Chapter 11
ELEVEN
The cell was barely wide enough to pace in, the mag-cuffs made his arms useless, and the energy barrier was impenetrable.
It mocked him. Jarran wanted to punch something.
He wanted to rip the cuffs apart and tear the barrier down with his bare hands and carry Evie out of this metal box and as far from here as possible.
He couldn’t do any of those things. So he paced.
Evie had stopped talking a while ago. She’d curled on the floor against the far wall with her knees drawn up and her arms wrapped around them, staring at nothing.
Her eyes were open but unfocused, and now and then, she’d sigh.
She looked small. She looked lost. She looked like she’d had run out of any hope of getting out of their situation.
He hated seeing her like that. And worse, he hated the way she glanced at him sometimes. Quick, sidelong looks, as if she was measuring the distance between them and calculating whether it was enough. As if Pella Rin might suddenly be the male in this cage with her instead of him.
He’d never allow that to happen, but he couldn’t blame her for worrying about it. She’d watched the darkness flash through his face and knew what lived inside him. She knew more about his past than he did, and he was sure she hadn’t told him the worst of it.
He turned at the wall and paced back. It was easier to think about the agricultural bay on Korath-7.
The rows of toramdo had been a welcome sight at the start of each shift.
The grow lights and the irrigation lines and the smell of wet soil had felt like home.
Yes, he’d been a prisoner there, too. He understood that now.
The implant, the guards, the locked doors.
But it had also been safe and stable, and at the time, his mind wasn’t equipped for anything more than that.
He’d had purpose with his plants, and Evie sitting cross-legged across from him, talking to him.
He’d been content there. He hadn’t known enough to want more.
His mind drifted to the two Baylan guards who’d escorted him everywhere he went: Left and Right.
Left had been the taller one, quieter, with a habit of standing so still he looked like a statue.
Right had been more expressive, occasionally making a joke to Left, which Left reliably didn’t find amusing.
Jarran had found their rapport oddly comforting.
Patient males. Professional. They’d never been unkind to him.
They were almost certainly dead now, along with the other few patients in the bay.
They would have tried to protect the patients.
That was their job, and they died because a male he didn’t remember had burned through the ship to acquire him.
Jarran felt a wave of grief for Left and Right.
It felt heavy and wrong, and it sat in his gut like a rock. They hadn’t deserved any of this.
His gaze drifted past the barrier, to the training floor beyond.
The females were still there. He could hear the dull thud of impacts and the sharp bark of a guard calling commands.
His stomach turned and he looked away. In a dark corner of his mind, the knowledge of what he’d been festered, rattling its cage.
The foundation of everything in that training bay had come from his mind.
No, he reminded himself. It was from Pella Rin’s mind.
But he couldn’t think about that. Evie needed him functional.
Footsteps came from the far side of the room.
They were heavy and confident. Jarran stopped pacing.
His body tensed as his instincts pricked up.
Across the cell, Evie’s head snapped up and her gaze went alert and wary.
She pulled her knees tighter against her chest. He could see her fear in the set of her jaw and the way her shoulders jerked up toward her ears.
Durik stopped before the cage and gazed at him. He looked satisfied, and that made Jarran hate him even more.
His cropped bronze hair caught the overhead lights. The scar down his left eye pulled at the skin of his cheek, warping his expression and making it look permanently hard. His pale gaze did not budge from Jarran.
Jarran noticed the dark lines running down Durik’s forearms, curling over the backs of his hands. The same patterns marked Jarran’s own skin. Sifter markings, as Evie had told him once. He was glad he didn’t remember getting them.
“Pella Rin.” Durik crossed his arms. His voice was deep and he spoke the name with a weird reverence that made Jarran’s skin crawl. “It is good to see some fire in your eyes. I feared they had broken you entirely.”
Jarran said nothing. He watched Durik and hoped to hold the male’s attention. Anything to keep it off of Evie.
“I apologize for the accommodations.” Durik gestured at the cell with a sweep of his hand. “Temporary. I assure you, this is not how I wanted to receive you. But you fought our extraction, and you killed one of my guards during the breach. I had to assume you’d forgotten yourself.”
“I am not who you think I am,” Jarran said. “I don’t know you.”
Durik nodded with a casual wave. “You will, you will. The memories will come. I served under you for six tericycles. I was your second. Your lieutenant. Your strategist.” He paused. “Your friend, if such a thing existed between us.”
Jarran doubted it. Everything about this male felt transactional. If this was Pella Rin’s version of a friend, he almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
“I am relieved we were able to free you from Baylan captivity,” Durik continued.
“The rescue took longer than I wanted. Planning the hull breach was difficult. The Korath-7 is an extremely well-fortified vessel.” He tilted his head.
“Was, I should say. Its entire energy core has been destroyed. The ship is dead in space.”
The words hit Jarran in the chest. The ship where he’d lived and the people who ran it were dead. The beautiful plants he’d tended were gone. All of it gone.
His throat tightened. “The patients on board. The researchers. Are they—”
“Acceptable losses.” Durik said it without hesitation. “Honestly, I have no idea if there are survivors. We departed after rescuing you.”
Rescue? Jarran stared at him. It had been an abduction and nothing more. “What do you want from me?” His voice came out rough.
Durik clasped his hands behind his back.
“You’ve earned the right to rest, Pella Rin.
I don’t expect you to resume command. In fact, it’s best that I remain the leader of the Sifters.
The galaxy has changed since your capture, and you are clearly…
diminished.” He said the word delicately, as if worried about offending him.
“But the name Pella Rin still carries enormous weight. Scattered Sifter cells across three quadrants are waiting for a reason to reform. They need to see your face. Hear your voice. Believe that their leader has returned.”
Ah. Jarran understood. He was to be a puppet. A mouth that moved while Durik pulled the strings.
“All you need to do is stand where I tell you to stand,” Durik said, continuing on.
“Speak the words I tell you to speak. Show your face on transmission feeds and let the cells see that Pella Rin lives.” Durik spread his hands.
“In return, you get a private, lavish suite, the finest food and drink, and all the luxuries you desire. Your female comes with you, naturally.” His pale eyes slid to Evie, and the sneer on his lips made Jarran’s blood heat.
“She’s pretty enough, for a human. Not compliant, though.
I can have others brought to you, if you’d like some variety.
Obedient females who can take more of you.
” He smiled knowingly. “Pella Rin always had an appetite.”
Jarran’s fists clenched inside the cuffs. The metal bit into his wrists and the pain sharpened everything. He heard Evie’s breathing change behind him, quick and shallow.
“An easy life,” Durik said. “Pampered. All the comforts you were denied in that Baylan cage. All you have to do is cooperate.”
“If I’m such an asset,” Jarran said, “why am I in cuffs inside a cell?”
Durik’s expression flattened. “Because you attacked my extraction team. You fought us as if we were the enemy.” He paused. “You appear to have forgotten much about who you are. Surely you understand I couldn’t risk you harming yourself. Or anyone else who matters.”
Jarran heard the qualification. Anyone else who matters. Not anyone else. The guards he’d killed, the patients, the researchers. They hadn’t mattered.
Durik stepped closer to the barrier. His voice dropped.
“The Baylans did something to your mind, Pella Rin. The implant, the drugs, the isolation. They turned you into a farmer.” Contempt curled through the word.
“But you are still in there. I saw it when you took down my guard. The speed, the technique, the precision. That was not a farmer. That was the male who built an empire.”
Jarran felt it then. A door in his mind opening just a crack, pushed open by the sound of this male’s voice and the cadence of his words.
Fragments slid through. He saw a room full of hard faces turned toward him, listening with absolute attention.
A long table. Tactical displays. His own voice, steady and commanding, issuing orders.
He knew the feeling of power settling over his shoulders, fitting him the way armor fits a body built for war.
He remembered how it felt to be obeyed. He remembered liking it.
Then, he remembered seeing a face in that crowd, looking up at him: Taron.
His brother, whom he’d drawn into the Sifters for reasons he couldn’t begin to comprehend.
Jarran slammed the door shut with every ounce of will he had.
He looked at Durik’s tattoos and scars and calculating eyes, and he saw a mirror.
Here was a hideous reflection of the evil he’d been.
The evil this male wanted him to become again.
“That name you keep calling me, Pella Rin,” Jarran said. “It’s not mine.”
Durik’s eyes narrowed. The composure held, but barely. “That name built everything you see here.” His voice was edged with ice. “Including me.”
Jarran looked at him and felt nothing but contempt. “Then that name should die.”
Silence hung there and turned sharp-edged before Durik’s expression smoothed back into flat control. He turned and looked at Evie, letting his gaze moved over her slowly. The message was as clear as if he’d spoken it aloud. She is yours, but she is here. So she is mine.
“You will comply, Pella Rin.” Durik’s voice was conversational. Bored, almost. “One way or another.”
He turned and walked away. His footsteps faded, steady and unhurried, and the silence he left behind was worse than anything he’d said.
Jarran’s shoulders ached from the tension in them and his cuffed hands shook. He looked at the empty space where Durik had been and sat down on the floor next to Evie. He dropped his face in his cuffed hands. His breath shuddered out and he pressed his fingers to his eyes and tried to think.
A hand touched his arm. Small fingers wrapped around his forearm, above the cuff.
“You’re not Pella Rin.” Evie’s voice was quiet and steady. “You know that.”
“He’s going to use you,” Jarran said into his hands. “To get to me. He’ll use you to force me to cooperate.”
Her grip tightened on his arm. “You can’t worry about that.”
He lifted his head. “Can’t I?” She moved closer, so that he could feel her warmth through the sleeve of his shirt.
Her light brown eyes were tired and scared, but clear. “If you do what he wants, the Sifters will be empowered and wreak chaos. They’ll destroy thousands of lives, killing as they go.” She swallowed, as if gathering her courage. “I am not worth the lives of so many.”
He turned to face her more fully. “You are worth everything to me.” There was no way to overstate it to her.
She had to understand. “Do not ask me to sacrifice you to stop some unknown outcome.” He held her gaze.
“Because I cannot do it. I absolutely cannot. I would end myself before I allowed Durik to touch you, and I will take Durik and most of this ship with me if he tries.”
She was quiet for a moment. Her thumb moved against his forearm. “Jarran,” she said breathlessly. “I—I don’t know what to say to that.”
“Say you’ll never question what you’re worth to me again.
” He knew his voice sounded harsh, but he couldn’t soften it.
“Say I’m worth something to you, too.” That last bit slipped out before he could stop it.
Now that it was out, he needed to hear her next words as urgently as he needed to take his next breath.
Her gaze locked with his. “You are worth a lot to me,” she breathed. “Even though I wish otherwise. I was supposed to help you heal, but this…” She looked up at him with confusion and sincerity and attraction. “I didn’t expect to feel something for you.”
It was enough. He’d take it. He leaned over and caught her mouth in a rough kiss.
His lips moved over hers for a long breath, demanding and giving.
Testing, to see if she’d pull away. She didn’t.
Instead, she sighed, and her body softened as she leaned into him.
Her shoulder pressed against his chest, and her head tilted to deepen the angle.
He breathed in the scent of her and closed his eyes. This was a moment he’d like to sink into, stay in, and continue, but they both knew moments didn’t lend themselves to lasting long. So he took what she offered and kissed her sweet mouth until she sighed and pulled back.
She believed in doing the right thing. He wanted to believe in it too.
But the cold certainty sitting in the pit of his gut told him that if Durik put a blade to her throat, Jarran would do whatever Durik wanted.
He would stand where Durik told him to stand and speak into whatever transmission feed Durik pointed him at.
He would become Pella Rin again if that was the price of keeping Evie alive.