Blood Moons (20 page)

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177

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by Alianne Donnelly

— fucking shuttle is —

— bastard got what he deserved —

She shook her head, slowly easing away from all of them until her back hit the wall. They didn't try to stop her; there was nowhere to run.

Lil' thing is losing it. Can't blame her...

Her legs gave out then. She slid down to the floor, knees to her chest, and started rocking back and forth.

Great. Now we'll never get out of here.

She'd expected her body to stop functioning. But what she hadn't expected was the steady stream of tears. Dara wasn't crying. There were no sobs, though her breaths were choppy.

The tears filled her eyes silently, blurring her vision, and slid down her cheeks one after the other. Her eyes became unfocused; the voices faded into a hum. Darkness settled over her, but she was still awake, still aware of what was happening. Only now, it was in a world that she wasn't in, behind a dark veil she couldn't cross.

And on her side of it, the shadows were gathering...

Christ, he couldn't stand this! Two guards and Amelia were between him and his female, and she was fucking
crying
.

Each tear cut through him, far worse than the bullet had, and he couldn't do a goddamn thing. Tristan couldn't reach her, physically or mentally. She was so scared, the fog that he'd encountered earlier was nothing compared to the thick blackness that was hiding her now.

It was killing him that he couldn't touch her. His claws were digging into his palms, his wrists somehow straining against the handcuffs, and he could feel them slightly giving 178

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way. There would be deadly consequences to his breaking loose, but he was beyond giving a shit about that now.

Tristan was so focused on getting to her, shielding her from the others that he didn't even notice he was moving until one of the guards stepped in his way to stop him.

Over the man's shoulder he could see Amelia stoop down in front of Dara and touch her shoulder again. The little sound of distress she made was like a dagger straight into his brain.

"Back off," the guard warned him.

"Let me take her," he growled, without letting Dara out of his sight. He couldn't. If he looked at the guard, he might just tear the fucker's throat out with his teeth for getting in his way.

Amelia looked at him, clearly calculating the options here.

He read her mind easily. She knew Dara wouldn't let anyone touch her now, and without touching her, they wouldn't be able to get her to the shuttle unless she was sedated, and Amelia didn't want that. Somehow they needed to get her moving.

She gave a tight nod and said to the guard, "Release him."

"Dr. Chase—"

"I take full responsibility," she cut in. "Release him."

Heart in his throat, Tristan waited tensely as the guard took for-fucking-
ever
to unlock the handcuffs. He knew the man was just dragging it out in hopes that Amelia would change her mind and stop him, but that infuriated him even more.

As soon as he was free, he shoved past the guard, ignoring the nine firearms that immediately trained on him. Amelia, 179

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thankfully, got out of his way before he had to make her. He knelt down in front of Dara, his legs bracketing hers and took a good look at her face. Her expression was blank, her eyes trained on nothing, as if she'd completely checked out, but those tears kept coming in steady streams she seemed completely unaware of.

It scared the shit out of him.

"Dara," he said, hoping his voice would keep her calm.

She didn't respond, and Tristan nearly lost it at the silence that answered him. He fought to keep calm for her sake.

Tristan carefully brushed the pad of his thumb over her cheek, catching a tear as it fell. Her breath hitched in a broken gasp and he could happily have cut off his own hand.

"Come on, Dara, I need you to focus for a little bit."

When even that didn't work, he ruthlessly cut through the darkness in her mind, seeking her. Following nothing but instinct to find her.

And find her he did. A small girl, a child, huddled in a forgotten corner of her mind. She was weeping softly, her face hidden against her up drawn knees. She was flinching every so often as that darkness reached out time and again, invading her space to lash at her. The stuff of nightmares was haunting her, hurting her. It raised every protective instinct he possessed—and a few he hadn't until now—amplified a thousandfold.

Tristan shaped his presence to envelop her, using himself as a shield against those shadows. His mind firmly locked with hers, around hers, Tristan scooped her up in his arms, 180

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and relief made his knees quiver when she didn't resist him.

"Move," he told the others impatiently.

The guards fell back into formation surrounding them and picked up their speed. The hallways passed so quickly, even if he'd wanted to Tristan wouldn't have noticed. They passed Herb's front desk and without sparing him a glance, Tristan sensed the clerk gaping at them. He faintly heard the man say, "What the fuck happened?" but it seemed he didn't expect an answer. Good thing, too, because none of them slowed long enough to give one.

"Hang on, baby. We're almost there."

Amelia fell behind to sign the transfer protocol for all three of them, and a guard witnessed while Herb authorize it. It all took no more than thirty seconds with Amelia's efficient command of the situation, and then, before Tristan knew it, they were at the launch pad.

Once again, the guards flanked the entrance as Amelia led the way inside. Another team of guards waited there, this one trained for transport difficulties. They had a bunk ready—

someone must have sent word ahead—and two seats for them, one with built-in restraints. Only one cabin. Easier to keep an eye on things that way. Tristan didn't mind. At least he'd be able to keep Dara in sight.

"We may need to sedate her," Amelia told him softly. She didn't want the others to overhear.

Tristan gauged Dara's state of mind. She was completely traumatized, scared and in shock. She had no control over her own mind and right now, he couldn't think of a way to bring her out of it slowly. Much as he hated doing it to Dara, 181

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he hated the thought of her suffering all the way to Niren Colony even more. The sedative might just be enough to restart her mind and keep her calm enough in her dreams so Tristan could dull her memories for her. "Do it," he said.

Amelia grimly fished out a syringe from her med kit. When she turned to them again, she met his gaze briefly, as if she sensed that this was a dangerous thing she was about to do.

At his sharp nod, she injected the sedative into Dara's arm.

The tension left her body almost immediately and a brief spike of panic stabbed through him.

"Put her down here," Amelia directed.

He made sure her heart was beating strong and steady before he complied. Gently, slowly, he laid Dara down on the bunk, wincing when her brows drew into a quick frown of protest as he released her completely. Her sleeping mind was at peace. He could have withdrawn and left her to rest, but he didn't. Tristan watched as Amelia raised the bunk's edges to make sure Dara wouldn't slip off during the trip. He should be with her. He should be the one making sure nothing happened to her while she slept.

As if reading his thoughts, Amelia touched his arm, making him flinch. "She'll be fine," she assured him.

Tristan wasn't so sure. At a guard's urging, he took his seat and placed his arms and legs into the restraints. They locked immediately, securing him in place. But at least he could still turn his head to look at Dara.

As soon as Amelia was seated and strapped in, the pilot began the launch sequence. The shuttle rattled as it took off through the launch tunnel, and then there was a brief, 182

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blinding flash of light as they emerged aboveground. Within seconds they were out of the planet's orbit and the window screens darkened to protect against the four suns' glare.

Once they passed the worst of it, Tristan had an unobstructed view of the stars. There were colors he hadn't seen in years, except on a TV screen. Beautiful pinks and purples, greens and blues swirling together, gasses colliding and forming new things to fill up the empty space.

It should have been a glorious sight, or at least a great feeling, to finally be free from that underground cave. But there was only the impatient worry that made him seek Dara's sleeping form time and again.

And the devastating, desolate realization that this was just a taste of things to come.

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183

Blood Moons

by Alianne Donnelly

12th day of the 4th Blood Moon, 3028

When a good thing comes along, grab it.
Dara's mind was still fuzzy from the tranq, and everything felt like a dream. As far as she was concerned, that was exactly how it was going to remain. A very bad dream that didn't really happen, so there was no reason to freak out about dead bodies, or prisons underground on a faraway planet.

The occasional shiver that passed through her was now an acceptable nuisance compared to the incapacitating shaking from that dream place where she was
not
going to go again.

Ever.

Here, she could see the one solitary sun shining just outside the window. The door was made of wood and plastic, and the bureaucracy was a flourishing piece of art.

Dara was sitting before an empty desk, in a plush, worn chair next to Hunt (unrestrained and sitting in his own chair), because the clerk in charge of checking them in had stepped out to get something authorized. They'd been sitting here alone for a good half hour now. After the nightmare of the past weeks, this felt absolutely surreal and dreamlike, and Dara didn't quite know how to deal with it.

She kept shooting covert glances at Hunt. He hadn't said a word to her since wishing her a good morning when she'd woken up after they'd landed on Niren Colony. Frankly, with security as lax as it was, she was surprised he hadn't even twitched toward the direction of the door. With his ... special 184

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abilities, he could be out of here and off world in a matter of minutes, and no one would even hear about him ever again.

There were cookies set out on a plate in the middle of the desk. What kind of prison warden offered his prisoners cookies?

"Lass..."

She shook her head.
Firmly in deny and repress mode
. And she was almost done convincing herself everything was normal. If she got distracted back to that-which-she-was-forgetting, everything would come crashing down again. She couldn't take that chance. Dara couldn't handle another meltdown right now. Not when things were starting to look up.

Stubbornly refusing to be ignored, Hunt slinked into her mind with a soft brush of fur against the inside of her brain and curled up like a cat, seemingly relaxed, but she knew he was watching everything she did and thought. For some reason, it soothed her. He wasn't asking anything of her; he was just there, just in case. He was her security blanket now.

Dara wasn't sure she could give that up even if she wanted to.

And that scared her. At some point, sooner or later, they
would
be separated, whether confined to this planet or not.

And what would she do when she didn't have him to pick up the pieces anymore? Because the likelihood of her falling apart was rising gradually the longer she was in this unbelievably complicated situation.

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But that didn't pain her as much as the fact that she was automatically assuming that he would even care, when he probably couldn't be bothered.

Hunt shoved to his feet—both physically and telepathically—so fast she flinched. Dara watched him pace back and forth in front of the window, but for someone who hadn't seen sunshine in years, he seemed strangely fascinated with the floor. He was staring at it fixedly, without blinking, and the muscles in his jaw were bunching and jumping in rapid succession. She assured herself that if anyone watching the security feed noticed his eyes glinting briefly gold, they'd attribute it to a play of sunlight.

"Something wrong?" she ventured, feeling unaccountably guilty for his outburst.

"Just stretching my legs," he replied shortly.

Was he going to ignore her now? While he was still grousing and grumbling in her mind?
"What's
up
with you?"

"Leave it."
That was a growl more than a verbal command.

Dara shrugged.
"Fine."
If he didn't want to talk about it, she wouldn't push him.

"Insufferable cow."

"Hard-headed jerk-off."

His mouth twitched.

In her mind, he now felt almost more animal than human.

His shape, when he chose to have one, was vague, but it was huge, and four-legged and furry. With a human mind and consciousness, but animal reactions.

Another concern of hers was purely for him—he was changing, in more ways than even he seemed to realize.

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"I feel it,"
he said, stopping before the window,
"the
change."
There was a painful moment of hesitation in which Dara discovered he knew more than he was telling her. He didn't know how much to tell her, playing a careful balancing game—trying desperately to reach out to her, needing someone to trust, and not wanting to overwhelm her with the scary details.

She contorted herself in her mind into a shape to match him and put her arms around the great beast, burying her face in its fur. His physical body went still as a statue in front of that window, while in her mind, the beast's giant head moved ever so carefully to rest against her shoulder and back. Dara felt the growl-purr rumble in his chest and it rocked her frame with pleasant warmth.