Sota’s outline wobbled with dissent. He didn’t want to do this. But when I salvaged him, this had been part of the deal. I fixed him, and he worked for me. Besides, leaving wasn’t an option. Crater’s crew wouldn’t forget I’d apparently assassinated their leader right in front of them, unless I found evidence that I hadn’t fired the shot. Sota would have recorded the scene, but it wouldn’t be enough. Images could be doctored. Plus, Crater’s kind were the kill first, ask questions later type. Oh, they may eventually realize I hadn’t actually taken my pistol out and a point-blank pistol shot couldn’t have made the bloody mess that had been Crater’s face, right after tossing my remains into the Calicto wind. What was another dead messenger to them? I’d already lost my commission. But my reputation was still salvageable if I caught the real killer.
The boot prints led me down the corridor. My whip’s magically charged tendrils licked at my ankles. Sota was a ripple in the air a few meters ahead. With a brief nod from me, he drifted forward through a doorway. Sota’s feed flickered in my vision. He looked down, revealing a sweet piece of kit: a high-powered rifle resting on its stand.
I stepped into the room. “Deactivate stealth.”
Sota hovered in close to the rifle while his gears and plating rebuilt his armor, once again cloaking him in matte black. His lens grew, telescopic action letting Sota get an up-close look at the weapon. “Its construction doesn’t match any in my databanks.”
If a tactical drone didn’t recognize it, then the rifle was rare, possibly unique.
“Self-guided projectiles,” Sota went on. “Neuro-controlled. This rifle is not human compatible.” Sota’s voice held a note of awe. “Is it wrong that I’m a little turned on right now?”
I chuckled and crouched on the opposite side of the gun. “You’re always turned on.” Reaching out a hand, I stopped short of touching the weapon. The last thing I needed was to leave evidence of my being here.
Sota swiveled toward me. “Kesh!”
A hand twisted in my hair, yanking me up and shoving me forward. My cheek hit the wall—rattling my teeth and igniting fiery pain through my jaw. I flicked my whip, or tried to, but a viselike hand twisted my arm behind my back, angling my shoulder on the edge of agony. Another twitch and my attacker would break my arm.
“Retaliate with equal force!” I hissed, knowing Sota would fry this asshole in seconds. I’d lost Sota’s view in my vision when he dropped stealth, but I didn’t need to see whoever it was. Any second now, Sota’s armory would buzz and turn this guy to dust. Any second…
“Sorry, Messenger,” a smooth male voice purred, coming in close to deliver his words and brushing them against the curve of my neck like a lover delivering promises. “Your drone is not responding.”
I jerked my head back, slamming my skull into bone with a satisfying crunch. He grunted, grip loosening. I bucked free and whirled on him, teeth bared, whip cracking, sparks flying—and froze.
Protofae.
No.
It can’t be.
This one didn’t look like the willowy wraiths often depicted in history books. Strength radiated from a powerful physique honed over the years for battle. Under his arm, he’d trapped Sota, and where his sleeve rode up, dark, intricate tattoos marked his skin. Those marks told me exactly what he was. A warfae.
A dribble of blood ran from his nose. He ran his tongue over his lip, licking it clean.
Impossible. He couldn’t be here. The treaty forbade it.
His lips held a wild snarl, the type issuing a warning. That same warning burned in his long-lashed blue eyes.
Sota was silent. The fae’s bicep strained, trapping my drone still.
I blinked, almost expecting him to vanish and for this to be a hallucination. But he hadn’t moved, and there, gripped in his hand and pressed against Sota’s casing, a slim, silver device blinked a single blue light: a portable EMP. One hit and Sota’s personality would be fried. Sota was… unique. Losing him wasn’t an option.
Sota’s red eye stared through me.
“Don’t…” I pushed out an empty hand, showing the fae how I wasn’t attacking. If he decided I was too much trouble, my whip wouldn’t save me. I scrabbled around my head for the correct protocols, but the shock of seeing him here tripped me up. Should I kneel to him? I would have, once.
His eyes flicked between the drone and me, reading my face, my fear, scrutinizing it all. Sharp, angular features spoke of the cruelty he was capable of. His dark hair was pulled back in a tight, intricate braid and clasped close against his skull, further accentuating his knuckle-breaking bone structure. Black battle tattoos tracked down his neck and disappeared beneath his collar. The more tattoos a fae had, the more enemies they had killed. How many did he have?
I had tattoos like his, but I wasn’t fae. I never would be, never could be, despite my sacrifices.
I swallowed. “That drone… Please, don’t take hi—it.” How could I explain to a fae that I needed Sota—needed tek—like I needed a part of me? “I don’t care what you are. I won’t tell anyone you were here.”
He regarded the whip and pistol and raked his derisive glare over me, making it clear how he looked down on my kind—humankind—with disdain. “No, you won’t.” He backed out of the door.
No, no, no. My drone was irreplaceable. I’d built him from discarded scraps and fragments of code, given him a new life. To begin with, he had served a purpose, but he had grown into more than a tool. Sota was my friend.
I dashed after the fae and darted down the corridor, following snippets of his shadow. Fae were too fast—one of the many reasons they thought themselves “superior.” But I’d learned to be fast too. Learned to run with them, hunt with them and to be hunted.
It had been so long, and those memories were so deeply hidden they almost felt as though they belonged to another person. How could he be here?
It didn’t matter. I needed to win this.
That damn drone was everything to me, and more. The secrets he held. If they got into the wrong hands…
Seeing him swing around a corner and hammer down the stairs, I dashed ahead, bounced off the wall and leaped down the stairs in one pounce, landing and launching into a run. There, ahead, he sprinted in a blur, dark braid lashing. Maybe I could catch him. Maybe…
He shot through an open segment of a container and launched into the air, apparently at… nothing. He fell—and landed in a perfect roll on a neighboring block of containers. I didn’t hesitate. Didn’t slow down. My boot hit the edge and I sprang. There was never any doubt I would make it. I hit the container roof and fell into a roll, snapping pain through my shoulder. The momentum carried me onto my feet. He was gone again, darting downward, leaping and vaulting over gaps and barriers—down, down, down. Impossibly fast. I hesitated at the edge of a 160-foot drop. A hovertram pulled away from the tramstop below us.
The jump I needed to make was too far… Recycled air pushed at my face, whispering encouragement. He was already racing toward the edge of another roof, free-running closer and closer toward the moving tram.
It was already too late. I’d never catch him in time.
I plucked my pistol free, lined up my sights—
He dropped off the edge, fell through the air like an arrow, and landed catlike, poised on the tram’s roof.
Crosshairs danced across his back. I tugged the trigger. The pistol spat and my heart leaped. The fae feigned left, avoiding the bullet as easily as if I’d thrown a stone.
He has Sota…
The warfae straightened on the tram’s roof, rocking with its movement. He turned. The wind tugged at his dark clothing and whipped his braid across his shoulder. A vicious smile slashed across his lips, the kind of smile I’d seen before, heralding the death of so many. Malice flashed in his eyes. His glare bored through me, daring me to chase him down.
I lowered my pistol.
Under his arm, Sota was silent, his lens dark. I reached through the mental link but found it stretched too thin to be of any use. “I’m coming for you, my friend…” I sent. The words had barely left when the link snapped, whipping back against my psyche. There was no way of knowing if Sota had heard.
I pointed at the warfae and mouthed, “I’ll find you.”
With the challenge laid down, his savage smile grew until the tram carried him out of sight between container towers.
Dry air washed over me from a hovercab above. I turned on the spot, suddenly exposed. My message recipient was dead, killed by me—apparently. And a warfae had just stolen the evidence of my innocence.
Sirens squealed in the distance.