Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
Arcanthus drifted up out of the depths of slumber, awakening to the darkness behind his own eyelids. His body was warm, his muscles blissfully slack, and a sweet, feminine scent pervaded the air. Something had touched his face; he was certain of it, though the notion was hazy in his dream-fogged mind.
Taking in a deep breath, he drew Samantha a little closer—her body felt just as warm and limp as his—and willed sleep to reclaim him.
A light brush over his cheek stirred his awareness to the surface again. He lifted a hand to his face, swatting at the phantom sensation without opening his eyes. There was room enough in his mind only for Samantha, and he’d not yet lain beside her long enough, hadn’t yet held her long enough, hadn’t yet dreamed of her long enough. This was where he wanted to be—in bed with his mate, the whole world nothing but a distant, unimportant memory.
Just as he was drifting again, something poked his cheek, squishing his skin against his teeth .
He moved faster this time, swiping at whatever was touching him. His hand encountered something thick and heavy.
Arcanthus turned his head and forced his eyes open. The room was dimly lit, and it took his eyes a few moments to adjust to the gloom and bring the dark figure beside the bed into focus.
Drakkal stared down at him, eyes glowing faintly with reflected light.
Furrowing his brow, Arc glanced back at Samantha, who lay against him, face-to-face, with one arm wrapped around his side. She was in the same state of dress as him—naked. One small shift of her arm would expose her delectable breasts.
The realization sparked excitement in Arcanthus, immediately heating his blood—at least until his sleep-addled mind puzzled out the full situation. The same slight movement that would allow him so enticing a view would also reveal her to Drakkal, who was less than half a meter away and facing her.
Excitement gave way to fury.
Glaring over his shoulder at Drakkal—who stared back with an amused smirk—Arcanthus groped for the blanket with one hand without shifting his torso enough to move her arm. He found it bunched around their waists and quickly swept it higher, draping it over Samantha until it was tucked under her chin. His thumping heart echoed dully in his ears.
Samantha stirred. Arcanthus’s breath hitched, and he turned his attention back to her. She sighed heavily, nuzzled a little closer to him, and eased back into stillness.
Arcanthus waited before allowing himself to inhale. Looking back at Drakkal, he scowled and pointed firmly toward the door.
Drakkal shook his head. He gestured with one hand, pointing first to Arcanthus, then himself, before moving his fingers and thumb like an opening and closing mouth .
Clenching his teeth, Arc struggled to hold back a frustrated growl. He didn’t want anyone —not even his oldest, most trusted friend—anywhere near Samantha while she was naked. She belonged to Arcanthus; her body was meant for his eyes alone. And he certainly wasn’t going to have a conversation here and now, not while it risked disturbing her rest.
Arcanthus gestured toward the door again. Drakkal repeated his prior hand movements with increased emphasis, this time pointing to the door afterward.
Get the fuck out , Arcanthus mouthed, wishing he could shout the words.
Get the fuck up , Drakkal mouthed in response.
I’m going to kill him, Arcanthus thought as he carefully disentangled his limbs from Samantha’s.
Her nostrils flared with a heavy exhalation, and a soft moan sounded in her throat. Arcanthus froze and watched, muscles tense, as she pulled the bedding around her body like a velvety cocoon, nestled her face into the pillow, and settled.
Drakkal backed away, and Arcanthus, disturbing the bedding as minimally as possible, slipped off the bed. Arc kept his eyes on his mate briefly before he crept away, following the azhera to the door. The bedroom air was chilly against his sleep-warm skin, and his arms felt oddly… empty . He’d never been as content and comfortable as he was with her body against his.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept in the same room as another person—it had likely been during the chaotic, jumbled days following the loss of his limbs, as he and Drakkal had fled Caldorius, and only then because the azhera refused to leave him alone. In all the years since, he’d been too uncomfortable to share a bed with anyone. He’d felt too vulnerable.
Arcanthus cast a final, longing glance at Samantha before he stepped into the hallway. The door slid shut behind him with a tap of the control panel.
Drakkal leaned against the wall with his arms crossed. “About time you—”
Snarling, Arcanthus took a single step toward Drakkal and punched him hard on the shoulder.
The azhera grunted and staggered backward, catching himself only when he flattened a palm against the wall. He rolled his shoulder. “The fuck is wrong with you?”
Arcanthus jabbed his index finger toward Drakkal, anger burning his throat as he resisted the urge to strike again. “You are no longer permitted to enter my bedchamber without my direct permission.”
Drakkal settled his hand on his shoulder, rubbing the spot Arcanthus had punched. “You’re overreacting, Arcanthus.”
Arc took a step closer and said through his teeth, “I’m not overreacting.”
Drakkal laughed and shook his head. “You should see yourself right now.”
“I’m serious, Drakkal.”
“So am I. If you were almost any other species, your finger isn’t the only thing that’d be wagging at me right now.”
The azhera’s words reminded Arcanthus of the cool air caressing his skin— all his skin. But that reminder did nothing to dampen the fire inside him.
“I would lay down my life for you, Drak. And that means a lot, considering how fond I am of myself. But when it comes to her…she’s mine . Only for my eyes.” Arcanthus lowered his hand, balling it into a fist. “I will not tolerate anyone seeing her naked, not even you. And that’s not just me being a jealous, possessive asshole.”
Drakkal’s smile faded. He lifted his chin toward the bedroom. “So this is real, then? Not just the end result of you obsessing over the terran you couldn’t have?”
The question triggered fresh rage in Arcanthus; he forced it aside. Drakkal had been looking out for Arc for years. He knew Arcanthus’s moods, knew his weaknesses, knew it all . As much as it wounded his pride, Arcanthus could admit that he’d been saved from himself more than a few times by Drakkal, even if he’d only admit it in the privacy of his own mind. That’s all this was—not an insult, but attempted vigilance.
“She’s my mate , Drakkal. I didn’t mean that as a figure of speech. My qal feels like it’s on fire just thinking about her.
“I’m not sure if I should be happy for you or try to slap some sense into you.”
Arcanthus shook his head and lifted a hand to sweep rogue strands of hair out of his face. “I’ve never been more certain of anything, Drak. And it scares the shit out of me.”
Drakkal dipped his shoulder, leaning it against the wall again. “How does it scare you? Sounds like you hit it lucky. Found your one in ten billion.”
“Because doubt is natural. I’ve approached everything in my life with some degree of doubt, and it’s served me well even if it hasn’t always saved my skin.” Arcanthus’s tail flicked back and forth through the air in erratic, restless motions. “I feel like I don’t know what to do with it. Like I don’t know how to move forward. My mind says there must be something wrong, that it’s too good to be true, but my heart insists that it’s real. This is true, and she deserves all the trust I’ve put in her.”
“Don’t know what to do? It’s simple,” Drakkal said, his voice thick with pent-up emotion. “You embrace it. Embrace her . Take it for what it is. There’s no telling when the universe might decide to take it away.
A pang of guilt struck Arcanthus square in the chest, cooling his anger. “I didn’t mean to diminish what you had, Drakkal.”
“You didn’t.” Drakkal shook his head. “I admired her, I respected her, and I’ve spent a long time missing her. But it was a long time ago, and it wasn’t the same as what you have with Samantha now.”
Arcanthus stared at Drakkal’s face. If he’d learned anything about his friend over the years, it was that Drakkal had an immensely deep well of emotions, but he rarely let those emotions rise to the surface. For a long time, Arc had thought it was a matter of Drakkal considering feelings a weakness and refusing to display that weakness to anyone, but he knew better now. Drakkal simply didn’t want to burden the people he cared about with his feelings.
“You’ll find what you’re missing before long, Drak.”
Drakkal bared his fangs. “Who said I was looking?”
“You’re the one who walked in on my naked mate. You don’t have any right to get angry with me.”
“You punched me, Arcanthus.”
“Fuck, azhera, you were a pit fighter for seven years. Are you really whining about one little punch?”
“Your hand is made of metal .”
Arcanthus arched a brow and folded his arms, mirroring the azhera’s stance. “You poor, poor thing. Now, what was so damn important that you had to drag me out of bed naked?”
“Just figured I’d see if you wanted me to find a slave collar in your size. We can get one with a tether so Samantha can lead you around the compound like her little pet.”
“I will hit you again, Drakkal.”
Scowling, Drakkal turned his shoulder slightly away from Arcanthus. “So sensitive lately, sedhi. I’d ask what crawled up your ass, but I already know. ”
Arcanthus stared at his friend.
Drakkal stared back before saying, “We picked up Straek.”
Arcanthus pushed away from the wall, throwing up his hands. “Why didn’t you say that to begin with, Drak?”
The azhera’s nostrils flared. “Maybe because someone decided to punch me before I had a chance.”
“It wasn’t nearly as hard as you deserved.”
“Don’t make me give you what you deserve, sedhi.”
“Focus, Drakkal. Where’s the groalthuun? Downstairs?” Arcanthus strode forward, ready to act; he’d not forgotten the threat the Syndicate posed to himself and Samantha, and he was eager to address it now that an opportunity had arisen.
Drakkal stepped into Arcanthus’s path and halted the sedhi with a hand on his shoulder. “Not yet.”
Arcanthus ran his tongue over his teeth, swallowing a flare of agitation. “There’s no reason for further delay. He has information I need. I’m going to obtain said information presently.”
“You’re still naked, Arcanthus.”
“And?”
The azhera drew in a slow, deep breath. “You’re not going to interrogate the groalthuun without clothes on.”
“Why? A confident, nude individual in an unusual situation can be extremely intimidating.”
“Because I have a responsibility to our security team, and you beating Straek to a pulp while wearing nothing but your qal has too great a chance of destroying their trust in me.”
Arcanthus settled his hand on Drakkal’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “Consider it a bonus for their exemplary performance over the last few days. A special treat.”
“Go put on a loincloth,” Drakkal said with exaggerated gentleness, “or I’m going to give everyone a turn to kick you in your damned slit. ”
Despite the prisoner waiting for interrogation, despite Drakkal’s impatience, despite everything , Arcanthus stopped and stared at Samantha after he crept back into the bedroom. He couldn’t help himself; she was so beautiful with her features relaxed by sleep, so lovely with all her cares and inhibitions smoothed away, so enticing. Curled up in the blankets on his massive bed, she looked tiny, vulnerable, and alone, a thing to be cherished and protected.
He knew in that moment that he’d give up anything, everything, for her. To keep her safe, to keep her at his side. His instinctual draw to her was irresistible, but his want for her was so much more than instinct.
Somehow, he resisted the urge to crawl back into bed, enfold her in his arms, and make sure she knew she wasn’t alone, knew he was here, knew she was his. He forced himself to open the drawer containing his loincloths—noting with no small degree of irritation that, according to the menu, only two hours had passed since he lay down with his mate—removed one from within, and secured it in place as quickly and quietly as possible. He slipped into the closet next to pull on a robe, paying no attention to the color or subtle patterns on the fabric.
He paused again when he turned back toward the bed and his eyes fell upon Samantha.
I could just touch her once more. A simple little touch, just the brush of a fingertip over her cheek…
Arcanthus shook off that impulse. There were other matters requiring his attention, and he didn’t want to disturb Samantha’s slumber. She’d been through so much over the last few days, had seen so many dramatic changes to her life. He understood how that might’ve felt—he’d gone through sudden, drastic changes in his lifestyle and situation many years ago, and to say adjustment had been difficult would’ve been an immense understatement. All things considered, she was taking everything very well.
But he expected nothing less of his intriguing little terran. She didn’t realize just how strong she was, but he saw it.
His stomach felt heavy and knotted as he exited the room, undoubtedly the result of denying his craving for her. He reminded himself once again that this was all for her, all to keep her safe, but it did little to ease his discomfort.
I need to seize control of my thoughts .
It was true, but part of him didn’t want to turn away from Samantha and all the things they’d done together, from all the things he still wanted to do with her. They’d only begun to explore the erotic delights they could share—and he found her company thrilling even when they weren’t engaged in such activities.
“You’d better have that thing strapped down,” Drakkal grumbled as Arcanthus approached him.
Arcanthus blinked and turned his attention to the azhera, giving himself a mental shake to return to the present. “What are you talking about?”
“I know that look on your face. I know what you’re thinking about. Keep it in your slit for once, would you?”
The sedhi offered no argument; he fell into place beside Drakkal, and they walked through the corridors and downstairs to one of the rooms below street level. The heavy door slid open with a rumble that Arcanthus more felt than heard, revealing a chamber devoid of furnishings apart from a few simple chairs.
The groalthuun was seated in one of those chairs, positioned in the center of the room beneath a single beam of intense light that made the rest of the space dark in comparison. He was facing away from the door, and a splotch of blood had dried on the fine scales on the back of his head, just beneath the knobby growths atop his skull. His arms and legs were fastened to the chair by thick tristeel manacles.
Straek twisted his neck to look back at Arcanthus with one large, dark eye. He snorted and turned away.
Sekk’thi and Thargen were seated to either side of the door, the latter sharpening a metal-bladed knife with a whetstone; it was an archaic method, but the sound of metal scraping rock was a powerful, primal thing.
“What has our guest decided to share with us thus far?” Arcanthus asked as he entered the room. Drakkal followed immediately behind him.
“Very little. He has been uncooperative,” Sekk’thi replied.
“Just give me a few minutes. I’ll get him to talk,” said Thargen. “I’ll even let him out of the chair, just to make it sporting.”
“You may yet have your chance, my friend.” Arcanthus picked up an empty chair and carried it past the groalthuun, setting it immediately in front of the captive. He eased down atop it, crossing one leg over his opposite knee and winding the tip of his tail around one of the chair’s legs.
Straek’s mouth curved upward in a strained smile. “No point in me telling you you’re dead, I guess.”
Rage had reawakened in Arcanthus—rage for what this groalthuun represented, for the danger Arc and Samantha had been placed in, for everything the Syndicate had taken from him. But they would not take his mate.
Arcanthus shrugged, forcing himself to hold his casual visage. “Is there a point in me telling you the same?”
Straek leaned his head forward and spat on the floor.
Pressing his lips together, Arcanthus glanced down at the glob of saliva near his foot. “That was rude, Straek.”
“Fuck you.”
“Someone has to clean this room when we’re done. Now, any mess made by myself or my associates is understandable— this is our place, after all. But this …this is just uncalled for. You’re a guest here. A show of respect could go a long way in your situation.”
“You think I’m scared of you?”
“Clearly not.”
“The boss is going to take you apart piece by piece, sedhi, and make you wish you were never born.”
Arcanthus tipped his head back and sighed heavily. He’d learned throughout his life to always maintain the act—to always project confidence and calm no matter what he felt inside. He’d been slipping up in that regard more and more lately, and his current fury made it difficult to follow that rule, but he refused to show anything other than arrogance and indifference to this scum.
“I was worried you were going to go this route,” Arcanthus said. “It’s so…typical. The Inner Reach is going to kill me, me and my whole family are dead, you’re not going to give me anything so I should go fuck myself. It’s just tiresome , isn’t it?”
Arc leveled his gaze on Straek. “If you’re going to go this route, at least come up with original material. Your onigox friend said the same thing right before I killed him.”
The groalthuun’s expression hardened, and he bared his large, flat teeth. “I’m going to—”
“You’re not going to do anything,” Arcanthus growled.
Straek snapped his mouth shut and glared at Arc, nostrils flaring with heavy breaths.
Sighing again, Arcanthus smoothed down his robe and settled both feet on the floor, resting his elbows on his thighs as he leaned forward. “It seems you may be experiencing some difficulty understanding your current situation. Here’s how it’s going to work, Straek—I’m going to ask you a question, and you’re going to answer. If you don’t, or if I’m unsatisfied with your response, I’m going to move just a little closer to letting my vorgal associate do with you as he pleases.”
“You think anything you can do to me is worse than what the Syndicate would do?” Straek laughed bitterly. “You have no idea what you’re dealing with, do you?”
“A better idea than most, my friend. Why were you sent after me?”
“Fuck. You.”
Arcanthus frowned. He leaned back in the chair, propping one arm on the armrest with his fist raised. He extended his index finger. “Why were you sent after me?”
The groalthuun’s eyes shifted to Arcanthus’s fingers. “What does that mean? What are you doing?”
Arcanthus raised his middle finger along with the first and repeated his question again.
Straek’s jaw muscles ticked, and he released a huff of air. “I…I don’t know.”
Quirking a brow, Arcanthus began straightening his next finger.
“I’m not lying!” Straek said hurried. “I really don’t know. Boss saw your picture and said you needed to die. As soon as he figured out a way to get you in the open, he sent a bunch of us to kill you.”
Arcanthus halted the motion of his finger. “Why does your boss want me dead?”
“Like I said, I don’t know.”
Arc’s third finger straightened. “Only two left, my friend.”
“He doesn’t explain that stuff to us, damn it! We just do what he says. He’d kill us if we questioned him. All I know is he kept it in our gang and threw a lot of people at you. You must’ve done something to piss him off, because I’ve never seen him get like that over one person.”
An icy drop of fear tumbled into the blazing fires in Arcanthus’ s gut, making his stomach churn. This wasn’t confirmation that the Syndicate knew his true identity; it didn’t mean they were after him because of the events on Caldorius a decade before. It was far more likely that he’d slept with this boss’s female and the tryst had been discovered. That would’ve been more than enough to be sentenced to death by a Syndicate officer. Before Samantha, Arcanthus had been rather promiscuous, and he’d made mistakes…
But that didn’t ring true to him, and in this situation, he had to assume the worst, because regardless of their motives, the Syndicate wanted him dead. The only piece of good news—if it was even true—was that the hit hadn’t been passed along the Syndicate’s chain of command.
That meant there was still a chance of surviving this. There was a chance of stopping it.
Arcanthus coiled his tail tighter around the chair leg. “Now you’re getting the hang of it, Straek. Loosening up. That warms my heart. This is the part when we get to the juicy information. What is your boss’s name, and where I can find him?”
The groalthuun swallowed. “He’s going to find you first, and you’ll be fucking dead.”
Frowning, Arcanthus raised his pinky. It took all his willpower to keep from smashing Straek’s face, to keep from unleashing his fury on this groalthuun—the one who, as far as Arcanthus knew, had started all this trouble.
“Just when I thought we’d turned it around,” Arc said. “I’m going to ask you one more time, Straek. I want you to think long and hard about this before you give me an answer. Think about what it means if you don’t tell me what I want to hear. Think about what my friend is going to do to you. He’s been quite upset since your people attacked us at that apartment building, and he’s bristling to have an outlet for his frustration.”
“Fuck yeah, I am,” Thargen growled .
“Who is your boss, and where can I find him?”
Breathing raggedly through his nostrils, Straek stared at Arcanthus. His large eyes were filled with warring terror and hatred.
Arc could guess at what was going through the groalthuun’s head—would the consequences of betraying the Syndicate be worse than those incurred when Arcanthus lifted his thumb?
Arcanthus might’ve felt some sympathy for an individual in such a predicament, but not for this individual. At best, Straek had been scoping out Samantha with the intention of kidnapping her and selling her into slavery. That was inexcusable. Any threat against Arcanthus’s mate, no matter how minor, could not be tolerated—and enslavement certainly wasn’t minor.
The chamber door opened. Arcanthus looked over Straek’s shoulder.
Razi entered the room, holding something in his hand. “Got his holocom here, boss. Made sure it wasn’t reporting location before we brought it back.”
The groalthuun’s scales paled.
Arcanthus shifted his attention back to Straek. “Well, this new development doesn’t seem very conducive to your continued survival, does it?”
Straek jolted forward; he was halted abruptly by his bindings. “No! No, you need me.”
Smirking, Arcanthus curled his splayed fingers into a fist and lowered his arm. “Oh? Do I?”
“You do, yes, yes!” Straek twisted his neck to look at Razi, who stood just inside the doorway with the holocom on his open palm. “It’s secured and encrypted. You’re not getting anything out of it without me.”
“Straek, old friend, I’m not sure if you’re severely overestimating your importance or severely underestimating my capabilities. I suppose it doesn’t make much of a difference either way, does it?” Arcanthus leaned forward and settled a hand on the groalthuun’s knee. “Name and location. It can be that simple.”
Straek shook his head and said in a weak voice, “They’ll kill me.”
A new layer draped itself over Arcanthus’s anger. The time for calm had passed, and Straek’s holocom would undoubtedly prove more informative than its owner—the technology could be tampered with but could keep no secrets from a person of sufficient skill.
He couldn’t let go of the fact that, even now, Straek was more afraid of the Syndicate than Arcanthus. He knew it was petty, but he didn’t dismiss the notion. Perhaps Arc had grown soft over the years. He preferred to build his operation on trust and quality work, and he’d relied upon violence and intimidation only when the informants who spread his aliases to potential clients forgot their places.
Perhaps Straek was too dumb to understand his inevitable fate. Perhaps his skull was too thick to comprehend the most immediate threat to his life.
Or, perhaps, Straek’s boss truly was that terrifying.
Regardless, Arcanthus’s patience had been exhausted.
Arcanthus turned his head slightly to meet Thargen’s gaze and lifted a hand. “May I borrow your knife?”
Thargen scowled, turned the knife in his hold, and rose from his chair. He extended his arm and settled the grip of his knife on Arcanthus’s waiting palm. “I wanted a piece.”
Arcanthus nodded as he closed his fingers around the grip. “I know. But Straek chose to stalk my terran, and I will not allow that to go unanswered.”
He held up the blade in the space between himself and the groalthuun, letting the overhead light gleam on the freshly sharpened metal.
Straek leaned back as far as his chair allowed, straining against his bindings. The entire chair rattled as his struggles grew in desperation. “Let me go. I won’t tell anyone anything.”
“Even were it not for my expansive experience with untruths, Straek, I wouldn’t believe you on that.”
“Then at least let me out of this chair like the vorgal said! Let me die fighting.”
Arcanthus released a short, bitter laugh as a fresh surge of rage blasted through him. He shoved himself out of his chair and kicked Straek in the chest. The groalthuun released a choked grunt that couldn’t mask the sound of his cracking ribs as the chair slammed backward and slid two meters across the floor.
Stepping over the chair, Arcanthus lowered his foot on Straek’s throat and knelt on his other leg, bending forward so his face was closer to the groalthuun’s. Scales that had paled to white not long before were now darkening, and Straek’s eyes bulged in their sockets.
“Death in combat is a fate reserved for the brave,” Arcanthus said through bared fangs. “You and your ilk know nothing of courage. You know nothing of sacrifice. You don’t deserve a chance to fight for your life, you blubbering skrudge.”
Arcanthus swung the knife in a downward arc. The blade sank deep into Straek’s right eye, scraping the bone of the eye socket and stopping only when it punched through the backside of the groalthuun’s skull and hit the floor beneath. Straek convulsed, released a few choked grunts, and stilled.
Keeping his foot on Straek’s neck, Arcanthus tugged the knife free. Blood spurted from the open wound and splattered his arm, chest, and robe. Frowning, he wiped the blade clean on the groalthuun’s shirt, stood up, and returned the weapon to Thargen.
The vorgal raised the knife to examine it. “You blunted the tip, damn it.”
Arcanthus gritted his teeth and released a steadying breath. Anger simmered in his gut, undiminished by his outburst; Straek’s death had been too swift to alleviate Arc’s pent-up aggression. Part of him regretted using the knife instead of his fists. His only compensation was the tiny satisfaction of having one less threat to his mate.
He forced an unconcerned tone into his voice and said, “Yes, and my robe got blood on it. We all have our problems.”
Drakkal grunted; he was sitting against the wall to Arc’s right, his tail rippling beside him. “I think he was about to talk. Right before you skewered his eye.”
“You know just as well as I that torture is highly likely to produce false information,” Arcanthus said. “There was no point in prolonging the inevitable.”
“ That was torture?” Sekk’thi asked, tilting her head. “Did I miss something during that exchange?”
“Yes, it was torture,” Drakkal said. “He had to sit and have a conversation with Arcanthus.”
Arcanthus turned his head to glare at the azhera.
Drakkal lifted his brows, sighed, and pushed himself up to his feet. He swept his arms to the sides and swung them back in a slow stretch before dropping his gaze to the groalthuun. “All right. Let’s get this cleaned up. Our guest isn’t going to find his own way out.”
“Razi, drop off that holocom in my workshop,” Arcanthus said.
The cren nodded.
Arcanthus strode out of the room without looking back. He knew there would be answers on the holocom, he just didn’t yet know the correlating questions. It probably wouldn’t help him identify Straek’s boss, probably wouldn’t grant any insight into why the Inner Reach Syndicate was suddenly after him again, but any information was welcome at this point.
Besides, Straek wasn’t likely to volunteer any more information.
He clenched his fists at his sides as he stalked toward his bedroom, battling the urge to punch and kick the walls in blind, indiscriminate fury.
What is wrong with me?
The answer came with surprising swiftness and made it clear that his query had been poorly worded.
Samantha .
She wasn’t what was wrong with Arcanthus—in fact, she felt like the only thing currently right in his life—but she had an undeniable effect upon him. Being called away from her earlier had sparked his agitation, but it wasn’t merely that fleeting separation that had stoked the fires of his fury. She was in danger , and the beast lurking within him could not rest so long as that was the case. His instincts roared for him to eliminate all threats to her.
And where would that path lead? The Syndicate presented the most immediate danger, but what about this city, this planet, the whole damned universe ? Everything could be perceived as a threat to Samantha. At some point, he would have to find a means of restoring his self-control.
But he wouldn’t stop fighting for her. He’d never stop. More than anyone he’d known, Samantha deserved safety. She deserved comfort, security, and stability. Deserved to have a good life.
Arcanthus was jarred from his thoughts when he turned a corner, entering the hallway in which his bedroom was located, and collided with Samantha .
He released a startled grunt; she gasped and stumbled back several steps before righting her balance.
“Are you all right, little terran?” he asked, closing the distance between them. His heart thumped, and his skin felt hot; even the thought of accidentally doing her harm was almost too much for him to bear.
But she wasn’t looking at him. Her wide eyes were fixated on her hands, which were smeared with blood.