Abella pressed her lips together as a flash of anger swept through her. That was what she’d been, what Tenthil had been—property. Pets. Creatures used to perform their master’s bidding, punished harshly whenever they disobeyed.
With a sigh, she pulled her hands from Tenthil’s and knelt before him, leaning forward to press her lips to his throat.
“No more talking.” She kissed his neck again.
He placed his hands on her shoulders and guided her back just enough to lower his face and slant his mouth over hers. She’d never thought it possible for such a simple action to hold such meaning, but those few seconds with their lips against each other’s spoke volumes of what he felt—he was there, he cared, he appreciated her, and he’d do anything and everything for her.
And Abella swore to herself that she would do anything and everything for him.
A small part of her mind whispered that this was too fast, that she shouldn’t have allowed herself to grow so attached to him so quickly; it couldn’t have been much longer than a day ago that she’d left him behind in her attempt to find her way back to her people. She quieted that voice; fear had driven her away from him. Mortals could not dictate the speed of life, and the last few days had felt more like years. What she and Tenthil had been through could bring anyone together. As though the shared trauma of their respective kidnappings weren’t enough, the violence and fear they’d endured together had forged a tight bond between them—and that bond was solidified by his genuine caring about her.
Soul mates.
She hadn’t believed in such a thing since her youth, since back when she used to read fairytales and romances and had spent her time daydreaming. Life had a knack for eventually killing all the magic and wonder it promised during a person’s childhood. But now?
Abella slipped her arms around Tenthil and held him closer.
Now she desperately hoped that soul mates were real.
Tenthil raised a hand to adjust the hood of his new coat, dropping it a moment later to shift the mask covering the lower half of his face into a more comfortable position. His other arm remained around Abella, keeping her against his side as they walked so he could project his bioelectric disruption field around her.
Their first stop after leaving the safehouse that morning had been to purchase new clothing; he should have done so long before. Traveling around Arthos dressed in Order clothing wasn’t the best strategy for avoiding the notice of the Master’s acolytes.
Tenthil’s new clothes brought his mind back to the night he’d first encountered Abella. His current attire was similar to the gang clothing he’d worn then, though this was a bit less colorful. His black hooded jacket was accented in several places by strips of silvery metal and lines of glowing blue. It was long enough to keep his gun belt hidden, but not so long as to hinder his movement.
Abella’s attire was the same style, though she’d opted for lighter colors and pink accents rather than blue. Tenthil wished she didn’t have to keep her hair pulled back and hidden beneath her hood; he wanted to see the contrast between the pink light on her clothes and the blue-black of her hair. But just as his scars made him easily identifiable, the combination of her two-toned hair and distinctly human features would make her stand out.
The shred of anonymity provided by their change of garments hadn’t much eased Tenthil’s concerns; he kept alert as they moved through the Undercity, discreetly seeking the criminal contacts he’d used during his time in the Order. He would’ve been able to move faster alone, but he wouldn’t chance leaving Abella on her own. She’d been lucky so far in her dealings with the Order’s assassins, but she would’ve been captured had he not intervened during the last encounter.
Obtaining information on the forger proved difficult, and Tenthil’s worn, ragged voice was little help. Fortunately, Abella took over when Tenthil’s words became too weak to understand. Despite having never dealt with such elements directly, her time following Cullion around as he met with various less-than-legitimate characters had instilled her with discretion and confidence that went a long way with the often uncooperative and evasive informants.
They’d eventually been directed here—Nyssa Vye, the Under Market, considered by many to be the border sector between the Undercity and the Bowels. Its flashy neon lights clashed with exposed pipes and duct work and set the countless puddles—each comprised of unidentifiable runoff and leakage from those pipes—ablaze with vibrant color. This was a place where the infinite worlds represented in the city collided, the place where anything could be obtained—this was the black market where smugglers and thieves peddled their wares.
The Eternal Guard largely kept away from this sector, entering only to address extremely serious matters—always in force. So long as the city’s overlords received their portion of the profits, they seemed little concerned with operations that technically violated their laws.
The people on these streets were more diverse than perhaps anywhere else in the Undercity. Species of all sorts, hailing from all corners of the universe, milled about—most were likely here for a taste of some exotic food from their homeworlds, purveyed by one of the many vendors lining the streets, or to obtain exotic clothing or jewelry that wasn’t sold in the shops in higher sectors.
All manners of body adornment and enhancement were on display—hair colored in a multitude of hues; piercings of various body parts, including horns, tusks, and teeth; tattoos in more patterns and styles than Tenthil could count, some glowing, some moving; clothing of wildly varying fashion and material; cybernetic limbs and implants. The latter were particularly prevalent with the rough-looking groups who tended to linger on the edges of the crowd, often near unmarked doors. Many of them were members of various gangs—this was one of the few sectors where no single gang claimed dominance, and a loose agreement prevented violence between the groups. Many more were hired thugs guarding the entrances to businesses—not the shops selling exotic food or clothing, but the brothels, the smuggling rings, the unregistered cybertech surgeons, the drug dealers, and the forgers.
He glanced down at Abella to find her studying their surroundings with unmasked wonder; she’d seen the Undercity before, but she’d likely never seen it like this. Under different circumstances, he’d have taken her all around Arthos, would have shown her everything there was to see, even if it took a thousand lifetimes, but the city wasn’t safe for them.
And it probably never would be.
Tenthil led her down a side street and toward the alleyway entrance to which they’d been directed. The crowd was thinner, here, as it always was off the main stretches. He used his free arm to sweep back the side of his coat, exposing his holstered blaster.
Sometimes, such a display was enough to deter would-be troublemakers.
It did not, however, deter the prostitutes who stood at various intervals along the street. They unashamedly displayed their wares to Tenthil as he passed, beckoning him closer. At least two dozen species were represented amongst them—some male, some female, some falling into neither category, and at least couple who seemed to fit both.
Abella glared at them, and a small growl rumbled in her throat. “He’s taken.”
When several of them—females included—shifted their focus to her and made the same offers, she turned her face away and nestled closer to Tenthil.
“I’m taken too.”
He couldn’t hold back a small smile, despite everything, but something powerful stirred inside him all the same—she’d claimed him. She’d claimed him as her own, as taken by her.
Abella looked at him with a faint smile and quietly asked, “Is it weird that I think some of them are hot?”
Though he knew his claim on her was not under any true threat, his smile fell. He was glad for the mask in that moment, if only because it hid his bared teeth from her. She was his. He instincts would tolerate no competition.
Unfortunately, even in a city as massive and chaotic as Arthos, it would be frowned upon to mu
rder other males who looked upon his mate covetously.
He shifted his gaze to the alley that was their destination. It was marked by a holographic sign a few meters from its entrance—an advertisement for a nearby restaurant specializing in various roasted larva and worms. The sign’s three-dimensional projections left little to the imagination; Abella turned her head to the side, covered her mouth with a hand, and gagged.
But it the three beings standing at the alley’s entrance that caught his attention, not the vibrant sign. Two cren—each nearly a third of a meter taller than Tenthil, with dark skin and tusks as long as his thumb—leaned against the walls, with a burly, furred azhera standing between them, seemingly engaged in a casual conversation. Though none of them wore uniforms or visible combat armor, the blasters on their hips were high-quality.
It was best not to have explicit guards posted in plain sight for places like this—it would only make people wonder what they were guarding. A group of random thugs standing around an alleyway, while still visible, was far less suspicious.
Tenthil dipped his head closer to Abella’s. “If you must shoot, aim for the head.”
She straightened, eyes wide as she looked at the guards. “Do…you think I will have to?”
“Always a chance.”
He lifted his head and continued his approach, releasing his bioelectrical disruption field so as not to rouse suspicion on the surveillance systems the forger undoubtedly had in place nearby.
The guards noticed his intent from several meters away; the cren fixed their gazes on him, their irises—one set yellow, the other green—vibrant against their black sclerae. But it was the azhera who stepped forward, blocking Tenthil and Abella’s path.
The azhera met Tenthil’s gaze, flared his nostrils, and released a low growl barely audible over the sounds from the street. His bestial face twisted into a snarl, pupils expanding. “Alley’s closed. Walk on.”
“Here on business,” Tenthil rasped; the words were like broken glass in his throat. The azhera’s scent set him on edge; though they looked nothing alike, he had a sense that his people and the azhera were more similar than appearances suggested.
The azhera smelled like a predator. Few species in this city possessed such scents.
“Walk. On.” The azhera bared his fangs, fur rising in agitation, and the two cren pushed off the walls they’d been leaning against to loom behind their companion.
“We’re here to see Alkorin,” Abella said, “to arrange a naming ceremony.”
Shifting his attention to Abella, the azhera narrowed his eyes, leaned forward, and sniffed the air. A growl sounded deep in Tenthil’s chest; he drew Abella back and turned his body to position himself in front of her.
The azhera exhaled heavily through his nose. “She wears your scent, hunter.”
“She is mine,” Tenthil replied.
Lips peeling back in a snarl, the azhera shook his head and stepped aside. His fur slowly eased, but his pupils remained dilated. “Third door on the right. Mind yourself. He doesn’t care for trouble.”
Tenthil nodded and drew Abella more firmly against his side. He walked past the azhera and between the two tall cren, who said nothing as they held their gazes upon him. Tenthil felt their stares on his back as he led his mate down the narrow alley. Though he kept his eyes forward, watching for the door the azhera had indicated, Tenthil focused on his hearing, listening for any sounds behind them. A primal part of him wanted to attack the azhera to prove his dominance, to establish an order. To make it clear that Abella was his.
He released a ragged breath when they reached the door. The entry was plain, unmarked, even a bit rundown, but Tenthil had expected nothing different. Lifting a hand, he pressed the button on the inside of the doorframe.
A few seconds later, the door’s maglocks released with a resonating, metallic thunk.
Tenthil reached down, grasped the handle, and looked at Abella. “Stay close.”
She nodded and leaned against him a little more as he pushed the door open.
A long, dimly lit hallway stretched beyond the doorway, partially blocked from Tenthil’s view by another cren, this one with electric blue eyes that would’ve been at home on many of the holographic projections throughout the Undercity. Tenthil instinctively shifted to walk in front of Abella and shield her from the new threat.
Her fingers brushed against his back, telling him she was there, urging him to remain calm.
The cren’s expression didn’t change save for a slight twitch of his long, pointed ears. He turned and extended his arm, pointing to the stairs at the end of the hall.
Tenthil clenched his jaw, released a slow, quiet breath through his nostrils, and nodded. The tight space would’ve set him on edge even before he’d betrayed the Order, but now his senses were on full alert. Danger lurked around every corner, behind every door. The Order could strike anywhere, any time.
He led Abella past the cren, down the hall—passing several closed doors—and up three flights of stairs. The last flight opened on a wide landing with a single blast door, its metal etched with intricate isometric patterns from top to bottom. The pair of vorgal guards standing to either side of the entry looked as big and sturdy as the door itself. There was no more pretense here; they wore undisguised, high-grade combat armor and held expensive auto-blasters.
The vorgal on the left dipped his gaze toward Tenthil’s waist. “You carrying?”
Tenthil came to a stop a few paces away from them. “Everyone is, around here.”
“Boss doesn’t care,” the vorgal said. “Just likes me to remind customers that he’s covered by four autocannons in there. You go for your piece, you leave as a bag of ashes.”
“Understood.”
The vorgal raised a hand and turned the inside of his wrist toward his mouth. “Let them in.”
The etched door lifted off the floor silently and disappeared into the wall above, revealing a large room lit by red and purple wall panels. Tenthil walked forward with Abella slowly, ignoring the restlessness in his fingers that urged him to draw his weapon. He wasn’t used to trusting anyone beyond Abella; this forger’s reputation didn’t assuage Tenthil’s misgivings. Reputations often lost meaning when people found themselves at odds with the Master.
As they entered the chamber, the door slid shut behind them, leaving only that moody, violet-red light. Several long, low couches ran to either side of the entrance, and large, clear-glassed water tanks filled with strange, bioluminescent water creatures adorned the walls between the light panels.
The carpet was dark save for a two-meter-wide strip leading from the entrance to the far side of the room, which bore the same isometric pattern etched on the outside face of the door. The colors came together well, the reds and purples strengthened by their contrast to the black of the floor and the furniture.
“Well, this place a few steps up from Cullion’s,” Abella muttered. “Maybe a whole flight of stairs up.”
Tenthil agreed, though he saw it as a needless display of wealth, regardless. He shifted his gaze toward the far end of the room, where several wide steps led to a raised platform atop which rested a long worktable, several computer terminals, and at least three dozen holographically-projected screens and control panels. It was also where the only other occupant of the room—discounting the water creatures—stood.
The forger, Alkorin, remained behind the table, facing Tenthil and Abella as they approached. He was a sedhi, with sharp, angular facial features, long, curving, black horns extending from his temples, and three faintly glowing yellow eyes—one of which was positioned vertically in the center of his forehead. That third eye was turned toward Tenthil and Abella while the other two were intent on whatever work he was doing on the table.
Tenthil came to a stop a few meters from the steps and waited until the forger finally lifted his face toward them.
The sedhi spread his arms to either side and smiled. He was clad only in a loose, silken red robe with billow
ing sleeves that hung loose about his shoulders and bared the toned muscles of his gray-skinned torso. Glowing yellow markings flowed from his upper chest toward his shoulders and neck, reaching all the way to his face, where they nearly circled his left eye. Long, jet black hair, swept to one side, hung past his shoulders.
“New customers. Always a delight,” he said in unaccented universal speech. “Who, may I ask, referred you to me?”
“No one,” Tenthil replied.
The forger’s smile tipped up at one corner as he lowered his arms. “Good. An individual of discretion. I’ve little time or interest to work with anyone lacking it.”
Abella eased out from behind Tenthil and cocked her head, staring intently at the sedhi. “What’s it like having three eyes?”
The forger’s third eye opened a little wider, and the slitted pupil within it dilated and contracted. His lips parted as he laughed, displaying his fangs. He walked slowly around the table, his long, thick tail swishing in the air behind him, and descended the steps.
“Normal, at least from my perspective.” The forger narrowed his eyes. “Tell me, what are you?”
The interest and intensity in the sedhi’s gaze unsettled Tenthil; his chest tightened, and a burst of heat flowed into his muscles, threatening to thrust him into a battle state.
Tenthil extended his arm and swept Abella behind him. “A client. We need clean chips.”
“And so you came looking for Alkorin the Forger,” the sedhi said.
“That’s you, isn’t it?”
The sedhi shifted his arms behind his back and circled Tenthil slowly, likely seeking a better angle from which to see Abella, but Tenthil moved along with him to block her from the forger’s view as much as possible.
“It is one of several aliases I’ve used. As good as any, I suppose.” The sedhi’s eyes were fixated on Abella as he casually continued circling. “Alk is close enough to the truth, if you wish. Far more interesting than all that, however, is this female.”
Silent Lucidity Page 20