by Anna Carven
“Persephone, keep walking.” Torin’s voice came out of nowhere, a sharp whip-crack that cut through the sound of marching feet. “Whatever you do, don’t stop.”
All her instincts screamed at her. Stop! Time slowed and her vision became hyper-acute as she took in everything.
The unnaturally silent cadence of Torin’s feet. The strong, musky smell of the Bartharrans. The nervous grunts coming from Parrus.
Her own fear, wrapping around her chest, threatening to paralyze her.
Keep walking.
Seph made a choice. She could listen to the insistent voice of reason inside her head, or she could listen to the man who had saved her life.
The decision was surprisingly easy.
As Torin moved, so did she, walking even faster in order to catch up with him.
I trust you.
She didn’t know why he had come to her rescue back there on Zarhab Groht. She didn’t know exactly what he was, who he worked for, or where he had come from, but he’d been good to her and bad to their enemies, and that was all that mattered.
Forward.
“I don’t t-think…” A small voice made Seph glance over her shoulder. Behind her, Parrus stopped. The Veronian turned in the other direction, preparing to flee.
“Stay with us, Parrus. Do you think he’s going to let those guys walk all over us?”
The Bartharrans were almost upon them. God, they were huge. Dozens of red eyes pierced through her, made all the more intimidating because the sclera of a Bartharran was pitch black. Bare chests glistened with sweat, accentuating their dark tribal tattoos. Their protruding sharp lower tusks distorted the shape of their lips, giving them a distinctly beastly appearance.
“…alhak.”
Huh? Seph strained to hear what they were saying.
Malhakmalhakmalhak.
Malhak.
That was the name they’d called Torin before.
The chanting grew louder and more fervent, and as Torin reached the first row of Bartharran warriors, the hulking yellow aliens… stepped aside.
The sea of men parted, forming two columns on either side. Malevolent hatred filled their eyes, sending a warning prickle down Seph’s neck.
What the hell was going on? Even as the Bartharrans conceded, they watched Torin closely, making Seph feel as if the slightest slip-up would get them all killed.
“Keep moving,” Torin said in English. “Don’t look at them. Don’t hesitate. Don’t show them even an inkling of what you’re thinking. They are like predators in the wild. If they sense fear, it will embolden them.”
Got it. Seph kept her eyes down, grateful for her hood, which cast shadow across her face. The sound of Parrus’s quick footsteps from behind filled her with relief. Thank the stars the Veronian had the presence of mind to stick with them.
The Bartharrans grunted and snorted and stamped their feet. One of them almost reached out to touch her, but Torin waved the point of his blade at the male’s outstretched fingers, the message abundantly clear.
Touch her and I’ll cut your fucking hand off.
Sweat trickled down her back. She didn’t dare breathe. All she could do was focus on the reassuring sight of Torin’s broad back.
Keep going, keep going…
And then suddenly, they were out. Seph breathed a sigh of relief as the Bartharrans turned and walked away. “What was that all about?”
“Everything in this place is a test,” Torin said, slowing down so Seph could catch up to him. “That is how Bartharrans are. The moment you back down or show any sign of weakness, you’re finished. They’re constantly looking for an opening so they can kill me and restore the status quo, but I won’t give it to them. I’m stronger than them. Bartharrans believe mercy is a sign of weakness and strength is next to godliness, and that’s why they won’t touch me.”
“They think you’re merciless?”
“Unfortunately, I have to be.” The sigh that escaped his lips was tinged with frustration. “It’s a curse.”
Oh. This was the first time Torin had let slip that he might not be happy about what he’d done. Perhaps Torin the Walking Contradiction didn’t necessarily like the things he was forced to do.
“This way, Master.” Parrus ran to the front, looking at Torin with something akin to reverence. “I have never seen the Bartharrans give way for anybody before, not even my master.”
“It’s all about first impressions,” Torin said dryly. “Who is your master, chichin?”
“He’s called Parrus,” Seph corrected, shooting Torin a pointed look. She didn’t know what chichin meant, but it sounded somewhat derogatory.
Torin shot her a surprised glance. One of his eyebrows rose, and the corner of his mouth quirked upwards. “Parrus,” he corrected, emphasizing the Veronian’s name in his refined Kythian accent, “who is your master?”
“Relahek of House Alerak, Sir.”
“Relahek Alerak? That corrupt bastard? Why did he not release you from his service after the Noble Houses were dissolved?”
“We left Kythia before the downfall, Sir. Relahek did not want to relinquish his titles and properties. The Skalreg Va was navigating through Sector One at the time, so Relahek purchased board and passage for what was left of his house and guard.”
Torin’s eyebrows rose. “And you’ve been living here ever since?”
“Yes, Sir. The Master seems to like it here. He has made a long-term arrangement with Captain Ludo.”
“Hm.” Torin looked annoyed, but said nothing.
They turned down a corridor that was more dimly lit than the others. Here, the pale rendered walls turned to stark metal. Small orange lights in sconces cast an unnatural glow across their faces. At the end of the corridor, a pair of wide metal double doors greeted them.
“These are Relahek’s quarters?”
“He occupies the entire rear third of the upper decks, Sir.” The pink markings on Parrus’s face glowed faintly as he looked up at Torin, appearing more hopeful than afraid.
Something had changed. The Veronian was acting as subservient as ever, but he no longer seemed terrified of Torin.
Seph studied the double doors with great curiosity. A handful of odd rune-like characters were imperfectly etched in the dark grey metal, along with a symbol depicting two crossed swords.
Initially, she thought the characters were Kordolian, but on closer inspection, she realized they were something else; something similar, but not quite as refined.
A cold, distant expression crossed Torin’s face. His elegant Kordolian features were a canvas of opposites—capable of conveying warmth one moment and cold menace the next.
A Kordolian. An alien. With alien history and alien enemies and his own ideas about how the Universal Order should be. What Seph wouldn’t give to be able to pick his brains about anything and everything in the Nine Sectors.
She decided to start with the obvious. “I take it you don’t exactly like this Relahek person, Torin?”
Torin’s glare softened ever so slightly as he laid eyes upon her, but his voice was laced with anger. “He is one of those people who believes he is entitled to all the riches of the Universe. Not because he is particularly clever or hardworking or resourceful, but because he was born into a Noble House.” Momentarily distracted, he turned to Parrus. “Is this door keyed to your bio-sig, Parrus?”
The Veronian fished a small cube from a hidden pocket in his grey tunic. “Bartharrans use physical keys.” He pressed the object against a glowing blue cube-shaped hole beside the door.
The doors slid open, revealing a long corridor that led into darkness. Where were the security drones? The identification protocols? The guards?
“That doesn’t seem very secure,” Seph observed.
“There is an internal corridor with a second set of secure doors at the end. Relahek allows his servants to come and go, and the corridor is monitored. He is not afraid because he has guards inside, and the Bartharrans will not bother him because
he tells them things.”
“Tells them things?” Torin’s left ear twitched. “What kind of things?”
“I-I do not know. The Bartharrans seem to find his information useful. That’s all I know.”
Torin went very quiet and very still. His brows drew downward and his lips thinned. Sweet stars, he looked formidable. “I’ll ask him myself. Persephone, stay behind me at all times. You too, Parrus.”
Whoever this Relahek person was, he’d seriously pissed Torin off. Seph almost felt sorry for the guy, because she wouldn’t ever want make enemies with Torin.
How fortunate she was to have found him.
No, it was the other way around. He’d found her.
“Lets go,” he said quietly, sheathing his twin swords.
Parrus’s markings were glowing vividly now. The Veronian’s tail waved from side to side, moving faster and faster.
Parrus almost seemed… excited.
What the hell were they walking into? Seph took a deep breath and prepared to meet the unknown all over again.
Remember, you’re about to meet the guy who tried to buy you.
The thought filled her with a terrible sort of indignation. Seph had taught the principles of intelligent life-form equality in her xenoethics class, using real-life examples of interspecies slavery.
Not in her wildest nightmares did she ever think she would almost suffer the same fate herself.
And now here she was, about to confront her would-be captor with the help of the newly crowned warrior-king of the Skalreg Va.
Hey, things could be worse. If not for Torin, things would be much worse indeed.
Chapter Eleven
While on Earth, Torin had come across the ancient mythtales of a human tribe called the Greeks. One of those stories had spoken of a beast called the hydra, a poisonous many-headed monster. The hydra was formidable, because for every head that was cut off, two would grow in its place.
Sometimes he wondered if the General’s brutal treatment of the Noble Houses might have turned the Kordolian nobles into hydras themselves. Those that had managed to escape before the Empire’s downfall had scattered across the Nine Galaxies like seeds blown in the wind, and now he’d found one of them right here, on an infernal Bartharran pirate ship of all places.
Perhaps Relahek Alerak had thought he would be safe here; perhaps he’d intended to live out his days in relative comfort, with all the trappings of the Old Empire and a small retinue at his beck and call. Servants, guards, a Bartharran horde… he’d even tried to procure a human female for his own personal use.
Torin growled softly under his breath. Relahek had no business even looking at Persephone Winters.
She was his.
As they neared the end of the long inner corridor—a perfect defensive funnel—he pulled Seph to one side. “Wait here with Parrus,” he whispered. “Don’t follow me until I give you the all-clear.”
Seph looked up at him, the edge of her hood falling back to reveal her clear brown eyes. “Got it.” For the first time, there was no fear there, only trust.
Ah, you’re going to ruin me, human. Her soft, expressive face was a salve for his mounting anger. He so wanted to kiss her luscious pink lips, even when they were set in a determined line.
Torin was in a bind. If it were up to him, he would remove her from this dangerous environment right away and put her in the safest, most comfortable, most secure place he could find until he figured out a way to get her back to Earth.
But he was cut off from his people, he had no backup, and there were no safe places on the Skalreg Va. Right now, the safest place on this infernal ship was by his side, but perhaps he could secure Relahek’s quarters and make them his own.
He tried to imagine what this situation must be like for her. With their vulnerable bodies and soft skin, humans weren’t well equipped to fight against the vicious aliens that inhabited the Nine Galaxies. Most humans lived in a peaceful utopia on Earth; they’d never experienced war, violence, or bloodshed.
Seph was one of those humans—vulnerable, afraid, and completely out of her depth—and yet she’d stoically handled everything the Universe had thrown at her.
She didn’t complain, didn’t falter, didn’t argue. Not here, where Torin was in charge. Not here, because this was his domain, his element, and she’d been so quick to understand that. Perhaps when they returned to Earth, he’d be the one to step back and let her be his guide, but for now, Torin had to protect her at all costs.
“This shouldn’t take long,” he reassured Seph, desperately wanting to take her in his arms. We must hurry. He had no doubt Relahek was watching them from inside and preparing his defenses. “The Kordolian in there is of the Noble Class. I know his kind. I’ve got the element of surprise on my side, but once he senses the threat to his existence, he’ll stop at nothing to eliminate me.”
“Relahek and his guards… are they dangerous to you?”
It occurred to Torin that she really had no idea about the difference in power between a First Division warrior and the rest of the cursed Universe. She’d witnessed just a little taste of what he was capable of, but he hoped she would never ever have to learn the full extent of his abilities.
“They can’t take me down.” It might sound like arrogant boasting, but Torin knew the specs of every single weapon in the Kordolian military arsenal. Relahek’s guards would probably be packing old military stock. They might possess the capacity to injure him, but they couldn’t kill him, not unless they got extremely lucky. “And just as I know Relahek’s true nature, he knows mine. I don’t think he’s that foolish, but let’s see. If anyone gets past me, shoot first. Ask questions later.”
“I wish there was something more I could do.”
“Just trust me, Seph. That will be enough.” Unable to help himself, he cupped her cheek, letting the nanites withdraw from his gloved fingers for just a heartbeat.
His bare fingertips grazed her dewy skin, and the sensation was electric.
Seph took a deep breath and held it. “I trust you, Torin.”
Suddenly, he was on a precipice. On one side stood his enemies, shrouded in darkness. On the other side was Persephone.
Sanctuary versus chaos.
Madness versus redemption.
He was the wall, the guard, the protector, the only thing standing between her and a terrible fate. The nanites in his body surged and seethed, consuming little pieces of him as they sought to maintain their active state. His muscle stores were slightly depleted, and if he had to, he would become a fucking skeleton before he let anyone lay a finger on his woman.
His one and only future mate.
She just didn’t know it yet.
Outside, a horde of Bartharran pirates watched and waited, plotting their next move. No doubt they were curious to see how Torin would deal with the Kordolians beyond this door—his very own people. So far, everyone on this ship who’d moved against Torin had ended up dead.
Fate, you are a cruel Goddess indeed.
“I will return.” He removed his hand from Seph’s cheek and left her waiting in the shadows.
“Make sure you do. I need you.” Her voice drifted after him, a sultry, secret whisper. Were those words intended for him, or had she forgotten that he could hear everything?
Either way, her sweet little plea dragged him deeper into this blissful-yet-torturous un-reality, where his soul was being stretched between two extremes.
Beast and tender savior. Could a man be both things at once?
Chapter Twelve
Torin tried Parrus’s little cube on the inner doors, but they wouldn’t open, so he cut a man-sized hole in the metal and kicked it in, sending an oval-shaped piece of metal clattering to the floor.
Blamblamblam! A barrage of plasma fire hit him in the chest, throwing him backward.
Seph gasped. Parrus shrieked.
Idiots! As he lurched to his feet with smoke rising off his exo-armor, agonizing pain shot through his body. Torin
didn’t care. He staggered forward, gaining strength as the effect of the plasma fire wore off. It would take a moment for their guns to recharge, and in that time…
He kept low, sheathing his swords as he ran forward in an awkward hunched-over stance. Gathering momentum, he kept his hands close to the floor. His body hurt like hell. He threw the cold veil across his mind, momentarily putting his pain someplace else.
There! He scooped up the edges of the cut metal door-piece. Torin swung it to one side, then hurled it with all his considerable strength.
It sliced through the air like a blade, and Torin knew it had connected with his intended target when shouts of pain and profuse cursing—in perfect Imperial Kordolian—filled the air.
“Get out and take cover!” he roared at Seph and the Veronian, fearing the effect of another volley of plasma fire. His body had absorbed the first barrage, but if the guards fired again, even one mis-step could get his precious charge killed.
It wasn’t ideal, but they had no choice. If Seph encountered Bartharrans in the outer corridor, Torin trusted she would do the sensible thing and shoot.
He turned back to his attackers and found himself facing a squadron of eight Kordolian guards. At least three of them were getting to their feet, and one was still on the ground, clutching his belly and moaning in pain.
The others raised their guns. Torin didn’t see the sense in fighting plasma with plasma. They were close enough. His hand became a blur as he threw his sword.
Thwack! And one was down, speared right through his Callidum armor-plated chest with Torin’s obsidian blade.
Only Callidum could penetrate Callidum.
He threw his other sword. It connected. His hands became a blur as he retrieved the set of throwing knives that were sheathed at his waist.
Thwack. Thwack. Four down.
Someone had the good sense—or stupidity—to fire.
Blam! Another plasma bolt lit up the room, this one hitting him in the face. With the exo-structure of his armor slightly weakened from the repeated plasma-fire, the blast was enough to disrupt the nanite shield across his eyes.
