Page 21 of Fractured Souls

Why was it always at moments like this—when life and death hung in the balance—that Nythian noticed the small details?

Like how perfectly symmetrical her face was, how strong and noble her features were—high forehead, straight nose, proud cheekbones.

Full, sensual lips.

Rich brown skin, several shades darker than Abbey’s or Layla’s.

Her lush coiled hair was cut short out of medical necessity, and the severe style only served to accentuate how damn attractive she was.

It suited her, making her look striking and regal.

Nythian shook his head a fraction as he snapped back into reality. His thoughts had only drifted for a sliver of a fraction of a heartbeat, but that was far too long.

Especially now.

Alexis’s eyes flew open, and he swore there was a tinge of something other in those mesmerizing golden brown depths.

Her expression went blank, and she nodded once. “Anuk—the Tharian—did this. Sh-she says she has transformed my human flesh into Tharian. This hand… through me, she can kill Zharek with a touch if she wishes. If you try anything, even if it’s just to try and break my grip, he’s a dead man.”

“How do we know she isn’t bluffing?”

Alexis’s hand tightened. Zharek started to choke. Nythian loosened his grip on the medic’s neck. He swore he just felt Zharek’s skin temperature drop a few klariks.

“Sh-she’s not fucking bluffing! Szkazajik’s balls, I just felt that.” Zharek wheezed, looking straight into Alexis’s eyes. “Stop this madness, Tharian. Kill me, and you can kiss goodbye to whatever you think you’ll achieve in that body. She is not completely stable yet, and only I can help her.”

“What?” Alexis hissed.

Nythian gave Zharek a death-glare. Not stable? This was news to him. “What are you not telling us, Zharek?”

“The human brain is a delicate thing. You were exposed to lethal levels of hypoxic stress. If you’ve been feeling emotionally labile and volatile lately, it’s because your prefrontal cortex is still recovering. The neurons will heal on their own, it just takes time. A week from now, you’ll have much better clarity of thought.”

“You could have told me that earlier,” she said softly. “Would have saved me a lot of confusion and stress.”

“I did. You forgot.”

Alexis opened her mouth to say something, but then she froze, her expression tightening.

The blue hand twitched. Zharek hungrily sucked in air, his chest heaving.

Then he started to calm down. He took several deep breaths as the tension melted from his face. “Ah, she’s stopped. Thank the Goddess. For your sake and mine.”

“She says fine,” Alexis said, her voice a dull monotone. “She doesn’t intend to kill you—not yet. It would be a shame. She kind of likes you. She just had to show you what she’s capable of, so you would take her seriously. She thinks Kordolians like you only respond to violence.”

“We get it.” Nythian growled. They knew very little about the mysterious race of blue aliens, but if a sentient being that had invaded a body and brought it back from the dead said it could kill with a touch, then it had to be believed. “What does she want?” He tried to sound gentle—for Alexis’s sake; the female was terrified out of her wits—but he couldn’t hide his anger.

It rose quickly, pressure building up inside him. It made his temples pound slightly.

This Tharian… did she truly know who she was trying to fuck with? He would reach inside and rip the fucking blue creature right out of Alexis if he could.

“Temper,” Zharek hissed.

Nythian glared at him, annoyed that Zharek had read him so easily. But then, Zharek of all people knew Nythian’s weakness; he knew that Nythian sometimes had problems with controlling his anger.

Sometimes, very rarely, he got into this state where his anger clouded every single rational thought.

“What does she want?” he repeated, feeling powerless for the first time in a very long time.

The Tharian wasn’t an enemy he could simply fight.

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