Chapter 4
FOUR
Arcanthus watched Samantha walk away, unable to remove his eyes from her until she disappeared inside the housing complex. Part of him longed to continue following her even knowing he’d already pushed too far. His little terran was a delicate flower in an unforgiving city—at least outwardly. Somewhere inside her was a tristeel core that would bend but not break. She was awash in discouragement and despair, alone and lost, but she wasn’t yet defeated.
Her vulnerability, though distressing, could be made to work to Arc’s advantage. As much as he hated that fact, he knew it would not stop him. The time he’d spent with her this evening had only confirmed what he’d known the moment he’d first seen her face—Samantha Dawn Wilder was his .
He adjusted his robe as he turned away from the building, clenching his jaw against the ache in his groin. His cock had throbbed almost nonstop since he’d seen her emerge from her apartment earlier today; at one point as he’d followed her through the Undercity streets, he’d been forced to duck into an alleyway and tighten his under wrapping over his pelvis to ensure his shaft didn’t extrude. The delay had become doubly frustrating when he’d stepped out of the alley and was unable, for several harrowing seconds, to locate her in the crowd. To his relief, she’d walked out of a nearby shop shortly after, and he’d resumed shadowing her.
His heart had pounded at the thought of losing track of her, and panic had briefly set in, heating his skin. That panic—as silly as it seemed—had been nothing compared to what struck him when the tralix knocked her down. His flare of rage at seeing her harmed had only been overpowered by his fear for her safety. Arcanthus had never forced his way through a crowd so quickly.
As Arc walked away from her building, he glanced down at his metal hands. They relayed information on pressure, texture, temperature, and moisture to his brain with immense accuracy, but despite their sophistication, they would never replace the sensation of touching anything with his own flesh-and-blood fingertips. He’d yearned to touch her with his own hands as he’d helped her out of the crowd, but even the contact between her skin and his cybernetic limbs had amplified the electric hum she produced in his qal .
Though he’d not even seen her body—her oversized clothing obfuscated her shape—everything about her called to him. It had taken one glimpse into her dark, expressive eyes for him to know what she was to him.
After a few minutes, he arrived at his hovercar. It unlocked at his touch. He climbed inside, closing the door behind him.
“Damn it,” he muttered, releasing a shaky breath. “She’s my mate .”
Saying it out loud only gave the word new weight; it hung around him, thickening the air, and settled heavily upon his chest.
Mate .
There was no other explanation for the way she made his qal react, no other explanation for why he’d just spent half his day following a stranger through an entire Undercity sector as she, with steadily increasing desperation, searched for employment.
Obsessed , Drakkal grumbled in the back of Arcanthus’s mind.
“Yes, because she’s my mate , you ornery fur ball. That’s how it works.”
He powered on the hovercar’s engines but didn’t take hold of the controls.
His interest in terrans had begun recently, when he’d met one for the first time—Abella. He’d made no effort to disguise his want of her; some of his forwardness had been to provoke her mate, a foul-tempered zenturi, but the terran female’s looks had been tempting. Even more appealing had been something less tangible; something about her personality, her spirit, had drawn him in, something he couldn’t describe apart from it being terran . He’d thought about Abella often and had even come to envy her mate for having her.
And yet Abella hadn’t triggered a fraction of the response in Arcanthus that Samantha did. No female had.
“Don’t be stupid, Arc,” he said in an exaggeratedly guttural voice as he accessed the plexus through the hovercar’s onboard computer system.
After double checking that his safeguards were in place to make his source untraceable, he called one of his guards—a cren named Kiloq.
“Yeah, boss?” asked Kiloq when the audio connected.
Arcanthus flipped through several files on the hovercar’s holographic display. “Sending you some information. I need you to come to this address and keep an eye on this female. Discreetly—she can’t know you’re around. ”
“Sounds good. Is she trouble?”
“No, she’s in trouble. She caught the attention of some thugs from the Blue Threshers. Do what you must to ensure they don’t touch her again.” Sweeping his fingers closed, Arc compiled the files and sent them to Kiloq.
“Got them, boss.”
“Bring your brother with you. I want you to keep track of her whereabouts at all times, and make sure she’s safe while she’s out.” Arcanthus turned his head, glancing in the direction of Samantha’s building, which was out of sight a few streets away. There was little to distinguish it from the surrounding complexes—they were all big, bland, dirty buildings with hundreds of windows that looked out on the windows of neighboring units. This place was meant as a start, but these sectors were often rife with criminals targeting the unfortunate and desperate. “Should anything happen, make her safe and report directly to me.”
“We’ll keep her safe, boss.”
“I know. That’s why I’m putting you on this. Check in later.”
“Right. We’ll be on our way in five.”
Arc cut off the call. As he grasped the controls, he paused; part of him wanted to stay and watch out for trouble until the two cren arrived, just to be sure.
Part of him wanted to go into that building, walk up to Samantha’s door, kick it down, and sweep her into his arms. That would be the quickest way to have her, after all. The most direct route to getting what he wanted. He’d sacrificed so much over the years just to survive; wasn’t he entitled to taking the easy way every now and again? With so much having been taken from him, wasn’t it all right to take a little for himself?
“Stupid,” he muttered. He piloted the hovercar up and began his journey home .
He’d always enjoyed the game, had always enjoyed maneuvering boldly and brashly, throwing his opponents off guard with his audacity. He was a champion, not a conqueror; he would win his mate, not steal her. She’d already shown some interest in him. Even though she’d openly fought that interest, it was a start. It was enough for him to work with.
Drakkal was waiting with his thick arms crossed over his chest and his brown, taupe, and copper fur bristling when Arcanthus drove the hovercar into the garage. Despite the dark tinting of the hovercar’s windows and windshield, the azhera seemed to meet Arcanthus’s gaze instantly with a heavy, angry glare.
“So it begins,” Arcanthus said. He opened the door and exited the vehicle.
He approached Drakkal at a leisurely pace, tilting one corner of his mouth up in a smirk. “It looks like something has your fur rumpled. Did Razi annihilate you in Conquerors again?”
“Six hours and twenty-two minutes,” the azhera growled.
Arcanthus stopped in front of Drakkal. “Well, you kept at the game for a long time. I admire your persistence, but sometimes you just have to know when to surrender.”
“This isn’t a game, Arcanthus. How am I supposed to keep you safe when you disappear for six and a half hours without a word? When you turn off all communication? Are you—”
“Stupid? Yes, I suppose I’m quite stupid sometimes.” Arc waved a hand and walked past the azhera into the hallway. “I’m fine, Drakkal. It’s been ten years, and as far as they’re concerned, I’m dead. My real name isn’t out there anywhere. There’s nothing wrong with me going out for some air every now and then.”
Drakkal’s footsteps sounded behind Arc as the azhera followed him down the hallway. “If you believed that, you wouldn’t live inside a small fortress and constantly cycle through twenty different aliases.”
Frowning, Arcanthus stopped and turned to face Drakkal. “That’s just…habit by now. They aren’t looking for me because I no longer exist. Simple.”
Drakkal sighed, though it came out as something closer to a snort. “All for a terran?”
Arc narrowed his center eye. “The terran has nothing to do with this. I was feeling trapped. Does it truly come as a surprise that sometimes I just need to get outside these walls?”
“I know you sent Kiloq and Koroq to watch out for her.”
Arcanthus’s brows fell. “Then I suppose I will have to have a conversation with them regarding discretion, won’t I?”
“You wanted me to head up your security. That’s what I’m doing. If you want me to be effective, you keep me in the know.”
“I can take care of myself.”
Drakkal’s expression spoke clearly— really ?
“ Sometimes I can take care of myself, then. Does that make you happy? Does it satisfy your craving to be needed?”
“I don’t want to walk into a scene like I did back on Caldorius, Arc.”
A pang struck Arcanthus’s chest; he wasn’t sure if it was guilt, sorrow, pain, or something else. “Well, the good news is that there’s not too much left to be chopped off, if you think about it.”
Shaking his head, Drakkal dropped his arms to his sides. “Just be careful. You’re too soft for this city.”
“Surely you jest. I’ve often some trouble telling, as you seem unable to modulate the volume and tone of your voice.”
“You’re offended. Just proves my point.”
Arcanthus lifted both his arms, curled one hand into a fist, and knocked on his opposite forearm, producing a dull, metallic clang. “If you’d like to discuss soft , we can compare. Your fur is looking particularly fluffy today, so I’d advise you avoid this conversation if you don’t want to be embarrassed.”
“Come here,” Drakkal said, spreading his arms wide. “I’ll hug your pain and bitterness away.”
“You are not my mother, azhera.”
Drakkal’s mouth curled into a smirk. “Stop acting like a child and you won’t trigger my maternal instincts.”
There was too much going on in Arc’s head, too many emotions beyond his understanding roiling in his chest, for him to be standing here, quipping with Drakkal, but he couldn’t help laughing. “You’re lucky I like you so much, Drakkal. Any sensible employer would’ve fired you ages ago.”
“You can’t fire me, Arcanthus.”
“And it irks me to no end that you’re aware of it.”
Smirk fading, Drakkal lowered his arms. “Keep me in the know, all right? That’s all I’m asking. It’s not safe for you to go wandering the streets like that.”
“All right, Mother. I will endeavor to make better decisions in the future.”
“One day you’ll give me a serious answer, and I’ll drop dead in shock.”
Arcanthus and Drakkal walked deeper into the compound—Arc’s holdings spanned several blocks and buildings, all interconnected by various tunnels and passages—and eventually parted ways.
As he entered the workshop, Arcanthus removed his robe and tossed it aside. He glanced down at his body before he sat; the scars around the edges of his surgically implanted cybernetic sleeves were as prominent as ever, the result of the hasty patch job that had saved his life ten years ago. Even with all that time to adjust, it still felt strange when he stopped and looked , when he let himself think about how his body just… ended at those points. That what existed past those scars, though connected to him in every way that mattered, wasn’t really him at all.
Those thoughts led to thoughts of the Inner Reach Syndicate as he sat at his desk. The Syndicate had begun as a conglomeration of criminal organizations on distant Caldorius, but had extended its fingers across the universe, even into Arthos. Every decision Arc had made in the last ten years had taken the Syndicate into consideration; every move had been calculated to keep him out of their notice, even as his reputation in the Infinite City’s criminal underbelly had spread and grown. All his security measures existed to keep them away.
Why hadn’t he thought about them a single time when he’d decided to seek out Samantha and follow her? Why hadn’t he realized the risk and abandoned the foolish whim before he’d pursued it? He’d even given her a means of contacting him directly—only Drakkal and a few of his most trusted guards, people he’d worked with for years , had his commlink ID.
“She must be my mate,” he said as he prepared his screens. “Either that, or I’ve been too long without a female’s touch.”
He had work to complete. He was the foremost creator of false identification chips in Arthos, and both his reputation and his business relied upon him fulfilling his obligations. But he instead found himself scouring the plexus for information on terrans—their culture, their biology, their everything.
At some point, he brought up the copy of Samantha’s file he’d taken from the Consortium’s database. He read through the information several more times, though it provided him little insight into her. She was from place called Seattle, Washington on the planet Earth , the terran homeworld. No criminal history, no background in government or military—not much documented history at all. His shy little terran was something of an enigma .
His flicker of disappointment was fleeting. It would be exceedingly more satisfying to learn about her directly, to coax out every bit of who she was from between her pink lips.
He’d wanted so badly to kiss her for the brief time he’d had her in his arms. The feel of her against him, of her heat radiating into his chest, had been exquisite, and the soft, inadvertent brushes of her lips against his skin had nearly been his undoing. And yet his main drive had been to comfort her, to lift her spirits, to take away her pain. That he didn’t think he’d succeeded in that goal was maddening.
Arcanthus’s attention returned to the hologram of her face. Her expression, captured forever in the Consortium database, seemed only more apt now—she was out of her element, desperate to find her place but unsure of how to go about it. How simple would it have been to offer her a position in his own organization? He could’ve maintained a semblance of legitimacy and legality at least for a little while as he eased her into the true nature of his business, and he would have known she was safe and provided for in the meantime.
His third eye dipped to the options beneath her holographic face, lingering on the one that would pull up the full body scans that were standard for every citizen of the Infinite City. They hid nothing .
He lifted his hand and extended his index finger but stopped himself before moving it forward. Just the thought of seeing what was hidden beneath her baggy, shapeless clothing was enough to send a rush of heat to his groin. Yet what would it accomplish? What would a peek do other than silently break the bit of trust he’d built with her?
Why look now when he would eventually see her flesh directly with his own eyes? That was the real prize, that was the real thrill. Holograms could not compare.
That inevitable moment when she finally gave herself over to him, when she finally revealed her body to him of her own accord, that moment would be special beyond words. It was a moment worth waiting for.
The anticipation alone would add such a thrill to the ultimate reveal that it would be foolish not to wait.
He dropped a hand to his crotch and pressed it over his slit. Despite the restraint of his under wrapping, his cock struggled to emerge, creating a pulsing ache in his pelvis. He leaned forward in the chair to tighten the cloth again. The relief provided by the extra pressure was minimal.
Moving her file to one of the side screens, he took a few minutes to check through the security feeds from around the compound and its various entrances. There was a separate entry correlating to each of the eight forger aliases he used, identities separate from those he cycled through on his own ID chip. Everything seemed quiet; the streets of Nyssa Vye—the Undercity’s largest black-market sector—were as busy as ever, but the traffic flowed past the discreet entrances without anything suspicious to catch his eye.
Satisfied, he moved Samantha’s file back to his primary display, dismissing everything but her holographic image. Leaning back in his chair, he propped an elbow on the armrest and settled his chin on his hand. He stared into her dark eyes. Faint tingles flowed along his qal .
The longer he stared, the clearer it became that he would not be able to ignore his body’s needs any longer. He lowered his hand again, loosening his under wrapping. His cock slid free.
He released a groan and curled his fingers around the base of his shaft. “You’ll know soon enough, Samantha…you’re mine.”