Page 48 of Decadence

Deep, calm, ringing with authority.

Tarak.

Of course the boss was here. What had happened on Earth was monumental, and there was nobody else in the Universe whose orders Ikriss would follow. Not now, not ever again. He peered through the blue stasis liquid and caught sight of the General standing beside Zharek. Tarak stood with his arms folded, watching Ikriss patiently, his expression as inscrutable as ever.

He couldn’t fathom what the General was thinking right now—he rarely ever could anyway—but Tarak’s assurance was enough. If the boss said she was safe, then she was safe.

Ikriss allowed himself to relax, his pain easing a little as the tension melted from his limbs. “A fucking Silent One,” he growled, his voice a hollow echo in the cold confines of his breathing mask. “One that is capable of evading our surveillance; one that knows how to utilize qim. I left him alive. I presume he is still breathing?”

“Ashrael and Elgon are dealing with him,” Tarak said ominously. “The Silent One is still in the grip of a mindbond. Another Mistress controls his actions. Perhaps he can break it, perhaps not. Whether he is salvageable remains to be seen.”

“I’ll kill him,” Ikriss hissed, unable to help himself, even though the rational part of his brain told him that they really should try and salvage the Silent One, because most Imperial Assassins—at least the few he’d encountered—deeply resented the control their Mistresses and Masters exerted over them. The Silent One he would be a very useful weapon to add to their arsenal if he turned out to be loyal.

“You will not,” Tarak said calmly. “It is understandable that you want to kill him. Believe me, I know how it feels. To be in the grip of the Mating Fever. To be there when they dare try and lay their hands on your mate. But you will not kill him, because his actions are not his own. You know very well that he is acting under compulsion. Someone sent him.”

“The fucking impertinence,” Ikriss hissed, his breath misting the faceplate. “And yet we still have no target to aim our cannons at. Let me investigate. When I find out who sent the assassin, I will take first blood. It is my right.”

The attack had been the equivalent of a sniper’s shot fired in the dark; a precise, well-aimed provocation from someone that knew them very well.

Kordolians attacking Kordolians.

But then, it was to be expected, wasn’t it? For although they had captured Kythia and put many of the old Imperial Guard to the sword, some had escaped.

Some hadn’t even been on the Dark Planet to begin with. There were Kordolian colonies all across the Universe; far too many to capture and deal with at once, even for their formidable fleet.

The Empire might be destroyed, but the war was far from over.

Perhaps it was only just getting started.

“Be patient,” Tarak said quietly, his voice as cold as the wide expanse of the Vaal. “They are doing their best to hide from us now, because they are still weak. I have seen this strategy before. The abductions, the targeted attacks… they are deliberate provocations, designed to provoke us into making rash, ill-considered decisions. They manipulate certain foolish humans to act against us, trying to goad me into subjugating my mate’s race, trying to drive a wedge between us. Typical Nobles. They thrive on disunity.” A soft and terribly dangerous laugh escaped his lips. “But I have spent too long on the battlefield to make those kinds of mistakes again. We know our own kind better than anyone else, Ikriss. Better for them to see a restrained response from us. In their arrogance, they will perceive it as weakness.”

Ikriss clenched his teeth as a bolt of pain shot through his chest and into his skull. His fangs pierced his lower lip, drawing bitter blood. The savage in him disagreed with the General’s logic, but he had to trust his commander in this, especially when the Mating Fever was killing his ability to be objective.

Pain and lust.

Sienna.

And here he was, suspended in cold liquid, unable to see her.

Fuck.

“That is the last I will speak of such matters for now,” Tarak said firmly. “And I only addressed it because I needed to calm your mind before you undergo the next phase of your treatment. My medics can work miracles, but not without pain.”

“How bad is it?” Ikriss hissed, fighting another onslaught of pain. His muscles spasmed and tightened. His vision blurred, distorting the dark figures of the General and his medic even more through the luminous blue liquid. “Be honest. Do not minimize the severity.”

“It is as expected. The attacker was a Silent One, after all,” the General said, his tone mild even though the look in his eyes was anything but. “You are a supreme fighter, but he used qim. You should be dead.”

“But I am not.”

“Because you are in the throes of the Mating Fever.”

Ikriss stared blankly through his blue prison, not comprehending.

“Faster reflexes,” Zharek said slowly, carefully, his tone lacking the sarcastic edge for once. “Better vision. Enhanced strength. Sharper instincts. You survived because your body has responded to the call of a highly compatible female. Clearly, you haven’t claimed her yet.”

Ikriss let out a low, dangerous hiss. “That is none of your fucking business.”

“Oh, but it is very much my business right now, because it complicates your treatment. Until it is brought under control, the Mating Fever accelerates everything. Cellular turnover. Healing. Apopstosis. Metabolism. Growth.” He paused and glanced at something that was beyond Ikriss’s line of sight. “Even the effect of poisons.”

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