Chapter 19 #3
They were vicious. Precise. Utterly merciless. Their blades flashed in the morning light as they cut through the guards with brutal efficiency that spoke of a warrior culture that had been refining their killing arts since before most species discovered fire.
No mercy. No hesitation. No quarter given.
Merrilee pulled Starfield to a halt beside me, the kuda's sides heaving, foam flecking its mouth. I saw her face—saw the fear and relief and fierce determination written in every line, saw the way her eyes tracked over me, cataloging injuries, making sure I was whole.
"You're alive," she said, her voice shaking with emotion barely held in check.
"You came back." The words came out rough, disbelieving.
"Of course I came back." She extended her hand, her jaw set in that stubborn line I'd come to know so well. "Now get on. We have a piece of shit to kill."
I grabbed her hand and swung up behind her, my arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her back against my chest. The bond flared—incomplete but undeniable.
Mine.
Mate.
The words echoed through my mind like a prayer, like a promise.
"Hewes ran," I said against her ear, my lips brushing her skin. "East side. Old warehouse district."
"Then let's go." Her voice was steel wrapped in silk. "Let's end this."
She urged Starfield forward, and the kuda leaped into motion, its powerful muscles bunching and releasing as it carried us toward vengeance.
The warehouse district was a graveyard of rusted metal, a monument to Fange City's decay.
Structures that had once been functional now stood as hollow shells, their walls collapsed, roofs caved in, everything stripped away by scavengers over the years. The bones of industry picked clean, leaving nothing but shadows and dust and the ghosts of what might have been.
We found Hewes in the largest warehouse—a massive structure that still had most of its walls intact.
And he wasn't alone.
Six Trogvyk mercenaries stood between him and a small cruiser that had been hidden under tarps and debris, camouflaged to blend with the surrounding wreckage. The ship looked old but functional—built for quick escapes.
Of course Hewes had an escape plan.
Men like him always did. They survived by being slippery, by always having an out, by never fully committing to anything that might get them killed.
He saw us coming and raised a blaster—military grade, powerful enough to punch through armor.
"Stay back!" he screamed, his voice high and panicked, all his earlier bravado gone.
Merrilee pulled Starfield to a halt at the warehouse entrance.
Hewes's hand was shaking. Fear or rage or both. His finger tightened on the trigger, the muscles in his hand going white with tension.
He aimed at Merrilee.
At my mate.
I moved.
Threw us both sideways off Starfield, twisting to put my body between her and the blast, operating on pure instinct and the overwhelming need to protect her.
The shot hit me in the shoulder—white-hot pain that exploded through my entire left side like lightning through my nerves. The impact spun me around, sent me crashing to the ground hard enough to drive the air from my lungs.
But I was Vaktaire.
I'd been shot before. Stabbed. Burned. Broken.
This was just pain. Pain could be endured.
"Stay down," I told Merrilee, pushing myself upright, my right hand finding the blade at my belt, my left arm hanging, but still functional enough. Blood ran hot down my arm, soaking through my shirt, dripping onto the dusty ground.
But I could still fight.
I could always fight.
The Trogvyk charged, their heavy boots pounding against the concrete floor.
Six against one. Bad odds for most species.
Not for a Vaktaire warrior who'd just watched a slaver try to kill his mate.
The first one died before he reached me—the tip of my blade opening his throat in a spray of dark blood that painted the ground.
The second lost his arm at the elbow, the limb spinning away in a spray of blood and bone fragments.
The third tried to flank me—I caught him with a kick that shattered his knee with a wet crunch and finished him with a downward strike that split his skull.
The fourth and fifth came together. Coordinated. Smart.
Not smart enough.
I ducked under the fourth's swing and drove my blade up through his ribs, feeling it punch through muscle and cartilage to find the soft organs beneath.
Used his falling body as a shield against the fifth's attack, catching the blade meant for my heart on his corpse instead.
Then I was inside his guard, my blade finding the soft spot beneath his jaw, driving up into his brain.
The sixth one ran, his nerve breaking as he watched his companions die in less than thirty seconds.
I let him go.
He wasn't important. He wasn't the one I wanted.
But the fight had cost me. My shoulder screamed with every movement, blood loss making my vision swim at the edges. My left arm hung useless now, the nerves frozen by the blaster shot. I felt my strength draining with each heartbeat, pooling on the warehouse floor in dark crimson puddles.
Hewes was backing toward the ship, his blaster swinging wildly between me and Merrilee, his movements jerky with panic.
"Stay back! I'm warning you!"
I started forward, but my legs weren't responding right. The world tilted, and I had to catch myself against a support beam, leaving a bloody handprint on the rusted metal.
Too much blood loss. Too many injuries stacked on top of each other.
My body was finally giving out.
Merrilee saw it. I watched her eyes widen, watched her calculate the distance between Hewes and me, between her and him, between all of us and that ship.
She was thinking. Planning.
My brilliant, tactical mate.
"Declan," she said, her voice soft but commanding. "Look at me."
Hewes's attention snapped to her, the blaster tracking with his gaze.
"You don't want to kill me," she continued, urging Starfield forward slowly, deliberately, drawing his focus. "I'm worth more alive. You know that. You've always known that."
"Don't—" I tried to warn her, but my voice came out weak, breathless.
She ignored me, her eyes locked on Hewes.
"I have information," she said. "Alliance codes. Security protocols. Information that would make you untouchable."
Hewes's finger eased slightly on the trigger. "You're lying."
"Am I?" She tilted her head, and I saw it—the mask she'd worn for eighteen months, the spy who'd fooled an entire space station. "You think I only gathered what you asked for? I kept copies. Insurance. Hidden where only I can find them."
It was a bluff. But it was a good one, delivered with perfect conviction.
Hewes's eyes narrowed, calculation warring with panic. "Where?"
"Let him go, and I'll tell you." She gestured toward the ship. "I'll give you everything—codes, protocols, shipping routes, diplomatic schedules. Everything."
"Merrilee, no—" The words tore out of me. I pushed myself forward.
"Shut up!" Hewes swung the blaster toward me, his hand steadying with renewed purpose. "You're the problem. You've always been the problem. She was mine until you—"
He fired.
I tried to move, but my body wouldn't respond fast enough. The blast caught me in the chest, just left of center, and the impact drove me backward into the support beam.
The world exploded into white-hot agony.
I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Couldn't do anything but feel the fire spreading through my chest, consuming everything.
Through the haze of pain, I heard Merrilee scream my name.
Heard Hewes laugh—high and manic and triumphant.
"Now," he said, his voice distant and distorted, "where were we?"
I tried to push myself up, but my arms wouldn't support my weight. Blood filled my mouth, copper and thick. The shot had missed my heart, but still done damage.
Hewes thought he'd killed me.
No.
I'd survived ten years of penance. Survived the fighting pits. Survived Fange City and Persico and every monster this planet had thrown at me.
I wasn't going to die now. Not when I finally had something—someone—worth living for.
I forced my hand to move, forced my fingers to close around the blade that had fallen beside me. The movement sent fresh agony lancing through my chest, but I held on.
Just had to get up. Just had to—
"Ahrick, stay down!" Merrilee's voice cut through the fog. "Please, just stay down!"
I looked up, vision blurring, and saw her hands raised in surrender.
Hewes advanced on her, the blaster trained on her chest, his expression twisted with rage and vindication.
"You think I'm stupid?" he snarled. "You think I don't know you're playing me? There are no codes. No insurance. You're just trying to save your pet alien."
"You're right," Merrilee said, and her voice was steady. Calm. The voice of someone who'd already made their choice. "But I had to try."
"Had to try," Hewes repeated mockingly. He was close now, close enough to touch her. "You always were too clever for your own good, Merrilee. Too willing to sacrifice yourself for people who don't deserve it."
He reached for her.
"But that's over now. You're coming with me, and we're going to have a very long conversation about loyalty and consequences and—"
Merrilee moved.
Her hand shot up, catching his already broken wrist, twisting it away with a sharp jerk that made him bellow in pain. Her other hand drove forward, fingers extended, striking at his eyes.
He jerked back, the blaster swinging wildly, but she was already moving—dropping low, sweeping his legs out from under him with a kick that had all her weight behind it.
Gods she was magnificent!
Hewes went down hard, the blaster skittering across the concrete.
Merrilee dove for it.
So did Hewes.
They hit the ground together, grappling, fighting for control of the weapon. Hewes was bigger, stronger, but Merrilee was desperate and absolutely unwilling to lose.