Page 6 of Silent Lucidity

The world burst back into Tenthil’s awareness. The lights were on again, bathing the stage in an intense white glow, and the music had stopped. Powerful silence gripped the club. A quick scan of Tenthil’s surroundings confirmed the crowd was staring at him, many wearing stunned expressions. The guards were on the stage, quickly approaching—one of them had barked the order—but neither had drawn his weapon yet.

A commotion at the main stairs caught Tenthil’s attention; Drok, Cullion, and several more guards, including the ertraxxan’s bodyguards, were hurrying toward the lower level. The crowd parted again, this time with a fearful urgency. Anyone who wasn’t quick enough was thrust aside by the burly guards or the massive tralix.

The female shoved away from Tenthil and stepped back. She dropped to her knees and bowed her head, pressing her forehead and palms to the floor.

Even now, Tenthil longed only to pull her against him, to get her off her knees, but the situation was escalating too rapidly. Drok wasn’t likely to have him murdered here, in front of his patrons, but there were a lot of alleys and rarely-accessed tunnels around the building.

Tenthil had botched his mission, had placed his own wellbeing in immediate danger, and still found himself concerned only about the terran.

“What is the meaning of this?” Cullion shouted, voice high and thin, as his retinue reached the stage.

“I’m sorry, Master,” the female replied quickly. “I asked him to join me. We were only dancing.”

Tenthil’s brow knitted. Why was she taking responsibility for his presence?

Drok pounded a fist on the edge of the stage’s walkway. A set of steps rose from the floor.

Cullion did not hesitate to mount them, his bodyguards immediately behind. “That was far more than dancing. Hishandswere on you. Hismouth. I should have you incinerated just to ensure your cleanliness, you gutter slug!”

The female’s fingers curled, her blunt nails scraping the floor, and a shiver wracked her thin frame. Tenthil’s legs flexed with need to carry him closer to her, but he dared not approach. Not while she was at risk.

“You two sleeping down here, or what?” Drok asked.

The guards who’d been beside the stage exchanged a glance; Tenthil imagined their eyes rounding in alarm behind their goggles.

While everyone’s attention was diverted, Tenthil dipped a hand into his pocket, took out the Ergoth pin, and clasped it to his jacket. It was his only chance of deflecting some the hostility that would undoubtedly be unleashed upon him.

“No, sir. We thought he was part of the show,” one of the guards replied.

“Part of the show?” Cullion whirled toward the guard, his thin lips falling into a frown so deep it seemed likely that the upper half of his head would fall off. “All of you know this creature,” he jabbed a long, slender finger at the terran female, “belongs tome. She ismine.”

Fire flared in Tenthil’s chest; the female belonged tohim, not the ertraxxan.

Cullion stalked across the stage toward the terran. He tugged a thin metal line from his pocket and held it up. The free end lashed out on its own, hitting the heavy necklace around the female’s throat, and connected to it with a click. Looping his end of the line around his hand, Cullion gave it a vicious yank. The terran grunted as she was dragged to her feet.

Tenthil’s claws lengthened. He curled his fingers into his palms. Stinging, bitter venom replaced the formerly sweet flow from his fangs.

The ertraxxan led the female toward the steps. “You will pay dearly for this. Perhaps it is my folly for expecting better from so primitive a creature, but you will learn your place.” He brandished his extend finger at Drok. “Should anything like this happen here again, it will be the end of you and your business.”

Surprisingly, the tralix lifted his huge, blunt-fingered hands, palms out. “A mistake, Cullion. Honest mistake. I’ll make sure they all learn their lessons.”

Cullion cast a scathing glare at Tenthil. “See to it, Drok. My trust in you cannot withstand another such blow.”

The ertraxxan tugged the terran down the stairs and across the dance floor. Struggling to keep up with his hurried pace, she stumbled along behind him. The vorgal bodyguards flanked her.

Tenthil clenched his jaw; it took all his willpower to remain in place and watch her go. Whatever awaited her wasn’t good, but it wasn’t his fight. He’d done enough damage to his mission already. The contract would be even more difficult to complete after this, and he would undoubtedly face admonishment from the Master for it. He hated the sense of dread that spawned in his gut.

When Cullion’s group reached the top of the steps on the middle floor, the female looked back over her shoulder. Her eyes met Tenthil’s for an instant; they shimmered with fear, longing, and sorrow.

Tenthil stepped forward.

Drok stepped into his path and slammed a palm into Tenthil’s chest. “Where do you think you’re going?”

The tralix’s blow had been solid, but Tenthil didn’t feel any pain. He leaned to the side for a glimpse at the stairs. The terran was gone, along with Cullion and his guards.

“Seems like maybe you’re not understanding the shit you’re in,” Drok said, reclaiming Tenthil’s attention. “You got problems, and they’re standing right here.”

Several of Drok’s security guards—six in all, each either a vorgal or a borian—moved closer to Tenthil, three to each side of the tralix. Tenthil gave them no ground.

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