Murgul (Brigands of Ruk)

Prologue

MURGUL

The steady rasp of metal against stone usually soothes my turbulent thoughts, but today, it fails to bring the calm I crave.

I cannot say I have ever dealt with change well, not that I would openly admit it to anyone.

Life is change, and if we do not adapt, we die.

It is a concept Slavic has drilled into our heads since we escaped the frackin Aynar many orbital rotations ago, but that does not mean I have to like it.

Abandoning my task, I toss the whetstone on the table to my right and gently lay the sword next to it as I look around the armory.

As weapons specialist, this room is my domain and sanctuary, but today it holds no solace for me, because even here, amidst the implements of death, the life-changing tides on the Zenith are prevalent.

Through the open door, I can hear females laughing—traversing the corridors from place to place as they go about whatever it is females do during a rotation.

It is a sound completely foreign to me, for I do not remember hearing anything of its like before Slavic found his Ruby, and Einar his Rowan.

Of the two females, Ruby is the more gregarious, always laughing and finding joy in something.

She is the perfect balance to Slavic’s overly gruff and serious nature.

Then there is the little broken one called Rowan…

Suffering hides behind her eyes. It is something I recognize well, and even though it is an odd feeling for me, somehow, I have empathy for whatever it is that she endured.

Einar’s gentle nature is the perfect balm to soothe the ragged edges of Rowan’s tortured soul.

The gods of Ruk knew what they were doing when they inserted my soft-hearted brother in her path, not that they went about it in an inconspicuous way—though subtlety was clearly not part of their plan.

Nearly being used to incubate Velgriddix young is hardly what anyone would call an inconspicuous intervention.

Shuddering in disgust at the thought, I force myself to remain calm.

The mere hint of those foul beings makes my hands sweat with stress.

Then there is our sweet Kallen. She is the epitome of what a Ruk female should embody.

I am not sure what Ruarc did to deserve such a kindhearted female, but she is his mate—if only he would get his head out of his arse long enough to see the gift the gods have bestowed upon him.

Surely, they must know what they are doing with all their divine knowledge, despite the fact he has done nothing but reject their gift thus far.

But that is not something I have any control over.

Shaking my head at his stupidity, I realize that we are split in half, with myself, Falon, and Bikar mateless, and Slavic, Einar, and Ruarc mated.

Taking a deep breath, I force myself to relax into my chair, allowing the tension to flow out of my limbs.

None of us ever really believed in the concept of a Starshine.

Slavic, Ruarc, and Einar, as the elder three brothers, remember our mam telling them about the special bonds our species can form with one another, but none of us were aware it could be achieved with an entirely different, unknown species.

Not only do two of my brothers have the other halves of their souls, but if Kallen, the lost Rukuhk princess, is to be believed, not only is our mam alive, but we also have a youngling sister hidden on the remote planet of Deapra.

A pang of envy slices through me, and I wince in shame.

I do not remember my mam. At all. By the time I was born, the Aynar no longer bothered to hide what they were doing to my people.

From what my older brothers have told me, I was taken from our mam almost the moment she bore me.

So, this quest to Deapra—to find her and our sister Atasha—doesn’t hold the same weight for me as it does for Slavic, who spent many orbital rotations believing he’d watched our mam die before his eyes.

It is hard to long for something or someone that you have no knowledge of or a deep feeling for.

I know that my apathy disappoints Slavic greatly, but to feel anything less than grateful for the stories he provides would be disingenuous, and I will not dishonor the love my brothers have for our mam by acting like a fool.

This is part of the reason I have started spending so much time in the armory alone.

All the communal areas of the ships are overrun with my brothers, their females, and the other human females we rescued.

It is… crowded, and I do not do well in crowds.

So, it is best for me to maintain what little peaceful distance I can from the more delicate humans.

Soft footsteps coming down the hall catch my attention, and without conscious thought, I use the tip of my tail to flick the lights off, shrouding me in darkness, the corridor back-lit in front of me.

Hair the color of a sun moves past the open door, gleaming under the shining ceiling lights.

Suddenly, I feel an intense want deep in my being—an invisible string pulling me toward the creature on the other side of the door.

Confused, I turn from the corridor, forcing myself to push aside the strange longing welling deep within my core.

Such things are not meant for me… for us.