Thieves' Guild Series (7 eBook Box Set): Military Science Fiction - Alien Invasion - Galactic War Novels

by C. G. Hatton

His stomach turned cold.

  She pulled back and caressed his cheek again. ‘Oh, did you not know about Maisie? It was Maisie, wasn’t it? And, LC, I can kill Evelyn any time I want. We’ve quite a list to work through.’ She smiled. ‘I have Sean O’Brien. I’m going to keep her alive. Remember that if you think about trying anything.’

  He couldn’t help thinking, not even trying to send it, ‘You’re working for the Bhenykhn.’

  She pressed her lips to his again. ‘LC, my sweet, miya luchik, the Bhenykhn are working for me.’

  Chapter 26

  “Did you know?”

  The Man raised his eyes. “Did I know what?”

  “Arianne. Did you know what happened to Arianne?”

  “Sebastian, do I sense concern? That is a development.”

  Sebastian laughed. “I was a prisoner in my own body for over a hundred years, conscious, sharing every little detail of Nikolai’s life… every small intimate and painfully boring detail. I’m curious. Don’t misconstrue that as concern.” He said again, colder this time, “Did you know what happened to Arianne?”

  The Man’s expression was dark, cold in return. “Nikolai was foolish to get that involved with another operative. That she was turned and betrayed us to the Order was not something I felt the need to disclose to him.”

  “Did you know that Anderton killed her?”

  “He didn’t. He was fourteen. He might have been under the impression that his actions had led to her death but believe me, he didn’t kill her.”

  •

  She smiled and backed away, standing and regarding him with that weird possessive curiosity he couldn’t quite figure. Bars slammed shut between them. He blinked, struggling to focus, vaguely realising he was sitting manacled in a damned cage. On a Bhenykhn ship. He leaned his head back against the bulkhead, felt the hum of the hive emanating through the warm surface. It was soft. Not like the bulkhead on any normal human vessel. It was alive.

  He raised his eyes.

  Anya pressed a finger to her lips and blew him a kiss, turning and disappearing into the depths of the ship.

  It was strange to feel the deck pulsing beneath him, to know he was right there amongst the Bhenykhn but for the hive to be so distant in his mind. He couldn’t see into her thoughts as hard as he tried and he couldn’t connect with the hive to save his life. It was as if there was a dense invisible barrier between him and the rest of the universe. Foggy headed, heartbeat a dull thump, every muscle sluggish and heavy. He thought back to the last time he’d encountered Spearhead. He’d seen it die. Irrefutably and unarguably die. His stomach turned. He shut it out and switched off. There was nothing he could do until they landed wherever they were going. With any luck to where they were holding NG.

  He woke as they were dropping from orbit, g-forces high, the hum of thrusters and engines straining resonating heavily. His head was clear. He shifted his weight, testing his balance, flexing the muscles in his arms and legs. He could feel his strength returning, energy levels so stable he almost felt normal, like a year ago normal. He readied himself, not sure it wasn’t too good to be true, and tested the restraints. Chains. The manacles tight around his wrists. He tried to break them. Bust them wide open. But something resisted.

  He reached out cautiously, hesitant to reveal himself, wanting to find Anya but not wanting her to know just yet that he wasn’t as incapacitated as she wanted.

  He heard her whisper, ‘Too late.’ A cold sting hit his throat. He reached for the injector, trying to grab it, but the effect was instant. His head swam, the ship tipping violently beneath him, and every ounce of strength in his body drained out in a torrent that left him face down on the deck. Shit.

  They must have landed because he felt a subtle change in the sound of the engines, not quite powered down but they weren’t moving any more. The cage door clanged open, taloned hands reaching in to drag him out, claws digging deep and drawing blood that trickled warm down his arms. Whatever they’d dosed him with still hadn’t worn off. He could barely stand, tempted to give in, let his knees fold and let the bastards carry him.

  Anya had other ideas. She stepped in front of him, gesturing the Bennies to wait, and reached to caress his cheek.

  “As bad as this is,” she murmured, “trust me, it will get much worse if you displease me.” She took hold of the chains attached to his wrists and dragged them up, eyes burning into his. “Don’t displease me.”

  A brief stab of pain hit his heart, gone as fast as it was there.

  “Now, do we need the chains, or are you going to walk beside me like a good boy?”

  It left him hardly able to breathe but he thought back fast, ‘No chains,’ rough as hell with no idea if she’d even hear.

  She smiled as if she believed him, then frowned, an intense furrow creasing her brow. Okay, so she could read his damned mind but he had no idea what the hell she had just picked up. He used to be good at getting her to do what he wanted.

  She glared at him in disgust, let go of the chains, and walked away.

  The huge warriors to either side shoved him forward, grunting, one of them punching him in the back between his shoulder blades. He took a couple of stumbling steps before he caught his balance, and followed her, fixing his eyes firmly on her figure ahead of him, shutting out the hulking aliens all around, the overbearing stench of the Bhenykhn threatening to make him retch.

  He concentrated on walking.

  This was Anya. All else aside, she was still Anya. She was still human. And she wanted him alive.

  They walked down the ramp and out into a courtyard, high stone ramparts, brilliant blue skies but icy cold air. He was struggling to see straight, the neurotoxin blurring his vision, but he could sense the Bhenykhn guards up on the walls, weapons ready, at least four shamans all watching him intently.

  Anya waited for him to catch up, gazing up to the sky as he was handled roughly into position beside her, lungs catching in the chill.

  “If you try anything,” she murmured without looking at him, “Sean O’Brien will wish she’d never set eyes on you.”

  “I’m not…” A blow to the back of the head shut him up.

  She glanced at him then. “No, my sweet, you don’t get to speak.” She settled her hood around her face again, thinking clearly, and casting her eyes right at him as she did, ‘Take him to the grand hall. I want to show off my prize.’

  Screw that. He shrugged off the alien hand pushing down on his shoulder and got two more, either side, gripping his arms, alien minds close and not holding back the fact they knew they were bigger and stronger, could snap his limbs like twigs and would enjoy doing so.

  He forced himself to relax, didn’t fight them and held his tongue. He’d been in worse situations. That was his mantra. Since he was five and he’d decided nothing could ever get as bad as that. This was shit but he’d been through worse.

  Anya threw him a look of pure disbelief, pure unadulterated condescending disbelief, an astonished smile gleaming in those intense blue eyes. “Oh, LC, my dear LC, no. No, you really haven’t.”

  She was wearing heels, footsteps echoing as they walked up stone steps and entered the fortress, into a stone paved entrance hall. He was three steps behind, his Bhenykhn escort still at his side. There was a grey-cloaked Bhenykhn standing there watching as they approached. It bowed slightly to Anya and stood aside to let her pass.

  It was deferring to her. The alien son of a bitch was deferring to her.

  They passed another shaman, lurking in the shadows, staff in its hand. LC watched it as he was marched along, meeting its gaze and keeping that eye contact. His mind was muddy as crap but he could still read the immense satisfaction in its alien mind, feeding back to the hive the knowledge that he was there, that he was within their clutches.

  He kept his chin up, switched his eyes from it to its staff. He let it know he wanted that staff. And when he had it they wouldn’t have a chance against him.

  Its mouth twitched in a snee
r.

  Anya didn’t stop, didn’t turn, but she put out her hand in a subtle gesture, to him or the shaman, he didn’t know. He laughed and walked past, his captors twisting his arms just enough to increase the pain a notch. Bastards. He wasn’t going to give in to them.

  Anya was a different issue.

  He followed her into their grand hall where a fire was blazing in a huge stone hearth, a meal in progress, seven or eight people sitting around a central table laden with plates of food, sizzling platters of meats, rich sauces that wafted a deep aroma of flavours he was hard pushed to identify, lavishly prepared vegetables, baskets of bread, bowls stacked high with exotic rices and grains.

  He hadn’t seen anything more than ration packs in months, hadn’t eaten much more than soup in weeks.

  It turned his stomach.

  The raucous chatter stopped as they entered, heads turning. Rich decorations hung on each wall, elaborate tapestries, huge paintings. Candles flickered in sconces. Cosy as anything except for the hulking alien warriors patrolling an upper balcony overlooking the gathering. And it wasn’t seeing the Bhenykhn there that made him stop. It was Drake, long legs crossed, whisky glass in hand, her eyes as sharp as ever, watching intently as he pushed forward, hands manacled in front of him and blood trickling down his arms.

  Anya brushed past, threw her coat onto a chair at the head of the table and made a show of taking off her gloves. She smiled and regarded Drake with disdain.

  “He’s mine,” she said, snapping her fingers and beckoning his guards to escort him over to them.

  There wasn’t much he could do to resist so he didn’t. He walked forward before they could shove him into moving. He just needed to bide his time, figure out where the hell the power was here, why the Bennies were subservient to humans, and as soon as he thought that he realised they weren’t. There was an element of curiosity, the alien warlord humouring this opulent human enclave, learning from them, assimilating an age-old culture that was so alien to them, and an element of subterfuge, of giving the humans the guise of freedom that was really not there, and never would be. It was like being a captive of creatures who were themselves caged in a zoo.

  They had incense burning, bunches of herbs strung over the fire, and it still couldn’t disguise the damp alien smell of decay.

  One of Drake’s flunkies glanced across, lazy, not moving except to raise his glass to his lips with a smirk. They were sitting in the midst of a hostile alien invasion and they were acting as if they were at a corporate banquet, decadent arrogance and no regard for the precarious situation they were in. The Bhenykhn didn’t give a shit about humans, whatever deal Drake and Anya might think they had in place.

  The man stared at him. “It’s taken us a long time to get our hands on you, son.”

  “Too long,” someone else said, giving Anya a sly smile and tossing a playing card onto the table. A black joker. “Well done, Anya, my dear,” she said. She looked to another man sitting there. “You win.”

  “Pity Zang isn’t here to see it.” Someone else. A woman who was looking at him as if she wanted to leap across the table and sink her teeth into his neck.

  LC offered up his both arms, chains clinking, inviting. “Help yourself.”

  The Bhenykhn to his side cuffed him across the back of the head to shut him up.

  The man laughed. “We will. Don’t worry yourself about that, my boy. We’re surprised the Thieves’ Guild has made such a hash out of reproducing it.”

  LC looked at them and couldn’t help the slight smile. It was absurd. He’d been on the run for over a year. And this was what it had come to? He was finally caught for real. End of the line. It was just a matter of what and who could he take down in flames with him.

  Anya was pouring herself a drink, reaching for a canapé. She was smiling as if it was never in any doubt.

  LC watched her. It was never going to be that simple. He could feel the virus starting to neutralise whatever they’d dosed him with, the effect wearing off. He was starting to pull in energy. He could feel it tingling at the ends of his fingertips, feel it filtering into each cell. He was draining the lifeforce out of the Bhenykhn, out of every human body in there. He could almost feel them flagging. He took more, feeling the virus use it to accelerate neutralising the neurotoxin.

  As his head cleared, he became more aware of the fortress, realised it was Zang’s fortress. It was a sizable force of Bhenykhn, a whole company of human mercenaries, servants, and… his stomach turned as he sensed them, prisoner pens, packed full of desperate souls. He could sense thousands of them, the fear and dread, of their human captors as much as the aliens. They were experimenting.

  He shook it off, shook out his shoulders, the chains clanking, testing his muscles. He ignored Anya and cast a look at Drake. He didn’t quite believe she’d betrayed them. He would have picked it up. Someone would have picked it up.

  The old woman was considering him with that predatory leer she’d given him on the Alsatia. He couldn’t hear what she was thinking clearly but he could read her expression. Whether she wanted him, or the immortality the virus in his blood could bring, he wasn’t sure.

  She smiled, almost purring. “It’s good to see you again, Luka. Very good to see you again.” She stood, long-limbed, taller than Anya, as elegant and confident as she always had been. “You need to reconsider your loyalties.” She gave a gentle wave of her hand. “This might not be the war we wanted but there are always ways to turn any situation to our advantage. Join us…”

  He stared back at her. There was no way he’d join them.

  “You weren’t planning to betray us,” he said, sure of it, sure he would have seen it in her mind back at that council of war. “What happened?”

  Her smile reached her eyes and she gave a slight shrug. “Simply a better offer, my dear. And now we extend that offer to you. You could do well here.”

  Anya looked up abruptly, glaring at him. “LC, what are you doing?”

  He thought for a fraction of a second she meant with Drake.

  He almost smiled, went to look sideways to play them off each other, and something hit him hard, right between the eyes. He froze, held there, mind squeezed so tight he couldn’t breathe.

  Spearhead whispered into his head, “Bad move, Luka. You think we’d let you get away with that?”

  Barriers slammed into place around him. The darkness that descended pounded a dull echo into his head that was absolute. Even when he realised his eyes were still open. He couldn’t move, couldn’t sense a single life sign, couldn’t smell anything, couldn’t feel anything, couldn’t hear anything.

  He was numb.

  It was as if he’d ceased to exist.

  He couldn’t even feel his heart beating.

  If this was what it was to be dead, it sucked.

  Chapter 27

  “You’re not surprised,” Sebastian murmured. “To hear that the Order were working with, collaborating with the Bhenykhn. You’re not surprised at all.”

  The Man didn’t react.

  “Your two age-old enemies working together to screw over the rest of humanity. Is that irony or destiny? What would have happened had you not made an enemy of the Order when you arrived?”

  The Man was shielding his thoughts but it didn’t take too much to nudge past the surface.

  Sebastian put down the intricate piece of weaponry he was holding and looked up, looked far deeper than he’d ever managed before.

  “You wanted to? You wanted the Order as your enemy. Now, why the hell would that be?”

  •

  “Try anything like that again…” Spearhead hissed.

  Like what?

  Like looking at Drake?

  No…

  Like taking energy.

  They knew he’d been taking energy.

  Pain receptors fired in every inch of his body.

  He couldn’t scream, couldn’t move, couldn’t think.

  It vanished as fast as it started.

/>   “Do that again and this will be so much worse you will wish you were dead.”

  He blinked, sight coming back painfully.

  Everyone was staring at him.

  He glanced up, catching sight of a shaman up on the balcony. Another and another. Shit, there were at least six, stationed around that mezzanine level. He could feel their power focused through the staffs in their hands. They were regarding him with an immense curiosity as if everything was a test and they were monitoring every move he made. More than that. He could feel it as he looked around the table, mind to mind. He couldn’t read them. Couldn’t see past a vague impression from each person there. He was being blocked. It wasn’t the neurotoxin, the virus had dealt with that. It was the shamans. They were applying a barrier to his mind that was numbing. Thing was, he was still drawing in energy. Subconsciously. His entire system drawing in energy, subtle, and relentless.

  Anya put down her glass, staring at him. She walked back to him, maintaining that intense eye contact.

  “Take him to my quarters,” she murmured. “He’s mine. I’ll deal with him.”

  She must have said something to the Bhenykhn. They let go of his arms and were replaced by two of the human guards who took him in a restraint hold.

  The others around the table laughed and resumed their meal as he was led away. He could feel Drake staring after him.

  The guards were joined by another two soldiers, both cradling snub rifles. They were all wearing slick fatigues, polished boots, sharp cologne, so clean cut they’d probably never seen action for real. They took him up a set of steep stone stairs and along a wide corridor to a door. One of the shamans followed at a distance.

  The first guy walked with him into a suite of rooms and showed him to a bathroom. “Get your ass in the shower.”

  LC stopped at the door, held onto the doorframe and turned, eyes heavy, the hive dragging at the back of his mind, constantly. “This is called collaborating with the enemy, you know that, right?”