Vanya dropped a hand to her belt and tugged her collapsed stun baton free. She swung it at him wildly, activating the weapon as it extended, and Drakkal stumbled back to avoid the blow. She overextended, nearly falling off her seat. Drakkal kicked her. The pads of his foot struck her left shoulder. The baton fell from her nerveless fingers, clattering away on the floor, and Vanya slammed back into the door, bumping the controls.
The transport pitched its nose down.
The sudden change of angle and direction threw Drakkal against the cab’s rear wall. His left shoulder took the brunt of the impact. Alarms blared and flashed on the instrument panels. Vanya recovered first, launching herself across the cab.
She hit him hard, and their struggle devolved into a flurry of slashing claws, gnashing teeth, and kicking legs, all punctuated by wordless snarls and growls. Even if Drakkal was far stronger, he was short a limb, and his body was already battered. Her claws caught his flesh more than once, but her attacks were too frenzied; she didn’t follow through enough with anything to cause real damage.
All the while, the transport was plummeting toward a busy, neon-bathed Undercity street.
Drakkal twisted and drove his knee into Vanya’s ribs. She grunted as the blow crushed her between his knee and the rear wall. He capitalized on the lull in her attacks and forced his other leg up against her other side, catching her torso between his thighs. He squeezed.
Vanya cried out and rained blows upon him. Drakkal clenched his teeth and squeezed tighter, blocking and parrying as many of her attacks as he could with one arm.
The transport suddenly righted itself, its front end swinging back up—likely a safety feature engaging the autopilot to avoid a crash. The vehicle rattled. Drakkal slipped backward, reflexively throwing his hand behind him to catch himself. His fumbling fingers brushed over the controls on the door, lowering the window and disengaging the locks before finally stopping on the door handle.
Vanya renewed her attacks. Drakkal twisted his hips to swing her aside, his only defense against her onslaught in those moments, but he knew it wouldn’t work for long. He needed to end this.
Sometimes, stupid’s all you have to work with.
He tugged on the handle and threw his weight backward.
The door swung open. Air rushed into the cab through the opening, making the vehicle tremble. Drakkal thrust his arm through the open window and caught the door between his bicep and ribs. Gritting his teeth, he dragged himself out of the transport—bringing Vanya with him. She fought and kicked and clawed, latching onto the doorframe. Drakkal roared and poured the fullness of his fury into his strength. Vanya’s hold broke. She screamed.
Drakkal’s legs swung down and away from the transport, and all his weight, along with Vanya’s, was suddenly supported on his right arm, making the window frame dig into his armpit painfully. For a second, time seemed to drag. He looked down to see Vanya caught between his legs, reaching desperately for the vehicle. Below her—at least thirty-five meters below—an Undercity street sped by, the pedestrians crowding it reduced to featureless blurs by the speed and height. His gaze met Vanya’s in that instant. He’d once looked into those eyes longingly, with such admiration.
“Drakkal! Don’t do this!” she begged, clawing at his legs.
He never wanted to look into those eyes again. His legs reached the apex of their outward swing.
He released his hold on Vanya.
Her limbs flailed as she soared through the open air, her eyes rounded in terror. The transport pitched to the side, dragged along by Drakkal’s weight, and he growled at the fresh agony in his armpit. Just before he swung back toward the vehicle, he saw Vanya smash into a ledge protruding from the one of the buildings along the street. Blood sprayed from her body. Within a second, he’d lost sight of her.
His thighs struck the lower portion of the doorframe. Grunting, he instinctually reached for a handhold inside the cab with his left arm, managing only to slap his stump against the passenger seat. He could almost feel the fingers of his left hand clutching at the cushion, but the ghost of his hand could not prevent him from swinging away again.
His legs dangled beneath him, clawing at empty air as though he’d find an invisible ledge or ladder rung to provide some stability. He needed to move quick; even in the Undercity, this was going to draw the attention of the Eternal Guard before long. The spectacle had to be too much for them to ignore.
You’re not nearly done yet, Kitty. Next item. Back to the manor.
Gritting his teeth, Drakkal bent his abdomen and legs at the same time. The transport wobbled as he swung his legs up once, twice, thrice, his every muscle burning as his shins and knees repeatedly bumped into the doorframe.
He roared and tried a fourth time. Finally, he managed to bend his body and lift his legs high enough to plant his feet on the base of the doorframe. He straightened his legs immediately, locking his knees and bracing his shoulder against the top of the window frame. The cuts Vanya had inflicted upon him—along with the few he’d managed to inflict himself—stung anew, and he could feel blood trickling through his fur, but none of that mattered.
Breathing raggedly, he used his entire body to work himself up into a position that would allow him to enter the cab without falling—a process that would have been far quicker, easier, and simpler with the use of a second arm. After a heated struggle, he finally fell across the passenger seat. It was so tempting to stop there and rest. It would’ve been so easy to do. His eyes longed to drift shut, his body to lie in peace and stillness awhile.
He didn’t even allow himself a moment’s respite. He scrambled over to the operator’s seat, grasped the controls, and tilted the transport toward the driver’s side. The passenger door slammed shut. When he righted the vehicle, he reengaged the autopilot and turned his full attention to the central control panel. A brief search uncovered the signal jammer control, which he promptly disabled, but there was nothing for the manacles. Vanya must’ve controlled the restraints solely through her holocom.
After turning off the obnoxious music, Drakkal entered Murgen Foltham’s sector into the navigation panel, activated the navigation program, and pushed himself out of the seat. As the vehicle began a smooth climb to join the usual flow of traffic, Drakkal staggered into the holding area, keeping his hand against the wall to steady himself until he reached his prosthesis. It was still hanging where he’d left it.
Spreading his feet wide to afford himself better balance, he reached up and touched the forearm of his prosthesis. A holographic control screen appeared in the air.
He unmuted the holocom, opened his contacts list, and called Arcanthus. The call connected almost instantly, and the control screen changed to a three-dimensional holo of Arc’s head and face.
“Drak! Everything okay? You’ve been gone—” Arcanthus’s eyes widened. “You look like shit. What the hell happened?”
Drakkal turned his head and spat. His saliva still tasted of blood. “Vanya. Murgen Foltham hired her to capture me, Shay, and Leah.”
Arc’s features darkened instantly. “Where are they? Are Shay and Leah okay?”
Drakkal opened his mouth to reply, but the words, hot as molten metal, lodged in his throat. He pressed his lips together and flared his nostrils with a heavy exhalation.
“No, Drak. No. Tell me they’re okay.”
“Murgen has them,” Drakkal finally grated. Getting those words out was like blasting apart a dam, releasing the bitter, fiery rage that had built up behind it. “Bring the crew and every fucking gun we own. I’ll send you coordinates to meet me.”
In the back of his mind, he knew the things that Arcanthus should’ve said. Murgen Foltham is well-connected and powerful. This will garner a lot of dangerous attention. The Gilded Sector is crawling with peacekeepers. We should stop and really think about this before we do anything; there must be another way.
But Arc said the only thing Drakkal wanted to hear—the right thing. “On our way.”
> “Bring my arm,” Drakkal said.
“Your arm?”
Drakkal nodded. The nonexistent fingers of his left hand flexed and stretched restlessly; they weren’t tired, and they shared his desire for bloodshed. “The one Sam designed. The armored one. I want that hand to be the one that rips out Murgen Foltham’s throat.”
Twenty-Five
Shay snapped her legs together as soon as the guards released her ankles from the straps on the exam table. It wasn’t anything new; Murgen’s medical aids had examined her a few times during her last stay. But that didn’t make it any less degrading, any less violating. She took comfort only in the fact that they treated her like an animal. Their hands—and eyes—were always cold and clinical. There’d been no sense in fighting during the process—her captors had made clear they wouldn’t hesitate to use the shock collar to incapacitate her. And she needed to remain clearheaded for Leah.
As soon as her arms were free of the table’s restraints—though the manacles were still locked around her wrists—Shay sat up, covered her chest, and sought Leah. Her daughter was on an exam table on the other side of the room, unconscious and surrounded by four examiners who were conversing and taking notes as they touched her like she was nothing more than a test subject. The fury roiling within Shay burned hotter.
Murgen was standing with the examiners, nodding and grinning that stupid fucking grin of his.
“We’re done here,” said the pink-skinned female volturian beside Shay’s table without looking up from her tablet.
Her voice caught Murgen’s attention. He walked over, stroking a finger thoughtfully over one of his yellowed tusks. “And?”
“Healthy, Master Foltham,” the female volturian said, “apart from some contusions and a cut. She should be healed within a couple weeks, even without treatment. As requested, we’ve removed and destroyed her ID chip.”
“Excellent. I want that custom tracker implanted in her the moment it arrives. Is she ready to breed?” Murgen asked, running his eyes over Shay’s naked body.
Shay glared at him, bit her tongue, and pressed her lips into a tight line. It was the only way to hold in the harsh words welling in her throat. She longed for Drakkal, for his steady, strong presence, to be away from this place and these people. She longed to be with her mate and daughter.
“This terran is in even better shape than she was before escaping, sir. No damage to her reproductive organs…though she did have a birth control compound present in her system. Now that we’ve neutralized the compound, she will be ready to breed and is more than healthy enough to carry offspring to term.”
Murgen frowned and let out a huff. “Unfortunate. I was hoping she’d been impregnated by that azhera. That would be a child I’d like to see. Can you imagine?”
Shay would’ve liked that, too—but not now, and not for Murgen’s benefit.
“There are traces of semen inside the terran,” the volturian said. “There’s a chance it will take. Or, if you’d like, we can extract some of the samples and artificially inseminate her when she’s ovulating.”
Throat swelling with a thoughtful hum, Murgen folded his hands over his gut. “Take the samples and store them. I’ll have to decide how I want to proceed…there are so many possibilities, after all, and I’ve had little opportunity over these last few months to consider them all accordingly.”
“Of course, sir.”
The guards stepped forward at Murgen’s instruction and forced Shay to lie back down as the volturian woman took her samples. Shay stared up at the ceiling, trying to turn her mind away as the volturian worked, but the cold, hard, invasive instruments were difficult to ignore.
“All finished, sir,” the volturian finally said.
“Nostrus, have the terran escorted to her cell,” Murgen said. “There’s still much to be learned through her offspring, and I’m eager to participate.”
Shay’s eyes widened, and she jerked upright. “No! I need to be with her. She needs me.”
The guards came forward again, grasping her arms to hold her still.
Nostrus approached slowly, his eyes, burning with hatred, fixed on Shay. “Your old room is waiting, terran. Don’t make this difficult.”
She’d remained calm for Leah’s sake, had been so sure they’d keep her and her daughter together. But she’d been wrong.
Shay looked at Murgen. “Please. I’ll behave, I swear, just please let me keep her. She’ll need to feed. She’ll need warmth, need her mother.” The words felt like acid in her throat, but it was desperation that drove her to beg. She didn’t know what they’d do to Leah.
Murgen snorted. “Perhaps, but that will be determined by my medical professionals—not by an animal.”
“Let’s go,” Nostrus said. He lifted his right hand, which had a small device in it—the remote he’d synched with her collar and manacles. When he pressed a button on it, Shay’s wrist bindings swung together in front of her as though drawn by powerful magnetic force.
The guards lifted Shay off the table and set her on her feet.
She wrenched out of their grasps, bumped back into the exam table, and turned, ready to jump over the table and race across the room to reach her daughter. “No! You can’t take her away from me!”
Grunting, the guards reached for her, fingers biting into her bare skin. Shay barely felt the pain. She threw an elbow back and struck one in his diaphragm, making him double over and breaking his hold.
A burst of electricity from Shay’s collar seized her muscles and nearly made her bite her tongue. The pain was immense, but she didn’t take her eyes off Leah, even as fresh tears welled in them. The shock lasted for a second, two, three; it lasted forever, but Shay refused to let pain overwhelm her only goal. She needed to be with her baby.
Her body seemed to disagree. When the shock finally ended, she sagged forward, limbs limp. The guards shoved their arms beneath her armpits to hold her up. Her legs, partially dangling, refused to accept any of her weight, and her lungs were ablaze. For several moments, the pounding throb of her pulse at her temples was the only sound she was aware of.
Nostrus stepped closer. Shay couldn’t lift her head to look him in the eyes; she was stuck staring down at his boots. But she still had a voice.
“Fuck you, you cold-hearted fuck,” she rasped.
He slowly lifted his right hand and pressed a button on the little remote. Another shock—this one briefer but no less painful—blasted through her. This time, her eyes squeezed shut. Her limbs trembled when the shock subsided.
There was a soft chiming sound—like the call tone of a holocom.
“Yes?” Nostrus said. There was a pause. “Get one of the techs on it immediately and notify all the security staff.”
“What’s the problem, Nostrus?” Murgen asked.
“Surveillance system is down, sir,” Nostrus said tightly. “It’s probably just a glitch, but I would like you to head to the safe room until we receive word that it’s corrected.”
“Nonsense, my boy. I’ve too much work to do here. I’ve waited months for this, and I’ll not be delayed another moment.”
Nostrus sighed heavily and leaned close enough that Shay could feel his breath against her ear when he whispered, “You don’t have that baby in you anymore, terran. I’m not allowed to kill you, but I have many ways to hurt you. Behave yourself.”
“I will kill you,” she vowed, forcing the whispered words out of her constricted throat.
Her body jolted as another wave of lightning swept through her. The fiery pain was followed by sudden, frightening numbness. Though her eyelids were closed, her vision turned white for an instant. She was vaguely aware of Murgen speaking before utter darkness chased away that terrible white, snuffing out her awareness.
Shay awoke to a gentle swaying motion, just like one would experience while riding a boat over calm, deep waters. It was soothing, but it was also wrong. She wasn’t near the ocean, or a lake, or even a pond. She wasn’t even on Earth.
<
br /> She took in a slow, deep breath. The twinge of hurt it caused rippled through her and triggered a chain reaction during which every one of her aches and pains made itself known. Every tiny bit of her body was sore, even parts she had never realized existed. That agony was more than enough to remind her of what had happened and where she was.
Leah.
Shay stopped herself from sitting up, but only barely. She needed to act, yes, needed to get to her baby and get out of this place, but she knew from experience that acting rashly here would not accomplish her goals. She was too disadvantaged in her current state to act purely on rage. Her father had taught her long ago that you had to assess a situation before you reacted to it—whenever possible, at least. That meant remaining calm. That meant thinking.
Either she’d find an opportunity, or she’d make one.
She was lying on her back atop a hard, flat, swaying surface, and could feel the hum of antigrav engines beneath her. Gentle whooshes from around and above suggested she was moving past recesses in a tunnel or passageway. The simplest and most likely explanation was that Shay was on one of the small, open transport carts they’d used to bring her and Leah to the examination room.
Her wrists were still bound together by the heavy cuffs, but they were at her front, and they weren’t anchored to the floor of the transport. That was better than she could’ve hoped for—Nostrus was usually more cautious than that.
“You think they were exaggerating?” someone asked from beyond her feet; the voice had come from the front of the vehicle, or at least the front-facing portion.
“Who knows?” someone closer responded—someone right near her feet, by the sound of it. The first speaker had likely been the driver. Both had deep, masculine voices, neither of which belonged to Nostrus.
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