Page 16 of Stars in Umbra (The Sable Riders #8)

A Storm Tethered To Lightning

RINA

R ina woke in the soft hush of her bed in her temporary suite, the early light curling through the drapes in pale bands.

Her eyelids cracked open as she nestled deeper into the covers.

She was about to stretch her arms when she stilled, as glimpses of last night rose in her mind.

Her hands went to her cheeks as unclear flashes of being carried and of strong arms tucking her in with impossible gentleness struck her.

Mo put her to bed.

Her face heated, imagining him, all bulk and grit, carrying her like she weighed nothing, cradled into the solid wall of his torso.

She lay still for a moment, a warmth blooming in her chest, the corners of her lips twitching into a soft, private smile.

With a groan, she peeled away from the sheets, feeling the ache of the last two days of work.

She took a long, hot shower, letting the water wash away any lingering exhaustion, then dressed in tailored black slacks and a sleeveless high-collared blouse.

She paired the look with a crisp gray jacket, a uniform that marked her rank without needing to scream it.

Next, a touch of liner, a neutral gloss.

Nothing extravagant, just enough to make her feel like herself again, a woman in control.

Downstairs, the streets were already bustling with the morning rush.

Flyers zipped overhead, flashing through lanes in the filtered sun.

On the avenues below, people rushed in streams of color and motion, their uniforms, robes, and civilian suits blending into one.

It was a chaotic mix of species and worlds colliding in the kind of tense peace only a city like this could sustain.

She crossed the street, her heels tapping a sure rhythm against the tiles, and detoured through the side alley that led to the back of The Osirian .

At the discreet steel door with the burnished Sable insignia, she buzzed twice.

A holo ID scanner emitted a blue arc of energy over her face, and then the doorway slid open with a soft hiss.

She walked into an innovative suite of offices.

The reception desk was empty, and she sighed, a small ripple of disappointment running through her.

She was about to send Mo a message, wondering where he was, when a rough timbre called out from an inner office.

‘Colonel Mendi?’

‘ Naam ,’ Rina responded with a rush of relief.

‘In here.’

She followed the rumbling utterance into a room at the end of the short corridor.

To find Mo, broad-shouldered, imposing, and infuriatingly dashing, leaning one hip against a desk cluttered with weapon schematics and polished gun cases.

The lighting caught the edges of the intricate glyphs beneath his collar, making them shimmer like dark constellations.

Her pulse stuttered and lurched.

Hot damn, he was handsome.

‘Morning,’ she said, stepping in, her voice betraying none of the chaos his presence wrought.

Arming herself with critical moxie, she crossed the room and went to his side, placing an arm on his and bending to kiss his cheek.

He chuckled and leaned into it, and she pressed her lips to his jawline before moving back, a wave of heat arcing through her.

He eased back against the desk, his brow arched in amusement.

‘What the fokk was that for?’

The fervor in his eyes tightened her stomach.

‘I just came to say thank you. For last night. The meds, the food. All of it.’

His mouth curved into a half-smile, his voice a rough, intimate rasp.

‘ De nada . Like I said, it was my pleasure.’

The way he said it, like he’d do it again and again without needing a reason, made her pulse stutter.

She cleared her throat, forcing the moment back to a more professional setting.

‘I’ve got back-to-back meetings all day, but,’ she added, arching a brow, ‘I wouldn’t say no to that drink later, if you’re still offering.’

He gifted her a grin, lopsided, lethal. ‘Damn right, I still am.’

‘I’ll see you tonight then.’

His lips pursed, and a flare of heat flashed in his gray-gold eyes.

‘I’ll be at the bar from 8 PM.’

She raised her chin in understanding and gave him a final glance.

Then she pivoted and strode out, the corners of her mouth tilted up as the heat of his eyes followed her to the exit.

At the Justice Centre, she stepped into the diplomatic chaos once more.

Overnight, the security team had placed guardrails and a secure covered corridor from the landing pad to the entrance.

Which meant she dodged the protesters, but not their noisy roars.

Inside, the amphitheater buzzed with overlapping conversations, data holos flickering midair, displaying maps, military updates, and casualty projections.

She skirted the main hall and worked in her temporary office, juggling three tense conversations before her first coffee.

She then leaned on her two aides to manage the overflow of information and took five heated calls from rebel elders who all wanted different concessions.

By midday, she hammered out a final, brittle ceasefire, built on threats, hope, and desperation, but enough to get all parties semi-satisfied.

Late in the afternoon, she was drafting press briefings and scripting Kainan’s key statements.

While coordinating the Allorian government envoy’s talking points and securing prime broadcast slots for two holo channels.

At dusk, she was back in her suite, shoes kicked off, jacket slung over a chair.

She rubbed her eyes, burning from a full day of diplomacy stitched with fire and fury.

Somewhere in that haze of exhaustion, she remembered Mo’s words, his gaze, and his promise of a drink.

For the first time all day, she smiled.

Rina stepped out of her chamber with the soft hush of the door sealing behind her, her slinky black jumpsuit catching the ambient lights of the corridor.

The fabric clung in all the right places, smooth as silk and dark as midnight oil, cinched at the waist with a matte obsidian belt.

Her stiletto heels’ arch was seductive to the eye.

Her small evening bag was a lacquered jet cube with chrome details.

She dusted a final touch of powder along her cheekbones, swiped on a soft gloss that caught the light, and exhaled, composed and ready.

The moment Rina stepped out of the elevator and into The Osirian , the city seemed to fall away.

It was dusk, and the interior of the famed Rider haunt pulsed with radiance, intimate shadows, and the deep thrum of curated bass.

Gold-veined stone floors gleamed beneath her heels; the walls hung with illuminated relics, blades, and art from a dozen Pegasi cultures.

Patrons, a blend of diplomats, off-duty soldiers, and power players, filled the space with murmured laughter, clinking glasses, and the intoxicating scent of spice and aged liquor.

A mix of polished marble and shimmering metals, the legendary Rider-owned restaurant had recently undergone a refurbishment and was now equal parts sanctuary and theater.

Suspended light orbs floated like lazy planets above each table, casting soft, golden halos.

Exotic perfumes mingled with the scents of charred spices, seared meats, and citrus oils.

In the distance, a live band played sultry, downtempo music, all moody sax and electric pulse.

She wove through the throng, sleek and certain, her hips swaying with a confident rhythm, her heels steady, her black jumpsuit hugging every line of her frame.

The slinky fabric shimmered under the pendant lights, the deep neckline daring, the cut tailored to perfection.

She moved like a woman who owned her power, the heat of eyes on her the moment she entered the room.

People turned, as she passed, taking her in, but she didn’t break her stride.

Then, a hand curled around her bicep.

It was warm, calloused, and possessive.

She inhaled as she was spun into the firm wall of Mo’s chest.

A hint of leather and smoke clung to him, his scent a primal mix that spoke of strength and danger.

His very essence was dominant, dangerous, and so freakin’ divine it made her head spin.

He loomed above her, his gaze dark as obsidian, his voice a rough and sensual rasp.

‘With me, mi kaya .’

Her stomach flipped, a giddy, dizzying sensation.

He didn’t wait for her answer; he just led her, his palm warm and solid on the small of her back.

He guided her up a restricted stairwell along the edge of The Osirian ’s main floor to a gallery loft.

The private sitting area featured two tables and a curved viewing rail that overlooked the restaurant below.

The floors were made of black crystal, and the lounge chairs were plush, upholstered in storm-gray velvet.

Crystalline sculptures gleamed in alcoves.

Holo screens blinked behind one-way tinted walls, displaying curated galaxies in a slow, twinkling drift.

The view through the glass wall offered a full sweep of the bar and dining crowd downstairs, but up here, it was like another world.

One that was private, serene, with a luxurious hush in the air.

The vibe here was sumptuous, intimate, and a welcome relief from the crowds.

‘I love this,’ she breathed, settling into one of the chairs. ‘It’s exquisite.’

‘We aim to please,’ Mo growled.

He waved down a server, murmuring an order.

He returned to her, sinking into the opposite lounge with that effortless sprawl of his.

Thick thighs relaxed, his arm draped along the backrest, his eyes never leaving her.

‘You look beautiful,’ he rasped.

Just like that, no flirting, not even a smirk.

Just his truth, raw and real.

The simple statement that hit her with the force of a tidal wave.

Rina’s heart flipped.

She tried to hide it with a simper of her own, but her cheeks betrayed her, pinking in the candlelight.

‘ Sante ,’ she murmured, remembering her manners, smoothing a hand down her thigh. ‘You clean up all right, too.’

Damn, he was beautiful, in his dominant male energy; the luminous lighting kissed every hard line of his body.

He wore a tailored black shirt with the top buttons undone.

His throat was bare save for the glint of a singular chain.

Its sleeves rolled up to reveal his sinewed forearms, inked with glyphs that pulsed with a faint, internal glow.