Page 145 of Border Control
But he's not listening. He's staring at the females like he's never seen them before.
And then his look turns predatory. “They'll do,” he says, leaping toward them.
I can’t let him.
I launch myself into his path, intercepting him with a hard grip around his chest, enough to snap ribs. He thrashes wildly in my hold, his strength far surpassing anything I've felt from himbefore. Arture’s blue and red scales shift to purple, and now I'm holding another Parthiastock.
‘Can we stop him?’ Law-rah fires at me as I struggle to restrain him.
‘Yes. Nevare!’ I shout mentally, even my inner voice strained with the effort of keeping Arture contained. ‘Psychic attack delta, now!’
On instinct at the command, Nevare focuses, unleashing a wave of raw, telepathic energy meant to cripple even the strongest of us.
Arture shoves out a powerful shield, as if he's been a Parthiastock Apex all his life, and the attack slides either side. I have to grab it, or it'll hit the females.
‘Nevare, stop!’I struggle to shove his power back under control and hold onto a similarly strong Parthiastock.
‘What is this?’Arture’s mental voice is jagged, raking up the private bond between me and Law-rah.
“Get out!” Law-rah's outrage turns to panic. She shoves her hands over her ears, and her friend Nic-coal reaches around the bales to take her hand. She pulls her down in the relative cover of the straw bales. El-len and Arra-bellah follow suit, taking shelter behind another two, peering over them with wide eyes.
Arture laughs aloud. He shifts again, becoming more compact and scales morphing from purple to a sickly green that glistens under the tent’s cheery lights. Now I hold a Selthiastock in my arms.
I squeeze hard, not wanting to crush him to death but needing to stop our crewmate from his rampage, now.
He turns to face me, lips pulling back in a feral grin before he spits something viscous into my face.
Pain explodes as a burning acid sears into my scales. The sizzle and stink of melting flesh cloud my senses, and my strength falters.
Arture tears himself free, my grip sliding closed on nothing.
I roll to one side, swiping at my face, fighting to keep my vision steady as the scales around my eyes and nose continue to smolder with the acid's bite. Where's Law-rah? Her anger pulses alongside mine, her fear deep dark clouds.
"Who are you?" Ilia demands, and I look in the direction of his voice. He's positioned himself in front of El-len and Arra-bellah, his voice steady despite the horror unfolding before us. Gara moves in beside him, a tight set to his jaw and a tranquilizer gun aimed at Arture’s head.
Arture’s face shifts into a mask of innocence. "I'm Arture Pranastock, of course." He glances down. “Or I was. Then I was Arture Gerverstock, and Arture Parthiastock. Now I'm Arture Selthiastock.”
Ilias’ voice turns grim. “What are you? How can you change like this?”
Arture's mechanical blade gleams in the soft glow of the lights strung overhead. They reflect like fire in his cold blue eye. “I'm a Tuber, same as you. Except… perfect.”
Before he can finish he's moving, a blur of green leaping for Gara. He snatches the gun and fires, hitting Nevare, who goes down in a limp heap.
I struggle to get up to oppose him, but Arik's injury and Nevare's unconsciousness drain my strength, my eye burning from the acid. I barely make it to my knees, shuffling towards him, a pathetic protection against the predator coming for me. His replacement eye flashes blue, but there's nothing of my crew mate in his other black, empty eye.
I drag myself in front of the straw bales. If he wants the females, he will have to kill me.
Arture’s scales change again, shifting from that sickly green to a dazzling, almost blinding gold on his back while his chest is cloaked in dark, impenetrable black scales.
What kind of clone is he?
His eyes flick up to Law-rah and Nic-coal behind me, and I focus on one thing. Bringing him down.
With a roar, I jump to tackle his legs, but he leaps up and above my grasping arms.
I fall forward onto nothing, twisting my head to look over my shoulder.
My mate doesn't cower and get to her feet, defiant, facing this terrifying imposter. His metal fingers reach for her throat, and my beautiful mate stands no chance against his speed and strength.
