Redemption Arc (Shadow Zone Brotherhood #4)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER

ONE

ARC

The sky is that shade of yellow that humans call goldenrod, and someone—somewhere—is screaming.

It’s not the wind cutting through the glacial valley. I don’t hear it with my ears. These screams are in someone else’s head… and I don’t know where they are.

Dawn hasn’t fully broken, but even in the strangely amber darkness, I can’t see anyone or anything that might be making that sound.

I kill my bike’s engine, as if that matters, and pull my gun from my thigh. The click of the mechanical release is a welcome sound. I know where it’s coming from.

The Zone doesn’t leave many places to hide, and as I peer through the scope, scanning the ice turned green by the slowly rising suns, I know I won’t find them.

Because the screams have changed, and… we’re going to crash.

I jerk my head up as a ship punches through the darkness. Fire and smoke paint a dark gash across the sky.

Mangled metal, crumpled and burning. The ship is missing an aileron on its remaining wing, its nose is punched in, and the silence from the engines makes it clear there’s no saving it.

Cursing, I pull my helmet back on, the visor blooming to life with readouts and a trajectory map. It’s going to land in the Zone… not great, but better than other options.

No record of ownership pops up—it’s not an Agency ship, thank the Saints—no military markings. Definitely not a pleasure craft. But it is Sian-made. A cargo hauler?

I watch it, knowing there’s nothing I can do.

When it skims past me, I’ll follow it to its demise and see if I can dig out any survivors.

For now… I hit the comm and ignore the imagery in the left half of my visor.

“Are you seeing this?” I ask when Drift picks up.

“Seeing—” The curse that interrupts his question is answer enough.

The ship’s rapid descent hasn’t put out the fire. If anything, it’s fueled the flames.

“I’ll follow it down, but it looks like it’s going to land in Breaker’s section. Give Sparky a heads up?”

“Yeah. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

He disconnects and I say, “no rush” under my breath.

An explosion tears out the back of the ship, and thicker, smokier plumes billow from it as the dark hull hurtles past me.

The ship starts to fracture… no, that’s not right.

A piece detached.

My visor tracks it, providing measurements I don’t need before it gives me a clear picture of the thing tumbling out of the smoky sky.

An escape pod.

But only one.

The nexus link in my visor has finally found the type of ship.

Small cargo hauler. Obsolete design. Minimum crew of seven.

The pod’s chute opens and catches, and I look at the ship… no one else is making it out.

Engulfed in flames, the ship hits a jagged spire on the inner caldera and deflects, twisting and spinning, and its impact shakes the ground beneath me.

The screaming stops.

A chill that has nothing to do with the ice seeps into my skin.

The wreck is a smoldering mess, and the pod…

Tumbling, it’s still airborne, but it won’t be for long.

They deployed too late. The chute struggles, punctured by debris, and fails…

It hits like a bomb, spraying snow and rock into the air, burrowing out a crater all its own.

Ow.

I hear it as if it was whispered in my ear, and I flinch.

Whoever is in that pod, she is alive.

I kick my bike back to life and head for her, ignoring the ugly billowing smoke.

The pod is half buried beneath the snow it sent flying into the air, and its housing is a mess of dents, but these things were designed for less-than-ideal landings.

She hasn’t tried to get out, and her thoughts are incoherent. Maybe she can’t get out.

Luckily, escape pods were designed to open from the outside… even ones as old as this.

Climbing up and onto the pod, I follow the instructions that populate on my visor.

It takes a minute and a half to clear the snow away so it doesn’t fall in on her and another to de-ice the emergency release mechanism.

The hatch is ungainly, and I have to put all my weight into levering the thing open.

It barely budges. I yank and twist, and there’s a harsh snap before I fly backward into the snow.

“Fuck the saints.” I look at the broken handle in my grip before throwing it away. “How old is this thing?”

Climbing back up, I use that gap to pry the thing open.

Some part of the hinge is busted, and I’m panting by the time I shove it back far enough where I’ll be able to get to her.

She’s still alive. Her thoughts aren’t actual words, but the low buzz of what I hear when Shock or Risk are dreaming.

Inside, airbag-like cushions have clamshelled together, and I don’t bother trying to shove them out of the way. Yanking my knife from the small of my back, I pop them.

They deflate, recoiling into their compartments and revealing the woman they protected during her tumultuous landing.

Even with her short blonde hair splayed over her face like a veil—fluttering with each exhale—I can see it clearly.

I stare at her for a beat too long.

I shouldn’t recognize her face.

“Fuck.”

I pull off my helmet and toss it to the side. I don’t know why, but maybe my face will be less startling than the dark screen of the visor.

“Chrys?” I reach in and touch her face, turning it up to me, and she murmurs something.

The woman in the escape pod is my brother’s bondmate’s sister.

A woman I’ve only seen a handful of times on a comm screen, but whose face has burned into my memory…

A woman who should be on Earth.

A woman who’s bleeding…

Double fuck.

I look up, searching the icy horizon, listening for the sound of a monster’s thoughts, but I don’t hear them.

She lets out a moan of a breath and shivers. Her clothing certainly wasn’t meant for the Zone.

It’s skin tight, only one leg and one arm covered in the colorful diamond-patterned fabric.

A hole is cut out at her stomach, exposing her navel with dark spiderwebbing emphasizing a glittering jewel, and her shoes look barely thicker than socks.

Her bared skin is like a gallery. Lines and shapes and images draw my eyes over her, and I have to force myself to stop trying to see them all.

I need to get her out of here.

Reaching in, I check for any obstructions and then lift her out. She lolls against me and mutters something incoherent.

Her thoughts are babble, like background noise.

She shivers again, and this time, she doesn’t stop.

I don’t have time to search the pod for anything else, but I do have an option.

Carrying her to the bike, I lay her over it, hating the way she looks like the cavrinskh carcasses Trench takes home.

It takes a moment to get my suit open to my waist. Another minute to get it off my shoulders, but it takes no time at all to slice through the fabric and cut it off.

Wrapping her up in it like it’s a blanket, limbs bundled up tight, I hold her close to me and rub her back, hoping the shivers will stop.

“Come on, Chrys.” I want her to warm up a little before I have to speed across the ice.

Her head moves when I say her name, and her eyes open for a moment. She looks at me with two different sized pupils and her mouth in a little “O.”

Mint chocolate chip flutters through her mind.

She leans nearer, just close enough that she can lick my cheek, and then she passes out again.

Damn.

But she has stopped shivering.

I check that everything is wrapped up, making sure I have a good hold on her before kicking the bike to life, taking off with barely a second glance at the smoldering wreck sending polluting the sky.

I should call Risk or Shock and let them know I’m coming, but I don’t want Drift to know she’s here… I don’t want him to take her away from us.

That should make me turn around. I should take her to Trench’s outpost. I should take her to her sister, but I left my helmet at the pod, so I can’t anyw—

The explosion is deafening.

Skidding the bike to a halt, I hold her closer and turn back to the unsightly wreckage. It’s worse now that it’s in pieces.

What remains—amid the fire and smoke—has carved out a crater. No one survived that.

I need to go homehome on the rangeare there antelope in Wyoming?

Her thoughts are jumbled. They’re smushed together and some of the words don’t make any sense. Maybe I just don’t know what they’d translate to.

But she shifts and those thoughts turn back into the gentle buzzing. She huffs a little sigh and snuggles closer.

Smoke from the wreckage isn’t the only plume billowing into the sky.

We’ve only used the fireplace in the outpost once. I know it’s not an accident that it’s working now.

Shock knows we’re coming. He’s preparing.

Good.

Our outpost is the only one in the caldera that doesn’t have geothermal heating. The fireplaces are the only option for heat, and before now—before her—we’ve never had a need to use them.

Top downwhy’s my top off?

Her thoughts fill my mind, and I flinch as she laughs in hers.

Snowball fights aren’t any fun.

Glancing down, she’s not awake, but her lips are pursed in a scowl.

As I pull into the garage, I can smell the smoke, and an uneasy thought strikes me… where did Shock get the fuel?

I don’t bother with parking the bike. I kill it and let it go wherever it wills.

Its engine barely dies before I’ve slipped off the thing, carrying her away and have her through the door that Shock holds wide for me.

He has it calibrated for her.

Risk waits at the diagnostic machine; Shock was right, it is already calibrated for her.

Neither of them try to take her from me. They help as I unwrap her and lay her down on the table.

And for once, they don’t have any opinions. Only questions.

“Did you try waking her up?” Shock asks.

“Yes. I keep getting snips of thoughts from her, and she opened her eyes for a moment while I was getting her wrapped up.”

“She’ll wake up,” he assures. “Just give it time.”

I nod, exhaling and stepping back as Risk runs the diagnostic program.

When the blue halo forms over her, my skin crawls, like I’ve fallen into a hive of frost mites.

She looks dead.

Risk’s thought twists my stomach.

“She’s not dead.”