Chapter 15
Xabat
The medi-unit's soft beep signaled the end of the treatment.
I rolled my shoulders and rotated my neck in slow circles, marveling at the complete absence of the stiffness that had plagued me only minutes earlier.
My fingertips explored the back of my head, searching for the small indentation that marked the injury site.
It was gone, the skin beneath my touch smooth and unbroken.
I rose to my feet and stretched, feeling each muscle flex and hearing the satisfying pop of joints realigning. I felt stronger than I had in hours. The weakness that had dogged me was now just a memory.
I lifted the medi-unit from the tabletop where I'd positioned it earlier to direct the healing light at the wound. A cascade of beeps and glowing symbols scrolled across the small display, confirming what I'd suspected. The human bullet had fractured my skull but hadn't broken through.
I returned the medi-unit to the cabinet and grabbed the cup of nutrient drink from the counter, draining it in several quick swallows.
From outside my shuttle, so faint that human ears would never have detected it, came the low whoosh of another vessel touching down.
I glanced at the timepiece embedded in the console.
They'd made excellent time. Only a couple of hours had passed since I'd stumbled back to my shuttle, the journey back having taken far longer than it should have, dizziness haunting my every step.
I slipped my hand into my pocket and reactivated the cuddwisg device before lowering the ramp and stepping out into the open air.
To any casual observer, it would have looked as though Rickon and Cristox simply materialized from thin air. Both of them wore cuddwisg devices like mine, their forms disguised to resemble human males. Cristox had dressed similarly to me—jeans and a shirt—but Rickon wore something... peculiar.
I descended the ramp, my boots clanging against the metal grating, and raised my forearm in the traditional warrior's greeting. "What are you wearing?" I asked, my gaze sweeping over Rickon's attire as our forearms clasped. I turned to Cristox next, repeating the gesture.
Rickon's chest puffed out slightly as he preened, his fingers smoothing down the lapels of his dark blue jacket with obvious satisfaction. "It is called a three-piece suit," he announced, the pride evident in his tone.
"It looks impractical," I commented, watching the way the material seemed to restrict rather than accommodate his movements.
A smirk tugged at the corner of Rickon's mouth. "More impractical than the shirt with the dancing trees you're wearing?"
I deliberately flexed my shoulders, feeling the fabric stretch and give with the motion. "My mate chose this shirt for me," I said, the words carrying more weight than I'd intended.
The air between us shifted. Rickon and Cristox exchanged a glance, their eyes widening in unison. They knew full well that I had come to Earth to rescue Harper at my brother's request. Shock rippled across both their faces, but beneath it, I saw no trace of judgment, only surprise.
Cristox recovered first, his hand landing heavy and warm on my shoulder. "Congratulations, my brother," he said, his voice thick with sincerity. "You are blessed with what we all dream of."
The words should have filled me with pride, should have made my chest swell with the joy of such a sacred bond. Instead, they twisted like a serrated blade between my ribs.
"They took her," I said, the words scraping raw from my throat.
Rickon's expression transformed in an instant, all traces of humor and levity draining from his faux human features. His eyes hardened to flint. "And we will get her back," he said, each word a vow.
"We need to prep for the mission and contact the Historia to see if they've been able to triangulate on the tracker," Cristox said, already pivoting on his heel and striding back toward his shuttle.
I followed, my legs eating up the distance in long strides.
The displaced air cloaking the second shuttle loomed before me, but once I stepped through, the ship flashed into view.
A newer model, one specifically engineered to transport troops into battle.
The ramp lowered with a hydraulic hiss as we approached.
Inside, Cristox settled into the pilot's chair, his fingers already dancing across the controls as he engaged the comm link with the Historia.
I slid into the co-pilot's seat, the chair conforming to my weight.
Behind us, Rickon began a weapons check, the soft clicks and metallic slides of his inspection filling the cabin.
Maddie's face materialized on the holographic display, her dark curly hair pulled back from her forehead with a vibrant printed cloth. Her eyes swept over me in a quick, assessing scan.
"Feeling better, Xabat?" she asked, her voice carrying that particular warmth she reserved for those she considered friends and family. Adtovar appeared at her side, his larger frame filling the edge of the projection.
"Yes," I said, my voice steadier than it had been. "Have you located Harper?"
Maddie and Adtovar shared a glance, something unspoken passing between them in the way only bonded pairs could communicate. A faint curl played at the corner of her lips—not quite a smile, more like the ghost of one that thought better of appearing.
"A location, yes. But you're not going to like it," Maddie warned, her tone shifting to something more cautious. "Whoever grabbed Harper took her to a small island about fifteen miles off the Florida coastline. It's owned by a tech billionaire named Declan Hewes."
"What would a tech billionaire want with Harper?" I frowned, my mind racing through possibilities and discarding each one. My mate was beautiful, smart, strong, and stubborn, but she was a schoolteacher of small younglings, not a tech wizard.
"I wondered about that too," Maddie said, her fingers flying over the datapad lying on the table before her. "But look at this."
A picture materialized on the screen. It showed a ceremony with a lovely female with dark red hair holding, her posture formal and official, holding a medal encased in a velvet box out to Harper.
My mate wore a smile, but it was forced, and her eyes appeared haunted and sad.
She was beautiful, breathtaking even in her sorrow.
But my gaze tore from her toward the male standing in the background.
He stood apart from the ceremony, partially obscured by other attendees, but his focus was unmistakable—a laser beam of attention cutting through the crowd.
The male watched Harper with an intensity that made my blood run cold.
His eyes tracked her, hungry and possessive.
This wasn’t a casual appreciation of my mate’s beauty.
This was the look of a predator who had already picked his prey and was merely waiting for the right moment to strike.
"This is a photo from the Medal of Valor ceremony for Harper's first husband, Seth, who was killed in the line of duty." Maddie's voice held regret, then a twist of disgust as she continued. "It's the only instance I can find where she and Declan Hewes were in the same location."
My hands clenched into fists, knuckles going white with the force of it. "He took her for himself."
"That's what we think," Adtovar said grimly, his jaw tight. "He must have seen her at the ceremony and became... obsessed."
"We will get her back, brother," Cristox swore, laying a heavy hand on my shoulder as though he feared I might bound from my seat and take off in a rage, consequences be damned. He wasn't far off in his assessment.
"We leave now," I insisted, glancing out the porthole where the sun was setting, painting the sky with streaks of orange, purple, and crimson. "The darkness will give us an advantage." Our eyes were far more acclimated to the night than human vision.
"Here's a satellite photo of the site," Maddie said, and the image shifted, pixels rearranging themselves to show a small island with a mansion and compound clustered at one end.
"We'll land at the deserted end," I said, already calculating approach vectors and cover positions.
"Take both shuttles," Adtovar commanded, his face solemn. "There's no telling what you'll find there."
"Be safe," Maddie insisted, then her face softened as her eyes found mine, her expression gentling. "It will be okay, Xabat. You'll get her back."
Her words heartened me more than she would ever know.
"Let's suit up," Rickon suggested.
We moved toward the back of the shuttle, each of us locked in our own thoughts, making mental preparations for what lay ahead.
I pulled open the weapons locker and retrieved a stealth suit from the compartment.
The familiar weight settled into my hands, the material cool and supple against my palms, woven from fibers engineered to drink in light rather than cast it back.
In the darkness, we'd become nothing more than shadows, phantoms moving through the enemy's midst.
I stripped off my shirt, the fabric pulling away from my skin, and held it bunched in my hands.
For a long moment, I couldn't bring myself to set it aside.
Harper had chosen this for me, had run her fingers over the material, and smiled when I'd put it on.
The shirt was precious beyond measure, despite the dirt and the dried blood that stiffened portions of the fabric.
I pressed my face into it, drawing in a deep breath, desperate for her scent.
Only the faintest hint remained, a ghost of her presence that made my chest ache with longing.
I carefully folded the shirt, smoothed each crease, and placed it in the locker.