Page 86 of Needed in the Night
“Send someone to find me and bring me to her,” I told Morolo as I settled Isla on the stretcher. It activated immediately, scanning her and sending data to the screens on its side and the medics’ wristcomms. Nearly all the indicators immediately turned red.
“Yes, sir.” Morolo did not salute, but he dipped his head to me. “Where will you be?”
I caressed Isla’s face. She was terribly cold. The stretcher had already sensed her condition and begun to radiate heat. “I have another duty I must see to,” I grated. “I must find the one who did this.”
“We will be in the medical wing. Third ring, port side.” And they were off at a run.
My guts wrenched to watch Isla taken away, but it had to be done. I tilted my head back and bellowed, “BRAE!”
In the distance, in the opposite direction of where Morolo was taking my Isla, a familiar screech split the air. I ran. Everything and everyone around me blurred as travelers cleared a path.
Brae’s screeches led me past a dozen gates, up a ramp, and down a short corridor to its end, where a half-dozen uniformed and armed soldiers had gathered just short of an airlock.
I smelled blood long before I reached the group: unfamiliar blood I thought might belong to Brae, which made my stomach churn, and another scent I recognized on a visceral level before my brain registered whose it was. My snarl felt and sounded as if it had risen from the darkest part of my soul.
I might have plowed straight through the soldiers to get to their prisoner if three of them—two larger than myself, and one just as large—had not turned to face me, using their long staff-like energy weapons to bar my way. Even my white-hot rage did not blind me to the fact those weapons would bring me down and leave me if not unconscious, at least incapacitated. And I could not be incapacitated when Isla counted on me.
I stopped a meter from the soldiers, my chest heaving and blood dripping from my fingers.
“Does this shadowbat belong to you?” one of the soldiers demanded. The insignia on his collar indicated he held the highest rank of the group.
“He belongs to my mate,” I grated. “Whom the female behind you just tried to murder in cold blood. Lieutenant Morolo has taken my mate into protective custody.”
I had not intended to use Morolo’s Corps rank, but in my distracted state, old habits had kicked in. The soldier straightened. “You know Protectorate Morolo?”
I nodded once. “We served together.”
My words had a seismic effect on the soldiers’ expressions and body language. The three with weapons stood down but did not step aside, and almost as one they came to attention. Perhaps they too had served in the Corps.
“I want to see her,” I said, jerking my head in the direction of the female they had cornered. When they did not move, I added, “You have my word of honor I will not touch your prisoner.”
A rough, garbled chuckle came from behind the soldiers. My spines, already stiff, flared with the force of my rage.
The soldiers stepped aside.
Kona had slumped to her knees against the wall, bleeding profusely from a dozen deep gashes and talon marks—including a severe set of lacerations on her neck that had cut down to the bone.
Brae was a predator as much as I, and nothing made thatmore evident than the shredded mess he had made of Kona’s flesh. He had obviously not been satisfied with those wounds, because he had also buried his fangs into the back of her neck. Shadowbats produced a paralytic venom that could prove fatal to some species, especially if a large quantity was pumped into the wound. And it appeared Brae was determined to do just that, regardless of what the soldiers wanted him to do. His wings trembling and eyes glowing with rage, he had wedged his body between Kona and the wall, making himself almost impossible for them to reach even with their weapons without going through Kona.
My gut contracted. Kona wore the same full-body thermal gear we had donned for our excursion. She had been with us on the trip to the glacier, hidden under a helmet and coverall, only feet away from Isla and me.
“Why?” I asked, my voice like gravel. “We saved your life.”
Kona’s laugh gurgled. Black blood dripped from her mouth. “Do you think Nubo is so stupid that he didn’t know about your spy?” she scoffed and coughed thickly. “It was a sham. You’re pathetic.”
A wave of cold washed through me, turning my rage from volcanic to ice. Nubo had never intended to kill Kona. The entire incident had been orchestrated to manipulate us—to manipulateIsla, whose kind heart had influenced mine and persuaded me to venture out of the wine shop to warn Kona of a nonexistent threat.
“So he sent you to hunt us down?” I asked. My voice was deceptively calm. All the soldiers watched me uneasily. I gestured at my medallion. “In violation of interplanetary laws prohibiting violence against diplomatic envoys? Is he that desperate to end up in the prison colony on Ymar II? Are you?”
“It’s not as if I planned to be caught.” She spat out blood and glared up at me. “And he didn’t send me. This wasmymission.”
Was that the truth, or a lie to cover up Nubo’s involvement? Both seemed equally likely.
“I know you despise me, but you have no reason to hate Isla,” I said. “Our former employer, however?—”
“I do have every reason to hate you,” she hissed. “You betrayed me.”
“I never betrayed you.” There was little point in arguing, but I could not understand why her hate ran so deep. “You left to become a mercenary. I wanted no part of that life. More than two years have passed. Why seek me out now?”
