Aurora Rising (The Aurora Cycle #1)(70)

“Thanks for the drink.”

The operative behind me grabs my arm with one gloved hand. The grip is perfect. Hard enough to hurt. Soft enough to let me know it could hurt a lot worse.

“The girl you are harboring is an enemy of the Terran people. The entire Terran Defense Force is now on alert and devoted to her capture. And she will be ours.” The agent’s voice goes soft and dangerous. “With or without your help.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s why you’re skulking around dive bars at ungodly o’clock in the morning, huh?” I sneer, motioning at the uniglass on the bar top. “This guy isn’t even in the same bloody sector as the rest of us.”

“The Bellerophon is en route to your location even as we speak, Legionnaire Brannock,” Princeps says. “You cannot escape from us. But a TDF invasion of the World Ship will cause unnecessary loss of life. We hope to resolve this issue without violence. Aurora O’Malley has killed enough of our agents already.”

My eyes narrow at that.

“You did not know?” Princeps asks. “She murdered two operatives aboard the Bellerophon. Crushed them like paper cups with a thought.”

Princeps disappears off the uni’s screen, replaced with an image of what might be an interrogation room. Two charcoal-gray suits. Blood and guts smeared along the floor and three meters up the walls.

My stomach surges. I swallow hard. “Maker … ,” I breathe.

“This is the girl you are harboring. She is not what she appears, Legionnaire Brannock. She is dangerous. To you. To those you care about.”

I shake my head. “It’s not my call. An Ace backs her Alpha. Always.”

I glance at the agent behind me, staring at my reflection in that faceless mask.

“Always.”

“Your loyalty to Tyler Jones is admirable,” Princeps says. “But surely you must have wondered at his recent decisions? Does he truly seem himself?”

“Aurora O’Malley can crush people with her mind,” the second operative says. “Do you not wonder what she can do to the minds of others?”

“Are you saying she can … control us?” I demand. “Control him?”

“We are saying your mother was a loyal member of the TDF until the day she died,” Princeps says. “And we are hoping her daughter shares her loyalties.”

The GIA operative releases its grip on my arm.

I look toward the door. I look at my face in its mask.

Tired. Wired. All the way scared. I glance at the picture on the screen of the G-man’s uniglass. Think about the Longbow shaking like a leaf as we tried to change course. The image of Scarlett being thrown back into the wall with a flick of O’Malley’s wrist. Tyler pushing us closer and closer to the edge.

Lying with him on those crumpled sheets the morning after, shivering as he traced the lines of my tattoos with his fingertips.

And it still wasn’t enough.

“We can offer assurances. In writing. For you and your squad.”

I chew my lip. Grit my teeth. And sitting back down on the stool, I look at the G-man’s featureless face and hold out my glass to the bartender.

“Gimme another.”





19


   Zila




There is no way we’re getting in and out of Casseldon Bianchi’s private office without getting caught.





20


    Auri




“I can’t believe you thought this would fit me.” Cat’s grumbles behind me, yanking at her jumpsuit again. “The girls are going to fall out of this thing, Scar.”

“I did offer you one of my bras,” Scar replies.

“I thought you were being sarcastic.”

Scarlet shoots Cat a sympathetic smile. “Maybe a little.”

We’re standing in the long, winding line for Casseldon Bianchi’s grand gala, Ty and me, with Cat and Scarlett behind us, decked out in the fanciest outfits Scarlett’s bargaining and Dariel’s connections could offer. Scarlett and Tyler look smooth as always, but Cat couldn’t look more uncomfortable in formalwear if the stuff was woven out of poison ivy. We’re slowly shuffling up toward the doormen (door aliens?) who’ll check our invitations.

And everybody’s nervous.

“Your girls will be fine,” Scarlett promises Cat again, adjusting her mask. “It’s meant to fit like that. It looks great. Wow, so does mine. I love this dress.”

I hear Fin’s voice in my ear, crystal clear through my tiny earpiece, but sounding a bit uneven. “Maker’s bits, Scarlett … Not that you don’t have an appreciative audience back here at base, but if you’re going to give us a view like that, maybe a little warning? Dariel just dropped a mug of hot caff all over me, I think he’s short-circuited something in my suit.”

“Just doing my bit for morale,” Scarlett purrs, smug as can be.

“I mean, normally I wouldn’t complain,” Fin adds.

“I’ll give you something to complain about,” Cat mutters.

We’re nearly at the front of the line, and now I’ve got a clearer view of the pair of aliens—both perfectly identical—who are checking invitations. They have brown, leathery skin, and small heads that remind me of binoculars, huge eyes dominating their faces. Their necks look a little too thin to support them, and their arms are long and spindly, ending in twig-like fingers. As I watch, one leans right out over its silver podium to extend a long finger, and trail it slowly across the invitation a particularly tall, pink-skinned woman is offering up for inspection.