“Torren was my brother.”
The words carried weight that had nothing to do with volume. Krave kept moving forward, and Qeth kept backing up, the pistol wavering between targets.
“Different department. Different surname. You never knew. Never bothered to know. Just another execution to feed your paranoia. Another death to make you feel in control.”
“You're all against me! All of you! But I'm smarter! I'm...”
He raised the pistol toward Krave's head.
The Mondian moved faster than something his size should be able to. His clawed hand closed around Qeth's throat, lifting the smaller Nexian off the ground like he weighed nothing. The pistol clattered to the floor, unfired.
“Six days,” Krave said quietly. “I've been waiting six days to do this.”
“Wait...” Qeth's voice came out as a wheeze. “The Conclave... they'll... you need me to...”
“The Conclave's already here. They've written you off. Everyone has.”
The crack of Qeth's neck breaking was almost anticlimactic. A small sound, like stepping on a dry branch. Then silence.
Krave dropped the body without ceremony, then turned to us. His yellow eyes assessed Varrick's wound with the expertise of someone who'd seen plenty of battlefield injuries.
“He'll live. Vinduthi are harder to kill than most people realize. But you need to move. The station's going into lockdown in eight minutes. After that, nothing gets in or out until the Conclave sorts through the corpses.”
“Why?” I had to ask. “Why help us?”
“Because chaos serves no one. Because fifty beings on this station are just trying to survive, and they don't deserve to die in a corporate war. Because my brother would have helped you if he could.”
He moved toward the door, then paused.
“Dock Level 5. Bay 7. Your ship. I've cleared you a path, but it won't stay clear long. The Torelli family's already executing Qeth's lieutenants on Level 6. The Nakamura are claiming the casino floors. Go now, or become collateral damage.”
He left, and I turned back to Varrick. The wound was already starting to knit at the edges. Vinduthi physiology was remarkable. But he'd lost so much blood. His skin had gone pale gray, almost white in places.
“Can you stand?”
“Do I have a choice?” He managed what might have been a smile if his face hadn't been twisted with pain. “Though you might need to do most of the navigating.”
I pulled his good arm over my shoulders, taking as much of his weight as I could. He was heavier than he looked. Dense muscle and bone. But adrenaline gave me strength I didn't know I had. We stumbled toward the door, leaving Qeth's corpse behind in his office of screens showing his crimes.
The corridor outside was chaos. Guards ran past without giving us a second look. They had bigger problems. Through the windows, I could see pulse fire lighting up Level 8. A shiphad crashed into Level 12's observation deck. The station wasn't exploding. It was being methodically carved up by people who'd been waiting years for this opportunity.
We made it to the service elevator I'd mapped two years ago. As the doors closed, Varrick sagged against me, his body burning with fever as his system fought to heal itself. His good hand found my waist, fingers spreading possessively, and I felt him trembling. Not from pain, but from restraint.
“Almost lost you,” he muttered against my hair, his breath hot on my scalp. “When he pointed that gun, when I thought...”
“You didn't. We're both here. We're getting out.”
“The fangs are...” He groaned, and I felt them press against my neck, not breaking skin but marking intention. “Being this close to you, injured, your scent mixed with my blood. Everything in me wants to bite. Needs to bite.”
“Later,” I promised, even as my body responded to the press of his fangs, heat pooling low despite everything. “When we're safe. When you're healed. When you can do it right.”
“You deserve...”
“I deserve choice. And I choose you. But not here. Not covered in blood in a service elevator while the station burns.”
The elevator descended through levels of increasing chaos. Level 15: staff quarters being looted. Level 12: fires spreading through the restaurants. Level 10: the casino floors turned into a war zone between rival families claiming territory.
Level 5. The docking level.
