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Margot blinks. “Who? Luthor just said it was an old friend of his and that she was in good hands.”
“General Atraxis. He’s a Denorra warlord. You know who the Denorra are, right?” I ask, looking between Margot and Kallista. Margot nods, while Kallista gives an apathetic shrug. “Denorra was a planet on the fringes of the Andromeda galaxy. I saywasbecause it’s no longer there.”
Margot stares at me blankly, like none of the words coming out of my mouth have any meaning. Meanwhile, irritatingly, Kallista is on her terminal, scrolling through her social media.
“Kallista. This is important,” I say, my voice harder than I mean it to be.
Kallista glances up at me, her expression impassive. “I’m listening.”
“Forgive me if I don’t believe you,” I grind out, but she simply goes back to scrolling through her feed. This woman is infuriating. It’s one thing to ignore me most of the week, when I’m simply doing my job and she’s doing hers. But I expect her to listen to me when I have important information that could keep her safe.
“You’ve probably never met a Denorran before. They rarely leave Nocturne and prefer to hire out goons to do their dirty work, like Slitheron, Gorcians, the occasional Human.”
Margot leans forward in her seat. At least someone is paying attention.
“When they lost the Denorra Diamond War three hundred years ago, they settled on asteroids such as this one. They’re known for their love of war crimes. They’re hostile, aggressive, and can only be dissuaded from killing you with credits.”
Margot swallows thickly. She finally looks nervous. Good. If she’s nervous, she won’t take this so lightly. That’s my hope, anyway.
I cross my arms over my shoulder and sigh. “Which is why I’m … alarmed that Kallista’s agent has sent her here. Especially without any sort of briefing. It’s like walking into a hornet’s nest.”
The windjammer, to my horror, lurches forward as we’re pulled into the asteroid’s gravitational field. Kallista topples over into my side, and I instinctively put my arm around her torso to steady her.
“Are you okay?” I ask, looking down at her startled face.
She nods, then quickly scrambles to straighten herself. “Fine,” she murmurs, turning to look out the window. Not a moment later, she lets out a sharp squeak, and I turn to see what’s startled her. “What is that?”
As the windjammer glides helplessly, Nocturne comes into clear view. The asteroid in which the space station was built hundreds of years ago is ominous looking enough—it’s the strips of red light winding around and through its exterior husk that really seals the deal. This station has always had to look like the poison dart frog of the galaxy. Its blood red lights screamstay away!to anyone with half a brain. Kallista presses her nose against the glass, her jaw slack.
“It’s so beautiful,” she murmurs. “I can’t wait to go inside!”
I wince and run a palm down my face.
* * *
The second the doors of the windjammer open, I step outside to provide a much-needed buffer between the ladies and the asteroid. A grizzled Denorran steps forward, clutching a plasma rifle. His long, reptilian tail sways behind him as he makes his way toward me. His face is like a bearded dragon’s, with thick scales that cover the length of his impressive frame. It’s because of those impenetrable scales that Denorrans don’t need to wear armor.
But despite their impressive hide, like any other mark, they still have a weak spot—between two plates at the back of their necks, like the dragons of folklore and legends. Ask me how I know.
“State your name and purpose,” the Denorran orders in a raspy, dry voice. “Now.”
I straighten, hoping to use my imposing height to my advantage. While I’m not packing a plasma rifle, I do have sixteen blades and three guns on my body right now. Not even a Denorran would want to mess with those odds.
“I’m Xavian Melrose, here traveling with Kallista as her bodyguard. With us is her manager, Margot McTavish. And our driver is going to stay with the ship,” I say, still blocking the doorway to the windjammer.
The Denorran lifts his bony wrist to squawk into his comm in his own language, then raises his head and nods. “Come with me. Follow close.”
The three of us are led through the dark, metallic hangar at a snail’s pace. Other Denorrans working on ships and jammers glance up to look at us curiously. Kallista stares back at them. Margot tries smiling at a few, then gives up when she realizes they aren’t going to smile back. They can’t, even if they wanted to. No lips.
“The general is expecting you,” our escort says as we reach the end of the hangar hall. We step inside the elevator, which is basically a black tube of death, and it shoots upward, making my stomach knot. I hate to admit it, even to myself, but I’m anxious. The tension in the air is stifling, so thick that even unflappable Margot seems nervous and shuffles closer to me. Kallista, on the other hand, is staring up at the Denorran like he’s a fucking character at Disneyland.
This woman.
When we reach our destination, the black doors slide open, and the Denorran steps out. Fresh air blasts us in the face. Kallista winces, eyes watering, and shields her face until the artificial breeze finally dies down. Then she sucks in a sharp breath. Up here, at the top of the asteroid, the nightlife pulses to the beat of the red lights that blink high above. Through the smoke, I make out a neon red signs advertising sex clubs as music permeates the air. The smell of oil and smoke is thick up here, and I let out a hacking cough. Kallista’s attention flits from one thing to the next, clearly overstimulated. Out of the corner of my eye I spot a purple neon sign for a market hanging above a few glossy counters while a Gorcian male mans the desk. At first it seems completely normal, until I spot the myriad of guns hanging on the wall behind the man.
The Denorran doesn’t have to say anything to get the crowd to part for us; it does naturally. Dozens of onlookers, mostly Slitheron and Gorcian, watch us with hungry looks as we make our way through the busy street. The ladies huddle closer, flanking me, as we stride past leery gazes and follow the Denorran up a long flight of stairs. He leads us into a metallic pillar that reaches to the asteroid’s ceiling. Kallista cranes her neck back to follow the length of the pillar as though trying to figure out how far it goes, her eyes wide like a child’s.
“It keeps the ceiling up,” I say, clearly teasing, but she looks at me and nods silently.
