The Skin Hunter Series Box Set

by Tania Hutley

  Then Aza’s lips start moving without her making any sounds either. A silent conversation. I’ve heard about sub-vocalization implants, but this is the first time I’ve seen them in action. Nobody in the shelter could afford implants like hers, but it’d make the place a lot less noisy if they could.

  After a minute or two of soundless talking, she disconnects and the guy’s head shrinks back into her band. Then she stands up again, not looking in our direction although we’re all watching her. Facing away from us, she sinks into the sideways splits, then shifts her torso so she’s looking forward over her front leg. Her chest goes down and touches her knee. Her tight little T-shirt has tugged up, and her snug jeans have ridden down so her lacy underwear shows.

  I don’t want to look at Brugan, but my eyes move against my will.

  He’s drooling. No, it’s a piece of rice stuck in the corner of his mouth, trembling between those fat lips. Still, he may as well be drooling. The look on his face makes my face feel hot. Man, I so want to let him have it right now. But I know exactly what Tori would say. “Don’t be so damn stupid, Milla. Keep your head down, unless you want it kicked off your shoulders.”

  Aza straightens her torso and then twists so she’s looking over the opposite leg. Again she bends forward. This time, her back is angled more toward us. Her jeans have ridden down so low, I can see the line of her butt crack under the skimpy lace.

  My gaze goes back to Brugan and he must feel it, because his head turns. “What are you looking at?” he growls.

  Sorry Tori, I can’t keep quiet.

  “You’re the one who’s staring,” I snap.

  “I’m not.” He puffs up his fat lips, glancing around at the others for support.

  “Don’t lie, Brugan. I’ve noticed how you watch me.” Aza pushes herself gracefully to her feet and turns to face us, but she barely glances at him as she lifts her arms over her head and stretches.

  Her tight T-shirt rides up further to show her tiny waist. Her stomach’s decorated with a glittering butterfly tattoo, sparkling jewels set into its wings. As she stretches, the butterfly seems to lift off her skin, its wings fluttering. A hologram.

  Her breasts also lift with her movements, her nipples extending out so far, they don’t look natural. She must have had them tweaked.

  How could I’ve been so stupid? Aza wants Brugan’s eyes all over her.

  She’s not afraid of him, but Brugan is flushed. His discomfort is obvious, as is the way he’s trying to keep his desire in check. Weirdly enough, Aza hasn’t made herself into a target. Instead, Brugan’s lust seems to be giving her power against him. How does that work?

  In this world, the rules are clearly different from the ones I’m used to.

  When Aza lowers her arms, she shoots Brugan a scornful look. “You can stare all you like, Brugan. I’d never be interested in someone like you.”

  Brugan goes even redder. Instead of answering her back, his eyes shift to me and narrow into a glare. “You foul bitch,” he snarls. “You’re so ugly, you make me sick.”

  I don’t know why his insult stings when I’ve had plenty that were a lot worse. Still, the words burrow into me, eating through my tough shell. Maybe he’s getting to me because I’m clueless about how Aza’s weaving a spell that makes him lash out at me instead of her. Or perhaps it’s because Aza’s butterfly’s glinting at me from where her T-shirt’s still pushed up. She’s so damn shiny it makes me feel even more of a monster. Without thinking about it, my face jerks away to hide the worst of my scars.

  Time to go.

  But when I stand up, Brugan jumps to his feet as well. We’ve got the table between us but he’s so tall that when he leans forward he’s way too close.

  “Why don’t you learn to keep your ugly mouth shut?” he demands.

  Yeah, good question, why the hell did I open my mouth? Aza sure didn’t thank me. All I’ve done is stir up Brugan.

  Cale scrapes his chair back. “Leave her alone, Brugan.”

  Great. Like I can’t fight my own battles. Cale probably thinks he’s doing me a favor, but he’s just making me look weak.

  “Aw, how sweet. The two pussycats are sticking together.” Aza’s lazy voice cuts in.

  “Yeah,” Brugan snarls. “But the devil bear eats kitties.”

  Aza rolls her eyes. “Shut up, Brugan. God. You’re giving me a headache.”

  She tugs her T-shirt down, smoothing it with her hands in a way that makes her nipples push out harder against the fabric. Then she struts out of the room, hips swaying. As the door shuts behind her, the air relaxes as though everyone in the room has collectively let out their breath.

  Brugan looks from me to Cale and back again. “This isn’t over,” he says, but I can tell the fight’s gone out of him.

  “It is.” Cale stares him down. “So back off.”

  Hell, what is with him? “I can take care of myself.” It comes out angrier than I intend, and Cale’s gaze jerks to me.

  “What?” He sounds almost comically surprised. Like in his head he was a superhero rescuing a poor damsel from certain danger. A damsel who’s just grown claws and ripped his arms off.

  “Stop sticking up for me,” I snap. “We’re not buddies, okay?”

  He blinks, and for a moment, his puzzled expression almost makes me feel bad.

  Then he shakes his head, his mouth hardening. “Fine.” He heads for the couches, flops angrily down in front of the holo, and turns it on.

  When it starts up, a man on the screen is mid-sentence, saying something about defusing the tension with Deiterra. A woman interrupts to insist that war is closer than we think, and if the Morelle Corporation starts manufacturing the Skins, it’ll be the trigger that forces our neighbors to breach the wall.

  Brugan’s laugh distracts me from the holo. It’s an unpleasant sound. “Bad kitty,” he tells me in a mocking tone. Then he swaggers out of the room after Aza.

  The old me would have been afraid for her, sure he was going after her. Now I don’t know what to think.

  “Deiterra can hardly complain about the Skins when one of their own citizens is participating in the contest,” says the man on the holo.

  Sentin is watching the holo impassively, his expression, as usual, giving nothing away. Is that why he’s part of the contest? Did the director arrange for him to be take part so the Deiterrans couldn’t complain about the Skins?

  Cale stares at him too. “Is it true?” he demands.

  Sentin ignores the question. He keeps his gaze on the holo and doesn’t so much at glance at Cale.

  “Deiterra is making a fuss about nothing,” says the man on the holo. “Skins aren’t weapons, so they don’t breach the treaty. It’s ridiculous to limit our technology because of their paranoia.”

  “It’s too dangerous to provoke them,” argues the woman. “Why risk starting a war? Besides, the Skin technology hasn’t been properly tested, and—”

  Cale makes a sound of disgust. He switches off the holo and bounds up from the couch in the same movement. Then he strides to the door as though he can’t stand to be in the room another moment.

  “Night,” he flings over his shoulder, addressing the air between me and Sentin. If it were possible to slam the door after him, he probably would. Unfortunately for him, it slides.

  Sentin and I look at each other, the only two left in the room. He’s still sitting on the other side of the table, his empty plate pushed to one side. He never says anything or gets involved. And he’s always talking to Doctor Gregory.

  What is up with him and those mysterious glasses?

  As intently as I stare at him, he stares back, unblinking. His eyes are a smoky gray color, and they seem to reflect the light as much as his glasses do, hiding his emotions. Why can I never tell what he’s thinking?

  One of Sentin’s eyebrows twitches up. He looks like he’s waiting for me to ask a question. Well, okay, I can do that. It’s not like I’m short of them.

  “Your glasses,” I say.
“What do they do?”

  He cocks his head, and I get the impression I didn’t ask the question he expected. I’m expecting him not to answer, but he says, “The glasses enhance normal vision using thermal imaging and a movement magnification algorithm.”

  “In English?”

  “They detect very small movements and changes in body temperature.” He pauses, but must be able to see I still don’t get it. “For example, when you become uncomfortable or say something that’s not true, your temperature rises and your pulse spikes. It’s subtle, but the glasses are highly sensitive.”

  Does that mean he can read my thoughts? My heart’s started beating so fast his damn glasses must be glowing. “You can tell if I lie?”

  “It’s not you who interests me.”

  “Then who?”

  He doesn’t answer, just gives a cryptic half-smile. I swear he’s being annoying on purpose.

  “Who the hell are you?” I struggle to keep my voice from rising.

  “Perhaps you should answer the same question.”

  “What does that mean?”

  His gaze moves down to my band. Rayne’s band. My blood stops pumping. His eyes are fixed on the stolen band, like he’s making a point. Like he knows I’m an impostor. How much does he know about me?

  I drop my hands under the table. But he’s already bringing up something on his own band. A holographic image projects from it. A girl’s head.

  It’s Rayne. The real Rayne. Her hair is shorter than when I saw her in the shelter, but it’s unmistakably her.

  I feel all the blood run out of my face.

  Sentin nods as though I’ve just confirmed his suspicions, which of course I have. My expression must tell him everything.

  “At first I thought you could have been her.” His tone is conversational. “You’re the same age, the same height, and your hair color is similar. If you had a fall from grace, you may have had to move to Old Triton and stop darkening your skin. And you could have been in an accident that scarred your face. It’s rare for a New Tritoner to descend. An unlikely scenario, but not beyond the realm of possibility. If anyone else manages to find this image, they may assume you’ve had a run of terrible luck since it was taken.”

  “That’s exactly what happened.” I say, not dropping my gaze.

  His mouth twitches as he switches off the display. “I’ll keep your secret.”

  My heart is beating too fast. I can’t bluff while he’s wearing those damn glasses. “What do you want from me?” I demand.

  “I told you, it’s not you I’m interested in.”

  Sentin could have me removed from the contest and sent to prison. I can’t believe he’d keep quiet without asking for something in return. The world doesn’t work that way.

  “I don’t understand,” I say.

  “Not many do. But this is bigger than you or I, Rayne.” He says the name deliberately. “The next few weeks have the potential to change our world forever. And I may need your help in the days to come.”

  Great. He means to hold my secret over me. Whatever cryptic cause he thinks he’s part of, he intends to drag me into it.

  I push my chair back from the table and stand up. “What kind of help?”

  He unfolds his lanky body from the table too, pushing his glasses more securely onto his nose. “There are several variables in play. I can’t tell yet what kind of help I may need, just that the possibility exists.”

  I stare after him as he walks for the door, my fists clenched in frustration. Once he’s gone, I drag in several deep breaths, trying to calm my racing heart.

  I should have known my secret wouldn’t stay hidden for long. How many others already know the truth? The director? The doctor? Have they also figured out my scars hide a face that isn’t Rayne’s?

  If only I didn’t need any human name. I don’t want to be Rayne, and I sure as hell don’t want to be Milla. All I want is to forget about them both and be the leopard forever.

  Man, how I wish.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Once back in my room, I stand on the chair to get my blade out of the closet. But that night, even with my fingers curled around its hilt for comfort, I lie awake in the darkness.

  What is Sentin up to? Why would he keep my secret? Was today the last day I’ll ever get to be the leopard? And if he doesn’t spill the beans, what crazy plot is he planning to drag me into?

  Sometime before dawn I doze off, and when I wake I feel calmer. Whether they find out I’m not Rayne isn’t something I can control, and worrying won’t help.

  If Tori were here she’d tell me to forget about everything except what’s important. Winning the contest. A new life for Ma and William. Learning how to use my Skin.

  There are ten days until the contest, which means only ten days of practice. I have to work hard to be better than everybody else.

  The thought tugs me out of my warm, comfortable bed. It’s still so early that I have to turn on the light to find my clothes. I put my blade back in its hiding place, then head to the training room.

  There’s a guard posted at the door. Is it Max? No, it’s a woman. Her red uniform still gives me the creeps.

  Her lip curls as she watches me come close. Some floaters seem to take it as a personal insult that while they’re tweaked to perfection, my face scares children.

  “Can I use the training room?” I ask, stopping a good distance away.

  “Not without Doctor Gregory, Director Morelle, or another authorized person present.” She looks happy to be turning me down.

  Dammit. What now?

  The only other way to train for the contest is to use the vReal. As much as it hurts my eye, as afraid as I am of permanently damaging its cybernetics, what choice do I have? Having to twiddle my thumbs until Doctor Gregory turns up would drive me seriously insane.

  I’m heading to the rec room when I run into Cale. He’s slipping out of one the doors off the hall. Weird. I thought all those doors led to offices. He’d have to swipe his band to get in, and surely the security system wouldn’t let him through?

  “Oh. Hi, Rayne.” He flushes, reaching up to push his fringe off his forehead, and I can tell I’ve caught him doing something he shouldn’t.

  “What’s in there?” I ask.

  “Nothing. Just, you know. Offices and stuff.”

  “Wasn’t the door locked?”

  He hesitates a moment, looking at me as though trying to decide whether he can trust me. Then he pulls a little metal stick from his pocket. “I used this. Ninety-nine credits from a dodgy electronics store down in Old Triton. You’d think the security in a place like this would be a little more up-to-date, wouldn’t you?” He shoots me his disarming grin. “Amazing how a building used to create Skin technology can still be using band-readers they probably installed back in the forties.”

  “Doesn’t sound right.”

  Surely the Morelle Corporation wouldn’t let him get away with breaking into an office? They must be monitoring us. I glance up. Though I haven’t spotted a camera yet, they’ve got to be hidden up there. And a cheap electronic gadget unlocking their doors? No way. Something strange is going on.

  “Looking for cameras?” he asks. “There might be some. But do you know how huge this place is? They can’t possibly watch everything all the time.”

  “You think?”

  He shrugs. “Nobody came running to stop me.”

  I can’t believe he’s being so casual. Isn’t he worried about getting kicked out of the competition?

  “Anyway, what are you doing up so early?” he asks. “Heading to the rec room? Are you hungry, or are you planning to have another go at the game?”

  “Hungry,” I lie in a curt voice, hoping he’ll get the hint and leave me alone.

  “Good, I’m starving. I’ll come with you.”

  Dammit, that screws up my plan to get some alone time in the vReal. I don’t need an audience or want any of the others to know about the problem I had with it. Let alone le
tting anyone see me in that embarrassing skin-tight vReal suit. But what can I do to get rid of him?

  Oblivious to my inner turmoil, the object of my frustration gets himself breakfast before sitting at the table. Watching him act like all this is totally normal, I get angrier and angrier with both him and myself. Why is it so hard to tell him to get lost? Is it that boyish grin? The way he talks to me as though I’m just like him?

  Whatever it is, I can’t afford to get suckered in by it.

  “Everything okay?” he asks.

  I slam myself into the chair opposite him. “Look, Cale, we aren’t friends. I don’t want to eat breakfast with you. And I don’t want you to stick your nose in my business again, like you did last night. I can look after myself, all right?”

  He stares at me, the cereal spoon half-way to his mouth. Instinctively I jerk my head away so my hair falls over the worst side of my face. I know it’s stupid when he’s already seen my scars, but I hate people staring at me. Especially someone with a face that’s so perfect.

  “You’re not really here for breakfast, are you, Rayne? You were going to use the vReal.” His tone is level. Unaffected by my anger.

  “So?”

  “Yesterday you started after everyone else, and you were out of your unit well before I was, which means you weren’t playing very long. Is it your eye?”

  “No.”

  “Want me to give you some pointers on how to play?”

  “Why?”

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  I shake my head in disbelief. “Seriously, don’t you ever give up? Do I need to wear a sign? We’re not friends.”

  With a shrug, he sticks the spoonful of cereal in his mouth and chews it. His eyes are a rich, warm brown, and his long dark eyelashes make them striking. He’s a total mystery. Rich and privileged, and so good-looking he must have girls falling at his feet. Why is he even talking to me? Does he pity me because of my scars?

  “All I want is to beat you in the contest.” My voice softens against my will. “And you should be figuring out how to try to beat me. Not offering to help.”