Sūnder (Darksoul Book 1) Page 18

  Ronan’s line rang. For a split second, he thought about not answering, until he realized this could be the last time he spoke to anyone in his family.

  He tapped his ear. “Pip.”

  “Where in the hell are you? You need to come in. Now.” Pip sounded angry, but then again, he always did when they spoke.

  “Why?” he challenged. “What happened today can’t be undone. I tried to tell them Gabe was special. More than just a couple of times. Everyone ignored me, told me I was too close to Gabe to see him clearly.” He let all his frustration and anger seep into his tone.

  “What do you want me to say? That you were right all along?”

  “No, I want you to say that I can tell Gabe—”

  “You know very well that isn’t my call to make.”

  “Then I don’t know what else we have to talk about.”

  “Goddamn it, Ronan! You need to get your ass home now. Mom and Dad are worried about you.”

  Ronan made a rude noise. “And allow the elders to use me to get to Gabe? No.”

  “Is that what you really think of us? That we would be that underhanded? Did you not see the number of darkhunters that came out of the woodwork today? Our people aren’t safe. You and I have an obligation to the others. Don’t be selfish. Mom and Dad are scared for you. I know you don’t agree with the elders’ policies, but you know as well as I do that the rules are there for a damn good reason. I can’t protect you if you keep breaking them.”

  “I don’t need—”

  “Fuck! You’re such a stubborn asshole. Did you even listen to a word I’ve said? As your commander, I order you to turn yourself in, Agent Ronan Rinne. Right the fuck now!”

  Heavy-hearted, he cut the connection, and then watched Pip throw his data pad across Gabe’s loft. He couldn’t pull his gaze away. The way Pip pulled at his dark hair told him exactly how pissed his brother was. Mom and Dad were going to have to replace the punching bag again when Pip got home.

  Home. Damn. He’d hung up on his commanding officer, and was going to ignore the order. This was for the best. Despite that, and the fact he wanted to believe all the reasons that came to mind were just, it would only take one wrong move and, no matter what he’d planned, everything could come tumbling down. He had to make sure that didn’t happen. If not for himself and his generation, then for Gabe, who deserved the kind of happiness Ronan suspected only Sūnder could give him.

  The lights turned off, and Pip left Gabe’s loft. Ronan flipped the binoculars over to infrared. No one hid in the shadows. Usually foliage didn’t burn bright on the night goggles, but Gabe’s plants weren’t mundane houseplants. About five minutes after Pip left, several of the larger dracaena left their pots. They moved about the loft for almost half an hour before returning to their home soil.

  Ronan waited another hour, crawling to the edge of the rooftop to watch the lamp-lit streets below as well. The men Pip had left behind weren’t hiding very well. Using his data pad he activated a decoy, and waited. Soon enough, the guards were called and they sped off, no doubt to chase him down. Waiting another half hour, he activated the program that should keep Pip and his men chasing their tails for the next couple of days—if his luck held.

  When he was certain no one else lingered, Ronan climbed back down the fire escape and crossed the street. Even though a new door had been installed, Ronan knew Gabe’s code, which he’d have to change since it seemed Pip was aware of it too. Just in case, he’d install a program in the locking system to generate a rotating passcode while he stayed at Gabe’s.

  A soft click told Ronan the locks had disengaged. He pushed open the better-quality door. Apparently Sūnder had busted the other one. He bet that had been a sight to see: a Chándariān male storming in to claim his mate.

  Hmmmm. Perhaps a part of him was a wee bit jealous. Gabe loved to tease him about how quickly he went through dates. But how could he explain to his best friend that no one fit him, man or woman, and he always felt out of place? Not to mention how his family would have reacted if he’d brought a pure human home. Besides, he kept too many secrets to have a successful long-term relationship.

  A rustle behind him had Ronan turning even as he secured and locked the door. His smile grew in greeting. Gabe’s houseplants shimmied and shivered, their excitement reaching out to him, causing his heart to ache. Visiting Gabe’s loft always helped with his homesickness because of these little guys right here. They were always happy to see him, and eager to talk about their favorite subject: Gabe.

  “How are my beauties?” Ronan moved among them without turning on the lights, stroking leaves and testing soil. “Have you been good for Gabe? You haven’t given yourselves away, have you?”

  “His faeborn is here. He awakened our guardian.”

  Ronan sighed wistfully. “I thought so.”

  He’d warned the elders not to discount Gabe, that Gabe was different from his parents, and the human in him hadn’t muted his abilities. That these plants were still awake proved the magicks only lurked beneath the surface, waiting. But when Gabe didn’t present by late puberty, everyone gave up on him, and his parents refused to tell Gabe of his family line. No one listened to Ronan, and look where their willful blindness got them: A guardian who had chosen a faeborn not of Earth.

  “Green men came. Invaded space. Searching. Leaving squeaks behind. We gathered. You send back to green men?”

  Ronan frowned. Pip’s agents left something behind? His blood ran cold and his heartbeat ramped up. Setting his bag on the couch, he dug in the side pocket for an electowand.

  “Where?”

  The ficus pulled out of its pot and traipsed across the room to the dining table where a glass of water sat. Several small devices littered the bottom. Even though the water wouldn’t destroy them, it would disrupt the sound waves. He barely stifled a laugh, tickled to know the feedback from the devices would confuse Pip. To be on the safe side, he used the wand to search the loft in case the plants hadn’t collected all the devices. They had.

  Careful not to spill much of the water, Ronan set the glass out on the fire escape. The Festival would be in full swing by the time Pip’s team realized something was wrong with the devices, and hopefully by then Ronan wouldn’t need to stay at Gabe’s anymore.

  Tomorrow, he would attend the River Walk Gala to ferret out whatever his superiors weren’t telling him. Something was going on between the L’fÿns and Panthrÿns, and the elders probably knew what it was. If Ronan was going to follow his oath to keep both Gabe and Sūnder safe regardless of what he was ordered to do, he needed to know what he was up against.

  And perhaps he would see the Faelÿn, Akirá, again.

  16

  NEVER WOULD AKIRÁ have believed he’d have a reason to leave his homeworld, yet here he was, on Earth. Having grown up in the Shattered Lands of Slorèx, he had roamed the vast deserts, met with the various Sirdārs of the clans, and sat before the Chándariān assembly on many occasions. As the Holy Paladin, he was continually called upon to set right grievous wrongs, and everything he’d done had been in the service of the Speaker of the Stars. This last mission, and this would be the last, regardless of what the Speaker offered to tempt him, would be his most important responsibility yet, and was the reason he breathed alien air. When he’d been given this assignment by the Speaker, he’d known it would not go smoothly, and within days he was proven correct. As soon as he crossed from the desert over into the edge city of Braeden, he’d been approached by Tālia of Nellá…

  ~:~

  Like many of the clueless outsiders who didn’t care to walk the Shattered Lands, Tālia of Nellá seemed to believe paladins were assassins, swords for hire. Curious as to her intentions, Akirá chose not to disabuse her of the belief. He assumed she approached him because he was one of only a few Faelÿns bearing horns, a sign of one of the oldest Faelÿn clan bloodlines, and a guarantee that either he was a paladin, or knew how to contact one quickly. When she stood before him, impolitely blockin
g his path through the market, her gaze dropped to the pins holding his red cloak together. As well as the ten-pointed star of the Temple of the Stars, he also wore the badge common to all paladins, a palm-sized medallion engraved with an intricate knot. Within the weave, the words of the binding oath were written in the language used only by the few remote clans to have never left the Shattered Lands. The distinctive blue, feather-like fletching decorating the edge had been hand crafted by Akirá’s mother, and was her last gift to him before he joined the order.

  “Sir Paladin, if I could have but a word with you?” Tālia said in a soft voice, her gaze scanning the crowd as if she searched for something or someone, or perhaps had something to hide.

  The outskirts of Braeden teemed with great beasts of burden that were twice as tall as he, something he was unused to. Vendor stalls, crouched under garishly colored tents or partially shielded from the sun by tarps, lined the sandy streets. Skyscrapers loomed in the background, gleaming shuttles weaving in and out of the tall buildings like flying insects around a hive. The Keeper of the Jade Forest’s finery was sorely out of place here, and something about her—her scent, maybe?—caused Akirá to be wary.

  Akirá almost told her no, but he’d spent two weeks riding out of the Shattered Lands at the behest of the Speaker of the Stars, whose instructions had been explicit. Instead of catching a shuttle directly from the interior, he was required to enter Braeden at a specific location before catching a shuttle from Braeden to an Earth-bound transport. It made no sense to him, but the Speaker’s reasons for precise instructions usually revealed themselves in the end. Was this encounter with Tālia of Nellá one of the reasons for his longer journey? He couldn’t discount the incident, so Akirá summoned his patience, found them a secluded corner in a beänu café, and they gave the server their orders. Only after receiving their mugs of the dark, bitter brew did Tālia finally confide why she’d sought him out.

  “I’m in need of a strong arm for my trip to Earth.” Akirá almost didn’t catch her hushed whisper, despite his keen hearing.

  “A Holy Paladin is no mere mercenary for hire. I do not play bodyguard.” He glanced down at the Keeper seal she wore. “No matter the title involved.”

  This wasn’t the first time he’d been approached by someone wishing to use his skills in a distasteful or dishonorable way, nor would it be the last. Under normal circumstances he brushed them off and walked away, but her request, as innocent as it seemed on the surface, was suspicious. As a Paladin, Akirá had been trained to heed his instincts. He relied heavily on his intuition to feed him information about people and situations, and it was the homing rod he used to guide his other senses. The short time he’d spent in Tālia’s company had already caused his anger to fester for no apparent reason, setting off alarm bells. This immediate, intense reaction alone kept him in his seat. Instead of rudely leaving as Tālia of Nellá deserved, he leaned back in his chair, deliberately giving her the impression he was considering her request.

  What was it about her that ruffled his fur so? And what was wrong with her scent?

  Tālia of Nellá’s rich copper eyes glittered with a coldness highly unusual in an L’fÿn. “I don’t need a bodyguard. My mission on Earth is one of great importance. I may not need your services while there, but I would like to have you available in case of the unexpected. I shall, of course, pay for your time there regardless of whether I utilize your skills or not.”

  Akirá listened with half an ear as she continued. It seemed she thought his protestation of not being a mercenary was an attempt to drive the price up, and the amount she offered him was so extravagant he squinted, which she again took as incentive to offer more. Why did the Keeper of the Forest wish to hire a mercenary in the first place? Especially since she had access to her House’s well-trained soldiers? That question decided Akirá’s course of action. The Speaker of the Stars was sending him to Earth anyway, and perhaps their paths were meant to cross, but the real reason he accepted her offer was to keep her from hiring a real mercenary. Whatever she had planned, it could not be something her people would approve of if she searched the edges of the Shattered Lands for an assassin-for-hire.

  The gleam of triumph in her eyes when she transferred half the agreed upon sum into his accounts told Akirá he’d made the right decision. He’d heard the whispers that spoke of corruption in the L’fÿn noble houses, but it was disquieting to see it so clearly, and in one whose very title proclaimed her a protector.

  Earlier in his trip across the Shattered Lands, he’d witnessed a group of male and female dròw fleeing into the desert sands, their most prized possessions strapped to their backs. When he’d stopped them and asked their intentions, the reply had been simple: they needed to find sanctuary in a place most L’fÿns would dare not enter unless desperate. He’d directed them to the clans who could help, and then watched them from ridge of the cliffs, the line of people eventually disappearing into the horizon. Before leaving the scene, he’d sent word to the area’s Sāchem, who would see to their safety. A great injustice had to have been done in order for so many dròw to run from their sacred forest. Staring across the table at Tālia of Nellá, he had a feeling both events were connected to his mission, and that the injustice was more than the obvious. The word atrocity flitted across his mind as he clasped her hand before leaving.

  ~:~

  But Akirá had been on Earth for days without contact from Tālia, and he’d begun to believe his intuition had been wrong. However, without any demands from her to interfere with his own plans, his investigation for the Speaker of the Stars was coming along nicely. The little he could dredge up had given him hope for a swift resolution to his task. But then Tālia had contacted him, not even twelve hours ago. Now his carefully-laid plans were crouching on precarious ground, and he had the feeling he wouldn’t have much more time to pull everything together.

  The organization he needed to locate and contact had gone into hiding, although he had eventually received a message from another connection. They’d been dancing around each other, trying to get a face-to-face meeting, but this new contact, Sentinel, was extremely wary—they’d backed out twice now. Unfortunately, Tālia’s demand meant he had to move the time of today’s meeting. Akirá was far from happy. The change could make Sentinel even more skittish, destroying the ground Akirá had thus far gained, although he had kept a close eye on Tālia throughout; she could derail his primary mission far too easily if he didn’t.

  Early this morning he’d sent a coded message to Sentinel, asking they reschedule. He’d stated that he was unsure of the safety of the location—true, as he was meeting Tālia there—and the fact he might be watched. By the time he’d finished showering, a reply awaited him: Sentinel inquiring if he could shake his tail by this evening. Akirá replied with an affirmative, and Sentinel’s response was immediate. They were meeting at 10pm, and the coordinates were at the end of the message.

  Akirá let out a pent-up breath. The rendezvous with Sentinel had been set up for the River Walk Gala, where they could talk without drawing undue attention. Now, everything was changed to meet Tālia instead. He would arrive early at the gala to establish his alibi; he had a feeling he might need one. The only bright spot he could look forward to was possibly running into the dark-skinned human he’d met several galas ago. He wouldn’t be able to stay at the party long, but he had a feeling that speaking with the human, if only for ten minutes, would be the only positive of his day.

  Dressing with care, which he did not do because he looked forward to running into a certain human whose skin begged him to find ways to make it flush darker, Akirá made sure his fur was unruffled and neat. He would be seen at the gala, and as the representative of the Speaker of the Stars, he therefore needed to wear his finest. Even if a beguiling smile and inviting brown eyes did linger in his thoughts.

  He slipped on his meklā, draping the silken robe over one shoulder. The crimson color was offset by the gold embroidery along the edges. If
he’d been among the clans, his bare shoulder would have been covered by ornate black armor that extended from neck to fingertip, and matched the thigh armor that could be glimpsed through the side slits of the robe. Human civilians were nervous around such militaristic displays, so instead he adorned his forearms with rows of slender bangles and wide, carved bone cuffs clasped around his biceps.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed, he slipped his three-toed feet through other colorful bangles, making sure he didn’t need to file down the sharp toenails. He brushed out the red pelt of his haunches, carefully arranging the hair so the black stripes stood out. The meklā was slit up the side of the legs clear to his waist, too high for modesty’s sake among the humans, as Faelÿns didn’t usually wear clothing on their lower bodies; pants designed for their legs were too confining, and many of his people still used a four-limbed gait to travel long distances. Since he wouldn’t be wearing armor on his lower body, he inserted a golden wrap under the meklā that fell from his hip across his haunches. Making sure his tail was not tangled in the robes, he then belted on his ornamental sword and scabbard; contrary to its appearance, the blade was sharp enough to split a hair.

  Before he left his room, Akirá braided several strips of his long, white mane, barely refraining from rubbing the musk glands at the base of his throat, and only by reminding himself that his afternoon at River Walk was for business, not pleasure.

  He’d come to Earth to negotiate the relocation of a people. Attending the galas leading up to the Festival was his cover, a safe point where he could meet with the organization that would help him contact the Lost. He didn’t worry he would be chosen by a human; most of them weren’t in search of a Faelÿn mate. They preferred L’fÿns and Panthrÿns, who more closely resembled humans. That Tālia chose the River Walk Gala as their meeting place was fortuitous, allowing Akirá a chance to search out the one human who did interest him.