Page 4 of Chased By the Alien Mercenary
“I will scan,” Mitnick interjected from behind us, and Aramon snapped his mouth shut abruptly, turning dangerously in his seat to glare at the hacker. Of course, I knew that my twin would never crash this ship, even if he wasn’t watching the sensors while he flew. There was no one more talented at flying any vessel—it didn’t matter what. Give him a damn kite and he’d make it soar. The same went for hacking and Mitnick: give him a device and he’d crack it in no time at all.
Slapping Aramon on the back of his head made him face forward, but I didn’t need my eyes on the sensors to read the navigational data. It was a trick—one I’d practiced hard at—because I hated being blinded to my surroundings. I would open my eyes and see not the computer’s data streams as I processed and calculated the ship’s most optimal route, but what was around me. I couldn’t do it on the Varakartoom; that ship was too big, the data too massive. But the tiny shuttle was fine. So, I squinted at Mitnick as he perused data on his datapad.
Those wings made my shoulders itch, pale but streaked with red, taking up so much space. His presence always made me feel like I could end up buried beneath all those feathers, so I kept him at a distance, warned him away. He was a good male, though—loyal, honorable. I knew in my heart that he would not have left me buried in the rubble any more than my captain or my brother had. He was on task now too, eyes focused on the data on hispad and the data flicking over the holo visor covering one of his razor-sharp eyes.
Then they flicked up, those bright yellow orbs with their darker golden streaks. They met mine directly, as if he’d known all along that I was staring at him. My spine tingled, my body growing tight with tension—tighter still—and, in the back of my mind, the calculations of the computers ebbed and flowed. Was he being confrontational? Itching for a fight? If so, I’d give him one he’d never recover from. Or was he just curious, like that damn pink Nelly? I hated not knowing, so I snapped back in my seat, skin twitching with unease, and focused on my job.
The rustle of wings and feathers, then Jaxin’s sharp and commanding voice: “What is it, Mitnick?” I wanted to look over my shoulder again, uneasy at not knowing what was going on, filled with the ever-growing feeling that something was going to go really wrong any minute now. Our Weapon Master was the one in charge of the mission, and he stood braced at the center of the shuttle, his laser cannon cradled in his arms. The sturdy Rummicaron seemed to think seat belts were optional, and, truthfully, the way he withstood the forces of the tight turns and dips that Aramon took the ship through, he certainly made it seem that way.
“I think Solear is right,” Mitnick said. I just knew his eyes were on the back of my head, and I ran my hand over my hairless skull, fingers brushing along the port at the base, where a wire currently connected me to the navigational console. I had never said a word, but the hacker had inferred from what Aramon had said that I was the one with the gut feeling. “There is something different at the target location, more heat than I expect from a dormant household. We should tread carefully.”
More heat? That could mean many things—machines running, a drug plant, for example—or it could mean more people. My gut churned, but there was nothing we could do now. This mission was important, and Jaxin wasn’t going to call it off unless he had concrete evidence; a bit of extra heat wasn’t enough. It was too late anyway, Aramon was pointing the shuttle around a final tall mountain capped with snow, and abruptly, a beautiful, sprawling mansion came into view.
I held my breath as we spun around it in a tight circle while Mitnick released a horde of drones from the cracked hatch at the back of the shuttle. “Three dozen guards,” he murmured immediately. “More inside. There’s a large ship landed several clicks from here, powered down so it didn’t show on our scans.” He raised his head, and we were all looking at him now as he declared, “Some bigwig is visiting—maybe even Jalima. Do we proceed?”
Then a shot fired past our bow, and Mitnick dove back into his machines, working to disable them. Jaxin snarled as he hailed the Varakartoom, but Aramon whooped as he spun our shuttle into a landing, right on top of the fancy marble swimming pool. “Fuck yes!” he shouted. “What’s a few dozen more, right?”
Right. My mouth practically filled with saliva at the thought of Jalima being there. Was today the day I’d finally wrap my hands around his throat and squeeze the life out of him? There was a long line of people eager to see him dead, but if he was here, I’d make sure I was the one to kill him. Heat scored my veins as the urge to fight became all-consuming. Yes, kill the bastard. Kill him for what he did to me, to Aramon, to our father. And yes, for what he did to our captain, too.
I shared a look with my brother, and his eyes reflected my own, his feelings mirroring mine. “Today,” he said. Any worries about the mission or the strange feeling of unease that had filled me faded to the back of my mind. Yanking the plug from my head that locked me into the navigational computer, I leaped to my feet. Aramon was at my side, weapons drawn, claws flexed, teeth bared. We leaped from the shuttle and onto a patio to the sound of shouting from our crewmates behind us, but neither Aramon nor I listened as we charged into the house and faced the first line of defense.
“Yesssss!” I snarled as I shot one Krektar and leapt onto the next, wrenching his neck with a sharp twist. Now we were fighting, the prospect of vengeance within my grasp. “Ourgrasp!” Aramon reminded me along our telepathic bond, the words crisp and sharp. He did not want me to leave him behind, to take this for myself. But when I smelled something enticing—something powerful—I ducked into the hallway without him, leaving him in my wake, separated by fighting guards and Varakartoom crew. This scent, this was it! This was what I was after. Instincts took hold of me, riding me so hard that nothing mattered but the hunt. The chase. Tracking that scent until I could pounce.
What I’d do after I’d pounced, I had no clue. Roll around in that luscious scent? Cover myself with it? Kill it and eat it? Was it Jalima? Was it someone else? Somethingelse? I didn’t know, and I didn’t care. All that mattered was that I hunted it down. I was no longer aware of Aramon, my crewmates, or the raging fight. I only saw the obstacles between me and my prey. Closer. So close.
***
Lyra
A muffled boom sounded, the noise distant, muted by the thick stone walls that surrounded me. Was it an earthquake? A bomb going off, or the blast of a laser cannon? I had not spent my career chasing stories in warzones, so I wasn’t familiar with the sounds of battle. But Ihadvisited a mining planet once to investigate the ‘top notch’ tourist lodgings and views, but also to report on the massive scandal the mining company was involved in. I still recalled the way the ground trembled and the explosives boomed as they carved deep tunnels into the planet. This sounded similar.
Was the mansion under attack? Had that red-and-gold bastard brought danger with him when he came here? And I didn’t mean the kind of danger that involved slapping me around and sexually assaulting me. I crossed my fingers beneath the thin blanket with both hands. What if he was a criminal, and this was whatever counted as police, raiding his place? I hoped that meant freedom was within reach, but considering my luck since Colony Planet 12, I sincerely doubted it.
When more noise began to reach my ears, I got up from the cot and shuffled on cold feet closer to the metal bars to peer out. Light came from the end of the hallway, but very little of it reached as far as my cell. I couldn’t see anything, but I was pretty certain I heard the whiz of laserfire and the shouting and clamoring of people fighting in close quarters. Then, a handful of males tumbled from one of the rooms closer to my cell, likely a bunk room. These Krektar, and one strange black-and-pink guy, looked sleepy and confused, but they were rallying as if to join the fighting upstairs.
They blocked my view of the end of the hallway, all tall backs and silver and black armor, hands still fumbling with straps or buckles. I counted six of them in total, including the one with the ram’s horns and pink lines running through his charcoal-black skin. That one looked a little smarter than the bumbling Krektar, and he retreated behind them, his eyes darting from the sounds of fighting to where I stood in my cell. They glowed pink, too, and I shivered when I saw something very dark in those incongruously pretty orbs.
He started toward me, as if he’d decided that whatever was happening upstairs was less interesting than I was, but a loud growl rattled through the hallway and halted him in his tracks. Goosebumps rose all along my flesh, and they had nothing to do with the pervasive, damp cold down in this basement. That growl was like a lion on the prowl, and every part of my body responded with the instinct to flee. I wasn’t alone in that, but for a moment, all I could focus on was my scramble to the back of my cell.
The growling cut off when a shadow moved at the end of the gloomy hallway, appearing to block out all light. Then it came flying down the stairs, and I jerked back against the wall, even though whatever it was, was several dozen feet away. In the distance, Krektar shouted, a gun went off, and then they started toppling and scattering like bowling pins. The bizarre comparison made my brain ache, then detach, and for a moment, I could see what was happening without feeling anything about it.
Blood spurting everywhere, a Krektar wrenched apart by sheer brute force. The amount of broken and dismembered body parts… It was a good thing I had briefly gone numb. And still,I couldn’t really tell what—or who—it was that was wreaking havoc on the guards: a black shadow, a gleaming streak of white, glowing red eyes. Once, I was certain I caught sight of a macabre grin.
Then the fight was over, and only the pink-and-black male stood between me and whatever monster that was. Growling again, my remaining jailor stumbled closer and, anxiously moaning, began to fiddle with the padlock on my cell door. “Let me in!” he muttered, as if I could help him with this. Then came another terrified moan, and he pressed his back to my bars, his tail—tipped with a sharp blade—lashing behind him. He fumbled with a gun, fired a few times, and then, with a wet, gurgling noise, abruptly began to collapse.
Fuck. I stared in horror at the body and the blood spreading along the floor, at the carnage in the distance. My eyes skated over the threat, as if uncertain of what I was even seeing. He was shadowed by the gloom and by the dark, gleaming armor that covered him. Was it a him? I thought so, because he was big, on two legs, and bulky in shape. Then he lifted his head, and I gulped—no longer numb, but paralyzed with fear. A skull-like face, glowing red eyes, and the most macabre, evil grin of needle-sharp teeth. A monster.
He growled, and the sound rattled through my cell, silencing the moans of the dying behind him. I stared into those red, glowing eyes—like coals burning inside a skull. The markings on his face were ivory white but freckled with blood from his kills. Sharp cheekbones, dramatic eye sockets, and a mouth like death. He was horrifying, and when he growled again, clawed hands reached forward to rattle the bars of my cage. In that moment, I saw in his eyes nothing but feral rage: a man on two legs—or alien, rather—kitted out in armor that even included a gun holstered on his thigh; but there was no intelligence in that gaze. He was all beast.
Then he attacked my cage door, clawing at the bars and bashing the padlock with his fist. Metal groaned and creaked. With single-minded focus, he appeared to be trying to get into my cell, and I wasn’t quite sure what would happen once he did. My eyes flicked from his scary, monstrous face to the death and carnage behind him. My breathing shuddered in my chest. “Oh fuck, no, please don’t,” I heard myself say over and over again. “I’m so screwed…”
He roared, bashing the metal again, and it began to give. It wouldn’t be long until he was in, and then he’d do to me what he’d done to the others. I saw movement behind him: men in armor coming silently down the stairs. It was too dark, their faces lost in shadow; I couldn’t tell if they were more guards from the manor or some other force. I bit my lip, wondering if I should call out, tell them I was there—that I needed help. A crazy thought popped into my head: I should warn the beast-man he was about to get stabbed in the back.
Before I could think better of it, my mouth opened. “Behind you!” Why was that what came out? I’d clearly lost a screw when it came to self-preservation over the past couple of days. My beast-man jerked back, his head lifting, nostrils flaring as he inhaled. Our eyes locked, his ruby orbs glowing and, in a flash, shifting to something else. Then he spun and faced the hallway, snarling madly. And I was left to wonder if I’d seen intelligence in that feral gaze or not. Not for long, because the new arrivals opened fire and I was suddenly running for cover.
I couldn’t believe I had the presence of mind to tip my metal cot and duck behind it, but then all I could do was huddle and hope they didn’t hit me in the chaos.
Chapter 5
