Page 54 of Taming Chaos

“The guards are dead,” Parrus replied. “I’m not sorry for it. They used to beat me, and…” His expression morphed into something bordering on vicious, reminding Seph that not all that was cute and furry in the Universe was necessarily nice. “I’m thinking of home. I want to go home with my…” He hesitated, his eyes momentarily becoming unfocused. “Maybe Torin will set me free. That thought makes me happy.”

“Stay with us now, chichin. I’m your best bet on this death-trap.”

“Indeed, Master.” The Veronian’s markings changed color, turning a pretty shade of lilac. Seph wasn’t an expert on Inner Sector species, but it was common knowledge that Veronians literally wore their emotions on their sleeves.

Perhaps that was why they were so vulnerable to exploitation.

Torin shifted his arm, moving his hand across the upper curve of her butt so that his forearm and wrist rested against her lower back.

Seph didn’t protest.

He walked with his sword in his right hand, holding it low and close to his body; a stark reminder that he was responsible for most of the violence and destruction on this ship. He moved like a dancer, gliding across the space with such quiet grace, always staying just a fraction of a step ahead of her. Loose, yet ready to explode into motion at any given moment. Stalking, yet caressing.

Seph didn’t know what lay ahead, but with Torin by her side, she felt safe.

As they went deeper into the network of rooms, various furnishings and artifacts started to appear, hinting at opulence.

A soft rug here, a tall statue there, alongside the occasional plush chair or sumptuous sofa. The styles were a mishmash of intricate alien craftsmanship and ultra-tech minimalism, totally unlike anything she’d ever seen on Earth.

This Relahek person sure had strange taste.

“Typical Noble opulence.” There was a hint of derision in Torin’s voice. “They take everything they want and put it all together without any respect for culture or context. That’s a classic Veronian piece.” He nodded in the direction of a long footstool. The blue padded cushion was embroidered with an ombre constellation of tiny stars that graduated from the faintest blush of pink to the most vivid red. Its legs were made from some clear material that was almost invisible, giving it the appearance of floating in mid-air.

“It’s beautiful.”

“It’s out of place. The man is nuts. He’s paired it with an Imperial sculpture.”

Parrus made a soft sound of agreement.

Beside the footstool, a tall black statue carved through the air, its twin arms reaching toward the ceiling like a pair of twisting blades.

“I thought your people didn’t do art.”

“It’s not exactly Monet, but we try.”

“You know about Monet. I’m impressed.”

“I admire his works. Even as his sight failed, the man channelled his frailty to create something divine.”

Seph gaped. A Kordolian warrior with an interest in impressionism? Who’d studied enough of Monet to know the artist had suffered from cataracts in his old age? Of course, it could only be Torin. “I didn’t realize you—”

“Persephone, I haven’t found anything in the Universe that compares to human art, and on your planet, information is freely available. I am obsessed.”

“With our art?”

“Amongst other things.” His sidelong glance was infused with heat.

The way he looked at her just now… Damn it! Seph let the air escape her lungs in a single slow, shuddering exhalation. If only they were someplace else right now, somewhere quiet and not so dangerous…

She wouldn’t hold back.

Suddenly, Torin stopped. “Relahek is in there.” He nodded in the direction of a curved doorway.

“How do you… oh. You can hear him, huh?”

The tips of his ears twitched. “I can hear him,” Torin said loudly, baring his fangs. He obviously intended for his target to hear. “I can smell him, I can sense him. There are two others with him.” Gently, he guided Seph to a plush sofa and motioned for her to sit. He tapped her gun-hand and pointed in the direction from where they’d come. “I’m going in,” he whispered. “You know what to do.”

Parrus arrived at their side, having hung back a fraction—perhaps to afford them some privacy. The Veronian possessed an uncanny ability to be there but not there, even as the glowing markings on his skin provided the only source of light.

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