by Eve Langlais
She wasn’t subtle in her efforts.
“My trip got cut short. I was called back by the emperor.”
The emperor was the one being capable of ruling all the tribes. As emperors went, theirs tended to not get involved too often in clan affairs. Unless it would harm the planet as a whole.
“What did he want?”
“To assign me a new quest,” Kryx replied with nonchalance.
“Lucky,” Thyos muttered.
“I’m glad you said that.” Kryx beamed. “Because you’re coming with me.”
Immediately, Thyos’s expression brightened. “Are we going on a hunt?” He wouldn’t mind something to take the edge off his frustration.
“Of sorts.”
“Protection detail?” It wouldn’t be the first time the emperor assigned them a diplomatic task.
“There will be no fighting if all goes well. Which is a good thing given we’re going off planet.”
Away from Qhryce? He wouldn’t usually be bothered, but given the dire state of his tree, if he left, would he have anything left to come back to? “Exactly what does this mission entail?”
“We need to retrieve something.”
“Since when does trading require the emperor getting involved?” Not to mention, why drag him along? A leader’s place wasn’t as a bargaining merchant acquiring supplies but with his clan, keeping it safe.
“Because this is a very special item.” Kryx grinned widely, and it didn’t assuage Thyos’s concerns one bit.
“Why me? Why not Jyni or Lynna?”
“Because the emperor asked for you.”
His confusion coiled even tighter. “You know this isn’t a good time for me.”
“All the more reason we have to leave promptly. Karma stressed that point very strongly when she had her audience with the emperor.”
He blinked. “Karma spoke to Nyro?” He couldn’t help the suspicious note in the query.
“At length, or so I heard. I wasn’t privy to the details, only the result that you are to find your sykyrah and, according to our goddess, you have to leave Qhryce to do so.”
Thyos sent her up silent prayer—Nice meddling. She’d known he’d balk and find excuses to not leave, so she’d forced his hand.
“Did the goddess give you a coordinate?”
Kryx shook his head. “Not exactly. What I do have is a list of trading posts we’re supposed to visit.”
“Wander aimlessly in the hopes we accidentally find my mate?” He arched a brow. “Am I the only one that finds that a tad farfetched?”
Kryx’s grin turned lopsided as he shrugged. “Sounds crazy, I know, but it can’t hurt to try. We’ve tried everything else.”
A reminder that Kryx had crossed the planet with him in search of his sykyrah. He had to wonder if his friend had yet realized he’d run into the same problem of not finding his mate.
“It’s impossible.”
“Are you already admitting defeat?” Kryx taunted.
“Never.”
Which was how he ended up with his friend on a sleek cruiser flying from station to station, ignoring the harangues from his mother back home, all too aware of the ticking of time. Each destination they left without finding his mate only served to deepen his despair. It didn’t help that the last transmission from his mother had informed him that more of his people had fled. They’d lost faith in him.
If he didn’t do something, and soon, he’d have no clan to return to.
“Prepare for docking.”
The computerized announcement had him dressing and arming himself for excursion. Given the stations often held a deep chill, he chose a thick cloak, long and voluminous. It concealed his identity and many weapons. Only idiots went around unarmed.
The station, Lost Hope, was tethered to a moon, meaning it sprawled all over the place with transportation tubes connecting the various hubs. After sending over the correct number of credits—a large amount not worth the dirty locale—they were given a docking berth where they could disembark. As he travelled the interconnecting tubes, aimlessly for the most part, he took note of the many species roaming around. Mostly male with a few females either being tightly accompanied for safety or openly wielding more weapons than even he carried.
None made his heart pound. None grabbed his attention. Doubtful he’d find his sykyrah here, and he was beginning to reach the point he didn’t care anymore.
He missed home. Wanted to be with his tree when it exhaled its last. To be there to apologize to it and any who were affected by his failure.
Then, when it was over, and his failure was complete, he planned to get extremely drunk and remain that way until he died in battle—which could be quickly depending on his level of sobriety. It had worked for his great-uncle Phanos.
It’s time I admitted defeat. He’d tell Kryx his decision once they’d concluded their business here.
He already knew his friend would argue because Thyos had asked after the last two stops if they were going home yet. Each time, Kryx replied, “Not until we find her.”
And by her he could have meant the sykyrah for either of them, because Thyos wasn’t the only one looking for his mate. He’d seen Kryx eyeing the females with more than passing interest.
As he pivoted on the moving walkway that brought travelers through the various tube systems, Thyos felt an odd tug. Before he could ponder the sensation, he’d stepped onto solid ground.
He found himself in the marketplace dome anchored to the moon with solid rock underfoot, swept clean of dust. Buildings crowded the area, many with flashing signs advertising their wares—a glass for a tavern, breasts for sex, and a blood splatter for food.
It was the alley between a restaurant boasting the best-tasting rat skewers in town and a massage parlor featuring a nine-armed attendant that drew his attention.
Cloak swirling around his ankles, he approached but didn’t enter the slim passageway. He could clearly see a female of pale complexion, the flesh of her cheeks and nose covered in light spots. A flash of orange turned out to be hair pulled back from her face but loose down her back in a wild riot of curls.
The female needed a tan. Perhaps a good scrubbing. Definitely some more meat on her bones. Not that he cared what she ate.
Thyos couldn’t even say why he kept eyeing her. She wasn’t of a species he’d encountered before, despite being similar to his own with a pair of arms and legs, recognizable facial features, and two breasts like the females of his world.
And nothing else. Not even a pair of sexy horns or stubby sensitive wings. In his youth, he lamented the fact he wasn’t blessed with any, but he made up for it in strength.
As he turned to move away, he noticed a gang approaching, several large males in varying states of rankness, from putrid to possibly dead and not knowing it yet. A quick glance showed them entering the alley where the alien female stood.
He should walk away. None of his business. Instead, he positioned himself to spy on what happened.
The gang confronted the woman, their body language and jeers ripe with promises of violence.
Still not his problem. She was a stranger. A no-one not worth the effort. He couldn’t have even said why he gave her a second glance.
And a third.
There was no denying she intrigued him. His sluggish blood began to pump in his veins. His attention narrowed in on her and the surrounding danger.
If he didn’t act, she would probably get hurt. Maybe even die.
She needed a hero.
She needs me.
Three
“Submit, female,” the fellow with tusks jutting through his chin grunted.
Here we go again. It was a mistake, agreeing to meet Buurg away from the bar. However, when the tusked alien sidled close, his smell arriving before his whispered, “I have info,” she’d been relieved to finally encounter someone with something to offer.
But he refused to divulge anything in the bar, claiming the information was too secret
and valuable to discuss in public. And her stupid, desperate ass believed him. Because hey, who didn’t meet in a dark alley to exchange information?
Buurg didn’t come alone, and she didn’t need to see the leers of his companions to realize they weren’t up to any good.
Clarabelle wanted to sigh but instead settled for muttering, “Why, oh why, is it that the universe over, when males are presented with a female, you get so monumentally stupid?”
Since leaving Zonia, she’d encountered nothing but disappointment. Planet after planet, space stations and outposts alike, all presented her with males of all types. Some almost appeared human until they blew fire from their noses or their fingertips suctioned to skin and the sweat right from the glands. Severing them broke the seal, and she didn’t feel like apologizing one bit when Vampire Fingers complained. Served him right for not asking first.
So many different types of men but, in many respects, they were the same when it came to their attitudes toward women. You would think the universe would be a more evolved place…
You would be wrong.
While the Zonians commanded respect, little human girls didn’t. Meaning they had to leave more than one place quickly, as Clarabelle showed little patience for unwanted overtures. For the moment, Ishtara found it amusing to keep track of the bodies they left behind; however, Clarabelle knew her friend’s patience frayed the longer their quest took without finding any promising leads.
Once Clarabelle finished her business in the alley, they’d be crossing the Lost Hope space station off their list too.
She tapped the comm unit on her chest and muttered, “Prep for departure.”
“Already?” Ishtara cawed in her earpiece.
“Who you talking to?” barked Buurg, obviously the leader of the gang of thugs.
“Do you mind?” Clarabelle snapped. “I’m conversing with my friend.”
“Friend. Ha!” was Ishtara’s exclamation in her earpiece. “Deal with your company and get your scrawny buttocks back to the ship.” Ishtara didn’t insult Clarabelle by asking if she needed help.
“I should just be a few minutes.” She still referred to time in Earth terms, unable—and unwilling—to change her language to the universal standards, which involved clicks and revolutions and weird terms that meant nothing to her.
“There is no escape.” Burg did his best to sound ominous. Little did he know she’d faced worse.
“You really might want to rethink this,” she said.
“Submit!”
She flexed her fingers as the thugs circled her, thinking they had her trapped. She might not have spent her time since birth learning to fight like the renowned Zonian Aliya, but she wasn’t a slouch when it came to protecting herself. While she had shit aim when it came to firearms, she was rather handy with knives.
Before the thug with two fingers and smacking bulbous lips could grab hold, she’d slashed across the top of his hand, drawing a startled hiss then an exclamation as severed fingers hit the floor. Her primary blade, with its deceptively sleek appearance, was sharp enough to slice through anything—metal or flesh, even bone, all parted like butter.
Before blood could spurt, she whirled and tossed her other dagger right into the shoulder of the next closest assailant. It punched right through, and only a loss of momentum kept it from piercing the wall behind and disappearing into another room.
The third wanna-be suitor—who had only four teeth left in his mouth and breath that watered the eyes—managed to grab hold of the back of her neck. He squeezed as he cackled. “Enough of dat, miss—Oof.”
He grunted as she rammed her elbow into his gut, and as he sucked in a wheezing breath, she slammed her heel into his thigh. The blow itself wasn’t why he dropped to the floor but rather the hidden blade that shot from her heel, activated by the intentional wiggle of her large toe. The blade had a sleeping agent as well just in case a slice wasn’t enough. He went down and stayed down.
Judging by the garbled yelling, she still had two more to go. The idiots didn’t learn by example but stuck around.
She ducked just as a meaty fist swung overhead. The training to move quickly came in useful, or she’d have been knocked into the next galaxy. Before the fist could rewind for a second shot, she popped up and pulled two more blades from her thigh sheaths.
Jab. Thrust. She drove them into two of the three thighs. When Buurg yelled, “You stabbed my dick!” she realized she’d missed one of the legs, making her briefly wonder—How the hell did he figure it would fit?
It was a good thing he wouldn’t get a chance to try. She pulled her blades loose, the edges wet with brilliant blue blood. She made no sound of warning as she pivoted and lightly tossed them at the last target. They landed with meaty thuds, embedded to the hilt.
The corpulent alien glanced down at them, and one of his eyestalks developed a twitch. A tentacle grabbed the knife and pulled it free as a dark green ichor leaked.
But the alien dude didn’t fall down. Rather he grinned from a spot around his middle, his entire torso splitting open into a huge mouth. The smile didn’t reassure.
Someone rushed her, slamming their shoulder into her body, the impact lifting her off the ground and thudding her into a wall.
For a moment, all breath escaped and she saw stars and a long bright tunnel. Her feet dangled off the ground, and Clarabelle wondered if this was how she would die.
Like Hell. She was too young to give up.
Rage had her sucking in a breath. She coiled herself in preparation and kicked the alien with the fetid breath in the balls. Giant balls, she noticed, big and heavy enough they hung in the crotch of his pants.
As he gasped and loosened his grip, she twisted, hit the ground, and in the same motion pulled another knife and jabbed it into a swinging pendulum. She preferred to not think of what was in the white juice that jetted. The more important point being her assailant hit the ground in time for her to flip and see the mouth-belly alien opening wide.
She snarled, “Are you really that stupid?”
He was.
By the time she was done and stood over him, knives dripping, he had a few more mouths in the form of slashing wounds.
Clap. Clap.
Seriously? Was she not done yet?
She looked up to see a rather large cloaked figure standing just outside of the spray of blood, gloved hands slapping together. In appreciation or challenge? She couldn’t tell their intentions, nor even what race they were given their features were hidden by a hood.
“Move along,” she snapped. “Nothing to see.” Meanwhile, she took note of her used daggers. If she tossed the pair in her hands, she’d need to rearm herself, as she’d run out of blades unless she could use the one in her heel again.
“You fight well.” The deep voice held a hint of accent despite the auditory translator she used. Male? He certainly had a deep timbre, but that meant nothing in the galaxies.
“If you add ‘for a girl,’ you’ll learn just how well,” was her grumbled reply.
“Why would I insult you?” He sounded surprised by the very idea.
“Because that’s what everyone likes to do when they see a human.” The other favorite thing involved trying to acquire her. Apparently, humans had some value as slaves.
“Human?” He repeated the word as if it were strange. “I am not familiar with your kind. From what system do you hail?”
“The Earth one.”
“Never heard of it.”
“Probably on account we’re supposed to be protected and alien dudes aren’t allowed to touch it.”
“Yet here you are.”
“You know what they say about the forbidden fruit,” she muttered, moving sideways while watching him. She retrieved a blade and sheathed it.
For the moment, he appeared content to talk.
“Actually, I don’t know. None of our fruit has been banned.”
She blinked. She still forgot how the common expressions she took for grante
d often didn’t translate. “It means telling someone they can’t have something only makes it more tempting.”
“On my planet we like to say, covet at your own peril.”
“Which is more the Earth equivalent of ‘touch it and die.’”
“Do you have many such edicts?”
She didn’t understand his interest. “What do you want?”
“What makes you think I am in need of anything?”
“Because you’re talking to me,” was her blunt reply.
“You’re intriguing.”
“And not interested in becoming your property. If you try and take me, I will eviscerate you.”
The low chuckle raised the hairs on her body. “I would never force you to do anything. But Karma might.”
“Who is Karma?”
“Not a goddess to mess with,” he muttered.
Her snort held some disdain. “You aliens and your religion. I thought it was bad on Earth, but even out here, you believe in the impossible.”
“Your Earth has no gods?” His query held genuine curiosity.
“Depends who you ask. Some think there is only one god, and they like to fight the ones who claim there are many.” The blade she withdrew from quivering flesh showed the edges corroded by the acidic blood. Dammit. She cast a quick glare at the body at her feet. When it dared to move, she kicked it.
“We only have one goddess meddling in our affairs, which is quite enough.” He spoke as if she were real.
“Good for you. Happy worshiping and all that. If you don’t mind, I have somewhere else to be.” The incident with the bullies hadn’t yet drawn untoward attention, but she shouldn’t tempt bad luck.
“Where do you travel?” he asked.
“As if I’m going to tell you,” Clarabelle uttered on a snort as she collected the last of her blades and strode in the direction of the ship’s dock.
“Your caution is admirable, but unnecessary.” He kept pace with her, his cloak billowing and yet never revealing any limbs.
How many arms and legs did he hide under there?
“Where are you going?” she countered.
“Now that I’ve completed my task? Back to my home world.”