Chapter 17
SOLEIL
Soleil jolted awake with a harsh pant, her chest rising in frantic jerks.
A wash of pre-dawn light filtered through the shutters, but the peace was obliterated by the searing pain blooming under her skin.
Her wrists burned.
Nada, they blazed.
She clamped a hand over her mouth to silence the cry clawing up her throat, then peeled herself with care from Santi’s sleeping form.
His arm had been curled around her waist, his breath warm against her spine.
She moved with agonizing quietness, swallowing every wince, until she was out of the bed and on her feet.
The moment she crossed the threshold of the bedroom, her stride broke into a sprint.
She scarcely made it to the living room before the embedded cuff in her wrists hissed and clicked, emerging with a shimmer of nanites and burning under her skin.
A holo-feed ignited in front of her, casting a harsh glow across the room.
Vern’s face loomed into view.
‘Scarletta,’ he snarled, his tone sending a jolt of terror through her. ‘The freakin’ chute maps are a bust, we need codes to the Cold Facility, freakin’ shield harmonics.’
She shook her head, glancing toward the hallway in dread. ‘Fokk you,’ she whispered. ‘Calling me at this time of night -.’
‘You’re giving us fokk all,’ he snapped. ‘Signet is stirring up our shit, and we’re getting shackled left, right, and freakin’ up our asses. You need to get more detailed prison schematics and codes now.’
His eyes narrowed, then darted beyond her as if something had caught his attention.
He leaned forward in the holo. ‘Where the fokk are you?’ he growled. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be holed up in some stanky ass hovel? Looks like you’re in a godsdamn palace.’
Panic seized her throat. She twisted her body to the side, trying to obscure the room behind her. ‘It’s temporary,’ she murmured, ‘just somewhere, safe.’
His eyes glittered. ‘Step aside.’
‘Vern -.’
‘Move, Scarletta.’
She flinched, her bare feet shifting two steps to the right.
The camera swung just enough to catch the edge of the room and the damning image on the mantle.
A framed holo-photo of Signet’s core leadership.
Boaz. Kaal. Santi. Xander.
Vern leaned back with a whistle, slow and razor-edged.
‘Fokkin’ hell,’ he breathed. ‘Don’t tell me you’re playing house with one of the Signet golden boys.’
She stiffened, lips trembling.
He grinned, a vile and broad slash of his mouth. ‘Boaz? Nada, you’re not into the bear types. Kaal? You like ‘em quiet and lethal? Or, is it Santi? Mm, the charming psycho with that devil-wolf in his chest.’
She didn’t respond, but her breath hitched at the last mention.
‘Santiago Alvarro?’ he crooned. ‘The XO, Scarletta? So he’s the one distracting you from your mission, eh?’
Her silence was answer enough.
His expression turned. Cruelty bloomed in his features like rot.
‘Not any more, bitch.’
A blast of torment ripped through her hands, making her knees buckle.
Her teeth sank into her lip, drawing blood as she folded forward in agony, her entire body shaking. A strangled sob broke from her throat, quiet, but real.
‘Next time, scream,’ he hissed. ‘I want him to hear it.’
Another surge of agonizing pain, and she bit her lip so hard to stop from making a sound that it bled.
In time, her broken, shattered gaze met Vern’s.
‘Get yourself together, he muttered, ‘Look around the place. Search his desk, or better yet, check his bag for a comm tab or comms device.’
‘Nada.’
Agony lanced through her wrists like white-hot spears. She gasped and dropped to one knee.
‘Now.’
Soleil staggered up, sweat beading on her forehead.
Her fingers trembled as she crossed to the kitchen and found Santi’s well-worn leather bag on the counter.
She fumbled for its clasp, every movement numb with dread. ‘It’s here.’
‘Open it. Go through it. Find me something to work with.’
She rooted inside and pulled out his comm tab.
‘Hold it to your wrist.’
She obeyed, hands shaking. A hum passed through her skin.
Vern’s eyes narrowed as he entered a few swift commands from his side of the call.
The device blinked twice, then unlocked onscreen before her.
‘I’m in, mid-level encryption, how thoughtful,’ he muttered.
Screens flicked past. Soleil stood by, heart thundering, as he searched until, ‘Fokk yeah.’
He guffawed at the sight of the prison’s schematics,
They detailed everything from structural blueprints for the containment fields and isolation units to real-time holographic overlays tracking biometric movement, automated defense grids, and jammer infrastructure.
‘See? Not so hard, was it?’
Her inhale hitched in horror as the files downloaded on his end in seconds.
‘I’ll review them,’ Vern clipped, his gaze predatory. ‘Then, my girl, it’s rescue stations. I’m planning a bigger force this time. Three hundred men, guns blazing, torpedoes, and rail guns. ’
Soleil studied Vern through the holo-vision, the crude image of his face filling the screen.
The jaded desperation clinging to him was palpable. His wild, crazed concept was suicide not just for his men but for The Sombra’s crew and residents.
‘Three hundred men, and a cache of weapons might not cut it,’ Soleil stated, hands clasped tight to prevent them from trembling.
‘Torpedoing the rear thrusters and storming the prison is not a strategy; it’s a fucking massacre.
Also, Signet wiped out most of your bridge attack capos last month.
Their internal defenses alone will halve your forces before you even reach the detention level.
You need Varnok alive, not a pile of corpses to trade for him. ’
Vern stopped, leaned in with a predatory grin.
His eyes were cold, and as he snarled. ‘Ah, the voice of goddamn caution. Always so keen on preserving life, aren’t you, little sunbeam?
So what the hell do you propose? A cup of diplomacy tea with The Sombra’s Captain?
My remaining soldiers are running on fumes, and our fokkin’ cash reserves are lower than a methane tanker in dry dock.
The Red Skulls need Varnok’s genius to make us great again, and three hundred lives is a cheap price for that future.
My numbers are already dwindling, you know. I can’t afford this subtlety bullshit.’
‘You can afford a smarter approach,’ Soleil countered, pushing past the terror he always ignited in her.
‘You need a breach, not a siege. With the dreadnought’s security protocols that you now have, I’ll go in.
Alone. I’ll breach the detention level and neutralize the immediate guards.
A single person is less intrusive than a full-scale invasion, and your remaining men can extract him. ’
Vern threw his head back and laughed again, the sound raw and cruel.
‘You? Go in? A worthwhile fokkin’ concept,’ he conceded, his eyes glinting with malicious amusement.
‘Why the sudden need to be the sacrificial lamb, Soleil? Do you think throwing your pretty self in my way to save The Sombra’s will somehow absolve your sins?
Or is it the need to keep your own lover safe?
Is that why you’re so anxious for a soft touch, to make sure your dear Santi doesn’t get caught in the blast? ’
She bit her lip and inhaled and didn’t speak.
Vern’s eyes glittered, and he leaned in close to the screen. ‘The idea is solid, Queen. You’re going in, sunbeam.’
‘I’ll do it,’ she whispered. ‘On one condition. Is she alive? Is Raissa alive?’
He shrugged. ‘Remains to be seen. Pull this off, and I’ll set both of you free.
In the meantime, I’ll review the internal schematics and identify any redundancies.
Wait for contact from one of my men and remember,’ he snarled, ‘if you fail me, I’ll strap you to a mine and blast your atoms into the darkest reaches of the Wildlight. ’
He zapped her one more time because he was a bastard.
She dropped to the floor, her mouth bitten shut to stifle the scream.
Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes as the pain curled her spine.
With a slight flash, the holo powered down.
Only silence remained.
Her wrists still throbbed with shards of agony. Shame curdled in her belly like spoiled milk.
Behind her, the house still slept.
She used shaky, trembling hands to place Santi’s comm tab back into his bag, ensuring every strap and zip was as it had been.
Then she stumbled to the terrace and slid the door open.
Cold night air hit her damp skin, and she stepped outside into the lakeside breeze on the deck.
Above, faux stars shimmered overhead like indifferent witnesses.
She stared out over the water, arms wrapped around herself, shivering, her soul singed raw.
SANTIAGO
Santi shifted in sleep, caught up in a dream.
While his body reclined in bed, his spirit, his spectral wolf, roamed far.
It padded along the lake’s mirrored edge where starlight spilled across its surface like a benediction.
The wolf sniffed the air, gold-violet mist curling over its haunches.
Tranquility reigned for one suspended moment.
Without warning, it shifted, its entire frame bracing, on alert.
With a jolt, the stars blinked out. The lake fractured, waves boiling and surging.
Then, he saw her.
Soleil.
She lay on the lake shore, writhing in pain on the golden sands, one hand clutching her other wrist, her spine arched in agony.
No assailant was visible, but the force of whatever she was suffering from was evident in the anguish on her beautiful face.
His lycan spirit snarled, the sound tearing through the veil between worlds.
It leaped forward, all fangs and fury, racing toward her.
With a muted roar, Santi snapped awake.
His body surged upright, breath torn from his lips.
Sweat slicked his skin.
He reached for her instinctively, but the curve of her waist was missing.
His hand grasped empty sheets.
‘Soleil,’ he breathed.
A dark pulse of dread shuddered through his chest.
He threw on his boxers and moved fast down the hallway.