Timeless (Pandora Book 1)

Deep within the fortress of Pandora, Lieutenant Vane Schiva has spent millennium guarding precious artifacts and ancient secrets from around the universe. As the son of a decorated commander, he has always been a soldier first, putting the needs of his people before his own desires. So when the compound is breached and he’s sent across the galaxies to track down the thief, he never imagined the assignment would lead him to the only thing he’s ever wanted for himself
.
 

Growing up in New Orleans, Charlotte Rousseau has seen her share of the strange and unexplainable, but everything she thought she knew about the world is about to be tested. What started as any other day, quickly spirals into a nightmarish reality, leaving her no choice but to place her trust—and her life—in a stranger’s hands. Safety comes at a price, though, and Charlotte soon realizes her only chance at survival means leaving behind her fears and following Vane into the fire
.
 

Faced with the threat of war, new alliances are formed and old loyalties are tested in the midst of chaos and uncertainty. While emotions run high and sexual tensions simmer, Vane still guards a dangerous secret, one that could cost him everything in the end. He’ll do whatever it takes to protect Charlotte, though, even if that means turning his back on his own people
.
 

War is easy. Love takes courage.

To my husband, for always believing in me, even when I forget to believe in myself.

Nekron, Year 2984

Leaning his elbows against the frozen railing, Vane Schiva cupped his hands together and blew warm air into the space between them. Above him, the greenish haze of dusk bathed the sky, and a few stray stars had already flickered into existence.

From his perch atop the third-story catwalk, he could see the lights from the capital city of Taldor illuminated on the eastern horizon. They hadn’t activated the lights in the sprawling compound of Pandora yet, but it wouldn’t be long now.

Night was coming—one hundred and ninety-two moon cycles of frigid darkness.

“Schiva, get your ass down here and help me.”

Vane stretched out over the railing to look down at the walkway below him. “What the hell is that?”

Lowering the large, blue sphere to the ground, Lieutenant Xavian Tira slapped the top of it with a muffled thump
and grunted. “Time machine.”

“Time…” Vane trailed off and shook his head. “Earthlings.”

“Earthlings,” Xavian repeated with an indulgent grin as he pushed his long, ebony braid over his shoulder. “So, are you still exploring your feelings, or do you think maybe you could give me a hand?”

Vane mumbled a string of curses under his breath, even as he launched himself over the top rail. Chilled wind whistled through his hair, blowing the loose strands around his face as he fell. Twenty feet below, he landed on the balls of his feet with only a slight bend of his knees and a hushed thud of his boots against the catwalk.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re an asshole?”

Xavian nodded. “Frequently.”

Vane pressed his palm against the side of the sphere, frowning at scratches along the dented surface. “They’re still using polycarbonate? Where did you find this thing?”

“Some costal colony in the Americas.” Curling his fingers around the handle on the side of the machine, Xavian jerked his head upward. “Grab the one over there, yeah? The commander wants it moved to Division Eight.”

Vane rounded the archaic contraption and grabbed the handle on the other side, but he did so grudgingly. Division Eight made his damn skin crawl.

For over three billion years, the Nekros had policed the universe, traveling to the farthest reaches of space to confiscate rare and dangerous objects. Then, in the highest mountains of their home planet, Nekron, they’d constructed Pandora, a guarded compound to house those artifacts.

Division Eight resided in the topmost tower of the fortress and consisted of nothing more than a locked vault no bigger than a walk-in closet. Inside that vault, they kept the most unstable contraband, trinkets and inventions too dangerous even for them to manipulate.

“Okay, what am I missing? It’s a time machine, big deal.” Since several races had mastered time travel before humans had even existed, Vane didn’t understand the urgency. “Why Division Eight?”

Xavian glanced sideways at him as he stepped onto the open lift and swiped his security card over the control panel. “Look inside.”

Frowning, Vane cleared the condensation from the small window on the door and cupped his hands around his face as he peered inside. He’d expected an array of crude wires and blinking buttons, but what he found only deepened his confusion.

“It’s empty.”

“Exactly.”

“Are you sure it actually works?” From where he stood, it looked like a giant, plastic bubble with a man-sized door.

“It works.” When the lift stopped on the upper level, Xavian adjusted his grip on his side of the sphere and stepped off onto the catwalk. “Have you ever been to nineteenth century Earth?”

“Can’t say that I’ve had the pleasure.”

Xavian swiped his security card again at the heavy, sliding doors that barricaded Division Eight, stated his name and rank, and leaned forward for a retinal scan. “Well, I have,” he continued when the doors parted. “It was vile.”

Following the Lieutenant to the back of the small, dimly lit room, Vane cringed at the prospect of being trapped in such a primitive existence. “How long?”

“Two of their Earth weeks. It is not an experience I hope to repeat—ever.”

“I’ll never understand why you like them so much. They’re barbarians.”

After they’d settled the sphere atop a crate in the back corner, Xavian wiped his hands against his dark, leather pants and chuckled. “I think they’re fascinating. Humans are a young race, but look at everything they’ve already accomplished. Imagine what they can do in another thousand years.”

Nodding, Vane scratched the stubble along his chin and grunted. “That’s what worries me. I’ve never known another race so determined to annihilate themselves.”

“Maybe, but you have to admit they do it with style.”

They both laughed, and Vane had to agree. Whatever their faults, humans continuously amazed him with their imaginative, albeit reckless, inventions.

Revenge and retribution seemed to be powerful motivators on Earth, and some of the most creative devices had been born from the desire for vengeance. For the love of the galaxies, they’d even written songs about it—a
lot
of songs.

A low buzz echoed throughout the room, followed by a crackling in the air. “Well, I guess that’s it,” Xavian mumbled as the track lights along the tops and bottoms of the walls came to life. “It seems night has officially arrived.”

“So it seems.” Something felt wrong. Vane couldn’t place the source of his concern, yet it surrounded him and raised the hair on the back of his neck. “Do you feel that?” He rubbed his right forearm through the sleeve of his black, fitted uniform top and surveyed the room.

Xavian looked around the room as well and lifted his right shoulder in a halfhearted shrug. “It’s just this place, man. Don’t let it get to you.”

“That’s not it.” Surveying the artifacts through narrowed eyes, Vane rested his palm on the hilt of the dagger strapped to his left hip. “It feels like someone’s watching us.”

In such a small space, the likelihood of someone hiding behind a crate or shelf was virtually non-existent. Everything looked as it had when they’d entered the room, only a little brighter since the lights had been activated.

“I don’t feel anything.” Laughing, Xavian extended his arm to clap Vane on the shoulder. “I think you’re being a little paranoid, blondie.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Vane didn’t react to the ridiculous nickname, and he didn’t move, either.

True, the night didn’t make his nether regions tingle with excitement, but he didn’t fear the darkness. Over three thousand years of patrolling Pandora had prepared him for just about anything, and Vane had long ago learned to trust his instincts.

Right then, every inch of him vibrated with the certainty that something wasn’t right. Paranoia and anxiety had no place within the halls of the compound, but just because he couldn’t pinpoint the source of his concern didn’t mean there wasn’t a problem.

“C’mon, brother, let’s get gone. I’ve starving.”

Despite himself, Vane laughed. “You’re always starving.”

Smoothing his hand down the black fabric of his shirt, Xavian patted his flat stomach and smirked. “What can I say? I’m a growing boy.” The smile faded as he looked around the room again and gave a visible, full-body shiver. “Seriously, though, let’s beat feet.”

“Go on, Xee. I’ll catch up in a minute.”

“Vane…let it go.” Turning toward the door, Xavian bushed a stray lock of dark hair out of his eyes. “There’s no one here. Nothing is missing. It’s not like someone broke in and stole an artifact. Where would they even go?”

Frowning at the oddly specific reassurance, Vane shifted toward his friend and widened his stance. “Xee, look at me.”

Xavian stiffened, turning to face him in slow, halted increments. The pale, blue light from the runners glinted off a silver chain that draped around his neck, a chain that definitely hadn’t been there when they’d entered the room.

“Do we have a problem?”

“You tell me.” Vane reached for his dagger again, this time removing it from its sheath, but still holding it low near his hip. “That’s a nice piece of shine you got there.”

The guy looked like Xavian. He even sounded like Xavian, but a cold, hollow pit settled in Vane’s gut when he looked into his friend’s eyes. Instead of the dual-colored irises—one green, one amber in Xavian’s case—that marked every Nekros, the guard stared back at him with eyes as dark and cold as the night.

The imposter held his hands out to the side, his elbows bent and his palms facing forward. “No one has to get hurt here.”

“Well, now, I guess that depends on you, Morphling.” Vane kept a loose grip on the leather-wrapped hilt of his dagger as he maneuvered toward the exit. “Who are you? What did you do with Xavian?”

“Don’t worry,” the fake Xavian answered smoothly. “He’s alive, unharmed…for now.” He didn’t reach for a weapon, nor did he appear concerned about being cornered with no means of escape. “Put the knife away. No one wants a mess.”

Typical Morphling, always cocky, even when they had no hope of winning. “You’re really prepared to die for a single bauble?”

With an arrogant smirk, the Morphling shivered from head to feet, shaking his head as his skin rippled. Tiny horns sprouted from his forehead near his hairline as his disguise melted away to reveal his true form, and his skin darkened to a mottled ebony.

It had been centuries since Vane had seen a Morphling up close, not since their home planet of Promena had been conquered and their race enslaved. Those who managed to escape had taken refuge with allying planets, but a few still held a grudge against Nekron for their neutrality.

Vane was going to go out on a limb and guess this guy happened to be one of those still sporting a grudge-boner for Nekron. “Just hand over the necklace, and we all walk away unbloodied. Trust me, it’s the best offer you’re going to get.”

The Morphling laughed at him, a sound that lacked much honest amusement. “You think I’m the only one—that’s kind of adorable.” He took a step closer. “You know what I am, what I can do, so you know you can’t stop me.”

With a last, taunting smile, he melted into the floor, vanishing right before Vane’s eyes in a wisp of smoke.

* * * *

No matter how many times Vane had been summoned to the commander’s office, he never could get used to the cold, sterile environment. Pale, blue lights glinted off the commander’s chrome desk, and the surgically white walls gleamed like newly fallen snow. Everything had its place, and nothing was ever out of order, not even a single thread of the lush, burgundy carpet.

“He vanished?” The commander’s upper lip curled over his teeth as he pinned Vane with a steely glare. “That’s what you’re telling me?”

“It was a Morphling, sir. Their powers are—”

“I know what powers they have,” the commander snapped, his eyes—one blue, one orange—flashing with barely controlled rage. “I’m more interested in learning how you let him disappear with a valuable and potentially dangerous artifact.”

On the inside, Vane cringed, but outwardly, he remained impassive, his carefully schooled expression giving away nothing. “Perhaps if we were allowed to carry guns inside Pandora—”

“And risk annihilating the entire planet?” Pacing in front of Vane, the commander clenched and relaxed his hands at his sides in increasingly aggravated motions. “There are things within these walls that we can’t possibly hope to understand. All it takes is one trigger-happy new recruit to bring it all crumbling down.”

Vane kept his arms crossed behind his back and his shoulders squared, looking straight ahead as he nodded. “Yes, sir, I understand.”

And he did. At one time, the guards of Pandora had been permitted to carry firing weapons. Then some fresh-faced rookie had gotten spooked by a rodent and fired off a shot that had accidently struck an old vase in Division Six containing Eternal Embers from the planet Jura. The fire had raged for nearly twelve years, destroyed countless treasures, and it had taken more than a decade to rebuild once the flames had been extinguished.

“You said you have reason to believe he isn’t working alone.”

Not a question, but Vane nodded anyway. “Yes, he mentioned he wasn’t alone. I can’t be sure, but I think other artifacts may be missing as well.”

The commander rubbed the back of his neck as he propped a hip up on his polished desk. “We have a team taking inventory as we speak, and the chronicler will be here shortly.” His hand slid up from his nape to the top of his head, his fingers threading through his spiky, blond locks.

“Has anyone located Lieutenant Tira?”

Xavian had been his friend since childhood and had fought alongside him in many battles. Vane was still disgusted with himself for not recognizing the Morphling’s deception sooner.

“He was found at the base of the mountain behind Division One, naked and half frozen.” Some of the commander’s ire melted away, and his gaze softened. “Medical informs me he’s stable, son. He’s expected to make a full recovery with some fluids and rest.”

Some of the tension in Vane’s shoulders eased, and he breathed a silent sigh of relief. “What do you need from me?”

Commander Bael Schiva looked up through his narrowed gaze. “I want you to do nothing until we know more.” A chime echoed through the room, interrupting anything more Vane’s father might have said. “That will be Cato.” Leaning sideways, he jabbed a finger at the control console in the center of his desk.