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I’m about to tell her I was just kidding when the Denorran whirls on us fast. So fast my hand goes to my belt to rest on the hilt of my hidden plasma blade.
“General Atraxis wishes to meet you all in his private quarters first,” the Denorran rasps, looking straight at Kallista. My throat tightens. I step forward, and the Denorran snaps his attention to me.
“She doesn’t go anywhere without me,” I say. It’s not a request. It’s an order. An order they’ll follow if they don’t want to deal with a pain-in-the-ass Terran. I’m not strong enough to take on an entire flotilla of these assholes, but I can take on four without breaking a sweat. Ask me how I know.
The Denorran stares at me for a long, long time. When I don’t budge on my position, he says, “Fine. The other female may wait at the bar. Have a snack and a drink.”
Kallista stiffens beside me, and I press my hand to the small of her back in what I hope is a reassuring gesture. “It’s fine,” I murmur. “Margot, you’ll be fine at the bar. No one will bother you there.” I shoot the Denorran a pointed look.
He nods and says, “She will be quite saaaafe there,” then takes a step beside Margot, who looks about ready to bolt.
Great. It’s like wrangling cats. You think you’ve got one handled, then the other goes crazy.
“Go with him, Margot,” I say. “I’ll be back soon.”
Margot looks up at me with saucer eyes. It’s the first time I’ve seen her make any sort of expression outside of sour or serious. Now she looks like a doe lost in the woods, and guilt gnaws at my nerves.
“It’ll be fine. I promise. I won’t let anything happen to either one of you.”
And it’s a promise I intend to keep. Margot’s throat bobs, but she follows the Denorran out of the main lobby to the bar. Moments later, the Denorran shuffles back and beckons to us with his thick, black claws. “This way. Let’s not keep the general waiting.”
Kallista surprises me by latching onto my arm tightly. At least she’s smart enough to know we’re in the middle of a precarious situation and to stay close. We pass Denorrans clinking glasses together and dimly lit podiums with women writhing around steel poles. Kallista tightens her grip on my arm as we pass the strippers. This isn’t her kind of venue. I get it. She’s used to dancing on stage for thousands of teenaged girls, not performing for horny, middle-aged war criminals.
As we make our way through another dark hallway, I feel her gaze on me. It’s hard to see in this lighting, but when I look down at her, her gold eyes all but plead with me not to let her go.
“You’re safe,” I say, then place my palm on the top of her head.
The Denorran stops at the end of the hallway and knocks on what I’m guessing is a door, but it’s impossible to see. The maybe-a-door slides open, and a burst of neon blues, reds, and purples cut through the darkness. The sound of trickling water wafts from somewhere inside the room, along with the soft, sensuous beat of ambient music.
Kallista’s grip on my arm relaxes slightly as we step into the main area of the clubhouse. In the middle of the room are three chairs and an enormous water feature that takes up the length of the wall.
And sitting in the middle of one of those chairs is the General Atraxis himself, who also happens to the biggest, meanest looking Denorran I’ve ever seen. A scar runs down the side of his face and though his eye, which is nothing but a milky orb. He rises from his seat as we approach.
His muscular, six-foot tail curls like a chameleon’s, and his pearly white fangs glisten in the light. “Welcome, princess of the stars!” his thick voice rumbles. “Welcome to my little slice of heaven amidst the galaxy.”
Kallista’s fingernails dig into the skin of my forearm.
13KALLISTA
The general leads us up the stairs that wind above the impressive water feature so we can sit on a sofa. Unlike the rest of Nocturne, or at least what I’ve seen of it so far, the general’s club is quiet with sleek walls decorated with tasteful abstract paintings. Black metal sculptures of naked women in various poses sit in almost every corner of the room. The dim lighting makes the space cozy and inviting, with rich burgundy walls and black furnishings everywhere. It’s tasteful and has a level of restraint, which I didn’t expect. And the best part? It doesn’t smell like smoke. A hint of vanilla and leather hits my nostrils. It’s pleasant and not overly cloying.
There are other women up here. Four of them, to be exact. One Terran with long black hair, striking violet eyes, and high cheekbones. Another is what I can only assume is a Denorran female, who looks just like the males, only smaller and lithe. The other two are Human, like me, with short blond bobs. They’re all wearing the same miniscule black dress.
The general growls at Xavian, who tries to sit next to me on the velvet purple settee but is ultimately relegated to hovering several feet away. Judging by the look on Xavian’s face, he’s not at all pleased with this assignment, but he doesn’t complain. The general perches on the settee beside me and drapes his arm around my shoulder and the other Human woman’s. She doesn’t even seem to care that he’s touching her; she looks placidly down at her terminal screen. Bored, or resigned to her fate?
Being from Luna, I’m not naïve to this part of life. The dancing girls, the substance abuse, any of it. My own father was a psychotic alcoholic who beat me with the same enthusiasm functional, normal fathers show when taking their children fishing or camping. When the Denorran woman pulls out a Solace stick and lights it, I don’t even flinch.
I’ve never smoked the stuff, though my father loved it. Or perhaps it was the other way around. The drug loved him. Loved him so much it clung to him with a vice grip. How many times did he promise me he was getting clean and that we’d start behaving like a normal family? Too many.
When the general notices me noticing the Solace, his scaly brows rise. “Would you like one? I can give you as much as you like, and then some.”
I shake my head, still vaguely aware of Xavian’s presence in the corner. “No, thank you. I don’t smoke.”
The other women stare at me like I just admitted that I crapped my pants. One of the Humans scoffs and grabs a stick from her Denorran friend before lighting it.
The general’s humid, rank breath clings to my throat like an unwelcome embrace. “That’s too bad. Surely you drink, then? We have synth,” he practically purrs in my ear.
It’s taking every ounce of self-control not to recoil and move away. Synth? The rumors about this asteroid were true, then. Xavian didn’t need to wax poetic about the lovely virtues of the asteroid in the ship. My father used to come here on weekends to spend all his money and come back with armfuls of drugs.
