There never had been, Lyra realized with a grim resolve. They’d been fooling themselves—clinging to an absurd plan because what other choice did they have?
There was only one choice now. She could save four people. If she could figure out how to fly one of the shuttles.
“We’re taking a shuttle,” Lyra said tonelessly. “The one nearest the hangar door.”
“What about the other women?” Hadiza asked.
Lyra began walking towards the shuttle. “We can’t do anything for them. Their best hope is if we get away. We can contact the ADF. They’ll have the manpower and resources to mount a proper rescue.”
Hadiza hurried to keep up with Lyra’s long-legged stride. “This isn’t the plan! We’re supposed to get to the bridge!”
“The plan has changed due to circumstances.” Lyra reached the shuttle. It was surprisingly small. It would only comfortably house one of the aliens at a time. Four human women would find it uncomfortably close.
She reached for the hatch, but Hadiza’s hand closed on her wrist, stopping her.
“We can’t just leave them! They sacrificed themselves so that we’d all—”
Lyra rounded on her. “Do you think I want to? This is the only option.” She ripped her hand free. “Get in the shuttle.”
Inri and Merrith stood at a slight distance, watching the exchange fretfully.
Hadiza scoffed. “You may have signed your discharge papers, but you’re still a soldier, aren’t you?”
“I’m what I have to be,” Lyra said tiredly. “We don’t have time for this.”
Inri let out a small squeak. Lyra rounded on her crewmate, prepared to physically force each and every woman onto the shuttle.
But instead of an objecting Inri, she found herself face to face with one of the aliens. His keen yellow eyes were fixed on her, his fangs revealed in a predatory grin. Lyra staggered away from him, backing against the shuttle.
Just behind him, Inri and Merrith were already swaying in the grip of two other aliens, their eyes glazed with venom-induced languor. Three more aliens approached from the the back of the flight deck, their eerie vulpine gazes intent upon Hadiza and Merrith.
The alien in front of Lyra licked his thumb, and she knew the time for plans was over.
“RUN!” Lyra screamed at Hadiza. She surged forward, surprising the alien by driving her shoulder into his stomach.
It felt like she’d thrown herself into a stone pillar, but she was rewarded with a grunt and a slight stagger from her opponent. While he was on his back foot, she juked to the right, and when his balance shifted that way, she cut to the left.
She raced for the open hangar door and launched herself down the jetway.
She heard the heavy tread of the alien behind her. He was taller, stronger, and would be immeasurably faster than her. Her only chance was to disappear into the twisting thicket of the forest, where her smaller size would give her the advantage.
She had no way of knowing what kind of predators lurked within the looming dark. She had no way of knowing if the vegetation itself would kill her. But she absolutely knew, if she were captured, her life would be over.
She plunged into the woods.
Chapter Three
Black Wing Nebula, Erris System
Subplanet Kiri
IG Standard Calendar 236.44.19
Asier had spent far, far too long waiting for the traffickers to return. Their favored rendezvous point was a vermin-infested, climatologically unstable rock that only just qualified as a planet.
The wild swings in weather went from roasting him alive to freezing him solid, and the entire place was crawling with aggressively carnivorous spiders as big as a Scaeven child.
But finally, the slavers had returned, and with them, the next phase in his operation. He pushed away the impatient desire to hunker down with his scope and his arc rifle and pick them off one by one. He needed them alive. He needed them to remain unaware that they’d been identified and tracked. He needed them to lead him to their organizer.
He’d tagged them with a tracker before they’d even set down on the planet’s surface. When their comrades landed, the tracker would mirror onto any neighboring ships, giving him the coordinates for any and all other parties. He’d accomplished what he needed to, but he couldn’t get off planet until after the traffickers did.
His own ship was hidden in a field of swaying grasses, fifty leagues away, concealed by cloaking tech. He wanted nothing more than to leave this hellish little rock, but he couldn’t risk them detecting his ship, and realizing that they’d been tagged.
Shortly after he saw the traffickers’ ship streak across the lavender tinged sky, he left the cover of dense forest, climbing to the top of a steep outcropping of rock, about a league away from the traffickers’ landing site.
The top of the escarpment jutted above the forest canopy. He’d remain camouflaged by the foliage, but was able to observe the traffickers from a distance. As an added benefit, this high off the forest floor, he was less likely to run into any spiders.
The shell of his tactical jacket dissolved from the mottled burgundy, navy, gold, and gray of the ground level foliage, shifting to adopt the variegated black of the rock he sat on. His skin, a deep, vaguely metallic gray, blended easily enough with the surrounding rock. But his hair, a moon-bright silver, was less inconspicuous, so he pulled his hood up.
He scratched idly at the coarse, silver-white beard covering his cheeks and jaw. He didn’t normally care to grow facial hair, but it provided some protection against the unpredictable weather extremes. He pulled the jacket collar over his face, covering his beard.
In his peripheral vision, he detected a skitter of movement. Without turning his head, he watched as one of the little six-legged black reptiles edged closer to him. He’d learned his lesson with them on his first day on-planet. When the reptile was close enough, Asier reached out and flicked it hard with his index finger. Its little body sailed through the air, vanishing into the blood-red canopy of leaves.
He looked around, checking that the vermin hadn’t come with comrades. The were mostly harmless, the lizards. But they had a fondness for hair, and—contrary to their diminutive size—the strength to rip out chunks of it from the root. Asier still had a smarting patch of raw skin at the base of his skull from his first encounter with them.
Satisfied that he was alone, he settled in for a long watch. He observed the traffickers’ vessel through his scope, noting their movements, and waiting. When would the other ship show up? He couldn’t depart this jumped-up asteroid until all the traffickers had lifted off.
Night fell on this portion of the tiny planet, and with the darkness came a low, twisting fog. From his vantage point above the tree tops, Asier’s view was unencumbered by the mist. The damp, cool air was better than the suffocating humidity from earlier, and he counted himself fortunate that the weather hadn’t swung all the way to snowfall. Or hail.
In the distance, the traffickers’ ship shone like a beacon. It was the only light source on this side of the planet, and the light spilling out from their flight deck stood out like an explosion. Asier lifted the scope to his eye again, squinting against the brightness. He could see motion near the hangar door, inside the flight deck. Two traffickers fiddling with the—no. He stiffened, adjusted the scope.
Humans. Two human females.
He had never seen a human in the flesh, let alone two of them. And both female. Despite his own ethical stance, the idea of a human mate was a lascivious fantasy that he couldn’t pretend didn’t effect him.
He dialed in the scope more carefully, observing the females. Two more humans stood just out of sight. Their bodies were blocked by the hangar door, but Asier could see their shadows on the deck.
The two visible humans were a study in contrasts. One was tall—for a human—and slender. Her hair was like polished platinum, her skin the color of an Eiklan peach. The other was much shorter, with dramatic female curves, and ski
n the color of oiled kimner wood.
The diversity in human coloration was as fascinating as the comely shape of their women’s bodies.
But what were they doing on the flight deck? Why weren’t they running for their lives? Were they willing passengers?
No, Asier realized quickly. They were attempting to escape. The females stiffened and turned. One of the traffickers stepped into view, backing the pale golden one against the shuttle. Asier’s stomach dropped.
But she fought—and well. He stared in astonishment as the tall, pale one bounded down the jetway. The little dusky one raced behind her, leaping straight to the ground where she rolled beneath the ship and disappeared from sight.
Smart, Asier commended her silently. In the darkness, blinded by the lights from their own ship, the traffickers wouldn’t see her. And they wouldn’t expect her to have hidden within the shadow of the very ship she’d just leapt from. They’d assume she’d run into the woods—as the other human was doing.
Unfortunately for the clever little human, the ship’s scanners would detect her, and she’d quickly be recovered by the traffickers.
One of the traffickers, tall even by Scaeven standards, sprinted after the pale woman. Asier tensed, watching as the trafficker closed in on her. Asier could do nothing to help. To interfere at all would reveal his surveillance, would blow the operation he’d spent three solars working on. If he saved one victim, he’d condemn countless others. So he clenched his jaw until his upper canines bit into his bottom lip, remained in his place, and watched the human run for her life.
The distance between the woman and her Scaeven pursuer had closed to little more than the Scaeven’s arm reach. In seconds, he would close the gap, catch her, intoxicate her, and carry her docile, drugged body back to the ship. She’d gotten so far—all the way off the ship—only to lose at the very last second.
But to Asier’s surprise, the human bent her head and put on just a little more speed. It was enough for her to reach the forest and slip into the tree line before the Scaeven trafficker could get his hands on her. She was out of Asier’s sight. Her pursuer stopped at the trees. He paced along the dark perimeter, but did not enter the forest. After a few minutes, he gave up, and returned to the vessel. He knew what lurked in these woods, and he wasn’t going to risk his own life for one lost parcel.
But the human did not know the risks she was facing. She hadn’t had much of a choice. Escaping an immediate danger didn’t leave much time for assessing other environmental risks. Asier folded his scope flat and slid it inside his jacket. He checked the charge on his electron pistol. Not enough to kill any of the bigger spiders, but he primed it anyway. A good zap would at least deter them. He picked up his long-range arc rifle and slung the strap over his shoulder. He had to find the human before the spiders did.
And he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t excited to see one up close.
He heard her before he saw her. Vegetation cracked and rasped as she fought through it. She was breathing hard, still running. He didn’t know much about human physiology, but he was certain that covering two-thirds of a league, on foot, through dense undergrowth, in the dark, at such a speed, was not a small feat.
Asier positioned himself in her path, sinking down onto one knee and crossing his arms over his chest. It was a Scaeven gesture used by enemy combatants to indicate they wanted to negotiate, to speak peacefully. It was a request for parley. He doubted humans had the same gesture, but he hoped she would recognize the unthreatening posture, the passiveness of his pose, and understand he meant no harm.
She burst through a hanging curtain of vines. Her sudden appearance took him by surprise, even though he’d known when and where she would reach him. Up close, her humanity was even more compelling. Until now, Asier had only ever seen detailed images of humans on comm displays.
Like many young Scaevens, he’d spent his fair share of time as a boy poring over reference archives on human female anatomy—inspecting the images for prurient reasons, rather than the educational purposes they were meant to serve.
The Scaevens were a male-only race, who reproduced through engagement with the females of other compatible species. Once upon a time, human females had been one of those species. But eons ago, in his grandfather’s generation, the Scaeven judiciary banned Scaeven-human interaction, forbid Scaeven incursions into human territory, and outlawed the taking of human mates.
They were too dangerous, human females. The effect they had on a Scaeven was beyond reason, beyond control. More than one Scaeven had gone blissfully to his own death, and the death of his human mate, so lost in the enticement of her body that every other need ceased to exist.
It was because humans were such short-lived creatures, Asier suspected. And because they were so fragile, and easy to kill. The propagation of their species depended on quantity of output. A human woman could bear more than a dozen off-spring in the span of her fertile years. As such, their bodies were engineered to be, in every way, the pinnacle of sexual temptation. To induce mating and conception as frequently as possible. And Scaevens—even with their superior tech, and their vast political domain, and their far-reaching history, and their complex cultural development—were far from immune to that temptation.
So, of course, immediately after the legal injunction against human contact, a black market had sprung up. But for every ship of traffickers Asier took down, two more replaced it. A pattern had begun to emerge. Rather than the disconnected work of greedy, conscienceless opportunists, it was clear the traffickers were being managed. They operated by identical protocols, followed the same standards. They were part of an organization. And after solars spent chasing cold trails and false leads, Asier was finally on the verge of making real headway into the upper echelons of the cartel.
But as he stared at the human in front of him, every thought of justice and righteousness and honor fled from his mind. Instead, he felt only a primitive, bestial impulse that nearly flattened him.
Need. Take. Mine.
His youthful explorations of the biological archives had not prepared him for the mind-obliterating impact of human beauty. The human in front of him was pure, unadulterated sex.
Beneath the fitted protection of her flight suit, her breasts were round, full curves, and would only become fuller, rounder, if he got her with child. Her narrow waist flared out into the buxom swell of hips wide enough to bear his young. Her skin looked softer than Ravanoth velvet, her hair as fine as Bijari silk. Her parted lips would be always rosy and swollen, forever calling to mind the other parts of her body made of soft, pink flesh.
She was ethereally pale, a blend of different shades of sunlight—all peachy, golden, icy luster. She was tall for a human woman, but still small enough that Asier could so easily pick her up and carry her away and…
Stop. From deep inside him, the smallest, faintest echo of his own conscience fought to be heard. She’s frightened. She’s lost. She’s in danger.
He forced himself into the cool detachment with which he always conducted himself in his role as a Scaeven Enforcer. The creature in front of him was exhausted, injured, and wild with fear.
She hesitated for a moment in the clearing, squinting in the low light, assessing her options. Her night vision was not nearly as good as his. She didn’t seem to register Asier’s presence at all. She surged forward, tripping over Asier’s foot, and went sprawling to the ground. She remained where she’d fallen, gasping for breath.
This close, the scent of her hit Asier like a furnace blast—skin, sweat, female musk. Every muscle in his body clenched as he battled the impulse to leap on her, to claim her. Hadn’t he been warned how dangerously intoxicating human females were?
With only the faintest thread of self-control remaining, he turned stiffly to face her, keeping himself on one knee.
His movement startled her. She sat up abruptly. Her round human pupils dilated even wider, struggling to make sense of him in the darkness. Too late, he realized the mirror
ing fibers of his tactical jacket would have camouflaged him into the darkness. Even a Scaeven might have had trouble perceiving him.
Trying not to frighten her further, he spoke in a low voice, hoarse from the strain of his self-control. “I mean you no harm,” he said in the Ravanoth traders’ tongue.
As fast as any terrified creature, she leapt to her feet and scrambled backwards through the bracken, away from him.
Opposing needs forced him to his feet. There was the honorable desire to ensure her safety, to see that she was protected and defended from the threats of the traffickers, and the threats of this inhospitable planet. But roaring over the top of that bloodless duty was an incendiary, primitive rage at the escape of a fertile female, and the predatory impulse to chase her down.
His blood pounded in his ears, and he surged after her. She twisted to look back at him. Those eyes—round and wide, but as coolly penetrating as shards of ice—met his. Instead of wild, unthinking panic, Asier detected something acute beneath her obvious fear. An analytical gleam. A calculating assessment, done in the space of a breath. She faced forward, running hard. He was closing the gap. In seconds, he’d have his hands on her.
Without a single tell, she suddenly juked left.
Asier swore, cutting a hard turn, kicking up a spray of soil. On a flat track, with no obstructions, running in a straight line—he’d best her every time. But her lightweight, lithe body cut sharper, faster corners than his lumbering frame could manage. She slipped easily through dense undergrowth where he couldn’t hope to fit.
The human darted through a space between two trees, too narrow for Asier. Her new position put a long barrier of stout-bodied coniferous shrubs between them. They grew too closely together for him to slip through in good time, and he knew from experience that their sap would leave vicious welts on his skin. He raced along the length of them, his ears attuned to the sound of her footfalls, the gasping heave of her breaths.
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