by Bex McLynn
He took a staggering step, then his knees struck the sand. The dart tumbled free from his limp fingers.
Gummy cackled. “Knocked the big arse right out, didn’t you?”
Therion opened his mouth to reply, but his parched throat only made a hissing groan.
Unholde fuck him. She darted him.
He toppled forward into darkness.
Maude slapped her left hand over her mouth. It felt odd to do so. Typically, when startled, she’d cover her mouth with her right hand, but the spider had full control of her right limb.
“I shot him,” she squeaked out.
Gummy chortled next to her. “Sure did, girly.”
Mortified, Maude blinked repeatedly, but the scene before her remained the same. A man lay in the sands because the spider had struck him down.
Each morning, she’d passed this particular courtyard on her way to the well. She’d seen the weapon racks and assumed those Gwyretti used the area for training their guards. However, the session she and Gummy had just stumbled upon appalled her. She’d expected the trainees to use protection pads and nonlethal weapons; instead, pain-filled moans and grunts had echoed across the courtyard as the Gwyretti pummeled their Teras partners.
The Teras in the courtyard had also shocked her. A good dozen Teras men sat by the brick wall, clustering in the shade that stretched long with the setting suns.
Where on Earth had the Gwyretti been hiding all these people?
With wide eyes, she turned back to Kesken. He glared at her as he balanced on the balls of his feet with his stubby weapon staff in hand.
“I am so sorry,” she said softly to him and tried once again to tug her arm down. “I didn’t—I didn’t mean to—”
But she knew what it looked like. With her arm raised, Kesken would think she’d targeted and shot the tall Teras man who now sprawled on the sands.
An image flashed in her mind and then kept replaying. The tall golden man had been turning about the courtyard with his arms thrown open wide, as if yelling at the universe, ‘Come at me!’ Poor man. He’d probably been doing nothing more than posturing, standing there shirtless with his chest heaving and sweat glistening on his skin. The turquoise veins had rippled hypnotically over the lean muscles of his chest, arms, and shoulders.
He’d looked impressive. Imposing, even.
Good lord, he was a tall fellow.
Then the spider had to go and dart him.
To make matters worse, everyone simply stared. No one moved to help the man who she’d shot.
She took a step forward, relieved that the bits of the spider wrapped around her legs didn’t impede her movement.
“Stop!” Kesken hissed. “Where are you going?”
“I shot him.” Maude’s heart pounded as sweat continued to stream down her back. The spider had never done this before. Until this moment, when the spider would shoot one of the Gwyretti, it would launch the dart from some portion of its frame—her back, her shoulder, hell, once from her backside. For the first time, though, it involved Maude by commandeering her arm, and she hated how personal it felt. “I need to make sure he’s not hurt.”
“Ech.” Gummy flipped his hand at the downed Teras. “Let him be. He’s fine.”
Ignoring the old man, Maude continued forward. It dismayed her that the other Gwyretti backed away, retreating like repulsed magnetic poles. The closer she got to the Teras lying on the sands, the farther they backed away.
“Leave him,” Kesken said from his safe distance. “He’ll be seen to.”
“But no one is helping him,” Maude said over her shoulder as she knelt down, the hot sand stinging her knees.
Up close, the man was larger than she’d guessed. He must be near seven feet tall. He’d collapsed in such a haphazard manner too—his limbs at awkward angles. She did her best to better arrange him, straightening his arms and tilting his head just so.
She swept back the drape of his long, straight black hair, surprised to find his skin felt cool under the two suns. He was much younger than Gummy. Not a boy. Definitely a man, with a strong jaw and broad nose. Like Gummy, he had no eyebrows, but she could see the faint crease caused by brow muscles that would give expression to his face.
“I think he’s overheating or something.” She turned to Kesken. “He’s clammy. Too cool.”
“He’s Teras,” Kesken said with a low hiss. “They all run cool.”
“Oh.” She swiped at her own damp forehead. “Should we move him inside anyway?”
Her guard scoffed. “He’ll be fine. He’ll wake with a nasty headache and the shits, just like everyone else you’ve darted.”
But she hadn’t darted anyone. She opened her mouth to remind Kesken of this when the familiar voice of Chieftain Lider blasted through the courtyard.
“Clansmen! Are you guards or garden pots?” Chieftain Lider fumed, his frill flaring open, as he stomped out of the main building.
Maude sighed with relief to see the chieftain, and her exhale struck her with lightheadedness, dizzying her.
“Secure the area.” The chieftain swept the bystanders with a heated glare. “Now!”
The burly Gwyretti dressed in tough leathers crowded the Teras sitting in the fading shade, tugging and pulling on their clothing to get them to move. Maude had expected a burst of movement in response to the chieftain’s order, but everyone’s slow, deliberate steps reminded her of the spider. Again, she’d been careless.
Shaking her head in dismay, she looked up at the chieftain. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“I’m glad someone recognizes the voice of reason.” The chieftain frowned down at her. “Though, I question your judgment as well, Maude, being outdoors with the suns still out.”
Maude would have blushed at his chiding, but the heat and her exertion had already flamed her cheeks. “Can you help him, Chieftain? The spider, it shot him.”
One of the leather-glad Gwyretti hissed. “Should help Hebi first. That Teras broke his arm.”
“This Teras,” the chieftain shot back, “shouldn’t have even been out here. You.” He pointed to another bald Teras who slouched against the wall. “Come pick him up.”
The leather-glad Gwyretti hissed again, but this time he made a stuttering sound. “Not that one, Chieftain. That one’s Unholde’s mongrel.”
The bald Teras shrugged his shoulders as he strode over. “Got nothing else to do.”
Maude turned her head to thank the man. Her head tipped up, and up, and up.
Oh my.
He was a damned mobile mountain, casting a wide swath of shade over her.
Unlike the Teras she cradled in her lap, this hulking Teras had his head smoothly shaven, revealing a mesmerizing spread of turquoise veins all over his head. Well, what she could see of the veins, anyway. The man had tattoos inked up his neck and swirling around his head, black and red inscriptions that she couldn’t read.
He looked down at her, his mouth a grim, straight line. His eyes, strident streaks of green and yellow that swirled by never blended the colors, regarded her with disinterest.
As Maude gazed up, she reminded herself that this wasn’t a towering alien, but a person. Someone here to help. She smiled up at him in gratitude.
“Thank you so much.” She spoke to him in Terish, the same language she’d used with Gummy.
He’d been descending, crouching down to scoop up the man from her lap, but he paused, hesitating as his brow lowered.
“Ain’t nothing,” he finally rumbled, and his exceptionally deep voice thrummed through her chest.
She blinked at him. Her ready-stockpile of polite replies failed to give her a response.
As she gawked, the hulking Teras slung the darted man over his shoulder in a fireman carry and got back to his feet. Easy as anything.
Good lord. Not only were the Teras big, they were strong. Very strong.
“Come, Maude,” Chieftain Lider said as he gestured for her. He hovered a dozen steps away—a learned distance
that didn’t incite the spider. “Back inside. It’s too hot for you.”
Mindful of her persistent lightheadedness, Maude slowly got to her feet. With her arms out to balance herself, she caught a glimpse of her hands and staggered to a stop.
The spider.
Maude huffed in amazement. “It didn’t rattle.”
“Maude, please,” the chieftain said firmly.
“The spider,” Maude persisted. This was important, dammit. “When I was near the Teras, it didn’t rattle. It let me touch him.”
The chieftain frowned. “Perhaps it was due to his unconscious state. He wasn’t a threat to you.”
Maude returned the chieftain’s frown, not quite assured by his explanation. “Perhaps.”
“But we’ll learn nothing here, out in the sands.”
She heard the censure in his tone. True enough.
They needed to see to the hurt Teras first because hopefully he could help her understand these unknowns. Perhaps even free her from the spider and return her home in time.
Chapter Three
Therion woke to the fan-fucking-tastic sensation of a cosmos-shattering orgasm.
By Unholde, his chest locked up—the trapped air burning his lungs—as a deep, body-wracking moan rose up from his gut and unhinged his jaw. His back bowed as the tension in his limbs tightened and tightened, then snapped, rocketing relief and bliss through him.
He sucked air into his aching lungs as stars danced at the edge of his vision. Gods, that—whatever that was—laid him out, flat on his back. Unfurled him and left him as weak as a whelp.
“By Unholde!” he forced out the words as he opened his eyes and took in the orange flicker of lamplight along the mud bricks overhead. He huffed out an astounded chuckle as aftershocks quaked his body. “That was fucking brilliant.”
“So much material simply wasted,” said a reproachful voice. “Hopefully that will be the last time.”
Last time? Sheer blasphemy. He hadn’t had an orgasm in over a long, godsdamned miserable year, let alone a spine cracking release that left him drained of energy, yet gorged on euphoria. Back on Prykimis, once scrubber’s lung had taken hold of him, he stopped getting erections altogether. As if the universe had kicked him in the anthers while he lay passed out in the gutter. Mean. Spiteful. Fucking unnecessary.
But that orgasm felt very necessary, and he very much wanted a repeat experience.
“Gods, I sure as fuck hope not,” Therion heaved, his heart battering against his ribs.
“Well, you’ve done that six times already. We’re running out of towels.”
Six? How had he gone through that six times and not woken up? Hell, why hadn’t that killed him?
Even more baffling, why hadn’t Zver told him that this was what it felt like to be darted? Unless the effect on his brother had been different. Prykimis had been aiming for someone else, and Zver, that noble idiot, used himself like a living shield, intercepting a dart shot off by a bloodthirsty Athelasan battleship. And since Therion had seen hundreds of those spent darts scattered across Prykimis’s deck, he had no doubt about what struck him in the arena. The dart that he had yanked from his neck was definitely Athelasan in origin.
That could be a good thing. Could also be a bad thing.
But the important thing was that his brother never learned of it.
Hell, when Prykimis had rampaged and shot over half the crew, Therion hadn’t gotten shot. This right here? It humiliated him. Had him looking like a barking arse who couldn’t execute a simple rescue and extraction.
As his thoughts lost their cloudy haze, his surroundings started registering with his senses. The heat of Radost blanketed him as he lay on a hard, unyielding surface—some sort of table or slab. His many ejaculations pooled on his bare belly and seeped between his ass cheeks, dampening his pants. Every battered bruise from the arena nagged at him, and a gnawing hunger cramped his stomach.
His immediate conclusion placed him in a bind, but he wasn’t completely fucked, either. Grogginess slugged his thoughts—no splitting headache—and his bowels hadn’t become explosive, liquid shit bombs. So, for all the knowledge he had gained—that there was Athelasan tech at the compound and possibly a Human woman—he really couldn’t grumble about a dart to the neck, could he?
Plus, the orgasm. That magnificent climax made his godsdamn year.
Since Therion lacked the strength to sit up properly, he lolled his head, rolling it against the hard surface, as he sought out the person who had spoken to him.
His eyes passed over the immaterial in the room—dark Cuneiform consoles and gear typical of an automated medibay—to land on a Gwyretti man perched on a high metal stool.
Chieftain Lider. The notorious crime lord matched the intel from the mission prep as well as Therion’s own expectations of a crime lord who fashioned himself a chieftain. Instead of wearing the flex armor of the guards or the leather gear of the gladiators, he wore traditional Gwyretti garments—a tunic that split into panels to accommodate his tail and wide-leg pants. His shoes, though, were expensive, finely crafted leather from Teras Ero.
Though, the report missed one fine point. Based on Therion’s wary gaze over the medibay, Lider was a bit of a deranged medic as well.
Lider regarded him with clinical interest. His frill, poised at half-mast, communicated his ease.
Therion flicked his eyes to the armed guard in the room. Aye, Lider did have the upper hand at the moment.
“You know me,” Lider said politely in Terish.
“Aye.” Therion had no reason to lie.
“And I know you.”
Therion weakly tapped his bare chest. “Thanebanger, but you can call me Banger.”
“You prefer that to Haleth Therion Borac?”
Did he prefer his clade code handle—Thanebanger—over his title?
He did.
He heaved a beleaguered sigh and rolled his eyes. “Gods, only my damma calls me by that arse barking name.”
Lider hissed, a distinctly Gwyretti expression of displeasure, and narrowed his eyes.
Therion had come to recognize that look of irritation on a variety of visages throughout the Tendex. Annoyance, aggravation, and murderous rage topped the list of his well-known side effects.
“We know why you’re here,” Lider bit out.
“As you should. You’re the assholes that kidnapped me.”
The Gwyretti’s frill expanded, nearly snapping fully open. “We know you’re looking for her.”
Her.
His mind replayed her gasp, and the phantom breeze of that breathy sound tingled his skin.
Lider continued, “We know you purchased one like her, another Human, here on Radost, believing you were getting a Lassie. We know that female has technopathic abilities and powered up a spirenought. That the Thanemonger has claimed that female for House Borac.”
None of this alarmed Therion. Parts of Seph’s story had become public knowledge when the Trine—the Athela Academe councilors—had begun their assessment of Seph. Other parts, like Seph pretending to be a Lassie, had been spread through the Tendex when hundreds of men had deserted Prykimis, becoming a mass of newly Unsworns. The fact that Lider knew who Therion was—well, it was never Therion’s intention to hide his identity. He’d always drifted around the Tendex blaring his status as being Unsworn from a Teras Great House. It suited him. Pretenses and all that.
There was no sense in dancing around it, then. Lider seemed like the sort who would have no patience for it anyway.
Ignoring the sticky mess soaking his mid-region, Therion slowly brought himself up to sitting. “Well, I am here to rescue her.”
Lider hissed again, a wry tone of disappointment as he shook his head.
That was rather unwarranted. After all, Therion was cooperating. Being all forthright and shit.
“All of this is unnecessary, you know.” Lider deliberately injected earnestness into his tone. “We’ve no intention of harming her.”
Therion excelled at sniffing out shit talkers. He chuckled and cast his eyes around the darkened medibay. “You’re keeping her on a slave planet at the edge of lawful space.”
“For safety.”
But for whose safety?
Everything Therion had observed about the complex fell into place. He currently sat in a room with fancy powered-down medical equipment. The guards, time and again, flicked annoyed glances to their WristCunes, yet never finagled with the devices. They also carried simple weapons, just staffs and stick stunners. Recruits, green about the frill, ran through the compound, whispering messages and palming off scraps of paper. That insufferable, antherless Gummy hauled around shit buckets. Hell, Lider had to bring in a batch of fresh fodder—in a combustion-powered ground transport, of all things—for training his gladiators because he couldn’t heal the hired Unsworn Teras.
The entire compound was a tech dead zone. It operated like a castledom prior to the arrival of the Athelasans. Where, hundreds of years ago, the most cutting-edge Teras inventions were cured meats and pickled vegetables.
Therion would bet all his anthers that she—the Human—was the reason for all of this.
So, whose safety was truly being safeguarded here? The Human woman? Or was Lider trying to insulate a situation, trying to keep the woman outside the main port on Radost, where she would encounter thousands of Athelasan compatible devices and use her technopathy to accessed the AthNet?
Isolated in the desert, the Human woman was as safe as napping in an akrep nest.
Knowing Lider expected some response from him, Therion simply nodded along and grunted. Aye, you shit stain, for her safety.
The Gwyretti eyed him a moment longer, and Therion exuded his role. He was nothing other than a clade-inked worn-out Teras who had been kicked from his house. It didn’t matter that his heritage tied him to an endless line of thanes and three living technopaths. He was a blight. Unwanted. The Bane.
“What drew you back to Radost, Haleth?” Lider’s question was shit, nothing but the crime lord voicing his irksome curiosities. “The marauder raids all but destroyed the Lassie refurbishing industry on Radost. The only place to find a Lassie now is one minted from the Dominion’s manufacturers. There are even reports that any women found on Radost, regardless of species, are being whisked away and presented to the Great Houses as Athela.”