Sea of Stars(53)

 Then Trey grabs the Alameeda gun and brings it up to his shoulder. He aims near my head, firing a blue laser strike over my shoulder. I feel a jolt as the soldier behind me is struck in the face. His head snaps back and his arms loosen around me. I slip from his arms, falling toward the bottom of the ship as he flies upward.

 In the next instant, I’m caught by Trey. He clutches me to his chest with his arm beneath my legs. The jet pack beneath the dead soldier at his feet makes a turn, and we surf back to the railing of the catwalk, navigated by the helmet on Trey’s head. Once we’re there, Trey lifts me over the railing, placing me on the grated metal pathway. After he lets me go, he pulls himself over the railing as well to join me.

 Peeling the helmet from his head, he tosses it over the side. Striding to me, his large, rough hand grasps mine once more, before he gazes down into my stunned eyes. “Are you okay?” he asks urgently.

 I nod my head, unsure of my ability to speak. All at once, the walls of the cells surrounding us evaporate. Trey looks around, “They did it, Kricket. It’s time to go.” He pulls me back in the direction of the silver transport orb.

 Coming around the arch of the catwalk, we run into a battle between more jet-pack-clad Strikers and a recently liberated contingent of Rafe’s most wanted, whom the Cavars have freed from another section of the detention center. The Alameeda birds with blue, fiery OMS tails rise above our catwalk, diving and firing upon the hive dwellers, scattering them. Swarms of freed prisoners rush about, mingling with the Cavars that were once my bodyguards.

 I spot Jax fending off an inauspicious Alameeda birdman. Trey drops my hand. With the gun he took from the soldier he killed, he takes aim and shoots the Alameeda Striker harassing Jax. He doesn’t stop shooting but picks off several more Alameeda; their jet packs go berserk, flying off in every direction as their navigation is skewed.

 “Stay behind me,” Trey orders. He moves along the catwalk, killing enemy soldiers with exacting accuracy; he never misses. I keep my hand on his strong back; his muscles bunch and strain beneath my palm.

 Without warning, Kyon drops down behind me, forcing me out of his way. I fall against the metal railing, my ribs aching as I hurt that tender spot once again. Trey glances at us over his shoulder, but before he can react, Kyon lifts him up off his feet and throws him over the side of the catwalk. I scream as Trey falls from sight. My knees buckle and I kneel before Kyon on the catwalk in stunned agony with my hand clutched to my side.

 “My little savage,” Kyon murmurs, raising his mirrored visor so that I see the wicked gleam in his eyes, “have I finally brought you to heel?”





CHAPTER 8

 BENEATH THE CLOUDS

 Kyon lifts me from my knees, pulling me to him. I look up; the dark tattoo circles on his neck wink at me, watching me like a many-eyed beast within. I can’t answer him; I’m incapable of speech. His eyes darken at my expression. I must be very pale; my heart hardly beats. He clutches me tighter. “If you’d learn to obey me, you wouldn’t have to witness this. I’d have protected you from it.” I don’t respond—nothing works in me at the moment. After a few seconds, Kyon picks up on my unhinged state. He frowns and growls, “You shouldn’t be here at all. I’ll see you home.”

 Home? Who’s home? What home? I think, but it’s all a jumble in my mind. My worst thoughts were just realized. Trey’s gone—over the edge—I never saw it coming.

 Kyon doesn’t release me. He drops his visor over his eyes before he bends and leans toward me. He activates the harness of his jet pack, and belts snake out of it like sidewinders, wrapping around me and securing me to him. As he straightens, my feet leave the ground. I can’t see anything; I’m pinned to him, facing his chest. His scent is everywhere—it wouldn’t be an unpleasant smell, except I associate it with him, so now it’s like I’m smelling raw fear. It makes my stomach ache. Trey’s dead.

 I turn my face, attempting to breathe in deep gulps of air to the side of us, but instead, I retch. I heave again, but nothing comes up; there’s nothing in me to expel. I try to hold back my choking gags, but I can’t. Kyon notices that I’m ill. He reaches down and extracts a sharp dagger from the outer sheath on his black boot. Quickly using it, he slices off my hair below the base of my skull. Instantly, my hair regrows and my queasiness lessens. He strokes the blond waves of my hair gently, murmuring, “Better?”

 I stop trembling and my nausea ebbs a little, but I shake my head with a grim expression, denying that anything can ever be better again. He says nothing more but replaces his dagger in his boot before straightening. He signals to a few Strikers near him. They snap to his command, coming nearer to us. Kyon’s eyes are fixed upward.