Silent Lucidity

by Tiffany Roberts

  Full of hunger—and not for food.

  Self-consciously, Abella tugged the blanket a little higher, covering as much of her chest as possible. When he only continued to stare, she narrowed her eyes and cleared her throat.

  He lifted his chin, meeting her gaze once again. His pupils slowly contracted. Offering her another nod, he walked across the room, stopping to the left of the door from which he’d emerged after she awoke. Her brow furrowed as he raised a hand and tapped a spot on the empty wall.

  A meter-wide section of the wall shifted a few centimeters backward before sliding aside and disappearing. Tenthil’s body blocked most of the room beyond from her view, but she caught a glimpse of guns lined up along one of its walls.

  He stepped into the previously hidden room, ducked out of sight for several seconds, and reemerged with a set of black clothes draped over his hand. He tossed them onto the bed beside her and set a matching pair of boots on the floor nearby.

  Abella picked up the top garment and held it out in front of her. It was a long-sleeved, black shirt, and appeared to be the right size at a glance. The material had a slightly rough texture on its outside and stretched a little when she tugged on it.

  She returned her gaze to Tenthil. “How…did you survive all that? At Cullion’s, I mean.”

  “They weren’t very good,” he said in his low, pained voice.

  Abella’s brows lower. Not that good? Cullion had never directly shared information about his dealings with her, but she’d overheard him brag about his security being the best money could buy on several occasions.

  “Who are you?” she asked, glancing toward the room behind him. “What are you?”

  “Tenthil.” The ghost of a smile crossed his lips as he gestured toward the clothing. “Need to go soon. Get ready.”

  Abella straightened. “Go? Go where? Are you taking me—”

  But Tenthil had already turned away and stepped back into the secret room, making no indication that he’d heard her. She had a feeling he wouldn’t have told her much more, anyway.

  Despite her frustration, despite her uncertainty, a tiny spark of hope lit within her. They were leaving. Though he’d touched her—kissed her—without her permission, he’d done nothing to harm her. He’d fed her and clothed her. Tenthil didn’t seem keen on giving her answers, but she didn’t think he’d hurt her.

  Things could be worse.

  That thought reminded her of the wounds on her back—wounds that had been causing her immense discomfort before Tenthil had come for her.

  She rose, scooped up the clothing he’d left on the bed, and stepped deeper into the main room, seeking a mirror or any surface reflective enough to grant her a glimpse of her back. There were none in plain sight. Frowning, she turned her head and attempted to check directly. When that didn’t work, she settled for bending an arm backward and running her hand across her lower back. She encountered only smooth skin.

  Her frown deepened as she twisted her torso side to side and bent forward, stretching her back. She felt no pain, no twinges, not even a hint of tight, healing skin. The damage inflicted by the electrolash was gone. Facing forward and standing straight, she looked over her arms and peeked beneath the blanket. There was no trace of the blue blood that had splattered her skin earlier.

  She glanced at the secret room. Tenthil had tended her wounds while she was out, had cleaned her. That explained why she was naked. Heat suffused her; she’d been trying to cover herself this entire time, and he’d already seen everything.

  And he apparently liked what he’d seen.

  Cheeks flaming, she turned her back toward the secret room and released the blanket, which whispered down her body to pool around her feet. It was in that moment that she realized something else was missing—her collar. She pressed a hand to her throat, and though the weight of the collar was gone, a heaviness settled on her chest. Her eyes once more stung with relieved tears.

  I’m finally free of him.

  She hurriedly dressed. Even though she wasn’t entirely certain of her current circumstances, she knew they were better than they’d been before.

  At least now she had a chance of getting home.

  Tenthil paused as he opened one of the cabinet doors inside the equipment room and turned to look back into the living space.

  Abella stood with her back toward him. His eyes roamed up her long, lithe legs, lingered on her rounded backside, and followed the graceful curve of her spine up to the blue tips of her long hair. She bent forward to pull on her pants, granting him a fleeting glimpse of her sex.

  His body responded instantly, balls tightening and cock stiffening. He gritted his teeth and curled his hands into fists. The prick of his claws breaking his skin didn’t distract Tenthil from the sight before him. He wanted nothing more than to walk up behind her, take her hips between his hands, bury his shaft in her heat, and rut her until he’d spent every bit of strength in his body.

  But he knew even that wouldn’t be enough. His hunger for her was fathomless.

  Straightening, Abella tugged the pants up over her hips. Tenthil turned his head away quickly. He released a shaky breath and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment.

  I am acting like an animal.

  This was the second time he’d lost himself in a haze of lust within the last fifteen minutes. Had she not shoved him off the bed when he pressed his lips to her neck earlier, he would have likely succumbed to his desires. That was unacceptable. He might have fumbled through clouded judgment to make it this far, but he needed to think clearly if he intended to keep them safe going forward.

  Prioritize.

  They needed supplies. Cullion had many connections, and it was possible some of them would seek retribution for his death—if only because he’d been one of the elite. That meant possible involvement from the Eternal Guard and potential action from Starforge. More worrisome than both—and far more dangerous—was the Order. The Master and his assassins posed the true threat.

  Tenthil took the top half of a battle suit out of the locker and tugged it on, sealing it down the front. He fastened his belt over it, pulled on a pair of boots, and immediately set about supplying himself from the bountiful equipment room stock. He stuffed power cells, a spare blaster, blades—both physical and energy-based—a few situational tools, spare clothing, a pair of thin-but-tough cloaks, food, and medical supplies into a durable backpack, grateful that most of it was extremely compact.

  As he was emptying a small lockbox of unattached credit chips—credits that weren’t bound to any accounts or identities which could not be traced—a familiar voice spoke in the room, turning Tenthil’s blood to ice.

  “In a hurry?” the Master asked.

  Tenthil turned slowly, his hand instinctively dropping to his blaster.

  The Master stood in the center of the equipment room, life-sized but oddly faded—a holographic projection.

  “Show yourself, Tenthil.”

  Tenthil clenched his jaw, maintaining his amped-up bioelectrical field to keep himself from showing up on the surveillance feeds.

  “I know you’re there.” The Master tilted his head. “Just as I know the terran female is there. Abella.”

  Hearing her name spoken by that voice, the voice he hated more than any other, poured fire into Tenthil’s veins. His sudden realization that the Master had likely seen her naked only fanned the flames.

  As though summoned, Abella peered around the edge of the door, long hair dangling below her tilted head. Her eyes widened.

  The Master turned toward her. “Curious creatures, these terrans—or humans, as they sometimes prefer. Still rare enough to be valuable.”

  She gasped and ducked out of the doorway.

  The Master’s low, dark chuckle made Tenthil’s skin crawl. He released his bioelectric field as the Master faced him again.

  “There was no contract on Traxes Cullion Orgathe,” the Master said. “You killed him and ten members of his security team without any order t
o do so. And you stole his property.”

  Tenthil stared into the darkness beneath the Master’s hood as the black-robed being stepped closer and raised a long-fingered hand. The holographic digits brushed through Tenthil’s shoulder. He barely suppressed a shudder.

  “The Eternal Guard has begun a formal inquiry into Cullion’s death,” said the Master, lowering his hand, “and Starforge Security is likely to launch their own investigation. That is not to mention the backlash amongst the numerous business partners Cullion maintained, many of whom wield great influence. Though none are a threat to my Order, even you will understand that this situation will be a blight on our reputation should they discover the truth.”

  The Master walked through Tenthil, who turned around to follow the projection’s movement. Tenthil’s skin prickled, his fear mingling with fresh rage.

  “I am disappointed, Tenthil. All that potential wasted. All that talent and skill, all the time and money invested, all for nothing. The exceptional physical attributes of your species cannot make up for your inherently feral nature. You have left me no choice.”

  Tenthil’s eyes widened in sudden realization. He forced his bioelectric field back up, slung the bag of supplies over his shoulders, and darted out of the equipment room.

  The Master chuckled. “I have whispered your name into the Well of Secrets, Tenthil. The time has come to admit my mistake, to correct it, and continue forward. Make it easier on all of us—do not resist.”

  Abella stood with her back flattened against the wall beside the equipment room entrance. Fear gleamed in her eyes. “Tenthil, who the hell—”

  He dipped his shoulder, pressing it against her middle as he lifted her off her feet and dove toward the far side of the bed. Though the sound was muted, he heard an undulating buzz from the garage. He buried the claws of his free hand in the bed as he bounced off it and rolled onto the floor, landing with his body over Abella’s and hauling the mattress over them.

  Abella screamed as an explosion shook the room and debris pattered atop the mattress. She grasped his combat suit and buried her face against his neck.

  The sound—and stench—of burning fabric suggested the mattress was on fire. Tenthil tugged his blaster free and aimed it under the bed. The smoke in the air reduced the feet of the acolytes who stepped through the breach to shadowy apparitions, but that was all Tenthil needed.

  He fired at their feet. Grunts of pain accompanied the thumping of falling bodies.

  Tenthil broke Abella’s hold and pushed himself to his feet, shoving the mattress aside. He swung the blaster toward the gaping, smoldering hole where the entry door had stood a moment before. The overhead lights flickered off; small fires burning on the floor, mattress, and bed cast the room in a dull orange glow.

  Angling the blaster down, he squeezed off five more bolts into the writhing acolytes on the floor, ceasing their movements. The slowly dissipating dust revealed only two bodies. Tenthil knew there were more assassins outside; the Master wasn’t foolish enough to believe two would be adequate for this contract.

  A small device flew through the opening. Tenthil perceived only a small cylinder, no bigger than his thumb, before instinct kicked in. Turning his face away, he squeezed his eyes shut.

  The device hit the floor with a delicate clink, followed immediately by a deafening bang. The flash of light it emitted was powerful enough for Tenthil to see through his eyelids even while facing the opposite direction.

  His ears rang in the total absence of sound, but when he opened his eyes, his vision was unaffected. He turned back toward the hole and charged forward just as another acolyte came through the breach.

  Tenthil leapt over the bed and slammed his knee into the side of the acolyte’s head, his momentum driving them both to the ground in the kitchen. Tenthil rolled aside, landing a half a meter away with his back against the wall. The acolyte scrambled unsteadily to his knees and swung his arm around to aim his blaster.

  Shoving himself away from the wall, Tenthil kicked the acolyte’s hand. The blaster flew out of the acolyte’s grip and clattered across the room.

  Two more black-clad assassins rushed in. Tenthil leveled his blaster, but the acolyte on the floor lunged at him before he could fire. He drove his elbow down on the acolyte’s spine twice, denting the backplate of his foe’s armor.

  The newcomers raised their blasters and aimed them at Tenthil.

  The Master had made the stakes of this contract clear—they were to complete it no matter the cost, even if it meant throwing away the lives of their fellows. But what did these acolytes care about that, so long as they protected their own lives? They enjoyed no camaraderie with one another.

  Growling, Tenthil hammered the butt of his blaster into the back of the still-struggling acolyte’s head, grabbed hold of his armor, and hauled the acolyte’s body up to shield himself just as the other two opened fire.

  The acolyte shook as plasma bolts struck his armor and released a pained groan—the sound was still distant to Tenthil’s recovering ears—when the protection finally gave way; even the best armor couldn’t withstand sustained fire in the same place without time to cool. The acolyte’s mouth opened in an agonized, silent scream. It would only be a matter of seconds before the bolts burst through the breastplate. Tenthil already felt the heat, smelled the burning flesh.

  Someone screamed—Abella, her voice muted by the temporary damage to his hearing.

  More blaster shots sounded, but they originated from another part of the room.

  Abella.

  Tenthil risked a glance around his meat-shield to see the remaining pair of assassins taking fire from behind; they were turning toward the source.

  Abella!

  He roared, leapt to his feet—lifting the dead acolyte with him—and charged the assassins.

  Caught between two enemies, the assassins froze for an instant. Tenthil threw the body at the one to the left and tackled the other, forcing the vorgal—the same one whose leg he’d broken earlier that week—back-first into the growing fire on the floor.

  Tenthil slashed his claws across the vorgal’s face, shredding flesh and rending muscle, over and over in rapid succession, dark blood splattering his hands and arms and hissing as it fell into the flames.

  From his peripheral vision, Tenthil saw the other assassin shove the corpse aside and struggle to his feet. Tenthil turned, prepared to leap at his final foe, but a bolt of glowing plasma struck the assassin just beneath his left ear and blasted out the right side of his head, leaving a mess of charred flesh behind.

  The assassin stumbled aside and fell to the floor.

  Tenthil snapped his gaze to Abella; she stood on the far side of the bed, a blaster clutched in both hands, her eyes so wide and terrified that he feared they were about to pop out of her head. Arms trembling, she met his gaze.

  He nodded to her and waved her over as he stood up. She hurried toward him, eyes on the floor as she stepped around blood, debris, bodies, and fire.

  “What’s happening?” she asked. “Who are they? W-what do they want?”

  He guessed based on the volume of her voice that Abella’s hearing was still recovering, just like his.

  Tenthil jabbed a thumb toward his chest. Bending forward, he swiftly unbuckled one of the acolytes’ gun belts. He turned to Abella, and without releasing his blaster, reached around her to fasten the belt about her waist.

  Once the belt was in place, he took her free hand with his and stepped toward the gaping hole that used to be the door. The still-cooling edges of the damage glowed red orange.

  He checked to both sides before stepping through into the garage; there were no other acolytes in sight. The bay door was open, and an unmanned hovercar idled just outside, blocking the exit for Tenthil’s hoverbike.

  Can’t use either vehicle, anyway. The Master is tracking their whereabouts.

  Realization struck him like a slap to the face; the Order’s vehicles were not the only thing the Master tracked.
<
br />   He tracked its acolytes, as well.

  Spawn of a skeks.

  The tracker had been implanted in Tenthil so long ago that he’d forgotten about it. He’d have to take care of it—quickly.

  “Tenthil, look,” Abella said.

  He followed her pointing finger to the surveillance screen on the garage wall. Several individuals dressed in dark attire were entering the building through the ground-level doors, which were about a hundred meters away—the Order maintained only a small portion of this mostly-abandoned building for official use.

  Releasing her hand, Tenthil opened the pouches on her belt one-by-one until he found what he’d hoped to locate. He removed the palm-sized, five-centimeter-thick disc from its case and ran to the door to the stairs; it was where the next team of assassins would soon emerge. He crouched and placed the disc low on the wall half a meter away from the door, pressing the control to seal it in place and arm it before hurrying back to Abella.

  “What was that?” she asked.

  “Proximity mine.” His throat burned a little more with each word. “Trust me?”

  “About the mine?”

  He shook his head and slipped his blaster into its holster. Watching him with pale skin and furrowed brow, Abella holstered her weapon. When Tenthil took her hand and tugged her close, she didn’t resist, her confused expression lingering.

  “About what, Tenthil?”

  He flicked his gaze toward the bay door. It opened on a relatively narrow alley, the base of which was four stories below.

  She followed his eyes with her own and shook her head, pressing her hands against his chest to shove away from him. “Oh, no. No. Please tell me you just want to take the hovercar.”

  Tenthil wrapped his arms around her and lifted her against him, front to front, cupping the back of her head to force her mouth against his shoulder. He ran forward. Her initial struggles ceased as her entire body tensed. She screamed—the sound was muffled by his body—and wrapped her arms and legs around Tenthil to cling to him desperately.