6. Lets Dance

For most of his life, Niko had wanted to visit Uula. He’d dreamed about it as a boy, dreamed of running across its floating platform cities, and of gazing out into endless miles of churning, layered clouds around him, wild winds caught in his hair.

He’d just never imagined when he finally set foot there, it would be like this—fully armored, rifle strapped to his back, grenades at the ready, on the hunt for a cold-blooded murderer.

He was tired of being outsmarted and outmaneuvered by Kestrel. This time, he came with a few extra gifts from his weapons dealer—including electromagnetic pulse grenades that would disable the man’s tricky layers of tech defense.

Uula was, at least, as beautiful as he’d always imagined it to be. It surpassed any picture or video; the exotic and abstract clouds of the gas giant’s atmosphere made every angle, every view painterly, graced in hues of lavender, pinks, blues and tinges of soft green. Several tiny moons—including Haneen, homeworld of the Gheroun—could be seen hovering above, little pale crescents that passed in and out of view.

The charity gala was being held in front of a dazzling conical conference center atop a large, airborne platform. Tables were set up everywhere, with party favors and hors d”oeuvres. Golden string lights hung crisscrossed between lamp posts and from layers of decorative floating platforms, casting a warm glow over the gala. Waterfalls trickled from the edges of the platforms, spilling from each to the one below it.

The press, a swarm of Galapol agents, and an additional number of Yhanwe-han security personnel—donated by the newly anointed Grand Sovereign to help in the efforts against Kestrel—prowled the grounds, making an odd mixture with the formally dressed gala attendees. With each new event, security both tightened and learned from the past mistakes. Drones now trawled the skies above, keeping a close eye on the gala grounds.

As always, Niko didn’t have to look far to find another bounty hunter, either. With each kill that Kestrel carried out, his bounty spiked higher, often contributed to by the offended government, business, or association linked to the deceased, and matched by Galapol. Niko had never seen a number like it, not in any of his years hunting. The press reported it as the highest ever reached. He’d stopped paying attention a few kills back, but it had hit a solid four hundred million credits as a reward for killing or apprehending Elliott Kestrel.

Niko had never been after Kestrel for the money. But with a number like that, he couldn’t help but think of how he could repay Zann for all his help after his injury. Repay him for the suit, the contribution to his surgeries and physical therapy. Then he could buy their father a luxury apartment, or even his own house. He could donate to Destination: Reclamation and contribute whatever remained after that to the charities Kestrel’s victims had favored.

Niko looked up at the decorative platforms, with their string lights, gentle waterfalls, and sprays of colorful, decorative alien plants. They would be easy vantage points and vulnerabilities, and Galapol had caught on to the idea too. Every one of them was stationed with an agent who possessed their own sniper rifle. They crouched in uniform at the edges, peering out at the gala grounds below. Whatever they weren’t able to spot, the constantly circling drones would.

If Kestrel was going to be here, he had vastly less to work with than he did before. But Niko knew enough about the bastard to predict that would hardly stop him from stunning them all, in the worst way.

The gala was starting to get underway now, the first guest speakers thanking everyone for coming and delving into current topics as attendees made their way to their seats, quieting down. Imperator Khaathra was due to speak soon, and Niko was antsy and tense, his eyes scanning again and again for potential ways Kestrel could wreck someone’s day. The skies were all but covered, thanks to the drones present. The platforms were all handled by Galapol agents and counter-snipers, and the sharp, conical shape of the conference center—typical to most Gheroun architecture—gave no purchase to stand on. If Kestrel was going to pull something now, it would have to be particularly clever.

But Niko didn’t expect him to disappoint on that front.

The audience politely applauded around him as the first introductory guest speaker stepped down to allow a tall, veiled Quwa-quay to take her place.

Niko scanned the platforms again as they began speaking about galactic orphan outreach programs—but paused midway through. Something was off. He glanced through again, looking towards the southeast platform. Something was different there, something about the agent. He magnified his visor’s view until he got a clearer but still blurry visual of the agent. A shock jolted through his chest at the sight.

The man had had tan skin and red hair. Niko knew he did, had noticed it during an earlier visual sweep of the area. The uniformed agent who perched at the edge now, plain as day, had ivory skin and hair of gold. He wasn’t using his usual stealth tech—this time, he was hidden in plain sight, disguised.

So that’s your game,he thought. Let’s dance.

All around him, the gala continued peacefully, no one aware yet of the presence of Kestrel other than its possibility. Niko moved quickly, his body responding by reflex before he could even think about what he was doing. He needed to get up there. He pushed his way along the edge of the gathered crowd until he was below Kestrel’s platform. It hovered hazily above him, dozens of stories up, suspended in the air by small and elegant engines of alien technology, water raining down from its edges. It was the highest platform, well above several layers of others.

He’d have to make his way up a little at a time.

Niko moved to the next closest platform, hovering lower but still far out of reach. He unlatched a compact but hearty grappling hook from his belt and aimed it towards the edge of the lowest platform—another just in case item he’d requested from his weapons supplier, frustrated at how Kestrel favored high and hard to reach places. It was just long enough, nearly stretched to its limit, but the anchor clamped itself on the platform’s edge and he pressed the trigger, reeling in the cord and propelling himself quickly up to the platform.

A Galapol agent was stationed there, turning wildly in place, gun trained on Niko. He’d clearly spooked her. “What the fuck? What do you think you’re doing up here?”

“He’s here. Top platform.” It was all he could provide her; pausing to give his credentials would only cost him time he couldn’t afford to lose. He aimed the grappling hook for the next platform and pulled himself up again once it secured. Another agent was there as well, who gave one of the most colorful strings of curse words Niko had heard in a good while, but he didn’t have time to commend the man on his creativity—Niko was gone just as quickly.

As the rope pulled him ever higher, the ground and gala shrinking further and further below him, he felt his pulse hammer in his throat, the furious rhythm of life written one beat at a time. Every part of him was on fire now, searing with adrenaline, with anticipation. He was close now.

He pulled himself up quickly to the platform once he reached it, knowing every second he took was a second Kestrel had to react. The Imperator’s life was in Niko’s hands now.

Across the platform, half obscured by several strangely curling trees and succulents, was Kestrel, crouched low, his sniper rifle lying beside him. He wore the semi-armored uniform common to Galapol’s tactical field agents, and clutched two devices, one in each hand. Niko quickly realized one was a two-way radio, the other held against Kestrel’s lips as he spoke, his voice emerging double—his own, and another over the radio, foreign and unfamiliar and nothing like what he’d sounded like when he had paused to speak to Niko at Vhesa Station.

“All clear. No sign of Kestrel, over.”

The agent who had been there moments ago was nowhere to be seen.

You fucking killed him. Of course you did, you prick.

Niko’s pulse spiked. He wasted no time taking aim, unloading a sloppy, quick shot. An explosive round detonated against Kestrel’s energy shield uselessly, the air around him rippling and distorting under the impact. Niko definitely had his full attention now, the man’s head whipping in his direction. Kestrel grabbed his rifle and aimed back at Niko, quickly standing.

“We really have to stop meeting this way,” he said.

“Shut up,” Niko spat. He reached down and grabbed one of the new EMP grenades he’d brought and pulled the pin, hurling it straight towards Kestrel. Kestrel tried to dodge, but had reacted too late, and the detonation quickly fried his shields, leaving him bare and vulnerable. The barrier around him glitched, visual static dancing around him before fading entirely. The grenades had cost a good chunk of Galapol’s allotted sponsorship budget, but in this moment, it was worth every credit.

Kestrel stumbled from the impact. An expression of shock, followed by genuine fear flashed across his face before he clamped down hard on it, a cool scowl settling in instead. The satisfaction of getting the upper hand over him drove Niko forward and he took another shot. It missed as his foot caught on something solid and hard, sending him crashing hard to the ground. Kestrel was on the move again, slipping behind one of the curling landscaped trees for cover.

Niko recovered quickly, rolling over to stand back up, when he paused. He’d tripped over something that wasn’t there. Nothing but carefully curated, flat ground lay beside him.

He leaned forward and saw it then: the faint silhouette of a body, merely a distortion of the air itself in the vague shape of a man. He was almost impossible to see.

It was the original Galapol agent, laid out with Kestrel’s stealthing device. There was something else, though—the man emitted a soft groan, mumbling incoherently as Niko stood. He wasn’t dead, only unconscious. His voice matched the exact one that had emerged double, like a ghostly echo from Kestrel when he’d spoken into the radio.

A voice replicator. He’d been talking to Galapol, mimicking the agent’s voice, giving the all clear.

Niko was up now, gun in hand. He aimed it at the thick tree, slowly moving in a wide semi-circle around it.

“Change of heart, I see,” Kestrel said.

“What?” Niko snapped.

A soft breath of tired laughter escaped from the assassin. “Last time, you wanted so badly to talk. You were begging me.” His voice took on a mocking, cruel tone. “”I want to understand,” you said.”

“I’m done talking to you. You’re a murderer.”

“Then what are you?”

Before Niko could answer, Kestrel seized his chance and sprang up before leaping off the edge of the platform with the same grace he’d done the night Niko had first encountered him. He had some sort of tech that gentled the impact of his fall, Niko could see now.

This time, Niko wasn’t going to hesitate. He wanted to finish this.

He took a few steps back and ran towards the edge, launching himself and hoping the momentum was enough to take him to the lower platform after Kestrel.

Niko landed hard. Harder than he’d anticipated. An all too familiar shudder of pain shot up his numb legs and along his spine, knocking the breath from him for a precious few seconds. He watched as Kestrel moved quickly onto the Galapol agent stationed there, dispatching him. Like the agent above, though, he didn’t kill him. He had yet another device at his disposal—some kind of taser, likely. The agent dropped, lying limply on the ground, eyes lulling closed.

Kestrel kept going and Niko shouted at him as they both ran, all white-hot rage.

“Don’t compare me to you. This isn’t the same at all. I stop garbage like you from ruining lives.”

“We’re more alike than you think.” Kestrel launched himself again, and Niko was forced to follow. He winced as he jumped, dreading the impact as the platform below rushed up to meet him. The pain of it shook him to his core and rattled his teeth. Niko’s ruined nerve endings fired in bursts of electric, scathing fire. This was beyond him, beyond the boundaries of his new existence as a permanently injured man. But he wasn’t about to stop now.

Niko gritted his teeth through the pain and took another shot at Kestrel, missing. He was forced to reload and Kestrel dispatched the second Galapol agent as she tried to call for backup on her radio, once again stunning and disabling her, dropping her to the ground too. He was vexatiously fast, making quick work of Galapol’s special ops agents and outmaneuvering Niko at the same time. Niko struggled to keep up with him now, each breath ripping painfully through him as his legs and back howled their protest and plea for him to give them mercy. The pain was making him sluggish, his body soaked now with sweat that swam unsettlingly within his armor.

There it was again, though, haunting Niko’s brain: that appeal to justice from Kestrel, that what he was doing was somehow good—that they were somehow alike in their work. He dangled the enigma of his motives before Niko like a carrot. It was bewildering. Niko felt he was falling somehow, being drawn into some sort of trap, but he couldn’t help it. He wanted to follow his thread of logic.

He would play this game. For now.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Kestrel had slipped behind another thick tree for a moment to recover. Niko took a shot at it but the thing still stood, even with an explosive round, likely transplanted foliage that had evolved hardy to withstand the deadly climate of a harsher world than Uula. Two more bullets pinged off the trunk in succession, likely from Galapol’s counter-snipers on distant platforms.

“Every one of these people were traffickers. Slavers. Rapists. Murderers. They were never going to stop. I’m doing you all a fucking favor!”

It was incomprehensible. Kestrel really was insane. He thought his actions were helping, that he really was doing what Niko was—hunting down and removing actual monsters from society. But these weren’t criminals—they were leaders, artists, and philanthropists who a broken mind had deemed as evil. In another life, if Kestrel weren’t unwell, maybe he would have eventually gravitated to a line of work like Niko’s.

“You’re trying to tell me Princess Vhee-vaala was trafficking slaves?” The mental image of the delicate alien princess holding a carved shell teacup while doling out the worst crimes one could do to another sentient being was absurd beyond humoring.

“Yes. They all were.”

Niko felt a sympathy crawling in that he didn’t want to feel again. Everything Kestrel was doing was wrong. But there was a difference between killing for ego and fame, and killing because you delusionally thought you were legitimately stopping someone evil from harming others.

He had seen Kestrel’s history. He’d heard Zann’s presentation of his descent into broken fantasy. The man was certifiably nuts. Delving into conspiracy theories, going on violent tangents and delusional rants that had cost him his career, his professional and social standing, and had landed him in a hospital. Clearly, he hadn’t gotten much better since then. What the man needed was help, not unfettered access to a gun, next-gen tech, and a roster of galactic luminaries.

“Even if that were true,” Niko said, “why not just go to the authorities? Why not report it to the media?”

“You think I haven’t tried? Every time I have, they’ve silenced me. The police and the media are bought.”

No, thought Niko. They just knew you were spouting nonsense. “You’re off your fucking rocket.”

“They’re above the law, and they all protect each other. They’re untouchable.” Kestrel huffed out a breathless chuckle, his tone turning dark. “Or they were. I’m fixing that.”

Niko had had enough. He rounded the foliage and took another quick shot. Kestrel ducked out of the way just as he did, the bullet close enough to stir his hair in its wake.

“Why don’t you tell me where Cleo is?” Niko ground in every word, like a blunt knife, hoping it hurt.

“She’s not anywhere anymore. She’s dead.”

Fuck. At least he’d admitted to it—and with shocking ease. Zann’s guys would be having a field day when they found out.

“You kill her?” Niko pressed the dull blade further. “I think you did.” Kestrel emerged from his makeshift cover, face ashen pale, eyes vibrant with wild fury. He took a sloppy shot at Niko, the action messy and exposing him. Kestrel missed.

Niko fired back, taking the opportunity, but his bullet only grazed the hearty trunk again, sending a spray of fibrous, woody debris into the air. Another of Galapol’s sniper shots lanced through the air too, this time missing the tree—and Kestrel—entirely. If Niko could keep wearing him down, keep driving him into making mistakes, he would have him.

Kestrel ducked back behind the tree. “Believe it or not, I don’t really want to be doing this with you.”

Niko ignored him and pushed further. “Why’d you kill Cleo, Elliott?”

“Why would I kill my own sister?” His words came slow and oddly calm, the sort of slow talking Niko recognized as barely contained rage from someone who didn’t want to lose control. “You know so much about me, it seems. So why don’t you tell me?”

“Maybe you thought she was one of those traffickers.”

“You’re wrong.”

Niko needed to get him out again, needed to get him into view so he could take him this time. “Or maybe she just said something you didn’t like. Maybe you had a fight, and she wanted to leave, so you killed her.”

“Wrong again. You’re not even close.”

“Then what happened to her?” Niko readied himself for another passionate slip up, but Kestrel was a fast learner, and whatever rage was fueling him now, he’d managed to force down a tight rein on.

“You won’t believe me anyway. Or maybe you won’t care. No one ever does.”

He felt himself falling deeper into it again—that little gnaw of empathy, of self-destructive curiosity. Niko knew he was letting himself be baited along, deeper into this game of conspiracies. He knew the why didn’t matter. But he chased it anyway.

“Try me.”

Kestrel was silent a moment, before murmuring so quietly Niko thought he’d misheard him. “Honeybliss.” After another pause, he added, “You won’t find anything on it. Anywhere. They pay people well to make sure of that now.”

“Honey... Bliss?” It sounded like something from a diet sweet tea commercial.

“You should be careful who you say that word around, or they’ll silence you too.”

Before Niko could reply, Kestrel broke into a sprint again and leapt off the platform, down, this time, to the ground below. Niko braced himself, leaping after him again.

Don’t think about how much it’s going to hurt. Don’t think.

He plummeted to the ground, landing so hard on his abused legs at the wrong angle that he tumbled, a cry of pain escaping him. Old habits of wild self-abandonment had gone past creeping back in now; they had gotten inside him everywhere. He was lucky something wasn’t broken, and wouldn’t be surprised if he found the next day it was and that he had kept going anyway. It didn’t matter to him right then. He was tired of this cycle, of coming close but never succeeding. This time, he was going to win. Nothing else mattered. Niko didn’t matter, then—not even to himself.

Kestrel broke into a quick run the moment he landed, darting away from the crowd and conference building, back out through the edge of the gala grounds and into the winding, curved alleyways that spread around jutting, cone-shaped buildings of the floating city proper. Niko struggled to stand, falling once, before he managed to get back to his feet. He pushed through the pain and exhaustion, a small, betraying yelp escaping him as he broke into a jog, then ran. He didn’t have the time to let himself start falling behind now.

He was gaining on Kestrel. All he had to do was keep it up, but that was easier said than done. And it was only possible through sheer recklessness. Niko didn’t want to think about tomorrow, or even an hour from now. The pain he was in now would be a whisper against the roar it would be later. Right now, none of it mattered. Only taking Kestrel down did.

He followed Kestrel out down the twist and turn of alleyways. The alleys were empty, giving Niko a clear shot straight to Kestrel. He wanted to take aim at the man, but couldn’t without losing ground, and he was already far enough behind.

Niko spoke again, his words fragmented by heavy, breathless pants as his lungs burned, ragged. “Even if this were all somehow true, deciding you can carry out public executions isn’t right. I still have to bring you in.”

Why was he humoring Kestrel? Why did some small part of him wonder if what the man said had truth to it? The strained, nervous look in Mary Kestrel’s eyes flickered through his memory. The way she’d stared at the camera as though she’d known someone specific would be watching it. As though she had been addressing them and not the police. It hadn’t been the usual mannerisms of a distraught mother; rather, it had been the anxious plea of the cornered.

They’ll silence you too.

All the evidence was so clear—Kestrel had fallen into a deluge of conspiracies. He’d decided to take action and persecute the ones he thought were doing harm. Yet something about it wasn’t adding up now, and Niko didn’t know what. There was something they were missing to all of this. It gnawed at him, ate away at the corners of his mind. Everything in the files had pointed to Kestrel being clearly unhinged and broken, someone with no control over their actions.

But there was a terrifying clarity to Kestrel that Niko couldn’t deny. Someone fully in charge of all their faculties, someone who possessed a deadly sharp perception.

None of that lined up with the portrait painted of a troubled boy and man who confused reality with fiction.

Every interaction Niko had with him went the same. The man was sharp, quick-witted, and in control. He’d even managed not to rise to Niko’s attempts at baiting him into rage, clamping a tight and controlled lid down. Something wasn’t right. The man before him didn’t match at all with the turbulent, chaotic abuse and lack of self-control described again and again in his files.

Believe it or not, I don’t really want to be doing this with you,he’d said.

No.

No, Niko couldn’t afford to hesitate or doubt again. He’d done it once before, and it had cost him.

Even if there was somehow a shred of truth behind Kestrel’s claims, this path of vigilantism was still wrong. Horribly, horribly wrong. Niko pushed himself harder, closing the distance between them as Kestrel ran.

Kestrel began speaking, but whatever he’d been about to say was cut off as Niko sprang forward and crashed into the slighter man, sending them both to the ground. Niko grabbed hold of his shoulder, tightening his grip hard. Kestrel wasn’t ready to surrender, struggling fiercely under his grip, writhing and twisting and driving his fist sharply into the joint between Niko’s helmet and chestplate. The force of his hit ejected a spasming cough from Niko.

Niko grabbed him by the arm, wrestling it back and slamming Kestrel’s hand against the ground. The other man cried out in pain, then made a grab for Niko’s neck again, this time stabbing his fingers upward under the rim of the helmet instead of punching. He pried it off, tossing it away from them. It rolled and dropped right off the railed edge beside them, into the churning clouds below. Niko was briefly stunned—he hadn’t even realized they’d been so close to the edge of the city platform. Had Kestrel planned to jump off there, down into the endless clouds of Uula, too?

Kestrel squirmed as Niko fought to keep him pinned down. He got in another good punch regardless, his fist driven straight into Niko’s throat, making him choke this time. They both scrambled and struggled against one another, Kestrel kicking uselessly against Niko’s suit, throwing his weight around and bucking beneath him. He worked the taser free, trying to drive it now against Niko’s neck, but Niko caught it in time and gripped his wrist tightly, squeezing against the tendon and bone until with a grunt of pain, Kestrel dropped it. Niko grabbed it up and tossed it towards the city-platform edge too, where it fell into the infinite sky below.

Kestrel twisted then, coming loose from Niko’s exhausted, slipping grip and leapt back up, already sprinting down another alleyway. Niko heaved himself from the ground, every movement feeling abhorrently sluggish and too slow, and took after him again.

He followed Kestrel to a dead end, the long curve of alleyway leading to a high, plaster wall lined with rusting utility pipes, and threw himself at him, but Kestrel dodged. Niko hit the wall hard, but turned quickly, keeping his balance. He took aim at Kestrel, but the assassin rammed into him this time, knocking the rifle out of his hands. Niko took a heavy swing at him, which was also infuriatingly dodged, catching only open air. He was drained and too slow, and Kestrel was still somehow impossibly fast. Kestrel punched him now in return, aiming right for the joint between armor plates at the side of his waist, the hit connecting. Niko grunted and kicked Kestrel, who stumbled backward from the impact.

Kestrel was good. Too good. And Niko was flagging. Kestrel was holding his own against Niko, but he too was panting, his hits coming less frequently, a sheen of sweat trickling down his face, dampening his hair. He wasn’t trying to run anymore, either. Niko was wearing him down just as much.

Niko summoned the last scrap of strength in his body and surged forward, exploiting the opportunity. He caught Kestrel straight on, grabbing him by the neck, and throwing him into the back wall of the alleyway. Then he pinned him there with his own body to keep him from slipping away again. Niko’s breaths tore from him, ragged and heavy and tired, his body heaving from the effort as he scrambled to find the pair of cuffs that hung at his utility belt.

It was over. It was finally all about to be over, whatever game all of this had been.

They were both tired. Kestrel fought him every inch still as Niko struggled to keep him pinned. It was nearly impossible trying to keep Kestrel from weaseling away and get the cuffs from his belt at the same time—the second he let go with one hand, Kestrel was already taking the opportunity to move. He broke one arm free of Niko’s grip, weak and sluggish, and Niko’s own hold on him was slipping. He looked at Kestrel, and Kestrel looked back at him, quiet desperation and fight rapidly ebbing but still alive.

“Give up, Elliott. It’s over now.”

“No.”

“I’m bringing you in. You can tell Galapol all about Honeybliss.”

“Eat my fucking ass.”

“Present it, bitch,” Niko growled.

They struggled more, Niko pushing against him with the strength he had left, Kestrel trying to throw him off. Niko’s words seemed to give the man a stubborn second wind. Kestrel gripped at him with his free hand, tried to hit him unsuccessfully, then reached up and took a handful of Niko’s shaggy hair. He didn’t pull, didn’t wound him. He just gripped it, looking at Niko, then tipped his chin forward, and kissed him.

It was viscerally shocking.

Niko froze. It wasn’t like he’d dreamed it was, sultry and slow. There was a desperation, sloppy and ravenous, from Kestrel. Niko needed to stop him. He needed to pull away.

He didn’t stop him.

He hated himself, hated the way a ripple of goosebumps prickled his skin beneath the suit, hated how his body and brain alike delighted in being touched—in having another man’s hand in his hair, lips against his, wanting. Even here. Even now.

And not just any man. This man. This man, who matched him in skill and capability. The two of them were entangled, caught in a tether, always chasing and chased, always hunting and hunted. It made the brilliant lightning sweep of heady thrill—inappropriate, wrong in every way—only intensify. Niko parted his lips for him, and Kestrel slid his tongue inside. He was delicious.

He didn’t know what he wanted more—to bring Kestrel in, or fuck him raw.

Niko’s heart hammered in his chest, his throat. This was wrong. This was everything he shouldn’t—couldn’t—be doing. He forced himself to pull away and shoved Kestrel back against the wall again. The other man looked at him searchingly, lips still parted, wet from Niko. He ran his tongue along his bottom lip, as though trying to taste him still.

Niko couldn’t help himself. Rapacious hunger overcame him like a flash flood—fast and intense, leaving him nowhere to run. He pushed against Kestrel and leaned forward to meet him in another kiss, insatiable. He couldn’t stop. It was too much. He was lost in this strange, illicit moment. He lapped at Kestrel like a starving man, head tilted as he kissed him again and again.

He had to stop.

Every security guard, hunter, and agent wouldn’t be far behind now. And what would happen if they caught him like this? Niko finally willed himself to pull away again. He’d come here to do a job, not…

Not…

“Why don’t you send Galapol my regards instead, since you’re so fond of them?” Kestrel murmured. A familiar, metallic click cut through the air and Niko’s blood turned to ice.

No. No—

He tried to reach up, tried to grab Kestrel, but his arm wouldn’t obey. The other man had—somehow—managed to work his deft hands and get the handcuffs from Niko’s belt and around his wrist, the other loop closed tightly around a metal pipe that ran the length of the plaster wall. Niko tried to grab at him with his free hand, but Kestrel was too quick again, slipping out of his reach with a clever little smile, eyes narrowed in pleasure. It was clear he knew he’d won. He ran the back of his hand across his lips, wiping Niko free from himself.

“You’re the only one who can keep up with me,” he said. “But you’re still in my way.”

Shit. Shit.The humiliation—and horror—Niko felt was stunning. He fumbled through the small utility pack at his waist for the handcuff key, but it was difficult to feel it out with his hand covered by an armored glove. His whole body was numb with the shame of what he’d done.

By the time he had it in hand, Kestrel was gone. Like he always was.

Niko freed himself just in time to hear voices behind him—Galapol’s agents and a scattering of hunters had caught up. He felt sick and strange, stunned by his own behavior, lost in a kiss that’d had no right being so electric as it was.

He’d never acted like this. He had always been a professional, through and through.

But instead, he had let himself… Had let himself what? Think with his dick? Let over three years of isolation and loneliness give way to Kestrel’s clever hands, fascinating capability, and handsome face?

Niko wasn’t worth the faith Zann had placed in him. Mistakes upon mistakes were all he’d made since he had started hunting again.

He wasn’t even thinking anymore.