Fractured Souls: Darkstar Mercenaries Book 3

by Carven, Anna

  “You’d better let her go, Lodan,” Noa chimed in. A vaguely threatening energy filled the room, and the wispy ends of her hair began to rise.

  The Kordolian guards on either side of them tensed, their hands dropping to their weapons.

  “Noa…” Alexis glanced at her in alarm. What was this strange pressure all of a sudden? “What are you doing?”

  “Sorry. That wasn’t supposed to happen. This power… I forget sometimes. I’m not allowed to fight with it until I learn to control it better.” Her eyes went distant for a moment, and the pressure dissipated. She turned to Lodan. “She’s all in now, you know. You can’t have it all one way, Kordolian. We humans get crazy about our mates too. You really think he would be a threat to her? Your cold and harsh Kordolian ways aren’t the only way of dealing with things. She’s probably the best thing for him right now. One day, you might understand what I’m talking about.”

  “Hm.” Lodan inclined his head, staring at Alexis for a while, his expression indecipherable.

  She felt like she was being dissected under that intense golden gaze. In some ways, he was just like Nythian, holding deep and complicated secrets behind a tightly controlled exterior.

  “Okay,” Lodan growled after what seemed like an eternity. “Nythian says you’re tough, and he wouldn’t want me to coddle you. He’ll kill me if I restrain you, and he’ll kill me if I let you go down there. Either way, I can’t win.” He let out an aggravated sigh. “Let’s go. Follow me closely. You, though...” He glanced at Noa. “You stay here. I’m not looking to piss off Ashrael right now, and I don’t want any more big psychic disruptions on my ship. No more dark matter disturbances, you hear?”

  Noa shrugged. “I don’t have my boots on anyway.”

  “You’d definitely need boots down there,” Lodan said dryly, and there was something faintly ridiculous about the way he said it.

  A cry of pure fury reached them from below.

  Nythian. How could they just stand here yapping when he was obviously in distress?

  “Let’s go, Lodan,” she growled impatiently.

  The pilot raised a pale eyebrow. “I’m starting to see why you’re a good match for my brother.” Then without further warning, he turned and jumped into the dark hole, and she assumed he must have landed somewhere, but he didn’t make a sound. His disembodied voice floated up through the darkness. “It’s a long drop. There’s a ladder on the side. Mind your step on the way down.”

  “Show-off,” Alexis grumbled. She made her way to the edge of the hatch, where she found a series of curved grooves cut into the wall.

  The aforementioned ladder… of sorts.

  The Kordolian guards stepped back, watching her silently like twin silver statues, their strange eyes like gemstones in the dim light.

  Sometimes, she forgot that she was surrounded by aliens.

  “Hey.” Noa held something out to her. “You’ll probably be needing this.” It was a standard human-made guide-light.

  “Thanks.” Alexis clipped it onto her belt, sharing a moment of solidarity with this human woman she barely knew but already felt so comfortable with.“See you in a bit.”

  “Yeah. Remember, they’re survivors, just like us.”

  Alexis barely had time to wonder what the hell Noa was talking about as she slipped down into the cold, silent darkness, following a lethal alien warrior who moved like a ghost in the shadows.

  That didn’t bother her at all.

  She just wanted to be with her mate.

  Twenty-Nine

  When he woke he was confused, disorientated, angry.

  He didn’t know why.

  He just was.

  Nythian sat on the floor amidst mutilated bodies and the bitter stench of dried blood and Xargek venom and charred flesh.

  This was his doing, all of it.

  The nanites coursed through his body, repairing torn flesh and organs. The pain was excruciating, but he welcomed it, because it reminded him that he was alive.

  The anger was still there, burning through him, too big for his body to contain. If he didn’t find release, it would consume him.

  He vaguely remembered someone entering the chamber—a dark figure who moved swiftly and dangerously, who had uttered his name… but Nythian had been lost deep inside the red haze of his anger, so he’d attacked.

  The dark figure had evaded his blows, quickly disappearing from sight, leaving Nythian unsatisfied.

  He just wanted to fight someone or something.

  Behind him, Sarkiss began to stir, and Nythian was filled with terrible rage; he had a sudden and overwhelming urge to kill the bastard, but he gritted his teeth and held back, because the soldier in him was bound to Tarak’s orders.

  The noble’s eyes snapped open, and he stared at Nythian with pure malevolence. “You fucking soori bast—”

  Nythian pulled himself across the floor and slapped Sarkiss hard, sending him back into unconsciousness. “Shut up.”

  He was in a foul mood, there was no doubt about it. Maybe it was because Sarkiss and the cursed Xargek had caught him off-guard, had pushed him further than he’d thought possible.

  That was his fault for getting cocky.

  He was still fuming over it, still weak from blood loss, still enraged by Sarkiss’s words, which had struck a nerve.

  He wanted to destroy something.

  Cursed temper.

  He couldn’t go back to the Mhyndin just yet. He didn’t want Alexis to see him like this, still seething from battle.

  She’d been traumatized by vicious Kordolians, and deep down, he was just the same as them.

  He rose to his feet, excruciating pain shooting through his body. Shadows entered his vision as he became lightheaded, swaying a little on his feet. Having run out of exogenous protein, the nanites were starting to cannibalize his own flesh.

  The stench became overpowering, especially to his sensitive nose. Blood, guts, acrid Xargek-venom, dredging up deeply-buried memories.

  The flashback hit him hard, bringing him to his knees.

  He cried out in pain, clutching the sides of his head.

  Suddenly, he was back in the Flatedge, staring at the the ancient ice-encrusted road that had once been a highway for wheeled vehicles.

  He sat on a crumbling stone pillar, watching the road and waiting… he wasn’t sure exactly what for, but he was always waiting. For as long as he could remember, he’d felt as if there had to be something more to this pathetic existence of his.

  And he was only about ten or eleven revolutions old… he didn’t know the exact rotation of his birth, because he’d been abandoned.

  That was what Reum, his sometime-carer, had told him, anyway.

  The road stretched out into the vast nothingness of the Vaal, where the savage beasts and fierce hunters of the mysterious Lost Tribes roamed, occasionally killing each other.

  That was what the slum-dwellers told him, anyway.

  They all told him these things, but as he grew older, he’d come to realize that the rumors and tales of the slums weren’t always true.

  One thing was certain, though.

  This nameless highway was a road to fucking nowhere.

  His stomach rumbled angrily, hunger gnawing at his insides. He stared down at his scrawny arms, unable to remember the last time he hadn’t felt hungry. Maybe it was the time he’d caught a sick terbechor at the edge of the Vaal. The creature was scrawny and weak, its deep green scales falling off in places, but he’d roasted it over a small fire and sucked the meat right off its bones, before eating the bones themselves.

  The memory made his mouth water.

  As a freezing wind whipped through his tangled hair, bringing with it hard, stinging flecks of ice, Nythian caught sight of a figure in the distance.

  Was he imagining things?

  No. It was a man, dressed in nothing but a pair of sleek hide trousers. As he drew closer, Nythian could make out more details. The bladed weapons at his back; they weren’t th
e dark-metal swords of the Empire, but something else. Broad shoulders, muscular chest, intricately braided white hair. A viciously curved claw hung around the hunter’s neck, probably a trophy from a szkazajik or something.

  This was a hunter from the Lost Tribes. What was he doing so close to the edge of the Capital?

  Something big and heavy was slung over one shoulder; a dark grey sack. Nythian smelled blood. Not Kordolian, but something else. His mouth watered.

  “What are ya doin’ out here, Aikun?” he called over the howling wind, cupping the side of his mouth. “Empire soldiers will kill ya if they see ya here.”

  The Aikun didn’t say a word. He just kept advancing, his face hard like stone, his red eyes boring into Nythian.

  The warrior’s aura swept over him; threatening, powerful, and the boy in him wanted to run, but Nythian clutched his metal bar tightly, glaring at the Aikun.

  Flatedge was his territory.

  Finally, the Aikun stopped just a few arms lengths from where Nythian was perched. He threw the sack onto the frozen ground. A steaming pile of bloody entrails spilled out, still warm from whatever beast the Aikun had killed.

  “Eat it if you want to become strong,” the warrior growled. “You’re too scrawny. I’ll be back here every seven rotations. Wait for me or don’t. Up to you, boy.”

  The hunter turned around and started to walk away.

  “Wait,” Nythian called after him. “Why even bother feeding a Flatedge brat like me?”

  “I’ve seen you out here many times, boy. You’re the only one who comes out this far.” He laughed, a harsh, desolate sound. “You don’t look it, but maybe you’ve got Aikun blood in you. Don’t question my intentions again, boy.”

  Then he turned and left, leaving Nythian with a steaming pile of guts at his feet.

  Offal. Food that wasn’t even fit for a varhund.

  But Nythian devoured it, because he didn’t know when his next meal would arrive, and the Aikun was right.

  He wanted to become strong.

  Nythian gasped as returned to the present, as he remembered what it felt like to be nothing, less than dirt beneath the boots of the Empire’s chosen citizens.

  What a flashback that had been, stronger than anything he’d ever experienced before.

  He was still shaking as he remembered the stoic Aikun man who’d saved his life.

  The nameless hunter had been true to his word, returning every seven rotations to deliver him food, and sometimes there had been delicious things in his bag; meat from a szkazajik, or roasted lamperk from the dark seas deep beneath the Vaal’s frozen ice sheets.

  And when Nythian was no longer scrawny, the hunter started to teach him how to fight, until Nythian, now tall and broad in the shoulder, actually bested the Aikun with his own attack.

  By then, the hunter was starting to show his age; he wasn’t as fast as he used to be, and there were wisps of black in his hair.

  After that, the hunter didn’t come anymore, even though Nythian sat on the same stone pillar and waited and waited and waited…

  He never came.

  Furious at this abandonment, and yet filled with a growing sense of dread, Nythian had ventured out into the Vaal, traveling further than any sane Kythian would dare to go.

  That’s when he found them.

  An entire Aikun hunting party, slaughtered, their dark blood splattered across the pure white ice.

  And there was his hunter, crimson eyes wide and sightless, staring up at the distant stars. The Empire’s soldiers had left his head impaled on a stake: a warning to all of the Lost Tribes who would dare come to the edge of the city.

  Nythian had never learned the name of this scarred, hard-faced hunter, who had been more of a father to him than the bastard who’d abandoned him.

  How he wished he had.

  At first he’d been angry, but now he understood why the hunter hadn’t wanted him to get too attached.

  He wished he could go back in time as he was now and slaughter those Imperial soldiers. They’d killed the only person who’d ever shown him kindness in that place.

  As he’d howled his fury on the frozen Vaal, surrounded by the dead hunters, the soldiers had returned, pinning him down, tying him up…

  “He’s the type the scientists are looking for. There’s a reward for specimens like this. Quick, restrain him. We’ll bring him back to base.”

  Dragging him to a hell-planet called Xar so they could carry out their terrible experiments on him.

  Boom. Boom. Boom.

  Nythian slammed his fist into the floor again and again, beating the dead Xargek’s chitinous exoskeleton into a mangled pulp. He didn’t know how long he was in that state for. He didn’t care. He just wanted to release the terrible rage inside him, but the pressure kept building until he felt like his head would explode.

  He stood…

  And saw a dark warrior standing in the doorway, leaning casually against the curving frame. It was the same warrior who had appeared before. “Are we done here, brother?” the figure said, releasing the helm that protected his silver face.

  Nythian rushed at the warrior, who ducked, blocking his raised fist with his armored forearm.

  Suddenly, a blade was at Nythian’s throat. “Easy, brother. I don’t want to use this, so don’t make me do it. You’ll be a walking skeleton by the time your nanites are done fixing you up. I know you’re angry, but I ain’t the ghost of your enemies.”

  He managed to stop… only just. Breathing hard, he stared into familiar golden eyes.

  He knew this person.

  The madness ebbed away… a little.

  “Lodan,” he growled, still thrumming with rage, not knowing where or how to release it. “I am not very good company right now.” He hated that his brother was seeing him in this state, but that was just his pride. Lodan knew him better than anyone. He’d seen him like this before, just as Nythian knew Lodan’s weaknesses inside and out. So much for the legendary First Division training and discipline.

  “Someone wanted—demanded—to see you,” his battle-partner said, keeping his voice carefully neutral. “She’s actually very Kordolian-like in the way she goes about things.”

  Lodan didn’t need to say anything more, because Nythian already knew that she was here—he could smell her, hear her…

  She was intoxicating.

  Goddess, how he wanted to touch her.

  But not like this. Never like this.

  “You were supposed to keep her away from all this.” He strode forward, fangs bared, his claws flicking out. How dare Lodan bring her into this filth? He loved his brother, but he also wanted to smash his fucking face in right now.

  The only reason he was able to hold back was because of her. No matter how bad things got, he could never take out his anger on her.

  Lodan was a different matter. Just like Nythian, he lived to fight. They’d always absorbed each other’s anger and frustration in the training chamber.

  “Nythian…” Alexis stepped out from behind Lodan. They were surrounded by chaos, but she was focused only on him.

  There was no fear in her eyes, no disgust, no horror, no revulsion.

  Just acceptance.

  “Hey,” she said softly, stepping over blood and Xargek venom to reach him. She slipped her hands into his, not caring that he was naked and lean and strange, his muscles eaten away by the ravenous nanites. At least he was almost fully healed now.

  And in that instant, the toxic anger disappeared in a puff of vapor, leaving him raw and wanting.

  How the fuck did she do that to him?

  “Hey,” he rumbled, inhaling her scent, drowning in her softness.

  The anger was still there, but now he was able to cage it.

  “I presume the living one over there is the hostage?” Lodan said softly, giving them a wide berth. “I will take him away and give you two a little space.” He gave Alexis a strange look, shaking his head slightly in disbelief.

  Lodan of all
people would struggle to understand this human softness. Suddenly, Nythian’s thoughts were clearer, and he gave Lodan an appreciative nod as the pilot unceremoniously picked up the unconscious Sarkiss and hauled him out of the chamber.

  Ah, his brother was always the calm one, the logical one, even though he craved violence just as much as Nythian.

  “You okay?” Alexis slid into his embrace as Lodan disappeared with Sarkiss in tow. He cupped the sides of her face and looked down, diving into her shimmering eyes.

  She started to tremble ever so slightly. That’s when he realized that she was barely holding herself together.

  She pointedly avoided looking at the blood and dead bodies around him.

  Nythian cursed softly in his mother tongue. Of course this scene would stir up bad memories for her.

  Before she could say a word, he lifted her into his arms and took her away from the carnage, retreating through dark, narrow passages, his bare feet silent on the metal floors.

  He returned to the Mhyndin’s hatch, staying close behind her as she climbed up the ladder, not caring that he still couldn’t form his armor.

  When Alexis was safely inside, he turned to the guards. “The ship’s clear. Go down and start the clean-up. Mark anything that might be of interest or value. I’m sure Lodan’s already got the tech team on standby for a clean-and-sweep.”

  “He does. We’ll handle it.” The warriors quietly peeled away, not even blinking at his naked, weakened state. Unlike humans, Kordolians didn’t get all squeamish about nudity.

  At last, they were alone in the quiet chamber.

  He pulled her close, burying his nose in her thick curly hair, inhaling her sweet scent. “You shouldn’t have gone down there,” he growled. “I… slipped.”

  “Yeah. I probably shouldn’t have,” she agreed. “I used to be a pretty rational person, but when it comes to you, it’s this that’s calling the shots.” She tapped her chest right over her heart. “Can’t help it. I’m crazy for you. And you didn’t slip, soldier. I saw the bodies back there. Was that a Xargek?” Her hand curled around his wrist, caressing the faint scar-line where his hand had been reattached to his arm. The flesh was still binding together; the scar-line would eventually disappear. “We humans talk. I have an inkling of what you’ve been through. Don’t ever tell me that you’re not allowed to react like a normal flesh-and-blood being like the rest of us, Nythian. You’re not a goddamn machine.”