by Anna Carven
Who the hell was this guy?
She could almost imagine the vicious expression on his face, but what did he look like? What color were his skin, his eyes, his hair? Did he have three eyes, or a mouth full of pointed teeth, or scaly skin?
The curiosity was almost strong enough to burn away her fear.
Almost, but then the alien stiffened. “If your friend back there tries to retrieve his weapon again, I will do something bad.” His voice rose slightly as he mentioned that last part, as if he’d observed something with eyes in the back of his head.
Mari looked over the stranger’s broad shoulder and saw Jeff slowly withdraw his arm. He’d been reaching for his other gun. She glared. “Don’t try anything stupid,” she mouthed with a sharp shake of her head. “I don’t want to die. Let me handle him.”
“P-point taken,” she said aloud, her attention returning to the rather large-and-deadly problem in front of her. Her hand trembled as she put the alien’s precious pendant—the thing that had caused all this damn trouble in the first place—back in her belt-pouch, freeing up her hand. She reached inside his jacket and searched for the things he’d described, guided by feel alone.
How surreal, that the man who had relentlessly chased her through the streets was now supporting her as she balanced on damaged feet.
As Mari slid her fingers across the stranger’s torso, she became acutely aware of his warmth. It seeped through the thin fabric of his undershirt, turning him into so much more than a scary, faceless pursuer.
He was a living, breathing creature; a being of flesh-and-blood who felt pain and anger and became… aroused, just like a human.
The defined contours of his abdominal muscles rippled underneath her fingertips. His lean stomach moved up-and-down in time with his slightly rapid breathing—the only sign of his discomfort.
Considering the circumstances, he was magnificently composed. Too composed for someone who had just been shot in the shoulder. Did this alien—whatever he was—not feel pain?
Who the hell are you? Mari didn’t dare ask. Instead, she found what felt like a hilt. Gingerly, she drew the knife, revealing a viciously sharp black blade.
Alien metal. The same as his pendant.
“Slide the tip beneath the fabric and make an opening.”
Breathlessly, Mari did just that. It took all of her self-control to stop her hand from shaking as she made several small incisions in his clothes, separating the layers from the skin underneath.
Stupid Mari. Don’t fucking cut him, whatever you do. The threat of death hung heavy in the air. She was petrified, and yet there was something oddly reassuring about this man’s intimidating presence.
He hadn’t killed her—yet. He could very easily have done so, a thousand times over.
“That will do. Put the dagger back as you found it, in its sheath. Get the fibrogel tube and do as I told you.”
Guided by feel alone, she took the small tube from the pouch at his side. Like everything else he owned, it was also black, with a bold red stripe marking one end.
“Hold the marked end against the wound.”
Mari did just that, and was surprised when a silver colored gel poured from the tube and covered the entire surface of the wound. She still couldn’t see what color his skin was—a vital clue as to his origins—because everything was coated in slick black blood.
Even her fingers.
The silver material surged and writhed, as if it were a living thing. As it filled the defect, a small silver bump emerged, growing longer and longer until it solidified and dropped from the wound-site.
It hit the floor with a solid thunk.
Mari’s eyes widened as she realized what she was looking at.
A large metal bullet.
The alien gel-stuff had burrowed into the stranger’s flesh and dug out the bullet. Now the bleeding had completely stopped, and the silver substance stretched across the wound, forming a seamless patch.
Magic.
People on Earth would pay a fortune for this kind of stuff. What kind of race possessed such advanced medical technology?
The stranger shrugged his injured shoulder, testing it. “It is adequate.” The liquid silver settled into his wound, peeling away from the surrounding skin, leaving it clean and bare.
And silver.
Silver skin…
The penny dropped.
“Y-you’re Kordolian,” she gasped. No other species had skin like that. Trepidation and excitement shot through her.
Ever since their dark ships had appeared in Earth’s orbit, the Networks had been awash with news and speculation about these mysterious aliens.
For months, Earth’s human population had lived under the threat of an imminent invasion. After all, the Kordolians had a reputation for being vicious fighters and ruthless conquerors. Media outlets had gone wild with talk of war and devastation. Doomsday prophets had appeared on every street corner, warning of the coming apocalypse. Unscrupulous smugglers and pirates had taken advantage of the chaos, selling escape-tickets to far-flung destinations for ridiculously inflated prices.
Months passed. Nothing happened.
The Kordolians stayed, but they didn’t invade. Some sort of agreement was reached, and somehow, they became Earth’s unlikely allies.
Eventually, the hype died down. People went back to their dull, ordinary lives. The threat of invasion was mostly forgotten about.
And then one day, news broke that the Kordolian Empire had fallen. For the most part, people on Earth didn’t pay much attention. Sector One was so far away, and Earth was insignificant in the grand scheme of things.
So what if their Empire had fallen? Nothing had changed. The Kordolians were still here. The Dust Alleys was still a shit-hole. Mari was still broke. She didn’t have the time to try and understand galactic politics. She was too busy trying to survive and keep the fucking Collector off her back.
She was scared of her assigned Collector, but now she was much more scared of the tall alien male who was currently propping her up on one strong, muscular arm.
With a soft grunt, the Kordolian slowly moved his left arm. What? She’d thought his arm was too badly injured to move. Was the silver gel-stuff that effective? His hand came up, and suddenly the dark glasses were gone.
Deep crimson eyes stared back at her, framed by startlingly pale eyelashes. Actually, for such an intimidating guy, he had very pretty eyelashes.
Dumbass. How had that thought even occurred to her at a time like this?
Mari’s heartbeat went nuts. She forgot about the pain in her feet. She forgot to breathe.
This was insane. She was just a simple thief from the slums—a nobody—and now she was facing off with one of those dreaded aliens.
A Kordolian.
Technologically superior. Fast. Cruel. Powerful. An enslaver. A colonizer.
A killer.
She’d heard so many rumors, so many stories. If they were all true, then she was totally screwed.
“Now, my elusive thief, what am I going to do with you?” His gaze was unlike anything she’d seen before. Intense and searching, but with a hint of… amusement? The hardness never left his eyes, but at least he wasn’t angry anymore.
What had changed?
Mari reached into her belt-pouch. “I’m going to give back what I took from you,” she said slowly. “Then we’re going to forget that this whole thing ever happened. You’re going to leave, and I’ll go back to my ordinary, boring life. Deal?”
Pale eyebrows rose a fraction. “Ordinary?”
Just go. Please. She begged him with her eyes. Don’t be curious about me. I don’t want any trouble. I can’t afford trouble.
If her Collector found out that she’d attracted this kind of attention, bringing an outsider into the Dust Alleys and worst of all, returning stolen goods, he would…
She didn’t know what he would do.
He might finally choose to take her to the other side.
The only re
ason Mari hadn’t been forced to do that sort of work was because she was a damn good thief. As long as her pickpocketing gig was more profitable than the other, she could get away with it.
That was why she went for the high-value, risky targets.
Tonight, her strategy had backfired spectacularly.
Please go away. She couldn’t bring herself to say the words, because the stranger’s arm had found its way around her waist, and now she was holding onto his shoulder.
Her feet burned. The pain was steadily growing worse. What the hell had she stepped on in the dark?
“You can’t stand without me, let alone walk,” he murmured, his voice becoming husky. “What, is your pale-eyed friend over there going to carry you home?”
They both knew the answer to his question. Mad Jeff was all skin and bones. Mari didn’t weigh all that much, but there was no way poor old Jeff could carry her, and besides, he hadn’t gone outside in years. He was terribly afraid of wide open spaces.
“I’ll call someone.” That was a half-truth. Mari couldn’t think of anyone who would take her home at this time of night, especially on New Year’s Eve.
“You need medical attention.” His voice became stern. Once again, there was that air of command, as if he expected to be obeyed without question.
“I’ll organize something.” That was also a half-truth. When daylight broke, she’d call a freelance medic. Those private on-call doctors—who were of questionable skill and reputation—charged a fortune to go into the Dust Alleys, but she had no choice. An Unregistered like Mari couldn’t access the same health facilities as Federation citizens and sanctioned visitors.
“You do not sound entirely convincing.”
“Why do you care?”
He glowered, but didn’t answer her question. “I will take you to a medical facility.”
“There’s no need for that.”
“I insist.”
“Really, I’ll be fine.”
“Now is not the time for stubbornness, human.”
You’re the one who’s being stubborn, she thought, sensing an iron-clad will behind that steely red gaze. “I can’t go to a facility,” she admitted, spelling it out for the alien. “I’m Unregistered.” Most humans would understand the situation immediately, but he was Kordolian, and she doubted he would understand the difference between an Unregistered and a true Federation citizen.
“You do not have equal rights?”
“No.”
Instead of probing her further, he looked over his shoulder and sighed. “Where is your home? Is it nearby?”
“Huh?” Mari leaned against the alien, becoming keenly aware of his warmth. Kordolians definitely weren’t cold-blooded. “It isn’t far.”
The stranger sighed again. “I will take you.”
“What?” she blurted, her voice rising an octave. She couldn’t help it. That was the last thing she’d been expecting him to say.
In the background, Mad Jeff’s eyes went wide. “Don’t let him find out where you live,” he mouthed in Eskulin. “He’s dangerous.”
Dangerous? No shit.
“Everything will be okay,” she replied, knowing the alien couldn’t lip-read Eskulin. She gave Mad Jeff a reassuring smile, feeling guilty for leading the Kordolian here.
Jeff would probably consider the alien’s arrival as a sign that the dreaded invasion was imminent. He’d rave on about it for days.
“I insist.”
“But—” Before she could protest, the Kordolian swept her up into his arms. Suddenly, Mari felt weightless, her long legs dangling in the air as he pulled her in, holding her close to his chest.
Huh? Wasn’t there a bullet-wound in his shoulder?
“Oi, oi, you’re not gonna fuckin’ abduct Maribel on my watch, alien!” Jeff picked up his long-barreled gun.
Almost disdainfully, the Kordolian looked over his shoulder. “What are you going to do, human? Shoot me? If you follow me, you’re dead.”
Then he turned and stepped out into the night with Mari in his arms, and there was nothing she could do about it, because the soles of her feet were on fire, and she desperately needed help, even if it came from the most unlikely of sources.
Jeff ran to the door. “I’ll call your boss,” he shouted at Mari.
“No!” she yelled back as a blast of dusty desert wind hit her in the face. “Whatever you do, do not call that bastard. I already told you, I’ll be fine.”
“Left, or right?” the Kordolian asked softly, ignoring Mad Jeff.
“L-left.”
He broke into an easy run, reminding her of a loping wolf. His movements were so damn graceful and swift and effortless—all the things she wasn’t right now—that it occurred to Mari that she wouldn’t have outrun him even if she’d been wearing proper shoes.
Not in a million fucking years.
“Tell me where to go. I will take you there.” And now he was helping her. How had it come to this?
“Why are you helping me?” The suspicious Darksider in her couldn’t believe he would offer his assistance without expecting something in return. A hard-as-nails, dangerous alien like this couldn’t have a shred of kindness in him… could he?
And yet he hadn’t harmed her. She’d stolen something that was obviously important to him. He could have beaten her up, had her arrested, or even killed her, but he hadn’t done any of that.
Mad Jeff had even shot him, and yet he hadn’t flinched, hadn’t retaliated.
The obsidian pendant was still inside her belt-pouch…
And she was in his arms.
If she ignored the circumstances, she might have felt pretty good about being in his arms. He was warm and solid, and he smelled faintly of sandalwood and spice and heady male musk. Although he was injured, there was an air of invincibility about him; a feeling that he would do as he liked when he pleased, without a care for any of Earth’s laws or regulations.
He would fit in very well in a lawless place like Darkside.
As the alien ran, he offered no answer to her question, but at times he would glance down at her, studying her face.
Mari didn’t know what he was looking for, but his eyes were searing, the effect made all the more potent by the fact that the lower part of his face was still covered by that red-and-white desert scarf. His hair was hidden by the dark hood of his jacket, which cast the rest of his face in shadow.
Who are you, really?
She still hadn’t gotten the full measure of him, and now she was scared and intrigued.
Chapter Eight
Fear.
Iskar understood the concept all too well. Fear was a crucial ingredient in that elusive concoction called power.
Fear was a useful tool, but in order to be effective, it had to be tempered with hope.
The tactician in him knew the female in his arms was afraid of him, but he’d shown just enough restraint to offer her some hope. In contrast, the savage in him grew more and more restless with every passing siv.
The way her curves molded perfectly against his broad chest, one would think her body had been designed just for him. Although his shoulder still ached like crazy—the nanites in the fibrogel would have done a basic patch repair, just enough to render his arm functional—he didn’t care. The savage in him demanded this closeness; this unexpected, secret intimacy.
How surprising.
Even more surprising was that he’d tried—and failed—to put a dampener on his inner savage. The bulge in his pants was proof of that.
“It’s down here,” she said softly, pointing down a narrow, shadowy street. Her low voice wrapped its silken tendrils around him and dragged him deeper into the depths of this exquisite madness.
“Here?” He tried to conceal his disbelief. The area she’d directed him to was even more decrepit than the narrow streets he’d passed through before. Iskar’s booted feet sank into soft desert sand as he avoided scattered pieces of metal and synthetic debris. On either side of them, humans had t
ried to cobble together some semblance of order, constructing flimsy structures from odd pieces of junk, some of which still had the packing labels attached.
“Not the fanciest digs around, but it’s home.”
“Hm.” For once in his life, Iskar was speechless. This vexing, seductive creature, who had walked up to him with such confidence on the Glory Strip, momentarily robbing him of his senses, lived in a hovel.
This was unexpected.
Earth’s officials had given him the impression that theirs was a prosperous, utopian society, but all was not as it seemed. Behind his scarf, Iskar’s lips curved into a bitter half-smile. Why was he not surprised? It was the same all over the Universe. Officials always lied.
Was this what Torin wanted him to see? Yet another depressing truth?
“The blue door. That’s where I live.” The human pointed to a metal door coated in powdery, flaking blue paint. An unreadable word was scrawled across the door in black human-script. As they approached, she yelled something in a guttural, rapid-fire Earth language. It sounded like a warning.
“What was that?” Iskar’s voice grew sharp.
“Voice activation,” she said quietly. It was obvious she was lying.
“You know better than to try and lay some sort of trap for me, don’t you? The only reason I didn’t kill the Touched One back there was because you asked me nicely.”
The female nodded. “I-I understand.” Her body trembled slightly, betraying her fear. She was right to be afraid of him. Right now, Iskar held all the power. She was injured and helpless, and they were alone in a deserted street.
He could do anything.
“As long as you don’t do anything stupid, I won’t hurt you.”
“Got it.” Her voice wavered slightly, and she closed her eyes with a sigh. A look of defeat softened her exquisite features.
Somehow, that look punched through the shell of Iskar’s battle-hardened heart, and he was filled with a strange new emotion.
What is this? He couldn’t quite identify the feeling, but it made him hold her a little tighter, forcing her to look up. “I’m helping you, remember? We are going to go inside, and I will tend to your feet.”
“Tend?” Brown eyes fluttered in alarm.
