Infinity's Embrace (Dark Planet Warriors Book 6) Read online

  Infinity’s Embrace

  Dark Planet Warriors Book 6

  Anna Carven

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Copyright © 2016 by Anna Carven

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Created with Vellum

  Chapter One

  He sensed the medic long before she appeared. Her aura was different to the General’s, and it stood out like a beacon amidst the background noise of hundreds of Human and Kordolian souls.

  It wasn’t dark and oppressive like the General’s. It wasn’t soaked in blood. He had never encountered a battle aura as strong as the one that radiated from Tarak al Akkadian, and the mere memory of it made his bloodlust rise.

  Their encounter had been swift and bloody, and if not for Akkadian’s physical enhancements, the General would have bled out through a vicious stab wound in his gut.

  The General was fast, but he was just a little bit faster, and he’d managed to deal the first blow. But Akkadian, like the rest of the First Division warriors, had been made into something more, something other, and for that reason alone, he’d been able to survive and turn the fight to his advantage, severing the assassin’s left arm.

  In the end, the General had spared him, not out of mercy, but because he thought he could use him.

  I will find a way to break your mindbond, assassin.

  His lips curved into a cold, cynical smile. He didn’t believe it. His ka’qui channels were broken, and although he’d been left with some abilities, he was nothing more than a slave, rendered speechless and bound to follow the carefully implanted commands of his Mistress until death granted him sweet release.

  Too bad he was so very hard to kill. His encounter with the General was the closest he had come to death in a very long time, and then the infernal warrior had the nerve to spare his wretched life.

  Now, more than ever, he longed for the merciful embrace of nothingness, but he could not, would not, die by his own hand.

  That was forbidden.

  Right now, his patron deity, Kaiin, the god of death and destruction, must be laughing at him from his dark throne in the underworld.

  “I’m coming in, katach.” The medic’s gentle voice pierced the silence, filtering through hidden speakers in the ceiling.

  Katach. She always called him that. It was an ancient High Kordolian word, and it held different meanings depending on how it was used.

  Assassin. Killer. Child of Kaiin. Tainted One.

  Some considered it a derogatory term, but it also had an older, secret meaning.

  Ruler.

  That meaning had been lost a long, long time ago.

  “You’ve been able to control yourself on the last two occasions. Promise you won’t try to harm me?”

  I have no quarrel with you, medic.

  He shook his head and spread his remaining hand wide, knowing she could see him on some external monitor. It was the only way he could convey his answer. She knew he couldn’t say a word, and she didn’t have enough ability with the ka’qui for him to communicate with her through mindspeech.

  Very few did. The ka’qui channels of most Kordolians closed shortly after birth. He was one of the rare exceptions.

  He shrugged, trying to shake out the strange tingling sensation that rippled through his left shoulder. Ever since the General had cut off his left arm, he’d been plagued with the odd feeling that his limb was still intact.

  It was of no consequence. Left arm or not, he could still kill Akkadian if the right opportunity presented itself.

  Do you want to live, wretch? The General’s words rang in his ears as the compulsion to kill thrummed through his veins, pulsating with a dark rhythm and pervading every fiber of his being. The Mistress had so skillfully threaded the command through his mindbond that it resonated deeply within him even when she was on the other side of the Universe.

  Kill General Tarak al Akkadian and bring his Human mate to me, preferably alive.

  Until the order was fulfilled, nothing else mattered. He would carry out the command to the letter, and anyone who dared stand in his way was at risk. He wouldn’t touch the child, though. His orders said nothing about a child. At the time of imprinting, his Mistress hadn’t known the General’s mate was with child.

  There was a distinct possibility though, that for the first time in his short, illustrious career, he might fail. Everything had changed. For the first time in his life, he’d been captured. Not in a billion revolutions could he have imagined they would take him alive.

  He wasn’t surprised when the Qualum door sealing his prison started to unravel, its dark fibers coming apart to reveal the female medic accompanied by two warriors. After all, he’d already sensed their approach. Of course, he couldn’t actually see them, but he could sense them, and his second vision enabled him to see far more than the naked eye.

  The two warriors had the dark, tainted auras of seasoned killers and they were as dangerous as anything or anyone he’d encountered in the Nine Galaxies. The medic, on the other hand, had a gentler presence.

  No, gentle probably wasn’t the right word for it. She was as strong as any of them, but she was a healer, not a killer.

  He wasn’t accustomed to dealing with her kind.

  He retreated to the corner of the room, holding out his remaining hand in what he hoped was a pacifying gesture.

  My fight is not with you.

  His orders were to kill the General and capture his mate. Nothing more, nothing less. Psychic compulsion forced him to carry out those commands at all costs, and if that meant staying in control until he could escape, then so be it. Fighting now would only lead to his death, because he had no weapons and no left arm, and he had no doubt the two warriors who had entered his cell were members of the notorious First Division.

  Now was not the time. The odds weren’t in his favor.

  Stop thinking like that. They can help you. If anyone can help you break the mindbond, it’s these people, these sworn enemies of the Empire.

  A glimmer of hope flared in his heart, but he swiftly crushed it.

  Hope was a pointless emotion.

  “Is something amusing, katach?”

  His lips curved
upwards, the points of his fangs protruding over his lips in a cold, bitter smile. He raised an eyebrow, but made no effort to try and answer her.

  After all, what could he possibly say?

  “The General has found someone who speaks your language. He’s going to come and see you, but first I need to immobilize you.”

  Immobilize?

  “I’ll temporarily disable your nervous system from the neck down. As much as you’ll want to try and kill him, you won’t be able to move a muscle. Think of it as a manual override of your hard-wired compulsion. When you’re spending all your energy straining against your restraints, you don’t seem to be able to focus on anything else.”

  He turned his face towards her, focusing on the complex tangle of emotions she radiated. Like others of his kind, the so-called Silent Ones, he’d been stripped of his sight shortly after birth. It had been done for a reason. His masters had trained him to hone his other senses until they were preternaturally acute, and one could not properly develop the second sight if true vision was still intact.

  So they had blacked out his eyes.

  Now, of course, his ka’qui sense was equal to none. His ability to read intent and emotions was exquisite. His hearing was ridiculously sharp, as was his sense of smell. He might be sightless, but he sensed more and perceived far more those who saw with their eyes.

  His was a world of energy and movement, a rich sensory landscape where even inanimate things could be seen and understood in perfect detail. When he reached out with his ka’qui, he could “see” everything.

  “I trust you won’t try and fight this.” She held something in her hands; a collar-like device. The two warriors came beside him, positioning themselves threateningly close, their hands resting on the hilts of their swords. They radiated menace, and their intentions were obvious.

  His battle-lust began to rise, making the fingers of his right hand twitch. One of the few pleasures left to him in his cursed existence was the savage thrill that came from facing a worthy opponent during the course of an assignment. There were so few in the Universe who could actually match him in a fight, and in his younger days, he might have been tempted to pit himself any First Division warrior who crossed his path, just so he could test his skills.

  But he was older and wiser now, and he’d learned restraint.

  If he tried anything at this very moment, he would enjoy the taste of a sharp Callidum blade.

  He was clearly outmatched, and he truly had no intention of harming the medic, so he remained still, nodding in assent as she approached him. Despite his reputation and his nature, she didn’t project fear. She was merely cautious.

  “It’s a neural immobilizer,” she explained matter-of-factly, placing it into his right hand as if that would somehow reassure him. His smile faded, turning into a look of resignation. He’d known what it would feel like even before he touched it.

  It was a hard, slim, lightweight device with a small protrusion at one end.

  He nodded again, handing the device back to her and waving his hand impatiently. Just get it over with.

  Strangely, he trusted the medic. He couldn’t detect any deception in her demeanor, and in all of their interactions so far, she’d been open with him.

  “I’m going to place this around your neck. A small, flexible wire will work its way into your spinal cord and deliver a substance that will temporarily paralyze you from the neck down. I have to stress that its effect will be only temporary. It’s crude, but aside from putting you in restraints, it’s the only thing we can do to try and lessen the effects of your compulsion. At least this way, you won’t be constantly trying to strain against your bonds.”

  Yes, this particular compulsion was irritatingly crude. Whenever he was in Akkadian’s presence, his body acted of its own volition.

  He stared at her with his mind’s eye, his expression turning blank. He understood it perfectly well. Her efforts at reassurance were unnecessary. Why should he be afraid when he was at the absolute mercy of the General? Akkadian could have had him killed long before now. Instead, he’d confined him in a quiet cell.

  At least he was no longer shackled in restraints like some pathetic beast. They hadn’t tortured him. He was fed and clothed and his injury had been promptly seen to.

  Truly, what did this formidable Kordolian want with him?

  You will bring me the head of the Empress of Kythia.

  Madness.

  He forced himself to be still as the medic deftly placed the device around his neck. A cool gel-like substance was released from the device as it clicked into place, covering the back of his neck.

  “It’s going to activate in a moment. You’ll feel a slight sting.”

  The sting didn’t bother him. What he wasn’t prepared for was the heavy sensation of paralysis that immediately spread through his body, disconnecting his brain from his limbs.

  The two warriors moved swiftly, catching him before he crashed to the floor.

  “Don’t worry. We’ve got you.” The medic spoke again, her voice soft. It was strange that these enemies of his could be so decent with him when his kind were so feared and detested by most ordinary Kordolians.

  But then again, he was completely at their mercy now. A sudden wave of terror coursed through him like a fierce atmospheric storm, overwhelming in its intensity.

  Complete loss of control. It had been a long, long time since he’d felt so utterly helpless.

  He couldn’t move. He couldn’t even feel the hands that held him upright, because his neural sensory input had been cut off. Panic hit him, stripping him of all self-control. It raged within him like a swirling vortex, threatening to suck away his sanity.

  He, who didn’t fear anything in the universe, was suddenly gripped with sheer terror. He raged against it, hating the emotion, hating the fact that he was prone to such weakness when he should just accept what was happening to him.

  He shouldn’t succumb to such pointless emotions. What use did a Silent One have for emotion?

  Fear gave way to anger. He reached deep within himself and grasped the only thing that could keep him centered, the familiar core of his ka’qui. It was his life-force, the living energy contained in every molecule of the Universe.

  He embraced the dark energy that rippled through him, and bit by bit, he regained control, using his sixth sense to feel the state of his body. He was indeed paralyzed, but he chose to believe it wouldn’t last.

  The medic had said so, and he trusted her.

  “I felt that.” Surprise radiated from her and the two warriors who held him upright. “You did something just now.”

  Yes, I did.

  His ability with the ka’qui was strong enough that if he allowed it, or if he lost control, even talentless ones could feel something. After all, they were all connected to the Universe in some way; they were all part of the vast, eternal nexus of swirling energy that remained long after they were gone.

  He found he was able to smile again, his panic dissipating like vapor touched by the rays of a distant planet’s sun. His usual mask was back, his features twisting into a cold, cynical expression.

  He didn’t know of any other way to smile.

  “Relax,” the medic said. The two warriors remained as still as stone, their auras strong and unwavering.

  “We aren’t going to kill you yet,” one of them said, a surprising note of humor in his rough voice. “If the General wanted you dead, you’d be dead already.”

  Well, isn’t that reassuring. He flashed a savage grin before turning his head - the only part of him that could still move - towards the door.

  Because he felt something.

  A familiar aura approached. Dark and powerful and compelling, it made him want to kill. The cursed blood in his veins seethed with bloodlust, and a sensation akin to pain thrummed through his skull, piercing behind his sightless eyes.

  The General was coming, and he yearned to cut off the bastard’s head, because after their last encounter,
he surmised that was one of the few ways to ensure these cursed creatures met certain death. The First Division warriors were abominations, demons in Kordolian form.

  Just like him.

  This happened every time he found himself in Akkadian’s presence. His desire to kill went off the charts, and his mind was filled with uncontrollable bloodlust. That was the compulsion at work, poisoning his thoughts and turning him into nothing more than a lethal puppet.

  Perhaps the immobilization collar had been a good idea after all. His body was no longer able to move, a small mercy given his current circumstances.

  The Qualum door opened again, revealing General Akkadian and another Kordolian, one whose presence had gone undetected until he stepped across the threshold. Strange. That rarely ever happened. This newcomer’s aura made him react with a sharp intake of breath and he strained against his mental bonds, trying to suppress his killing intent.

  “Focus, katach.” Although she was whispering, the medic’s gentle voice was loud in his ears.

  My name is Ashrael, is what he wanted to tell her, but because of the mindbond, he couldn’t. After all, assassins weren’t supposed to talk.

  He was supposed to be the ghost, the soundless shadow who skirted the line between the living and the dead, never seen and never heard.

  His thoughts weren’t his own. He had no voice. He was nothing more than a silent killer, a deadly wraith.

  He was what he was. How could these fools expect to change him?

  Chapter Two

  Morning in the desert was a glorious thing. Noa closed her eyes, letting the sunlight wash over her as she perched on a small outcrop of flat grey rocks. The air still held a chill, but as the sun crept higher, its rays kissed her face, bleeding red through her pale eyelids.

  Soon, the chill would give way to warmth. Perhaps she’d even get to feel a bit of that warmth before they came for her and took her back to their makeshift infirmary.

  She wasn’t supposed to be out here, but unable to stand the terrible dream-thoughts invading her mind - thoughts leaking from others - she’d snuck out, taking advantage of the early morning stillness.