Page 22 of Silent Lucidity

When he reached the hoverbike, he turned the female toward him and sat her in front of him, leaning her against his chest. He hooked an arm around her torso to secure her in place and grasped the controls with one hand. She’d been unconscious for almost an hour, now; he knew enough about terran anatomy to kill one efficiently, but he wasn’t certain of their limits, tolerances, and normal functions—was this typical, or was it a bad sign? How easily did they suffer internal damage?

How durable were they?

Her head settled against his shoulder as they darted through another express tunnel, and he rested his cheek on her hair. It was soft, smooth, and fragrant, adding a floral note to her scent. If her closeness alone hadn’t been enough, her smell pushed him over the edge. His body demanded her, cock throbbing and balls aching. To have her here, in his hold, and be unable todoanything was maddening.

Growling, he forced his attention back to the task at hand and twisted the throttle, making the hoverbike lurch forward with a fresh burst of speed.

Despite his concern for the terran’s wellbeing, he drove two full sectors in the wrong direction before finally diverting to one of the many Order-operated safehouses scattered throughout the city. The severity of the bump on her head wouldn’t matter if they were blasted out of the air by a Starforge clean-up crew.

After guiding the vehicle into the small garage and sealing the entry door, Tenthil climbed off the bike, lifted the human into his arms, and cradled her against his chest. He glanced at the surveillance screen on the garage wall, positioned beside the stairwell entrance; the feeds monitored all sides of the large building, watching for activity, but everything was currently clear. Tenthil carried the terran through the interior door, into the living space.

Like most of the Order’s safehouses, the furnishings were sparse but functional. Food storage and preparation shared a room with the bed. A door in the corner led into a bathroom with a narrow shower stall. Another door—designed to blend seamlessly with the wall—opened on a chamber containing weapons, ammunition, equipment, and a terminal to access the Order’s network.

He laid his terran on the bed and paused, briefly debating whether to scour the room for surveillance equipment and deactivate it. He opted not to; disabled feeds would rouse immediate suspicions back at the temple, drawing the Master’s attention to him that much faster. He could shroud himself from the cameras. That would have to be enough for now.

Tenthil turned away from the female to remove his armor, boots, gloves, and the upper and lower halves of his combat suit, setting it all aside for later cleaning. Dressed only in his undershorts, he walked back to the bed and stared down at her.

It was the first quiet moment during which he’d been able to truly look upon her, to examine her face in pure light and absorb its details. Her skin was pale, nearly translucent, offering hints of thin, blue veins at her temples and on her delicate eyelids. He placed a hand upon the bed next to her shoulder and bent closer. Thick, dark lashes rested upon her cheeks, and shapely brows arched over her eyes, leading to a straight, pert nose.

Tenthil moved a hand to her face and lifted several strands of hair that had fallen over it, rubbing it between his fingertips. Many species in Arthos had hair—Tenthil himself did—but hers was unlike any he’d encountered. Though it was straight and thick like his, it was softer, and possessed a subtle sheen beneath the overhead lights. He trailed his fingers down the strands, moving from black to vibrant blue; his knuckles brushed the smooth skin of her cheek that sent a wave of heat up his arm.

His gaze dropped to her mouth. Sweet venom flowed over his tongue as he recalled the feel of those pink lips against his. Soft, inviting, yielding. He swallowed thickly and lowered his mouth toward hers only to halt when he caught scent of blood—Cullion’s blood. Clenching his teeth against his desire, against the throbbing in his groin, against his need to touch her, Tenthil drew back.

He grasped her blood-stained shirt by the collar, punctured the fabric with his claws, and split the material from her neck to belly. He sucked in a sharp breath.

She was bare beneath.

His heart pounded, sped by the sight before him. Despite the blue blood that had seeped through her clothing to smear her pale flesh, she was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. Before her, he’d never felt such desire, had never fallen victim to his body’s cravings, had never abandoned self-control like he wanted to in her presence. Everything within him yearned for this female—for her touch, her scent, hertaste.

He lowered a hand over one of her small breasts and brushed the pad of his thumb over her pink nipple, which hardened immediately. It was only then he realized his hands were trembling—not because the high of battle had finally faded, but because of his overwhelming, unfathomableneed.

Never in his life had his hands been unsteady—it was unacceptable for what he was, for what he did.

Tenthil snatched his hand away from her, breaking that contact, and released a shuddering breath.

Fuck.

Straightening, he thrust his clawed fingers into his hair, tugging it back hard enough to produce sharp pain on his scalp, and growled. He backpedaled and forced himself to turn away from the terran.

What is wrong with me?

The question tumbled through his head, repeating itself, but he focused pastit; at that moment, the answer was unimportant. His world had been one of shadows, violence, and death for almost as long as he could remember, and he’d learned long ago that thinking too far ahead of anything could easily cause more trouble than it solved. Tenthil worked best when he tackled one issue at a time.

He needed to check her for wounds and tend them as best he could—that was the priority now.

He couldn’t afford to stop and imagine how different his life could be with her in it.

Clenching his jaw, he spun around and returned to the bedside. He ignored the ache in his groin as he took careful hold of her, worked her arms out of her sleeves, and rolled her onto her side to pull away her shredded shirt. He stilled when his gaze settled on her back.

Dark, thin bruises crisscrossed her back, each one surrounded by irritated red skin indicative of mild burns.

Tenthil knew the marks for what they were—wounds from an electrolash. The Master had used one on him before in hopes of curtailing his tendency toward insubordination. His own back tingled with the memory of the pain he’d suffered.

The fury that had prompted him to action earlier rekindled, replacing the oddly sweet venom in his mouth with the bitter. His claws lengthened as his muscles tensed. He should have taken his time with Cullion, should have made the bastard suffer for hours, fordays, before granting him the release of death.

A low growl rose from his chest as he grasped her collar on both sides and pulled. The ornamented metal bit into his fingers, but he ignored the pain. With a groan, the latch broke, and the sides of the collar bent outward. He tossed the neckband aside.

The faint scarring around her neck—barely perceptible against her pale skin—further fueled his now-impotent rage. But with no immediate threat to her, his instinct turned in another direction—he wanted,needed, to draw her close and comfort her, to nurse her wounds, to make her know everything would be all right. There was no more need for fear.

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