Silent Lucidity

by Tiffany Roberts

  “Abella,” he growled, holding back nothing.

  Nine

  Abella burned with desire. Tenthil’s fingers were like brands on her thighs and ass, scalding her, igniting a fire in her belly. Every scrape of his calloused palms, every prick of his claws, sent a jolt of excitement through her, and her sex clenched in need. She tightened her legs, digging her heels into his lower back as she shamelessly rocked against the hard length of his cock through his pants.

  She panted against his mouth as pleasure built within her. And oh, God, his mouth was sublime! She nipped and sucked at his lips and stroked her tongue against his. A woody sweetness burst across her taste buds, reminding her of cinnamon, and she tilted her head to kiss him harder, deeper, unable to get enough of his flavor. Even the graze of his fangs against her lip wasn’t enough to deter her from this—from him.

  Tenthil thrust against her, the texture of his pants heightening that delightful friction as they rubbed her clit. Her towel fell loose to drape over his arms and dangle around her hips; she used the opportunity to press her breasts to his chest, which vibrated with a deep, satisfied growl that stimulated her budded nipples.

  She didn’t care about her nudity—she needed him closer, needed to feel his skin against hers, needed him inside her.

  The thought of him pushing into her, stretching her, filling her, sent a pulsing, electric thrill to her core, setting her alight from within. She dropped her hands and grasped his shoulders as ecstasy splintered through her.

  Abella tore her mouth away from Tenthil’s. A guttural cry ripped from her throat. She was beyond speech, beyond sense. Her body seized as pleasure swept through her, lighting her every nerve with delicious torment, flooding her with liquid heat. Her nails bit into Tenthil’s back.

  His thrusts became more powerful, more urgent, and his breath rasped against her neck. He brushed his lips across the sensitive skin of her throat, and Abella tilted her head back to allow him access.

  Tenthil tightened his grip on her thighs as his body stiffened, pressing the tips of his claws into her flesh. He opened his mouth against her neck.

  Sharp pain broke through the fog of Abella’s lust. For a panicked moment, Abella stilled, uncertain of what to do—Tenthil had sunk his teeth into the flesh between her neck and shoulder. But whatever thoughts she might’ve had, whatever fear she might’ve felt, was swept away on a tsunami of escalated pleasure that washed away everything inside her and left only mind-shattering exhilaration in its wake.

  She screamed and clutched at him as she reached another peak, miles above anything she’d known possible. Tingling, tantalizing heat spread from the point of his bite. It was like he was touching every part of her, like he was inside her, like they were one with each other. It was amazing. It was agonizing.

  It was utter bliss.

  Tenthil released a bestial growl. His hips jerked forward, and he pulled her closer to grind against her sex. She felt his shaft swell and pulsate through his pants, felt fresh heat as he came.

  Breathless, Abella maintained her hold on his shoulders as Tenthil shuddered around her, until finally, he withdrew his fangs.

  He bit me.

  He removed one of his hands from her thigh and pressed his forearm against the wall, bracing himself. His broad shoulders and powerful chest heaved with his ragged breaths. He brushed his nose over her neck, beneath her ear, and into her hair before inhaling deeply.

  He bit me.

  Heated euphoria still flowed through her veins, the result of whatever he’d injected her with.

  Reality slammed into Abella. She was naked, pressed against a wall, and in the arms of an alien. She’d just been intimate with an alien. She’d nearly had sex with an alien. And he’d bitten her.

  Abella lowered her legs, slid her hands down to his chest, and shoved. He staggered backward a few steps. His brow was furrowed over his black eyes.

  She caught herself against the wall, snatched up the sides of her towel, and wrapped them around her torso. Raising a hand, she pressed her fingers to the spot between her neck and shoulder where he’d pierced her skin. The puncture wounds were two pairs of raised bumps, tender to the touch, and there were traces of blood and a clear, unknown liquid on her fingertips when she pulled them away and looked down.

  She glared at Tenthil. “You bit me!”

  He blinked and dragged a hand over his face, shaking his head. Slowly, the black of his pupils receded. His eyes widened when he shifted his attention to her shoulder, and he stepped forward.

  Abella extended her arm, palm toward him. “No.”

  He halted, raking his concerned gaze over her. “Abella—”

  She shook her head and sidestepped along the wall—unable to ignore the wetness between her thighs as she moved—working her way toward the bathroom door. “Look, we were both caught up in the moment, and it’s been a really, really long time for me—” so damn long “—and it just happened. Shouldn’t have, but it did. Let’s just, um…move on, okay? I’ll even forgive you for biting me.”

  What is there to forgive? It felt so good.

  Even now, as she retreated from him, she wanted nothing more than to jump back into his arms and do it all over again—to do more, to have him inside her. She wanted to feel him moving in and out of her, wanted his hands and mouth all over her body, wanted him to make her climax again and again.

  What the hell is wrong with me? He bit me! And who knows what freaky alien stuff he injected me with. I shouldn’t be thinking of having sex with him!

  Abella took in his scars, his lean, powerful, sexy-as-sin body, and the outline of his cock, which stood out clearly through his pants. Her sex clenched; apparently, her body wasn’t on the same page as her mind.

  He can smell my desire.

  Her breath caught in her throat, and she snapped her gaze up to his. Hunger had rekindled in his eyes, and his pupils were expanding. He took a step toward her.

  Oh, fuck. I need to get out of here.

  “Shower’s yours! Enjoy!” Abella darted through the doorway and slammed the door shut behind her. She leaned against it, clutching the towel to her heaving chest. She squeezed her eyes shut.

  Shit! Shit! Shit!

  What was she going to do? She’d never been with a man who elicited even a fraction of the response from her body that Tenthil had, and no one had ever looked at her with even a sliver of the passion that blazed in his eyes. However much she wanted to resist, she was undeniably, inexplicably drawn to him.

  He’s my captor. He’s no better than Cullion…

  But he was. He’d never harmed her—except the bite, but even that had been pleasurable—and treated her as though she were the most precious thing in his life. Not because he wanted to show off his status by parading around an exotic pet, but because he cared.

  No. She couldn’t afford to develop…feelings for him. Couldn’t allow herself to care.

  But she did. And she wanted him.

  “It’s just sex,” she whispered.

  But it wouldn’t just be sex. It never was for Abella. She’d never been one to have casual sex; she had to feel something, had to feel like she mattered. If she were to go all the way with Tenthil, something inside her would shift irreversibly, and he would consume her.

  She would become his.

  And he would be hers.

  What kind of life could she have with him? He was a killer. She’d seen him take lives without hesitation, and he’d admitted to being an assassin in a matter-of-fact tone. He seemed to have no remorse for what he’d done.

  But he said he didn’t enjoy it. Doesn’t that count for something?

  If she stayed with him, they would constantly be on the run, forever hunted by shadowy forces.

  She missed her home, missed her family, and she finally had a real chance to get back to them. She needed to seize the opportunity. She couldn’t let herself get distracted, couldn’t let lust cloud her mind. She couldn’t let her heart warm toward Tenthil any more tha
n it already had.

  The shower came on, its sound muffled but unmistakable through the door at her back. She breathed a sigh of relief; he wasn’t coming after her.

  Abella’s eyes fell on the backpack atop the bed.

  He’s not coming after me.

  She turned around and stared at the bathroom door, placing her palms against it softly as though it would burst open at any moment. After a few seconds, she backed away, one hesitant step at a time. The tone of the water changed; he’d stepped into the shower.

  Now was her chance.

  She crept to the bed and opened the backpack, sorting through its contents until she found the extra clothing Tenthil had packed. She dropped the towel and dressed quickly, her heart pounding, her eyes flicking constantly toward the bathroom. Her gear was in there with him; hopefully, that would make him think she didn’t plan on going anywhere. She looped his belt around his waist, brushing her fingertips over the blaster as she drew in a shaky breath.

  Abella tiptoed to her boots—she’d kicked them off when she first entered the bedroom—and stepped into them. She gently closed the door once she’d exited the bedroom before hurrying to the chair to pick up her cloak and whip it over her shoulders.

  So long as she kept her hood up, her head down, and didn’t call attention to herself, she could find one of the Eternal Guard peacekeepers stationed throughout the city. She’d seen them on several occasions while caged on the back of Cullion’s hovercar and had spotted a few while traveling here with Tenthil. They’d know where the human embassy was; they would help her.

  Soon, she’d be on her way home.

  As she reached the door, Abella hesitated and glanced toward the bedroom over her shoulder.

  She’d asked Tenthil repeatedly to take her to the embassy, to help her find her way home, and he’d refused to answer. Tenthil had secrets—likely more than she could imagine—but he struck her as guarded, not dishonest. He’d avoided answering her because he had no intention of bringing her to her people.

  He thought he was protecting her, but he was taking away her choice in the process. He was ignoring her wishes. He was acting like her owner, not her defender.

  If I don’t go now, I might never have another chance. I can’t be a slave again. I can’t.

  Brows lowered, Abella faced forward, lifted her hood, and pressed the button the wall. The door slid open. Without another look back, she stepped over the threshold.

  She paused as the door closed behind her, sweeping her eyes back and forth. The apartment’s entrance was positioned in a recess off a long, dimly lit corridor. Tenthil had led her through several such passages after they’d left the street, winding deeper and deeper into the chaotic mass of buildings that comprised so much of the Undercity. As confusing as these corridors were—especially when so many of them looked the same—she would find her way out to the street again.

  And once she was there, she’d get help.

  Setting a brisk pace for herself, Abella retraced the path Tenthil had taken to the apartment to her best recollection.

  It felt strange not being tucked against his side with his arm around her shoulders as she walked. That feeling compounded with a growing sense of isolation as she hurried through the deserted corridors, climbed several sets of stairs, and passed numerous closed doors.

  She’d heard people call Arthos the Infinite City more times than she could count, and guessed there were hundreds of millions—if not billions—of people living here. How could any part of it feel so empty?

  After a while, dread pooled in her gut, and she suddenly didn’t feel so alone. Keeping her head tilted down, she glanced back.

  Four figures, dressed in the same black attire as the assassins from the safehouse, were following only ten or fifteen meters behind her.

  Abella’s blood turned to ice. Facing forward, she dropped her hand to the blaster at her hip and quickened her steps, taking several random turns in the hopes of losing her pursuers. Her pounding heartbeat filled her ears, and her breath burned her throat. When she looked over her shoulder again, the dark figures were only closer.

  No. No, no, no no!

  How had they found her?

  Have they found Tenthil as well?

  Fear slithered through Abella and wrapped its cold tendrils around her heart. He’d been in the shower when she left, with no one to warn him of the danger.

  Tears stung her eyes as she broke into a run. Despite the immensity of her fear, it was overpowered by her regret. All she’d wanted for four years was to go home, but what price was she willing to pay to get there? Was she prepared to sacrifice the life of the man who’d freed her from Cullion if it meant seeing Earth again?

  It wasn’t like she had a choice now; she’d led the assassins through so many twists and turns that she didn’t even know how to get back to the apartment.

  Tenthil knows how to take care of himself. I’ve seen him fight. He’ll be…he’ll be fine.

  But the thought offered her no comfort; she’d left him vulnerable. She’d left him without a word.

  She rounded another corner, and some of her hope was suddenly restored—only five or ten meters ahead, the corridor opened onto a main street, where a multitude of aliens of various shapes and sizes were going about their business. The dim, oppressive lighting of the passageways through which she’d fled gave way to the vibrant, kaleidoscopic projections popular around the Undercity.

  She’d never been so happy to see advertisements.

  Abella didn’t dare look back as she sprinted the remaining distance to the street; she felt her pursuers’ closeness, and even the quickest backward glance would slow her too much. She plunged into the crowd, muttering apologies when she bumped into the aliens on its fringes, and slowed to a quick walk. Rapid, ragged breaths burned her lungs and throat as she fell in with the general flow of the foot traffic.

  She scanned the crowd, looking for gold-clad members of the Eternal Guard. This was the safest place until she found help—Tenthil said these assassins were all about secrets. They wouldn’t act with so many witnesses present.

  Would they?

  Maintaining her forward momentum, she twisted to check behind her. Though they’d fanned out, she quickly spotted all four of the cloaked figures following her; they wove through the crowd effortlessly, steadily closing the distance separating them from Abella.

  She faced forward and hurried along with the crowd until her frantic gaze finally settled upon a peacekeeper. Heart fluttering, she charged toward him through the throng, ignoring the snide remarks and threats tossed at her, shrugging off an angry shove and an elbow to her side. When she finally burst out of the press of bodies, she stumbled forward. She caught the peacekeeper’s arm to hold herself upright.

  “Please,” Abella rasped, tilting her head back to look up at the peacekeeper’s face. He was a borian, his features both harsh and refined, and stood over two meters tall. His species had always reminded her of elves from fantasy books and movies—if those elves were broad-shouldered, towering barbarian warriors. “I need help.”

  The peacekeeper frowned down at her. His sharp brows were angled low over his straight, aristocratic nose. “It is a criminal offense to lay hands upon a member of the Eternal Guard.”

  Abella glanced at her hands, released her hold on him, and took a small step back before meeting his gaze again. “I need your help, please. I was kidnapped and sold, and I’m just trying to get back home, and now I’m being followed by assassins.”

  The peacekeeper raised his armored forearm and pressed a finger to the wristguard. A tiny orb rose from the armor and hovered in the air between Abella and the borian, tiny beams of soft light pulsing from its underside.

  “Stand still so I can scan your identification chip,” he said.

  “I-I don’t have one.”

  The borian’s frown deepened. He lifted his finger off the wristguard, and the orb disappeared into the armor. After lowering his arms—one of his hands settling
on the grip of his holstered blaster—he looked past her.

  The peacekeeper’s eyes widened for an instant before his brows fell low. He made a soft sound—a grumble—and tilted his head to the side. “Come with me.”

  Relief flooded her. “Oh, thank you.”

  She moved closer to the peacekeeper’s side. When she glanced behind her, there was no sign of the assassins in the crowd. Had they gone? Had the mere presence of the Eternal Guard deterred them?

  Abella walked alongside the borian, having to take almost two steps to account for every one of his long strides. She received a few curious glances from the people around them, but that was most likely because she was accompanying a peacekeeper—without her raised hood obscuring her human features, there would likely have been more stares. There always were.

  “So there’s a human embassy in the city, right?” she asked.

  The borian glanced down at her. “Is that what you are?”

  Abella frowned. “You’ve never seen a human? Um, maybe you know us as terrans?”

  “So…you’re a terran with no identification chip who was kidnapped and is being chased by assassins? Am I missing anything?”

  “No… That’s it.” She flexed her fingers and wiped her sweaty palms on her pants. “You can take me to the terran embassy, right?”

  “Don’t worry. We’ll get all this resolved for you.”

  His avoidance of her questions opened a crack in Abella’s sense of relief, allowing a lick of unease to flow through. That crack split wider when he led her onto a quiet side street where the crowds she’d seen throughout most of the Undercity were absent.

  “Is the embassy around here or is it on the surface?” she asked. “Isn’t there a more…public route?”

  He didn’t look at her when he replied. “This is the way. I’ll get you where you need to go.”

  Despite seeming to have seen the assassins when he looked up, the peacekeeper was making no effort to survey his surroundings; he was acting as though they were in no danger whatsoever.