Page 40 of Silent Lucidity

“What do you mean? You’re big, but you’re notthatbig.”

The answer was yet another secret the Master never wanted revealed, but the Master’s wishes no longer mattered to Tenthil.

“I can alter my bioelectrical field. Obscure myself from recordings.”

“Is that like…some kind of cyborg thing or something?”

He scanned the crowd as they walked, careful to keep their pace steady and casual despite his urge to get to their next destination as quickly as possible. “No. Bioengineering.”

“Okay… I’m not dumb, but I went to a performing arts school for dancing. Science and technology weren’t exactly my areas of interest. Are you saying you were made in a tube or something?”

Tenthil drew in a deep breath through his nose. Her scent was on the air, strengthened by her nearness, but there were hundreds more smells all around, and now it was the smell of cooking food that caught his attention. He altered their course again, angling toward one of the many food vendors set up along the sides of the street. It had been a long while since they’d eaten, and he needed to ensure his mate was provided for—with something more than the bland, pre-packaged meals they’d been living on.

“No. I was born,” he replied. “But I was…changed, as a child. I look like one of my kind, but I am different inside.”

“Why would you do that to yourself?”

“I didn’t.”

He felt her slight resistance as her steps faltered, and he slowed to accommodate her.

“Someone else did?” she asked. “Why?”

“To make me what I am.” Tenthil brought them to a stop at the end of the short line for one of the booths. Aromatic meats and vegetables roasted and fried in the booth, which was tended by two tall, multi-armed dacrethians. Tenthil kept his arm around Abella, holding her close.

It was a dangerous thing to draw such comfort from her nearness, to find such joy in her warmth, to have allowed himself to become so attached to her in so short a time, but he was helpless when it came to her.

“Was it…thatman?” Abella asked. “The one from the hologram?”

Tenthil’s hold on her tightened involuntarily. He nodded.

She frowned and reached up to brush the tips of her fingers over the scar on his cheek. “Did he do this, too?”

Tenthil’s chest constricted. He clenched his jaw and nodded again. Her touch had no right feeling that good, not there. Her fingers lingered, lightly stroking the scar tissue; when he glanced down at her, there was a sorrowful, troubled gleam in her eyes.

Abella lowered her hand. “Why would he do that?”

The person in front of them completed her order and moved aside. Tenthil stepped up to the window, grateful for the interruption. He pointed to the food he wanted on the flickering holo-menu and paid the female volturian who was taking the orders, using one of the untraceable credit chips from the safehouse. Once he’d paid, he walked Abella to the next window to await their food.

He felt Abella’s eyes on him, felt her expectation, but he couldn’t bring himself to say more—not here, not now. She must’ve seen it on his face when he met her gaze, because she nodded slightly and turned to watch the dacrethians cook.

When their food was served up, he handed the first container to her and took the second in his free hand. They continued walking along the street, following Tenthil’s mental map toward one of the few places in the city Tenthil knew that wasn’t under the Master’s constant vigil.

Abella brought the container to her nose and sniffed the steam rising from it. She groaned low and deep; sound went right to Tenthil’s cock.

“This smellssogood,” she said

“Eat.” Tenthil raised his container and tore off a bite of meat. He’d rarely had the pleasure of a hot meal—had rarely taken pleasure in food at all—and this tasted better than anything he’d ever had.

Apart from Abella; her taste would forever be his favorite.

He watched her while he chewed. She devoured the food, occasionally bumping his abdomen with her elbow as she took successive bites; she ate like she’d been starving.

She was thinner when I took her from Cullion’s than she was at the club.

Had the circumstances been less chaotic, he would’ve taken more time to consider her state when he saved her. Abella had been slim to begin with; for there to have been noticeable difference in her weight after only seven days meant she’d gone hungry during his period of cowardice and indecision.

Guilt burned in his chest like acid. Her suffering was his failing.

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