Page 26 of Fractured Souls

Make it stop!

Beside her, there was a dark blur of motion. No words were uttered, but suddenly Nythian’s hands were across her chest, pulling her up out of the chair, holding her against his broad, muscular body.

Shick.

A black blade flashed out of nowhere, appearing in Enki’s hands. The feeling of imminent death was all around her.

The Tharians were dead. Her officers were dead. The passengers from the Malachi were dead. She was dead.

No! They’re going to kill me!

Alexis closed her eyes.

A familiar bitterness filled the air—that awful, sickening smell—taking her back to the darkness.

Zharek screamed.

No! Anuk flailed, radiating pure terror.

The stench of Kordolian blood pervaded every fiber of her being.

What’s happening? Did they just… kill Zharek? No. No! Please don’t.

Because that would mean that they were just like the others after all.

A cry erupted from Alexis’s throat, a strangled, terrified sound. She hated the way she sounded, hated this side of herself, this mad, damaged creature that was so far from the person she used to be.

What the hell happened to you, Detective Alexis Carter?

She was gone.

She started to sink, pushing hard against her captor, just wanting to be free of this madness.

It was no use.

Nythian’s massive arms were like steel bands across her chest.

He leaned in close. She could feel him—his warmth, his solid, unwavering presence, his bare hand on her cheek, warm Kordolian skin touching her cold once-human flesh for the very first time.

Wait… his bare hand?

What?

“Hey, hey, focus now.” His voice was rough, commanding, undeniable. “It’s done. Open your eyes and look at me. Look at us. It isn’t what you think, Alexis. This is me. Nythian. I’m not going anywhere, and I’m not letting you go anywhere.”

Bit by bit, her sanity returned.

How did you do that to me, Kordolian?

Somewhere in the background, Zharek’s grumbling filtered through her awareness. He cursed viciously in his own language, his voice laced with pain.

Alexis stopped fighting and exhaled slowly, relaxing in Nythian’s arms.

The smell of blood was still there, as acrid as ever, but Zharek was alive and cursing.

Zharek was alive.

And Nythian was warm and solid and overwhelming.

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