Chapter 16 #2
In seconds, they glimmered through the shields of the cell and the plex glass to come to a stop before the aging mafia boss.
‘Fokk, that’s a neat trick.’
Varnok’s trite remark didn’t disguise his awe at the spectral abilities of the men in front of him.
Santi smirked. ‘You’re wishing you could flex like that, and use it to escape this prison, aren’t you.
Pity you’re outclassed in all ways, yet your compulsive narcissist ass with a flair for self-destruction will never admit it.
However, we’re not here to swap compliments, Varnok. We want to talk about The Red Queen.’
Varnok’s humor vanished. He went rigid, eyes burning.
‘What about her?’
Santi shrugged. ‘We hear she’s coming for you, looking to bust you out so you can cause even more havoc than she has on her own. We won’t let her.’
Kaal leaned forward. ‘We’ll capture her and tear her claws out before she sets you free.’
Varnok’s eyes burned.
With no warning, he lunged for Kaal.
Kaal sighed. ‘Here we go.’
He glimmered, his body dissolving into smoke and flame, transforming into his wraith-wolf form, his claws glinting spectral silver.
Santi followed, phasing into his violet-and-gold lupine form, his frame humming with raw aetheric power.
Varnok didn’t stand a chance.
Moments later, the Carmine Cardinal was restrained, strapped to the recliner, sweat pouring off him as he blinked up at the phantom wolves looming over him.
‘What the fokk do you two want?’ he croaked.
‘We made it clear. Tell us who she is and where she is, or we’ll become your worst nightmare, Varnok,’ Santi rasped, shifting back into solid appearance.
The temperature in the cell dropped.
Varnok went still. His eyes darkened.
‘Her name is one you should not utter unless you’re ready to bleed.’
Santi kept his posture lazy, but his tone sharpened. ‘We know she is yours, and we suspect you’re blood. Where can we find her?’
Varnok’s hands curled into loose fists.
‘How the fokk would I know? I don’t own her. You can’t own fire. You can trap it long enough to warm yourself before it burns you alive.’
‘Poetic,’ Santi said, arching a brow. ‘Still doesn’t tell us where she is.’
‘What would you do with her, hmm? Chain her like me?’
Kaal exhaled, annoyed. ‘She’d be a Queen off the board. Stop playing games. Give us something, or we walk.’
Varnok chuckled, manic and glassy-eyed. ‘All I can say is that she’s wily, that one. I had to use the worst threat possible to keep her with me.’
‘Who is she to you?’ Santi asked.
‘She’s everything and nothing.’ He tapped his chest. ‘She sneaks up on you. Makes you fall for her. Then boom. She stabs you.’
‘So she’s a lover?’
‘Oh, hardly. But she is loved.’
Varnok leered and leaned up.
‘She’s smoke, Captain. She chokes then vanishes without a trace. I named her The Red Queen, not because of her hair. Because she moves like she’s royalty, and she’ll slaughter a room with a glance and smile while doing it.’
Santi’s smile thinned. ‘She’s disappeared, can’t be found. Is she coming for you?’
The smirk vanished as Varnok reclined. ‘She’s more than you understand. If she is indeed busting me out of here, then may whatever gods you pray to give you favor.’
Santi straightened. ‘We’re done.’
‘Thought so,’ Varnok said, settling back. ‘Next time, bring snacks. Or music. I’m partial to Mozart.’
He hummed a few bars of the famous composer’s sonatas.
Miral shimmered into view beside them. ‘He’s done talking.’
Santi growled. ‘Fokk.’
Varnok lay back, eyes closed, humming.
‘He won’t say more,’ Miral said. ‘Not even under duress.’
‘I love to talk,’ Varnok clarified, waving one hand. ‘However, not about her. Sorry, not sorry, I can’t help. I haven’t seen my crew or brother in years, and I haven’t kissed a soul. Can’t tell you where she is. Or what she’s up to.’
Santi cursed under his breath. ‘Let’s get the hell out of here.’
‘Wait,’ Varnok called. ‘I was enjoying the banter, the conversation, the freakin’ company.’
Santi and Kaal ignored his baying sniggles as they returned to the skiff.
As the hover disengaged, Santi rubbed the back of his neck.
‘Fokkin’ lunatic. His legend of The Red Queen sounds like a myth he tells himself to feed his hope of freedom.’
‘Naam. However, he’s also holding back,’ Kaal said. ‘He’s got some clue of what’s to come.’
‘Of her?’
‘Or what she might unleash.’
Joined by Miral, the pair fell into their thoughts the rest of the way up.
Santi brooded, sure of one thing:
The Red Queen was real, hell, he’d encountered her, he thought, recalling her sass and attitude. She was probably hiding in the expanse, someplace close, watching and waiting to pounce.
When she did, he planned to capture her like he had the last time, but this time, he’d never let her go.
Santi stepped into the cabin just past the third dusk cycle.
His boots sounded on the timber floors as the breeze from the lake whispered through the open panels.
Outside, the synth night sky shimmered with faux stars.
So beautiful and rendered, they almost made him believe he was in an untouched world, not within a moving city of ships.
The lakeside glistened beneath the dim moons overhead, and the gentle lap of water against the rocks was a balm he hadn’t realized he needed until it found him.
Inside, the scent of baking lingered, bread, maybe.
He dropped his bag on the kitchen counter and kept prowling, one-track-minded.
He paused in the doorway of his primary, his gaze pulled toward the bed.
The lights were set at half mast, and on the edge, curled up into herself, was Soleil.
She’d fallen asleep with one arm flung over her stomach, the duvet kicked away, the hem of her shirt riding up to reveal a sliver of smooth skin.
One bare leg was tangled in the sheets, her lips parted in the soft rhythm of deep, trusting sleep.
A slow, overwhelming ache rose in his chest.
He needed to hold her.
Stripping down to his boxers, he padded over and slid under the covers. The mattress dipped beneath his weight, and the moment his arms slipped around her, she stirred.
Her body stilled. Then she turned in his embrace. ‘Santi?’
Her voice was husky, scarcely audible.
He nuzzled into the crook of her neck, breathing her in, letting his lips brush the warm curve of her nape. ‘Hey, carino,’ he murmured. ‘How are you?’
Her hand came up to stroke his forearm. ‘Better,’ she whispered.
His chest eased. ‘Good. That’s good.’
He exhaled, long and slow, and pulled her closer.
The tension he’d carried back from the prison began to melt beneath the comfort of her body pressed to his.
She shifted then, twisting in his embrace until they were face to face. Her fingers threaded into the hair at the base of his neck. Her eyes searched his, slow and tender.
Then she kissed him.
A kiss so soft, so long, so impossibly beautiful, it melted him. No urgency. No lust clawing. Just a connection so pure it almost hurt.
When she pulled away, her forehead rested on his. ‘Make love to me, Santi.’
His hand cupped her jaw, thumb brushing her cheek. ‘How could I refuse you, mi sol?’
He kissed her again, his glide over her lips hungry but restrained, a promise in every press.
They undressed each other, clothes sliding to the floor.
The lovemaking that followed was gradual, languid, laced with tenderness and deep-seated longing.
He stayed inside her gaze as much as her body, kissing her again, until her moans met his, tangled into the soft hush of the night.
They moved together like prayer.
And when she arched against him, whispering his name like a vow, Santi surrendered.
She was more than his resting place.
She was the calm after the storm, and the best peace he had ever experienced.