Page 29 of Salvation for the Alien Mercenary
He frowned. Kasivar… that was B'Kaar armor. Why was Anson negotiating for armor tech? He focused more intently on the conversation, looking over Anson’s shoulder at the data flexes, and recognizing the schematics for an advanced integration circuit.
"Will it interface with all configurations?" Anson asked. “My setup isn't exactly… standard, shall we say?”
The Latharian glanced his way. "That depends on your integration protocols. Most backports require additional stabilizers, especially when installed by... less experienced technicians."
Something in his tone made Davis's muscles tighten. The words were innocuous, but the way he said "less experienced" while flicking a glance his way carried a subtle sneer.
"Our technician can handle the adaptation," Anson replied. “Lots of experience with all kinds of systems.”
Davis shifted his weight as pressure built at his temples. His vision wavered before snapping back into focus with painful clarity. He rolled his shoulders, aware of tension spreading across his back. His shirt constricted his chest, suddenly too tight.
“He’s human, right? Didn't think humans were large enough to serve effectively on combat crews," the Latharian commented, eyes flicking over him with clinical detachment. "Heard they were weak, puny little creatures. Barely capable of sustained exertion in standard gravity."
Rage flooded Davis's system. His vision narrowed, the edges bleeding red as his hands curled into fists, tendons standing out like cables beneath his skin.
"Say that again." His voice didn't sound like his own. It was deeper, rougher… vibrating in his chest.
The scarred Latharian leaned back, surprise flickering across his face. "No offense intended. Simply an observation based on imperial demographic data."
Anson's hand shot out, gripping his forearm. "Tell. Stand down."
He barely felt it as the blood roared in his ears. His muscles coiled, preparing to launch across the table, to grab the scarred asshole by the throat?—
"Davis," Anson hissed, out of his seat in a heartbeat to get between him and the contacts. "Not. Here."
For a heartbeat, he nearly shoved Anson aside. Strength surged through him, different from anything he'd experienced before. Not adrenaline, but something deeper… more primal. He knew without thinking that he could break Anson's grip, could break his arm if necessary.
That thought made him blink… cut through the rage.
This wasAnson.
He stepped back, forcing air into his lungs. “Shit. I need air."
He turned and strode toward the exit, shouldering past other customers. The door yielded with a protesting creak, and he emerged onto the main concourse, gulping air that smelled of machinery and way too many species. He looked around, feeling penned in. Captive?—
"What thedraanthwas that?" Anson grabbed his arm and swung him around. "You nearly blew the entire deal over a stupid comment!"
He pressed his hands against his eyes. The pressure in his head had intensified, shifting from discomfort to actual pain. "I don't know," he admitted. "I couldn't control it."
"Bullshit. I've seen you take worse insults without blinking." Anson moved into his line of sight, studying his face. "Something's wrong with you. And don't give me that 'I'm fine' crap. Your eyes..."
"What about them?" He dropped his hands, alarm cutting through the fog.
"They changed," Anson said in a low voice. "When you lost it in there. Just for a second. They weren't... Well, they weren’t human."
He stared at Anson, cold dread pooling in his stomach. "What do you mean, 'not human'?"
Before the B’Kaar could answer, the sound of weapons fire cut through the noise of the outpost around them. Three rapid bursts, followed by screams and the crash of something heavy falling.
They both snapped around toward the sound. It had come from the direction of the docking bays—where theLady's Dreamwas berthed.
His heart stuttered. "Mira," he whispered, and then he was running, pushing his body to its limits, moving faster than he'd ever moved before.
Anson shouted something behind him, but he couldn't hear it over the overwhelming certainty that Mira was in danger. He had to get to her. Nothing else mattered. Not the pain in his head. Not whatever the fuck was happening to his body. Just her.
Please be safe. The words repeated as he ran, muscles burning with unexpected power, cutting through the panicked crowd with unnatural precision.
He had to get to her. Nothing else mattered.
