Page 72 of Sheltered in the Storm

My Calla was not there.

For a moment, I stood frozen, staring at the empty bank, as if she might appear from the grass or from behind a tree, laughing at my expression. But my Calla would not play this kind of trick on me.

In a heartsbeat I was out of the water and at the top of the bank with no memory of having traveled there. Calla’s uniform, boots, backpack, and daggers remained in a neat pile next to my own clothes beside the tree, but the shells I had lovingly gathered were scattered across the grass, not in the neat row in which I had left them.

Then a scent reached me that sent me crashing to my knees: Calla’s blood. A spray of crimson across the shells I had gathered for her.

My world went silent and cold, as if the sun had been blotted from the sky.

Darkness closed in until all I saw or smelled was that blood, spilled while I was only meters away, searching for shells whenI should have been here guarding her.

The thought was a roar in my mind.

Deep in my soul, a great crashing black wave of rage rose. This was the monster I had held at bay for so very long, whohad slept peacefully once my Calla came. But now someone had taken my Calla, and the monster had awakened.

I opened my mouth and bellowed, the sound rolling through the swamp like boulders down the slope of a mountain. Everything went silent, as if the predators of the water and land knew something much deadlier than they had emerged.

My vision sharpened, turned silvery and crystal clear. My tentacles lashed the air, quivering in rage, the claws on their tips flaring from the sheaths that kept them hidden.

Like a beast, on my hands, feet, and tentacles, I searched the bank. In moments I found the track: the lingering scent of Calla’s blood and strange prints that led away into the marsh in the opposite direction of our home. A half-dozen or more sets of prints, none of them humanoid. Raiders? Perhaps. Or perhaps an enemy from my past had come looking for me and taken my Calla instead.

Whoever had done this, I would not stop until I found my mate. And then I would leave nothing of her attackers but their blood on my hands.

Growling, I stuffed our clothing and Calla’s daggers into the pack, adjusted its straps so it fit on my back, and took off following the tracks and the scent of my mate’s blood.

CHAPTER 25

CALLA

I wokenaked and in agony, lying on my right side on a dirt floor. The air stank of body odor, chemical fire, and old fuel cells.

With a groan, I rolled to my back, looked up, and let out a strangled, pain-filled cry.

The creature looming over me was enormous, with a black segmented carapace, two bright blue multifaceted eyes on long stalks, two clawed hands on jointed arms, and four thick legs with wide, flipper-like feet planted on either side of my body. I didn’t recognize the species by sight, but the gods-damned thing must weigh nearly two thousand kilograms. If they sat or fell on me, I would die instantly.

My chest heaving, I reached for my left shoulder, the source of so much pain. My fingers found a lot of blood and some kind of thick, round, metal bolt about four centimeters wide protruding from my flesh.

Son of Valodian batkeeper, I’d been shot—and withsomething much nastier than a standard plasma gun. The back of my neck stung too, like maybe I’d been darted with something that knocked me out.

The last thing I recalled was sitting on the grass at the inlet waiting for Vos to return with more shells. I had no memory of actuallybeingshot, or hearing or seeing my attackers, or how I got to wherever the hells I was, but clearly I’d been kidnapped. I had no idea how long I’d been unconscious. Was I even still on Iosa?

My stomach churned and heaved with pain, fear, and anger. What about Vos?Where was my Vos?

I turned my head to look around what appeared to be some kind of small, filthy, poorly lit bunkhouse, but saw no one but this creature. A metal cuff on a thick chain bound my right ankle to a tipped-over double bunk bed. No sign of Vos anywhere. What did that mean? The possibilities terrified me more than the creature above me.

The creature bent their head and eyestalks until their blue eyeballs nearly touched my face. They studied me as if I were a test subject in a lab. I stared back, my jaw clenched to hold in my pain. I’d be gods-damned if I gave this being the satisfaction of hearing me whimper.

“Does it hurt?” my captor asked in Alliance Standard, each word accompanied by thick clicking sounds. Clearly the language was not natural for the shape and design of their mouth, but I understood the words well enough. And the tone was unmistakably vicious.

“Fuck you,” I said, my voice strained. “Where’s Vos?”

The creature made a strange grating sound I realized was a chortle or laugh. “I am sure he will find us soon,” they said, their eyeballs roving above my face, maybe enjoying my pain. “We left many tracks in many directions, but an assassin of his calibre will not be fooled for long. I must make the most of what time I have with you, little plaything.”

My pain and fear became anger. “At least tell me who the hells you are.”

“Stalling, little one?” They made that grating sound again. “Buying time for Vos Turek to find you? I have told you he will come, but he will not like what he finds. I will leave him pieces of you. Perhaps he will try to put you back together.”

This must be someone from Vos’s past out for revenge. They looked at me as nothing more than a way to hurt him. I’d encountered this kind of cruelty before. It didn’t bode well for me.

---