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EIGHT

Vaund didn’t look up when a knock sounded at the door. He maintained his slouched posture in his kraug-hide chair, his long, claw-like fingers curled over the ends of the armrests. Reports flitted through his optical feed. Columns and columns of data detailed expenditures and earnings, all of it nonexistent as far as the Consortium was concerned—the records would be sent to the Inner Reach Syndicate’s headquarters before local copies were destroyed.

The only sound in the knock’s wake was that of his respiratory pumps maintaining a constant airflow into and out of his lungs. The years had, unfortunately, only increased his awareness of the noise.

He perused the currently displayed report to its end, tallying everything on a small side screen at the lower edge of his vision. Once he’d confirmed the totals were accurate, he allowed his attention to stray from his work; a minute had passed since the knock, and there’d been no follow up.

Vaund considered it a sign that his subordinates understood him well. They knew to wait until he acknowledged them rather than cause a second interruption.

“Enter,” he said, a low buzz running beneath his artificially replicated voice.

The door opened. Vaund didn’t have to turn to see the groalthuun, Straek, enter the room; the cybernetic helmet encasing the ruined flesh of his head provided full view all around.

Straek stopped two meters away from Vaund’s chair and blinked his large, black eyes. “Found a few prospects today, boss.”

Vaund eased his hold on the armrests and lifted a hand, index finger extended. “Show me.”

Straek activated his holocom, bringing up several still images on its projected screen. He swept them together with his fingers and flicked them toward Vaund.

The images appeared in Vaund’s optical feed—three males and two females.

Vaund examined the stills one by one, assessing the candidates by species, build, and appearance. Two of the males were promising—a pair of daevah, twins with mirrored patterns on their violet-red skin. They looked to have athletic frames, which was a good start. Male daevah, who were always born as twins, were popular both with wealthy buyers looking for sex slaves and with the organizers of underground fights seeking entertaining combatants.

These daevah could pull in a decent payout on the Caldorian market.

But the last image was the most intriguing of all. It was a terran female with expressive brown eyes and long brown hair. She had a certain innocence to her features that would undoubtedly enhance her market appeal. The image only displayed her head and part of one shoulder .

“Give me everything you have on the last one,” Vaund said. “The terran.”

A moment later, fresh images appeared in his feed, all containing the terran, taken in what appeared to be one of the upper city malls. The crowd blocked her from full view in most of the images, and her baggy clothing made it difficult to determine the shape of the body beneath, but she seemed a slight, attractive thing.

Perfect .

“Who is with her?” Vaund asked. A tall sedhi stood near her in each image, often holding her hand; only the back of his head visible in most of the stills.

“Don’t know, boss,” said Straek. “Some sedhi she was walking with. They spotted me before the last one.”

Something sparked in Vaund’s gut as he neared the final image in the chain. The sensation was heavy and hot, and he somehow knew what he was going to see. He somehow knew who he was going to see.

In the final image, the sedhi had turned to face Straek directly. Vaund knew those yellow eyes, knew the qal on the sedhi’s face and neck, knew the curve of those horns. He even knew the distinctive shape of those smug lips.

He’s dead. I fucking killed him.

Vaund grasped the arms of the chair; the frame within creaked, groaned, and snapped. Arcanthus was dead .

“How long did you follow them?” he asked.

“Couple hours, maybe,” said Straek. “They held hands while they walked around. Stopped in a few shops. Took in the sights.”

Though Vaund could only speculate, it was likely that the terran was in a relationship with Arcanthus. It was likely that she was important to him .

Which meant there was a chance she could be used to locate the sedhi…or to lure him out of hiding.

“Find her. I want a name; I want a location.”

“We’ll get on it right away, boss. She’s probably chipped, though. Might complicate things.”

“We’re not taking her yet. I just want her found. The sedhi she was with needs to die. Once he’s dead, we’ll capture the terran.”

Straek’s eyes widened. He opened his mouth, and Vaund could almost sense the questions that nearly tumbled out before the groalthuun snapped his jaw shut again.

Vaund twisted in his chair, turning his face—or rather the vague suggestion of a face his helmet presented—toward Straek. “This one isn’t on the books. Do you understand?”

“Yes, boss.”

“Leave me. I don’t want to be bothered again until you know where she is.”

The groalthuun nodded and hurried out of the room, closing the door softly behind him.

Vaund resumed his prior position, but restless, agitated fire pulsed outward from his gut to course through his limbs. He absently flexed and relaxed his fingers as the volume of his respirator increased.

The terran would fetch a high price, and that would benefit the Syndicate—Vaund had climbed the ranks by maximizing the profits he generated for the organization—but Arcanthus needed to die for Vaund’s benefit. His subordinates had no idea who Arcanthus was; none of them had been on Caldorius those years ago, none of them were aware of what had transpired there.

But there were several people in the Syndicate leadership who did know.

And Vaund reported directly to some of them .

Ambition, ruthlessness, and a cold, calculating demeanor had brought Vaund this far, but it would mean little if his superiors discovered that he’d botched the job that had earned him a place within the organization a decade ago. It would make them question everything he’d said and done over the intervening years.

It would all mean nothing if they found out Vaund had failed to kill Arcanthus.

He grasped the armrests and wrenched them up, snapping them off the frame and tearing their hide covering.

This time, Arcanthus, I’m taking your head.