Star Survivor (The Sectors SF Romance Series Book 6)

by Veronica Scott

  “Ssh, you’re safe with me.” Khevan held her tight, easily blocking her instinctive blows, crooning calming words.

  Disoriented, she collapsed against his shoulder and let herself be comforted. The warmth of his body against hers was soothing and she curled one leg over his, pulling him closer.

  “I had a hard time waking you and you’re still shaking. Do you have the old nightmare often?” He rubbed her lower back, slowly.

  “Not anymore. Maybe a few times a month. Always the same—the damn corridor on the Nebula Dream, the one by the casino, you know? And I know no one’s going to help me…”

  “But we did.” His voice rumbled against her ear.

  “Dreams aren’t logical,” she said, allowing herself one more moment in his arms. “I don’t think I’m trying to relive the actual incident. The push from my subconscious is constant, probably symbolic of deeper issues.” She pulled away from him and scrambled off the bed, feeling self-conscious and undignified.

  “What kind of issues?”

  “Facing life without you. Not being able to trust you, if you must know.” She escaped into the tiny bathroom and shut the door. Leaning on the sink, she wiped away angry tears. I used to hope he’d come back into my life, then I moved on because the pain of it was so overwhelming. Why do I have to deal with him now? Staring into the spotted mirror for a moment, she admitted to herself she was lying about getting over Khevan. But I did move on.

  He knocked on the door. “Are you all right?”

  “I don’t suffer nightmares when I’m awake,” she said before washing her face and reluctantly using the skimpy towel. “What time is it anyway? I can’t go to sleep after the dream. My nerves are fried, so if you want the bed now, be my guest. D’nvannae probably need rest too, whether you’d ever admit it or not.”

  When she re-emerged, he was stretched out on the bed, hands at his sides, eyes closed. With determination, she sat at the desk, facing away from him, and worked on new designs for next year’s line, creating tiny 3D sketches with her AI that floated in the air around her as she completed each one, until finally she was so exhausted she lowered her head to the hard surface and slept.

  In the morning he left the room without comment, returning a few moments later with the breakfast he’d obtained from nearby street vendors. “We’re going to have to move today,” he said as he parceled out the food onto the desk, which was the only surface in the room other than the bed.

  Twilka paused as she reached for a cup of steaming hot liquid she desperately hoped was caffeinated. “Why? Did you see something suspicious on the street?”

  “No, but the desk clerk is entirely too interested in me. It might be the novelty of seeing a D’nvannae in this low level place, or it might be more. Wouldn’t surprise me if the temple circulated word among the criminal elements to watch for me. The Brotherhood makes use of local informants at times. But we can eat first. You have to keep your strength up if we’re going to stay ahead of pursuit.”

  She opened her mouth to urge they leave now, but there was a ping from her AI. “Incoming message,” she said, checking the device. “It’s from Nick. He says hang tight, he can be here the day after tomorrow and will send instructions for a discreet meetup.” She felt the tension leaving her body, tight back and neck muscles loosening and relaxing at the mere thought of Nick Jameson’s arrival to help them. Her headache receded.

  Khevan sipped his synthcaff, brow furrowed in a frown. “Two days is a long time to stay on the run when the Brotherhood is hunting.”

  “Could have been longer. Nick must have been somewhere relatively close.” Twilka shut her AI and slid it into her pocket. “We deserve a piece of good luck.” Knowing Nick was on his way to them raised her spirits significantly. No situation ever daunted the former soldier for long, no matter how dire. He always found a way through, over or under any challenge.

  After breakfast, she packed her meager belongings and watched as Khevan used a special Brotherhood device to erase all submolecular physical traces of their presence. Then they headed out, descending a few floors on the emergency stairs and then crossing through the building before going the rest of the way to the ground floor. She emerged on the less traveled rear service street and raised her face to the slight breeze to clear the scent of institutional disinfectant from her lungs. The maintenance staff at the hotel obviously thought splashing quantities of the stuff in the rooms and corridors made up for any other lack of housekeeping.

  Khevan said, “We’ll spend a few hours in the bazaar, get lost in the crowds. I can see if anyone is tailing us.” He took her elbow and guided her east, toward the teeming streets where merchandise of all sorts was sold. The crowds were thick today, which was a scheduled day of rest on this planet. Twilka stuck close to his side as the throngs made way for him. She feigned interest in whatever he told her to admire when he needed an opportunity to check their backtrail and found a few things she made mental notes to send her assistant to buy, if she survived this whole adventure. Her sense of unreality about the past two days was strong.

  She was going through a pile of fabrics in the midafternoon, enjoying the patterns and the tactile pleasure of the varied fibers against her skin, waiting for him to rejoin her, after which they were going to find another flea bag temporary residence and go to ground for the night. She was hot and sweaty, her legs hurt, and she was tired of being jostled. Closing her eyes for a moment, she yearned wistfully for her luxury suite at the hotel, the giant bathtub with massage jets, the bed just firm enough for her liking. And no insects.

  She looked over her shoulder to see if Khevan was on his way to rejoin her yet and her nagging problems fled as she observed him standing fifty feet away, talking to another D’nvannae Brother. Adrenaline banished all traces of tiredness. Is he betraying me? The suspicion ran through her like a shock of ice water.

  The other man was younger, his tattoo not nearly as well defined, and the men weren’t facing in her direction. Twilka slid behind two larger women debating the merits of a hideous furry orange fabric and pressed her back to the wall. Peering out, she couldn’t see Khevan’s face, but she didn’t like the smirk on the other Brother’s countenance. Trying to control her breathing, she was frozen for a moment, debating what to do. Should I get away from Khevan now? Wait for Nick on my own? This could all be a cruel trick on the part of the Red Lady, with Khevan fully on board to torment her for his goddess’s pleasure. A twisted mind game would be the Lady’s style.

  Arguing with herself, panic lacing the edge of her nerves, she took a second glance at the two Brothers, now standing as if ready to fight each other. Clearly the discussion wasn’t going well.

  I trust him. Whatever happened five years ago, I believe his promise not to carry out the contract on me. Strategically, she worked her way down the street toward the two men, using the crowd as cover, trying to stay out of the other D’nvannae’s line of sight. Moving in and out of vendor stalls, she got within a few feet of the pair, close enough to hear their low, tense conversation. The discussion wasn’t in any language she understood, so Twilka hesitated to intervene or announce her presence. Khevan moved to walk away from his compatriot and the other man deployed a curved knife so smoothly the movement seemed like magic.

  Khevan shoved the man’s blow aside with a sharp defensive parry and the opponents retreated a few feet from each other, faces set in grim lines, clearly about to duel in the street.

  There were gasps and a few screams, and many of the more timid in the crowd surged to flee the immediate vicinity, temporarily knocking Twilka aside. Clawing her way to a new vantage point, she saw Khevan had his own knife out now and had clearly drawn blood. His opponent was snarling what sounded like curses or taunts as the men circled each other, ready to exploit any opening. Khevan stayed grimly silent. Another flurry of clashing knives and well-aimed kicks had her scared to death, clenched fist to mouth. She wanted desperately to find a way to help Khevan, but only an idiot got between two dea
dly men.

  “Unusual sport, to see two of them fight,” said a man behind her. “Twenty credits on the younger Brother.”

  “Fight won’t last long enough to know who wins,” said the bald man next to the first speaker. “Temple forces will be here any minute now, break it up, make them take the quarrel to a private place. Bad for the Red Lady’s reputation, her men fighting among themselves.”

  “Over a woman,” the original would-be gambler explained. “Heard them talking before the knives came out.”

  Twilka sidled away as the men continued to gossip. If reinforcements were coming from the Temple, she had to get Khevan and herself gone. Now. A stack of ripe kochani nuts, each as big as a Terran apple, sat on the table next to her and she grabbed one. Bouncing it in her hand for a moment to judge the weight, she stepped forward, out of the crowd, took aim, and flung the nut with deadly accuracy, striking the younger Brother in the forehead. He recoiled, blinking as if dazed, and glared at the crowd. She threw a second one, aiming for his forehead and hitting his temple instead.

  The younger Brother fell and Khevan ran to her, grabbing her away from the gawking cluster of startled citizens. Dragging her by the wrist, he sprinted past the moaning man in the street, taking a sharp left into an alley and cutting through another area of the bazaar. “Quick thinking,” he said over his shoulder. “Where did you learn to throw so accurately?”

  “One of my half-brothers plays professional ball,” she said in between gasping breaths. “I was bored one summer and he was on injured reserve so he taught me. Can we stop for a moment?”

  “All right.” He skidded to a halt in between two buildings and she bent over, struggling to inhale enough air to renew the run. “He was trying to delay me, keep me there until the Temple forces arrived.”

  “Yeah, the people I was standing with said the Brothers would be coming soon. Concussing him with a hard object to the head was the only thing I could think of to help you.” As she straightened, breathing more easily, she did a double take, reaching out one hand to his abdomen, where red blood was dripping through a tear in his shirt. “Lords of Space, you’re injured. How bad is it?”

  “He got in a lucky slash,” Khevan said, face set in tense lines. “A mere scratch.”

  “Let me see.”

  “Not here.” He pushed her away. “We’ve got to put more distance between us and them.” He pulled his jacket closed and applied pressure to the wound with his hand. “I’ll manage.”

  “Can we steal a groundcar maybe?” Twilka fell into step beside him as he walked down the alley toward the next street.

  He glanced at her. “We don’t want the local police involved. If you or I, or both of us, were confined in jail, the Lady would extract us like clams from a shell. Treaties, remember?” He staggered a little. “Civilian authorities would have to yield to her. You’d be dead soon after walking out of the cell.”

  Concerned as he continued to have difficulty walking, she put her arm around his waist. “You’re not doing well; we need to hole up and take care of the wound. Now.”

  He assessed the surrounding area. “We must go deeper into the slum, then obtain an automated rent-by-the-hour room and stay there for the night. No more nosy desk clerks. I have fake ID we can use to secure the room.”

  Arm in arm as if they were lovers, she and Khevan strolled through the trash-filled streets, rejecting the first few rent-a-room places before Twilka decided enough was enough and booked a chamber with his fake ID. The robo clerk delivered a card key and she led Khevan to the designated unit, breathing a deep sigh of relief as the door closed behind them and they were out of the public eye.

  “Let me see your injury,” she said, as he sank onto the none too generous bed.

  The slash looked dangerous to her, the edges red and puffy. “Do D’nvannae ever coat their blades with poison?” She asked the question over her shoulder as she went into the tiny bathroom to search for something to wash the wound with.

  “A treachery against our code of honor. Such an act would only be done at the Lady’s express command, and the Brother I met in the street wasn’t part of a compliance squad sent by her. I taught his class at the local temple in the afternoon before the kill order arrived, so he recognized me.” Khevan removed his shirt as she approached with cloths. “I think he overestimated his own abilities and hoped to earn renown by being the one to turn me in. A smarter move would have been to stay out of sight, call for assistance, and attempt to follow us.”

  He clenched his jaw and bore her attempts at first aid in silence, merely tugging his shirt over the clumsy bandages she made from strips of her shirt when she was done. Twilka put her hand to his forehead, avoiding contact with the tariqna tattoo. “You’re hot, maybe running a fever. If Nick and Mara don’t arrive on schedule tomorrow, I’ll have to get my hands on meds for you somehow.”

  “I’ll be fine. If I could call upon the Lady, I’d have been healed already.”

  “Right, she’s the answer to all your problems. Except when she’s not. Or when she tries to kill you. But you persist in running back.” The room featured only a bed and the bare essentials of a bathroom behind a sliding panel. After discarding the bloody towel in the bathroom, Twilka picked a spot further down the wall from where he lay on the bed, sat on the floor, and pulled out her AI, reviewing her designs to take her mind off the situation.

  “Pretty,” he said a few minutes later. “With an edge. They all remind me of you.”

  She whisked the designs out of view, into the file, and set the AI aside. “You’re a fashion critic now?”

  He held out one hand. “Sit with me? Please?”

  “I don’t think me and you on the bed is a good idea.”

  “Why not?”

  “My damn body’s forgotten you broke my heart.” She rose to get the water bottle from her pack and brought it to him. “You should stay hydrated.”

  He caught her wrist, his fingers circling her arm like a bracelet. “We need to talk and I don’t know how much time we have. The Brotherhood could find us before Nick arrives.”

  She tugged, but he wasn’t going to let her go. Gracefully, she sank onto the edge of the bed, moving to sit cross-legged, facing him.

  He released her and ran a hand over his face. “I didn’t abandon you on Temple Home. Or at least not willingly.”

  Tilting her head, Twilka raised both eyebrows. “Seemed like it to me. Did I ever see you again? Did you even send word, say goodbye?”

  “I couldn’t.” Leaning his head against the wall, he closed his eyes. “What do you remember of our final evening?”

  “Drums. There we were in the White Lady’s temple across the great square and your Lady had her people pounding the drums, for a ritual, you said. The sound echoed—it was eerie. The percussion symphony gave me a migraine, but you were restless, pacing, agitated. I went to bed and you left the room. And I never saw you again until the other night on the Nebula Zephyr.”

  “The drums were her heartbeat.”

  “Literally?”

  “Yes. Only you and I could hear them. She was calling me to tazlin. I-I tried to resist, tried to remember she’d stripped me of my rank, my tariqna, tried to kill me. Finally, I decided to confront her, tell her I didn’t want to re-enter the Brotherhood. Get the official separation over with. Being a prideful fool, I didn’t want to accept the White Lady’s help with handling the intricacies of detaching from her sister’s service. And I didn’t want to risk your entering my Lady’s actual presence.” Gaze intense, he stared at Twilka for a moment.

  Sensing more behind the words than just a desire to spare her an encounter with the terrifying goddess, Twilka whispered her question, unsure if he’d answer. “Because?”

  “I was going to tell her I wanted life with you. Refuse to accept reinstatement as a D’nvannae.”

  The answer, delivered in a flat tone, left her shaken for a moment. “What would have happened if I’d gone too?”

  “She pro
bably would have killed you. I don’t know if the Lady in White would have intervened, since you had taken no vows, never belonged to the D’nvannae in any real sense. You merely touched the edge of tazlin once, on the Dream, through me.”

  “Yeah, once was enough.” Of all the time spent trying to escape the wrecked Nebula Dream, that encounter stood out as a moment of bliss with Khevan, followed by sheer horror as the goddess took revenge. I might have nightmares about the men in the corridor, but the Red Lady’s malice was on a whole other level. Good thing I was unconscious for most of it.

  “Maybe the Lady in White was protecting you, if you only suffered a headache instead of the hypnotic lure. You had no desire to go to the source?”

  “None.” Twilka remembered the percussive sound that night on Temple Home had not only given her a huge migraine, it had set off a major anxiety attack. “All I wanted to do was hide. Or run.”

  There was silence for a few moments. Khevan shifted a bit, as if to seek a more comfortable position and was unable to do so. “Do we have more water?”

  Twilka shook the bottle. “Empty.” She rose and refilled the container in the tiny bathroom. When she brought the dripping container to him, she said, “I can sneak out later and get us food.”

  “Don’t take the chance, not with the Brotherhood on the hunt.” He drank avidly. “We won’t starve in one night.”

  “Life on the run just gets better and better.” Twilka took the bottle and set it on the floor. “So. Tell me the rest.”

  There was a moment of silence. Eyes closed, he said, “When you pledge your life to the Red Lady, when you become a D’nvannae, you swear terrible oaths, to serve her and preserve her secrets.”

  “Yeah, you told all of us that on the Nebula Dream. But you and I didn’t get the chance to have this conversation, to clear the air about why we didn’t work out.” Tossing her hair, she made one of her self-protective flippant remarks. “The story of my life—I’ve never had a lasting relationship with a hot guy. Maybe I should stop blaming the Red Lady. Maybe the lack or failure is part of my own personality.”