Chapter 7
DAVEN
The Imperial was already waiting on one of the large couches when Daven walked into his uncle’s office, a glass of Spire Malt in one hand and a red-cinder cigarette in the other.
“You like him,” his uncle rumbled, smoke curling between them.
Daven helped himself from the sideboard. “He’s…fascinating.”
Well, that was the understatement of the year.
Milanov smiled, clearly amused, patting the free seat next to him. “Which is why I’ve given him to you.”
He spoke of Ryneth like a gift that had already been accepted. Daven was already wondering how much fight the gift still had in it, the faint hum under his skin sharpening in approval.
“So what are we dealing with?” Daven lowered himself into the seat. “Attica? Concordant? Attica and Concordant? Why take a labor shuttle bound for Helion unless they meant to use this planet for something?”
Milanov took a drag from his cigarette. “Good. That’s exactly the question. Kylix and Helianth are looking into it. They’ll update us as soon as they know more.”
As soon as they know more. Daven hated waiting for other men to know things. Even if those men were his family.
“Then how the fuck did they pull it off?” Daven’s jaw tightened. “A labor shuttle lifts off Düren, gets taken mid-route, and somehow still ends up in Helion airspace full of prisoners? Where did it land?”
Milanov didn’t answer immediately. He studied the fire instead.
“So far, we know it was taken after departure from Düren,” he said at last. “By the time they moved on the workers, the shuttle was still about five hours out from Helion. We’re reconstructing where they brought it down. I don’t have answers yet.”
Daven’s fingers tightened around his glass. “And the ones in that skyscraper? How did they move that many workers into the city without anyone noticing? And where the fuck does Concordant fit into it?”
Milanov’s gaze cut to him. “Patience. Kylix and Helianth are already working the problem, and we’ll have answers soon enough. For now, we have thirty-two survivors in recovery and one very fragile witness under this roof.”
Daven swallowed the liquor without tasting it and accepted a cigarette. He took a few drags, then dipped his head back.
Very fragile witness.
Ryneth had tried to fry the monitor with static while barely able to sit upright. Furious. Feisty. Even half-drugged and weak, he had fought.
And Daven had put him back down anyway.
He drew from the cigarette slowly, letting the red-cinder haze blur the image of Ryneth glaring up at him, weak and furious, silver light snapping wild from his hands. He’d liked that look in his eyes. That refusal.
“How are the others doing?” Daven asked.
Milanov’s gaze sharpened slightly at the question. “Still recovering. The sedatives were aggressive. They suppressed motor function and disrupted neural response. Some of them are only just waking.”
“So they’re not talking.”
“No.”
Daven rolled the cigarette between his fingers. “So they’re useless to us for now.”
Milanov’s gaze cooled. “They’re patients, not assets.”
Daven didn’t look at him. “You know what I mean.”
“They were taken on Helion soil. That makes them ours to recover, not yours to rush.”
“So, Düren, huh?”
Milanov flicked ash into the tray. “Yes. A dirt planet on the northern edge of the Reach.”
Daven went still. Come to think of it, he’d heard of the place. Was that where Ryneth was from?
“Horrible place. Lots of corruption, lots of poverty. People mostly live behind the Ward.”
“Ward?”
“A planetary wall.” Milanov took another drag from his cigarette.
“Most of Düren’s people live behind it. One side is guarded and overcrowded.
The other side is empty land, bad weather, the kind of places no one wants to police.
The watch rotates through armed civilians because planetary enforcement rarely bothers. ”
That sounded ominous. Daven didn’t like the idea of Ryneth having lived behind the Ward. “Protect them from what?”
Milanov exhaled smoke. “From the kind of men who know poor planets don’t get answers when people vanish.”
A chill moved through Daven. “So Concordant hunts on Düren?”
Milanov’s expression gave nothing away. “Maybe. Maybe not. Kylix and Helianth are working on it now.” He tapped ash into the tray. “I’ll tell you when I know more.”
Daven watched his uncle reach for the bottle again.
That was the second time since he’d walked in.
Milanov didn’t drink much. Not unless something had rattled him.
It was probably the result of raising two young sons alone after his wife, Norma—Helion’s royal consort—had been taken to the Hospital of the Living Dead. She’d never left.
That had been back before Daven was born.
“How was the hospital?” It was a touchy subject, but asking was the only way to stay inside the room when the real family matters came up. Daven’s chest tightened. “If you don’t—”
“She’s restless again,” Milanov said, looking back at the fire. His mouth curved, but there was nothing warm in it. “The doctors can’t settle her vitals. The monitors spike, then level out again. It’s like her body knows something before the rest of us do.”
Daven held his uncle’s gaze. “And this started… when?”
“When the boy arrived.” Milanov’s voice dropped. “It happens when someone made like us returns to Helion. It happened before, when the others awakened. And now it’s happening again.”
He fell quiet, and for a moment, the only sound was the crackling fire.
“The first time, I thought that was it. That my love was finally coming back to me.” His thumb dragged once over the side of his glass. “But it passed. She went still again, for years.”
Daven watched the reflection of the flames in the glass at his uncle’s lips. Milanov never allowed himself to look weak, which meant this wasn’t grief.
It was fear.
Daven didn’t know what to think of that.
“But this time, she opened her eyes.” His uncle drained his glass and shook his head, as if pained. “She opened her eyes, and I wasn’t there.”
Silence ticked.
Then he straightened slightly, composure sliding back into place, and smiled at Daven. “Anyway. Kylix is waiting. He wants to know when our new boy is fit for answers. Have you told him yet that he’s going home with you?”
Daven’s lips curled at the memory of Ryneth’s fury when he’d told him his life belonged to him now. “He’s awake. Furious. Didn’t take the news well, and he’s not ready for Kylix yet.”
Milanov’s lip twitched. “And let me guess, you told him he was going home with you anyway?”
“I did.”
“How did he take that?”
“By trying to fry the monitor.”
Milanov smirked. “That’s because he doesn’t know what he is. Not to worry, nephew. Kylix has sent Vandor to take care of business. The work contract will be formally deleted and Ryneth will be struck from the employee registry.”
“And then he belongs to me.” Daven’s hand shook as he lifted the glass. The faint humming under his skin returned. The thought of Ryneth erased from every record, existing only for him, was intoxicating.
The whole world had always bent for him. Doors opened. Heads bowed. People gave him what he wanted before he had to ask.
But he’d never wanted anything—or anyone—as much as he wanted Ryneth. At the thought, air caressed the insides of his fisted hands and slid up past his arms to his throat, leaving goosebumps and arousal in its wake.
He wanted the friction. The battle. Then the yielding. Good Light, he wanted it badly. And more than that, he wanted the moment Ryneth stopped fighting and knew exactly who had won.
“He’s one of us, Daven,” Milanov warned. “Not a toy you can break.”
“I won’t.”
But Daven wasn’t sure he believed himself. He was even less sure he cared where the line was, as long as Ryneth kept fighting him all the way to it.
“Look who’s already here.” Moargan’s eyes slid over Daven when he made his way inside his father’s office, holding open the door for his younger brother Helianth. “How does it feel having a pretty little problem of your own?”
Daven groaned and looked at the Imperial. “Why did you tell him?”
Milanov smiled. “Because they’re my sons and your cousins. Because we don’t keep secrets in this family.” He winked at Daven. “And perhaps because that way it’s clear Ryneth is not… available to others.”
Something hot and primal twisted low in Daven’s gut.
Ryneth was off-limits to everyone but him.
Helianth lit a red-cinder cigarette and checked his multi-slate. “Vandor just confirmed the labor contract is canceled. He’s officially out of the registry.”
“Trapped,” Moargan mouthed, smoke leaving his lips in circles.
“Protected,” Milanov corrected.
The door opened again and Kylix walked in, followed by Aviel. “Has he woken up yet?”
“Hello to you too.” Daven rolled his eyes. “I didn’t know it was going to be a family reunion.”
Kylix ignored him. “I need answers from him.”
“Then you’ll have to wait.” Moargan tapped his hand against the back of the couch where he’d slumped, wide-legged. “We’ve come to see Daven’s man before you interrogate him. Have some fun first.”
Kylix bristled. “This isn’t a game.”
“It is,” Moargan replied lightly. “And don’t we enjoy cheating.” His gaze slid past them. “Speaking of…”
They all watched as Aviel walked Theo to the wall and chained him with fine gold to the stones by his throat.
“What’s up with him and Theo?” Helianth asked.
Moargan shrugged. “Don’t know. Don’t care. I came here to watch a monkey getting claimed.” His eyes flicked to Daven. “I heard he’s a pretty one.”
Daven’s jaw tightened. “He’s not a monkey. And he’s not fit for questioning.”
Kylix’s nostrils flared. “I need to talk to him. It’s important—”
“Kylix.” The Imperial raised a hand. “We’ll handle this properly. Tell us what you’ve found.”
“Not enough. Yure is still cleaning the footage, but the route is clearer now. They never meant to keep the prisoners on Helion. They meant to sort them here, then move them off-world.”
A ripple moved through the room.