Page 87 of Silent Lucidity

Abella steeled herself, tried to block out his assault, but he broke through her barriers as though they were made of tissue paper. He clawed through her mind for what felt like an eternity, leaving nothing untouched. He took everything. She realized at some point that the sound in her ears was that of her own ragged screaming, but blackness claimed her a moment after, delivering her from the agony in her mind.

Seventeen

When he’d gone to take Abella from Cullion’s manor, Tenthil had known returning to the temple would mean death—his own death. But so much had happened in the time since. So much had changed. To Tenthil the individual, the temple was doom, a final plunge into oblivion, the cold embrace of the Void. Tenthil the individual would have fought, driven by his survival instinct, and he would have died with a weapon in hand, unsurprised by the flow of his own blood over the uncaring stone floor.

But for Tenthil the mate of Abella, death was neither inevitable nor acceptable. His fight was not solely for survival. He wasn’t seeking justice for the wrongs done to him, wasn’t seeking payment for the choices stolen from him. Though bitterness, rebelliousness, and hatred fueled him as they always had, they were no longer his primary motivation. Not anymore. Even his anger, which burned with an intensity he’d never experienced, was not his main drive.

For the first time in his life, he was motivated bylove.

Something he’d never been shown before Abella.

He understood now its breadth and complexity. Love was not a single idea, a single emotion—it wasanyidea; it wasallemotions; it waseverything. In his love for Abella, Tenthil would face his own death.

And he would defy death to have her at his side again.

The Master had laid his trap, but his arrogance would undoubtedly lead him to an ultimately fatal mistake—he would wait at the center of his trap to spring it himself. To personally destroy his greatest disappointment.

Tenthil eased the throttle, slowing the hoverbike. Its lights shed their glow on stained reinforced concrete, on graffiti and refuse, on the tunnel that served as a pathway to the temple of secrets—a temple buried deep in the filthy, stinking guts of a city a hundred thousand times too large for its own good. The shallow, murky runoff at the base of the tunnel rippled beneath the bike’s pulsing engines.

He guided the hoverbike close to the tunnel wall and stopped, extending an arm to press the button concealed on a nearby support beam. The hidden door opened as smoothly and silently as ever. He planted a boot against the wall, manipulated the bike’s controls, and shoved off, swinging the bike’s rear out to angle its front end into the tunnel opening. He switched off the lights.

Tenthil took a mental inventory of his gear as he piloted the vehicle along the tunnel; high-end combat armor, a pair of blasters on his hips, several knives and energy blades, explosives and stun charges secured in an armored belt case, and an auto-blaster slung over his shoulder. He’d obtained most of it in Nyssa Vye with Cullion’s ill-earned credits.

It was more than he’d normally carry, but the Order was expecting him; stealth would avail him little, not against the Master’s vigilance. Even if Tenthil hid himself from the surveillance equipment, the Master kept all possible points of entry monitored, and knew full well what to watch for—a door opening seemingly by itself was all the confirmation the Master would require of Tenthil’s arrival.

The tunnel’s lights activated one section at a time ahead of Tenthil’ hoverbike. He clenched his jaw and forced most of his thoughts aside save the most important of them.

For Abella. For my mate. I will hold her soon.

Up ahead, the tunnel’s gentle curve afforded him his first glimpse of the garage door. He swung the auto-blaster’s grip into his right hand, planted its stock against his shoulder, and settled the barrel between the handlebars.

He’d spent most of his life training with Order acolytes under the Master’s watch and tutelage. Despite the countless secrets the Master kept, Tenthil knew how his mysterious former leader thought. He knew how the Master utilized the Order’s resources—acolytes included. And he knew there was no such thing as a perfect trap.

With his left thumb, Tenthil deactivated the energy field projected by the bike to block the wind. He cranked the throttle. The bike lurched forward with a sudden burst of speed.

The garage door began its smooth ascent.

Clamping his thighs against the sides of the bike, Tenthil piloted the vehicle up the curved wall of the tunnel and tensed his muscles as the vehicle flipped upside down. Gravity pulled against him, but he clung to the bike, keeping his eyes on the garage.

The opening door revealed the chamber beyond in small increments; the concrete entryway, painted with cautionary lines, the lower portions of the vehicles parked closest to the door, and finally, what Tenthil had anticipated—the feet and legs of at least half a dozen acolytes gathered in wait.

The first ambush.

Angling the blaster toward the acolytes, he depressed the trigger and swept the weapon from left to right. The blaster released a series of whining thumps as it spewed bolts of plasma in rapid succession, filling the air with their pale blue glow. Many of the shots missed their marks, leaving smoldering holes in the floor and the parked vehicles, but enough struck true to send most of the acolytes down to the floor. Tenthil swung the weapon back in the opposite direction, still holding the trigger, before any of the acolytes could so much as writhe in pain due to their wounds. Their armor didn’t long stand against the stream of super-heated plasma.

Heaving with his legs, Tenthil swung the hoverbike right-side up just as the door opened wide enough for the remaining acolytes—positioned in the cover of the parked vehicles—to return fire. Tenthil cut the bike’s antigrav for an instant, dropping it back to the floor of the tunnel. The rear end struck the ground with a grating, metallic scrape before he flicked the antigrav back on. The vehicle bounced back up to its minimum cruising height of half a meter.

The crackling white orbs the acolytes had fired from their shock staves struck the ceiling and dissipated.

If they were using shock staves—weapons that could be adjusted to fire immobilizing projectiles or strike in melee range with the same paralyzing energy—they meant to take him alive.

Perhaps they didn’t understand the stakes of this battle.

He maxed the hoverbike’s throttle and fired another spray of bolts at the acolytes before they could unleash a second volley. They ducked behind their cover; whether he’d hit any of them or not didn’t matter, only that he was afforded a moment to breathe.

As the hoverbike darted through the garage door, he angled it toward one of the hovercars sheltering an acolyte, braced himself, and leapt off the bike. The hoverbike smashed into the parked vehicle with a deafening crash. Bent metal and shattered parts burst outward from the point of impact, and the hovercar slammed into the next vehicle in line to produce another huge crash.

For Abella.

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