Reclaiming Mystique (SpaceStalker Saga Book 2) (2 page)

He supposed he shouldn’t have faulted Castor too badly. How could any of them have known the Meklen rebellion, thought to have been nearly extinguished by the System Legionnaires, still had a hardy crew of hangers-on just waiting for a chance to get even?

Jace’s meeting on Pith had been to gather information about the Cazeth, mythical dark beings said to wreak destruction on all they touched. What no one knew was that the Cazeth were far more than a myth. They were also the source of a personal vendetta begun more than a decade ago.

He’d been so excited at finally getting a break and learning about the Cazeth that he hadn’t thought to mask Castor’s face on the off chance he might be recognized. He should have known better. Castor’s fierce reputation as a Legionnaire Stalker, a specialized System warrior, had aggravated the Meklens into this hunt to the death. Keeping the currency for the information probably hadn’t been smart either, but Jace hated for beks to go to waste. Especially considering Beltor’s predilection for slaving.

Still, the Meklens had taken their hostilities a bit too far. For star’s sake, they’d been chasing the ship for a standard
month
.

His choices few, Jace made the only one that could save them at this moment. Dark World was the closest planet to them, and the only one that might deter the Meklens from following. It didn’t matter that once a ship landed on Dark World, it was rarely heard from again, or that all manner of things—demons, devels and the like—purportedly occupied the isolated planet. It was either take their chances on Dark World or face imminent death under Meklen fire. And Jace had come too far now to succumb to death’s unforgiving state.

They approached Dark World, an aptly named Nearworld planet. The Legion System was comprised of five large Motherworlds and twelve known smaller Nearworld planets. Jace and his crew tended to gravitate toward the Nearworlds, where the law normally turned a blind eye and a successful space pirate could live a contented life.

Lately, Jace had the sense he was closing in on his wily enemy. Dark World would throw a definite kink into his plans. His intuition that danger neared grew stronger the longer he studied the approaching landscape.

“The Meklens have eased off,” Nesham reported. A half-blood Fenturi, he possessed much the same gifts and strengths as Mikhel—former leader of the Fenturi people. Faster, stronger, with keener senses than most humans, Nesham was one of the best warriors Jace knew, despite his keen grief at his twin’s recent passing.

That negative emotion would only intensify on Dark World, a place renowned for its ability to torment even the most stalwart of heroes.

Dark World had a reputation for death and destruction unequalled in the System. Jace had personally met a survivor of the planet, but the man hadn’t been too rational or steady that Jace recalled. He could only hope for the best as the ship shuddered and landed on a large gray field.

As they landed, Castor and Mikhel joined them in the control room, all five of the
SpaceStalker
crew looking out at the harsh landscape. Dozens of empty ships littered the planet’s surface. From what little they could see from the ship’s illuminations, no vegetation appeared on the planet save several small clusterings of large, orange-leaved trees. The dirt beneath the ship appeared gray, the sky beyond pitch black.

Mikhel stared with wide eyes at the sight before him. He was the newest member to space travel, formerly of Fenby—the newly named planet once known as Bylar. He’d only been in space for as long as he’d been a member of Jace’s crew. In that short time, Mikhel’s horizons had been broadened beyond anything he might have imagined.

Dark World surpassed even
his
deep imagination, and Jace had been a space traveler for decades.

“It teams with life.” Mikhel’s blue eyes glowed, his Fenturi senses picking up more than met the human eye. “But that life is tainted.” He frowned as he stared at the closest grouping of orange-colored trees. “I do not think we should venture outside this ship.”

Suddenly the ground rumbled under them. Jace turned to the control panel to get a planetary reading when the ship’s resources faded and the darkness of the planet smothered the control room.

“This can’t be good,” Koneru said. Even the unshakable Rovi sounded wary.

Jace’s mind recoiled as something slithered through his thoughts. “Everyone, get to the second deck. Arm yourselves, and hurry.” He fought for control of his thoughts, dizzy and unfocused.

“Jace?” Castor asked with concern.

“He is battling something we cannot physically see.” Nesham’s blue eyes glowed in the dark, mirroring Mikhel’s. Jace watched in agony as Mikhel and Nesham led the crew down the stairs to the second deck of the ship, their weapons at the ready.

As blackness consumed him, Jace stumbled to the floor amidst fired shots, shouts, and a creeping nothingness that soon consumed him.

***

Naria shimmered with her sister and stared down at the blond man lying so still against the black stone of the prison cell. She could see his breath crystallizing in the cold air and thanked the stars that he still lived.

“We don’t have much time,” Carinna said softly, reminding Naria that while Carinna could remain a wraith forever, Naria didn’t have the stamina to do so.

Naria nodded to her sister, and they floated out of the prison wing toward the Light Cell, a room devoted to torturing the most severe of Dark World’s citizens. Most Dark World residents couldn’t stand the light. Naria and her sister were exceptions.

Knowing that no one would bother them in here, Naria released her will and sank back into mortal flesh once more. She heard Carinna sigh and watched as she did the same.

“Who do you think he is?” Naria asked, an unfamiliar excitement coursing through her veins upon seeing the new prisoner, the mysterious blond man. “He’s been separated from the others in the cell down the hall. And he’s been here for over two months now.”

Carinna raised a brow. “You seem to know an awful lot about him for someone who should be studying her charts. Don’t you have some history exams on the Fer moon tomorrow?”

Naria waved away her concerns. “I know all that already. Dark World history has always been my passion. The test will be easy. What I want to know is why those men are here and what Father plans on doing with them.”

“Honestly, Naria, though you’re a year older than me you seem to be so very, very young.” Carinna shook her head. “What do you
think
Father will do with them? He’s not a demon lord because he’s compassionate. He’s been torturing the men for weeks now.” She lowered her voice and stepped closer. “From what I overheard Rala saying, the blond is giving Father fits. He won’t react the way he’s supposed to.”

Rala, Depar and Bayna were Naria and Carinna’s half-sisters. They all shared the same father, Lord Demise. But Rala, Depar and Bayna had Lordess Xeche for a mother. Naria and Carinna had been born of an offworlder.

“I supposed Bayna has been begging to try her new talents on these prisoners?” Naria didn’t bother to hide her distaste.

“It’s what they do. A Succubus is only as good as her power over men. And you have to admit these males are prime specimens. I know you haven’t looked beyond the light-haired male, but the other four are built strong and firm. Warriors, I’d guess. You know what they say about warrior appetites,” Carinna ended on a blush.

Naria smiled, amused to see her sister not quite as worldly as Carinna would like her to believe. Like her half-sisters, Carinna possessed a petite yet curvaceous frame, flowing dark red hair and black eyes—typical Dark Worlder features. Unlike her half-sisters, Carinna’s eyes did not glitter with menace and anger but with intelligence and curiosity.

“I take it Father hasn’t agreed to let them work on the offworlders then?” Her half-sisters were no doubt drooling over the strangers.

“No. And Bayna is in fits over it.” Carinna chuckled. “She’s been lusting over the males ever since they got here. You’d think it’s been cycles and not mere moons since our last captives.”

Naria shook her head. Lust. Deceit. Agony. Her half-sisters lived for despair. Though Naria had been born a Dark Worlder, she felt like a fraud. Not only did she look different from everyone else, she disliked causing harm and suffering—the steady breath of life for her kind.

Negative energy grew like a virus throughout Dark World’s five moons, which were the true lifesblood of their world system. Only crashed vessels and ravagers lived on the actual planet of Dark World; the majority of Dark World’s natives lived on its surrounding moons. Having transferred the crew of the
SpaceStalker
to Lysst, the militant moon, Naria’s father had gained control of the new prisoners. Here the men would be tortured and tested, prodded and studied to see what they knew and why they landed on a known hostile world.

Though her father lived and worked on this moon, and Naria held some affection for him though she couldn’t fathom the way his mind worked, she preferred Fer, the learning moon. There she could content herself in studies, losing herself in texts and fantasies of what life might be like away from so much anguish.

Her father’s tenth wife, Lordess Xeche, and her daughters resided on Arnth, the pleasure moon. Naria and Carinna had spent their first few cycles on Arnth before moving to Fer to learn about Dark World. A few cycles past, Carinna had fortunately showed an aptitude as a wraith, earning her the right to live and work for demon lord Feera, leader of the wraith class.

Naria still hadn’t shown any capacity for demonic talent beyond a limited ability to turn wraith, her gifts of healing a well-kept secret that would only further have distanced her from her Dark World brethren. Unless she showed some sign of dark talent before her twenty-fifth cycle, she would be sent to Wyrn, the chaos moon, a place that even demons feared go. She had less than a cycle to figure out a future on Dark World, and as time progressed, she grew more and more fearful that Wyrn would soon be her future.

Unfortunately for Naria, the only area she excelled in—academics—was not recognized as a true calling. She sighed, depressed and angered that her short time in the light had been tainted by thoughts of her doomed future.

“Let’s leave here,” she said to Carinna. “It’s almost time for dinner anyway.”

Carinna agreed and, as one, the sisters moved past the prison and the militant courtyard, past the training fields and through dark, curling trees toward the rock-walled house of Lord Demise. Small winged serpents hissed in welcome, nipping playfully as they passed. Naria smiled and waved to them as she climbed with her sister up the stairs to her father’s home.

“Do you know anything more about why the strangers are here?” Naria couldn’t help but ask as they made their way into the house. Dark walls lit briefly with flame as they passed, then reverted to nothingness. The cold reached through the walls to comfort them, but Naria felt a painful shiver pass through her, hating the icy temperature of her world.

“Really, Naria. If I didn’t know better I’d say you were interested, really interested.” Carinna’s eyes twinkled.

“Stop.” Naria blushed. Unlike her half-sisters, who had taken their sexual pleasures many cycles ago, she had opted to stave off that portion of her life. She knew Carinna had finally succumbed to curiosity and dallied with an incubus last year to celebrate the twenty-second anniversary of her birth. Carinna said she’d enjoyed the experience, though it left her feeling somewhat unsatisfied so she didn’t return for more.

Naria, on the other hand, wanted something she couldn’t quite understand. And she felt no attraction for the cruel and blatant sexual males of her kind.

Her sister studied her curiously. “Father learned that the prisoners had been trying to avoid a Meklen ship, for some reason or another.”

“I hate the Meklens.” A deep voice boomed from the darkness of the dining hall. Several dark forms slithered out of the way as Naria and her sister joined their father at the table. “How lovely to see my daughters this eve.” Lord Demise nodded and smiled, his sharp teeth reflected in the low flames burning on the walls.

“Father.” Naria nodded somberly.

Carinna immediately shimmered back into her wraith form.

He nodded his approval. “Lord Feera tells me you have talent for holding form, daughter.” He turned to Naria. “You know, though Feera presides over Mrunde, he let Carinna work on Lysst at my behest. He does an excellent job managing the wraiths and haunts in Dark World. You might think of giving it a try.”

Naria said nothing though she wanted to cringe at thoughts of working on the death moon, or worse, living as a wraith full time.

“I saw that Naria.” Lord Demise frowned as he tore into the plate that suddenly appeared before him, giving his daughter a mental slap.

She refused to flinch, accustomed to accepting pain, Lord Demise’s means of expressing fatherly devotion. She stared at him, confused at the odd affection she felt while a taint of revulsion passed over her as she watched him devour the still writhing red flesh of a
necthyt
sitting on his plate.

Despite his demonic traits, she understood why her mother had succumbed to his charm. Her father had a unique appeal all his own. He stood tall and slim with dark black hair and black eyes in an otherwise colorless face. At the moment, his large, black wings lay flat, draped over the chair at his back like a large cape. His hands and feet held recessed talons, now exposed as he ripped into the flesh on his plate.

When he smiled, even in grim satisfaction, his face darkened into a handsomeness that would have made him a wonderful incubus had he been so inclined. Naria heard rumors that the demon and devel women still chasing her father met with the same terrible fate her mother had. Xeche, Demise’s current wife, cared for her demon lord with an obsession bordering on madness, an impressive display of lust and pride befitting a Lordess of her station.

“Yes, Naria?” Her father had seen her watching him. His plate was now empty, and he fastidiously wiped away the blood and tissue clinging to his talons.