Arcanthus lifted a hand, gesturing lazily for Drakkal to continue.
“I told you I was living with a female before I was enslaved,” Drakkal began.
“Yes, and that she died in the raid.”
“Well…I altered some of the details.”
Drakkal told Arcanthus the real story, the whole story, just as he’d told Shay. The words came easier than he’d expected, and Arcanthus—surprisingly—refrained from comment until Drakkal finished describing the upper city encounter with Vanya.
“Hmm,” was Arcanthus’s only reply for several seconds. He brought his hands together, pressing the tips of his pointer fingers against one another and tapping them on his lips. “I could go on for some time about how, despite all your talk of trust and openness and honesty between us, you’ve been keeping the truth of this from me for…what? Fourteen years? Fifteen?”
Drakkal nodded. “At least. And you could go on. I wouldn’t blame you.”
“All this time, and I thought you’d simply loved and lost.”
Shrugging, Drakkal turned his palms toward the ceiling. “I thought the same, in my own way. But I never really loved Vanya. I loved the idea of her. Thought she was the ideal female.”
“I know for a fact that thinking that way didn’t ease your pain.”
“No, it really didn’t. I was young and dumb. Had my head full of these old azheran ideals that probably never really meant much to begin with.”
Now Arcanthus shrugged. “You were young, and you didn’t have the older, grumpier version of yourself to tell you don’t be stupid.”
“Sure didn’t. But what I have with Shay now…it’s real, Arc. There’s no question of it. She’s my mate, and Leah’s my cub, and I love them both.” Drakkal’s chest tightened with another surge of longing. He still didn’t know how he could miss his terrans so thoroughly knowing they were only a minute or two away, but he felt their absence fiercely.
“I know.” Arcanthus moved a hand up to sweep a few rogue locks of dark hair out of his face, tucking them behind one of his horns. “And for some reason, tossing all this in your face feels…wrong. You must’ve caught me on an off night. You get off easy this time.”
Drakkal laughed; the sound released a little of his tension. “Lucky me.”
Arcanthus’s tail shifted restlessly over the couch cushion beside him. “Answer a question for me.”
“What?”
“Is there a particular means by which you’d like Vanya killed?”
Perhaps it was the directness of the question that threw Drakkal off-guard; he certainly shouldn’t have been surprised, knowing Arc as well as he did.
Drakkal sighed heavily and considered the question closely. He couldn’t be sure whether thinking about it was a good thing or a bad thing. “She doesn’t have to be killed.”
“You’re allowed to disagree with me,” Arcanthus said, “but that doesn’t make you right.”
“Arrogant bastard.”
Arcanthus grinned. “Maybe. But”—his expression fell into something hard and unforgiving—“what she did to you is just as bad as what Vaund did to us back on Caldorius. No…even worse.”
Drakkal nodded, dropping his gaze to the carpet. “You’re right, but the circumstances here are different. Can you see if there’s anything to dig up on her? I want to know what she’s been up to since the last time I saw her.”
“She’s in Arthos, Drak. That alone makes her dangerous.”
“She’s just another fucking slaver,” Drakkal growled. “That’d be reason enough for me, even without the rest.”
“I can make all the arrangements. I’ll even take care of it personally. What she did is unforgivable.”
“No. Not yet. We need to know who she is now before we make a move, or we might end up starting another damned war we’re not prepared to fight.”
“Come on, azhera. Make a decision based purely on emotion for once! A rash, bold decision.”
Drakkal laughed, but it was only half-full of humor. “Oh, I have, sedhi. And those risks have paid off so far. I’m cashing out before my luck runs dry.”
“I understand that. You said she threw in with the slavers when they took you, right?”
Drakkal nodded.
Arcanthus leaned forward, reached across the open space between the couches, and patted Drakkal’s shoulder. “All right. If there’s anything to find on her, I’ll find it. Slavers can be hard, though. They don’t usually stay in one place long enough to leave much of a record behind. We’ll play this one safe.”
“I’ve been waiting so many years to hear you say that.”
Arc grinned. “I like to make my sweet little kitty happy.”
“You don’t deserve it, but I’m going to say it anyway, even after that. Thanks, Arcanthus. And… I’m sorry. For lying.”
Arcanthus gave Drakkal’s shoulder a squeeze and pushed himself to his feet. “We’ve learned some hard lessons in our time, Drakkal. And through all of that, you were the only constant, the only thing I could depend on. This doesn’t change any of that. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a mate awaiting me—hopefully still in the shower. Get back to your Shay and Leah.”
“Don’t have to tell me twice.” Drakkal stood up and dragged his fingers through his mane, tugging out the tangles, as Arcanthus walked toward the door.
“Night, Drak.”
“Night, Arc.”
Drakkal entered the hallway a bit behind Arcanthus and started back toward the room he shared with Shay. She and Leah were both sound asleep when he entered, the cub tucked securely into the little basket-like nest standing beside the bed—Shay and Sam had called it a bassinet. Drakkal gently brushed the pad of a finger over Leah’s forehead, touching soft skin and softer hair. She was so tiny—he could easily hold her on one hand.
“Sleep well, little one,” he whispered before carefully climbing onto the bed beside his mate.
When he eased an arm beneath Shay’s neck and around her shoulders, she stirred just enough to turn onto her side, facing him, and snuggle against his body.
Drakkal eased himself down fully and held Shay close. Despite his weariness, he didn’t allow his heavy eyelids to drift shut. Instead, he watched Shay sleep, studying her face and admiring her beauty. He felt the serenity displayed on her features in his own heart, nestled deep and radiating warmth.
Right here, right now, there was no outside world. There were no threats, no dangers. Everything was peaceful. Everything was right.
Everything was perfect.
Twenty
Drakkal watched warily as the female kaital dipped a hand into her pocket to withdraw a credit chip. Her long, pointed ears were downturned, accentuating her frown which nearly spanned her narrow face. She pressed the chip’s display button, producing a hologram displaying the credits loaded onto the device. The total was exact; so far, so good.
He nodded to her and willed the small secret compartment on his prosthetic forearm open. He removed the IDR—ID re-coder—that had been hidden within, taking the small, thin, cylindrical device between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand to show the kaital. He placed it on her open palm and plucked up the credit chip.
“This is really it?” the kaital asked, staring down at the IDR with wide, black eyes. Even in the dim alleyway light, her skin was a vibrant teal, contrasted by patches of pink on her neck and the insides of her long, pointed ears.
“Yeah.” Drakkal tucked the credit chip away. “Keyed only to the ID you specified. Hold it to the wrist and press the button. Green light means it altered the chip’s info.”
Moving with care and a touch of awe, the kaital curled her fingers around the little device, closing it in a loose fist. “Thank you. My mate…he must become someone else for a while, to be safe.”
Something in Drakkal’s heart warmed at the loving tone in the kaital’s voice. He didn’t let that show in his expression. “One successful use and the internals will self-destruct. Destroy whatever’s left
over.”
The kaital nodded, clutching her closed fist to her chest and bending her long, graceful neck to bow her head. “I will do as you say. Thank you, azhera, thank you a thousand times over. May the stars watch over you favorably for the rest of your days.”
Though he’d heard such sentiments before, they always made Drakkal uncomfortable. This time, the work he and Arcanthus had done had a chance of protecting someone’s life. He wanted to believe that someone was worthy of protection. At the very least, it was someone this female cared for very deeply. But all the same, this had been a business transaction. They’d turned a profit off someone in need, off someone in danger. They’d monetized someone’s desperation.
There was as much chance that this kaital’s mate deserved whatever was coming to him.
Drakkal wasn’t sure how he felt about all this anymore. He was realistic enough to understand that he and Arcanthus couldn’t run their operation for free, but…weren’t there people in this city who needed the sort of help Arcanthus’s skills could provide but who couldn’t afford the price?
Vrek’osh, I’m going soft.
No, he wasn’t going soft. He was just sympathizing with Shay’s sentiments a little more every day—he was tired of being on the wrong side of the law. Tired of having to worry about it.
“Good luck,” he said. “You need us again, you know how to get in touch with us.”
After a few more thanks from the kaital, Drakkal turned and exited the alleyway.
Should’ve given her back the credits.
But what would Arcanthus have said? We’re not running a charity. Those words might’ve seemed cold or callous on the surface, but they were right. It was impractical to delve into the story of every client, and in many cases, getting involved beyond the usual background checks to avoid making a deal that risked peacekeeper intervention was a liability. Drakkal and Arcanthus couldn’t risk catching the attention of a larger, more powerful organization again, couldn’t chance calling more danger to the family they’d formed.
We can’t help everyone.
But Drakkal was immensely, eternally grateful for the one person he had risked himself to help. Given the chance to do it all over again, he wouldn’t have changed a thing; he’d been fortunate enough to win Shay and earn her love and respect. The struggles he’d faced in the process only made her infinitely more precious to him.
As he returned to his hovercar, he forced aside his thoughts of work; he’d express his growing dissatisfaction to Arcanthus sometime after he’d had a chance to figure out the true depth of his feelings. For now, there were happier things to occupy his attention.
Drakkal climbed into the vehicle, started the engines, and took off. Leaving home earlier had been a struggle for him, to no one’s surprise—he’d spent the last two weeks with Shay and Leah, rarely separated from one or the other for more than a few minutes at a time, and it had been both the happiest and most exhausting period of his life. That tiny cub had claimed a huge chunk of Drakkal’s heart. He yearned to return to them now, but he guided the hovercar toward the upper city instead.
The delay would be worth it when he arrived home with the gifts he’d ordered.
Once he was above the surface, he couldn’t help but let his eyes wander a little. The abundant plants and fountains—many of the latter designed to resemble naturally occurring features—always put him in a mood that made the Undercity much less appealing.
Would Shay ever want to leave Arthos? Could Drakkal bring himself to give up all his friends for a chance at quiet and solitude?
Oddly enough, he knew the answer without having to think on it. Arthos had become his home. Everyone important to him was here, and despite his grumblings, the city had grown on him. He’d follow Shay anywhere she wanted to go, but the life they had here wasn’t bad. Hell, it was actually really good.
He left the hovercar at one of the many public parking complexes situated across the surface. He pulled on his nicest jacket, covering his sleek prosthesis but for the hand, and shifted his holstered blaster toward the back of his belt. Many people openly carried weapons in the Infinite City, but the key in places like this—places with high concentrations of peacekeepers—was to carry it so casually as to seem oblivious to its existence. The high-class people who often frequented places like the one for which he was bound tended to be somewhat more skittish than their Undercity counterparts, who weren’t even guaranteed to scatter when blasterfire erupted in the street.
He’d seen the Ventrillian Mall before, and though he’d always found it nice looking—in an overly manicured, too-orderly-to-be-natural sort of way—he wasted no time in taking in the sights. He didn’t deviate from his path, and within a few minutes of entering the mall, he’d arrived at the specialty tailors.
The place was owned and operated by volturians, all of whom were dressed in what Drakkal assumed were the latest fashions—he’d never paid enough attention to such things to know for sure. The female volturian at the counter eyed Drakkal up and down as he approached, arching one of her thin brows.
“Can I help you?” she asked, though her tone said, Are you lost?
Drakkal had dealt with such attitudes often enough that he wasn’t bothered by them anymore—especially not now, when his life was good, and he felt whole. “I had an order come in. Here to pick it up.”
Somehow, her expression became more skeptical. “There are several tailors in the Undercity. You probably have an order with one of them.”
Grinning to display his fangs, Drakkal shook his head. “This is the place. Figured I’d have my measurements taken while I’m here, too. Just a warning—I’ve been shedding lately.”
The distaste that wrinkled the female’s face was deeply satisfying. “What’s the name on the order?”
“Lion.”
When she only stared at him blankly, Drakkal sighed and slowly—very slowly—spelled it for her in the Universal Speech alphabet.
She rolled her eyes and input information on the holo screen in front of her. After a few seconds, she sighed. “I need to scan your ID.”
“No, you don’t,” Drakkal said. “You just need to give me my order. It’s already paid for.”
“Still need to confirm you are who you say you are.”
Drakkal leaned forward, bracing his hands on the countertop, and said in as overly pleasant a voice as he could manage, “The order is paid for. Twenty outfits for a newborn terran and three pairs of terran leisure pants, ordered ten days ago. Would you like me to tell you the total on the bill and how much I paid over that number? Maybe I could go to the back and find it. Wouldn’t want you to have to do your job or anything.”
Though there was a glimmer of fear in her eyes, the volturian didn’t back away. Drakkal, still refusing to let himself be annoyed—undoubtedly a failing endeavor—had to admire her courage. Of course, it could’ve also been a matter of arrogance.
Perhaps next time he would use one of those Undercity tailors.
The female took in a slow breath. “I need to scan your—”
Her words were cut off by an older female volturian, who hurried over saying, “Vyri, go fetch Master Lion’s order, now!”
The intricate qal markings on Vyri’s face darkened, and her skin blanched. She rushed into a back room with a muttered, “Yes, mother.”
The older volturian took Vyri’s place. “Please, Master Lion, accept my deepest apologies. My daughter is young, and like many youths, is prone to bouts of unnecessary rudeness. She has much to learn. I am Arae. Welcome to my shop.”
“Thank you,” Drakkal said with a nod. He stood up straight and stepped back from the counter. “All’s forgiven. I’ll collect my order and be on my way.”
“Of course, of course.”
When Vyri emerged from the back with a stack of neatly folded clothing, Arae waved her over. “Hurry girl, hurry. You’ve already wasted too much of this gentleman’s time.”
Head down, Vyri placed the stack on the counte
rtop between Drakkal and Arae before retreating and clasping her hands together.
Arae lifted a tiny garment from the top of the stack and unfolded it, displaying it to Drakkal with practiced ease. It was what Shay had called a onesie. “As you specified, only the finest fabrics. We used terran patterns as reference, but gave them a more modern and tasteful flair.”
Drakkal barely suppressed a chuckle; he couldn’t help seeing humor in the knowledge that his newborn cub—who wouldn’t even be able to crawl for another five or six months, at least—would be better dressed than him.
Better dressed than Arcanthus, too.
What am I thinking? Arcanthus barely counts as dressed most of the time.
That thought nearly shattered his self-control; it was amusing enough to make him forget the difficulty Vyri had caused.
“Would you like to inspect the rest?” Arae asked as she deftly folded the garment.
“No. Just a bag.”
Arae snapped her fingers, and Vyri hurriedly stepped forward, pulled a large, tailored cloth bag from beneath the counter, and loaded it with the folded clothes. Her qal remained dark, her skin pale, but she worked efficiently and precisely. She placed the loaded bag on the counter.
Even the bag looked nicer than most of the clothes Drakkal owned.
“If you are interested, Master Lion, I could make room in my schedule for some custom fittings,” Arae said as though reading his mind. “We have styles that can accent all your powerful features.”
At that, Drakkal did laugh. Back on Caldorius, they’d often dressed slave gladiators to make them look more imposing—which usually just meant making them go shirtless. He lifted the bag off the counter. “I’ll have to think about that.”
“Very well.” Arae dipped into a bow. “Please, let me know if there are any problems. We will do all we can to ensure your satisfaction.”
“Yeah. I will.” Drakkal offered Arae a nod, turned, and exited the shop without a backward glance.
Drakkal’s amusement didn’t fade—now he was picturing himself stuffed into a form-fitting Volturian suit with tufts of fur sprouting from the neck and sleeves, and it looked hilarious. But that humor was underscored by thrumming excitement. He was finally going back to Shay and Leah. He’d only been gone for two hours, but it felt like ten times as long.
Untamed Hunger Page 29
