25. Ryklin

Ropes dug into my skin,rubbing the flesh raw. I"d tried using my claws to rip at the fibers, but the angle was wrong, and all I"d managed to do was rip a stripe out of my own skin. It stung, but I could ignore that pain.

I couldn"t ignore the worry and regret clawing at me. Alone in a cell—the same cell I"d broken Solara and Rook out of—all I had were my thoughts and feelings. Feelings. Half a decade without a soul had atrophied my ability to recognize all of them, but what else could I do but stew when I was caught there, leaving my mate vulnerable and alone.

They"d beaten me. It was the kind of beating you gave someone when you wanted him to survive. They made me hurt but not enough that they couldn"t shove a pickax in my hand tomorrow and send me down a mine shaft. I had to consider that good news. If I was alive, I could escape. All they had to do was lose their focus for a moment, and I"d be a free Detyen.

I could hear whispers of men talking through the door. Some time ago, there"d been a commotion and what sounded like a lot of people leaving. Before I"d lost consciousness, I"d counted a dozen smugglers. If there were more, I hadn"t seen them.

"You think he"s one of the weird ones?" asked one of my captors.

"You mean like that big one who wouldn"t make a noise if you stabbed him?" asked the second.

"Obviously."

"I don't know."

Could they be talking about another soulless Detyen? Had they taken one prisoner? My men and I had been abandoned by our people, slated for death and sent away before the punishment could be meted out. But missions went wrong sometimes, and soldiers got left behind. Especially soulless soldiers. To some of our brethren, we were little better than machinery.

Under other circumstances, I might have made it a priority to find out, but I couldn"t. I needed to get to Noelle, and we needed to get off the planet.

Had my message gone through?

It had been hours, at least, since I tried. If the message had gone through, someone must have heard it. But would they understand the urgency of the situation?

I slumped back against the wall, and my hands smashed behind me, my fingers brushing against the bindings. I extended my claws and tried again, finally snagging just a bit of the rope and tearing at it.

It was slow, tedious work, and the rope bit even harder into my wrists. But it was working. My shoulder screamed at me, the angle all wrong and beyond painful, but pain was immaterial compared to freedom.

With a final snap, the rope sagged, and I pulled my hands free, my shoulder in a new kind of agony as I gave it the full range of motion for the first time in hours.

Dealing with the bindings at my feet took only moments, but standing was a slower affair. I took my time. The men beyond the door didn"t know I was free. I didn"t need to spring right into action.

I needed to get out.

"Who"s that?" I heard one of the men ask. But if the other responded, he was too quiet for me to hear.

I needed them to open the door. I didn"t think I could break it down from the inside, not without meeting a whole host of smugglers waiting for me with blasters on the other side.

"I need water!" I yelled, trying to make my voice sound a bit hoarse. "Give me some damned water!" I hadn"t been given anything since they tied me up. No meal, nothing to drink. If they meant to keep me as a slave, they had to feed me sometime.

Why not now?

"Shut up!" the guard outside the door yelled.

"I"m thirsty." I was, I realized, but I wasn"t going to focus on that. "Come on, just give me something to drink."

I heard muttering but couldn"t make out the words. It didn"t matter. The lock disengaged, and a smuggler stood in the doorway, one hand on his belt buckle. Whether he meant to beat me or worse, I didn"t know, and he didn"t get a chance to try.

I launched myself at him and raked my claws down his side. Then I finished him off.

It happened in a heartbeat. He didn"t have time to scream.

And I was covered in blood.

Unavoidable.

I didn"t see the other guard, but the communications array was still there. There was also an old-fashioned modified blaster sitting on the table, probably belonging to the dead guard.

I grabbed it and shoved it in my pocket. Most blasters weren"t fatal, but they could be modified to deliver deadly blows. It would even the playing field enough if the smugglers knew I could kill them with both my claws and my gun.

I found the right frequency and sent out a distress signal using an old Detyen code that my men on Nebula Outpost would recognize. I left the message on loop and backed away from the comms station. Someone could be listening in again, and I had to run.

Plus, there was that guard still out there. And maybe the other men, if I hadn"t heard them run away from the mining camp. I wanted intel, a team. Instead, I was running blind.

Then I heard a feminine scream, and my vision went red.

I knew that voice.

Would know my mate"s voice anywhere.

Someone was hurting her. And I had to make it stop.