Enki stared at the noble, and the noble stared back at him.

Neither of them spoke. Sitting on the floor with his legs crossed, Enki balanced Nythian’s slender black knife between his thumb and forefinger, silently contemplating the thousand-and-one ways he could inflict pain upon his captive.

He was frantic inside, but he wouldn’t ever let Relahek Alerak know that.

Time was running out. He had to find the human soon. Enki knew his own kind all too well. Daegan and his followers were relics of the old Empire. They believed all other species were inferior, and that it was their divine right to capture, own, torture, and generally do as they pleased.

Kordolian cruelty knew no bounds. They would turn Layla’s existence into a living hell.

Since returning from Tharos, Enki hadn’t really cared much about anything except fighting, carrying out his missions, and searching for a way to get rid of the passenger in his mind, but suddenly, he felt possessive. Protective. Territorial.

Humans were theirs to protect, and there was no way he was going to allow anyone to steal them, especially Kordolians.

Especially that idiot Daegan, who was descended from nobility. It was well known that the old Imperial military had been divided.

Two generals.

Two factions.

Those under Daegan’s command tended to be highborn. Daegan had always had first pick of the new recruits, and he tended to choose those with noble lineage.

The rest—the soori—went to Tarak al Akkadian.

Nobles and commoners. A divided battle force. One group to do the high-risk work, the off-planet work, the grueling missions to distant sectors—fighting, colonizing, killing—another to enjoy the privileges of rank and station.

Just another reason why Enki hated nobles.

As the metal-pierced lordling met Enki’s gaze, his lips curved into a scornful smile. Only a Kordolian could pull off such a look while imprisoned and utterly defenseless.

It made Enki want to strangle the bastard. This fool Relahek had no idea that Enki’s deep hatred of the noble class had been born in the plasma-fires on Tharos. If he knew, he wouldn’t be wearing that smug expression right now.

As if responding to Enki’s thoughts, the Tharian emerged with unusual fury, its hatred palpable inside the dark confines of Enki’s mind.

Kill him slowly. Let him look into your eyes and know that his life ends at your whim, that he is nothing more than a pathetic particle of cosmic dust in the infinite Universe. Give him just a taste of the pain he and his kind have inflicted upon us.

Huh. For once, Enki was in agreement with the Tharian, but he couldn’t allow it to get too comfortable. You talk too much. Shut up. With great effort, he silenced the passenger in his mind, resisting its vengeful desires, as tempting as they were.

The Tharian pulsed resentment at him, then retreated.

Insolent Tharian. Pain-in-the-ass.

Never mind, he would deal with it later.

Gathering his focus, Enki opened his eyes and slowly spun his dagger around, pointing it at the noble. Relahek didn’t move a muscle.

“You are a son of House Alerak,” he said softly, rising to his feet. The mere act of speaking was an effort; he was so used to dwelling deep within his thoughts that he sounded like a stranger to his own ears.

Relahek let out an aggravated sigh. “I was a son of House Alerak, until my father was killed, our assets were seized, and my idiot brother disappeared somewhere in the outer sectors with that moronic Daegan and his deluded followers.”

Enki noted the cynical roll of Relahek’s eyes, observed the slight curl of his lip. Typical noble. The bastard had no love or respect for anyone, not even his own blood.

Balancing the dagger lightly in one hand, Enki moved, slipping through the darkness like a wraith, calling on his gifts of stealth and speed. In a flash, he was right up in Enki’s face, threateningly close. He didn’t give Relahek time to blink as his blade came to rest against the noble’s throat. “You know where your brother is, don’t you?” His hoarse voice melded with Relahek’s soft snort of derision.

“My brother?” Relahek’s breathing quickened slightly as Enki lifted his blade, allowing a tendril of black blood to trickle down the Noble’s neck. “What could you possibly want with that pompous asshole?” Despite his obvious discomfort, Relahek’s expression was unreadable.

“Tch.” Enki spun the blade and rested the flat of it against Relahek’s silver cheek. “Are we really going to play this game now? You do not get to ask questions. I ask, you answer. That is all.”

Relahek hissed, but didn’t dare move. He obviously wasn’t brave—or stupid—enough to tempt the edge of Enki’s blade any further, especially when its ultraforged Callidum edge was resting against the smooth silver skin of his face.

Nobles were notorious for their vanity. It was a weakness of theirs, one Enki intended to fully exploit.

“Tell me how I can find him, or I will physically remind you how superior Callidum is to any other metal in the known Universe.”

Relahek exhaled slowly, and some of his defiance escaped with that breath. Evidently, he valued his intact face over any loyalty to his brother. “I’m going to take a wild stab and guess that if I tell you where he is… you’ll probably kill him.” The prospect didn’t really appear to bother him.

“There is a good chance that might happen, yes.”

“Hmm, give you my brother’s location, or get my face cut off? I think I might go with the former. I never liked the little shit, anyway.”

“Tell me how I can find him.” Enki gently slid the flat of his blade up and down against Relahek’s cheek, reminding the noble exactly how close he was to losing part of his face. “If you cross me, mislead me, or leave me with even the slightest echo of doubt as to the accuracy of your information, I will do much more than just disfigure you.” The fact that Relahek had caved so quickly made Enki suspicious. What was he scheming now?

“Oh, believe me, I know that, and I’m going to tell you how to find him, but first I need a guarantee.”

“The only guarantee is your death or the absence of it.”

“I had a feeling you might say something like that. Don’t worry, I’ll co-operate.” A bitter laugh escaped Relahek’s lips. “I’m not one of those idiots who insists on holding out until the end just because of some misplaced sense of duty. I’m not a fucking masochist… quite the contrary. I’ll tell you everything you need to know, right down to the very last piece of Callidum I sold, but only if you agree to my terms.”

Irritation coursed through Enki. Arrogant noble. He thought he had some sort of leverage here? Yes, it was important to retrieve the Callidum weapons Relahek had foolishly sold into alien hands, but that would have to wait. Did Relahek not understand that once they were on Silence, Zharek al Sirian could pump him full of truth drugs and scrape the information from right inside the walls of his thick skull anyway—if Enki didn’t torture it out of him first?

“Luron Alerak,” he said softly, a sense of terrible urgency thrumming through his veins. “How do you communicate with him?”

“It’s actually easier than you might think. Just promise me one thing, soori.” Relahek actually had the nerve to call him soori—the derogatory term for a commoner. It was, and always had been, a word used exclusively by nobles. But then he shook his head, offering a half-shrug. “Tch. No, I shouldn’t be calling you that. Which cursed bloodline did they pluck you from? You have the look of our people.”

He was referring to the nobility, of course, and he was right. The slight tilt to the eyes, the stark white hair, the sharp facial features, the skin tone—a deeper, darker shade of silver. The differences were subtle, but all noble-born males had a certain look about them that only other Kordolians could identify.

Enki knew he had the look, but he couldn’t give a shit about bloodlines or inheritances or obsolete social hierarchies.

The Empire was dead, and he knew exactly what he was. Right now, he didn’t have time for this shit.

He had to find the human.

He had given her his word. Even if everything else in the Universe went to shit, his promises had to count for something, otherwise what was the point of it all?

My name is Layla.

The sound of her soft, desperate voice echoed in his memory, and once again, the Tharian stirred.

Upon seeing his hesitation, Relahek laughed. That low, smug chuckle did something to Enki. It infuriated him.

Enough.

How dare this lordling laugh when the female who was supposed to be under Enki’s protection was probably detained onboard the Ristval V, suffering at the mercy of Daegan’s depraved research unit?

They would experiment on her.

A naive, soft-skinned human.

She would be forced to endure the same torture Enki and his First Division brothers had endured for so many cycles.

And this clueless bastard just laughed.

Enki snapped.

Grabbing Relahek by his long hair, he slammed him against the wall, his claws extending until they dug into the noble’s scalp. Blood seeped through Relahek’s pale hair, painting it with streaks of black.

He pressed his blade against the noble’s cheek, just beneath his eye. “The only thing I can promise you is that if you tell me what I want to know right now, I won’t kill you.”

Make him suffer.

Taking advantage of the crack in Enki’s self-control, the Tharian emerged again, riding the wave of his anger. To Enki’s shock, his body moved, and this time it wasn’t his doing. The Tharian had seized control.

His knife wavered, cutting into Relahek’s cheek, making the lordling bleed.

“If you have to hurt me, can you please not go for the face?” The noble’s voice cracked as his features twisted in agony. “There are plenty of options below the neck… and uh, above the hips, if you would be so kind.”

If not for Enki’s hard-wired training, the Tharian would have made him slam the blade through Relahek’s eye socket, right up into his brain, but Enki fought hard, commanding it to stay.

Relahek had no idea how close he was to death right now.

Blood trickled over Enki’s bare fingers, and his nanites writhed to the surface, gleefully absorbing the bitter liquid. The scent of blood drove the Tharian wild, and it twisted and bucked and writhed, trying to regain control of Enki’s body.

And for a moment it succeeded, because for once, the Tharian’s anger was greater than Enki’s.

It was the fury of one who had lost everything, who lived only for revenge.

A vortex opened up inside him.

What the fuck is happening to me?

Relahek dropped, slithering out of Enki’s grasp, away from the edge of his blade. He held his hand up to his cheek, staring at Enki in outrage. “That’s going to leave a hell of a scar, assuming you’re going to let me live.”

Enki—the Tharian—caught him by his long, silken hair, violently yanking the noble’s head back. “Don’t move, Kordolian filth.” For the first time, it spoke through his mouth, his throat, his lips, distorting his voice into a deep echo.

Oh, no you don’t. How dare it assume control of his voice? For a heartbeat, Enki flailed inside his own body as panic set in. He was a supreme warrior, trained to push his enhanced body to the limits of control, always walking that fine line between cold purpose and savagery.

All of that was meaningless now.

He felt the Tharian’s triumph as it threw Relahek to the floor, as it stood over the noble, filled with the burning desire to kill.

First, I’ll cut his eyes out.

The Kordolian nobility had destroyed its people, and Relahek was the symbol of everything it despised.

A perfect target.

Enki watched in horror as his own arm reached out, grabbing Relahek by the neck, lifting him up. The noble choked, his face turning dark.

And then something strange happened.

The Tharian extended itself, flowing through his arm into Relahek’s body, and all of a sudden, he felt Relahek’s will.

What in Kaiin’s hells is this?

Filled with newfound power, the Tharian laughed inside his head.

Exultant.

Triumphant.

Bastard. Enki recoiled in horror, and at last, the failsafe mechanism of cycles upon cycles of brutal training slammed home. This body is not yours to take.

He pushed against the Tharian with the full force of his will. He cleared his mind the way he’d been taught, forcing his hammering heartbeat into a steady rhythm.

Yield.

Slowly but surely, he bent the Tharian to his will, crushing it.

Demanding its submission.

And all of a sudden, his mind went silent again, and he was back in control.

Good.

His hand relaxed, and he released Relahek from his grasp. The noble slumped to the floor, gasping. “Wh-what the hell are you, monster?”

For a moment, Enki could only stare at him, not entirely sure of the answer. “Exactly that,” he said finally. Slowly, he lowered his arm, realizing he was standing over the noble with his dagger poised.

“Anything but the fucking face,” Relahek whispered, pressing his fingers against his bleeding cheek. Impossibly, the bastard summoned a deranged half-smile. Was there anything he took seriously in this life? “You really don’t know how scary you looked just now, do you? I don’t know what they’ve done to you, but—”

“Shut up,” Enki grated, not liking the fact that Relahek had seen the lapse in his self control, had caught a glimpse of the Tharian—a side of him that he’d rather keep under wraps until he figured it out. “If I decide to let you live, you will not tell a single soul about this,” he hissed. “What do you choose, Alerak? Life, or death?”

Relahek shakily rose to his knees and studied Enki carefully, For the first time, there was real fear in his eyes. For a moment, the only sound that could be heard was the shallow, uneven rasp of his breathing.

Then his shoulders slumped.

“I’ll tell you everything,” he said, and the cynical mask fell away, revealing a man who was utterly spooked. “J-just don’t do that to me ever again.” He pushed his long hair away from his left ear and tilted his head, revealing a network of fine black threads embedded in the skin behind his ear. “I have a permanent comm,” he said quietly. “Luron has one too. It’s a House thing.”

“Ah.” Grappling with the aftermath of the Tharian’s disruption, Enki eyed the modification with renewed hope. “And he can be traced.”

“Your tech people could probably figure it out. Goddess knows you have the resources. Last time I spoke to him, he was lurking around on the Ristval V, hiding behind Uncle Daegan. He’s shit-scared of this post-Imperial Universe, you know.”

And there it was.

A lead.

The exact opening he’d been hoping for.

Layla’s lifeline came in the form of a spineless noble who would betray his own flesh and blood out of spite.

The irony wasn’t lost on Enki as he flexed his fingers and put the knife away, making sure he was fully in control of his body again.

And for the first time in longer than he could remember, he was on the verge of actually volunteering for a mission, because really, who else amongst them could infiltrate the Ristval V without being recognized? Perhaps the Silent One—with his monstrous ability to manipulate ka’qui and become invisible—but Ashrael was back on Earth, and technically, the Silent One wasn’t in the employ of the Darkstar Corporation.

Unlike Ashrael, Enki didn’t possess the gift of invisibility, but he knew how to hide in plain sight, and he knew how to infiltrate.

He would find a way to break into the Ristval V, and if they didn’t let him leave with the human—his human—he would simply kill every last one of them.

The passenger in his mind wholeheartedly agreed.