Sabine
Footsteps echoed behind me, their precision military, deliberate. I’d just finished changing into my uniform in the near-empty staff corridors when the voice cut through the quiet of the late fourth shift.
“Reeves.”
Kreeg stood between me and the main corridor, his usual forgettable features sharp with purpose. The careful neutrality he wore as armor had vanished. His hand shot out, gripping my upper arm hard enough to make me gasp.
“We need to talk. Now.”
He steered me into an empty break room, shoving me inside before closing the door. The fluorescents buzzed overhead, casting harsh shadows across his face.
“I need everything on the Vinduthi.” His fingers dug deeper into my arm. “Where he goes, who he talks to, what he's planning.”
“You're hurting me.”
“The Administrator wants a full report. Tonight.” His other hand slammed against the wall beside my head. “He knows you've been meeting. We have recordings from Level 8's observation lounge. The private gaming room on Level 19.”
My stomach dropped, but I kept my expression steady. Think. Calculate. Give him something believable.
“He propositioned me.” The lie came out smooth, practiced. “Private dealing services. Exclusive games.”
Kreeg's grip loosened slightly. “And?”
“I maintained contact to gather intelligence, like you asked.” I met his eyes directly, selling the story. “He's interested in investing. Casino technology, specifically.”
“What kind of technology?”
“The algorithm failures.” I let a hint of excitement creep into my voice, as a dealer might who'd stumbled onto valuable information. “He's particularly interested in them. Mentioned something about exploiting the degradation patterns.”
Kreeg studied my face, searching for deception. I'd spent five years perfecting my dealer's mask. It held.
“Corporate espionage.” He released my arm, stepping back. “That tracks with his profile.”
I resisted the urge to rub the bruises already forming. “Is that what you needed?”
“The Administrator has special plans for that one.” Kreeg moved toward the door, then paused. “Something about reclaiming stolen property.”
My blood chilled. Qeth knew. Of course he knew.
“When it happens just before the first shift tomorrow, you don't want to be collateral damage.” Kreeg's smile was thin, predatory. “Find somewhere else to be.”
The door closed behind him. It wasn't a warning from an ally. It was a Conclave informant managing the situation, keeping things clean for his real masters. I counted to thirty, then bolted.
Level 19. My legs shook as I half-ran through the VIP corridor. Suite 217. I’d memorized his room number days ago, just as I memorized every detail about him. The way his jaw tightened when he calculated odds. The way his voice dropped an octave when he said my name.
I pressed my palm against his door panel, not caring about the security cameras. Let them see. After tomorrow, it wouldn't matter.
The door opened before I could knock again. Varrick stood there in loose sleep pants and nothing else, his gray skin marked with those green traceries that I'd dreamed about tracing with my tongue. His red eyes went from sleepy to alert in an instant.
“Sabine?”
I pushed past him into the suite, needing to be inside, safe, near him. The door sealed behind us, and I finally let myself breathe.
Then he saw my arm.
The change was instant and primal. His entire body shifted. Muscles coiled, fangs extending fully, a sound emerging from his chest that made every nerve in my body fire at once.
“Who?”
One word, but it carried death in it.
“Kreeg.” My voice came out rougher than intended. The way he looked, lethal and protective and mine, created a current of awareness in the room despite everything. “Listen to me—”
“He's dead.” Varrick moved toward the door, his body radiating violence. “I'm going to tear his throat out and feed it to him.”
I intercepted him, pressing both hands against his bare chest. His hearts pounded beneath my palms, his skin hot. “Stop. We can use this.”
He looked down at me, eyes blazing red, chest heaving. This close, I could smell him—something warm and spiced, uniquely his, with an undertone that reminded me of electrical storms. My body responded without permission, remembering exactly how that chest felt pressed against mine.
“He marked you.” His hand came up to hover over the bruises, not touching but close enough that I felt the warmth from his palm. “Hurt you.”
“They know about the pre-shift window. It's a trap.” I kept my hands on his chest, feeling his breathing slow marginally. “The Administrator, Qeth, has special plans. Something about reclaiming stolen property.”
That penetrated his fury. “They're expecting us.”
“Yes.” We were pressed together in the narrow space, the charge in the air undeniable. “But they don't know that we know. We can use their trap against them.”
His hands came up to frame my face, thumbs ghosting over my cheekbones with devastating gentleness. The contrast to his earlier rage made my knees weak. “How?”
“Five years I've been mapping that station. Learning every override code during 'maintenance' shifts.” My voice caught as his thumb traced my lower lip. “I know seventeen different routes to the vault. I know which cameras actually work. I know where the guards take their unauthorized breaks.”
“Sabine—”
“Tomorrow night.” I could barely focus with him touching me like this, looking at me with an expression that was both protective and possessive. “We use their trap against them. They'll be watching the obvious route, expecting you to come alone. They won't expect us to know about their ambush.”
His hand slid down to my bruised arm, fingertips barely skating over the marks. The gentleness made me shiver. When he looked back at my face, his expression was raw. Hungry. “I should have been there. Should have protected you.”
“You did. Kreeg backed off because he knows you'll kill him if he pushes too far.” I turned my arm to show him the full extent, five distinct finger marks already purple-black against my skin. “These are nothing compared to what Qeth will do if he gets me as his personal probability calculator.”
The growl returned, vibrating through his chest into my palms. “That's not happening.”
“No. It's not.”
The air between us crackled. We stood there, my hands on his bare chest, his hands cradling my face, both of us breathing too hard. The mission, the danger, the trap, all of it faded against the tension building between us.
“I should check those bruises,” he said, voice rough. “I have medical supplies.”
“Always taking care of me,” I breathed, and watched his pupils dilate.
He led me to the bedroom, retrieving a medical kit from the nightstand. He sat on the bed's edge, pulling me to stand between his spread knees. This position put us at eye level, his face inches from mine.
“This might sting,” he warned, opening the container.
“I can handle it.”
His fingers were impossibly gentle as he applied the salve, but I barely felt the medicine. All I could focus on was his concentration, the way his breathing changed when I swayed closer. His proximity was a physical weight. My hands found his shoulders for balance, and I felt him tense.
“Tell me about the override codes,” he said, clearly trying to focus on planning.
So I did, but my voice kept catching as his hands worked up and down my arm. By the time I finished explaining the seventeen routes, we were both breathing unsteadily.
“You've been planning your own escape this entire time.”
“For five years, I'd been observing. For the last two, I'd been actively planning. But the price was always too high. Too much risk for just a chance.” I touched his face, tracing a green line along his jaw.
He closed his eyes, leaning into the touch.
“This is different. This is calculated. We know their plan, we have the advantage.”
“And after?”
“After, we disappear. You get your Regalia for your crew. I get my freedom.” My thumb traced his lower lip, felt his fang press against it. “We both get out alive.”
He said it as a vow. “We get out together.”
I leaned into his touch. “Yes. We do.”
He pulled me down for a kiss that started soft but quickly turned desperate. His hands tangled in my hair while mine mapped the planes of his chest, both of us trying to memorize the other. When we finally broke apart, we were both shaking.
“Stay,” he said roughly. “Just for tonight. Tomorrow everything changes.”
I should go. Empty quarters were suspicious. But the way he looked at me destroyed my resolve.
“One hour,” I lied, already knowing I'd stay until the last possible moment.
He pulled me onto the bed, arranging us so I lay against his chest, my bruised arm carefully positioned. His hearts beat strong and steady under my ear while his fingers combed through my hair.
“Tomorrow night, we spring their trap,” I said into the darkness.
“And it catches them instead,” he finished.
We lay there in the dark, neither of us sleeping, both of us pretending tomorrow night wouldn't change everything. His body burned hot against mine, and I memorized the feeling. The safety. The want that never quite went away, just simmered between us.
Tomorrow night, we'd spring their trap. But tonight, in his bed, in his arms, I was already free.