by Robyn Bachar
The hallway was eerily quiet—soundproofed. Galen took a deep breath and comforted himself with the fact that only one person needed to hear his distress signal when the time was right, and no amount of soundproofing would keep an aleithir out.
Though technically Andee wasn’t speaking to him at the moment. Galen trusted that she would adhere to the mission no matter how upset with him she might be. At least he prayed that she would—he didn’t want to be trapped in a room with a sadist with no way to call for help.
Galen had expected…well, he wasn’t certain what he expected would happen after his outburst, but the fresh bite mark that had appeared on Andee’s throat was not it. His fists clenched at the audacity of it. He had revealed her wicked liathlinn nature, and she had celebrated by fucking Malcolm.
Toulouse backhanded Galen the moment the door to the private room closed behind them, and pain exploded across his cheek. Galen had never been struck before leaving Cyprena. No one would dare raise a hand to the lord of House Sunsinger. Since his arrival on Argent, however, he seemed to be a magnet for the backs of human hands. Heat throbbed through Galen’s head, and a trickle of blood dribbled from the edge of his mouth from a cut inside his cheek.
“Seems a shame to mar such a beautiful face. Perhaps I’ll start with your back.”
Galen growled, unable to swallow the reaction, and Toulouse slapped him again. He grabbed Galen by the hair and hauled him over to an odd, chest-high padded bar attached to a metal beam jutting from the floor. Toulouse fastened restraint cuffs at Galen’s wrists at either end of the bar, stretching him wide and presenting his back as an unmarked canvas. The human nearly purred with anticipation as he stripped Galen of the little clothing he had.
Remember the plan. It became his mantra, like a prayer to the old gods. A few scars were a small price to pay to save his people. A warrior would shed blood for his house, so as the lord he could hardly do less.
I shed blood for my lord like a good soldier.
Galen shuddered. Andee had already shed blood for her house, and he had chastised her for it. His obsession with Cy’ren history had well acquainted him with the legends about liathlinn. They were monsters, incapable of feeling mercy and not worthy of receiving it. But Andee hadn’t screamed or railed at him after last night, and every time their eyes met today she looked at him with such pain that he wanted to beg for her forgiveness. Even Malcolm looked at Galen with thinly veiled disgust.
He couldn’t let a liathlinn be his mate, any more than he could let a human male be one. Galen should let them both go. It was the best decision he could make. He had to be a strong leader and set a good example for his house.
“Now I know that you can growl. Let’s see how loud you can scream.”
∆∆∆
Sensing Galen’s pain was nearly unbearable. Since the moment his agony began, Andee wanted to storm through the club and rush to his rescue, but she couldn’t. Toulouse was their best bet to acquire access to the Eppes Tower. If Galen could survive the pain, Andee could endure sensing it. Malcolm’s energy was also in turmoil, twisted into knots of worry for Galen and anxiety about playing the role of a wealthy slaver. She sensed a constant quiet horror from Malcolm since they arrived on Argent, as though a corner of his mind screamed in new fear and remembered torments. Now he tried to focus on her attempt to pleasure him with her mouth, but he was just as distracted as Andee.
It was difficult to concentrate on Galen’s energy—not just because she was on her knees with a cock in her mouth, but because so many others around her were similarly occupied. The club writhed with constant throbbing lust, inhibition and a faint undercurrent of pain and fear. Paradise for a liathlinn, provided the liathlinn wanted to descend into insanity.
Many of the slaves were unwilling participants in the debauchery, and their hesitation only seemed to fuel their masters’ hunger. Though Andee was no stranger to the pleasures of the flesh, she had always been a willing participant, safe with the certainty that if she was ever uncomfortable all she need do was speak up about it. Perhaps she had been sheltered as a lord’s daughter, but there were shadow swords who didn’t participate in the sexual activities that went on in the barracks, and she had never seen those males discriminated against or mistreated. There was no honor in forcing yourself on another, especially a comrade in arms.
Had she been naïve? She didn’t want to think that Cy’ren were capable of abusing each other in such a way, but men like Lord Bildanen had no qualms about victimizing others to get what they wanted.
Malcolm gasped a small moan as a burst of precome salted Andee’s tongue. She smiled and stroked his shaft harder, her attention refocused on her task of pleasing him. They would rescue Galen soon.
With a heated moan, Malcolm came in her mouth, his seed pouring down her throat as she drank him down. She sat back on her heels after the last pulses of his cock faded, and he set his clothing to rights. He handed her his glass of wine and she sipped at it, but he didn’t pull her back into his lap.
Galen’s litany of pain suddenly changed, and she sucked in a shaky breath. Now.
Andee tapped her fingers on Malcolm’s thigh in time to the beat of the musical cue they had arranged. He tensed, then inclined his head in acknowledgment. He scanned the room until he “noticed” the second team, and then toasted them with his glass in invitation. The second team was comprised of four Alliance marines—two men, two women—posing as civilian businesspeople. The team joined them in the booth, and after a few hideously long moments of polite conversation Malcolm suggested that they all retire to the private room he had rented—conveniently located next to Toulouse’s favorite room.
Andee followed a respectful distance behind Malcolm as they made their way to the private rooms, and when they arrived everyone sat and chatted politely. Just long enough to make a convincing loop on the security feed. The club promised that there were no cameras within the private rooms, but of course there were, for evidence or blackmail purposes. Malcolm withdrew a data pad from his jacket as though casually checking his comm. feed, and after a moment of tapping at its surface he gave the all clear.
“I’m looping the hallway cameras,” Malcolm said, “and I’m disabling the sensors in the ventilation system.”
Andee nodded. Two of the team hopped up on the furniture to remove the grate over the room’s ventilation duct, and then Commander Soth boosted her up. Andee was the smallest and lightest of the group, but it was still a tight fit because the ducts were designed to be wide enough to let repair bots trundle through, not people. She crawled on her belly toward Toulouse’s room, and she was immediately shaken by Galen’s screams. Her blood chilled at the sound, but then she bared her teeth in rage. She would tear Toulouse apart.
Malcolm spoke over the comm. “I have the data package of Toulouse ready to upload. Go ahead, Andee.”
“Entering target’s room now,” she confirmed. Andee removed the grate and pulled it up into the vent, and then she silently dropped into the room.
Toulouse drew back, whip in hand, preparing to strike Galen again. The once-lavender skin of Galen’s back was red and raw, covered with bleeding wounds. Andee drew the dagger concealed in her boot and plunged the blade into Toulouse’s spine. She could have been merciful and killed him instantaneously, but she was far too furious for mercy. Instead she paralyzed him with one stab and pierced his lungs with the next, preventing him from moving or screaming.
Andee growled. “You will die in slow agony for what you’ve done to my mate.”
With one last thrust she buried her blade in his kidneys, and then shoved Toulouse to the floor. Andee hurried to free Galen, cooing soothingly to him in Cy’reni as she undid his bonds. Galen collapsed, and she knelt beside him and held him in her arms.
My mate. But he wasn’t her mate anymore. Galen despised her and thought her a monster. Andee cleared her throat and shoved the thought away. The mission came first, and right now he needed her.
“Target is neu
tralized,” Andee said over the comm.
“We’re coming to you,” Malcolm replied.
Now that he had control of the club’s security systems, Malcolm was able to take the team through the service corridor instead of the main hall. They had no way to control the club’s patrons, but Malcolm could ensure that the employees were routed to other locations. Andee cradled Galen close as the others arrived. Dack swore and darted toward them.
“He needs a medic,” Andee said. Galen’s pain constricted her throat, but his relief washed over her as well.
“Got it,” one of the marines replied. A male—Andee vaguely remembered that his name was Pennington. He pressed a hypo against Galen’s upper arm, and then sprayed a clear coat of bandages across his back. “Better?”
“Yes. Thank you,” Galen ground out in reply.
“Here.” Malcolm held out his jacket.
Andee smiled, touched by the gesture, and then she helped Galen dress. “Can you continue?” she asked him softly in Cy’reni.
Galen nodded. “I can complete the mission.”
Brave. Most lords weren’t capable of such courage, or such endurance. Wylarric would have broken at the first hint of blood. Andee’s gut twisted with guilt at thinking ill of her late brother, but being murdered didn’t forgive the life he’d lived before it was taken.
“I’m harvesting Toulouse,” Dack said. He glanced at Malcolm and Galen. “You might not want to watch this.”
“No. I do.”
Dack knelt at Toulouse’s side and paused. “He’s not dead.”
“I said he was neutralized, not eliminated.” Andee’s voice was cool in spite of the anger heating her blood. “Do you wish to end him?” she asked Galen.
He considered it for a moment. “No. Just get it over with.”
Galen’s jaw clenched as he watched Dack finish Toulouse and do the dirty work of obtaining the identification they needed to enter the tower.
“Let’s move out,” Commander Soth ordered when Dack was finished.
Andee helped Galen from the room and into the service corridor. His pain faded when the medication kicked in, and it eased some of Andee’s worry. She split her concentration between monitoring him and focusing on the mission. Toulouse had reserved the room for the rest of the evening—if they were lucky, no one would look for him until morning.
“I’ve got point. This way,” Pennington said.
Their contacts had warned them that things on Argent became more dangerous the closer to surface one traveled, but it was another thing to witness firsthand as they emerged from the lift in a sublevel of the building. The rancid smell was like walking into a refuse recycling facility. The lights flickered and buzzed in the fixtures above, and though Cy’ren could see perfectly well in darkness, the effect was disconcerting.
Commander Soth looked to her. “Sense anything?”
She was surprised by the question—not the topic, but that Soth would ask it. Andee tilted her head to the side as she concentrated. “Two on the level above us, but no one on this level.”
“Good,” Pennington said. “We need to cross this level, take the stairs up three floors, and access the freight lift.”
“Guess the cleaning bots don’t get down here too often.” Soth wrinkled his nose as he scraped his boot across a patch of moss—at least Andee hoped it was moss, it could be overgrown mold. Disgusting.
They traversed the level and made their way up a rusting metal staircase that wheezed and shimmied with every step the group took, but thankfully didn’t give way. When they emerged on the floor with the lift they needed, the whine of a laser powering up was their only warning before the security bots opened fire.
“Take cover,” she ordered, and the group scattered. She hauled Galen and Malcolm behind an empty plastisteel crate covered in three inches of dust.
“You said no one was up here,” Soth shouted above the laser fire.
“I can’t read machines,” she countered.
Soth and Loren had pistols, but Andee was armed only with the two daggers she had concealed in her boots. Not very useful when dealing with inorganics, but not terrible. She risked a glance at their attackers and spotted two ancient security bots, lasers firing from their chest plates. Thank the gods that they weren’t top-of-the-line models, but the noise was sure to catch someone’s attention.
“Cover me,” she shouted.
The shadow swords laid down covering fire, and after a three count Andee dove from cover, rolled and charged the two bots. Andee ran just past them, spun like a dancer and buried her blades into the base of the machine’s skulls. The bots shuddered and died in a shower of sparks, and Andee breathed a sigh of relief. Old models were fashioned after humanoids, which left them with vulnerable spots in their armor, just like living soldiers.
Lieutenant Loren favored her with a tight nod, which Andee figured was the highest praise she was likely to get from him. She yanked her daggers free with a hideous metallic shriek of protest, and they continued on.
Pennington paused next to the lift. “This is the first security checkpoint. Malcolm, you’re up.”
He handed the data pad to the indexer, who frowned down at it as he furiously tapped commands across the screen. “We’re good. We’ll need the retinal pattern for the next one, though. Give me a minute and I’ll take care of the rest of the security bots. I don’t think those two were even connected to the network. Those models are older than I am.”
The group continued up through levels that were increasingly clean and well kept, and increasingly occupied with security guards and potential witnesses. The pauses for disarming the security system became longer and Malcolm’s frowns deeper until at last they emerged on the floor that promised to hold the Eppes data servers.
More equipment was needed to connect Malcolm to the network, and the Alliance team drew parts, wires and additional data pads from hidden compartments in their clothing. Andee was impressed and envious by the sight, for her own skimpy slave outfit left only her boots to store things in. Perhaps she ought to just strip the rest and use her nudity as a distraction.
“Monitoring programs online,” Galen said. “Ready to proceed.”
“Connecting now.” Malcolm sat cross-legged on the floor, a data pad precariously balanced on either knee, and he plugged the wire into the data jack at the base of his skull.
Andee watched the pair with concern, wondering if she should lower her shields to read Galen but worried about what she would discover if she did.
“Lady Andelynn?” Lieutenant Loren asked, drawing her attention away. “Are you still tracking the human security personnel?”
She blushed because she had forgotten in her distraction over Galen and Malcolm. Closing her eyes, she scanned the area. One energy—an older male, she guessed—radiated boredom on the level above them. Andee stretched further, identifying the energies of flustered, anxious office workers who had doubtless stayed late to finish some project or another. What would it be like to have a profession? Such work was foreign to a lord’s daughter.
“There appear to be two employees having sex four floors above us,” she informed the lieutenant.
He snorted and shook his head. “Only two? Must be a slow night.”
Andee laughed, surprised at Loren’s sudden show of humor. Galen glanced up at the sound, quirking one pale brow, but then returned to monitoring Malcolm’s vital signs. A link like this was dangerous—the makeshift uplink didn’t have proper monitoring equipment or enough security measures to protect Malcolm. If the Eppes systems recognized him as a threat, Malcolm could go into an arrest before any of them realized what had happened.
“Wow,” Malcolm said. “These guys really do have a hand in every dirty deal from here to the U-territory and back.”
“Can you copy that data?” Lieutenant Loren asked.
“Yeah. Some of this looks like the file the Collective’s been compiling, but I’ll download what I can to my personal storage. I’ll need to uploa
d it when we get back to the ship. It’s a lot of stuff. This’ll keep the Alliance busy for years.” Malcolm’s hands danced over the data pads as he closed his eyes, his expression dreamy as though he listened to relaxing music.
“Your cardiac rate is accelerating,” Galen said.
Malcolm’s brow creased. “I’m having trouble. Their security is really good. Wonder who wrote it. It reminds me of Patrick Chang, but I heard he burned out a few years ago.”
“Burned out?” Loren asked.
“Most miners burn out young.” He took a deep breath as though about to launch into an explanation, but then he frowned. “Ah. There we go. That’s better. Accessing files on the Lazarus virus now. I should have the location of the facility momentarily.”
A twinge of approaching pairs of vigilant awareness caught her attention, and she straightened and motioned for silence. Andee signed to Commander Soth that there were two targets approaching in the south corridor, and Soth nodded in reply, signaling for three of the Alliance marines to accompany him to take care of the problem.
Alarms blared to life around them moments after Soth’s team left, and red lights blinked on around the room. Andee scowled—she should have taken out the patrol by herself. Soth was good at bludgeoning things, but he wasn’t built for stealth. She did a quick read for incoming hostiles, though the alarms had triggered loud bursts of emotion throughout the building.
Andee activated her comm. to update Soth’s team in the corridor. “Two teams of six incoming to this area. One north, one south.”
“Acknowledged. We’re on the south team,” Soth said.
“Lady Andelynn, you have Osa and Sharp. The rest of you are with me on the north team,” Lieutenant Loren said.
“Aye, Lieutenant.” Andee would be happier if she had a pistol, but she drew her daggers and took up a guard position near Galen and Malcolm. She nodded toward the two marines with her. “Cover the entry points.”