Chapter 19 ZAPHAROS
Patiently, I waited for Sloane Pericolosa Storm to arrive at the outpost. I had purposefully chosen one that was firmly in Pandraxian hands, and where humans were slowly becoming more of a norm.
Unfortunately, patience was never my strength, not when the Dark Abyss clawed at the Verge, and Ella’s absence gnawed through me like acid.
I should have been with her. Every instinct in me demanded it.
Instead, I was here, biding time in this forsaken station while mortals shuffled about their errands, wishing I could feel the warmth of her hand in mine rather than the cold hum of alien steel.
When my comm finally pinged, alerting me to her arrival, I rose. Protocol said I should have waited in the conference room she’d rented. Polite. Predictable. Boring.
But I wasn’t made for polite or predictable.
So instead of waiting, I slipped into the shadows of the corridor outside, my aura pulled so tight around me that even the station’s sensors would think me a void. The corridor was empty as I watched and waited for her to arrive.
Sloane Storm. I wasn’t sure what I expected, a jittery bureaucrat in too much armor, perhaps.
But what I got was a soldier. And a well-trained one at that, as I found out the moment I stepped out of the shadows to meet her.
I wasn’t going to harm her. She was here because I had summoned her, nothing more.
But obviously, she didn’t see it that way.
She reacted within a breath. A blur of motion, and suddenly I was flat on my back with a blaster pressed cold to my temple.
Amusing.
She’d managed to pin me, yes, but only because I let her. If I’d wanted her throat crushed, it would have been done before she drew her weapon. Instead, I lay still, watching the bryx—steel—in her eyes, the determination etched into every line of her body.
“You're Sloane Storm,” I said smoothly, keeping my voice even.
I didn't think she would appreciate my bout of amusement just then. I wasn’t even remotely bothered by the blaster pressed to my head.
I could still stop her anytime I wanted.
"Former MARSOC, recruited by the CIA before the Cryon invasion. A ghost in the system ever since."
Her eyes narrowed, sharp and suspicious.
“You have no room talking about ghosts,” she snapped, pulling the blaster back and righting herself.
I stood fluidly, dusting myself off, letting her look her fill. And look, she did. Her pulse betrayed her even as she tried to stay defiant. Her eyes swept over me, all of my nearly seven feet of Arkhevari flesh and fury. My aura burned more golden than it had in millennia.
“I’d love to stay and let you ogle me all day,” I laced my voice deliberately with arrogance; I didn't want the poor human falling for me. “But what do you say we move this conversation to a more secluded spot?”
She holstered the weapon but kept her hand close, keeping her distance, still pretending she had the upper hand. “Lead the way.”
I studied her coolly, then turned back down the corridor, not toward the conference room she thought she’d rented, but a different door on the opposite side.
The guards I’d encouraged to take a nap in the cleaning closet didn't make a sound behind the closed door.
The entrance opened, and I bowed with mocking courtesy, gesturing her inside.
She passed close enough that I could feel her tension, the tiny rise of hairs along her neck. Good. She understood what I was. That was her first smart instinct.
The room was a monitoring station, and the walls were covered in screens displaying every corner of the hub. She turned to me, sharp suspicion in her eyes.
“Where are they?” She asked about the guards, but I doubted she actually gave a drek about them. She didn't strike me as a sentimental type.
“Occupied,” I grunted, jerking my chin toward a supply closet where a handful of Imperial soldiers were quietly nursing unconsciousness. “Let’s get down to business.”
I tilted my head, studying her the way I might study a blade I hadn’t yet decided was sharp enough to keep. “So, you are the emperor’s newest pet project?”
Her spine stiffened. “I’m nobody’s pet.”
A chuckle rumbled from my chest, low and mocking, designed to set her teeth on edge. “That’s cute. I bet you think you’re here on your own terms.”
“I’m here to arrange a meeting between you and the emperor,” she shot back. “A meeting you requested.”
I sighed, drawing it out, dripping with disdain. “That would make you his errand girl. I thought you were a big bad spy.”
I've been waiting for her temper to snap and was finally rewarded as it made her nostrils flare. She clenched her jaw and stepped closer. Her eyes were flashing with anger. “I don’t care who you think I am, but I’m not playing games. Do you want to arrange a meeting or not?”
For a long moment, I let the silence stretch. Watched her stand there, bristling but refusing to back down. I liked her temper.
Finally, I exhaled. “Fine. Have it your way. Tell the emperor I will be waiting for him on Zycada, at the Wings and Tits.”
Her lips parted in disbelief, and I couldn’t resist winking. “I trust you will tell your boss I am who I said I am?”
Her jaw worked, grinding, but she didn’t deny it. She couldn’t. She knew.
“Why do you want to meet him?” she asked, in a tight voice.
I considered leaving her with nothing but silence. But then I let the truth drop, simple and heavy. “I need to warn him.”
“Cryptic,” she muttered.
My mouth curved with quiet amusement. “I trust you will be there, little errand girl?”
Her glare was sharp enough to cut steel. “And miss meeting you again?” she said in mocked horror, shaking her head.
I smiled, though inside the black snarled. She didn’t know it yet, but this little human spy was about to become far more than an errand girl.
The Wings and Tits. I picked it just to antagonize her.
Why, I didn’t know. Maybe because her restrained fury in our last meeting had amused me more than I cared to admit.
Maybe because a soldier-spy wrapped that tightly in control deserved to have her composure tested.
Whatever the reason, I had chosen the sleaziest den of flesh and distraction the Pandraxians had to offer.
The place was as crude as its name promised.
Neon haze, stale smoke, bodies pressed too close.
Winged dancers twisted around poles in the main chamber, feathers glimmering in low light, while the clientele ogled with the hunger of predators who’d never been told no.
I sat in a private room overlooking it all, the glass designed to see without being seen, and let the ugliness wash over me.
I leaned forward in the chair, watching the private dancer on the stage in front of me with deliberate hunger.
My aura pulsed gold and black with every sway of her hips, but it took an effort to make it appear like I was enjoying the show.
My thoughts were firmly with Ella. It wasn’t desire, not even close.
It was theater. When Sloane Storm walked through that door, she’d find me playing the part of the arrogant bastard she believed me to be.
And right on time, the door slid open.
“You’re late,” I said without looking up, keeping my voice cold.
“Well, we didn’t exactly set a time,” she shot back, every word clipped with irritation.
I smirked faintly, still pretending to be more interested in the dancer than her. But I caught the way she scanned the room, always assessing, always cautious. One-way windows. No extra exits. Ceiling unmarked. She was a sharp woman.
“She’s got to go,” Sloane said flatly, nodding at the dancer.
“Sorry, sweets,” I murmured, rising to my feet.
For the briefest second, I let her think I meant her.
I felt the spike of her anger, sharp and satisfying.
But then I turned to the dancer instead, offering a hand like some ridiculous gentleman.
The female slid down the pole, and I kissed her hand, just to rile Sloane further.
“You are a goddess,” I told the dancer, dismissing her with a lazy grin.
When I finally looked back at Sloane, her jaw was tight, her eyes flashing with barely contained fury. Perfect.
“Send him in, little errand girl,” I demanded haughtily.
The sharp retort on her tongue practically burned the air between us, but she swallowed it down. Another reason she amused me. Most would have tried to snarl back, but Sloane’s discipline was like bryx; she knew when and how to pick her battles.
She retreated without a word, slipping out like the dancer, and then Emperor Daryus entered. I straightened and turned my amusement into bryx. Games were for Sloane. With Daryus, it was time for war.
The private chamber sealed behind us, muting the noise of the strip club beyond. Daryus lowered his hood, and for the first time, I saw the Emperor of the Pandraxians. His gaze was sharp, his jaw set, and his aura flared with authority even without words.
“So,” he said, folding his hands behind his back. “The Arkhevari still walk.”
I leaned against the edge of the table, arms crossed, meeting his stare without flinching. “Legends die hard. We were never gone, Emperor. Only watching. Fighting where your kind could not.”
His eyes narrowed. “Why reveal yourself now?”
“Because the dark grows,” I answered simply.
“The Dark Abyss is not passive. It births monsters. They gnaw at the seams of creation, clawing for a way through. My brothers and I have held them at bay for eons. But we are fewer, our strength has diminished. Without balance, without our Aelyth, even we will fall.”
Daryus’ expression flickered, just once. “Aelyth,” he echoed. “You lost soulmates, just like we lost ours.”
I inclined my head to acknowledge his point, even though he had no idea how close to home he hit. Both of our species lost our soulmates to pride and the never-ending search for more.