Amid Stars and Darkness

by Chani Lynn Feener

  “I’m not Lissa,” she stated plainly, watching his face for the obvious to set in.

  Which it never did.

  If anything, he seemed more aggravated than he had before. Instead of pulling back or apologizing, he gritted his teeth and relinquished the small amount of space between them. Her hand was now stuck between their bodies, and she wiggled it to get free until his low growl had her freezing for what seemed like the millionth time that night.

  “This isn’t attractive,” he sneered down at her. “I told you what would happen if you tested me again, Olena.”

  She blinked at him. What? So was the girl he was looking for named Lissa … or Olena? The realization that he was clearly insane actually gave her an inkling of relief. He was delusional, sure, but all she had to do was stall him a bit, and someone would eventually stumble upon them, right?

  Did delusional people have actual plans? She assumed—hoped, really—not. Besides, this was a dead end. In order to get her anywhere from here, he’d have to lead her back out the opening on the other side. It was very early in the morning, but all she needed was for one person to be there so that she could call for help. Then it was only ten feet to her car and home free she’d be.

  Having a plan, even one as dodgy as that, helped calm her nerves so she could think more clearly. She wasn’t sure if one could actually get through to a delusional person, but what would be the harm in trying? It’d certainly fall under the category of stalling.

  “Whoever you think I am,” she said, making sure to ease her tone, “I promise you, I’m not her. Just let me go, and no one has to get in trouble here. I won’t tell anyone about this, or you. You can go your way, and I can go mine.”

  She tried to look trustworthy, easing her features to hopefully cover her dread. She’d grab the first cop she could once she left this alley.

  “Enough,” he barked, slamming a fist against the wall a few inches from her head. Bits of the stone broke off and crumbled to the ground.

  How the hell…? Her eyes widened, and some of her panic returned.

  “You aren’t listening—” she tried again, only to be swiftly cut off by his face invading the personal space of her own.

  “They’re coming, Olena. We don’t have time for any more of your games. You don’t want to leave? I get it, but you have responsibilities, and it’s time you owned up to who you are. Now”—he angled his head at her, his expression softening some—“stop playing. I’m trying to protect you.”

  She forced herself to look him dead in the eye. “I swear to god, I am not the girl you’re looking for.”

  He let out a frustrated sigh and pulled back, wrapping a large hand around her thin arm to tug her after him. When she stumbled forward, he linked his other arm around her waist, keeping her securely upright with his large body.

  Before her mind could filter through all the possible ways she could attempt getting loose, the sound of footsteps to her right caught her attention and she frowned.

  That was the dead end.… How…?

  “Ander Ruckus.” Another man, only slightly less imposing than the guy holding her to him, appeared in the darkness. He bowed his head, then straightened, nodding curtly toward Delaney. “Lissa Olena.”

  She didn’t bother correcting this one when he called her the wrong name. She wouldn’t be able to get through to him no matter what she said. Even now, the way he held himself across from them, legs spread, hands clasped and visible, like a soldier—

  She gasped, and both of their eyes snapped in her direction, instantly confirming her suspicions.

  Her body started shaking, and she was too shocked to realize how weak that would make her look. It’d been too dark to see before, but she could make out the color of her captor’s eyes now, yellow with a ring of dark green.

  Like an alien’s.

  “Oh shit,” she said breathlessly, body going slightly lax so that he had to tighten his grip around her, practically holding her up now.

  “What?” her captor snapped. “What happened?”

  “Ruckus,” the other soldier said, drawing his attention and pointing upward. “We should get to the ship. Fawna’s detecting enemy soldiers approaching quickly. We don’t have much time left before they’re—” His words were abruptly cut off by the sound of gunfire.

  Only it was a bit different, the sounds more like pings that whizzed through the air toward them. A few bullets embedded in the stone walls at either side, sending clouds of dust into the air.

  Delaney regained herself, straightening and gripping the guy—Ruckus, she assumed—tightly. She couldn’t muster enough guilt not to use him as a shield; it was either that or get shot herself. She tucked herself closer, risking a glance over his shoulder at the opening of the alley, where three men were slinking their way in.

  Using her sudden compliance as an opportunity, Ruckus rushed them toward the dead end while the other guy opened fire on their pursuers. Lifting his arm, her captor gripped a black metal bar that she hadn’t noticed hovering down from the sky, and tugged once.

  “Hold on to me,” he ordered against the crown of her head, bringing her up high enough so that she could wrap her arms around his neck. She hesitated and he shook her. “It’s either this or die here, Olena,” he hissed. “They will kill you.”

  “Thanks, Captain Obvious.” They were shooting at them, after all. “I’m just not sure what makes you a safer option?”

  Before he could respond, another round of gunfire went off, and Delaney’s panic spread. She linked her arms around his neck without further protest, her only thought on getting out of there intact.

  “Put your legs around my waist,” he asserted, and this time she didn’t hesitate. The second he was satisfied that she was secure, he pulled on the metal bar.

  “Activate extraction shield and pull us up, Fawna,” he said, and it took Delaney a second to realize he must have a communicator in his ear. A thin, see-through beam wrapped around them and the man still on the ground. It was green, and from the other side she saw the men shoot at it, bullets bouncing off as if hitting bulletproof glass.

  When they started rising, she yelped and tightened her arms and legs around him. She thought she heard him chuckle, but she couldn’t pull her eyes off the slowly receding ground to check.

  They were high enough now that she could see over the tops of the buildings, and more soldiers dressed in all black were approaching the mouth of the alley. She counted a dozen before stopping, not wanting to waste her time. Another black bar on a long silver string zipped past her head, and she watched it drop to hover over the guy who was firing on their attackers.

  Without looking, he reached up and grabbed on, yanking once before it started pulling him up toward them. He continued to fire his weapon, a gun she’d never seen before, the color of melted silver with a line of bright red lit up on its side.

  “Hurry it up, Fawna,” Ruckus growled.

  This time she did look up, and sucked in a deep breath. The ropes were being drawn into the underside of a large ship she hadn’t been able to make out from the ground. It reminded her a lot of a jet plane, except three times the size and with circular wings instead of sharp-tipped ones. It was black but had somehow been programmed to camouflage with the night sky. Stars winked back at her from its metallic surface as if really there.

  A bottom hatch opened up when they were only a few feet away, metal doors sliding to the sides to expose a deep beige room. The ropes bringing them up were attached to the ceiling of this room, and instead of a crank rolling it, the line merely disappeared within the metal.

  “Oh shit,” she repeated, vaguely recalling she’d already said that. She was so distracted by the gaping mouth of the alien ship she was headed toward, she didn’t notice the green force field around them flickering and then disappearing.

  She totally felt the bullet that sliced through the side of her left arm, though. It was a searing sensation, like someone was branding her with a hot knife, and it sho
t bolts of fire that immediately spiked through her bloodstream.

  She cried out, saw a burst of red stain the white leather of her jacket, and had one last moment of panic before her vision winked out and everything went black.

  CHAPTER 3

  Delaney moaned and shifted, wondering why she’d fallen asleep on the hard couch instead of going to bed; sometimes she fell asleep in front of the TV in the living room. Her mind searched for details of last night: she’d gone out with Mariana to celebrate, so she had to have been exhausted when they’d gotten—

  She shot upright so quickly, she saw stars.

  Mariana.

  Last night.

  It all rushed back to her. She hadn’t made it home because she’d been frickin’ kidnapped by aliens. And shot at. Her gaze went to her left arm, recalling the pain and the blood she’d seen before she’d passed out. Only, there wasn’t so much as a scratch now.

  Someone had removed her jacket, and she was left in her short-sleeved navy shirt. There wasn’t a speck of blood on her bare flesh, no scar, nothing. It was as if it had never happened. Her gaze trailed over to the other side of the compartment, landing on her jacket. The left arm was shredded.

  Confusion set in, and she was still rubbing at the spot when she stood and did a slow circle in the center of the room. It was white metal, with two cots on either side. She’d been sleeping on one of them, the thin pad so far from the comforts of a mattress, she actually snorted. Sure, they could travel across space but couldn’t come up with a better version of a cot. That made sense.

  There were no windows, but a small sink was built into one end of the room. On the wall across from it there was a wide door, big enough to fit two grown men shoulder to shoulder. She’d just taken a step toward it when a beeping sounded and the door whooshed to the right faster than she could blink.

  The one who’d taken her stood there, watching. His oddly colored eyes scanned her once, as if searching for imperfections.

  Damn, he was gorgeous. If not for the fact that the guy was a total psycho, she might have looked at her circumstances a bit differently. Unlike back in the alley, there was enough light here for her to get a good look at his features.

  He had a strong jawline and a square chin. His hair was a warm chocolate shade, shorter on the sides, and long on the top. It was the type of cut generally kept swept back, but right now it was shaken loose, and it hung off to the right of his head. Some strands fell down his forehead all the way to his mouth, they were so long. A ruby glinted in his right ear—no, three rubies: one at the lobe, another at the center, and one at the top, settled against the inner curve.

  If the eyes hadn’t given him away, the outfit certainly would have. The shirt was sleeveless and zipped up the front with a golden zipper. The material appeared strange, thick and almost with a sheen to it. There was a short, stiff collar. His pants were formfitting, tucked into large boots, and there were three strange black metal bands circling his wrists and upper arms.

  The pants were charcoal. The uniform shirt forest green.

  The color of Vakar.

  She swallowed the lump in her throat, clutching her arm to her. Her feet were squared—as if there were anywhere she could run. She recalled how easy fighting him off had been. As in, not at all.

  It took all her willpower not to cower when he took a single step forward, eating up one of the five paces between them.

  He cocked his head, and she clenched her jaw so tightly, she felt the pressure in her teeth.

  “You’re still not talking to me,” he concluded after another tense moment of silence. Nodding to himself as if it made perfect sense, he looked away, moving over to the cot across from her. He flicked her jacket off to the side and dropped down, stretching his long legs out in front of him.

  The move forced her to retreat back to avoid him touching her, and he lifted a single brow, the corner of his mouth turning up at the same time.

  “We’re talking right now,” she bit out, determined not to let him scare her. Or at least not to make it so obvious to him that he did.

  Rubber squeaked against the floor, and then another man appeared in the doorway. He was smaller than Ruckus, with narrower shoulders, but still taller than her by at least half a foot. He was wearing the same charcoal military pants tucked into boots, but a forest-green lab coat was thrown over it and buttoned all the way up the front.

  “Lissa Olena.” He bowed his head.

  “Olena—”

  “Like I’ve already told you a million times,” she spat, cutting Ruckus off, “I am not Olena. Or Lissa, for that matter. Whoever the hell you’re looking for, I’m not her. How you can be so daft as to mix us up is beyond me, but I am not her, asshole. So, if you could just let me off this ship, we can go our separate ways.”

  She’d almost lost her resolve when she’d said ship, but she had managed to maintain her superior air at the last second. Thankfully. The way he was watching her, like if he told her to jump he fully expected her to comply, was really beginning to piss her off. She hated being told what to do.

  “I must admit…” He settled more comfortably against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. “The look in your eyes? Almost convincing. Of course, we both know you’re being ridiculous. This is me. Not some easily manipulated Teller.”

  “Whoever this Olena person is, I really hope she’s not your girlfriend, because if so, she really needs to reconsider her life choices.”

  “My girlfriend?” He made a face like he’d just eaten a lemon.

  Wow, pretty insulting for this Olena chick, she noted. Until she realized that if he was that disgusted by her, and he thought Delaney was her …

  New tactic.

  “What happened to my arm?” She finally stopped rubbing at it and dropped her hand so he could see her unmarked flesh. No doubt he’d seen it already, but still.

  “I healed it,” he said, clearly thinking she was stupid for asking. “It wasn’t deep. You were lucky. We were able to extract the poison before it could do permanent damage. You’ve only been out for three cycles.”

  “Wait,” she held up a hand. “Three what now?”

  “Cycles.”

  “What’s a cycle?” She clenched her fists when he rolled his eyes. “I’m serious! What the hell is a cycle?! How long have I been here?” Feeling the panic rising up once more, she dropped down onto the edge of the cot, careful to keep her feet far from his outstretched ones. “Mariana has to be freaking out,” she said to herself. “She’s probably called the police by now.”

  Unless, of course, she was still with Ottus.

  Ruckus leaned forward, propping his arms on his knees. “They were going to kill you, Olena. The Tars are still upset about the arrangement. As soon as your parents and the Zane discovered they’d found you, they alerted my team and me.”

  When all she did was frown, he moved back. “I promised you space, Lissa—not that I’d let you get yourself killed by your stubbornness.”

  “Why does she have two names?” Delaney blurted, grasping on to the one part of the jumbled mess he’d just said that she could process. The rest of it was gibberish to her. “Is it like a nickname?” He’d said “your parents,” so they weren’t siblings. And they clearly weren’t dating. “Are you two related?”

  He looked at her like he had back in the alley, that mixture of confusion and surprise. Like he was seeing her for the first time.

  “Okay, whatever, don’t tell me,” she sighed. “Look, I don’t know much about aliens—Vakar,” she corrected, not wanting to insult him while she was trying to bargain for her life. “And I most definitely don’t know what a Tar is, but I do know that thing they shot me with hurt like hell. If they’re after this Olena person, then she’s still there. She’s still in danger.”

  He continued to stare, and she fought the urge to stomp her foot like a child.

  “Damn it, Ruckus—” She spun away and came face-to-face with the small rectangular mirror hanging over
the sink. Only, it wasn’t her face staring back at her. Her breath caught in her throat, and for a moment she completely forgot to breathe.

  The girl staring back at her looked vaguely familiar. A dark-haired girl with milky skin. The same girl who’d bumped into her back at the club. Back in the dim lighting, Delaney hadn’t been able to make out her eyes, but now, like with Ruckus, it was easy. Gold, with a rim of deep violet.

  Delaney blinked, and the girl in the mirror did the same. Just to be sure, she lifted a hand and pressed her fingers against her cheek, almost painfully. Finally recalling that air was necessary, she gasped, the sudden intake making her feel light-headed and woozy. She stumbled back and dropped onto the cot, shaking her head.

  “I think I’m having a panic attack,” she admitted, though her voice came out breathy and weak, and she wasn’t sure either of them could hear her. She wasn’t sure she meant for them to. Her heart thumped wildly in her chest, to the point that it felt as if there were a vice gripping her tight. “Oh yeah, definitely a panic attack.”

  She’d never had one of those before; today was clearly a day of firsts.

  She struggled to compose herself, keeping an eye trained between the two of them just in case. Now that she’d seen herself, she had a better understanding of why they were so adamant she was this Lissa person. But that didn’t mean she trusted them.

  A device in the pocket of the smaller one still by the open door beeped then. He pulled it out and then frowned over at Ruckus.

  “Her vitals are spiking, Ander,” he informed him, as if that weren’t already completely obvious with the way she had practically curled into a ball.

  “You’re monitoring my vitals?” she asked, noting the hint of annoyance in her tone and grasping at it. Anger was easier to manage than fear, and right now she needed to be smart. In control. She narrowed her eyes at Ruckus, trying to see him in a different light. “So, you’re a doctor?”

  Was this Olena person sick, on top of being hunted by these Tars?

  His whole body tensed, stilling to the point that she wasn’t certain he was even breathing. Even from this distance, she could see his pupils dilating, felt the change of his emotions by the heaviness that entered the atmosphere. Whoever had come up with that saying about tension and a knife clearly hadn’t met Ruckus.