Page 14 of Stars in Umbra (The Sable Riders #8)

A Raw, Volatile Energy

RINA

T he Eden Justice Centre towered like a crown of polished steel and crystal in the government sector, its vast amphitheater packed wall-to-wall with the faces of Pegasi’s military elite.

She managed to avoid the masses of protesters out front and their frothing anger by coming in via a side door.

Only to have the guard at the security checkpoint tell her that protocol now dictated that everyone come in through the front to focus most security on that entrance.

‘It’s in case of a breach on the frontage where all the VIPs are arriving through anyway.’

‘I’ll keep a note on that private,’ she told the guardsman as he waved her inside.

Rina swept in, eyes scanning the sea of uniforms and crests in the plenary hall.

She took note of their rank, visible through the stars pinned on their stiff collars, and the rows of medals on their upper chests.

She navigated the crowd with the ease of long practice, offering nods, handshakes, and the occasional friendly quip to those who earned it.

‘General Vel Korin,’ she greeted with a tight smile, clasping forearms with the Allorian military chief.

He was tall, gaunt, dressed in midnight-gray battle fatigues, his eyes sunken from too many sleepless nights.

‘I thought you’d be back home putting out fires.’

Korin gave a hoarse laugh. ‘I prefer blowing out flames on the delicious cocktails that every bar in Eden II seems to serve. Less likely to kill me in my sleep.’

She chuckled, thinking about how these conferences were often just junkets for men like him, a chance to let loose and go wild when off duty.

She passed Sartixia’s Admiral Dane Vastrik, his gold-trimmed navy uniform immaculate, his posture so rigid he appeared welded into place.

‘Colonel Mendi,’ he drawled, voice like frost, ‘I hope Dunia’s peace corps isn’t about to complicate our already tenuous supply routes.’

‘I’m working on a deal to free them up, Admiral,’ she shot back with a polite smile.

Next, she chanced on Rhesia’s General Amasi Jourdan, brisk, silver-haired, and notorious for her disdain of bureaucracy.

She caught Rina’s eye and tipped an imaginary glass in greeting.

‘You look like you need a drink, Colonel.’

‘You’re not wrong,’ Rina muttered, sliding into her seat.

The conference kicked off moments later, the lights dimming as the amphitheater’s holo-screens flared to life, casting a cold glow over the hundreds of delegates.

The mood was a palpable tension, a shared unease that hung in the air like a storm cloud. This was no ordinary diplomatic gathering; it was a military council convened to address the escalating threats to the fragile peace of the Pegasi system.

The major themes were clear: the defense of Falasia and the protection of the allied planet of Alloria, alongside the complex military issues surrounding the expansion of the otherworldly powers within Pegasi.

At the podium, the Rhesian Head of Defense, Marshal Drayen Sol Karthis, took the stage, a towering figure in a deep crimson uniform. His voice was a bellow, a weapon he wielded to command the room.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, we convene today as protectors of Pegasi’s fragile peace, stewards of its volatile borders, and defenders of our shared survival,’ he declared.

‘Let us not waste this gathering with posturing. We face threats far surpassing our egos. Let’s get down to the nitty-gritty of defending our fragile and shared freedom. ’

With that, the conference was officially opened.

Rina was a silent observer in a room filled with influential individuals.

The pomp and circumstance, the dramatic speeches, it all seemed like a hollow spectacle. She saw a collection of egos, not a unified front.

The discussions were already predictable, bogged down in bureaucratic jargon and military rivalries.

Her take was simple: they were all talking about defense, but no one was addressing the core issue. The growing rebel movements were pushing back against the very authoritarian governments they were here to defend.

She was witnessing a failure of perspective.

This wasn’t a matter of tactics or military might; it was about facing two interconnected threats: the rebels and the governments of Rhesia, Falasia, and Alloria, which were falling prey to hard-line politics.

The rebels and gangs, who were growing in influence, had no fear of death, a brutal advantage that the military minds in this room seemed to underestimate.

As she listened to the presentations, her mind replayed the sound of the protesters’ cries from just moments ago, a stark reminder that the real-world consequences of this meeting were already a blood-soaked reality.

The military solutions they proposed felt tragically insufficient.

They were planning to fight conventional wars against enemies that fought without rules, without mercy, and without a shred of what they understood as humanity.

The following morning, Rina’s flyer descended through the turbulence of voices, a wall of noise swelling from the protesters gathered below.

Placards thrust upward in defiance, their cardboard canvases emblazoned with furious scrawls: ‘Stop the bloodshed,’ ‘Falasian lives matter too,’ ‘Military justice, not civilian massacre.’

The air hummed with a raw, volatile energy.

Her craft touched down on the front entrance’s landing pad. She stepped out with her bags and engaged the autopilot, sending it off toward the hangar.

Gritting her teeth, she moved toward the sliding doors, just as the mob surged forward, a tidal wave of human fury.

Faces contorted with rage, voices cracked with frustration.

A man leaned so close she felt the spit of his words on her cheek. ‘You military folk disgust us. You allowed this! You let them slaughter innocent people!’

Her spine stiffened with a cold resolve, but she forced herself to keep moving.

Her jaw was set, and her eyes flicked over the placards, taking in their message.

These were Falasian loyalists, enraged about the civilian carnage.

They wanted accountability; hell, they were demanding it. It was their right, and privately she agreed with them.

Still, she kept her head high, her shoulders squared, and pushed through the angry sea of bodies, moving toward the stairs that led into the lobby a few flights away.

She almost made it clear when she lifted her gaze and froze.

Mo stood on the landing above, all in black, one hand braced against the rail, his narrowed gaze.

He was looming over the scene, menacing, dark, and lethal, yet he wore the part with ease. Kainan must have co-opted him to the conference security team.

The thought warmed her even as their eyes locked across the churning crowd.

Her brow arched in silent question, and his body shifted, angling toward her as if he’d been waiting only for her.

She took the first step upward when the protester from before broke through the crowd. His hands shoved hard between her shoulder blades.

She stumbled, twisted, and almost lost her balance. She spun, ready to draw her sidearm, when the man lunged again.

The blow caught her jaw, a jarring impact that snapped her head sideways.

She stumbled back, her vision flashing white, a galaxy of stars exploding behind her eyes.

But before she hit the steps, a blur of white-hot energy tore toward her, holding her up.

Mo.

‘You OK?’ he growled.

She nodded.

He pushed her against a wall and turned to face the explosive scene.

The protesters kept coming, and he slammed the lead attacker to the ground like a missile, the man crumpling under the sheer velocity of the impact.

Mo stood over him, his chest heaving, his eyes lit with a feral glow.

His voice cracked like a whip, commanding the guards who rushed in to support him. ‘Arrest him. Now. Drag him out.’

Another protester broke free and dove at her.

Disoriented, Rina slumped hard onto the tiles behind her, her head bouncing against the unyielding stone edge.

Stars burst in her vision, hot and blinding.

She tried to push herself up, but her limbs betrayed her, buckling under her weight. Through the chaos, she saw Mo coming for her.

He was a storm, shoving men aside with a terrifying single-mindedness until he dropped to one knee at her side.

His hands, warm, massive, insistent, cupped her jaw, tilting her face up to his. ‘Rina. Don’t move.’

His voice was raw with fury, pulsing with a command that was all alpha, all possessiveness.

‘I’m fine,’ she groaned, the words slurring together. ‘It’s just my head. Mo, I’m OK -.’

‘Quiet.’ His command was a blade, slicing through her protest. ‘You don’t get a say in this. I’m taking over here, Colonel.’

Medical drones whirred down from the ceiling, scanning beams flickering across her body.

One beeped: ‘No fractures or internal bleeding, nor any concussion detected.’

‘See, I’m fine,’ she murmured.

Mo didn’t relent.

‘She’s not,’ he snapped at the drone, as though he could browbeat machinery into submission. ‘Rerun it.’

‘Mo,’ she rasped, pushing at his chest. ‘It’s nothing. I’ve a plenary session in a few minutes.’

His hand flattened against her sternum, pinning her with one palm, and the possessiveness in his stare burned hotter than the protests raging outside.

‘You’re not walking anywhere. You’ll rest. You’ll listen. You’ll let me keep you alive.’

She opened her mouth to argue, a retort on her tongue, but he scooped her up before she could get the words out.

‘I’m taking you to the med bay.’

He lifted her against his chest. The world tilted as he carried her, his jaw set, his eyes daring anyone to challenge him.

Behind him, the fray was under control as a massive shield descended over the lobby, keeping the shouting protesters at bay.

In the med clinic, she argued again, she wasn’t bleeding, wasn’t broken, wasn’t fragile. But he was immovable, his brooding, roiling energy pressing down on her like a force field.

Finally, with a frustrated groan, she relented.

‘An hour. Just one hour.’

She slumped back on the surface of a hover cot and closed her eyes.

Mo didn’t move from her side the entire time.

He sat near her bed, arms folded across his chest, his gaze never leaving her, his energy roiling, a storm waiting to be unleashed.

When the medics finally released her, she smoothed her jacket, re-tied her hair, and announced she was returning to her session. Mo stalked beside her, her fearsome escort to the plenary hall, his silence more oppressive than any lecture.

She slowed at the doorway and reassured him again. ‘I’m fine.’

He didn’t answer. His eyes just flamed.

‘ Fokk , Mo,’ she murmured. ‘Are you going to stare a hole through me all day?’

‘ Naam . You got a problem with that?’

She parted her lips at his growl, then closed them, with nothing to add.

He jerked his chin, a silent command for her to proceed, and she swept past him and into the plenary session.

Yet, even across the vast chamber of the hall, she sensed his gaze on her.

Hot. Possessive. Relentless.

It was almost a physical press on her skin, a constant reminder of his presence, and it left her feeling both comforted and aroused by his unwavering attentiveness.

Some time later, Rina’s data pad vibrated against her thigh as intelligence reports poured into her inbox.

She glanced at her screen.

With a sigh, she skimmed the headlines.

Civilian casualties were rising on both fronts in Falasia and Alloria.

A contingent of Falasian prisoners had ambushed a settlement on the border, and the Allorian uprising following Tyran’s assassination was spreading beyond containment.

Hell, she’d just experienced the wrath of activists, so the issues at hand were severe.

Her stomach clenched.

She toggled her interface, typing rapid-fire reports to Kainan, while also half-listening to the drone of the next speaker outlining advancements in shield harmonics.

By midday, her temples were pounding.

She’d foregone a meal for work, and she didn’t note Kainan’s approach until his shadow fell across her seat during the lunch break.

He cut an imposing figure, even in a room filled with the most prominent military leaders in Pegasi. His chimeric energy was subdued but ever-present, like lightning beneath his skin.

‘Colonel.’

‘Kainan.’

He sat in the chair beside her, his gilded, flaming eyes fixed on her. ‘I’ve just gone through your latest update. It’s getting dicey.’

‘That’s an understatement.’

‘Here’s what I need you to do. Draft a joint statement from the UGM, the Allorian government, and the rebel faction. Call for de-escalation. Immediate ceasefire. Frame it as mutual survival.’

She exhaled, her fingers drumming on the screen of her comm tab. ‘That’ll be a challenge. Achieving consensus between them right now is like asking wolves and lambs to share a meal.’

Kainan’s gaze narrowed, unflinching.

‘’Tis your job, Colonel, as lead peacekeeper, to find common ground.

This conflict has torn the veil off Alloria’s shitshow; their freakin’ house is a mess.

The government’s fractured, the rebels are desperate, and Pegasi’s watching.

They need to let us help them rein in their shit, but we can’t keep shelling out soldiers, armaments, and trillions of credits while they pussyfoot around, arguing semantics. ’

He leaned in, his rasp steel-wrapped. ‘They have to fix their house, stat. Make sure they understand this is their last grace period before the wider galaxy loses patience.’

Rina nodded once, resigned to her fate. ‘Understood, sir.’

He gave her a slight smile. ‘Good.’

He rose to leave, but paused, his voice dropping to a softer, warmer tone.

‘You’re one of the smartest military strategists I know.

Your work on Dunia during the coup was extraordinary.

You transformed chaos into control and guided the coalition army to victory.

I need that same magic here. You’re a natural at this. ’

Then, with the trace of a simper, he added, ‘Even if you are a pain in my ass. Now finish your meal, Mendi. You require the strength.’

Just like that, he was gone, his long stride carrying him into the sea of delegates.

Rina sat there, blinking, his words settling somewhere uncomfortable in her chest.

Praise from Kainan was rare.

The soldier in her who fought tooth and nail to be taken seriously, soaked it in and tucked it away like armor.

However, the rest of her? The tired, battle-worn woman who hadn’t slept in two days and was now expected to salvage a civil war and babysit the egos of an entire planet?

That part of her wanted to throw her water glass against the wall and scream.

Instead, she lifted her device, sighed, and forced herself to start typing with one hand, while the other picked up her fork and stabbed it into a piece of steak.

Damn, he was right. She would need her everlovin’ strength and extreme fortitude to make it through the day.