Page 69 of Shielded in the Shadows

I’d fully expected the source of the bounty posting to be someone I’d encountered as a smuggler. Someone whose stolen cargo I’d ferried to another buyer, maybe, or someone who felt I’d failed them. Never had it occurred to me the bounty would be tied to my past on Ganai. Why would it? That was a lifetime ago on the other side of the galaxy. The arenas had burned and most who’d run them had died in the aftermath.

But not the Ganaian male who’d bought Calla and me from our mother. Orqiel unha’Feste. A name I hadn’t heard in fifteen years. A face that haunted my nightmares and appeared in flashbacks kindled by words like scrap and mother. No, of course he’d survived.

I’d gone into shock when I’d seen his image on Byx’s datapad. My world had gone silent and my vision had tunneled until all I saw was that face and the broken horn. And I couldn’t even care how much I was giving away to Byx with my reaction because I felt as if my legs had been kicked out from under me.

All the accompanying text that explained who he was had blurred, though I’d picked out some key words, enough to piece it together. Liktarr crime syndicate. High Beastmaster at the Aiphelevia, one of the most infamous arenas on Saistea.

What the hells did Orqiel want with me now? What did he want with me at all?

You are mine, he’d hissed into my ear as he dragged Calla and me by our thin arms down the dusty street and onto his ship. My fighter. My asset.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to rage and scream and take all my fury and grief and pain out on someone until we both lay exhausted and bleeding on the sparring mat. Jarrix would have volunteered in a heartbeat and gotten us both to medbay afterward if he wasn’t in that fucking sterile room having his horn drilled out. And I couldn’t make myself ask Byx for sparring partners from among his security staff because the thought of leaving this chair made me feel even sicker.

So I sat and forced myself to think instead of tearing something apart.

The bounty on my head had to be dealt with. Jarrix and I would be hunted to the ends of the galaxy until it was. I couldn’t even try to find Calla first, as much as I desperately wanted to.

Nausea surged at the thought of what had happened to N’vera. I would be a liar if I claimed my reaction wasn’t largely due to how close Orqiel’s agent had apparently come to finding out about my sister’s alleged location. I had no idea why he was seeking me and no reason to think he might have gone looking for Calla too, unless he had and had located the same death record N’vera had shown me.

And N’vera had died rather than tell Orqiel’s agent what we’d discussed.

As a species, Kurutan were known for their strong sense of honor and loyalty. Apparently that had extended to me despite the transactional nature of our business.

It wasn’t my fault N’vera had been killed, not really, but guilt gnawed at me anyway.

Hard on the heels of that guilt came anger at myself. When had I become so weak? When did I start letting sentiment make me feel vulnerable? I was not vulnerable. I was a survivor of the arenas. A fighter. A smuggler captain. I hadn’t been a victim in a very long time, and yet in this moment I felt very much like one. I felt fear—for me, and for Calla. And even for Jarrix, who was now a target of the Liktarr crime syndicate as well as his own former crew.

I focused on Jarrix’s still form and let his presence ground me.

I had to grab hold of this fear with both hands and turn it into a weapon, just as I’d done in the arena. I had to conquer it and sharpen it and take it to the person who posed a threat to me and those I cared about.

A week ago, I would have gone straight to my ship and flown away from Trakhan, headed for Saistea. I knew how to infiltrate an arena. I might have fought as a gladiator before vast audiences, but I could do my work in the shadows too. I’d honed that skill on the pirate world Yavamir, along with several other talents. Given the opportunity, I could slip a blade between Orqiel’s ribs or separate his head from his body once we’d settled the business between us. And I would have done it all alone.

Jarrix would probably never know how close I came to doing just that. My boots planted firmly on the deck as I started to rise and head for the docking bay while he lay unconscious.

What stilled me, though, was the thought of how he would react when he woke and found me gone. How he would feel.

And how I would feel if the situation were reversed and he’d left me behind.

It had been such a very long time since someone else’s feelings factored into my decision-making that despite how very illogical it was, I resented Jarrix for it. Everything had seemed so much simpler when I was a crew of one.

Simpler, and more dangerous, and lonely as fuck, no matter how much I’d told myself differently.

“Keela, they are done,” Felina murmured.

I was on my feet with my hand on the window before I realized I’d moved. The physician was at the door of the room handing a black metal box to Byx. Our Wundi friend took the box in one tentacle, thumped Dr. Kel’parigan heartily on the shoulder with another, and disappeared down the corridor, moving far faster than I would have thought possible for a grandmale his size.

Kel’parigan met Felina and me at the door as we approached. “Your mate is fine,” he rasped, his rough voice muffled by his suit. “The surgery went smoothly and I have repaired his horn. There should be no pain. I am moving him to a private room for recovery. You may meet us there and be at his side when he wakes.” He huffed. “I know there is little point telling those of your kind to ensure he rests well for a day or so, but I shall say it anyway.”

“Those of our kind?” I asked, arms crossed, eyeing him through the face shield of his sterile suit. “And what kind would that be?”

“The kind who are my most frequent customers.” He gave me a fanged grin. “Go to room five, Warrior. We will bring you your mate.”

CHAPTER 17

JARRIX

I woke flat on my back with my mate lying on my rumbling chest.