Page 27 of Fractured Souls

This was different. Really different.

“I’m not your enemy,” he whispered, his warm breath feathering her cheek. “We’re not your enemy. It ain’t pretty, but we had no choice but to take the surgical route and cut off Zharek’s hand. It had to be done. The risk to our medic was unacceptable. Now the Tharian can’t kill him. Problem’s solved, see?”

She caught a tendril of his scent. It was distinctive and heady, distracting her from reality for one vital moment.

She opened her eyes…

And saw Zharek scowling as he pressed something against the stump of his severed right arm, stemming the bleeding. A compress of some sort? No, it was some sort of machine, a flat black disc. Slender black tendrils extended from the edge, sinking their needlelike projections into his silver skin.

She swore she caught a whiff of cauterizing flesh.

His hand… it was gone!

No…

Her stomach lurched.

Actually, his hand wasn’t gone at all. It was still tightly held in her blue fingers.

It had been sliced clean through. Obsidian blood dripped from its severed end. Alexis almost retched.

Enki stood to one side, his gaze sharp like a hawk’s. There was no sign of the ominous blade he’d been holding just seconds ago.

She gaped. “You amputated his hand…”

“We don’t react well to threats. Anuk should know that by now. Zharek can reattach the damn thing. If that doesn’t work, he can just make another one,” Nythian said nonchalantly. “For someone like him, it’s no big deal.”

“It’s not as simple as you make it sound,” Zharek grated, shaking his head. “It’s actually the biggest pain-in-the-ass.” He didn’t seem surprised or shocked, only irritated, as if this sort of thing happened all the time.

Nythian chuckled. “Taste of your own medicine, as the humans say.”

Were he and Nythian were bickering? She might have found it funny if the situation weren’t so dire.

“Enough.” Tarak strode forward until he was just inches from her. The Kordolian commander’s fingers closed around her transformed hand.

“What are you doi—”

Before she could question him, he prised open the Tharian’s blue grip and retrieved Zharek’s hand. His fingers were like steel, and he moved so fast it was over before she understood what was happening.

Why hadn’t Anuk used the death-touch on him just now?

It doesn’t work on them. His kind are different. Almost impossible to kill.

His kind? What did that even mean?

Tarak held up Zharek’s bloody hand, examining it dispassionately. “Put this in stasis.” He tossed it at the medic, who cursed under his breath as he awkwardly caught it with his left hand.

Alexis almost retched, but she didn’t get a chance, because Tarak rounded on her, crimson eyes blazing. “You do not get to dictate terms to me.”

“What?” Alexis snapped back.

“Don’t worry. He’s not talking to you,” Nythian murmured, still holding her tightly. He was the only good thing about this whole situation.

Tarak leaned in, looking utterly menacing and perfectly inhuman as he bared his fangs. Fangs! Alexis suppressed a shudder. “If you want to deal with me, Tharian, you must first agree to my demands. Then, and only then, might I consider yours, but that is not a given. Do not threaten my people ever again. That includes her.”

Wait does he mean… me?

“You’re our responsibility now,” Nythian rumbled, his voice deep and reassuring.

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