Orange Tundra (Manasty #5)

Prologue

Kilo's gang hideout on Orange Mountain

"Trill," a melodic voice called to me, raising my hackles. Shit. The corridor stretched empty ahead—just a few more steps to the common room and I would've been free.

"Nialla." I turned, dipping my head, keeping my eyes low. Proper slave posture. She stood just feet away, predatory stillness wrapped in beauty. My pulse quickened, throat tightening. Not her. Not now.

"Hmm, you smell different." Nialla closed the distance, her hand landing on my chest. Fingers trailed down to my abdomen, invasive, possessive. When she inhaled—deep, deliberate—sweat prickled between my shoulder blades.

I remained silent. Words were weapons she could turn against me.

Nialla pressed closer, her ample breasts against my chest. The scent of her—expensive oils masking something rotten underneath.

My stomach churned. Born a slave to this gang, I'd seen what those delicate hands did to the manasties I'd tried to protect.

The screams. The pleading. Memories I buried deep.

She pressed her nose against my chest, inhaling again.

"Something changed." Her eyes snapped up, sharp as blades.

Beautiful, if you didn't know better. Others called her exquisite, even alien traders who should recognize danger.

But beneath that perfect face lurked something darker than the Blue Tribe's caves.

"Must have used a strong soap during my mission," I said, voice carefully empty.

Her nails pressed against my side—not a threat, a promise—then broke skin. Hot blood trickled down. Not the first time. Not the hundredth. Since childhood, my pain had been her pleasure.

This mission was supposed to be my last. Die deceiving the Purple Tribe's Royal twins. Simple. Clean.

Then the scent. His scent. The famous alpha of the Silver Tribe. Fuck. And her—strange purple eyes widening in shock. Something clicking into place. At first all I knew was to free her from her cage. Then seeing him, I realized the feelings I had when I was with her, she was also my mate.

No. Don't think of them. Not here. Not with her so close.

"Your heart beat changed." Nialla dug deeper, twisting. Pain flared white-hot. A grunt escaped before I could trap it. Her lips curved. "Good." She rubbed against me, purring, "Maybe I'll play with you later."

I fixed my gaze on the stone floor. Good little slave. Her "play" meant blood and screams, never pleasure. I'd survived it for years. But now my beast strained against its cage, wanting to tear, rip, destroy. Kill her. Kill Kilo. The urge shocked me with its intensity.

My beast believed Kilo could be saved. I knew better. Anyone who destroyed female eggs to cripple the High Council wasn't fighting for justice. They were psychopaths, plain and simple. The manasties who followed them had suffered, yes—but traded one horror for another.

"What changed?" Nialla pressed harder, her erection against my thigh. My body remained cold, unresponsive. Only two beings in this universe could wake that part of me now.

"It's the soap," I repeated. Years taught me to lie better to Nialla, to shield thoughts behind vacant eyes. Her talent for detecting lies made her valuable. Tribes, even the High Council, had tried recruiting her. Greed cost her a mate once. Might be the only redeeming thing about her.

Her gaze bored into me while I maintained my submissive stare.

One wrong move and she'd pry my head open—literally.

The scars most assumed came from battle?

Her "experiments." She found my brain "fascinating" until I proved useful enough on the battlefield to warrant preservation.

I'd vowed to destroy her, save the others who suffered her curiosity.

Many died. Some chose death. A few might still be saved.

Now I had a chance. With my mates. An alpha and an alien female. The Silver Tribe alpha seemed drawn to the alien, but she didn't respond to the Silver Tribe like he had to me. Maybe I had Silver blood somewhere in my lineage? They were known to seek companions from other worlds—

Searing pain tore through my opposite side. I gasped, vision blurring.

Fucking mistake. Never daydream around Nialla.

"Look what you made me do!" she screeched, face inches from mine. A long dagger protruded from my side, but strangely, I felt nothing beyond the initial shock. "You weren't paying attention to me! Have I not taught you the repercussions of ignoring me?"

I pressed against the wound, trying to stem the bleeding. For the first time in years, the thought of dying terrified me. The scent memories of my mates flashed—warm spice, strange sweetness. A reason to Live.

"Nialla," a voice called out. Footsteps approached rapidly. "What is this?" Kilo sounded more inconvenienced than concerned. "What did he do now?"

I glanced up. Kilo stood there, Roan's massive form beside him. Two predators I couldn't outrun. Though Roan... something about him felt different.

"He dared ignore me while I was speaking to him!" Nialla's voice pitched higher, as if I'd committed the gravest sin imaginable. We all knew worse happened daily in these caves. Horrors I couldn't afford to remember.

Kilo assessed me, the blood soaking my shirt, while addressing Nialla. "He did a good job. The twins could be driven from the Purple Tribe for good because of him. He went as far as taking out their head guard."

"You mean that head guard left with his tail between his legs," Nialla laughed.

I couldn't suppress the shiver that ran through me. When Nialla laughed, blood followed. Always.

"I need him on another mission, Nialla. Give him back to me." Kilo's tone suggested pleading, but his eyes gleamed. The charade cost him nothing. We all knew my body healed faster than most—I'd be ready for the next mission regardless of what she did.

"I brought you a present from my last mission," Kilo added, voice dropping.

Ice flooded my veins. Fresh meat. Someone new for Nialla's games. In her current mood, they wouldn't last until nightfall.

Nialla turned fully to Kilo, capturing his lips. His hands grabbed her buttocks, pulling her close.

The display triggered another memory—my alpha mate.

Everyone knew Zirc and Roqs yearned to be mates so the High Council would grant them a child.

Was that why I'd saved Zirc that day? Seeing him about to die had triggered something primal in me—an urge to sacrifice myself that shocked both my beast and me.

The White Tribe instincts hummed agreement.

Protect the Silver warrior. He was the anchor for the alpha who claimed my soul.

The pair broke apart, Kilo's lips leaving Nialla's exposed nipple. "Let's go have fun with him. I brought him to your playroom."

Already there? My muscles tensed. I had to—

Roan read me perfectly. As the others departed, I moved to follow, to reach the dungeon beneath us. His massive body blocked my path. Normally I'd be confident—physically larger, but I could take him if needed. But not now. Not when I had secrets to protect.

"You won't save him," Roan murmured close to my ear. "The manasty is already half dead."

I refused to meet his eyes, staring instead at the floor, imagining I could see through stone to the suffering below. To know if intervention was still possible.

"You, on the other hand, are still alive." Roan's hand fell heavy on my shoulder, physically steering me toward the sick bay.

My feet dragged, every step taking me further from someone who needed saving.

Before we entered the sick bay corridor, Roan halted abruptly. He pulled something from his jacket and sprayed me with a harsh chemical that burned my nose and throat. I gagged, stumbling back. What the fuck? Had I misjudged him? Was this some delayed execution?

Roan's blue eyes glinted in the shadows. "He has forgotten what it smelled like when someone is newly mated."

I froze. He knew. How could he—

"Take this." Roan pressed a small canister into my palm, the source of the pungent smell.

Understanding dawned. The rumors were true—someone in Kilo's camp supplied protection to mated pairs. A spray to mask the telltale scent that would mark them for Nialla's special brand of torture. I'd never needed it. Until now.

Was Roan behind this? A plant from the High Council? The Elders? Blue Tribe? Had his vengeance story—parents killed by High Council machinations—been a cover?

My coughing subsided as I slid the canister into one of many hidden pouches I'd sewn into my clothing.

"You mated someone out there, Trill," Roan said quietly. "One thing I don't tolerate are the unjustified deaths of mated pairs."

The answer to my unspoken question. Nialla's sickness extended to experimenting on mated pairs—killing one, watching how long the survivor lasted.

When Kilo discovered this practice, he'd separated mated pairs, assigning them to different locations, even different slave camps.

Not from mercy—Kilo believed in strength through numbers. Strategic cruelty versus sadism.

"Thank—"

Roan's hand pressed against my mouth. "Don't. Let's get you patched up." His eyes held mine. "Things are about to get crazy around here."

I felt it too. For months my White Tribe genes, my beast, had been restless—sensing something monumental approaching. A storm gathering. The world about to change.

I needed to survive it.