Shades of Dark

by Linnea Sinclair

  Some of the creatures were shot. Others were crushed by the spaceport’s rescue trucks. But enough managed to make it to the main terminal.

  Officials were still trying to resconstruct what happened: who dumped two dozen or more jukors in the warehouse; who triggered the explosion to set them free. And who concurrently hacked into the spacedock’s computer systems, mangling the records of all incoming and outgoing traffic for the past planetary day.

  Automatic backup had a glitch, recording nothing.

  Shock and fear were on the faces of everyone we saw.

  Narfial was a newer station but strictly utilitarian: gray decking and bulkheads, minimal viewports. Lift banks were fewer, lines were longer. Unlike Dock Five, the escalators worked. But they were single-file models and, like the lifts, there were fewer of them.

  Sully drew me in front of him as we waited for a lift in a crowd of twenty or more people. Dockhands, freighter crew, shop workers. Some people stared almost trancelike at their feet, their thoughts far away. Others cried softly. One woman, farther behind us, spoke in hard, angry tones, her Dafirian accent clipping her words.

  I glanced briefly over my shoulder at her, and was surprised to see she was speaking with a tall Stolorth man in a black shipsuit. She was human, tall as well, probably near Sully’s height with skin as dark as Marsh’s and short white hair, tightly curled and cut close to her head.

  I looked away quickly, instinctively, my friendship with Ren notwithstanding. Humans don’t stare at Stolorths. Period.

  This is the rim, angel, Sully said. I know of at least two Stolorth trading houses that maintain an office here.

  No Purity Brigade in residence, then?

  Not at the moment. But no Ragkiril talents either. I’d know.

  He would.

  The crowd shifted impatiently. Sully wrapped his arms around my middle, resting his face against my hair. Heat pulsed through me. He was breathing hard. The tightness in my chest could have been mine, his, or both of ours.

  He felt responsible for what happened.

  Stop second-guessing yourself, I told him, not even sure he was listening until he sighed.

  Del damned well better have something we can work with.

  Could the Farosians have engineered this? I thought of Dalby’s veiled threats.

  Where would they get the jukors?

  I wouldn’t put it past Tage.

  Tage using the Farosians? Sully paused thoughtfully. Doesn’t ring true to me at this point. The Farosians have too many supporters here on the rim. They hate Tage. Plus I think their price would be higher than even Tage would be willing to pay.

  Don’t discount it, I warned.

  I discount nothing.

  We had seven minutes to make the meet on Level H. Lift doors opened, ten, twelve people flowing out. Ten, fifteen shoved their way in. We weren’t one of those.

  Stairs? I suggested.

  We’ll be on the next lift.

  We were, the last two in with Sully squeezing me against him. That meant juggling our position when the lift stopped at G, but we were first off at H.

  This way. Sully took my hand, pulling me to the left.

  We hadn’t known the meetpoint until we made station, and then a coded transmit came into Sully’s secure, private in-box naming the place: a baggage claim area that serviced two of the commercial liners that docked at Narfial. It was fairly wide open, less likely to hold an ambush. It might also not be where Del was, but only the location of the next missive with another meetpoint. “Respond to the name Sudral” were the instructions in the transmit.

  I saw Drogue’s hand in this in the choice of name. When Sully was a monk, he was known as Brother Sudral—the name of Abbot Eng’s holy cloak that bound the demon Ragkirils.

  I slowed as we approached the baggage claim area, pulling away from Sully by prearranged plan. I’d watch his back until he gave me the all-clear. If Del was here, he might be nervous finding two of us. If he wasn’t, I’d also be able to see who else was watching Sully and alert him through our mental link. Of all the things we might encounter, we felt that one thing gave us the advantage. We didn’t have to be within shouting distance to help each other.

  I slipped on my black cap, tugging the brim down, shading my eyes, and veered away behind a group of travelers as Sully strode forward.

  Love you, angel, he whispered in my mind.

  I needed to hear that. Love you too.

  H-Level was one of the few decks that extended completely across the station. It was like a large, open circular promenade with commercial baggage claim taking up one third of the pie. The biggest visual obstruction was the metallic cylinder housing station’s core in the center. Then there were the usual pylons, kiosks, clusters of seats, and the occasional grouping of glass-fronted offices.

  Cargo ’droids and antigrav pallets whisked, whirred, and shuddered by. Two flights were in. People were crying, hugging, or walking around looking dazed. The news about the Grover’s City attack no doubt had been broadcast on the flights. Three tall Takan security guards were visible. I wondered briefly if one of them was Del. It would be a good, safe cover.

  But there were Takas as passengers too. I saw a family with a long-limbed young girl in a pale purple tunic dress, her fur a glisteny gold like her mother’s. Her father was grayer, reminding me of Verno.

  Humans were all sizes, shapes, colors, and ages. I was surprised by the number of families, but Narfial was a popular hub. It was one of the newer stations out here and people put up with the delays knowing there’d be working enviro, decent restaurants, and functioning lavatories. Unlike Dock Five.

  As I came closer to the designated meetpoint, I again watched hands, not faces. It was one of the first things I’d learned in the academy. Hands could kill. I watched for hands tucked in pockets, under coats or vests. Hands that could grasp weapons.

  Sully, his thumbs hooked in his pants pockets, moved easily through the crowd as it flowed toward the two baggage belts. His Carver-12 rode in his shoulder holster, hidden by his black jacket. But he didn’t need to have a weapon in his hand to kill.

  A light flashed over the furthermost baggage area and a vidscreen displayed the flight information. The crowd surged toward it, mothers with children in tow, groups of young men and women in the plain coveralls of itinerate dockworkers, a few others better dressed. Shopkeepers, perhaps. Or students.

  Everyone was focused on getting his baggage. No one paid much attention to Sully. There were two women, however, standing off to one side. Humans, my age or a little older. Late thirties to midforties. Both had their hands where I could see them.

  I positioned myself by a flight data kiosk and pretended to study the station’s directory.

  The shorter woman had a definite military bearing in addition to being exotically beautiful—a beauty that was barely marred by her narrowed eyes and down-turned mouth. She was pale-skinned, her chin-length hair almost blue-black. The other, taller woman wore a long light green skirt unlike her companion in dark blue pants, and seemed nervous, tired. She was round-faced, her curly brown hair pulled back in a messy braid, and she shifted from foot to foot.

  Sully noticed them too and drifted in their direction. The attractive one glanced over at him with the minutest arching of eyebrows. Her hands didn’t move but she looked him up and down thoroughly.

  I didn’t think the women were a threat or Sully would have acted. Could Del be a woman? Just my luck she would be, and be gorgeous as well. Sully had said “he” all along. I’d never questioned. Stupid, because—

  “Captain Bergren.”

  A deep male voice said my name, very softly, behind me. And no one here should know my name.

  Sully!

  “Don’t turn,” the voice continued in a low whisper. “Don’t react. Show no alarm.”

  Sully! I nodded, pretending to comply and let my hand drift to the Grizni on my wrist as if I were frightened and hugging my arms to my midsection. Had Tage’s people f
ound me? Or was this one of Dalby’s people, carrying through on her promise that we’d talk again?

  “Release the Grizni, Captain. I’m not a threat.”

  I’ll be the one to determine that, I thought, then: Sullivan! Why in hell wasn’t he answering me? Probably because he didn’t want me to know he was staring at the gorgeous woman. Of all the times to shut down our link. If I lived through this, I was going to kill him!

  I moved my hand away, slowly. I could get to the dagger quickly enough if I needed to. I also had my Stinger. And thanks to the gym on the Karn, I hadn’t lost my touch at hand-to-hand combat. I just would really like a little help from Gabriel Ross Sullivan. If he wouldn’t mind.

  Sul-ly!

  A Takan male in a shipsuit ambled by, stopping to glance briefly at the kiosk’s screen, then kept moving.

  “If you’re not a threat,” I asked when the Taka departed, keeping my voice as low as his, “then why are you behind me, telling me not to turn around?”

  “Because we’re just two people standing here, discussing flights and delays and looking for the nearest restaurant on the station’s map.”

  I listened to his voice, his accent. Not Dafir or Calth, definitely. It was a cultured voice, well modulated with a masculine deep rumble. A newscaster’s voice, one that gets the prime slots, the most impactful interviews.

  Shit. Had Tage released the information on Sully to the newshounds?

  “Ah, yes,” he continued. “By gate H-12. A decent establishment with an even better bar. Worth a try, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Depends. Are you asking me out on a date or are we splitting the tab?”

  A soft laugh, like a friend sharing an intimate joke. “It would be my pleasure to buy you a drink, angel.”

  I froze, the hairs on the back of my neck standing up. I was “angel” to Sully and no one else. Granted, Sully had no patent on the endearment. Others used it freely. But not with me. And not this stranger, here and now.

  “I don’t do blind dates,” I said sharply. Sully, damn you! He was still watching the two women, though from a different angle. He hadn’t looked back at me for several minutes now. I was no psychic but I could very clearly see celibacy in his future if he didn’t open that goddamned link and listen to me. Sully!

  Chasidah, a voice said in my mind. A man’s voice, deep and well modulated. And it wasn’t Sully’s.

  I sucked in a breath. The voice in my mind could be from any of the dozens wandering around the baggage area but I knew it wasn’t. It was the man behind me.

  What do you want? I hated sharing a mental link with him but I was hoping, praying Sully would decide to finally notice me. I needed him to hear what I was hearing, and feel what I was feeling.

  Fear.

  There was a Ragkiril standing behind me. And Sully didn’t know.

  Join me in a drink, Chasidah. I would find that a pleasurable event.

  An invisible hand stroked my cheek, lingering on my neck as warmth tumbled through me.

  His warning be damned, I jerked around, my fingers hitting the pressure points on my Grizni. It sprang into my hand as I braced myself against the wide kiosk.

  A tall Stolorth male stared down at me, his full lips curved in a bemused smile. His eyes were a stunning deep blue-green; his skin, a silvery-blue, lighter than his hair, which was pulled back from his face—a face that was every bit as elegant as Ren’s, but more so. His arms were crossed loosely over his chest. I caught a glimpse of a pale gray shirt—and what could be the edge of a shoulder holster—under the long black leather coat that fell almost to his ankles.

  He moved slightly and I tensed, but he only re-crossed his arms, showing me the Grizni bracelet on his left wrist.

  We have more in common than you realize, he told me. But please, put the dagger away. Before we attract unwanted attention.

  It might not be unwanted by me.

  Yes, it would. We need to collect Brother Sudral. Grover’s City was a tragedy that could have been prevented and must not be repeated.

  I stared at him. Who are you?

  The dagger, Chasidah. Please. A six-fingered hand wrapped gently around mine, folding the dagger back around my wrist. I couldn’t stop him even if I wanted to.

  Sorry, he said. I felt a twinge of regret as if he really was. Then he brought my fingers to his mouth, brushing them with a light kiss.

  This time I did yank my hand back and nothing stopped me.

  “Who the hell are you?” I was tired of talking to him in my thoughts. Sully wasn’t listening and that frightened me, because I knew why. A Stolorth Ragkiril had just slipped into my mind and controlled my actions with only the barest delicate whisper of a presence. He had also somehow shut Sully out.

  The man inclined his head slightly, his unfathomable dark blue gaze never leaving my face. “I am Regarth Serian Cordell Delkavra. In most places, just Captain Regarth. But for you and Gabriel, I’m the one known as Del.”

  Del. Or he was lying, having pulled the information from my mind.

  He sighed. “I accept your chastisement, your censure for misbehaving. But you are such an unexpected treat.” He smiled warmly and his voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “I am here at the meetpoint searching the area for potential threats. And then I find this ky’sal and his ky’sara looking for me. A trap? I assumed as much so, forgive me, but I needed to probe. For my safety. For yours. And then I realize the ky’sara is human and you are this ky’sara. So how does a Stolorth male approach a human female without creating an incident? An armed human female? Carefully, yes?

  “But you’re apprehensive. I did handle this badly, I see that now. When I spoke to you, you wanted to call for him. I couldn’t permit that, not here, not being what he is. It would be dangerous for us both.” And Del looked past me to where Sully was walking toward a stack of antigrav pallets, the beautiful dark-haired woman—I hoped—forgotten.

  “So very rare,” Del murmured.

  “You shut off my link with him.”

  “I had to, Chasidah. Instinctively, he’d perceive me as a threat.” Had I known he was a Kyi I’d never even suggested a meetpoint like this. No one told me.

  Drogue—the church doesn’t know.

  Wise. Other than creating a near-catastrophe here, that is.

  How can you tell he’s a Kyi?

  A broader smile. I look at you and know you are a lovely woman. I look at him and know he’s a Kyi.

  And what will he know when he looks at you?

  Hopefully, that I am his friend. Would you tell him I’ll be waiting for you both at the bar at H-12? I’ll leave now and your link with him will regenerate. Ten minutes, Captain Bergren?

  I nodded slowly. Ten minutes, Captain Regarth.

  Wonderful. He touched my chin lightly with his fingers. And I will buy you that drink.

  He turned, his long coat flowing around him, and strode easily down the corridor, his blue braid swaying sensually as he walked.

  Regarth Serian Cordell Delkavra. Del. Captain Regarth. A Stolorth and, I was very sure, a Kyi-Ragkiril.

  And there was one more thing I was very sure of. He was trouble.

  I watched Sully’s eyes snap to black, his lips thin. His hand clasping mine tightened. Shock gave way to anger, which gave way to something more primal, more male. It tasted of jealousy, possessiveness, dominance.

  And all I had said was, “Hello, Sully. I just met Del.”

  I poured the encounter into his mind almost as fast as he retrieved it. I held nothing back, not Del’s seductive handsomeness nor the power that fairly seethed beneath his surface, nor the ease with which he rendered me helpless, folding the Grizni back around my wrist.

  He saw Del as I had, analyzed him as I had, but with a depth of knowledge about Ragkirils I didn’t have. I saw a Stolorth male relatively the same age as Sully, though Stolorth life spans were longer so my guess could be off. He did appear older than Ren. And I’d gauged him about Ren’s height: six seven, give or take. I h
adn’t noticed if he wore flat or heeled boots.

  He also appeared more muscular than Ren, but that could have been the coat or it could have been simply that he overwhelmed my senses in a way that Ren never had.

  Sully saw, sensed, felt the essence of a mature, confident Kyi who had not only been able to control me but to dominate Sully. Sully had barely noticed the two women. He didn’t remember much of what he had noticed at all until I walked up to him.

  Fear laced through him then. It wasn’t an emotion I was used to sensing from Sully.

  “Go back to the ship, Chasidah.” His voice was a low growl.

  “Why? So the two of you can turn this area into some kind of paranormal battlefield because he flirted with me? Power down, Sullivan. I don’t like him but I learned long ago in Fleet that you don’t have to like someone in order to work with him. His anger over Grover’s City was real. He is here to help, and Drogue’s people sent him. When all is said and done, if you want to fry his ass, I’ll be there cheering you on. But not here and not now. And don’t,” I added watching his eyes shift through shades of black, “try that mental compulsion shit on me. I’m in no mood for it.”

  He looked away, pulse jumping in his throat, but he didn’t release my hand. Then he nodded, slowly, some of the bitter iciness flowing between us thawing.

  I’m sorry, angel. I’m angry at myself, not you. And I’m…concerned. Ally or not, he could be dangerous.

  I snorted softly. Sing me a song I don’t know the tune to.

  But neither of us were singing nor even very happy as we made our way down H-Level’s corridor toward the bar.

  Del was lounging at a table for three in the bar’s shadowy back corner, a partially hidden duffel at this feet. Most of the activity was closer to the front, near the food vendor’s counter, where people could easily watch others come and go and listen for change-of-schedule announcements.