Fractured Souls: Darkstar Mercenaries Book 3 Page 8

  His cock stirred.

  Well, well…

  Why was he not surprised?

  “We have to get this checked out,” he said hoarsely.

  She frowned, completely oblivious to his mood. “So we pay Zharek a visit again?”

  “‘Fraid so.”

  “Things got a little out of hand last time.” She made a face. “No pun intended.”

  “That just means he’ll be obsessed with getting it right this time. Zharek’s a perfectionist. He couldn’t figure out a solution when Enki had the Tharian in him, and it bugged him no end, but Enki was what you call treatment-resistant. You’re different.”

  “You seem to place a lot of faith in him.”

  Struggling to contain his lust, Nythian leaned in, savoring their sudden closeness. He had a sudden urge to share his darkest secrets with her. “He made me into what I am.”

  “The way I’ve seen you look at him, I’d swear you were having homicidal thoughts.”

  How observant she was. “Yeah, that happens now and then. If I gave in to every dark thought I had, he’d be a dead man, but I’m not going to do anything to Zharek. He’s one of us now.”

  Alexis snorted. “I know the feeling. Teamwork can be a pain-in-the-ass, but sometimes it’s necessary.”

  “Indeed,” he agreed, sharing a moment of perfect understanding with her. His voice became hoarse as he released her arm, unable to stand touching her for any longer. This closeness, this intimacy, it triggered something primal within him.

  Ah, fuck. He had never understood how the mere sight of these creatures could drive his brothers to a special kind of insanity. Finding a mate had never been a priority for him…

  Until now.

  So much for not getting too close.

  “Let’s get you back to the labs,” he rasped.

  Eight

  “I apologize for what happened earlier.” Zharek stared at his right hand, which was curled into a fist. To Alexis’s astonishment, it was his severed hand, and it had been perfectly reattached. The metal claw-thing was gone. The only sign of his injury was a thin silver scar encircling his wrist. He opened and closed it slowly, his knuckles cracking and popping. “I should have done more tests before I put the neural immobilizer on, but it was such a quick and easy procedure. I did not think to…” He cursed viciously under his breath in Kordolian, looking so crestfallen that Alexis nearly put out a hand to comfort him. “I didn’t expect this to happen. I’m going to have to put you into stasis again.”

  Stasis. Her mouth went dry. Unbidden, an image entered her mind—her own body, hanging limp and lifeless in a glowing blue tank. She remembered what suffocation felt like.

  Cold, weightless, trapped…

  “Easy,” Nythian said, putting a hand on her shoulder.

  And her fears dissipated like fog before the sun.

  “I guess I have no choice but to get in that damn tank before I turn completely blue,” Alexis said, pushing her fear into the back of her mind. She searched for the Tharian, but Anuk was strangely silent.

  “Best not to think too much about it. Just get it over and done with.” Nythian’s brow creased in the most delicious way, giving him a certain boyish look. He could never be called pretty, but he was definitely handsome.

  Roguish is how she’d describe him. Strong features, masculine cleft chin, slightly bent nose, as if it had been broken at some point in his life.

  And when he smiled…

  Stars. What the hell was wrong with her? He was an alien. Had this whole dying-reviving thing messed up the logical part of her brain?

  “I get to stay conscious, right?” She wanted to be awake while Zharek did whatever he was going to do to her. She needed to be in control.

  “I won’t sedate you unless it’s absolutely necessary. Stasis is necessary to stabilize your vitals while I run some diagnostics and try to figure out if the cellular changes can be reversed. It’s also a safety net. If Anuk tries anything, I can shut down both of your consciousnesses, and hopefully stop the transformation. I am dying to figure out how she can kill with a touch, no human pun intended. I suspect poison, but I won’t know for sure until I get a sample of tissue. Do I have your permission to take a biopsy? It will only be a few cells; you won’t notice a thing.”

  “Let’s do it,” she said, throwing caution—and fear—to the wind.

  Nythian grunted in approval, his hand still on her shoulder. He gave her a reassuring squeeze. “Never thought I’d say this, but I like you, human. I don’t care if you turn blue. Just keep that calm head on your shoulders and you’ll be fine. We’re going to do everything in our power to stop this thing from spreading.” He smiled, giving her a glimpse of his gleaming white fangs.

  Something had changed between them. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but ever since Nythian had barged into her room and held her freezing hand between his strong, callused fingers, grasping her arm protectively…

  She’d felt more relaxed around him.

  Zharek gave them an enigmatic look. “Let’s move into the stasis chamber. I will, uh, need you to undress.”

  “Undress?”

  “You probably don’t remember what happened last time, but you were mostly unclothed, apart from your undergarments. It’s standard procedure for anyone entering stasis. These brutes,” he nodded toward Nythian, “don’t even bother with the modesty stuff.”

  Holy hell. The image of a naked Nythian flashed through her mind. She’d already caught a tantalizing hint of what lay underneath his strange obsidian armor—the suit accentuated every line and contour and bulge—but to see him in all his silver glory.

  Wouldn’t that be something?

  Nythian’s smile had disappeared. He was watching her with great intensity. The affable look was gone, replaced with an expression that was distinctly predatory. “Nothing I haven’t seen before,” he said softly, and for a moment, she forgot to breathe.

  She almost got the impression he was looking forward to this.

  Her heart forgot to beat.

  Then it skipped into overdrive, and the thought of being suspended in cold liquid in confined quarters…

  A feeling close to death, one that used to fill her with dread and disgust.

  It wasn’t so scary anymore.

  Nine

  Nythian watched Alexis through transparent walls of thick glass as Zharek plugged himself into the sylth and ran data through his holos.

  She was tense, her beautiful long-limbed body unnaturally stiff as she floated in the blue stasis liquid. After they’d agreed on the stasis bit, she hadn’t whinged, hadn’t complained, hadn’t hesitated.

  Steely-faced and determined, she just got on with it, every now and then stealing a glance at him, seeking some sort of reassurance.

  Those little glances quietly blew his mind.

  Without him there, she might very well struggle with the whole stasis process, although she’d surprised him with her inner strength more than once now.

  Ordinarily, he’d go looking for Abbey or Layla, because a friendly human face was a useful thing indeed, but Tarak had temporarily prohibited Alexis from having any further contact with the human women.

  Until the Tharian issue was under control, it was just too much of a risk, even with Nythian or Enki standing guard.

  The General was indulgently lenient with his mate—but only up to a point.

  “Tch.” Beside him, Zharek shook his head. “The transformation’s absolute, right down to the genetic level. I don’t know how she’s done it, but Anuk’s managed to change Alexis’s DNA. The arterial blood flow stops at the transformation line. From then on, it’s full Tharian diffusion.”

  “Can you stop it? Reverse it?” Nythian wanted her whole and strong—for himself.

  “I can’t reverse it,” Zharek admitted, cursing under his breath. For an educated noble, Zharek cursed a lot. “I don’t have the technology—yet. Maybe another six cycles and I could devise a solution, but right now, I just
don’t have time.” He bared his fangs in frustration.

  “I don’t care about time, Zharek. We all know what you’re capable of. Make it happen.”

  Zharek hissed. “I’m going to have to figure a workaround. Mareth!” He hollered for his assistant. Alexis swayed in the tank, drawing Nythian’s attention.

  Various monitoring lines and devices swayed with her; thin, elegant black tendrils extending from her limbs, making her appear strange and otherworldly.

  She was a drug to him—he couldn’t tear his eyes away. It wasn’t just her appearance, although Goddess knew the sublime curves and lines of her body were doing funny things to his head, his heart, his cock.

  It was the way she held herself, staring straight at him through the clear lens of her visor, fearless…

  And yet there was a certain sadness about her. That too, was tantalizing, because he wanted to be the one to extinguish it.

  “Give me an update, Nythian.” The boss came on the comm, cutting through his thoughts. “Where are we with the revenant?”

  “Alexis,” he corrected, knowing Tarak didn’t mean any disrespect, but he had a tendency to fall into that old military way of speaking sometimes. They all did. “She’s fine. Currently in stasis. Zharek’s checking her out, trying to unpick the biology of the transformation. The Tharian seems to be silent for now.”

  “The human must remain in stasis until we are absolutely certain the Tharian threat has been neutralized. I will not tolerate any more threats. She seems to have recovered from her earlier emotional instability, therefore she can survive without human contact for now. She is not to have any further contact with Abbey or Layla until this matter is resolved.”

  “It’s gonna get resolved,” Nythian growled, lapsing into the guttural street-Kordolian that sometimes infiltrated his speech. “Even if we have to go to fucking Tharos.” Something had been bugging Nythian for a while. “Why didn’t we clean up the mess on Tharos when Enki was infected? Wouldn’t it have been better to get the answers back then?”

  “Had he returned to Tharos at that time, Enki’s madness would have been complete. I am certain of it. No, a planet of angry spirits would not have welcomed the First Division of the Kordolian Imperial Military. Even if we threatened the remaining living Tharian population to get the answers, it wouldn’t have helped.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Just like you and me, I suspect Enki is utterly incompatible with other lifeforms.”

  “Except for virulent black nanites,” Nythian quipped.

  “I had a choice to make, Nythian. As the cracks started to appear in the Empire’s stranglehold, was I going to waste time searching for a way to heal a shattered mind—something we weren’t certain was even possible—or was I going to draw on all our training and discipline to teach Enki to build a fortress in his mind? Back then, containment was the only option. I kept my soldier sane by giving him a purpose. There was no point in dragging him back through the past.”

  “I get it now. The solution was imperfect, but it worked, huh?”

  “He survived.”

  “Yeah.” Nythian watched as Alexis closed her eyes. Her hands—both human and Tharian—clenched into fists. Zharek was doing something… she was in a little bit of pain right now.

  He growled. He didn’t like to see her in pain.

  But then her face relaxed, tension bleeding out of her body. She opened her eyes and gave him a reassuring nod, as if to say: calm down, I’m okay.

  He wanted to jump in the tank right now and wrap his arms around her, to hold her tightly and slow the frantic beating of her heart.

  But he needed to clear something up with the boss.

  “So what makes you think my charge will be able to endure a mission to Tharos when even Enki couldn’t?”

  “Nothing is certain in this life,” Tarak said softly, “but she isn’t as stubborn as Enki, and she is human. Humans always change the balance. Besides, this impossible feat—reviving a human body after the soul has gone—it has serious implications…”

  “For us? For them?”

  “Perhaps both. We shall see.” Tarak was back to his usual cryptic self. “You will notify me once the procedure is complete.”

  “Got it.” Nythian frowned as Tarak cut the comm.

  What the hell was the boss planning now? Often, Tarak’s orders didn’t make sense to Nythian. Only when he looked back on a mission would he understand that insignificant order A had indirectly resulted in major catastrophic event B. The boss played a mean long game, taking calculated risks. That was why Nythian didn’t even bother to argue anymore… well, most of the time.

  Poor General Tarak.

  It must be so hard, being right all the fucking time.

  “That’s it!” Zharek exclaimed suddenly, jumping out of his seat as Mareth appeared and took over the controls. Mareth’s burly frame filled out the entire seat, in contrast to Zharek, who possessed the typical tall, slender physique of the nobleborn.

  In his spare time, Mareth liked to fight. He was easily good enough to enlist in the armed divisions.

  “You want me to extract the probe, boss?” Mareth spoke in a low, gravelly voice.

  “No, no.” Zharek waved his hands excitedly. “It’s exactly where I want it. Just watch her vitals. Holler if you see anything unusual. I’ll be back in a moment. Just have to get something.”

  “What’s going on?” Through the speaker, Alexis’s voice was eerily calm.

  Too calm.

  “Zharek…” Nythian growled as the medic disappeared. Zharek was so used to doing whatever he wanted without consent that he sometimes forgot how to be civilized.

  Oh, Nythian remembered the dark times all too well. He remembered Zharek’s dispassionate eyes as the medic introduced various pathogens and drugs and nano-devices into his immobilized body, all in the hope of creating the perfect super-soldier.

  In his mind, he could still hear the soft echo of Zharek’s melancholy sigh as Nythian’s vitals dropped off, leading Zharek to believe he was dead.

  “Dispose of the body,” he would order his assistants, and there was nothing in his voice—no regret, no remorse, no satisfaction.

  He’d just been… empty.

  As they’d drained the tank and removed the neural immobilizers from Nythian’s body, as his heart lay still in his chest, as Nythian’s consciousness had split into two, as he’d caught a glimpse of that place beyond life…

  It was dark and familiar, and he just knew this was how it had felt inside his mother’s womb. Its warm embrace smothered him and drew him under, and for a moment he became part of something much bigger than what his insignificant soul could ever comprehend.

  Return to me, child.

  But there was a restlessness inside him, and even the Goddess couldn’t give him what he needed most.

  He wasn’t finished yet.

  Something came roaring back.

  His anger.

  Anger was always there for him when he needed it most.

  His heart flickered… once, twice… then it started to beat.

  And finally, his mind and body understood that if he didn’t bend those cursed black nanites to his will, they were going to eat him alive.

  No. It was not up to them to decide if he lived or died.

  He was in control now.

  Nythian sat up, the fury of a thousand black holes coursing through his veins…

  He attacked.

  The scars would still be there, on Zharek’s left side. Nythian’s claws had gone right through the bastard’s ribs, narrowly missing his heart.

  Impossibly weak and close to death, he’d still managed to almost kill the medic.

  As the guards came and took him away, as the neural immobilizer closed around his neck, he saw Zharek lying on the floor, blood pooling around him.

  Impossibly, a faint smile curved the medic’s lips. “Welcome to the First Division, soldier,” he whispered, and then everything went black.


  Now the tables were turned. Zharek knew… they all knew that Nythian could kill the medic in an instant if he made a wrong move.

  Zharek reappeared, an equipment-platform hovering beside him. Nythian recognized the dark machines at once.

  Nano-surgery equipment.

  Zharek pointedly ignored his glare, issuing orders to Mareth in Kordolian.

  “Oh, no you don’t.” Nythian moved up behind the medic, placing one large hand on the back of Zharek’s neck. “You explain everything to Alexis right now, and be honest about it. The risks, the effects, the fucking micro-anatomy. Don’t gloss over anything, don’t fudge the statistics, don’t play down the side-effects. I’ll know if you’re lying. You’ve never been any good at it, Sirian.”

  “Yes, yes.” Zharek tried to back away, but Nythian kept applying pressure, a not-so-subtle reminder that he could snap Zharek’s neck at any time if he wanted. “Look, it won’t be pretty, but it’s such a simple and elegant solution that I think she’ll be rather satisfied with the outcome.”

  “Explain,” Nythian growled, as Alexis’s eyes grew wide. Of course, she wouldn’t understand why he was threatening Zharek.

  “Nythian, I am not going to screw this up,” Zharek snapped, becoming angry. “Get it into your thick skull that I divested myself of the Imperial ways a long time ago... long before you people figured it out.” He uttered a few choice curse-words in High Kordolian, but their meaning was lost on Nythian.

  Why in the Nine Hells would an orphan from the Flatedge like him know High Kordolian anyway?

  Didn’t matter. He called the shots now.

  Alexis waved her hand through the stasis liquid, trying to draw their attention. She was restless and uncomfortable. Hundreds of tiny bumps appeared on her smooth skin, a typically human response to cold.

  She was trembling.

  Nythian was overcome with the sudden urge to jump in there with her.

  “If you two are done,” she said, her eyes crinkling behind the clear shield of her visor, “can we please get on with this? I’ll turn into a popsicle if I stay in here much longer.”