Shattered Silence

by Anna Carven

  It hurt to breathe, but she ignored the pain, staring at the door with a clear, steady gaze.

  Any second now…

  Swish. The door to the storage compartment slid open.

  “Shit.” Layla swore under her breath as half a dozen males appeared before her, crowding the narrow escape pod.

  She took a step backward.

  Six pairs of eyes focused on her. Eyes that were shades of sunset and fire, from golden to deepest red.

  Six grim faces stared at her, sharp-featured and mean looking, their silver skin luminous under the bright cabin lights.

  Pointed ears curved past cropped white hair.

  Severe black military uniforms encased tall, powerful bodies. They wore high-necked jackets, black trousers, and black boots. The only embellishment was a series of silver characters embroidered at the collar. Layla recognized something that looked like a symbol of an eye, but apart from that, it was all very mysterious.

  Of course, they were all armed to the teeth. Guns, blades, swords, and several devices Layla couldn’t quite identify were secured to their bodies.

  Don’t fight back.

  Now it made sense. Against a group of heavily armed Kordolians, she didn’t stand a chance.

  Layla had seen them on the Network footage, but she’d never been up close and personal with one, let alone six, and these particular aliens didn’t look very fucking friendly.

  They were even more intimidating in real life.

  These guys were Enki’s enemies?

  Kordolians against Kordolians. What the hell was going on?

  One of the soldiers stepped forward, dissecting her with a hard crimson stare. The symbols on his collar were embroidered in blood red instead of silver, denoting some sort of rank, and he looked slightly older than the others. His pale hair was peppered with grey, and there were fine lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth.

  In her mind, Layla labelled him the Sergeant, because he looked like he was in charge of this particular squad.

  “Do you speak Universal?” His voice was devoid of any emotion.

  Layla thought hard for a moment. Pretend you don’t understand. It took all of her willpower to school her expression into one of confusion. She stared straight ahead, blinking furiously. “Who are you?” she asked in her mother’s language, knowing perfectly well he couldn’t understand her. “What is this place?”

  It was one small way she could ensure they didn’t have complete control over her. At the very least, playing dumb might buy her some time, might make things a little more difficult for these Kordolians until Enki arrived.

  But how the hell is he going to breach their defenses? What if he isn’t coming? What if this is your shitty fate?

  Layla crushed her paralyzing doubts before they spiraled into full-blown catastrophe.

  He’s coming.

  It was crazy. She didn’t even know the man, but she had to believe him. It was the only way she could do this.

  The Kordolian’s eyes narrowed and he inclined his head, one corner of his mouth curling upward to reveal a sharp, gleaming fang.

  Holy hell. She hadn’t been able to appreciate that small detail on the Network vision. Layla stood perfectly still, hoping her face conveyed a perfect mixture of fear, naivety, and confusion.

  He walked forward slowly, his boots echoing hollowly on the metal floor. Coming to a stop just inches before her, he stood so close she became acutely aware of his size and potential for violence.

  Layla was pretty sure all those weapons he carried around weren’t just for showing off.

  The thought of her fighting back physically was almost laughable.

  I’m screwed.

  Six big, powerful Kordolians stood between her and whatever lay beyond the walls of her pod, and she wasn’t sure she even wanted to know what was out there.

  The Sergeant raised his hand, and Layla drew on every ounce of her self-control to remain still and not flinch.

  Her reaction was instinctive. She’d been on the receiving end of violence before, at the hands of a man who was much bigger than her.

  Forget about that. You can do this.

  Those were just bad memories now. She’d escaped all that—survived—and somehow she’d ended up here.

  Layla was stronger than she looked.

  To her surprise, the Sergeant didn’t grab her or hit her. He just hooked his finger under her chin and tipped her face up, forcing Layla to meet his gaze.

  What she saw in his red eyes scared her, a lot.

  He regarded her the way one might look at an insect—with complete and utter indifference. He could crush her under his boot at any moment and he wouldn’t lose sleep over it.

  Creepy bastard.

  The Sergeant’s grey lips curved into a smile that failed to reach his eyes. He uttered a soft command to his men as he released her, taking a step back.

  Two soldiers stepped forward. One of them held something in his hands—a device of some sort.

  As they moved toward her, frantic thoughts flashed through Layla’s mind. She could try and make a run for it, but where the hell would she go? She could pull the knife at her back and try to defend herself, but these guys would easily make mincemeat out of her… they could even kill her. She could scream her head off and cause a hell of a commotion, but that would be pointless and stupid, and it would just piss them off.

  Besides, they moved so damn fast, and she had no chance to react as a large, rough hand encircled the back of her neck and applied a cruel amount of pressure.

  “Voruk,” he said softly, pushing her down.

  Layla got an inkling of what he wanted her to do.

  Are you fucking serious? Unable to help herself, she looked into his golden eyes, questioning the command. A chill spread through her, and it wasn’t just because the air flowing in from outside was fucking cold.

  No, it was because she suddenly recalled something about Kordolians enslaving just about every other damn race they came into contact with. That meant she really was nothing more than an insect to them.

  Right now, they outmatched her in every possible way—in numbers, weapons, power—and they wanted her to accept her fate through one simple gesture.

  “Voruk!” Now it was a whipcrack of a command, harsh and laced with the promise of pain.

  Layla could guess the meaning of the word.

  Kneel.

  If this is what ordinary Kordolians were like, then who the fuck was Enki, and why were they his enemies?

  She was tempted to drop his name just to see if they would react, but she didn’t want to give them any warning he was coming, so she kept quiet.

  “Ugh!” Suddenly, excruciating pain shot through one of her ankles. Caught off balance, Layla collapsed to the floor, landing on all fours with a heavy thud.

  The soldiers laughed.

  Bastards! One of them had kicked her foot out from under her, his boot smashing into the bony part of her ankle. Pain shot through her ankle and her injured rib, bringing tears to her eyes. Her breaths came out as great choked sobs.

  Something closed around her neck, something hard and cold and tight, momentarily restricting her breathing. Layla’s vision dimmed. She almost blacked out.

  Soft laughter echoed around her, and Layla decided then and there that she hated Kordolians.

  The hard device dug into her neck, and she realized it was something utterly abominable.

  A collar!

  “Shuk!” The Sergeant turned around, crooking his finger. The meaning was clear. Come. That same cruel half-smile played across his lips, making her feel as if he’d done this sort of thing a thousand times before, making Layla hate him even more.

  Despite the her complete lack of power, despite the obvious risks to herself, Layla just couldn’t bring herself to obey.

  Strong hands hooked beneath her arms, and Layla was hauled to her feet.

  The Sergeant waited expectantly. He gestured toward her again. Come.

  K
nowing he had complete control over her.

  Toying with her.

  Several of the soldiers laughed.

  Layla had just spent the last few weeks, months, whatever, drifting through empty space in a defective escape-pod, knowing the dead bodies of her fellow passengers were in the destroyed ship alongside her.

  She’d come to terms with her mortality, spent hours upon hours listening to the deathly silence, and had almost gone mad wondering if she was doomed to slowly eat through eight years worth of disgusting Nutricubes until she was left with nothing.

  No food, no communication, no hope.

  Until the mysterious Enki caught her singing.

  Layla straightened and stared at the Sergeant, refusing to play into their little game. Yes, she was scared, and maybe she was acting stupid, but she was a little bit unstable right now, and she just couldn’t get it into her head that she was supposed to be inferior to these callous silver assholes.

  It was maddening, not knowing what they wanted with her, although Layla could hazard a guess.

  “Who shoved the stick up your ass?” she asked softly in Eskulin, another of the languages she spoke. “I really hope my boy turns out to be someone who can do you folk a lot of damage, because that would be insanely satisfying.”

  “Tch.” The Sergeant shook his head in a disapproving manner and uttered a soft command.

  And suddenly Layla’s world was doused in a haze of agony.

  Pain shot around her neck, digging vicious claws into the column of her spine. Pain ran down her back, turning her legs to jelly. Pain tore across her scalp, her face, her eyes, turning her vision white.

  She’d thought the pain in her ribs and ankle was bad, but this…

  This was the worst thing she’d ever experienced in her life.

  A punishment for her mild disobedience.

  Please stop.

  She just wanted it to stop, but she would never, ever beg.

  “Voruk.” This time, the Sergeant’s command was deceptively gentle; almost a caress. It was as if he were taunting her, donning a mask of restraint while the most excruciating pain rocketed through her body.

  Now it just felt like she was taking a bath in fire and being flayed alive at the same time. What kind of sadistic, depraved, degenerate mind had come up with this awful, awful device?

  A Kordolian mind, obviously.

  Enki, I hope you’re real and not just a figment of my imagination, and I really, really hope you don’t get off on this kind of shit.

  Somehow, Layla was still on her feet, but she’d reached the very limits of her endurance.

  She couldn’t take this anymore.

  Make it stop. Makeitstopmakeitstop!

  She swayed. Closed her eyes. Tried to remember what she was supposed to do.

  Voruk.

  Kneel.

  She dropped to her knees, gasping.

  In a flash, the pain disappeared, leaving her nerve endings raw and tingling, the memory of impossible agony freshly imprinted on her mind.

  Already, a scar was forming.

  She didn’t want to go through that again.

  Holy shit. If this was how Kordolians controlled their slaves, then she wasn’t going to last long.

  Once again, she was hauled to her feet. Once again, she met the Sergeant’s gaze. He said something in that strange, lyrical tongue of his, and from his tone, Layla interpreted his words to mean something like “now you know what we can do to you, so you had better obey, or else.”

  And now she understood why Enki had told her to endure.

  These Kordolians were fucking nuts.

  The problem was, Layla didn’t know how much more of this she could take before she was pushed to breaking point.

  Given everything that had happened to her, she feared it wouldn’t take much at all.

  Chapter Six

  Enki stared at the noble, and the noble stared back at him.

  Neither of them spoke. Sitting on the floor with his legs crossed, Enki balanced Nythian’s slender black knife between his thumb and forefinger, silently contemplating the thousand-and-one ways he could inflict pain upon his captive.

  He was frantic inside, but he wouldn’t ever let Relahek Alerak know that.

  Time was running out. He had to find the human soon. Enki knew his own kind all too well. Daegan and his followers were relics of the old Empire. They believed all other species were inferior, and that it was their divine right to capture, own, torture, and generally do as they pleased.

  Kordolian cruelty knew no bounds. They would turn Layla’s existence into a living hell.

  Since returning from Tharos, Enki hadn’t really cared much about anything except fighting, carrying out his missions, and searching for a way to get rid of the passenger in his mind, but suddenly, he felt possessive. Protective. Territorial.

  Humans were theirs to protect, and there was no way he was going to allow anyone to steal them, especially Kordolians.

  Especially that idiot Daegan, who was descended from nobility. It was well known that the old Imperial military had been divided.

  Two generals.

  Two factions.

  Those under Daegan’s command tended to be highborn. Daegan had always had first pick of the new recruits, and he tended to choose those with noble lineage.

  The rest—the soori—went to Tarak al Akkadian.

  Nobles and commoners. A divided battle force. One group to do the high-risk work, the off-planet work, the grueling missions to distant sectors—fighting, colonizing, killing—another to enjoy the privileges of rank and station.

  Just another reason why Enki hated nobles.

  As the metal-pierced lordling met Enki’s gaze, his lips curved into a scornful smile. Only a Kordolian could pull off such a look while imprisoned and utterly defenseless.

  It made Enki want to strangle the bastard. This fool Relahek had no idea that Enki’s deep hatred of the noble class had been born in the plasma-fires on Tharos. If he knew, he wouldn’t be wearing that smug expression right now.

  As if responding to Enki’s thoughts, the Tharian emerged with unusual fury, its hatred palpable inside the dark confines of Enki’s mind.

  Kill him slowly. Let him look into your eyes and know that his life ends at your whim, that he is nothing more than a pathetic particle of cosmic dust in the infinite Universe. Give him just a taste of the pain he and his kind have inflicted upon us.

  Huh. For once, Enki was in agreement with the Tharian, but he couldn’t allow it to get too comfortable. You talk too much. Shut up. With great effort, he silenced the passenger in his mind, resisting its vengeful desires, as tempting as they were.

  The Tharian pulsed resentment at him, then retreated.

  Insolent Tharian. Pain-in-the-ass.

  Never mind, he would deal with it later.

  Gathering his focus, Enki opened his eyes and slowly spun his dagger around, pointing it at the noble. Relahek didn’t move a muscle.

  “You are a son of House Alerak,” he said softly, rising to his feet. The mere act of speaking was an effort; he was so used to dwelling deep within his thoughts that he sounded like a stranger to his own ears.

  Relahek let out an aggravated sigh. “I was a son of House Alerak, until my father was killed, our assets were seized, and my idiot brother disappeared somewhere in the outer sectors with that moronic Daegan and his deluded followers.”

  Enki noted the cynical roll of Relahek’s eyes, observed the slight curl of his lip. Typical noble. The bastard had no love or respect for anyone, not even his own blood.

  Balancing the dagger lightly in one hand, Enki moved, slipping through the darkness like a wraith, calling on his gifts of stealth and speed. In a flash, he was right up in Enki’s face, threateningly close. He didn’t give Relahek time to blink as his blade came to rest against the noble’s throat. “You know where your brother is, don’t you?” His hoarse voice melded with Relahek’s soft snort of derision.

  “My brother?” R
elahek’s breathing quickened slightly as Enki lifted his blade, allowing a tendril of black blood to trickle down the Noble’s neck. “What could you possibly want with that pompous asshole?” Despite his obvious discomfort, Relahek’s expression was unreadable.

  “Tch.” Enki spun the blade and rested the flat of it against Relahek’s silver cheek. “Are we really going to play this game now? You do not get to ask questions. I ask, you answer. That is all.”

  Relahek hissed, but didn’t dare move. He obviously wasn’t brave—or stupid—enough to tempt the edge of Enki’s blade any further, especially when its ultraforged Callidum edge was resting against the smooth silver skin of his face.

  Nobles were notorious for their vanity. It was a weakness of theirs, one Enki intended to fully exploit.

  “Tell me how I can find him, or I will physically remind you how superior Callidum is to any other metal in the known Universe.”

  Relahek exhaled slowly, and some of his defiance escaped with that breath. Evidently, he valued his intact face over any loyalty to his brother. “I’m going to take a wild stab and guess that if I tell you where he is… you’ll probably kill him.” The prospect didn’t really appear to bother him.

  “There is a good chance that might happen, yes.”

  “Hmm, give you my brother’s location, or get my face cut off? I think I might go with the former. I never liked the little shit, anyway.”

  “Tell me how I can find him.” Enki gently slid the flat of his blade up and down against Relahek’s cheek, reminding the noble exactly how close he was to losing part of his face. “If you cross me, mislead me, or leave me with even the slightest echo of doubt as to the accuracy of your information, I will do much more than just disfigure you.” The fact that Relahek had caved so quickly made Enki suspicious. What was he scheming now?

  “Oh, believe me, I know that, and I’m going to tell you how to find him, but first I need a guarantee.”

  “The only guarantee is your death or the absence of it.”

  “I had a feeling you might say something like that. Don’t worry, I’ll co-operate.” A bitter laugh escaped Relahek’s lips. “I’m not one of those idiots who insists on holding out until the end just because of some misplaced sense of duty. I’m not a fucking masochist… quite the contrary. I’ll tell you everything you need to know, right down to the very last piece of Callidum I sold, but only if you agree to my terms.”