Chapter 7

“Cyborgs suck,” Calie informed the empty tunnel while the press-and-go cart, as she liked to call it, steered itself through the tunnel, headed toward its first auto-stop.

A place she knew all too well. Unfortunately.

On the downside, bad, baaaad memories.

On the upside, she might find supplies there, clothing included. The temperature underground was significantly cooler than the surface, and she tired of running around fleeing danger with nothing but the stretchy band over her chest. Usually, the scrap of fabric served as a rather inadequate, but better than nothing, bra under her scratchy work shirt.

“Cyborgs really suck!” she yelled louder, her words echoing over the steady buzzing of the car.

She slouched in the seat and listed the man’s many negative traits. He was secretive, domineering, grumpy, and his mercurial temperament could give a girl whiplash. She hated bossy people, and he oozed authoritativeness from every pore on his stupid, pretty skin.

His truly lovely skin.

Gorgeous eyes, too.

In fact, the man gave new definition to the word handsome, with his full lips, thick lashes, and chiseled cheekbones. His spiky hair was fun, too. She fingered some of her braids. His hairstyle hinted at a playful side, maybe. Like her, well, before the Q’Larevs sucked all the joy out of living...

Her irritation deflated, and some of the nice things he’d done for her leapt to mind. After all, he’d saved her from certain death on the space station, tending to her injuries, feeding her. He used his own body to shield her from the ship crash. Talk about self-sacrifice... Plus, he gave her a gun, and she had the impression a cyborg rarely to never shared their lethal toys.

Kaden was protective, solicitous, and darn it, he was kind. Truly, a nice guy. A huge, muscular, mountain of caring man covered in weapons.

A lethal, honorable protector.

Guilt trampled all over the anger she’d barricaded herself behind. Maybe he spoke the truth. Could he like her for more than a quickie sexcapade?

You’re everything, he’d said, and man, it sure looked like he believed his irrational statement.

She tucked the gun in the waistband of her work pants. Her life was weird, surreal, and messy. Far from home, one human alone in an alien environment, it was all she could do to keep her mind from fracturing while striving to survive in a landscape of constantly shifting unknowns.

And now an awesome man, a cyborg alien male, seemed to like her. To want her.

But what do I want?

“I want to go home,” she told the empty cavern as the cart continued its forward momentum.

Calie swallowed around the lump of sadness lodged in her throat.

Her parents were gone. With no other family, she missed her two besties, who’d moved in with her and helped her survive their last year at college, despite her overwhelming grief. And she missed the staff and kitty cats at the shelter she opened shortly after graduating, using some of her inheritance.

She was homesick for little things, too, like the brightly colored San Francisco Victorians, and Golden Gate Park. The smell of salty ocean air on a foggy morning on her runs at Ocean Beach. The ocean itself. Coffee. Croissants from that little place in the Richmond that imported their superior butter all the way from France... And ohmigod , to sleep in her plush, big bed again, with an actual pillow? An elusive Heaven—

The cart halted.

Calie released the memories, the yearning for what she might never have again. Earth might be in her past, so what would be in her future?

Could it be Kaden?

“Damn it.” After the rude way she treated him, probably not.

Hypothetically, if Kaden forgave her for being bitchy, agreed to take her to Earth, and wanted to stick around and get to know her better, how could they explain away his beautiful but totally sooooo not human, otherworldly skin color? Of course, it might not matter. She’d likely already blown her shot with the gorgeous guy.

She climbed out of the cart and scanned the control station. Dim light from discs embedded in the walls every couple of feet illuminated the area in eerie, blue-white light. The frigid air raised goosebumps on her arms and torso, and the hint of sulfur in the dank, mildewy air made her sneeze.

“God, I hate this place.”

Along one wall, red lights pulsed across the surface of the half-circle console, an indication of inactivity. No slaves remained. No slave masters, either. Shrugging off the heebie-jeebies, she stepped in the opposite direction, toward the trio of storage closets banked against the other wall. If she got lucky, she might uncover food pucks and clothing. The former was tasteless cardboard, but she’d take it over nothing. Survival first and foremost. She knew better than to hope for water, since the Q’Larev had them collect water dripping from crevices in various parts of the mine. She might find, however, an empty purification container to fill up.

She slid her fingers into the narrow slot acting as a handle. “Please let this be my lucky day.”

A quick tug opened the door. No food or empty bottles, but neatly folded, short stacks of dull green clothing greeted her on the lone shelf at eye level. Various tools hung on hooks right below it, with work boots lining the bottom.

“Yes!” She grabbed a pile of perhaps a half-dozen work shirts to sort through, searching for one close to her size. She would take them all though, since who knew when she’d have a chance to find clothing again? “I’ll make it wor—”

Buzzing erupted behind her.

A snap cracked the air. Familiar, horrid heat seared across her spine.

Calie crashed forward into the closet.

The shelf gave way, raining fabric down upon her.

“Insolent beast.” Her attacker’s sibilant tone sent shockwaves of terror careening through her. “You dare steal from the Q’Larev?”

She froze. They’re supposed to be gone. All of them, gone.

Another buzz , another crack , as the Q’Larev wielded his whip.

It burned through the fabric atop her, striking low on her back.

Agony blinded her. Her heart raced, and she broke out in a cold sweat. Bile tracked up her throat. Blood wet her skin and slid down her back to drip onto the ground.

The slaver swooped his whip overhead and brought it down. It sizzled and shrieked. Calie threw herself to one side, narrowly missing the blow.

With trembling fingers, she fumbled for the gun in her waistband. Before she could free it, the Q’Larev snagged her calf. His long, six-fingered hand squeezed hard as he hauled her away from the closet.

Then she was airborne.

Calie managed to tuck and roll— thank you, years of childhood gymnastics— ending up in a crouch on all fours while dizziness disoriented her. Made her too slow. The Q’Larev were tall and willowy, but they were also fast.

Move, Calie. Her limbs quaked, but the cool metal of the gun against the sweaty flesh of her stomach roused her, as did the megaton of adrenaline streaking through her system.

Shoving aside the back pain, she rose on wobbly legs, liberated the gun, and aimed it at the slave master.

Fired.

Missed.

Blew a hole in the wall off to the right, behind her tormentor.

The asshole laughed, his overwide mouth stretching across his narrow face, his thin lips shrinking to dark lines as black as his too-large oval eyes. The sight of those pointy teeth, bared and snarling at her, dredged up awful memories. A bite here, another there, both a punishment and a threat.

When slaves died, they became food.

Calie had vowed never to be food.

She fired again. Right through one of his shoulders. Success!

The monster screeched as his weapon arm dangled, useless, at his side. The whip fell to the ground. Black blood spurted from the wound. Several unidentifiable inner fibers kept his limb from detaching completely from the shoulder socket.

She pressed the trigger again. And again. And again.

Three golf-ball sized holes appeared through the asshole’s thigh on the injured side of his body.

Her aim was definitely improving.

“Insolent animal!” The slaver roared.

He collapsed to his knees, swaying before her. Blood oozed from his leg wounds and flowed fast from his shoulder.

She had zero pity for him.

Three steps forward brought her a human arm’s length away from the mine master. The bastard.

He’d beaten her countless times during her shifts in the mines.

She positioned her gun right between his big bug eyes. So, this? This is personal.

“Think it’s easy to end a life, minion?” The master rasped. “That it won’t haunt you to the end of your days?”

“Shut up.” Her arm trembled, causing the gun to jiggle.

He swiped at her with his remaining good arm. Calie jerked backward, fighting to keep her footing, narrowly escaping his grab. The asshole collapsed to one side, propping himself up on his one functioning elbow. Ebony blood pooled around him.

“Aren’t you curious why we left you here? All alone? A gift for the Zyphorr Protectorate?”

“No,” she lied, when in truth she had wondered about it multiple times. It made no sense to her, but given her life-or-death situation, she hadn’t bothered to dwell on the mystery.

He coughed, spewing blood. “You should be.”

“Whatever, dude.” She positioned herself over him and resumed her aim at his stupid evil face.

“You’re the key to turn the tide of war. Doom the IAC—”

Another cough, and more blood sprayed.

IAC? What war? She dismissed her curiosity. “What part of whatever and shut up did you not understand?”

“It’s why we took you,” he continued, as if she hadn’t spoken. “Why you yet live.” He slumped to the ground flat on his back, his gaze glued on the cave’s ceiling. “They will come for you.”

Chills skittered over her skin. “They already tried, asshole. And I’m still here. I’m still free.”

“For now.” He cocked his head to the side and gazed up at her, malice gleaming in the dark depths of his irises. “Let’s wait together.”

A knife flashed in the dim light. He swung it at her leg.

She shot him between the eyes.

The blade slipped from his hand and clattered to the ground at her feet. Bits of dark matter, from the slaver’s skull, spattered her boots and pants.

I killed someone. Blew half his face off.

Calie doubled over and puked. Lost what little she’d consumed on Kaden’s ship.

She sank onto all fours and continued to wretch long after nothing remained, until finally, the stinging discomfort from the damage to her back rushed into her awareness. She steadied her breath and willed herself to stop the dry heaves. Steadying herself on her gun hand, she reached around and gently slid the backs of her fingers over her lower back.

“Huh.” The cuts seemed shallow, as if they were healing. Not bleeding, either.

Ah, right. Nanorobots. They must still be in me. Hopefully, they would stick around for a while. They were certainly handy.

She shivered, the cold air reminding her she was still half dressed. Time to remedy that.

Gun in hand—no way she was putting it down, not when there might be more Q’Larev lurking in the mine—she crawled away from the dead slave master, toward the clothes splayed on the ground by the closets.

With trembling fingers, she grabbed the first garment she touched. Seated on the ground, she settled the gun on her lap then donned the shirt. It seemed to take forever to force her arms into the sleeves and to snap up the front. A bit too big, with overlong sleeves, but the warmth made her sigh in relief as she rolled up the cuffs to sit at her wrists.

Leaning against the open closet door, she surveyed the room and listened hard. The silence rang, loud in her ears.

She had to assume it was probable more enemies occupied the mine, which meant she should ignore Kaden’s request to hide there, and go find somewhere else.

She didn’t doubt Kaden would locate her eventually. The man seemed to have magical tracking superpowers.

Resolved, she clambered to her feet, amazed at how totally normal her back felt, and started for the cart. She would direct it back the way she came, since nothing had jumped out at her on the drive. In theory, it meant any remaining Q’Larev were positioned deeper inside the cave system—

A shrill whistle pierced the silence. “Dang, looks like we missed the party.”

Calie stiffened. Pivoted.

Four freakin’ enormous, heavily armed men hovered a few paces away. One of them held a headless Q’Larev over his shoulder.

A dead Q’Larev didn’t make them her friends.

She raised her weapon. Fired.

And screamed.