Untamed Hunger (The Infinite City #4)

Chapter 1

ONE

Arthos, the Infinite City

Drakkal wasn’t sure how, but he’d get back at Arcanthus for sending him on this delivery.

He’d arrived at the client’s manor—one of the largest residences in the Gilded Sector—ten minutes before the appointed meeting time, eager to conclude this business and be on his way.

Per the instructions he’d been provided, he’d used the tunnels below street level to access a hidden entrance, where he’d endured suspicious glares and firm questions from the security guards.

They’d finally allowed him inside, and he’d had the privilege of weathering a forty-minute wait in the kitchen as over a dozen servants prepared an immense meal.

Even after the volturian guard who’d stared at Drakkal with cold, blue eyes during his entire stay in the kitchen had finally led him to the client’s study, Murgen Foltham—the immensely wealthy durgan businessman Drakkal had come to see—still hadn’t shown his face.

Drakkal folded his arms across his chest. His tail flicked restlessly, and his ears drew back.

And here I’d thought Arcanthus was a pain in my ass…

Releasing a heavy breath that ended in a low growl, Drakkal scanned the room. Everything here was ornate nearly to the point of sacrificing functionality, right down to the oversized desk and the chairs positioned around it.

Like most other manors in this part of the city, this place was more a status symbol than a home.

It was an elaborate, excessive, unnecessary display of wealth, and just being inside it irritated Drakkal.

Such residences presented an illusion of freedom and beauty at odds with the subterranean, gritty nature of the Undercity.

It was all fake, it all stank, and the expensive, exotic scents these people used to cover the stench only made it worse.

Drakkal strode forward and sat in one of the chairs in front of the desk, resting his tail on the cushion between his thigh and the armrest. Just as he’d guessed it would, the chair forced him into a rigid posture that provided no comfort.

The volturian guard stepped closer. “I didn’t say you could sit.”

Drakkal glanced back at the scowling volturian. The discomfort caused by the chair seemed a fair price for the guard’s perturbation. “And I didn’t ask. Where’s Foltham?”

“Master Foltham will be here when he’s available. He doesn’t plan his schedule around the likes of you.”

Lifting his cybernetic left arm, Drakkal activated the holocom built into its wrist. His wait was approaching the fifty-minute mark.

Drakkal settled his hands on the armrests and pushed himself to his feet. “Tell your boss that he can contact us when he’s serious about concluding our business. Any future meeting will be conducted at a neutral location at a time of our choosing.”

He walked toward the door. The volturian stepped into Drakkal’s path, tilting his head back to meet Drakkal’s gaze.

“You don’t belong here, you overgrown sewer skrudge,” the volturian spat, “but Master Foltham has chosen to do business with you. So you’ll stay here and wait like a good little animal until whenever he declares the transaction completed to his satisfaction.”

“I don’t care who he is,” Drakkal growled, baring his fangs. “I’m not going to have more of my time wasted. Stand aside or draw your blaster to save me the dishonor of an unfair fight.”

“You skeks-sucking—”

The door to the study swung open, and the volturian snapped his mouth shut, keeping his intense glare fixed on Drakkal.

A large alien walked through the open door—Murgen Foltham.

He was perhaps two or three centimeters taller than Drakkal, but his body was huge, with thick, trunk like limbs and a round belly that dominated his overall shape.

He had no neck to speak of, and his fleshy jowls hung low enough to rest upon his chest. The most solid part of Murgen Foltham seemed to be the pair of four-centimeter-long tusks jutting up from his lower jaw.

He wore a loose black tunic with silver trim that was secured around his waist by a wide, violet sash from which dangled countless gold and platinum trinkets, many of which were embedded with gems and crystals.

“Ah! You’re finally here,” Murgen said in a rumbling bass voice. “Our appointment was forty minutes ago. I was beginning to wonder if—”

“I’ve been here for nearly an hour,” Drakkal said, gaze locked with the volturian’s, “and I’m on my way out now.”

Murgen made a sound that was half-grunt, half-groan, and shuffled closer. The metal adornments on his sash clinked together as he moved. “Come now, I’ve set aside time from my day for this meeting, and I’m quite busy. Money doesn’t earn itself—at least not quickly enough for my liking.”

Gritting his teeth, Drakkal suppressed the growl threatening to rise from his chest

Doesn’t matter if I’d like nothing more than to gut these pompous gresh navari. This is just business. Besides, don’t want to give Arcanthus any ammunition to use against me by botching a simple deal.

Drakkal doubted that any of the Infinite City’s billions of residents could manage to say the words I told you so with as much smugness as Arcanthus could.

The volturian stepped aside as Murgen neared.

“Come, then,” Murgen said, settling a hand with three short, thick fingers on Drakkal’s shoulder. “All’s forgiven. No one’s perfect, after all, and it’s unfair of me to expect too much of folk from lesser social strata.”

Just business, Drakkal repeated in his mind. The thought didn’t cool the angry fires that had been lit in his chest.

“So generous of you,” was the best he could manage to say.

“It’s a small thing.” Murgen lifted his hand only to drop it on Drakkal’s shoulder in a heavy slap.

Drakkal clenched his fists, pressing the claws of his right hand into the heel of his palm.

He always told Arcanthus to remain calm.

How hypocritical would it be for Drakkal to lose control of his temper now?

It didn’t matter if part of Drakkal’s mind insisted he was shaming himself by letting Murgen’s comments slide; he’d moved on from the azheran concepts of pride and honor long ago, hadn’t he?

“So is the ID chip you ordered,” Drakkal replied. “If you have the credits, I have your chip. Let’s be done with it.”

Murgen chuckled, producing a booming sound that made the flesh of his throat expand as though it were filling with air. “No, no. Let me show you something special, something people like you rarely have an opportunity to see.”

Keeping his tone as neutral as possible, Drakkal said, “Maybe another time.”

“Come now”—Murgen squeezed Drakkal’s shoulder—“I insist. Your forger, he does good work. Let’s solidify our relationship with this little treat.”

Drakkal found himself glad that he’d put on a thick jacket to cover up his sleek prosthesis despite the way such clothing sometimes irritated his fur; he had a sense that Murgen’s direct touch would’ve been far more uncomfortable.

Murgen was the sort of person Drakkal had dealt with often during his years as a gladiator on Caldorius—friendly only so long as one served a purpose.

After drawing in a steadying breath, Drakkal nodded.

“Good! Come along, azhera.” Murgen turned away, glancing at the volturian as he moved. “Nostrus, accompany us. We’re off to the menagerie.”

Nostrus glared at Drakkal again. Were his eyes any colder, there’d be ice crusting his eyelashes. “Yes, sir.”

Drakkal said nothing. It seemed holding his tongue was the best course of action here if he meant to be done as quickly as possible, even if it meant suffering Murgen’s condescension and Nostrus’s ire. His only consolation was that Arcanthus was charging Murgen well above the standard rates.

He followed Murgen into the hall. Nostrus fell into place behind Drakkal, and the azhera could feel the guard’s gaze, chilled and heavy, on his back.

A hint of unease colored Drakkal’s irritation; he was in an unfamiliar place with people he didn’t know.

Dangerous people. Murgen had already made it clear that he viewed Drakkal as a lesser being, and Nostrus seemed hungry for conflict.

Drakkal forced his tail to still. He’d learned long ago that it served as a tell that could cause trouble in situations like this. Besides, he’d been in worse places. He’d dealt with people like Murgen and Nostrus countless times.

Just have to get through this. Then I never have to see either of these two again.

What was a few more minutes at this point?

He would soon discover that, if nothing else, a few more minutes was a gross underestimation.

Murgen stopped at a blank section of the wall. “I trust that, given the nature of your…profession, you understand that you must divulge no details regarding what you’re about to see?”

Drakkal grunted his understanding.

Murgen’s big, dark eyes widened along with his grin, and for the first time, his mask slipped, revealing a hint of the real person beneath—a person who would devote countless credits to destroy the life of anyone he deemed an enemy.

Drakkal held the durgan’s gaze until Murgen looked away.

Murgen extended an arm and pressed one of his thick fingers to the wall. A large section of the wall slid upward, disappearing into the ceiling and exposing a set of sturdy metal doors. A moment later, the doors slid apart, opening on an elevator car.

Drakkal’s fur bristled. His current relationship with Murgen and Nostrus wasn’t exactly built on trust, and elevators weren’t the most comforting spaces.

The relatively tight confines were extremely restrictive when it came to combat; things tended to get brutal and desperate in such conditions quickly.

Murgen stepped into the elevator first, turning to face the hall.

Drakkal didn’t allow himself any hesitation; he stepped in after Murgen and positioned himself with his back against the far wall.

Nostrus entered last, leveling his cold, hard gaze on Drakkal even as he turned his body toward Murgen.