Page 84 of Stars in Umbra
‘Are we running clean?’ the SableKhosimuttered, dipping his timbre for only Mo’s ears.
‘So far,’ Mo said. ‘No threats. No breaches. Just chest thumping, skanky drunks and posturing.’
‘Good,’ Kainan said, clapping him on the upper arm. ‘Let’s keep it that way.’
He prowled away with his arm around his woman’s waist, trailing after the rest of the Riders.
Mo clocked the secondhertransport hovered above, soul lurching in anticipation.
Rina’s flyer landed with a hiss. When the doors slid open, Mo turned, and the air went out of him.
She stepped out in a floor-length off-the-shoulder gown that glimmered like liquid night, cut to flatter the soft curve of her hips and accentuate her tits.
Her hair, piled on her head, featured braids with jet-black pins, her earrings flickered like starlight, and her eyes, by all the gods, held him like a blade to the throat.
‘You’re gaping, soldier,’ she murmured, gliding up to him.
Mo clenched his jaw to stop from gawking like a schoolboy.
‘Tis like you planned that outfit to throw me off my game,’ he growled.
‘I did. I also intended to leave you staring after me. So, if you’d excuse me, Commander, as I sway away and achieve my goal.’
‘Fokk,you’re a tease,’ he groaned.
He caught her wrist as she passed. ‘Save me a dance.’
She tilted her head, the barest smile on her lips. ‘I’ll save you more than that. Later?’
He jerked his chin, not trusting himself to speak as she turned and disappeared through the entrance.
Hips swaying with the kind of promise that made Mo want to rush her and whisk her away, where they’d forget all rank and duty.
Before he could dwell further on her beauty, a uniformed Sable security officer jogged up, his face tight with a mix of urgency and annoyance.
‘Commander, we have a stranger out front,’ the operative reported. ‘He’s handing out cards and bothering the Galician delegation. Says he’s here to network.’
Mo let out a slow exhale. ‘What does he look like?’
‘Tailored suit. Gray hair. A bit too smooth,’ the guardsman replied, his tone laced with disdain.
Mo moved to the outer perimeter checkpoint, his eyes narrowing as he spotted the figure just as he was climbing into a glossy, deep-green flyer.
‘Hey, mister, who are you and what’s your business here?’ Mo called out in a growled command.
The man paused, his hand on the flyer’s hatch door.
He was a study in polished privilege, the expensive fabric of his ensemble clinging to a physique that suggested more than just boardroom battles.
His face was a mask of practiced charm, but in his eyes, a brief, cold glint of cunning flashed, enough to set Mo’s instincts on high alert.
‘Name’s Caidan,’ he replied, the words dripping with casual confidence. ‘Just a humble businessman putting out a few feelers.’
‘Feelers belong in market halls, not military balls,’ Mo growled, his jaw clenching. ‘This isn’t a sales conference.’
Caidan grinned, unbothered. ‘Relax, Commander. I’m just admiring the talent, trying to make new friends, and greeting old ones. You’re still looking impressive, Molan. Good to see you keeping us proud.’
The flyer’s door hissed shut, and the vehicle rose, banking into the dusky sky before disappearing toward the horizon.
