Page 66 of Silent Lucidity

Grinning, she twisted to look behind them and offered the sedhi an enthusiastic wave.

He wasn’t sure if she was being friendly or condescending, but when Alk only released another groan in response, Tenthil couldn’t help feeling a swell of pride and satisfaction in his chest.

Thirteen

Tenthil sank into a low crouch, placing one hand on the metal beneath. The shadows he’d positioned himself in were a welcome comfort, especially paired with his natural disruption field, but he refused to lower his guard.

He ran his gaze over his surroundings; from his perch atop their current safehouse, he could see the entirety of the rectangular chamber in which that safehouse stood, including the other units nearby—he guessed they’d originally been intended as storage units of some kind, though most of them looked like they’d been neglected for many years. Dirt and trash had built up on the ground, obscuring much of the concrete and metal. There were even some strange plants growing in a few places—they were pale, sickly things that had likely come from another planet thousands of lightyears away hundreds of years ago.

The chamber was perhaps twenty meters high—leaving plenty of clearance for the storage units—and a hundred meters across at its largest point. The walls slanted toward the center, where the only light—a huge, yellow-orange circle that sometimes flickered—was situated. Its illumination touched most of the debris-strewn ground below, but it didn’t quite reach the buildings or their roofs, being largely blocked overhead by prominent pipes and large, squared-off bulges in the concrete and metal.

There’d been no sign of movement over the last ten minutes apart from a lone sewer skrudge; the half-meter-long vermin had dug something out from beneath a rusted metal sheet and scurried off into a crack in the wall.

Tenthil’s eyes shifted frequently toward the entry tunnel, which itself was dimly lit by failing lights. There were at least two other routes by which the chamber could be exited—the metal-rung ladders that led up from the sides of several of the storage units and connected the catwalks overhead, and a smaller access tunnel sized for foot traffic on the ground level, hidden behind a tristeel door that onlylookedlike it wouldn’t open.

Without intending to, he turned his mind to Abella as he rose from his crouch. Pride warmed his chest, and a small smile spread across his lips. She’d done well today, better than he would’ve expected—better, even, than the best he could’ve hoped for from himself.

Frustration sparked in his gut to clash with that sense of pride; she wouldn’t have had to step in if not for Tenthil’s mistakes. He’d allowed his instincts to get in the way of his purpose. His need to protect Abella had placed her ingreaterdanger. Their only goal had been to obtain the ID chips, and his need to assert dominance over anyone who challenged his claim on Abella—even when there was no true conflict over her, as with the azhera—had almost plunged their mission into chaos and bloodshed.

Were the forger not an honorable individual—at least on the surface—Tenthil and Abella would never have left that place alive, and the only Tenthil would’ve been to blame.

Abella, on the other hand, had proven herself clever, attentive, and adept reading people and situations. If he hadn’t known better, Tenthil would never have guessed that her only experience in Arthos had been as a slave; she’d carried herself with poise and confidence through circumstances that would’ve rattled many other individuals.

He walked to the edge of the roof and leapt across the two-meter gap separating their safehouse from the adjacent unit. Setting a casual pace, he searched for potential listening devices or surveillance equipment; fortunately, the search turned up nothing.

He reflected upon his growing adoration and admiration of Abella as he silently traveled from unit to unit, continuing his search. His attention repeatedly returned to the safehouse door, which, at a glance, was indistinguishable from the entrances of the other units.

Even if his initial urge to claim her had been driven by lust—which he didn’t believe—his feelings for her had deepened significantly over their time together.

Abella was brave, spirited, and determined, but she was also gentle, graceful, and compassionate. She was Tenthil’s first real taste of many of those traits, and he was addicted to them as he was to her scent, taste, and feel. That a person such as her could exist went against everything Tenthil had known during his time in the Order. Compassion and selflessness were weaknesses—that she could be strongandcaring at once shouldn’t have been possible.

And yet there she was. Proof that what he’d been taught by the Order hadn’t been the accumulated secrets of the Void, or a path to enlightenment, or how to serve a higher calling. All they’d taught him was how to kill.

Abella was teaching him how tolive.

She was the only reason they’d been able to get information on the forger’s location from the informants. She was the only reason they’d made a deal with Alkorin.

That deal meant another shift in priorities; they had a source for the IDs, and now they needed funds. The credits Tenthil had taken from the Order safehouse were enough to keep him and Abella fed and sheltered for a few weeks, but they wouldn’t cover even a quarter of one of the ID chips.

The Order had access to vast amounts of liquid currency, but attempting to access any of it was far too risky; that path was closed off. He needed a means of obtaining a large sum of unlinked credits in a very short while.

Unfortunately, his training hadn’t involved lessons on obtaining money quickly. The Order had always provided his housing, food, and allowances—undoubtedly through funds that he and his fellow acolytes had brought in by fulfilling contracts. Dwelling on the credits he’d earned for the Order wouldn’t do anything but make him angry.

Growling to himself, he completed his circuit of the storage units and jumped down to the ground.

The Infinite City was massive, and some people claimed the Bowels were larger than the Undercity and the city on the surface combined; even the Order’s expert hunters wouldn’t be able to find Tenthil and Abella right away. He had a little time to plan.

A little time to tend to the needs of his mate.

Nonetheless, he checked over his shoulder as he approached the safehouse entrance. He doubted he’d ever feel fully safe, fully secure, no matter how long he lived, but he was grateful for his alertness now. It was one of the few things that could guard his mate from harm.

He opened the door and paused; music pulsed from within the room, muffled by the sound dampening field that likely spanned the walls and doorway. Tenthil stepped across the threshold, and the music struck him full-force—drums beating in a wild, savage rhythm, loud enough for him to feel the bass of each beat down to his bones, but not nearly loud enough to be deafening.

Abella looked at him and grinned from her place beside the desk, upon which the console’s projection displayed a series of moving bars that pulsed in time with various pieces of the music. She wore one of the outfits they’d purchased before meeting with the forger—she’d thrust it at him before he had a chance to examine the garment, but he recognized its colors. It was a long-sleeved, formfitting, black dress with swirling violet and green designs, its hem stopping midthigh. Her blue-black hair hung loose around her shoulders and down her back.

His gaze moved up her long legs and over the curves of her hips and breasts, and desire swept through him. It didn’t matter that he’d claimed her body, that he’d marked her with his fangs, his venom, his touch, his scent, he wanted her again, and again, and again. His hunger for her would never be sated.

Abella rushed to his side, pushed the door closed, grabbed his hand, and tugged him farther into the room.

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