Brilliant Starlight

by Anna Carven

  I haven’t told her what went on here. I probably never will—there’s no point in sharing such horror—but she senses it. She has picked up on hints here and there. She is intuitive, this mate of mine.

  I snort in derision. “It is not what it used to be.”

  She gives me a bittersweet smile.

  My cock twitches. Kaiin’s fucking hells, I need her.

  Later. We have to go.

  A tremor shakes the ground beneath our feet. We are deep underground, so the sensation is faint. Abbey doesn’t react—she probably didn’t feel it—but to me, it’s very significant.

  There is not supposed to be any seismic activity on Xar.

  I open my comm again. “What’s happening?”

  “Imperial rebels. Commander Nikori says they’re dropping plasma bombs.”

  I curse. The Imperials are desperate. The tables have turned. They are the rebels now, and I am calling the shots.

  How the fuck did they find us? Zharek’s absence is conspicuous. If he had something to do with this…

  I extend the comm to Nikori.

  “Commander.”

  “Sir!”

  In the background, I can hear shouting and a distant boom. “Have Silence do an orbital scan and find them. Retreat onto your cruiser. Put Serpen V into the air and hunt them down. If you make contact, tell them to cease and desist. Remind them that we have fission missiles pointed at Kythia from all directions. I can have them launched with extreme accuracy and prejudice, even from beyond the grave. This is a fool’s errand.”

  “What about you—”

  “That is not your concern, soldier.” My tone brooks no argument.

  “Understood, Sir!” Nikori replies. “I count three fighters. We’re outnumbered, but I have a crack pilot in the ranks. We’ll take these lunatics down for you.” He growls. “Imperial vorchek scum. They just don’t know when to stay down.”

  I patch through to Virdan X and reach our pilot, a capable soldier called Taug. “Are you in the air?”

  “Not yet, Sir. We’re here on the landing zone. They missed us on the first strafe. Figured you’d need a quick getaway, so I’ve set the thrusters to burst-mode.”

  “That won’t help if you get hit by a plasma bomb, Taug. You’re too exposed out there. Can you do a low-terrain maneuver through the jungle?”

  “It’ll be a challenge, but I’ve flown worse. The terraformed path is the only part wide enough for the Virdan to fit through.”

  “Anywhere but the Pit. Just conceal your position, Taug. We’ll find you.”

  “Got it.”

  As I’ve been talking, I’ve been watching my mate. She has been removing the rest of the medical attachments from her body. Her chest is exposed in an artful way. I have intentionally cut away the utility suit in a manner that has left her modesty intact, because I could not tolerate the thought of the others viewing her most intimate parts. She would not have liked it, and I would not have wanted it, even though the only ones to see her were medics, and they were just doing their jobs. Unlike Kordolians, Humans are more… reserved about revealing their bodies. As Abbey says, “it’s a cultural thing.”

  Her round, luscious breasts are covered with fabric but the center of her chest is exposed, leaving a strip of bare flesh that runs from neck to stomach. Her skin is perfectly intact. There is no evidence that she has just undergone difficult and complicated nano-surgery.

  Following the direction of my appreciative gaze, she glances down at her body. “That’s some nifty cutting right there, General.”

  I snort, but I am secretly pleased. The fluid level has dropped even more, revealing her delicious hips and thighs. The faint, alluring scent of her arousal stirs a different kind of madness in me. I want to bury my face between her thighs and taste her.

  Even now, with her body coated in glistening stasis liquid, she is exquisite. Her lips… they are wet and generous and slightly parted. Exquisite. I should kiss her, but I fear I would lose it.

  It is always like this with her. I am barely able to restrain myself. Those who look in from the outside have no idea of what rages inside me; an ever-present maelstrom of love and lust. I walk on the edge, always controlled, always barely contained.

  She does this to me.

  Another tremor rocks the ground. “We have to go,” I say gently. We still have to navigate the horrors of the Swallowing Pit and get out of here intact.

  For me, that is easy. For her, not so much. Although she has learned to control the machines, the number of nanites in her body is a mere fraction of what I possess. She can use them to heal, nothing more.

  Holding the forms—the armor and the prototypes—in her mind would be another thing entirely, and even if she had enough nanites in her bloodstream to do it, I would not allow her to learn the techniques. I would not wish the torture of that brutal training on anyone, even my enemies.

  Perhaps that is not entirely correct. I would inflict that kind of pain on some of my enemies, but only the worst ones.

  She looks up at me with clear, unwavering trust in her forest-colored eyes. It is the most glorious thing. She is free and unfettered; no longer dependent on medical infusions or monitors or support systems. Her body is whole and intact, and she has learned to control my curse.

  Although I am mindful of the imminent danger, I am also exultant.

  The corner of her mouth quirks upwards. “I still don’t understand what the hell just happened, but I feel great.”

  These are the best words in the Universe.

  “So is this the part where you sweep me into your arms and we make a swashbuckling dash for it while you fend off the bad guys with your formidable fighting prowess?” She is being wry. That is a good sign. This is classic Abbey; she is entirely serious, and yet she finds something humorous in the situation.

  “Yes,” I say solemnly.

  She yelps in surprise as I do exactly what she has described and sweep her into my arms.

  I like doing that. Her body fits perfectly against mine.

  “I can walk, you know. I’m not an invalid.”

  “You most certainly are not.” Still, I will not put her down. She doesn’t know what’s waiting outside, and I don’t want to linger and force her to witness the ugliness. Knowing my warriors, I suspect there will be a respectable number of bodies lying on the floor outside.

  She can’t run as fast as I can. If I move quickly enough, then maybe everything will become a blur.

  I carry her in one arm as I raise my plasma gun and fire at the wall of the tank, creating a convenient exit point. The thick transparent surface melts and stasis fluid flows out onto the floor.

  She reaches for her crixa.

  “No.” My voice echoes throughout the surgical bay, amplified by the walls of the stasis tank.

  “No?” She looks up at me. Her expression is a mixture of those most un-Kordolian things; understanding, curiosity, and… compassion.

  “No.”

  She stays her hand.

  And we run.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Abbey

  One day, I’m going to have to explain to Ami how Tarak and I first met. I’m going to have to explain to her that choosing to be with someone from another planet has its challenges, especially when that world is populated by a race of silver-skinned alien uber-elves with a penchant for violence.

  This is why we’re currently running through a semi-abandoned experimentation facility, tearing past horrors that are shrouded in shadow as we fly past at Tarak’s usual break-neck speed.

  Damn, he can really put the pace on when he wants to. I sometimes forget that my husband is freakishly inhuman.

  I can’t see much; only what the glowing blue lights of the stasis tanks show me. Bodies, small and large. Silver-skinned specimens that are all out of proportion. Strange, malformed limbs and faces. The rest is hidden. Tarak told me not to activate the crixa, and I immediately understood.

  He doesn’t want me to see what�
�s in the shadows. He doesn’t want me to figure out what these things are; these dark lumps on the ground that he has to dodge and leap over every few steps. The Kordolians were running some crazy fucked-up experiments down here, all in the name of science… and taking over the Universe.

  But not all Kordolians are the same, and Tarak has proven that to me time and time again. I’m determined to learn about the good parts of Kordolian culture and pass them on to Ami, because she is half alien uber-elf after all, and it’s important for her to be connected to both her Human and Kordolian sides.

  I’ll talk to Tarak about that later. Right now, he’s a little preoccupied with trying to get me out of this place.

  I might not be able to see much, but that doesn’t mean I can’t hear things.

  The air around me rings with sounds of violence. Tarak’s guys are somewhere behind us, fighting off monsters. Low, guttural moans curdle my blood. A great roar reverberates through the very marrow of my bones. Someone’s screaming for mercy in a weird dialect of Kordolian that I’m struggling to understand.

  One by one, the sounds stop. The moaning stops. The roar is cut short. The desperate begging… stops.

  Then, silence. That can only mean one thing.

  We’re running away from it all, leaving behind the deepening silence. If I were to activate the crixa now, I’d probably witness the aftermath of a bloodbath.

  Resident monsters, meet the original fucking monsters. Whatever’s lurking back there doesn’t have a chance against the First Division boys.

  Suddenly, we’re airborne as Tarak manages to leap over some indistinct blob in our path like a champion hurdler. Then, he stops and gently puts me down. “Hold on.”

  It’s dark here. We’ve left the stasis area behind. I can barely see my surroundings.

  “Huh?” Before I can register what’s happening, Tarak has left me standing in darkness.

  Grunt. Roar. Slash. Growl. Thud.

  An acrid, bitter smell fills the air.

  What the…? In a state of mild panic, I tap the crixa. The light is blinding, like a flash of lightning. Tarak’s there, his swords held lazily in both hands. They curve down towards the ground, ready to dance at the slightest provocation.

  A grotesque, headless body lies at his feet. There’s another one behind him, and beyond…

  Leathery wings lay outstretched on the floor, and there are thick, rope-like things… are they restraints of some sort?

  Beyond us, the walls curve into a huge, cavernous space. The ceiling rises up, becoming a vast column that disappears into nothingness. Below is a wide, bottomless pit that swallows the light of the crixa.

  Sometimes, the darkness is stronger than the light.

  “Enough,” Tarak growls, flicking the blood off his swords. He sheaths them and stalks towards me. He’s left his face uncovered. His eyes are narrowed, and I doubt he can see anything right now, but he still knows exactly where I am.

  His nostrils flare. His ears twitch. His fangs gleam.

  Predator.

  Monster.

  I kill the light and let darkness fall. It’s safer that way.

  “I’ve got you,” he whispers, lifting me into his arms.

  “I know.”

  And we run.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Tarak

  I sprint out of Yol Kruta with madness nipping at my heels. A savage undertow of dark memories threatens to drag me back into the Pit.

  We will give you only what you walked in here with: the skin on your back and the anger in your heart. Your existence starts from the very moment you set foot on Xar’ian soil. Every test, every battle, every re-awakening, you will remember. Your life before Xar means nothing. You are nothing.

  Kaiin’s Hells, how I detest this fucking place.

  I do not look back as we leave the Swallowing Pit behind. Abbey tightens her arms around my neck and looks up at me, her dark pupils constricting as we enter the light. Her exploration helmet was left behind in the surgical bay, but it does not matter. I will outrun killer spores and flesh-eating pathogens, and besides, she has my curse running through her veins, and she knows how to control it.

  I activate my helm to avoid being blinded by the bright sunlight, which is so similar to that on Earth. What a cursed, useless planet. To the Empire, it was the perfect planet on which to carry out a project like Exogenesis. Hot, isolated, and covered in useless vegetation, no Kordolian in their right mind would ever want to live here, and the deadly diseases they experimented with will never be able to escape to Kythia.

  In its natural form, kriovirus is a semi-sentient, flesh-eating disease. Zharek must have a truly twisted mind to be able to conceive of fusing such a thing to tiny nano-machines.

  Boom! The sound of heavy plasma fire reverberates through the skies. Nikori is going after these so-called Imperial rebels in the Serpen V. How they found us, I do not know, but if it turns out there is a traitor in our midst, someone is going to die a very slow and painful death.

  The sleek, tapering hull of the Virdan X is a most welcome sight. Taug has hidden it just beyond the tree-line, at the entrance to the terraformed slope. The rebels will no longer be able to see it from the air.

  The boarding ramp is open. The ship’s thrusters emit a dull roar. The Virdan X is on standby; ready to take off as soon as we have boarded.

  “We’re right behind you, boss.” Torin reaches me through the comm. “Just had to take care of a little unfinished business. A couple of nasty scientists down there were trying to sic their beasts on us.”

  “Any sign of Zharek?”

  “No.”

  I do not know why I am feeling disappointed. Zharek is strange and erratic; he runs hot one moment and cold the next, and his decisions never, ever seem logical to me.

  Why would he heal Abbey and then sell us out to the rebels?

  We reach the cruiser. A gust of hot wind flares out from underneath the thrusters. Mareth and Joran are waiting in the lower airlock with a medikit.

  “Does she need assistance?” Mareth’s gravelly voice punches through the noise-field of the thrusters. He’s staring at Abbey as if she were a ghost.

  “I’m fine,” she yells back in Kordolian. Her pronunciation has a distinctly Earthian tone, but the words are perfect.

  My chest swells with pride. My mate is clever and resourceful and brave. She is a fine lover and a fierce, nurturing mother.

  I would destroy empires for her, again and again.

  I set her on her feet at the base of the boarding ramp. She looks up at me and smiles. “Thank you, General.”

  Her suit is torn, her damp hair hangs limply around her face, and her cheeks are a little gaunt, but standing there in the infernal light of the Xar’ian sun with the dappled shadows of the forest dancing across her face, she is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.

  Boom! Another heavy plasma blast shatters the silence. “Let’s go.” As I lead her up the ramp, a sudden restlessness overtakes me. Now that I have my prize; now that she is safe, I am impatient to be away from this place. I want her to be back in the safe cocoon of Silence with our daughter.

  Nothing would please me more than to see Abbey take Ami into her arms. Seeing mother and daughter separated has pained me more than I care to admit.

  I glance behind and see Torin, Jeral, and Kail loping through the jungle. The runner in front—I can tell it is Jeral from the way he moves—gives me a lazy salute. If my warriors are harboring any dark emotions as they return to the place that made them, they do not show it. They never will. They are hard men, because life has made them that way.

  A loud metallic groan rends the air above. A blast of pressure explodes through the jungle, whipping the leafy crowns of the tall plants. I step in front of Abbey as we enter the ship, shielding her from any potential danger. “Get inside,” I snap. My impatience seethes underneath my skin like a nest of swarming bilik-insects. “We’re getting out of here.”

  Abbey looks around. She n
otes the presence of the medics. Her eyes narrow as she catches sight of the approaching warriors. Another plasma blast shakes the surrounds. Her eyes widen as the residual shock-wave ripples through us.

  “Where’s Zharek?”

  “I don’t know,” I say coldly. “We’re leaving.”

  “You can’t just leave him,” she whispers.

  A torrent of conflicting emotions rages through me as I contemplate the fate of my original tormentor. His deranged mind conceived of the technology that underpins our power. The experiments that created us were responsible for the deaths of thousands, if not tens of thousands.

  Yet he is Zyara’s former clan-brother. He is the one who secretly taught her the art of medicine when she came into House Sirian, even though such a thing—a female medic—was unheard of in our culture. He made her into what he could never be—a healer.

  He is a tariss-addicted layabout; a spoilt noble brat who is frittering away his genius because he cannot deal with his own tortured fucking ego. I know this well, because I have endured many of his rants while in stasis.

  And yet he kept my mate alive.

  He might be a traitor.

  I should leave him. The situation is getting out of hand. I must keep Abbey safe, especially now that I have snatched her back from death’s grasp.

  Abbey gently grabs my wrist. “Wait just a little bit longer.”

  “He’s the one who took off,” I growl. “He understands the consequences of his actions. I’m not waiting.”

  “He saved my life.”

  “Did he?” Perhaps this was all a ruse; a clever ploy to lure us here so that the rebels could conveniently dispose of us. The thought of such treachery enrages me. My revenge will be swift and bloody.

  As if in answer to our questions, a figure appears from the shadows of the Pit. Zharek is running like the madman that he is, desperate to catch us.

  The boarding ramp is retracting.

  “Wait!” he screams.

  “Tarak,” Abbey chides softly. “Don’t be mean.”

  Mean? I raise an eyebrow. I can be cruel, and in true Kordolian fashion I can certainly hold a grudge, but… mean?