
Barefoot, Mari ran.
Heels were no good for this sort of running, so she’d ditched them. She had hard feet. She’d survive.
Adrenaline coursed through her body as she fled, pushing bystanders aside. Her heart hammered in her chest, and everything in the Glory Strip became hyper-real as time seemed to slow before her very eyes.
The lights were brighter.
The music was louder.
The air was charged with wild, frenetic energy.
Disappear.
She had no choice. If he caught her…
She was screwed. She understood that now.
She’d fucked up. Miscalculated. Maybe desperation had scrambled her instincts. The weird looking guy with the mysterious disguise was dangerous, possibly even more dangerous than the usual criminals and cutthroats that lurked in Darkside.
His grip had been unbreakable, and the ease with which he’d detected her subtle, thieving hand…
Scary.
Even though she’d used all her powers to try and distract him, he’d caught her. Even though she’d felt his massive erection as she rubbed up against him, he hadn’t lost control.
Those strong fingers had closed around her wrist like a steel clamp, and she got the feeling he could have snapped her bones if he wanted to.
She shuddered.
Her marks usually didn’t know what had hit them until she was gone, but this one was different.
As sharp as a fucking blade. As hard as Jentian stone. Swift. Angry. His voice ringing with authority. Who the hell was he?
No, scratch that. She didn’t want to know. Guys like that, you left alone.
Mari slipped the pendant into her belt-pouch as she ran, weaving and darting between startled onlookers. What kind-of stupid impulse had made her take the thing, even after she’d been caught?
The risk she’d taken had to be worth it. As soon as she spotted the necklace, she’d known it was valuable.
Black metal. There was nothing like it on Earth. This was alien metal, and so finely wrought. A ripple of anticipation shot down Mari’s spine. Alien artifacts were hot commodities on the black market, some selling for astronomical prices at auction. Maybe this was the score she’d been waiting for; an item so valuable she could pay off her inherited debts and get the Collector off her back.
But first, she had to get away from the scene of the crime.
Hurry! Get out of the way!
A man swore in English as she accidentally elbowed him in the side. A woman yelled profanities at Mari as she knocked a porter-bot, sending a box of fruit crashing to the ground.
She didn’t care. She had to get out of here and into the Dust Alleys. Once she entered the slums, nobody could catch her, because she knew that place like the back of her hand.
Mari risked a quick glance over her shoulder. Behind her, there was a slight gap in the crowd. A tall figure was closing in on her.
Shit. Are you fucking serious?
She lengthened her stride, her long legs eating up the pavement as she sprinted past Entropy, the Glory Strip’s most notorious club. Deep bass beats reverberated from within its walls, mimicking the frantic staccato of her pulse.
Keep moving.
Mari leapt over a pavement-crawling surveillance-bot. She dodged a low-flying camera-drone. She blinked as a holo-advertisement for some sort of weight-loss remedy played above her head, the animated figures seemingly suspended in thin air.
Her breathing was rapid and shallow, and her chest felt like it was about to burst, but she didn’t slow down.
Keep moving.
All she had to do was find an exit.
There.
Mari made a hard right and shot down a narrow alley. Her bare feet splashed through a puddle of something cold and foul smelling, but she didn’t relent. If her memory served her correctly, this alley led to a street full of loud-mouthed food vendors serving a wide and mouth-watering selection of Earth cuisine.
