Page 22

Thrown To The Wolves

SAVVINE

S avvine tossed and turned most of the night, her sheets tangled by dawn.

Despite the luxurious bedding and mild temperature, her mind wouldn’t shut down.

Each time she closed her eyes, Xander’s voice returned, timbred and teasing, brushing over her skin like a breeze.

His quiet strength, his care, and how his eyes tracked her when he wined and dined her the night before by the lake.

Worse was her physical reaction to him, the way her clit pulsed and throbbed around him.

It was maddening and confusing as fokk , given his forbidden nature.

Still, she was no follower of rules either, and for a moment, she wondered what making love to him, in his spectral form, might be like.

The thought only heightened her arousal, and she tossed and turned, cursing at her traitorous body.

When she did drift off, it was shallow and unsatisfying, and she woke groggy and crabby, hair wild, bedclothes mussed, jaw tight, every muscle aching with unrest.

A chime cut through her fitful doze.

The front door?

She woke, slid from bed with a mutter, found her robe in her luggage, and threw it on.

The second she opened her cabin door, her mood shifted.

A breakfast tray waited on a table beside the entryway.

On it were still-warm toast slices, curled butter pats, a bowl of mixed fruit dusted with crushed nuts, cutlery, and a steaming teapot with a milk jug.

A note in a bold, slanted script sat tucked under the handle:

‘Didn’t want you hangry. Eat first. Then take the flyer, it’s waiting. - X’

She chuckled, glanced up, and spotted the craft, hovering in the leaf-lined glade nearby.

Her irritation dissolved as Xander’s consideration cut through her sleep deprivation.

She brought the tray inside and ate at the kitchen table, standing up, a piece of toast in one hand and tea in the other.

Her comm tab vibrated, and she leaned over it, sliding the screen to accept the holo call.

Abby’s face appeared before her.

‘Hey, woman. Still alive in the wolves’ den?’

Abby had no idea just how accurate her statement was.

‘Just about,’ Savvine huffed. ‘What’s up?’

Abby’s expression bordered on sheepish. ‘So, about that intel where I might have thought Signet and the Lombardis were in cahoots? Well, I just discovered the Lombardi contact the Signet strong guard met with was feeding intel about his people to the company. He’s working against the Lombardis.’

‘A snitch?’

‘A CI.’

‘Same thing. You know this, how?’

‘I did some digging. Tomas, the said informant, is a former Signet convict. I found payments in his bank account corresponding to sudden Signet raids and captures on Lombardi operations. Also, the package he passed on? I intercepted his messages and confirmed that it was a cake his mum made for his Signet handler.’

Savvine’s heart sank as guilt hit. ‘ Stronzo! So I’ve accused Xander of sleeping with the enemy when I was way off base?’

‘Well, we were flailing and angry as fokk at the time. We had to start somewhere with our investigating.’

Savvine sighed. ‘Hell, this means I have to ask Xander’s forgiveness. Sante Abby, but let cool heads prevail next time before we make baseless accusations. That includes me.’

‘On it, my friend, my apologies, won’t happen again.’

The two women smiled at each other, having already forgiven any missteps.

Savvine mulled Abby’s information as she dressed fast in combat-cut slacks, a tucked-in black shirt, and boots.

She had some grovelling to do.

With her hair up, a quick, light makeup job, and bags slung over her shoulder, she exited the cabin and strode to the glade, stepping into the flyer.

The flight through the Signet mother-ship was nothing short of surreal.

The deck wasn’t just a warship but a floating city of natural wonder, green parks, and curving roads.

Tower blocks, commercial districts, and housing tiers bloomed along its internal struts. Flyers buzzed beneath and above her route, their routes woven into a choreography of function and freedom.

She passed decks dedicated to education zones, hydroponic terraces, even a small amphitheater where children’s laughter filtered through open sonic shields.

A uniformed female attendant was waiting when she arrived at a landing pad next to a set of enormous doors.

She was young, perhaps in her mid-twenties.

Her dark curls were pulled back, and she had warm brown eyes and a tablet held to her chest.

‘Chief Bianchi?’ she said. ‘Welcome. Please call me Enya, I’ll escort you to the Signet war room.’

Savvine smiled. ‘ Sante . Beautiful name by the way.’

Enya beamed. ‘It was my grandmother’s. This way.’

They walked into a corridor where matte walls gleamed with holograms of Signet’s past battles, alliances, and rebuilding projects.

In the offices and rooms they swung by, staff members bustled, working with seamless efficiency.

‘You’ve worked here long?’ Savvine asked.

‘Three years,’ Enya replied. ‘Since I arrived on the Signet.’

Savvine glanced over. ‘Where from?’

‘I came from a D’Amato ship that I had to flee in the middle of the night due to an unfortunate circumstance.’

‘I’m sorry.’

The younger woman shrugged. ‘Don’t be, I left behind a violent situation I never want to see again.

This place saved me. I have a good job now.

Solid healthcare. Free schooling for my two kids.

A crew that looks out for me. Commander Roman says that on the Sombra, everyone gets a second chance, but only if they work for it. ’

Enya’s smile warmed again. ‘You can sense it here, you know? The safety and security?’

Savvine’s throat tightened a little.

She nodded and glanced away at the small touches of humanity embedded in the ship’s design: child-safe wall panels, communal seating nooks, play and lounge areas, and fully equipped med pods at regular intervals.

In time, they walked towards an airy, well-designed, and sleek office area bustling with people at their desks and multiple screens. ‘Welcome to the Executive Wing, and the war room. Next to the ship’s bridge.’

Enya paused at a massive sliding door, keying it open with her badge.

‘I think Commander Roman is inside waiting for you,’ she said, her voice dropping with awe. ‘I’ll be on call outside. Let me know if you need anything.’

Savvine smiled. ‘ Sante . For the story and the escort.’

Enya inclined her head. ‘You’re welcome, anytime, Chief.’

Savvine walked through the door. Xander stood at the head of the table, broad-shouldered in a black-stitched Henley rolled to the elbows.

His thick thighs were encased in all-sable stretch trousers tucked in chunky combat boots.

Eyes cast to a commtab on the table, his unusual amethyst hair falling over his strong brow.

A fitted holster sat across his muscled chest, a sleek silver weapon concealed in the underarm sling. His presence was magnetic and commanding.

He glanced up as Savvine eased in and raked her from head to toe, his gaze scorching her.

Her entire being lurched as she stepped forward.

‘Chief Bianchi,’ he rasped.

Damn, she was weak for his rough, velvety drawl, and its blended Kwavi roots and Spanish lilt that curled down her spine in a heated coil.

‘Glad you made it,’ he added, pulling a chair for her, and she sat.

‘ Kahawa ?’ he drawled.

She nodded, unpacking her bag, sliding out her commtab and notepad, subtly checking out his tight buns in his sable combat sweats.

That was one fine ass.

He moved to the heavy chrome kaffeine machine in the corner.

With a few deft presses, the rich, spicy scent of roasted beans filled the room.

While he prepped her beverage, she tore her eyes from him and took the time to gaze around her.

The boardroom was an enormous, oval, black-stone structure reinforced with transparent steel.

A long obsidian-glass table gleamed beneath a chandelier of floating crystal nodes suspended in magnetic levitation.

The light danced across the ceiling, casting an ambient, starry glow over the walls, which was a marvel.

Shelves of reinforced plexiglass held an array of rare weapons behind them, from carved wood pistols to antique blades from Earth’s forgotten wars, and alloy rifles marked with alien glyphs.

Also, what appeared like a preserved plasma halberd from the Sygari, a band of space raiders that had preyed on the armada at the start of its transversal journey.

The chairs were deep, black leather with subtle cushioning molded for long strategy sessions.

The table’s center pulsed with embedded holo-tech, flickering with a slow rotation of the flotilla layout.

Laid out neatly along one side of the table were refreshments that made her blink.

A tray of chilled water bottles sat on the surface, featuring glasses with etched Signet sigils and a dark decanter of whiskey that was undoubtedly older than most star cruisers in the flotilla.

Alongside was a spread of food, charcuterie boards, fresh-cut fruit, and her weakness, butter and crisp, crusty bread.

Xander poured her drink and brought it to her with a flourish, eyes gleaming as she reached for the cup.

‘It’s exactly how I like it. Do you have a dossier on me?’ she teased, sipping with pleasure.

He smirked, eyes resting on her lips for a moment. ‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’

She narrowed her eyes at him, certain there was a file on her.

She was about to launch into more teasing banter when she reminded herself that for this meeting, she was Chief Bianchi, this was Signet, and he was a shifter of colossal power.

She had to keep professional; she’d come to conduct serious business, not to get seduced by a sensual, sexy, and intriguing man.

The door whispered open, and the room’s magnetism amplified as a group of men prowled in.

Santi first, sauntering to the central table with that infuriating, easy smirk tugging at his lips.

He caught sight of her and grinned. ‘ Hola , trouble.’

She shot him a smile. ‘Hey, tour guide.’

‘Survived for the first night on our glorified prison can with our warden?’ he added, tilting his chin toward Xander.