Page 39

Zive went first, launching himself out. He would reach there eventually.

With a tap of his heels, his boot boosters activated and propelled him faster.

Yelur was on his tail. Cylo stepped out and used the side of the Kevol to push off.

He hit his heels at the same time and shot forward, veering around Yelur to land on what looked like nothing but was firm beneath his feet.

The thrill of an impending battle summoned a grin.

“I go first.” He bowed his head at Zive drawing near. “As your guard.”

Zive pursed his lips but gestured to the door where a Maloidian male stood near the edge.

Cylo strolled onto the floor, Zive and Yelur trailing him.

Heat hit him like a thick blanket. He grimaced and adjusted his suit.

Then, flicking the visor back, he bowed his head in greeting.

The Maloidian hurried aside, his smile too welcoming.

It did nothing to loosen the knot of tension in Cylo’s gut.

“Greetings, Etterians. I am Ambassador Barro. Thank you for coming to my aid.” He clasped his hands in front of him.

“I am Cylo. Data Officers Zive and Yelur.” He fell in behind Zive, his hands at his sides and close to the blaster.

A cursory glance around the ship showed nothing new: the same old design with emphasis on comfort.

Instead of a common was a seating area of sorts with soft-looking cushions and discarded beverages littering a too-low circular table.

A Maloidian female lounged on one. She ran her gaze over Cylo, her scent intensifying. She liked Etterian males, so it seemed.

“This way.” Barro swept his arm out. “The comm is—”

“I know the way,” Zive said, slipping around the male. “Cylo, wait here.”

Gritting his teeth, he assumed the expected position, focusing on the female. While he appeared obedient, he sharpened his hearing, picking up the gentle footfalls of another female. For an ambassador to travel with so few in his entourage was unusual.

What is out of place? Look for the details.

He started with his senses—that of smell: the sweet muskiness of Maloidians, the tart aroma of jucot wine, and the metallic tang of ozone and steel.

He’d already tested his hearing, listening in as Yelur and Zive grumbled to each other while soothing the ambassador’s ego.

Which left taste and sight. There was no way he’d lick the bulkhead.

He smothered a grin. Wren would find that funny if he did so.

The display vids showed scenes from Argaxx—dark skies with lilac lighting and deep caverns. Something was amiss. It all seemed idyllic like the ambassador was on a cruise with his lovers.

Cylo stiffened. Their bodies were well defined with sculpted muscles and restrained strength.

Serratu Kayarra. Two of them.

He activated his O.D.I. and messaged Fyca. This made no sense. Why would an ambassador feel the need to have assassins guard him?

“Is that jucot wine?” Cylo summoned a smile, crossing to the nearest female.

She unfolded her legs and inched to the edge of the seat. “Yes,” she said, her eyes narrowing in what she must have thought was seductive. She smirked while offering him a glass.

He brushed her fingers when he accepted, then made a show of sipping. Used to giyua, the wine was too sweet around the bitterness of sjari leaves, but he hummed in approval. Smacking his lips for added effect, he kept his gaze on her and his focus on the surroundings.

“Name’s Cylo,” he rasped, dropping into the nearest seat.

“Eysso,” she said, running her hand along her thigh to her knee. Doing so swept aside her garment and exposed her muscled leg, confirming his suspicions. He couldn’t help but compare her to Wren and find the Maloidian lacking.

“Been to Issneen before?” he asked, taking the smallest of sips.

“It is my first time. I heard it is beautiful.” She stretched and, in doing so, closed the distance between them until their thighs almost touched.

He wanted her to make the move. Anything else could be misconstrued. He leaned back, adding an air of nonchalance, despite the odd, muted burn in his chest.

When she touched his knee, bile rose to choke him.

He swallowed a gag and his shock. Never had he reacted to a female like this, no matter her species.

Nausea churned, and the pain intensified the longer she was near him.

Something drove him to get away from her, as fast as he could.

But he dared not react when she’d take it as rejection.

He layered his hand over hers, registering the coolness of her skin. She sighed. Maloidians liked warmth, craved it.

A pearlescent shimmer rippled over the ship. Through the shielded door to the expansive space, the thin line of Maloidian steel became visible. Zive hadn’t lied when he’d said he had some data-analysis knowledge. Since it didn’t sound like their business was done, Cylo smiled at the female.

“Am I your first Etterian?” he asked, setting the glass aside. Little doses of sjari caused a high. Too much killed; then again, too much of anything was lethal.

“Yes.” She huffed out a laugh. “Is it that obvious?”

He lowered his voice to rasp, “If we had more time…”

He’d do nothing, but she didn’t know that.

Her eyes widened, the solid black warming. Her scent intensified. Oh, she liked the implication, or was it his tone? He’d test the latter on Wren.

Just imagining her reaction hardened him like he hadn’t twice had his fill an hour ago. He drew in a shuddering breath, his fingers twitching with the need to touch purple skin. Not wanting to reveal his secrets or weakness, he willed his body to still.

“Are you alone?” he asked, running his nose up her neck. He didn’t breathe, not trusting himself not to gag. Her scent wasn’t unpleasant, but it was missing something and was far too potent. Added to the nausea roiling in his gut from the poisoned wine, he had to be even more vigilant.

His inability to ‘play’ a role couldn’t be the work of the Ethera, could it? If so, how had the other Eths suffered through this when encountering females not their Dar Eths? Perhaps their lighter eye color had deterred advances though would a Maloidian behave according to Etterian expectations?

Neither would a human bound to their internal compasses and barely adhering to the rules laid down by their law or government. Which meant every one of Wren’s reactions was all her.

His chest swelled. She chose to be with him, not succumbing because of an ancient bond beyond her control. He was addicted to her, obsessed almost.

The second Serratu Kayarra sank onto the seat beside him, sighing with happiness—no doubt from the body heat he exuded.

Such a weakness could be exploited. He threw his arm around her shoulders and tugged her into the curve of his body.

She moaned and burrowed into him, splaying her fingers across his chest without hesitation.

They were too easy to manipulate—

He growled. “Put the dagger back.”

She chuckled, waved his most recent creation at him, then slid it into its sheath.

He leapt up and away from them, running his hands over his body. “Eysso.” He opened his palm, waiting.

She shrugged and placed the dagger into his hand.

He narrowed his eyes at them but gave them a smirk as if he found their actions amusing. “At this rate, laying with either of you might have been the death of me.”

“Perhaps,” the second female said, her tentacles swaying in a peaceful rhythm despite the heat in her gaze. She was enjoying toying with him.

A muted grunt snapped his gaze in the comm’s direction.

He stiffened then scowled when both females hugged his sides.

“We have orders to kill him, Korre,” Eysso said in Maloidian. “Pity.”

Mm, so this wasn’t an impromptu call for aid? Barro had planned this. But why?

“I say we keep him in our quarters.” Korre stroked his chest, her gaze fixed on the path her fingers took.

Again, nausea squeezed a knot in his stomach. He swallowed past the lump and feigned a struggle to shake them off.

“We could tell Barro we tossed him out an airlock.”

Eysso ran her fingers along his jawline. She hummed. “I like the way you think.”

At another of his daggers leaving its sheath, Cylo gritted out in Maloidian, “I do not.” He shrugged them aside and with ease. When he reached for his blaster, he met a foot extended so beautifully by Korre.

She lowered it with as much grace.

He smirked. “Very well. No weapons.” He infused his expression and stance with as much arrogance as required—as taught by Malo.

“I look forward to drugging you into submission.” Eysso lunged, her kicks and punches blurring.

He responded, meeting each of her blows with his left hand. “I am not impressed.” He arched a brow at her. “Perhaps Korre will fare better?”

Eysso grunted when Korre shoved her aside for a flurry of punches.

Her dark cheeks, warm eyes, and pursed lips said she was enjoying herself.

Her knee thrust upward had him leaping back, forcing him to bring his other hand in to play.

The bones of a knee hitting his inner thigh muscles could take him to the floor. At the least.

She pulled back, her breathing ragged.

“So, if I am at your mercy, what will you do to me?” He tapped his chest armor and allowed it to fall away.

Their gazes fixed on his exposed chest, distracting them. Yes, he’d stripped away a layer of protection, but an operative didn’t need it.

“Oh,” Eysso gasped.

Thumps from the comm reminded him that no matter how entertaining, he needed to end this.

He attacked Eysso, looping his arm around her throat and pinning her back to his chest. As she struggled to free herself, he tightened his hold.

Korre struck, but he simply kept Eysso between them, letting her take the brunt of every glancing blow.

Eysso stopped wiggling just as Korre’s high kick knocked her out of his arms. She collapsed to the floor. Korre didn’t wait but dived at him.