Chapter 8 #2
"Celestials!" Auren cursed, dropping her hand.
"I am being called. Please, forgive me, Vesperin. I—I grow tired of this. I shouldn’t say that.
" He exhaled roughly. She’d never seen him so overcome before.
He gathered her hands in his, and she felt the smoothness of his palms against hers—proof that his gloves had shielded him for centuries as he reaped, long before she existed in this life.
"I am sorry." The skin around the Star turned red as it continued to burn. His mouth twisted into a grimace.
"Does it hurt you—to ignore a call?"
"I can endure it for you."
"It’s fine. Go do your duty." She’d never fault him for who he was, for what he was made to be. "Your allegiance is to the Stars."
"I’d rather my allegiance be solely to you," he said.
A soft warmth pooled in Rin’s stomach. He squeezed her hands, then let her go, tugging his gloves on and cutting a hole through the air. Before vanishing through the portal swirling before him, he glanced back, blue eyes etched with a silent promise—more weighty than the Star carved onto his flesh.
Alone, Rin stared at where he had just been. Auren’s discarded mug rested near her ruined bowl of cereal. She sighed.
Rhyden stalked in, every trace of vulnerability fleeing her face, shielded beneath a mask of alert trepidation.
"Don’t pout, wife. I have something far more fun for you to do than drink fucking tea and make small talk. Never figured you’d be a blushing virgin, but"—Rhyden’s lips stretched into a wide grin, revealing his fangs—"oh, that’s right. There’ll be no changing your bedsheets on your wedding night."
"Don’t be crude," Rin snapped.
He barked a sharp laugh, making her jolt. "Catch."
She barely raised her hands in time to catch the dark helmet he’d thrown at her. "What’s this for?"
"You said you felt cooped up. You’re coming with me." Rhyden lifted the coffee mug she’d been using and ran his finger over the edge, brushing over the place her lips had touched.
He poured out the rest of the dark coffee into Auren’s discarded mug, and she curled her lip.
Gross. Rhyden walked to a simple portrait hanging on the dark wall.
Her eyes widened as he shifted one of the bricks by it, revealing a keypad.
The portrait made a hissing sound, then it swung open, revealing a small fridge filled with bottles of blood.
He uncorked one, poured it into her coffee mug, and drank every drop, eyes never leaving her.
Rhyden set the now-empty mug on the table. A thin line of blood trickled from his lips. Rin’s hands curled against the sleek surface of the helmet, leaving fingerprints on it.
Sated, Rhyden groaned. "I fucking needed that."
"Why should I come with you?" she asked thickly. Even though a part of her was intrigued.
He stalked toward her, and she forced herself to stay put.
With ease, he plucked the helmet from her hands, swept her hair away from her face, then lowered it onto her head.
For a moment, her vision was obscured, and she felt his fingertips brush her neck, then felt the prick of his fangs as he lowered his head.
She saw him pull away through the tinted visor.
"Fucking stay here then, wife. I won’t cry. You’ll just be missing out on all the fun."
Damn him for teasing her. She removed the helmet, not liking how it weighed her head down. She felt her hair stand on end as she held the helmet between them, pressing into her stomach.
"What if someone sees me?" she countered.
As if he’d anticipated her question, Rhyden tugged a black strip of fabric from the pocket of his leather jacket.
He dangled it before her. "Stay covered up.
" She tried to reach for it, but he jerked it away, saying, "Let me.
" Before she could stop him, he roughly tugged the fabric over her head until it settled over her nose and mouth, leaving only her eyes exposed.
It was warm and smelled like him. She blinked up at him, feeling tension in the air, crackling like fire as his rings grew white from the flames inside him.
He snuffed out the embers, pressing his palm flat on her face, smothering her. Rin breathed in and felt the fabric suck into her mouth. She began to panic and—
He released her.
Rin was fuming. Breathing deeply, she shoved the fabric down and planted her palms flat against his chest. She felt his muscles beneath her hands as she tried to shove him back. He didn’t budge.
"You—you asshole!" Rin cursed him.
He just smirked. "Let’s go."
Rhyden was playing a dangerous game, and the prize? His lying little mess of a wife, who had her tiny, delicate hands wrapped around his cock, leading him on. Not that she fucking knew the power she had over him. If Rhyden could help it, she never would.
He’d overheard her with the Soul Searcher. Her voice had taken on a different tone. Sweet. He’d been rooted outside the door, hanging onto every word, imagining what his name would sound like in that tone. Better if she moaned it.
Fuck.
He forced the thoughts down. Now wasn’t the time to get hard—especially with her pressed against his back.
Rhyden growled and took a corner low and fast. The motorcycle leaned low to the ground. He felt her fingers grip his waist tight, tiny little kitten claws pricking his skin as her hand snaked beneath his leather jacket. He smiled beneath his helmet.
He’d dragged her around nearly all day, tolerating her sanctimonious looks—but she hadn’t once complained.
Not even when he tied her to his motorcycle with ropes of fire, forcing her to stay seated while he made his rounds through the city’s nicer districts, checking in on matters that demanded his attention.
It was always necessary to remind people who held the power.
Now, they tore through the back streets, passing seedy clubs and bars with flickering red lights and scantily dressed women standing in the windows, posing like mannequins.
Maybe they fucking were—he wouldn’t put it past anyone in Lunar City to taxidermize women and prop them in windows.
Breasts a little too perky, smiles a little too frozen, limbs a little too stiff.
They sped over bumps, forcing her to hold onto him tighter.
He tapped his helmet display. Coordinates lit the visor, overlaying the dark streets as he whizzed by. He blew through a red light, narrowly missing a truck. Vesperin yelled behind him, the sound barely heard over the wind, her fists knocking into his ribs.
Eventually, they came to a stop in a dark, unlit stretch of dirt road. He dismounted smoothly and removed his helmet, watching her wobble slightly as she stayed seated.
"Need a hand? I thought you rode?" His double meaning was deliberate.
She growled softly and stood, pulling off her helmet. The mask beneath the helmet covered her nose and mouth, leaving only her narrowed grey eyes visible.
Hazy air rushed past them, teasing strands of her white hair around her face.
It was chillier tonight. Especially with how he’d ridden past the packed, inner-city into the outskirts.
Block 177. Where the real crime lay. Lunar City was rife with corruption, but the trafficking, torture, drugs, snuff films, unlicensed augmentations, black-market organ deals, illegal galactic bounty exchanges—the real terrible shit—belonged to the outer blocks. 100 and beyond.
The inner blocks operated below the city. Block 4 was notorious for its skin trade, but never in the light of day.
Good thing Rhyden was the biggest predator this city had.
He jerked his chin toward the tall chain-link fence. "Let’s go. Remember, keep quiet. I can’t be held responsible for what happens to you here if you don’t obey."
He turned, not checking to see if she followed. He didn’t need to. He smelled her, heard the sound of her hushed footsteps over the packed dirt and gravel. He stopped at a small tear in the fence, throwing out an arm to halt her, forcing her to bump into his back.
He listened for the hum of electricity. Nothing.
He had half a fucking mind to force Vesperin to go first, but it made something in his gut tighten at the thought of her being electrocuted. Just to be sure…
Rhyden tapped the hidden earpiece attached to the side of his skull. "All clear?"
"All good, boss," Miro answered. "Power went out an hour ago. Reports of an electrician falling into a web of wires off a skytower, taking out some lines. No power in Block 177—for now. Make it quick, though."
"Copy," Rhyden murmured, not believing their fucking luck. "How many bodies on the inside?"
Gravel crunched as Vesperin came to stand by his side, eyeing him curiously. Probably wondering why Rhyden brought her here. He didn’t know himself.
He’d just overheard her with Auren—her quiet plea to escape. Rhyden intended to be the one to answer it.
He lied to himself that this was the perfect opportunity to get them closer to each other, so he could make her want him, get his revenge by ripping the rug out from under her feet whenever she felt safe.
"Thermal sensors detect seven. Could be more. There’s a…" Miro paused. "Hang on. Let me look at this. Shit! Detecting interference. There’s a strange energy signature. Too big to be a body. It’s fucking with the reading."
"Dammit. Fine. Let me know if anything changes," Rhyden spat, then disengaged the connection. He could reopen the line if needed, and Miro or Daryk could, too, if they needed to give him quick info. Otherwise, Rhyden preferred the silence. No distractions.
He was seething as he stared at the aperture in the fence.
"What did he say?" she asked, tense.
"We’ll need to be more careful than I fucking thought.
Stick by me." Before Rhyden could think it through, his hand fell to her shoulder, fingers curling into her nape and tugging her into him. She stayed silent; though, he saw her eyes spark. "I mean it. We don’t know what we’re dealing with in there. "
"In there? What’s in there? What is this, Rhyden?"