Page 15 of Silent Lucidity

As the days passed, Tenthil sought ways to distract himself, to keep his thoughts from returning to the terran. A small voice in the back of his mind—the only voice he heard over that time in the temple’s silent halls—insisted he already knew what to do, where to go. All his efforts to silence that voice failed; that failure heightened his agitation. His balls ached with the constant need for release, and the terran’s scent randomly returned to him, washing over his senses and stiffening his cock. He stole away more frequently to attempt to assuage his body’s demands. Each time, he thought of her. Each time, his imagination took things a little further. And each time, despite the easing of physical pressure, his craving for her strengthened.

By the fourth night, he was dreaming of her as he slept. The dreams always began with the dance they’d shared, but grew more wrong with each passing moment, often culminating in shadowy figures tearing Tenthil away from her and enveloping him in impenetrable, viscous darkness that slowly broke him down into nothing.

Her lingering scent on the jacket weakened each day; that realization triggered an odd sort of panic within him. Before long, he’d only have the memory of her smell. How could that ever be enough?

He’d not received a new assignment by the seventh day after the encounter in Twisted Nethers. Many of the other acolytes gave him a wide berth as he strode through the halls; word of his performance in the sparring ring had spread amongst them, conveyed through brief exchanges in sign language. Tenthil paid no mind to their faces as he passed them.

What were they to him? The Master’s love of secrets and silence meant most acolytes, even those who communicated with one another, didn’t even know each other’s names. They belonged to the Void. Only Corelthi caught Tenthil’s attention with her bold, openly disapproving glares. He spent little time staring back at her; his frustration was great enough that he could not trust himself to maintain restraint in the face of her judgment.

The voice in the back of his mind had grown from a whisper to a roar, but he didn’t understand what it truly was until the eighth day. When he woke, the sight of his chamber’s walls and door ignited blistering fury in him, spawning a wave of fire that swept up from his gut to fill his chest and crash through his limbs. His fingers tensed, lengthening his claws. He could not bear another night in the temple. His place was elsewhere, Void take the Master.

He knew then what that voice had been all along—not a thought, or a desire, or a rage-fueled compulsion, but aninstinct. A primal drive embedded deep within him that he could no longer ignore.

Tenthil dressed and donned his combat armor; it was lightweight and flexible enough to offer protection without hindering his speed and maneuverability. Its built-in sheaths allowed him to carry several knives and energy blades in addition to the custom-built blaster on his hip. Such attire was common throughout the Undercity and the Bowels—a well-armed individual was less likely to encounter trouble—but only the wealthy and well-funded possessed equipment on par with the Order’s.

This was how acolytes equipped themselves when trouble was likely. Private security forces often necessitated such measures—and Cullion’s financial transactions suggested he kept at least a dozen bodyguards on his payroll through Starforge, an elite private security organization.

Anticipation thrummed through Tenthil as he walked to the garage. Taking action was a small relief in itself, but his impatience would not subside until he had the terran in his possession. He shouldn’t have wasted seven days; he should’ve acted sooner. His body brimmed with pent-up energy, and his heart beat at an elevated pace. His excitement mingled with his simmering anger and frustration to create something new, something dangerous, for which he had no name. One way or another, he would have his female.

He would have her tonight.

Tenthil climbed onto a hoverbike, engaged the engine, and drove toward the entrance. The garage was quiet—like every other room in the temple—save for the low, steady hum of antigrav engines. It seemedtooquiet.

Something heavy sank in his stomach, and the ever-present ache in his throat intensified. Did the Master already know of his intentions? Was there a group of acolytes waiting behind the parked vehicles or on the other side of the garage door, charged to bring Tenthil to justice for betraying the Master, for abandoning the Order?

His brows fell low. Whether or not the Master already knew, Tenthil had made his choice, and he would see it through to the end. Whenever the Order came for him, the physical enhancements and skills with which he’d been imbued by the Master would allow him to exact a heavy toll upon his former comrades.

The blast door slid upward, revealing only the empty, circular tunnel beyond. Once the opening was wide enough, he cranked the throttle, and the hoverbike darted forward. Everything in Tenthil’s peripheral vision was reduced to a blur by speed. Within a minute, he’d emerged from the smaller maintenance passages and was hurtling through the express tunnels, weaving amidst increasingly thick traffic as he climbed from the Bowels toward the Undercity. The bike’s protective field blocked the wind and diminished the surrounding noise; a strange urge drove him to deactivate the field.

Roaring air rushed around him, sweeping his hair back and threatening to blow him off the bike, but he tightened his hold against the force.

For an instant, a faded, distant memory rose to the forefront of his mind—he was riding a strange beast beneath an endless, starry sky as it raced across a field of tall, fragrant grass. The wind brushed over his face, tousled his hair…

Tenthil growled. That life had been taken from him forever; he would not allow his female to be taken, too. He reactivated the protective field and pushed his vehicle faster.

Not long after entering the Undercity, he pulled into a narrow, secluded alleyway, and turned off the hoverbike. He pried open the compartment to access the bike’s electronic components and ripped out the navigation and tracking system, tossing the parts to the ground. The gap he left in the compartment wasn’t pretty, but the bike started when he pressed the ignition; that was all he needed.

He continued his journey, finally parking a full sector away from his destination; even with the tracking components removed, he was wary of the Master having some way to track the vehicle. The day was young, and he had time enough to reach Cullion’s manor on foot, but the decision rekindled his impatience. He wanted his femalenow, wanted to renew the strength of her scent in his nostrils, wanted to know anew the feel of her skin beneath his fingertips and lips. It took a startling amount of willpower to keep himself from climbing onto the bike again and piloting it directly to Cullion’s front door.

He navigated the Undercity streets and walkways by memory—years ofworkhad left him quite familiar with many of its sectors. The streets were filled with beings of all shapes and sizes conversing in countless languages as they shopped, traded, ate, performed, and traveled. Tenthil was aware of them only in that they were potential obstacles between him and his goal; the mere thought of any further delay in obtaining the terran made his chest constrict.

Large, crowded elevators eventually brought him to the next tier—the Gilded Sector. The difference between it and the prior sector were stark. Everything here was cleaner and more refined. Fewer people walked the streets, and those who did were well-dressed. The hovercars speeding by overhead were of a higher grade.

And numerous Eternal Guard peacekeepers were positioned in plain sight, making their presence clear.

Tenthil knew this area well—he’d worked in it and similar sectors many times. Though the Eternal Guard was run and supported by the city’s overlords, the Consortium, would-be troublemakers were often deterred from entering such areas by the prevalence of private security personnel employed by wealthy residents and businesses. Such security firms were unconcerned with legal process or moral standing—they were licensed to utilize deadly force to protect the interests and lives of their clients.

But hired guns and sophisticated security equipment had never been a deterrent to Tenthil.

Though his fiery emotions did not ease, his instincts shifted in response to the new challenges presented by his surroundings—he became a hunter stalking the shadows rather than a bloodthirsty, rampaging beast.

Despite the pristine shops, offices, and homes the sector displayed outwardly, it was just as riddled with alleys, maintenance tunnels, and discreet catwalks as any other. Tenthil used those secluded pathways to his advantage, keeping out of sight as he moved toward Cullion’s manor. He maintained the faint bioelectrical buzz on his skin that would mask his presence to most electronic devices throughout.

His first glimpse of the building was from a downward angle; he stopped on a maintenance catwalk which ran across the underbelly of the sector’s ceiling and stared down at his intended destination from fifty meters up.

Cullion’s home was emblematic of the people who tended to dwell in these upper-class sectors—it appeared to be constructed of materials that few people could afford, and its exterior lights served only to accent the shining metallic inlays and overly-detailed carvings along its walls. Its dark-tinted windows hid the interior from prying eyes. Cullion wanted the world to know his wealth and to understand it would never be theirs.

A reinforced security wall, outwardly adorned to match the manor, enclosed the grounds. The gap between the wall and the building was largest out front, forming an open space fifteen or twenty meters wide. Along the sides of the building, that separation was reduced only to three or four meters. Even those as wealthy as Cullion couldn’t afford to leave much space unused. The security devices atop the outer wall—sensors, holo-recorders, and shock coils—were in plain view. They only enhanced the building’s message—I have it all, and none of it is for you.

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