by Anna Carven
“What in Kaiin’s Hells does it take to kill this freak?”
“Don’t ask stupid questions. Just fucking shoot him, Erak.”
Blam! Again, the plasma fire struck him in the eyes. Everything went dark. As Torin fell back, he unleashed the rest of his throwing knives.
Thwack. Thwack. Screams ripped through the air. He hit his targets with pinpoint accuracy, even when he was blinded and falling. An ordinary mortal wouldn’t have been able to accomplish such a feat, but Torin just knew where his targets were. He’d seen them before the plasma fire had hit, and he was faster than them.
Much faster.
Besides, he had the cold veil.
Pain didn’t matter. Loss of vision didn’t matter. He still had his hearing, his sense of smell, his vibration-sense.
He knew where the bastards were.
“S-shit. He’s one of them,” someone gasped.
“I thought that was just a fucking rumor! There’s no such thing as the First Div—”
“I’m very much real,” Torin snarled through gritted teeth. He opened his eyes and saw nothing but darkness. Hungry nanites surged through his eyeballs, triggering an excruciating headache as they repaired the damaged tissue.
He couldn’t see who was alive and who was dead, but he could figure it out based on the sounds of their breathing. Six dead, two alive.
And the ones who’d survived were injured. He could hear the pain in their voices, in their ragged breathing, in their slow, writhing movements.
He drew his gun. “Don’t move, or I’ll shoot.” Torin paused, waiting for the nanites to do their thing. They were definitely running on reserve supply now, cannibalizing his body’s muscle stores. He needed protein soon, or the hungry machines in his bloodstream were going to eat the meat right off his bones.
His vision slowly returned, the faint outlines of the room materializing in dull shades of grey. He sought the familiar shapes of his swords. He could retrieve the throwing knives later, but he had to have his swords. He felt naked without them.
The two surviving Kordolians squirmed on the ground, groaning in pain as they reached for their plasma weapons.
“Don’t even think about it,” Torin snapped. His anger flared as he took in the dark outlines of the dead Kordolians—his people. If only he’d had time to warn them, to convince them that it didn’t need to be this way.
But their attack had put Seph in danger, and he’d had to make a very quick choice.
Their lives, or hers.
He’d chosen hers.
And he’d do it again and again, without hesitation.
“Why are you still working for Relahek?” He glared at the males on the floor. “Noble Privilege is finished.”
“Aaargh…” The one closest to him rolled over, clutching his arm. Blood trickled through his fingers. Torin’s knife had pierced his shoulder, immobilizing his gun-arm. “Your people were executing traitors on Kythia,” he spat. “What choice did we have but to leave? Akkadian would have put us to the sword. Relahek offered us a way to escape.”
“What are you talking about, soldier? All House staff were granted amnesty if they cooperated. Most of those who were executed were ultra-loyalists; those who chose to defend the Empire even after the Palace of Arches fell.”
Torin would probably have tried to do it differently, but he saw the cold logic in the General’s harsh treatment of dissidents. Tarak needed to restore order swiftly, exerting his authority in a way that only Kordolians would understand. On a planet like Kythia—cold, seething, fractious, and torn asunder—there was no room for mercy.
That’s why Torin had never been suited—or interested—in assuming any sort of position of command. His good nature often impaired his good judgement.
The Kordolian on the floor stiffened. “That… that is not what we were told.”
Torin’s lip curled. “And who was your informant?”
“L-lord Alerak told us everything.”
“And what inducement did he offer you, other than escape?”
“Uungh…” The other Kordolian sat up, yanking Torin’s knife out of his thigh. A pool of dark blood seeped onto the floor. “What’s it to you, freak?”
Torin inclined his head. “I’m just trying to figure out how competent soldiers like yourselves could blindly follow an idiotic noble all the way to the Outer Sectors without contemplating mutiny.”
“We’ve got needs of our own. Kin.” The guard’s voice was a mixture of hatred, pride, and defeat. “Lord Alerak pays us well. What else is left for us on Kythia now?”
Our ability to protect is our greatest asset. I could find work for you in Darkstar. General Tarak would probably have killed them on the spot, but in spite of all his training, Torin was consumed with the sudden irrational urge to help these men.
How strange.
His victims. His survivors. Maybe he was looking for some sort of redemption.
You can’t afford this right now. Ruthlessly, he crushed the strange feeling. Right now, his job was to protect Seph, not worry about a pair of misguided fools.
The guard spat onto the floor. “You’re going to kill us anyway, so why don’t you just make it quick?”
“Did I say I wanted to kill you?” Torin stared at their blurry faces, trying to make out their expressions. He couldn’t. “If that was my desire, you’d be dead right now.”
“Go ahead, monster. Make it quick.”
Torin holstered his gun. “Be careful what you wish for, idiot.” Slowly, insolently, he walked across to where they lay and kicked their plasma guns out of reach. The weapons slid across the floor with a soft clatter. He stepped over them and retrieved his swords, yanking the Callidum blades out of the still bodies of his targets.
Thwick. Thwick. With a flick of each wrist, Torin shook the blood off his swords and sheathed them. “Don’t you ever fight me again. Please understand that I do not want to kill you, but if you make a move against me…” He shrugged. “I can’t control my instincts.”
“He’s fucking crazy,” one of the fighters whispered. “Just like the Mad General. Maybe the stories are true.”
Stupid rumors. Torin ignored them. He’d wasted enough precious time trying to convince himself that he shouldn’t kill these two. Luckily for them, he was in a benevolent frame of mind. Perhaps that was the human’s influence.
He turned in the direction of the outer corridor, where he’d told Seph to hide.
The sound of footsteps reached his ears. These weren’t Seph’s or Parrus’s footsteps. No, these were heavy and loud.
Bartharrans.
Heading in Persephone’s direction.
She’s in danger.
Relahek didn’t matter anymore. The pain in Torin’s eyes suddenly felt insignificant. The fallen soldiers became little more than tiny specks of dirt in his consciousness as Torin’s full attention turned toward the outside.
I’ll kill them if they lay a hand on her!
His fucking fault… for not being fast enough, accurate enough, decisive enough.
Torin ran faster than ever before. With each step, his sight became clearer, the cursed tiny machines in his body repairing lens, sclera, and retina as they restored his sharp vision to normal.
Color returned, along with his dark-vision. Everything was still blurry, but it was better than before.
And as the nanites healed, they also ravaged, consuming healthy cells into order to replace that which had been destroyed. Torin knew the basic science behind it, but he didn’t fully understand it. He’d picked the brains of Zharek al Sirian, the technology’s creator, but perhaps only a genius like Zharek himself could comprehend how microscopic nano-machines could generate flesh and metal and bone.
Whatever.
Just as the soldiers had said, he was a monster, a freak.
An abomination.
Did he question it?
Not anymore.
Blam! As the familiar sound of a plasma blast ripped through the walls, T
orin embraced his darkness, flesh-eating machines and all.
Wasn’t it glorious to be strong when you had someone you desperately wanted to protect? When you would pull down the stars and planets; when you would tear apart the very fabric of space itself, just to make sure she survived?
I’m coming, Persephone.
She made him desperate, and they hadn’t even mated yet. Kaiin’s Hells. What was she doing to him?
Suddenly, those things he’d observed in his brothers—things that had been so mysterious, so strange, so baffling to him— began to make perfect sense.
The General’s obsession with his mate. That innate urge to protect. The fervent light that sometimes entered Tarak al Akkadian’s eyes when he spoke of destroying empires and creating a new existence on Earth.
The way his brothers had become consumed by that exquisite sort of madness, helpless to the whims of the dreaded Mating Fever. Torin had teased them for it, but now he was the fool.
The noise outside turned to silence.
What the fuck is going on?
Bartharrans were never silent.
Fear gripped him in a way that he’d never experienced before, not even when he’d been thrown into the horrifying Swallowing Pit on the cursed planet Xar.
Torin slammed the key-cube into the port. The outer doors snapped open. He rushed outside, whipping out his swords…
He skidded to a halt. Froze. Looked around in utter confusion, even as relief surged through him.
She is alive. She is fine.
His plasma gun rested in her hand, the charge bar flickering. She had just fired his gun, but she hadn’t killed anybody, and she looked perfectly fine.
A warning shot, perhaps?
Clever female.
And the Bartharrans…
They were on their knees.
As Torin loomed over them, one of the Bartharrans looked up, a look of horror crossing his broad features. “Amanhiel!” he gasped, pointing at Torin.
Shocked, fearful murmurs rippled through the kneeling pirates.
“Persephone,” Torin said slowly, trying his best to understand the situation and failing miserably. “What in the Nine Hells is going on?”
She stood in the middle of the corridor with her legs apart, hands on her hips, her back straight, and the hood of her cloak pushed back to reveal her wild, fiery hair.
Did she realize how glorious she looked right now? Yes, his vision was still blurry, but his imagination could fill in the exquisite details. She came into focus bit by bit, rewarding Torin with optical bliss.
The sheer sight of her was enough to make him forget about the throbbing pain in his eyeballs.
“Torin,” she said slowly, and he loved the way she rolled his name off her tongue in that distinctly human way, “I have no idea what’s going on. They call you Amanhiel, and apparently, I’m Salu. I think they’ve confused us with someone else.”
“Salu?” The name stirred memories of a barren, windswept planet, where temperatures soared during the day and plummeted at night. Where the red dust hid vicious burrowing monsters, and ferocious tribes of golden-skinned warriors fought fierce battles over scarce, precious water.
Bartharra.
Where the Kordolians had invaded and sown the seeds of dissent; restricting the water supply, favoring some tribes over others, providing a steady supply of weapons… not plasma, not Callidum; weapons just powerful enough to give some an advantage.
The fallout had been devastating.
Torin had been there. He’d seen the ravages of war first hand. Amidst the chaos, Kordolian terramining companies had entered and extracted the planet’s precious resources… for free.
Caught in the throes of an endless, hopeless war, some Bartharrans had turned to religion, praying to the goddess of the stars for peace to return.
Salu.
“This might sound strange, but I think they believe you’re a reincarnation of a goddess,” Torin’s erection swelled as Seph’s face scrunched up into the most brilliant—and adorable—expression of confusion.
“What? But that’s ridiculou—” She looked at the dozen or so Bartharrans who had all adopted the same pose—kneeling on one knee, palms flat against the floor, heads bowed—and shook her head. “I can’t believe it. Why?”
“You are a goddess,” Torin said quietly, unable to help himself.
Seph’s eyes widened a fraction. Her freckled skin took on a delicious pink hue, and he caught the rapid patter of her heartbeat as it accelerated.
Oh, he liked the effect his words had on her. If that was her visible reaction, he could only imagine what was happening below, in those lush, secret places.
Places he would explore later.
“So if I’m supposed to be a goddess, what does that make you, Amanhiel?” Her nose scrunched up a little as she teased him.
Torin frowned. “No idea.” His knowledge of Bartharran religion was limited to one deity only. On Bartharra, Salu was everywhere. She was the all-seeing, all-powerful goddess, and merely invoking her name could bring a vicious, bloodthirsty Bartharran to his knees. During his brief mission there, Torin had heard all about the goddess, but he’d never heard of this Amanhiel. “Perhaps he’s some kind of devil?”
“That seems rather appropriate.” Seph chuckled wryly, but she couldn’t conceal the red flush in her cheeks as it spread all the way to the tips of her ears. Adorable. “So what am I supposed to do now?”
“They think you’re a goddess? If your appearance has disorganized them, that is good. If it means they will leave us alone, even better.”
At least until we are off this infernal rust-bucket. Then I will be the only one who is allowed to worship you.
Unease flickered across Seph’s face. “This is weird.”
“Don’t worry,” he whispered in her language, his voice becoming hoarse. “They can believe what they want, but if any of them try and lay a hand on you, I will kill them.”
He couldn’t stand the thought of another male even touching her.
Not now, idiot! Torin tried to put a dampener on his surging libido, fearing his thoughts—and lust—could spiral out of control. With the top half of his face shot out and a horde of Bartharrans kneeling before them, now really wasn’t the time to be losing control.
Come to think of it, he had no idea what he looked like right now. Hideous was his guess, but Seph didn’t appear disgusted at all.
“Torin,” she said slowly, ignoring the Bartharrans, ignoring Parrus, ignoring everything but the two of them.
Her eyes were only for him, and he loved that.
“What is it, Seph?”
She reached out and touched his cheek. A murmur rippled through the Bartharrans, but Torin was oblivious to their reaction. The black nanites surged across his skin, causing tiny pinpricks of exquisite agony beneath her warm velvet fingertips. “Are you okay?”
“Am I okay?” Dumbstruck, he echoed her question. One did not just ask a First Division warrior if they were okay, especially when faced with a dozen massive Bartharrans.
Torin shook his head. “I must look a little strange right now, no?”
“You look like you’ve been fighting,” she said softly. Her searching gaze flicked up and down his body, taking in his lean form.
Feeling ravaged, hungry, and wanting, Torin simply gave her a weary nod, rolling his eyes a fraction. “I’ve been fighting,” he agreed. “I’m not quite finished yet, but you don’t need to be concerned about me.” He nodded in the direction of Relahek’s quarters. “I’ve neutralized the guards. It’s safer if you come with me now.”
“To find this Relahek character?”
“Yes. He is at the root of all this disturbance, and he needs to be put in his place.”
“Oh.” She hesitated, and for a moment, Torin thought she might be apprehensive, but then her expression changed, becoming fierce. She never failed to surprise him. “You know, I have a score I want to settle with the bastard, too.”
Torin grinned. “Whatever you wish, Persephone.” He gestured toward the corridor with a small, ironic flourish. “Please, after me. I’ll be both your shield and your instrument of vengeance, if you desire.”
“Why Torin, I’ve never heard anything so romantic in my life.” She matched his irony with her own thick sarcasm, even as the color in her cheeks deepened and her eyes lit up with amusement. “But what am I supposed to do with those guys?” She glanced at the Bartharrans, who hadn’t moved at all.
“Tell them to stay put. If they really believe you’re the reincarnation of the star goddess, they won’t even blink unless you let them. That is just my interpretation, though. I wouldn’t trust them. We still don’t know what all of this really means. Stick with me and you’ll be fine.”
Faced with the prospect of unlimited power over these ferocious beings, Seph did something so very human.
She managed to look aghast.
That’s why you need me, my sweet human. You’re too pure for this terrible Universe. Let me be your taint.
Torin gestured toward the darkness. “Come.”
Chapter Thirteen
Back down the corridor they went, back into the chambers of this mysterious Relahek, the elusive fiend. Torin made sure to lock all the doors behind him with Parrus’s key-cube, effectively barricading them inside.
But surely the Bartharrans had a master key. What was stopping them from invading the chambers in overwhelming numbers?
Fear of Torin’s blades, that’s what. It astounded her that this lone warrior could subdue an entire ship of barbarian warriors with just his menacing aura.
Now she understood why he’d fought the Bartharrans so viciously down in the hold, why he’d slaughtered them without blinking an eye.
Fear was the invisible barrier that held back the tide.
That was all.
How had he known?
There was so much about this man that she wanted to unravel, but danger refused to release them from its tumultuous grip. She couldn’t even pause to take a breath, let alone delve into Torin’s mysteries.
So for now, Seph had to be content with watching Torin’s body as he moved. Secretly, she studied him, noticing the subtle changes. Secretly, she was a little bit worried. He’d sustained a hell of a lot of damage, and it was starting to show.
