Chapter 40

FORTY

Invisible and silent, he passed down the corridors of the enemy ship, walking a path that was so inherently familiar.

He must've traveled on hundreds of ships similar to this. Typical imperial military craft. Sometimes, he'd even accompanied soldiers on missions, usually to clean up the still-breathing mess they left behind.

He'd never worked with the First Division, though. Never fought alongside comrades who had so willingly accepted him.

He'd always been shunned and avoided. Feared.

They'd acted like he didn't exist, covertly making signs of the Goddess as he passed.

As if he was unaware.

But he'd seen everything with his sixth sense, and he'd detested them all the more.

Dragek pushed dark thoughts from his mind. Get on with it.

Jade was waiting for him, and every fiber of his existence was stretched taut with heightened awareness. His Talent had always given him a superior sense of his surroundings, but now, with the Mating Fever surging through his veins, his perception was off the charts.

His bloodlust was heightened. He had to fight to suppress his killing aura.

This was rather dangerous. If he encountered the wrong kind of enemy, he might very well lose it.

But he'd spun the thread of her presence around his dark heart.

It centered him.

He passed the cargo hold. He moved amongst chambers and quarters, some of which contained living beings— humans.

With his ka'qui , he could see beyond the walls. There were dozens of them. All female. Some of them were sleeping. Others were quietly biding their time, seated and doing Kaiin-knows-what, or softly conversing in human-speech.

He sensed the children, too. Some of them were closely entwined with the humans. Their presences felt slightly different from the pure-blooded humans. Their auras were unlike anything Dragek had sensed before—a distinct mixture of human and Kordolian.

Fucking children.

The dark anger within him deepened even more. These children were no doubt the result of coerced breeding. Unlike the human mates of Tarak and his warriors, these women were prisoners.

But right now, they weren't shackled or restrained.

They were mostly left to their own devices, behind sealed doors.

Where were the guards?

Where were the soldiers?

Dragek quashed his curiosity and moved on. He had only one objective, and he would stick to it.

Find the traitor. The one who claims he is the eldest born of the dead emperor.

Is he really?

Does it even matter?

According to Tarak's intelligence, his target had been cybernetically modified. He possessed a vicious metal appendage—a tail—that could be used to impale his victims.

Dragek wasn't fazed. He already had an idea of how he could neutralize it.

He entered a long chamber where passenger seats lined the walls. They were all empty.

Based on the map Tarak ordered him to memorize, he was close to the bridge. There was a weapons storeroom to the left and a medical bay to the right. There were people in the med-bay, too. A Kordolian and a human.

The human was receiving treatment of some sort. Had they hurt her?

He couldn't help but think of Jade. It could so easily be her in that treatment room.

Dragek's instinct was to burst in there and kill whoever dared lay a hand on the defenseless female, but doing so would immediately blow his cover and jeopardize the entire mission, putting them all at risk.

So he gritted his teeth and forced himself to ignore whatever was happening in the med-bay.

The female in there didn't seem like she was distressed. She wasn't crying out in pain—for now.

He just had to get to Amun.

Tarak and his crew would take care of the rest, including the humans. They weren't his objective right now.

Cloaked in invisibility and silence, he moved through the ship until he reached the doorway to the bridge.

Naturally, the Qualum doors were sealed, but when Tarak's techs had constructed the Second Silence around the Caelix III, they'd hacked into the ship's security network and added Dragek's biological signature to the database.

Theoretically, these doors should open for him.

But that would give his presence away. After all, an invisible ghost couldn't just open a door and go unnoticed.

So he waited.

Until the doors opened, and a Kordolian walked out.

Clearly, this wasn't Amun. Tall and broad, with grizzled features and cropped hair, he wore the old military uniform.

Some sort of soldier, and a senior one at that, Dragek guessed.

But he wasn't worth bothering about right now because Tarak and the others would take care of him, and he'd just given Dragek the perfect opening.

He slipped through before the doors closed.

And found himself inside the very heart of the ship.

This was the control room.

It wasn't anything out of the ordinary. There were the usual consoles and pilot chairs. Holographic star charts were projected into thin air. A uniformed Kordolian sat in one of the pilot seats, intently focused on some sort of navigational map.

Another one—a young-looking tech—was hooked up to the Sylth, monitoring something or other.

If they'd detected any sort of interference from Tarak and his crew, they didn't show it. The Darkstar Mercenaries were too good and too devious to let such a basic error slip through.

He had to trust they didn't know he was here.

He reached out with his senses, scanning the room. There was no sign of Amun Kazharan in here.

But wait…

There was another doorway, open, leading to a small chamber off to the side.

A blind-ended chamber, with no exit or escape bar that doorway.

It looked like a trap.

It felt like a trap.

It almost certainly was a trap.

But he had the element of surprise on his side. All he had to do was get close enough to press the tip of his blade to the edge of Kazharan's neck and the balance of power would tip in his favor.

Amun supposedly possessed a suit of personalized elite-grade armor. No doubt it would be Callidum reinforced.

Hard to get through.

But the blades Dragek carried were the finest he'd ever wielded, slender and yet strong enough that he could probably punch it through anything, including Callidum armor.

He'd done it before, with lesser weapons.

He moved toward the open door, scanning the area with his sixth sense.

That's when he felt it.

A presence inside the chamber.

A formidable one.

It was almost as powerful as the auras he'd felt from the First Division warriors, only not as cold and tightly controlled.

It was tinged with chaos.

He didn't like it.

Something wasn't right. His instincts screamed at him to stop, but he couldn't go back now.

Even though it was much easier than before, thanks to the Mating Fever, he couldn't hold this state of qim forever. Eventually, he'd have to drop the cloak of invisibility, and the advantage would be lost.

He had to follow through.

No matter what happened, he could only trust that Tarak, Ashrael, and their crew would be there to clean up the aftermath.

He took a step forward, concealing his presence as powerfully as he ever had, moving through the open doorway step by undetectable step.

This space…

It wasn't anything remarkable—just a small, windowless office. Standard military issue. A place where an officer or commander could seek quiet in order to plot or strategize, perhaps. A console ran along one wall, projecting various holos depicting maps and data about random planets. There was a chair in the center: wide, high-backed, a swiveling type, facing away from Dragek.

He couldn't see the occupant, but there definitely was someone in the chair. All he could see was a pair of curving horns rising above the headrest.

What kind of bastard was this, who refused to cut and file down his horns? It was the empire that had discouraged the display of natural horns, so why did this male, one of the so-called Krael, still wear his?

Dragek carefully reached out with his ka'qui, allowing himself to visualize his target in great detail.

Horns. Long hair. Powerful form. Scarred face and damaged right eye. Body covered in high-grade armor, although his head and face were unprotected.

A cursed metal tail.

He was exactly as described.

There was no doubt about it. This was the one he'd been looking for.

Amun Kazharan.

The eldest son of the emperor and empress. Xalikian's brother. The one presumed dead.

The one who called himself emperor.

He was supposed to be vicious, cruel, arrogant, and probably unhinged.

That was all in the description Dragek had been given.

So why was he just sitting there, head back, eyes closed, chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, as if he were asleep?

Even though Dragek knew he wasn't.

He was just resting.

Was he really so unguarded right now?

This felt too simple, but then again, most assassinations were like this—anticlimactic.

Most times, his victims were caught unaware. Like all Silent Ones, Dragek used the elements of stealth and surprise to his advantage. There was no long, drawn-out fight. No time to summon the guards or pull a plasma gun.

Sometimes, they died before they could even register his presence.

He moved forward, walking on the balls of his feet, quietly drawing his long daggers.

Until he reached the chair and its occupant.

He moved around to the front and brought the edge of his blade against Amun's neck, taking great care not to actually touch him.

Now, Amun was one wrong move away from sudden death.

With his ka'qui, Dragek saw Amun's strange metal tail. It curved to one side, resting alongside the Kordolian's left leg.

Sleek, encased in metal, with a sharp barbed tip that was obviously made for violence, it was undeniably dangerous.

He'd never seen anything like it.

He didn't like it.

He needed to incapacitate it.

Time to work.

Time to reveal himself.

Thud! With great power and precision, Dragek slammed the tip of his second dagger right through Amun's metal tail, impaling it against the chair.

At the same time, he let go of the qim, revealing himself.

He wasn't even exhausted.

And the Mating Fever, although still very much present, was slightly subdued, thanks to him channeling so much of that pent-up energy into holding qim.

Still, he missed her.

He would do anything to make sure the Universe was safe for her.

"Don't move," he said softly as a single malevolent eye snapped open.

Amun's tail twitched but held fast under Dragek's blade. Dragek was pressing down hard. His dagger wasn't going anywhere.

The other Kordolian didn't move. Only the corner of his mouth quirked, forming a cold half-smile. "Well, you have me pinned." He spoke at last, his voice deep and resonant and annoyingly calm as he regarded Dragek with a sharp, calculating stare. "So you're the one they sent to get me. I'm flattered. I didn't detect you at all."

Dragek stared back, wondering what in the Nine Hells he was supposed to do with this guy now. This wasn't what he'd expected. Surely, there should have been a fight or some sort of retaliation.

But Amun Kazharan was as calm and still as the frozen sea on Kythia.

He kept the tip of his blade trained upon Amun's neck, just above his steadily pulsating artery. "You were expecting me."

"I'm not as stupid as some of my comrades—I have never underestimated your commander's ability to read between the lines. I won't fight back, katach. As long as Tarak al Akkadian listens to what I have to say."

"That's for him to decide," Dragek said coldly. He didn't trust this strange Kordolian one bit. What the fuck was Amun plotting? How could he be so calm when he was a heartbeat away from certain death?

This was the man who had organized the fragments and factions of the Old Empire against the Darkstar Mercenaries. The one who would bring the tyrannical rule of the Old Empire back to the Nine Galaxies.

Corruption.

Enslavement.

Senseless suffering and death.

That's what he stood for. Even Dragek's very own precious mate would be treated as little more than chattel under their rule.

And so would he.

How many needless deaths had this man's family caused? The imperial family was responsible for creating The Program, turning those of Dragek's kind into mindless killers and stripping them of all freedom in the process.

How much had they made him suffer?

The darkness in him reared—the desire to kill becoming so powerful that his Second Sight blurred—and for a moment, his mind's eye perceived the distinct hue of black.

It clouded everything, threatening to strip away every last fragment of his self-control.

In his mind's eye, he had a vision of himself slicing through Amun's neck, tearing that aloof, arrogant expression of his apart.

He could. He so very well could.

There was nothing standing between them right now.

He could lie and tell Tarak it was unavoidable, that Amun had fought back viciously, that he was mad beyond the point of no return.

But that would jeopardize everything they'd fought for.

Keep it together.

He just had to hang on until they arrived.

"It's obvious you want to kill me," Amun stated. "Your aura is enough to make a lesser man want to jump into the fire to save himself. But you won't. In case you hadn't already figured it out, killing me would doom everyone on this ship—including you."

Ah, there it is.

The catch.

Why was there always a catch?

There was no doubt at all in his mind that Amun had the means to back up his threats. He could sense the certainty in his aura.

That's how he could be so calm right now.

"Do not speak right now," Dragek growled. "I can do a lot worse without killing you."

"Hm." Amun raised an insolent eyebrow but said no more.

And Dragek was left to wait with life and death balanced in the palm of his blade-hand, the madness of the Mating Fever slowly eroding his discipline and self-control.

At least he had his anchor, the sublime trace of her presence to hold onto.

They were entwined now.

But wait…

Why couldn't he feel her anymore?

His composure cracked just a little bit more, allowing the darkness to seep in.

What had happened to her? Had she slipped? Or was it something more than that?

Pray to the Goddess that she was safe and well because if anything happened to her…

Ashrael. He reached out to the only one who could possibly comprehend his current state of near madness. I've secured the target. Tell Tarak to come now before I forget how to be civilized and tear him apart. A warning. He's cunning. He has leverage. He isn't going to go easily.

This was far from over.

Good work, brother. I'm in no position to move right now, but Tarak will be there shortly.

Ashrael… The small crack in Dragek's self-control became a wide fissure. He didn't know himself anymore. He didn't truly know what he was capable of. So, in desperation, he revealed his innermost fears.

What is it?

I… can't feel my sarien anymore.

Understood. I can assure you that she is safe. Now more than ever, you need to trust us. I know how tempting the path of destruction can be, but nothing good will come of it. No matter what Amun does, no matter how he tries to goad and manipulate you, don't fall for it. Ashrael's mindvoice became strained.

Then, he disappeared.

Leaving Dragek staring back at a man who was watching him intently with a single burning eye, and he couldn't help but feel that Amun was factoring him into all of this.

He didn't like it; all of this scheming and manipulation. Being made into someone else's pawn against his will.

This was the very son of Empress Vionn herself, the one who had used the Silent Ones as her own personal death squad.

All of his instincts were screaming at him.

Kill him. Leaving him alive will only cause problems you cannot contain.

One of his greatest fears was unlocked.

What if you become his pawn? What if he makes you a Silent One again?

And yet, he couldn't kill this man because if he did, the entire Universe would go to the Nine Hells.

What kind of infernal torture was this?

What if he'd put too much trust in Tarak, and the general really wasn't as brilliant or in control as everyone seemed to think?

What if this was all a fucking monumental miscalculation?

Tarak had better arrive soon because, right now, the slightest provocation would tip him over the edge.