Page 35 of New World

His eyes were locked on the petite, cloaked figure from the bar. Even though he couldn’t see his guardian’s face, her build and graceful movements signaled her gender. Her hood was drawn low, her stance poised, and her slender fingers lifted in a delicate, almost lazy motion that he could imagine running across his burning flesh.

Dorane’s gaze flickered to the tips of her fingers when she held up a device. His stomach dropped and his eyes widened when he recognized what she was holding.

A detonator.

“Vas’ailora ti’shen!” Holy shit! Dorane muttered in his native language.

Cee recognized the device at the same time he did. Her furious gaze locked onto his. He watched in amusement as her lips parted on a single word before the rest of her sentence was cut off.

“Tzarak—!” Damn?—

He barely had time to tuck his injured arm under him and roll under a nearby metal recycle container before the world erupted in a flash of blinding white. The explosion rocked the alley, heat and Cee’s body parts splattering around him as he buried his face in his good arm.

Pressure in his ears pulsed violently before sound slowly returned, ringing and distorted. He slowly lifted his head, grimacing when he found himself staring into the burnt remains of Cee’s cybernetic skull, her mechanical eye cracked and glazed from the intense hit. He reached for the Gallant Staff that had fallen nearby.

With a grunt of pain and a lot of cursing, he rolled out from under the container, vaguely hoping he didn’t roll in any of Cee’s remains. He grabbed the edge of the container and pulled himself up to his feet just as Asta and Jammer rushed into the alley.

Asta’s eyes widened. “What the hell happened here? Is that Cee?”

Jammer let out a low whistle. “Damn. Wow, I’m glad you didn’t do this to her in the bar. Deek would have really been pissed off at you.”

“I didn’t do it. Someone else did. And yeah, I’ll be alright. Thanks for asking,” he dryly replied, his focus elsewhere.

“You look like shit. Is that Centarian poison?” Asta asked, peering at the slowly healing wound along his arm.

“Yeah,” he replied, his gaze scanning the alley, searching for the cloaked figure.

Gone.

Again.

His jaw clenched.

“Well, it’s a good thing Cee didn’t know you were immune to it,” Jammer said, slapping his injured shoulder. “You are one lucky Aetherialan. I’m glad you’re alright.”

Dorane hissed and glared at Jammer, but it was hard to be angry with Jammer and Asta when he saw the genuine worry in their eyes.

“Let’s get back to headquarters,” he muttered.

He slid the Gallant Staff into his pocket. As he did, his fingers brushed a small device that hadn’t been there earlier. A slow smile replaced his grimace of pain as he rolled the small disk between his fingers. Whoever his guardian was, she had saved his life. Twice. And it looked like she wanted to keep tabs on him.

He didn’t enjoy owing debts, especially to someone he didn’t know. Perhaps she truly wanted to save his life—or perhaps she wanted to toy with him before she tried to kill him.

Two can play this game, lira’vaen eth’shari. His name for her was only going to be my little shadow temporarily, because soon, he would know her real name.

How disappointing, Zoak thought with amused exasperation as he watched Dorane LeGaugh walk straight into a trap.

He had been tailing Dorane for weeks, watching from the shadows as the self-made power broker eliminated the fools who thought they could collect the bounty on his head. Watching Dorane dismantle his would-be killers had been entertaining—a refined, brutal efficiency that spoke to the man’s years of experience in surviving.

But Cee 585 was a different breed.

Zoak leaned forward slightly, his slit-pupiled eyes narrowing. Cee was a Turbinta assassin, and unlike the rest, she actually had a chance. Which was a complication. If it looked like she was going to be successful, he would have to intervene.

Dorane is mine.

He perched in the darkness high above the alley, his four-fingered hands resting lightly against the cold metal railing. The artificial lights of Cryon II flickered inconsistently below, casting elongated shadows through the narrow passageway. From his vantage point, he had an unobstructed view of the unfolding spectacle.

His fingers flexed against the metal railing, the weight of his blade familiar and comforting at his side. Below, Cee activated her blade, the dark purple glow of the energy weapon crackling in the alley’s dim light. Zoak’s nostrils flared slightly as he caught the faint, acrid scent of Centarian poison.

---