Chapter 10
Mila
Mila’s eyes fluttered open, the gloom of the cargo hold pressing against her senses. The train’s rhythmic clatter had lulled her into an uneasy sleep, but a harsh jolt now woke her with a start. Her body, still nestled against the firm warmth of Brivul, tensed instinctively. She felt the steady thrum of his heartbeat against her ear, a reminder of the sanctuary she had found in his arms—a sanctuary she could scarcely afford to acknowledge right now.
She pulled away from him gently, feeling the cool air rush in to fill the space where their bodies had been entwined. The scent of him—a heady mix of leather and something uniquely him—lingered, making her strangely aware of her own heart’s erratic pace. Flustered, she pushed the thoughts aside. Now was not the time for such distractions.
The cargo hold, dimly lit by the occasional flicker of a faulty light, was a labyrinth of crates and shadows. Mila’s gaze darted around, assessing their surroundings. The train’s constant sway hinted that they were still en route.
Brivul stirred beside her, his violet eyes gleaming in the darkness as he pushed himself up straighter. “We’re not there yet,” he murmured, his voice a soothing balm in the uncertain quiet.
Mila nodded, her voice just above a whisper. “I know. Just a bad dream, I guess.” It was a lie, but one she hoped would suffice.
He regarded her for a moment, as if weighing her words against the worry etched in the lines of her face. “You’re safe with me, Mila,” he said, his tone resolute.
She offered him a small, grateful smile, though safety was a commodity she had yet to fully trust.
They fell into a companionable silence as Mila’s mind raced with the enormity of their situation. She was a runaway slave, on the run with a security guard who had thrown away his life for her sake.
The train shuddered again, a metallic groan echoing through the hold. Brivul’s hand found hers in the dark, a silent reassurance. “We’ll make it to the underworld,” he said, as if reading her thoughts.
Mila’s breath caught in her throat. Priscilla. The thought of her sister, still trapped under Kurg’s thumb, was a constant ache in her heart. “And what then?” she asked, her voice tinged with a mix of hope and apprehension.
Brivul hesitated. “We’ll figure it out together,” he said finally, the determination in his voice a steadying force.
Together. The concept was so foreign to Mila, yet attr that moment, it was a lifeline she clung to with desperate hope.
The train lurched to a halt with a screech of metal on metal. Mila’s heart hammered against her ribs as she crept behind Brivul through the shadows of the cargo hold. The acrid stench of fuel and decay wafted through the air. This was definitely the underworld district.
“Stay close to me,” Brivul whispered, his tail sliding silently across the grimy floor.
Mila followed him down a rusty ladder into a maze of narrow alleys. Neon signs cast sickly purple and red glows across the crumbling walls. The few people they passed kept their heads down, their faces hidden beneath hoods and masks. Her skin crawled at the thought of what kind of desperate souls ended up here.
“We need somewhere to hide out,” she murmured, scanning the decrepit buildings. “But I don’t trust any of these places.”
“Agreed. Keep moving.”
They ducked into a wider street lined with vendors hawking questionable wares. The press of bodies made Mila’s chest tighten. Any one of these people could recognize them and report them to Kurg for credits. She instinctively touched the data chip hidden in her pocket—the evidence that had started this whole mess.
A group of drunk Jorvlen stumbled past, forcing Mila to press against a grimy wall. The rough stone scraped her already bruised back, making her bite back a hiss of pain.
“You okay?” Brivul asked, his violet eyes concerned.
“Fine. Just…” She swallowed hard. “What if we can’t find anywhere safe here?”
“We will.” His confidence should have been reassuring. Instead, it made her wonder what he wasn’t telling her.
They turned down another alley, this one eerily quiet compared to the main street. Pools of stagnant water reflected the dim lights above. Mila wrinkled her nose at the musty smell of mold and rot.
“I used to dream about escaping one day,” she whispered. “But not like this. Not running blindly into…” She gestured at their bleak surroundings.
“Sometimes the only way forward is through the dark,” Brivul said, his tone resolute.
Mila wished she could share his certainty. But with every shadow that moved, every echoing footstep behind them, her nerves frayed further. They needed a real plan, and soon. Before Kurg’s men caught up with them. Before her sister paid the price for her escape.
Suddenly, movement flickered at the edge of Mila’s vision. Three figures emerged from the shadows, their boots scraping against broken pavement. The tallest one, a scarred human with yellow teeth, leered at her.
“Well, what do we have here? A pretty little thing like you shouldn’t be wandering these parts alone.”
“She’s not alone.” Brivul’s tail coiled protectively around her feet.
The second man spat on the ground. “A Niri? Didn’t know they let your kind slither down here.”
“Come on, sweetheart.” The third man stepped closer. “Ditch the snake. We’ll show you a better time.”
Mila’s stomach churned. The way they looked at her—like she was meat—reminded her too much of Kurg’s parties. But before she could respond, Brivul rose to his full height, his massive form blocking her from view.
“Back off.” His voice carried the edge of command that spoke of authority.
The men hesitated, clearly reassessing their odds against an angry Niri. After a tense moment, they melted back into the shadows with muttered curses.
Mila released a shaky breath. “Thank you.”
Brivul turned to her, concern etched in his features. “Are you all right?”
She nodded, but her mind raced. Why was he protecting her really? The thought of Niri reproduction issues crossed her mind. She’d heard whispers among Kurg’s associates about how desperate some Niri were for human surrogates. Was that what Brivul wanted from her?
But no, he could have simply bought her contract at the clinic. Instead, he’d thrown away his position, broken laws, and was now hiding in this cesspit with her. His actions spoke of something deeper than mere biological necessity.
His eyes met hers, filled with genuine worry. “We should keep moving.”
As they turned down another street, a flickering sign marked “Trade Goods” caught Mila’s attention. Through the grimy window, she spotted racks of worn clothing. Perfect for blending in.
“We need to change,” she whispered to Brivul. “These clothes scream ‘fugitive.’”
The shop’s bell chimed as they entered. Musty fabric and stale incense assaulted her nose. An elderly Jorvlen woman barely glanced up from her datapad.
“Just browsing,” Brivul said, his tail sweeping aside a fallen hanger.
Mila peered through the racks, selecting a threadbare gray tunic and loose pants. The fabric felt rough against her fingers, but it would help her fade into the shadows.
“This should work.” She held up a hooded cloak large enough for Brivul’s broad shoulders.
His eyes crinkled. “Planning to make me look mysterious?”
“Better than looking like a security guard.”
The shop owner rang up their purchases without comment. As they stepped back into the dim alley, Mila caught herself studying Brivul’s profile.
“So, what made you choose security work?” The question slipped out.
“Needed a change.” He adjusted his new cloak. “What about you? Before…”
“Before being a slave?” The words tasted bitter. “I was born to it.”
Silence stretched between them as they walked. Their footsteps echoed off the crumbling walls of the buildings surrounding them.
“I’m sorry,” he said finally. “That’s not right.”
“Life rarely is,” she said softly. “But sometimes it surprises you. Like random acts of kindness from strangers.”
A laugh rumbled from deep in his chest. “I’m hardly a stranger now.”
“No,” Mila agreed, warmth blooming in her chest despite her attempts to stay detached. “I suppose you’re not.”
They wandered deeper into the maze of alleys, but the tension had eased. Their conversation drifted to lighter topics like favorite foods and the worst weather they’d experienced. His dry humor drew genuine smiles from her, something she hadn’t expected.
Maybe, just maybe, she could trust him after all.